Samsara Paradise: Dream Weaver of Connections.

Ancient Tree Temple, the 79th Battle Zone.

This ancient building, formed by countless giant tree roots, has long lost its original form over the years.

Thick tree roots burst forth from the ground, twisting and entwining in mid-air to form labyrinthine corridors and halls.

The bark is covered with a thick layer of moss and vines, and in some places, strange flowers that emit a faint glow have even bloomed.

The air was filled with the scent of damp earth, and a faint, unsettling sweet fragrance.

At this moment, a bizarre chase is unfolding in a main corridor deep within the temple.

A dozen or so contestants from different races are desperately running away.

Their expressions were contorted, their eyes filled with barely concealed fear.

People would occasionally look back, then let out even more terrified screams and rush forward.

"Don't run! Join forces to deal with her!"

A dragonborn covered in dark red scales roared, his voice echoing through the corridor, trembling noticeably.

"How do we fight?" a female elven carrying a huge scroll retorted shrilly. "Once she kills us, she'll control our corpses! And we'll possess all the abilities we had in life! Do you want to turn us all into her puppets?"

This fact sent a chill down everyone's spine.

Not long ago, they were a hastily assembled team of twenty people, trying to establish a defensive line in this relatively closed area and wait for the first phase to end.

Then the woman appeared.

Wearing a long purple dress and a pointed witch's hat, she walked with the elegance of someone attending a court ball.

She wore a gentle smile, but her eyes were so empty they were chilling.

At first, only three people went forward to test the waters.

A dwarf warrior, an orc shaman, and a halfling assassin skilled in stealth.

The battle ended within thirty seconds.

The dwarf warrior's giant axe stopped three inches from the witch's hat, and then he froze.

His skin quickly lost its color, turning ashen, and the sparkle in his eyes was replaced by a cold, mechanical light.

The next moment, he slowly turned around, and without warning, the giant axe in his hand cleaved down at his companion.

The orc shaman didn't even have time to react before he was cleaved in two by an axe.

The halfling assassin never reappeared.

It wasn't until after the battle that people noticed a blurry shadow beside the witch.

The shadow barely maintained its human form, holding two daggers in its hands—the very weapons of the halfling assassin.

Corpse puppet.

Moreover, they are enhanced corpse puppets.

They retained their combat experience and skills from their previous lives, but lost all sense of pain, fear, and hesitation.

They never tire, never retreat, and only carry out the witch's orders—to kill all living enemies.

Even more terrifying is that these puppets seem to be able to continuously "learn" and "evolve" through battle.

In the ensuing battle, the dwarf golem actually used some of the orc shaman's totem magic.

The half-human puppet displayed an even more bizarre stealth ability than it had in life.

This completely defies common sense.

But in front of this woman, common sense never seems to apply.

“She’s still here!” Talos roared, his voice echoing through the natural channels formed by the tree roots, a desperate sound.

"We have to split up!" the Dragonborn suddenly screamed, because he saw the purple figure reappear at the end of the corridor.

"Separating is suicide!" the elven woman Avira, carrying a huge scroll, retorted sharply, her long golden hair sticking to her pale cheeks with sweat. "Her puppets can flank from multiple directions; if they stick together, there's still a chance of survival!"

The witch's steps remained unhurried.

She didn't even look at the runaway contestants; she simply raised her right hand, her slender fingers tracing a complex path in the air.

"They can really run." Her voice was eerily soft, rippling through the corridor like water. "Hyenas, hurry up."

As soon as she finished speaking, several dark figures darted out from the shadows beside her.

Those were three puppets whose original appearance was completely unrecognizable.

A monster that looks like it was pieced together from the limbs of multiple races, with six arms holding a knife, sword, axe, hammer, staff and a broken shield respectively.

It was a body that retained its basic human form, but its skin was covered with writhing black runes, and every step it took left a corrosive mark on the ground.

The last one was the most bizarre—it had no fixed shape, resembling a constantly flowing mass of black slime, with only a constantly rotating eyeball embedded in its center.

The three puppets were incredibly fast.

Some even cling directly to the walls and ceilings of the corridors, running at high speed in a way that defies gravity.

Not long after, a shrill scream came from the other side of the corridor.

It was a desperate wail, but the witch continued walking forward as if those sounds were merely background music.

Her name is Alice Nightwhisper, and she comes from the transcendent, original world—the witch realm.

To be precise, it is the ruling class of the witch world, the Nightwitch Council.

In the witch world, Night Witches represent the highest power and the oldest knowledge.

They hold the true source of wizarding power and are among the founders of the entire Void Wizarding System.

Unlike the Fallen Star, which served as the stronghold of the ancient gods, the witch realm was the pure source of wizarding power.

There are no gods, no faiths, only the eternal pursuit of knowledge and power.

Every Nightwitch is an existence that has lived for countless years, and they have witnessed the entire process of the witch world from its birth to its rise.

This is why the witches' attitude towards the Void and Paradise is so complex and contradictory.

Shortly after becoming a transcendent world, the witches were open to the Void.

The result, however, was a painful lesson.

The various races of the Void saw the potential and resources of this new world and used various means to infiltrate, divide, and plunder it.

The contractors are ruthless in their pursuit of their missions, causing countless disturbances and destruction in the witch world.

During that period, the witch world lost three top witches, seventeen core wizard towers were destroyed, and countless precious research materials and ancient relics were stolen.

It wasn't until the contemporary Moon Witch used an iron fist to purge all foreign forces and established strict boundary barriers that the witch world gradually returned to peace.

From then on, the witches established an ironclad rule: to exclude all unauthorized visitors from the Void and Paradise.

Attack upon discovery, kill without mercy.

But there are exceptions to this ironclad rule.

The doors of the witches' world are always open to certain invited "friends".

The Abyss Doctor is one of them.

About three hundred years ago, the contemporary Moon Witch was on the verge of death due to a special circumstance.

All healing methods in the witch world have failed, and even time magic cannot slow the deterioration of the injury.

Just as the council was preparing to select the next Moon Witch, a name was proposed.

Hill.

At that time, Hill was already famous throughout the Void, but he was elusive and rarely showed his face.

The witches mobilized all their intelligence networks and finally found her in a small, collapsing world.

The invitation process was said to be quite dramatic—Hill initially refused outright.

Hill's attitude changed only after a great witch produced a relic treasured by the witches.

That treatment lasted for seven days and seven nights.

No one knows the specifics of the treatment.

All that is known is that when Hill emerged from the Moon Witch's chambers, she wore an unusually solemn expression.

While the Moon Witch survived, she paid a heavy price.

From then on, the Abyss Healer became a permanent ally of the witches.

When the higher-ups of the witch world learned that Lin Yi was participating in this battle for supremacy, they immediately issued the highest order to all the Night Witches who were participating: rankings are not important.

Protecting Lin Yi's safety and maintaining the relationship with the Abyss Physician are the top priorities. The witches will never forget the Abyss Physician's kindness.

This is the code of conduct for witches operating in the void.

Just then, a different kind of footsteps came from ahead.

Da da da……

Calm, regular, with a unique sense of rhythm.

Alice's thin blue eyebrows furrowed slightly, but quickly relaxed again.

She stopped.

A figure slowly emerged from the corner of the corridor.

It was a figure wearing a well-tailored dark gray suit, tall and elegant.

Judging solely from his physique and clothing, he appears to be a gentleman of considerable taste.

But if you look up, you'll see a skull.

It's not an ornament, not a mask, but a real skull.

The skull was studded with tiny black gemstones, each the size of a grain of rice, arranged in intricate patterns that shimmered with a deep, eerie light in the dim light.

Within the skull's eye sockets, two deep purple flames burned silently, flickering with some incomprehensible emotion.

The Demon Clan.

Moreover, they are members of a special branch of the demon race—the Bone Merchant Guild.

This branch is renowned for its mastery of contract magic and soul trading, and its combat strength ranks among the top in the demon race, making it a true representative of combat.

"This... Night Witch?" the skull spoke, its voice like two bones rubbing together, "Interested in making a deal with this merchant?"

Alice's lips curled up into a smile that was a mixture of mockery and interest.

"A deal?" Her voice was as gentle as ever. "With your jewel-encrusted head?"

This was originally a joke with a provocative tone.

In the tradition of the witches, any hasty response to a trade invitation from the devil race could become a loophole in the contract.

Alice knew this, of course. She said it on purpose to see the other party's reaction and test the depth of this demon.

But she didn't expect the other party's reaction to be so... extreme.

"Of course...madam."

The skull spoke calmly, its voice devoid of any emotion. Then it raised its right hand—the hand covered by a black leather glove—and gently placed it on either side of its skull.

Click.

A crisp snapping sound rang out sharply in the silent corridor.

He took his own head off.

The whole process was smooth and natural, just like taking off a hat.

The headless body remained standing, its right hand supporting its head and its left hand on its chest, making a standard salute gesture.

That posture was so perfect, as if it had been practiced hundreds of times.

The pupils within the skull's eye sockets flickered, and the voice continued, seemingly emanating from the skull itself, yet also resonating from the headless body's chest: "My head, Witch. What do you wish to trade for it?"

Alice's smile froze.

She has met many lunatics and people who don't play by the rules.

But this is the first time someone has so casually removed their own head.

Making a deal with demons is never a joke.

Their contract magic permeates to the soul level; once a deal is struck, the price of breaking it is often an eternal curse or utter annihilation.

……

Zone 195, the Frozen Ruins.

A dozen or so corpses lay in the ruins. A demon with his two horns sawed off and his white hair shaved short stood among the corpses. Demonic flames rose from his body, and his pupils seemed to contain burning magma.

As for why he sawed off the horns on his head, it involves the dark history of this demon. Because he was too reckless, he charged behind enemy lines during the war with the winged race, and as a result... he encountered the previous generation of winged race members.

Originally, this demon named Mond had not only two long horns that curved backward, but also a full head of long white hair that cascaded down to his waist.

But when Mondstadt charged to the rear of the Winged Clan, his proud horns brought him a dark chapter in his history.

"Kneel down," Mond remembered shouting, pointing his battle axe at the old man. "I'll grant you a quick death."

The old man raised his head, but he didn't speak; he simply stood up.

In that instant, Mond felt the air freeze.

The next four hours were the longest period of Mond's life.

The old winged creatures weren't fast, but each movement they made perfectly timed their way to avoid Mondstadt's attacks.

When Mondl first grabbed his horns, he didn't even have time to react before his head was slammed hard to the ground.

Pebbles embedded themselves in his cheek, and he tasted the rust in his own blood.

"The horns are quite beautiful," the old winged tribesman said, his voice as calm as if he were commenting on a work of art. "It's a pity they're in the wrong place."

The second time, the third time.

The old winged creature seemed to particularly love his horns, always gripping them precisely, as if holding a pair of natural handles.

Mondl's white hair was also put to use—as he was slammed against the wall by his hair, he heard the groans coming from his cervical spine.

But Mond did not fall.

Every time he was knocked to the ground, he got back up.

Demonic flames surged beneath the skin, repairing broken bones and healing torn muscles.

When he stood up for the fourth time, the old winged clansman raised an eyebrow.

"Quite durable."

The fifth time, the sixth time.

Mond began to adapt to the pain.

By the seventh time he was thrown out, he was able to adjust his posture in mid-air and barely land.

“Interesting,” said the old winged creature, beads of sweat forming on his forehead.

The winged creature Mondstadt encountered was far stronger than him, and coupled with the brute's provocation, he was brutally beaten by the winged creature, who grabbed him by his horns and long white hair. It was a terrible beating, but being beaten by a previous generation of winged creatures wasn't really shameful.

Fortunately, Mond was resilient. Any other demon of his generation would have been dead after a few blows from that old winged demon, but Mond was beaten for a full four hours!

The old winged clansman was exhausted and covered in sweat, even feeling somewhat helpless.

Mondl doesn't remember how he got back to the camp.

He only remembered waking up to a sharp pain on his head—not from the wound, but from the horns themselves, which seemed to throb, a reminder of the humiliation of being used as a handle to be dragged around.

It was this experience of being dragged by the hair and beaten with his horns that led Mond to saw off his horns and cut his hair into a buzz cut that suited his brute character.

Upon learning of this, Lilim laughed hysterically. The very next day, Mond found an opportunity to beat Lilim up. He had no concept of chivalry, and because his attack was sudden and they were both of the same race, Mond wouldn't go for the kill. Lilim also didn't use her abilities that caused permanent damage. As a result, Lilim, who was only good at close combat, was beaten quite badly by Mond.

Who is Lilim? She may not be able to beat Mondstadt in the cramped house, but she can complain to Mondstadt's father.

The cycle begins here. Upon learning that Lilim had been beaten by his own son, Mondstadt's father was trembling with rage and then gave Mondstadt a severe beating.

Why did you hit Lilim?

"Because she smiled."

"What's wrong with her laughing?"

She laughed at my horns.

"That's it?"

It has to be said that Mondstadt's father is indeed quite powerful, directly beating Mondstadt so badly that he couldn't get out of bed, preventing that guy from going out and causing trouble again.

On the third day, Mond found another opportunity to "ambush" Lilim and beat her up. Then Lilim continued to complain, and the cycle repeated itself. A few days later, Lilim, whose arm was already in a cast, gave in. As for the exceptionally stubborn Mond, he spent the next two weeks in a wheelchair. The most speechless person was actually Mond's father. He beat his son until his arm was fractured, but he was too embarrassed to get a cast.

"call!"

Mondl spewed hot gas from his nostrils; through the previous battles, he had discovered that there wasn't a single person in this battleground who could actually fight.

Mondstadt is not at his strongest right now; he grows stronger the more he's beaten. Mondstadt is most terrifying when he's on the verge of death. (End of Chapter)