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After about 30 minutes of hugging Boxxy and stroking its gangly head, the busty dryad seemed to have had her fill of skinship for the moment. She released the Hylt Creeper and took a few steps back, taking on a much more stern expression.

“This profane object in thy back… is how thou were brought back to this mortail coil?”

“Yes. It’s called a Soulstone. Do you know anything about it?”

Ambrosia shook her head.

“I’m afraid not. But I do not like this foul feeling it gives off.”

It made sense that something used to violate a Taboo wouldn’t be of much liking to a semi-divine being like a dryad. Still, it wasn’t like Boxxy was lugging it along because it wanted to.

“Please bear with it. I think it may be the only thing keeping me alive.”

“Thou can always try bathing in mine Waters of Life…” she offered with a pang of hope in her voice.

“I’d rather not. It may cause some kind of bad reaction.”

Not to mention that using her curative fluids would sap away at the Mimic’s life force and reduce its lifespan. At least, that’s what it surmised happened with all those ingredients that were kept forcefully alive and expired of seemingly natural causes all on their own. This reminded Boxxy that it would likely need to fetch new ones, as the Prison Management module had gone offline in its absence, meaning those meat donors had all but expired. It would seem the core’s autonomous mode did not understand the concept of keeping one’s meals fresh.

Speaking of which, the shapeshifter determined it was probably time to address the elephant in the room.

“The dungeon core… I don’t suppose you would be willing to become its dungeon master again?” it asked.

“No. I do not think that is an option anymore.”

“Are you sure? We won’t be able to communicate over long distances otherwise.”

Ambrosia wavered. She desperately wanted the ability to chat with Boxxy at any given time regardless of how far away it was. After all, as a tree-bound spirit, she could not join it on its adventurers no matter how much she wished. She also sorely missed those night-long language lessons. Not only did they show her the joy of teaching those that wished to learn, but seeing the Mimic’s progress filled her with a sense of pride and accomplishment.

“Truthfully, I would love to be able to reach out to milord at any time. However, I know now of that thing’s true nature, and I cannot be put under its spell ever again. Even if I wanted it to happen, mine inner self would not allow it.”

“That’s alright. We’ll figure something out.”

The Item Allocation module could create dungeon-related items through magic, so perhaps there was some sort of communicator. Alternatively, finding a subservient monster to use as a proxy dungeon master was also an option. The Mimic just needed to make sure that said proxy would not follow in the dryad’s footsteps and suddenly escape the dungeon’s control. Which naturally raised the question of what exactly Ambrosia did to get out of her contract.

“How did you break free of it in the first place?”

“Once I found out I was being controlled, I simply willed the connection broken, and it snapped with no resistance.”

Well, this was hardly unexpected. Even if that crystal ball was a marvelous tool with a plethora of impressive functions, it still had its limits. And keeping an ancient being of Ambrosia’s caliber shackled against her will was well beyond that. Which was why Boxxy had taken every precaution it could think of to not let her even suspect she was being influenced in the first place. That strategy had seemingly failed in its original purpose, but had worked to endear the real Ambrosia to Boxxy’s presence, so the Mimic wasn’t about to complain too much.

Still, it would be prudent to analyze its mistake and make sure it didn’t happen with Ambrosia’s replacement.

“How did you realize it was messing with your head?”

“Thine servant Fizzy told me. Right after I denied her access to thine collection.”

“She did, did she? Hmm… Wait, you didn’t hurt her or anything, right?!”

“No, milord. I ended up flushing her out of mine trunk.”

“Oh. Right, of course.”

Keira had heard through word of mouth that the Rustblood Juggernaut had departed for Horkensaft Kingdom after the two of them had a bad falling out. Which was putting it mildly, as very few friendly relationships persisted after one party quite literally died. Come to think of it, its death probably annulled that servantile oath she made way back when, much like how its contracts were severed. Whatever the case, the important thing was that the shiny golem had survived Ambrosia’s eviction.

However, the expression the dryad was making gave the Mimic pause. Being a millennia-long shut-in meant that she was never very good at hiding her emotions, so the reluctance and guilt plastered on her face was painfully obvious.

“There’s more isn’t there?” it asked in a somewhat stern manner.

“… I also ended up flushing the vast majority of thine treasured shinies into the tunnels beneath mine roots,” admitted the dryad.

“You what?! Why?!”

“I was outraged at thy deceptions and saddened at thy passing in equal measure, and I acted rashly. After I calmed down a bit, I realized the folly of mine actions and went out to gather milord’s precious mementos with all haste. I wanted to treasure them and keep them safe for all eternity, but then this damnable ball swallowed them up.”

She threw the dungeon core behind her a hateful glance for a moment before turning her attention back to Boxxy.

“Left with naught but sadness and regret, all that was left for me was to sleep, lest mine branches and leaves wilt as a result of mine sorrow. Which has been all but washed away by the torrent of joy that flowed within me when I heard thee call out to me, milord. I do not think I have ever roused from my slumber as quickly as I did.”

The dryad ended her story with a sweet smile and a slightly darker shade of green on her cheeks.

“You don’t have to call me that anymore, you know,” pointed out the Mimic.

“I know. However, milord is milord. It has become a habit, I’m afraid.”

The shapeshifter shrugged its shoulders. It never really cared for that ‘title’ but it didn’t particularly mind it, either. Not to mention it wasn’t about to argue with a millenia-old sentient tree over something so trivial.

“Then do I have permission to continue operating my dungeon inside your trunk?”

“I shall permit this, so long as milord lets me pamper thee every now and then for mine own satisfaction.”

A pampering that would probably include copious cuddling, breast feeding, and incomprehensibly delicious cuisine. Boxxy found two of those three things to be particularly delicious, so this was really a no-brainer.

“Works for me!” it declared.

“I would also appreciate it if milord were to clear up all this… clutter.”

Ambrosia gestured towards all the three dimensional maze of rooms and traps the dungeon core had constructed while it was still orphaned.

“Leave it to me.”

The Mimic then turned its gaze towards the trio of demons who were quietly sitting on standby this entire time, just as they were ordered.

“And by ‘me’ I of course mean ‘you three.’ Claws, Snack, Arms - I want this entire place to be put back in the way I left it! You are to listen to Ambrosia’s requests and directions if she feels something needs to be adjusted. Do I make myself clear?”

Kora raised three of her arms as if asking permission to speak.

“No, Arms, you may not throat-fuck the dryad. Not unless she wants to.”

Only to be immediately shot down by her Master.

“And I most certainly do not,” interjected Ambrosia while shooting Kora a murderous glare. “Actually, does milord mind if I borrow this unruly child for a bit?”

“Not really. She’s the most irresponsible of the lot anyway. Do what you will with her.”

A half dozen thick, thorny vines shot out from the walls and wrapped themselves around each of the Archfiend’s wrists.

“Come, vile creature,” said the dryad with a dangerous glint in her eye. “I believe it is time to discipline you!”

“Oh… Fuuuuuuuuuuuuu-”

Kora was then flung upwards with frightening speeds, disappearing into the darkness high above the dungeon core as her voice echoed into the distance.

“She… Ktktktktkt, she won’t do anything weird to me, right?!” asked Drea nervously.

Ambrosia threw her a reassuring smile.

“Fret not, jittery one. Thou hast always been a good child, so I have no qualms with thee.”

“Phew…”

“What about me?!” eagerly asked Xera. “Those thorny-”

“Why are you still here?!” roared Boxxy. “I gave you your orders! Do them now!”

“Yes, Master!”

The two demons replied in unison and darted off towards the giant-box-covered part of the hollowed-out tree trunk. Using their respective Dungeon Management screens, gained through virtue of being their Master’s soulbound servants, they began demolishing the unsightly structures and getting rid of all the monsters and traps. As they did that, Boxxy opened up the Item Allocation menu once again while simultaneously taking a rolled up piece of parchment out of its Storage.

“Milord? What is that?” asked Ambrosia curiously.

“It’s a list of all my stuff.”

“Did thou always have such a thing?”

“No, but I had an annoying amount of downtime recently so I made it to keep myself busy,” it explained as it unrolled the unreasonably long parchment. “Which is good, because I need to make sure nothing’s missing.”

“I see. However, art thou certain of this manifesto’s accuracy? I know milord is an exceptional individual, but the items in thine hoard easily numbered in the thousands…”

“10,269 to be exact.”

It then showed Ambrosia its list, causing the dryad’s eyes to become wider and wider with each line she skimmed across. Each item had been recorded with its name, a brief description, its estimated GP value, how many of it the creature had, and even had a ‘shininess rating.’

“By the Goddess!” she exclaimed. “And thou genuinely knew all this from memory?!”

“Of course. Well, I had to do quite a bit of thinking to remember everything, but it wasn’t that difficult. One should always be able to keep track of the things that are important to them, after all. I mean, I bet if you tried, you could tell me exactly how many leaves you had.”