While Archimedes waited for Ulbert to receive his message and make his way over, he checked in on his experiments.

The chunk of platinum submersed in liquid mana had transformed into mithril already. The process was considerably faster than it was even in a dungeon’s naturally mana-rich environment. It was unclear whether this feature was useful in any way, but it at least confirmed one of the hypotheses he was testing.

The beetle submersed in mana, on the other hand, was dead. Nothing about its corpse suggested it had been enhanced in any way either.

Suffocation, most likely.

It was an expected result. Archimedes had put some air in the container to possibly prevent this, but that air was unable to permeate the liquid mana that encased the creature.

Liquid mana blocks physical matter to about the same extent that physical liquids do, he pondered. Where does this resistance come from? There is no energy field around it, and it still is not technically a material substance. Something to do with the speed of the spin on the particles, perhaps? If resistance increases inversely with spin speed, that would explain several of my observations so far.

If he had time later, he would try to witness proof of his hypothesis. First, he had to check on the other tank.

Within the liquid ether, the lump of platinum sat unchanged. He would let it sit for a while longer though, just in case.

Interestingly, a hypothesis he thought was unlikely to find support provided some results: the beetle submersed in ether was still alive.

I deliberately put no air in this container.

Indeed, the beetle wasn’t breathing, but it was swimming in the vibrant red liquid, perfectly healthy.

Fascinating. Would it still be possible if the creature was larger and more complex?

He transferred the dead beetle into the Mananite tank to join the undying beetle. Wouldn’t it be interesting if the former came back to life?

There was no time for more experiments, however, as Ulbert was prompt in answering the dungeon’s summons.

“I came as soon as I got your letter,” he said as he entered Archimedes’ sphere of influence. “Is everything alright?”

The front door to the dungeon opened for him, so Ulbert went inside. The gate guard on night shift didn’t need to be privy to their discussion.

Grass and moss compressed softly under Ulbert’s feet, and he felt a small object appear directly in his hand. He recognized it as an earpiece and wore it accordingly. The sounds of the chirping insects around him dulled in that ear.

“A week has passed,” Archimedes’ voice came through. “I wanted to know if there’s been any progress toward getting Anther’s treatment approved.”

The dungeon researcher frowned, and a look of pity and frustration briefly crossed his face. He shook his head. “Unfortunately not. I don’t think anyone still doubts that your method will work—but it’s become a matter of politics now. The Surgeons Union doesn’t want dungeons entering their industry, and the insurance department of the Explorers Guild wants to avoid setting a loss-making precedent. I’ve sent multiple letters already, containing my professional opinion and advice, but I haven’t heard anything back yet.”

He folded his arms and sighed, “I sent word of the situation to the DRI, but the Guild is a much bigger organization than we are. It’s hard to fight them when they want to be stubborn. Still, they reached out to some of my coworkers stationed at the Guild headquarters and managed to discover that my input is being ignored.”

Archimedes detected a sour wave of guilt from the demon, and he recalled that Ulbert had previously mentioned his concern that his personal situation would lead to his input being viewed as biased.

Before blindly comforting the man, he asked for details. “What did you advise them on, exactly?”

“I warned them that you’re far more emotionally developed than a typical dungeon your size would be, so special attention should be made toward managing relations. And I informed them how the boy you want to treat is an important friend to you.” He shrugged, “I also tried to ease their worries a little by explaining that the patient’s condition would be cured upon revival so, by the spirit of their policy, there shouldn’t be a cause to withhold resurrection.”

“Then you’re not at fault here,” Archimedes stated. “If the argument is reasonable, it shouldn’t matter who it comes from. If the guild has chosen to ignore your input anyway, it’s out of your hands.”

Ulbert smiled faintly. “Thank you for saying that, but I wish I was able to help more. My colleagues at the Guild headquarters are trying to help more, but they also have their own work to do.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Archimedes produced a sound like the clicking of a tongue. “If the guild is still staying quiet even after being made aware of all that, their real problem must be with something else. No amount of prodding at just the visible issues is going to force them to come to a decision.”

Ulbert blinked. “Do you mean they’re putting off their refusal to avoid citing the reason for denying your request?”

“Exactly.”

The dungeon sank into thought. What could the guild want to avoid so badly that they would knowingly sour relations with him; that they would waste resources calling in analysts whose only purpose was to argue forever?

Could it be…?

“Are they against sending a mind stone into a dungeon?”

That was a necessary step in the procedure he had outlined. It was also something that was discouraged on the explorer side, not on the dungeon side, so it was likely the guild couldn’t legally cite it as a reason to stop the procedure.

Ulbert blinked. He furrowed his brow and pondered it, but didn’t look entirely convinced.

Archimedes himself was still unsure about it.

“Is the mind stone that your sister gave me on record?”

“I was made aware of it, and it’s on record at the Institute, but not at the Guild to my knowledge.”

“Hm.”

The conversation lulled for a moment.

“Is the guild headquarters aware that my monsters have creature cores?”

“Yes, of course. That was your starting boon, wasn’t it?”

“Yes.”

What is going on here exactly? Archimedes didn’t feel bad for lying to Ulbert, not when he didn’t understand the full situation. Exposing dungeons to mind stones risks teachings them how to make creature cores, but some dungeons will be born knowing regardless. And the guild thinks that I’m the same. Then why would they want to keep me away from mind stones—assuming that is what they’re trying to do?

There was nothing all that special about mind stones in a material sense. They were made of relatively common minerals. Certainly, the risk of permanent death existed if both a person and their mind stone entered a dungeon together, but Archimedes thought it was abundantly clear that he was trying to save Anther’s life.

But he couldn’t think of anything else it could be but that. What secret could those little crystals be hiding that was so terrible that the guild didn’t even make an official law against taking them into dungeons—for fear of drawing attention?

And yet, that the DRI apparently didn’t know or care about?

Ulbert cleared his throat. “I have… a few ideas that could probably resolve things quicker. Though you may not like them.”

“Hm?” Archimedes came out of his thoughts when he heard the demon’s voice. The suggestion made him strangely uncomfortable. He wasn’t currently convinced that the resurrection practiced by the outsiders was even safe. “Ah. No, don’t worry about it for now. I’ll look into alternative solutions.”

“Do you have any other alternatives?”

Archimedes split his focus, eyeing one beetle swimming energetically in liquid ether and another that was dead. “I might.” He turned his focus back fully to the demon. “Thank you, by the way,” he said. “For your help.”

Ulbert smiled, “Of course.”

After he left, Archimedes began producing empty mind stones identical to the one Cherise had brought him, and he called Helios to the core room. The fluffy orange spider gazed at the small pile of oblong, egg-like crystals with eight sparkling eyes.

“Helios, I have a task for you.”

***

Meanwhile, quite a distance East of Archimedes and Genenwell village, it was almost midnight in Erakonir. The demon city was ancient, built into the hollow of a dormant volcano. The sun only shone on the veiled place for a few hours each day, and even then, its rays were blocked and split by towering buildings.

The structures within the hollow were made primarily of stone, but banded with streaks of polished metal that caught the light and scattered it. This late at night, they reflected mostly street lamps and the glow from nearby windows. Most had spiraling, conical architecture, as if to resemble stalagmites. Sharp, gothic roofs were composed wholly of gleaming metallic minerals, and dramatic, decorated bridges connected the tallest spires to each other.

After overcoming the shock of it all, one might notice that the spires formed clusters together with the way the bridges were connected. These congregations denoted households. Each was much too extensive considering demons grouped typically only with their immediate family. But this was Erakonir: not the political capital of demonkind, but its ancient, cultural capital. The families who could afford to live here were ancient and powerful. Some were actual nobility of close relation to the king. The extra space was used to preserve knowledge and artifacts thousands of years old, and for live-in servants to stay with their own families.

Not Casanuella, though. Her family had earned their homes here through virtue of their relation to her great great grandfather, Mizmifal Jyrzen Opherion, the great demon sage.

He had abandoned them a long time ago, however. The only house the Opherions still possessed in Erakonir was small and hidden in the shadows of the giants around it. The vast library carefully tended to inside, left behind by the sage before his departure, was the sole thread that kept even this dwelling from being sold off. The government funded her family to keep the place intact in case the sage returned someday.

Thinking about that cramped home, overrun with dusty old tomes that had long since lost their magic in her eyes, Casanuella gripped her fists atop her lap and hardened her heart.

Her many-day-long carriage ride of relief was over. The worst parts remained.

She saw her parents and her younger brother, waiting for her at the gate with a handful of servants, despite the late hour. Not a single person was smiling at the prodigal daughter’s return.

The carriage driver dismounted and opened the door for Casanuella, showing more decorum than her own family. After one deep breath, she disembarked.

“Had your fun?” Her father’s harsh and unamused voice broke the silence.

“I’m home,” Casanuella stated, giving a posture-perfect bow while carrying not a drop of respect in her bones.

“Really, Casa,” her mother called, exasperated. “Bandits? What in the world possessed you to get involved with such people?”

“You don’t have to worry, mother,” she said coldly. “They’re all dead now anyway.”

Except for one.

“Do you know how much we had to spend to revive you?” her father fumed, incensed by his daughter’s visible lack of remorse. “Don’t think you’re getting out of this without a punishment. You’re grounded for this next decade, do you hear me?”

The payment? Casanuella might have laughed if she had been asked a month ago. As if our family could afford it. The government surely paid for it, since they want to ensure their sage always has a place to come back to. Father didn’t pay a dime for me.

“I understand, father,” she said softly, bowing.

“Well, at least it seems like this incident has finally knocked some sense into you,” he grumbled, turning around to lead the way back inside.

Casanuella followed, silent as the grave.