Sera - A Dungeon Revival LitRPG

Sera and Zoha entered a market that was visibly less crowded than it must have been in better times. Most of the stalls stood abandoned, leaving behind empty tables and broken crates. A few persistent vendors still hawked their wares, but their voices lacked the energy and enthusiasm of thriving commerce.

Until suddenly, Sera stopped as a sweet aroma drifted through the air. Her nose twitched, and she breathed in deeply. "Zoha, where is that smell coming from?"

The demoness followed Sera's gaze and pointed to a stall near the edge of the market. "I believe it's coming from over there."

The stall in question stood out not only because of the aroma but also because it was the only one with a line of people queuing. The stall itself didn't look particularly impressive at first glance, built from rough-hewn wood that had seen better days.

Behind the stall stood an old lady whose back slightly hunched with age. Her hands moved with surprising dexterity as she prepared a simple yet enticingly sweet dessert: a type of candied fruit wrapped in thin, golden-brown dough.

Zoha noticed Sera staring intently at the dessert stall for a while and spoke up. "Do you want to go there and take a look, Mistress?"

"N-No, that's not necessary," Sera said, quickly turning her head away to regain her composure.

Zoha observed this unusual reaction, eyebrow arching in curiosity. "Is it alright if I get a dessert for myself then?"

Sera straightened her posture. "That's fine, I'll wait for you here."

Yet, as Zoha moved towards the dessert stall, Sera's resolve wavered. It didn't take long before Sera found herself drifting after the demoness, almost as if an invisible thread was pulling her forward.

Zoha chuckled softly at first when she noticed this. However, as Sera's gaze locked onto hers, the intensity in the elder dryad's eyes silenced her.

When the two finally reached the front of the line, The old lady broke into a warm smile. "Welcome! How many would you like to buy?"

"I'd like just one, please," Zoha said.

In that moment, the demoness felt something intense bore into her as she turned her head and noticed that Sera was glaring at her. She chuckled nervously before correcting herself. "Actually, I'll take two."

The old lady nodded as she started to prepare the desserts. She expertly rolled the dough around the candied fruit with a touch of finesse that spoke of years of experience. The dough turned golden-brown in the wood-fired oven as a sweet, caramelized scent wafted through the air.

Once perfectly baked, she carefully wrapped each dessert in a large green leaf. With a warm smile, she handed one to Sera and then another to Zoha. "Feel free to pay whatever you can."

Before Zoha could even finish paying the old lady, Sera had already brought the dessert to her lips. The texture was sublime, the candied fruit melding seamlessly with the soft, flaky dough. The dessert seemed to melt in her mouth, leaving a lingering taste that made her yearn for more.

Astonished, Sera shot a surprised glance at the old lady. "How do you make something so delicious?"

The old lady beamed with pride. "It's an old family recipe, passed down through generations. I'm happy to be able to share it and help the community here."

"Out of curiosity, why do you allow your customers to pay whatever they like? I'm positive you could charge at least a few silver pieces for each of these." Zoha asked.

The old lady's expression softened. "I'm not actually from Marwood, just came back a few months ago to help out my family. But now, I'm staying a bit longer to sell desserts to the people here at below cost. It's my way of giving back."

Sera nodded appreciatively. "That's admirable."

The old lady smiled, eyes crinkling at the corners. "Thank you, dear. There are too many people being taken advantage of these days. I just want to do some good."

"What do you mean?"

"There's been a rise in crime ever since the war started. Not to mention the charlatans posing as miracle healers."

Sera leaned in closer. "Tell me more about this, I'm curious."

The old lady looked around cautiously before continuing. "People are becoming very desperate. That's where these charlatans come in. They promise miracles and healing, but all they do is take advantage of those who have nothing left, stripping them of their last coins and leaving them worse off than before."

The moment she finished speaking, the old lady sighed as her eyes drifted towards a sudden commotion nearby. A group of men were clanging pots together and shouting at the top of their lungs. "Come, witness a miracle by the Prophet of Zephiros!" they yelled. The cacophony of sound and their fervent cries captured the curiosity of the market-goers as a crowd quickly gathered around the men.

The old lady shook her head with a look of disdain on her face. "Both of you better leave before you get caught up in all of that."

Zoha reached into her pouch and selected a few gleaming gold coins. She placed them on the wooden counter and slid them towards the old lady. "Thank you for the warning," Zoha said softly.

Sera stood beside her, inclining her head in acknowledgment. "And thank you for the dessert."

The old lady's eyes widened in surprise, her gaze shifting from the coins to Zoha's face. "You don't need to pay that much."

The demoness smiled warmly as she met the old lady's gaze. "I insist," she said gently, pressing the coins into the woman’s hands. "Consider it a token of our appreciation."

The old lady hesitated for a moment, then nodded slowly. "Thank you, and best of luck to you both."

As they parted ways from the old lady, Sera and Zoha moved to a quiet corner, where they could finish their desserts. The elder dryad took another bite, savoring the sweet, rich flavor.

"You seem to be enjoying that quite a bit, Mistress. Are you going to have a sudden change of heart and stop trying to feed humans to the Spirit Tree?"

"Of course not. But I may decide to spare a few more people in the future, especially if they happen to be gifted in making these sweet treats."

Sera's gaze shifted back to the group of men still clamoring for attention. "However, the dessert maker's earlier remarks piqued my curiosity. We should investigate those so-called miracle workers and ascertain their true nature."

"Is there any reason why you're so curious about them, Mistress?"

"Seeing them gave me an idea, but enough talk for now."

Soon, the two left their spot and followed a crowd in the distance moving further away. As Sera and Zoha rounded a corner, they saw that the people had gathered in a makeshift square. The noise here was different compared to the usual dreary mutterings they had heard so far, it was more focused, almost rhythmic.

As Sera and Zoha approached, they noticed the crowd's attention was fixed on a man standing atop a large wooden box. His ragged robes hung loosely around his thin frame and he held a well-worn book as he chanted fervently.

"Come and gather around, people of Marwood! Come if you wish to see a miracle performed by a true servant of our Lord, Zephiros!"

Sera and Zoha pushed their way forward to get a better view. They caught sight of another man dressed in bright purple robes standing beside a cot. The bright color of his robes contrasted sharply with the drab surroundings, drawing all eyes to him.

"For years, this man has been unable to walk," the man in purple robes announced. "He has lived in despair, confined to this very cot. But today, through the divine power of Zephiros, he shall be healed!"

Then, the purple robed man placed a hand on the chest of the man lying on the cot. "By Zephiros's name, you shall now walk again!"

The man on the cot stirred as he opened his eyes slowly. The muscles in his arms strained slightly as he pushed himself upright. He swung his legs over the side of the cot, the motion almost hesitant, as if testing the strength of his own limbs.

But when he stood, Sera noticed how the man's movements were too controlled and strangely fluid for someone who had supposedly been immobile for so long. She caught the subtlety of his actions, noting the absence of the awkward, unsteady motions typical of those who had lost the use of their legs.

Her senses extended, probing for any hint of magic, but detected none. An amateur performance, and somehow the crowd is falling for it.

"Thank you! Thank you, blessed servant of Zephiros!" the "healed" man cried.

The crowd erupted into cheers. Meanwhile, the man in ragged robes atop the box raised his arms high. "Believe in Zephiros, and your faith shall be rewarded!"

He gestured to several metal bowls placed in front of the "Prophet's" feet. "If you wish to be blessed, now is the best time to show your devotion by sparing any coin you have! Even just one copper can give you a chance of being in Zephiros's eye!"

People pushed and shoved to throw coins into the metal bowls, eyes glinting with hope and desperation. Hands trembled as they released their grip on the copper coins, the small pieces of tumbling into quickly overflowing bowls.

Sera grimaced in disgust. Fascinating.

She and Zoha moved away from the crowd, their steps brisk and purposeful. The cacophony of clinking coins and fervent prayers gradually faded as they distanced themselves from the makeshift pulpit.

Sera dusted off her cloak, then glanced at Zoha with a look of mild curiosity. "Have the people of Marwood always been this desperate?"

Zoha shrugged, briefly glancing back at the crowd that was now dispersing. "It's hard to say for sure, Mistress. But the war certainly wouldn't have helped things."

"I understand where the masses are coming from. Despair is a powerful thing, and any semblance of hope can make a significant difference." Sera said.

Zoha's eyebrows rose in surprise. "I expected you to be disgusted by what we saw."

"While I do harbor disdain for humans, it would be foolish to let that blind me to the reality of their situation, hatred by itself does very little."

"So, what do you plan to do with this understanding?"

"I propose we put what we saw into practice, for the benefit of the Spirit Tree."

Zoha tilted her head. "You want to put on a show, like the false prophet?"

"Indeed, I plan to heal the masses and pretend to be a prophetess of some kind. All I need you to do is help me gain attention and manage the crowd."

"That's doable, Mistress."

But suddenly, Sera paused as she drifted into contemplation. She let out a measured breath, fingers tracing part of her cloak. Slowly, she pressed her lips into a thin line before she spoke, and spoke with a softer voice than usual. "Zoha, I must apologize for not accounting for this earlier. But is healing magic common in the current era?"

The demoness's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "As far as I know, Mistress, you're the only person who can use any form of healing magic."

"That certainly simplifies things. Now, we just need a place to start." Sera said.

"The slums aren't too far from here, I'm sure we will have no shortage of eyes there."

"Good, we should head there immediately. And while we're walking, listen carefully to my instructions."

***

The demoness led Sera through towards the slums. Gradually, the air grew thick with the smell of refuse and unwashed bodies, and the ground beneath their feet became a patchwork of muddy paths and broken cobblestones.

Makeshift shanties and dilapidated structures leaned precariously against one another, walls patched with whatever materials could be scavenged. Children with dirt-streaked faces darted between the shadows while adults huddled in small groups.

Sera's eyes scanned the surroundings until they fell upon a man in tattered rags sitting against a wall. She turned to Zoha, her voice a low murmur. "Go and get the people's attention. We need an audience for this."

Zoha nodded as she moved towards the people nearby, her unorthodox appearance alone commanding their attention. She approached small groups and attempted to speak with them. At first, they were apprehensive and some tried to shoo the demoness away. But Zoha's words held a certain magnetism, drawing them in despite their initial reluctance.

The more she spoke, the more heads turned towards Sera. The emerging audience barely reached a dozen people, but it was enough for a start.

Meanwhile, Sera approached the man who looked at her warily. "What do you want?"

Sera offered a gentle smile. "I am a servant of the Goddess Yssara, and I am here to help you."

The man's eyes narrowed. "Spare me the bullshit, heard all of that one too many times before."

"I ask for no payment. I only wish to restore your arm."

"Why should I believe you? No one does anything for free."

"The Goddess compels her followers to act charitably without expecting compensation in return. What's the harm in giving me a chance?"

The man hesitated, then finally nodded. "Fine. But if this is a trick..."

"It is no trick," Sera said.

She knelt beside the man and placed her hand gently over the bandaged stump of his arm. Green light emanated from her palm, growing brighter as it enveloped the stump. A small crowd formed as they watched the light intensifying.

The man gasped as he watched his arm regenerate rapidly. Bone reformed first, the structure knitting together with an almost audible click. Muscle fibers followed, weaving over the bone layer by layer. Finally, skin grew over the newly formed arm and smoothed out seamlessly until the limb was fully restored. The man stared at his new limb in awe as he flexed his fingers.

Soon, the crowd erupted into a chorus of gasps and murmurs. Zoha stepped forward to seize the moment. "Anyone who is sick or injured, come forward! For a true prophetess of the Goddess Yssara is here!"

More people gathered around Sera almost immediately. A woman approached cautiously as she cradled a child with a high fever.

The child's skin was flushed and damp with sweat, his breathing shallow and rapid. Sera knelt beside them and gently placed a hand on the child's forehead. Again, green light emanated from her palm, and the child's fever broke within seconds. The mother wept with gratitude, hugging her child close.

Over the next few hours, Sera healed burns, mended broken bones, and cured illnesses that had plagued these people for years. Each act of healing drew gasps of awe and murmurs of gratitude as the crowd grew larger and larger.

Eventually, the sun was close to setting on the slums. Sera stood up as she figured that she's done enough healing for the day. "Unfortunately, I must rest for the night. I will return tomorrow for those who still need me."

The people clamored around her with pleas and gratitude. Hands reached out to touch the hem of her cloak, as if her very fabric held the promise of salvation. Others called her name in the hopes that she would notice.

Zoha stepped between Sera and the crowd to carve a path through the throng as she made her voice clear. "Make way for the prophetess, she will return soon!"

The crowd parted reluctantly, their eyes never leaving Sera as she moved through them. She met their gazes with a gentle smile, feigning acknowledgment of their need as she navigated the sea of outstretched hands.

***

After leaving the slums, Sera and Zoha entered a more well-off district of Marwood. The streets here were cleaner, the cobblestones neatly arranged and free from the grime that marred the poorer areas. Buildings stood taller and prouder, while shopfronts displayed a variety of goods, from fine silks to gleaming jewelry.

The two made their way to an inn: a three-story building with a slate roof and walls of pale stone. A wrought-iron sign swung gently in the breeze, bearing the name "The Silver Stag" in elegant script.

Inside, the reception area featured a large stone fireplace. Plush armchairs and small tables were arranged around the hearth, offering a comfortable place for guests to relax. The floors were polished hardwood while a crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling.

The receptionist, a young woman with auburn hair tied back in a neat bun, looked up as they entered. "Welcome back, Lady Zoha."

Zoha offered a cordial smile in return and approached the desk. "Can I get an additional room for my friend here?"

The receptionist nodded, flipping through a leather-bound ledger. "Of course, we have a lovely room available on the second floor with a view of the garden. Will that be suitable for you both?"

Zoha glanced at Sera, who gave a slight nod. "Yes, that will do nicely."

The receptionist smiled and handed Zoha a brass key. "Room 207. I'll have some fresh linens and a tray of refreshments sent up right away. If there's anything else you need, please don't hesitate to ask."

As they made their way up the polished wooden staircase, Sera couldn't help but notice the subtle luxury that permeated the inn. The walls were covered with tapestries depicting scenes of hunting and feasting, and the soft carpet underfoot muffled their steps.

Soon, they reached the second floor, where Zoha led Sera to her room. She unlocked the door and pushed it open to reveal a cozy, well-appointed space. The bed was covered in a plush quilt, and a small writing desk stood in one corner.

Zoha stood near the doorway. She glanced back at Sera, her hands clasped lightly in front of her. "Is there anything else you need from me, Mistress?"

Sera raised a hand. "Stay for a bit. We need to discuss our plans."

Zoha nodded and moved to pull over a chair. She positioned it across from Sera, who seated herself on the edge of the bed, feeling the plush quilt give slightly beneath her weight.

She tapped a finger thoughtfully on the bed, creating small indentations in the soft fabric. "This is a slightly random question, but do you actually need sleep, Zoha?"

The demoness shook her head. "No, though I can enter a sleep-like state if needed."

"Good, then it's time to discuss our next step forward."

"Is this about those humans in the slums you healed?"

"Absolutely, and to be frank, I'm not sure if my idea is sustainable in the long term."

"Why do you say that, Mistress? The humans looked more than eager to flock to you, I have no doubt in my mind that at least a few of them would be willing to follow you back to the dungeon."

"The issue is that I am also accumulating notoriety. While this is acceptable in the short term, I believe that after gathering an initial following of humans, it would be prudent to abandon this prophetess guise and seek an alternative strategy."

"But isn't notoriety advantageous for you, Mistress? You can leverage your fame to draw more humans into the dungeon."

"While that is true, fame can quickly spiral out of control. My immediate objective is to expedite the growth of the Spirit Tree, but it must be done in a controlled manner."

"If that's the case, why don't we establish a secretive cult, Mistress? That way, we can attract followers discreetly and maintain a low profile."

"That is not a terrible idea, but a cult has far less reach than a more mainstream faith. Moreover, you are already aware that I do not wish to attract the kind of attention that a larger, more public following would bring."

Zoha tilted her head, her hair cascading over her shoulder as she regarded Sera with curiosity. "If you're not going to start a cult, then what is your plan?"

Sera leaned back slightly, her fingers still idly tapping the plush quilt. "Tomorrow, I plan to gather as many people as I can who are willing to follow me and lead them to the dungeon."

Zoha nodded thoughtfully, her eyes narrowing slightly. "But why mention doing things tomorrow? Do you need sleep?"

Sera gave a small smile. It seems that Zoha is still searching for some kind of weakness she can exploit. My current guess is that she will try to find a way out of the contract if I give her the chance, this could prove to be another opportunity.

"I don't need sleep, but I do need to enter a rest-like state for at least eight hours a day." Sera lied, her voice betraying no sign of deceit.

Zoha's brow furrowed in concern. "Is there any way I can help?"

Sera shifted her position, crossing her legs on the bed. "Just lock the room, Zoha. Ensure no one disturbs me while I rest."

Zoha moved to the door and locked it before glancing back at Sera. "Out of curiosity, what is your resting state like, Mistress?"

Feigning a casual demeanor, Sera shrugged. "I won't be conscious of anything unless I'm in direct danger. It's a deep, meditative state."

"I'll keep watch, Mistress. You can rest easy."

"Thank you, Zoha."

Sera pretended to close her eyes. She kept her breathing slow and steady, counting each inhale and exhale to maintain the facade.

A full minute passed, and she felt the subtle shift in the air as she sensed that Zoha had moved. Slowly, Sera opened her eyes, the dim light of the room sharpening into focus.

The space around Sera was quiet, but a quick glance confirmed that the demoness had disappeared. Although the door to her room was still closed. With this, I can finally show Zoha the difference in our power. Allowing her this bit of freedom is a calculated risk, but necessary. She must see that even in her attempts to assert control, she is always within the confines of my will.

She walked up to the window and pressed a hand on the cool glass. Now, to wait for the inevitable.