Chapter 251: Our Daughter Is Depressed
Mycelids—mushroom folk—were a unique intelligent species native to the Umbral Depths.
They possessed roughly humanoid forms, but at their core, they were essentially oversized mushrooms. Their habits were similar as well: given water and soil, they could sustain themselves indefinitely.
Reproduction, however, was far from simple. They couldn't just sprout from any random log.
Mycelids preferred to plant their spores into animal carcasses. Only then would their young grow quickly and healthily.
They had intelligence comparable to humans, along with distinctive racial abilities, but they were also dangerous. They harbored an instinctive hostility toward most non-mycelid species. Fortunately, they rarely strayed far from their colonies and seldom hunted actively. As long as they weren't provoked, they were unlikely to attack.
That was everything Ambrose knew about mycelids from the various tomes he had studied.
But he had no idea that there were different types of mycelids.
He prided himself on being well-read, yet even something this basic had escaped him. Clearly, learning was a lifelong pursuit.
Just as Ambrose was about to consult Black Rose again, another message from her arrived. [Black Rose: Our daughter has run into a bit of trouble lately. It's perfect timing. Come to the Umbral Depths. I'll have those mycelids brought over for you to study. You can also talk to Milena.]
Ambrose froze. That couldn't be right. It had only been a few days. How could the soul he had constructed already be malfunctioning?
That didn't make sense. He had created plenty of artificial souls before, and none had ever shown any problems.
[Megaman Tiga: What happened to Milena?]
[Black Rose: By the standards of the living... she may be depressed.]
Ambrose: "..."
Depressed? Since when could undead become depressed?
He had seen undead go mad plenty of times, but never... depressed.
Even when pushed to their limits—say, after losing a fortune—they would rage and wish to destroy the world, not hide away and wallow in self-pity.
This was serious. Could there really be a hidden flaw in the artificial souls he created?
[Megaman Tiga: I'll head right over by teleportation array.]
Perhaps there had been a flaw in how he wove her abilities together. Or maybe one of the materials used in her creation was defective. After all, this was the first time Ambrose had crafted a soul of such strength. Mistakes were possible.
This concerned his livelihood. He couldn't afford to take it lightly.
With unease gnawing at him, Ambrose stepped onto the teleportation array.
With a flash of light, he arrived somewhere even darker than his already dim dungeon.
It was gloomy, damp, and claustrophobic. Just sensing the surrounding space filled him with a suffocating dread. This was the Umbral Depths, a sunless world far crueler and more vicious than anything beneath the open sky.
The teleportation circle stood within a vast cavern. The moment Ambrose appeared, over a dozen ghostly flames ignited in the darkness.
A squad of towering death knights emerged, dragging a massive silver carriage behind them.
The carriage was nearly the size of a house, forged entirely of gleaming silver and adorned with intricate motifs of bones and black roses.
The death knights knelt in perfect unison before Ambrose, respectfully inviting him aboard.
He was quite pleased with the reception.
Floating into the carriage, he was immediately enveloped by a rich aura of dark energy, sealing out the damp chill of the cavern. The carriage wasn't merely decorative. It was embedded with multiple mana-concentrating arrays that smoothed out Ambrose's magical circulation.
Several beautiful drow attendants awaited inside. The moment he entered, they eagerly approached, removing his worn robe and dressing him in a far more luxurious set: high-grade enchanted attire, superior to anything he owned.
Despite the attentive service, Ambrose felt nothing in particular.
He was undead, after all. Such worldly desires no longer held any meaning to him.
Then they poured him a goblet of crimson liquid. At first, he thought it pointless—undead couldn't taste anything. But with a slight probe, he realized this was something that had been specially prepared.
One sip, and the scarlet liquid dissolved instantly, spreading through his entire skeletal frame.
His bones began to regenerate, becoming dense and lustrous, as if they had been freshly stripped from a living body.
Even his soul could taste the rich fragrance, like that of a fine vintage. It stirred memories of the first time he had ever tasted wine, long, long ago in life.
"Excellent..."
The century-old wine he had once encountered at sea had intoxicated him by being a mild spiritual toxin. But this... This was both delicious and beneficial.
Ambrose couldn't help but marvel. As expected of the queen of the Umbral Depths, this level of indulgence was exquisite. That single sip alone must have cost at least a hundred thousand gold.
The carriage moved smoothly onward. Reclining against the velvet seat, Ambrose felt no jolts nor discomfort, only a creeping drowsiness.
But pleasant moments passed quickly. Before he could drift off, the carriage came to a stop before a magnificent palace.
Stepping down, Ambrose was guided inside by a spectral maid.
She was a high-ranking undead, her form so solid it was nearly indistinguishable from a living being. She was likely not far from reaching the legendary rank herself.
And yet, Ambrose knew that she never would.
The undead queen Black Rose possessed an overwhelming desire for control. Every undead in this subterranean kingdom was her servant, bound by an absolute spiritual contract.
With such shackles in place, none could ever become legends.
Without a self, how could one awaken a legendary boon?
Lost in thought, Ambrose followed the maid into a grand yet largely empty chamber.
Black Rose sat by the bed, calmly reading a book, as elegant and composed as ever, untouched by urgency or disorder.
Beside her, Milena sat curled up, hugging her knees and burying her face between them, a picture of quiet sorrow.
Seeing Ambrose enter, Black Rose closed her book. "Your father is here," she said to Milena. "You two talk. I've tried everything, but I can't comfort you."
Before Ambrose could even ask what was going on, she had already reached the door. "Milena seems to have been shaken by something. Take your time with her. Once you've soothed her, come find me. The mycelids are ready."
Just like that, she left.
Ambrose sighed and approached the bed, sitting beside his supposed daughter. "What happened? Can you tell me about your situation?"
Truth be told, he felt nothing particularly special toward her. To him, Milena wasn't much different from the mercury constructs he had created before. She was simply a tool who possessed self-awareness.
But Black Rose clearly treated her like her true daughter. Her room alone was larger than his entire laboratory.
At the sound of his voice, Milena slowly lifted her head. Her mismatched eyes shimmered with sorrow. If the undead could cry, she would already be in tears.
In a trembling voice, she asked, "Father, am I stupid?"
Ambrose's soul practically shuddered. Something was very, very wrong. Since when did an undead care about something like that? Had he gone too far when designing her? Emotional fluctuations like this shouldn't exist in an undead.
"Why would you think that?"
With a deeply aggrieved tone, Milena recounted her experiences over the past few days.
Black Rose had treated her well and equipped her with powerful magical gear. Combined with her own abilities, she could move freely through the Umbral Depths without fear.
At first, things went well. With her eyes that were capable of seeing through all forms of invisibility, she had captured numerous driders, greatly reducing attacks on the mining zones. In just a few days, nearly a hundred had died by her hand.
But soon came retaliation: a trap. A ridiculously simple trap. To Ambrose, it was the equivalent of placing bait inside a loop of rope as thick as an arm, with a wooden sign beside it reading, "This is not a trap."
And yet Milena had fallen for it.
Incapacitated, she had been surrounded by a whole swarm of driders and hundreds of drow, then relentlessly mocked for two whole minutes.
Though she eventually summoned her invincible whisperwood mount and slaughtered them all, the ridicule lingered.
Word had since spread across the Umbral Depths of the powerful undead princess who was an idiot. Rumor had it that she was no more intelligent than a low-level undead, that you could trap her just by drawing a circle on the ground.
With teary frustration, Milena cried out, "They even said... a drow could claim to be a gnome right in front of me, and I'd believe it!"
"That's outrageous," Ambrose said quickly. "That's not a matter of intelligence. You're simply a newborn! It took me hundreds of years to become as clever as I am."
"Really?" Milena asked, hope flickering in her eyes. "If I have enough time, can I become smart too?"
Ambrose thought for a moment, then smiled. "You don't lack intelligence. You just need a good teacher. Since I'm here, I'll teach you myself." He paused, then added with quiet confidence, "I guarantee that no drow would even dare to lie to you the next time they see you."
