When the Puji army representing Lin Jun’s spiritual power joined the battle, the situation instantly reversed.

The battle line was quickly pushed back from the narrow cave mouth to the entire forest’s periphery, then fell into fierce deadlock.

Explosions and tearing filled the air. Pujis and wolves fought and died without end, yet neither side could completely wipe out the other.

This did not mean their true soul power was on the same level—only that the power which could be projected into the Pink Puji’s dream was limited.

For Lin Jun, [Mental Guidance LV5] was like a thin little pipe. Even if he possessed a reservoir’s worth of spiritual power, he could only send it through that pipe at a slow trickle.

If this were his own home turf, the amount of spiritual force currently seeping in from the other side would be crushed with hardly any effort.

Of course, having a massive total amount wasn’t without advantages either.

Thus a war of attrition took shape. No matter how tenfold more tragic the loss of this bit of soul power became, it would still be negligible to Lin Jun—what he didn’t know was whether the other side felt it just as lightly.

Since it was attrition, Lin Jun simply blocked Inanna and the Pujis that embodied her mental defenses deep inside the cave, preventing them from taking part.

The entire dream, in the end, faded out upon a forest floor carpeted with wolf corpses and Puji remains.

…

“Boss… I had another nightmare.” Early the next morning, after waking, Inanna spoke in a slight daze.

“How do you feel? Tired?”

Prompted by the question, Inanna realized that her mental state was clearly better than after the previous nightmare. “I guess… okay? Not as awful.”

She hesitated, then asked, “Those Pujis who came to help later in the dream… did you bring them, Boss?”

“You could say that.”

“What on earth is going on?”

“Simply put, someone’s trying to harm you in your dreams,” Lin Jun said lightly. “But relax. I tested them last night—the other side is only so-so. With me covering you, there’s nothing to fear.”

Hearing her boss’s words and recalling the timely reinforcements in the dream, Inanna breathed a little easier, but worry quickly returned. “Boss… will you get hurt from this?”

Lin Jun thought about it. A little “scrape” on the spiritual level probably didn’t count as getting hurt, right?

“No. But if the other side won’t stop, your dreams are likely to keep looking like this for a while.”

Hearing that he was fine, Inanna finally set her heart at ease. Yet new doubts welled up. “But… who is trying to hurt me? The one who killed my mother, too…”

“That I don’t know,” Lin Jun analyzed casually. “It could be related to your identity—say, your father’s enemies, and so on.”

Inanna nodded, but confusion still filled her face; she clearly had no leads.

“By the way, I remember your family still has a lot of Dream Flowers, right?”

…

Deep within the Scarlet Spire, facing Duke Alamar’s Highfort Citadel across a long standoff.

In a pitch-black, sealed hall where not a sliver of light could enter, the black glow coiling over a massive magic array had yet to fully dissipate.

At the six nodes around the array lay six humans bound fast.

Their chests still rose and fell faintly, but their eyes were hollow and vacant, as if their souls had already been drawn out, leaving only wheezing shells behind.

At the center of the array, a jet-black coffin slowly slid open. The bloodborn duke Sigismund, dressed in a black formal suit, sat up within, a faint, unreadable doubt on his pallid face.

Hearing the coffin’s movement, Malgas, who had been waiting silently outside, glided in without a sound. “Duke Sigismund, my lord, did it go smoothly?”

Malgas was not of the bloodborn, yet his complexion was equally ashen.

To extend the contract Duke Sigismund held—one that once belonged to Duke Alamar’s wife—onto her daughter, he had paid no small price.

Such was abyssal magic: its power immense, its oddities hard to guard against, yet always accompanied by great cost or risk. It would not be wrong to say it harms the caster before it harms others.

Sigismund gave a cold glance at the six “consumables” whose spirits had been completely shattered. With a casual wave, he drew out their blood, leaving shriveled husks behind, squeezing the last drop of value from them.

“Not all that smoothly. I’ve run into a new obstruction.”

“Is it that Illusory Dream Potion made from Dream Flowers?” Malgas sounded a bit surprised. “Intelligence clearly said the little girl hasn’t stayed in the ducal manor… and yet they responded so swiftly?”

Sigismund shook his head. “No… it didn’t feel like an illusion.”

An Illusory Dream Potion could build layer upon layer of pleasant dreams for the drinker, like successive shells, slowing the rate at which he eroded the dream via the [Strange Dream].

But recalling those Pujis that suddenly charged out, it felt more like she had taken some sort of potion that boosted spiritual power.

Hearing his lord’s description, Malgas showed no concern. “My lord, no matter what kind of potion boosts spiritual power, none are suitable for long-term use. Moreover, what she burns through is, in the end, her own spirit, whereas what you consume is merely some captives. Once the [Strange Dream] connection forms, it will never sever—she cannot escape your grasp.”

Sigismund understood all this as well, but he was not satisfied. “Of course I know she can’t ultimately escape, but I don’t have the time to drag this out. That idiot Xenophon—how many times have I warned him not to go picking duels? And he kept doing as he pleased, nearly getting himself cut down in front of the lines by a human Sword Saint. Now the western front has stalled. His Majesty has pressed me multiple times already, ordering me to intensify pressure on the Highfort Citadel.”

“My lord, hasn’t His Majesty also sent Duke Eleanor to assist you?”

“Eleanor?” Sigismund let out a derisive laugh. “All she’s good for is raising a few blood-cattle. On the battlefield, as long as she doesn’t hold us back or stab us in the back, that already counts as a great help. Counting on teaming up with her to smash Alamar’s Highfort directly? Pure fantasy.”

In particular, Sigismund’s relationship with Eleanor was anything but good.

“Malgas, I know you have already paid dearly, but a thing begun must be seen through to the end.” Sigismund’s voice sank. “If we cannot shorten the time needed to control her, then all of this is meaningless. Do you understand?”

“I understand, my lord…” There was helplessness in Malgas’s tone—clearly, he would have to pay even more going forward.

Sigismund patted his shoulder, a note of temptation entering his voice. “Don’t worry. Once this is done, I will personally petition His Majesty for your merit—and ask for that Book of Miracles. With it, your abyssal magic… might truly touch the realm of the extreme.”

And at the end, he added, “You know I do not break my word—just like last time.”

Malgas bowed his head deeply. “Yes, my lord! I will give my utmost!”