Reincarnated As A Dragon With Cheats-Chapter 24: Sacrifice(1)

Chapter 24: Sacrifice(1)

Three hundred sacrifices were needed for the Grave Shaman to evolve.

It had been close to a century since he had reached Level 25.

There were three conditions he had to follow regarding the sacrifices:

First, they had to be Level 10 and above.

Second, they had to be beings from outside the Dungeon.

Third, they had to be killed slowly. Their deaths had to be brutal.

The entirety of the second and third floors was now under the Grave Shaman’s control. At first, he had been just another skeleton on the second floor.

But that was five hundred years ago.

The skeletons had all perished for which the Grave Shaman was partly responsible.

The skeletons had fragments of life within their chests. He had plucked them out one after another and consumed them. Before he knew it, he had reached the threshold to evolve.

From a Boner, he evolved into a Grave Shaman.

It was a gift from the dungeon.

He received countless spell books and ritual items, which paved his future path. But eventually, everything came to a standstill...

...until he found the secret book.

It was called Future Diary.

It was an item the world had rewarded him with, especially after he had made significant efforts to make himself known.

> [You will be killed by a dragon named Azeth.]

The moment he touched the diary, the pages turned on their own, and the words were inscribed one by one.

The Shaman’s entire world shattered the moment he read it.

"Two hundred years... a full two hundred years of running, hiding, fighting... two hundred years of constant fear... and in the end, I die at the hands of a puny, maggotic dragon?"

He would never accept such an ending. Not after surviving this long. Especially not after obtaining such an item.

"Heavens have not abandoned me. Mother Dungeon, I am one of your children. Please protect me. Bless me."

He conducted hundreds of rituals, with sacrifices offered daily.

The third floor, once home to the Horned Rabbits, had turned into a graveyard.

The specific skill the Shaman obtained was:

[Soul Harvest]

It allowed him to harvest the souls of living beings. The more pain they suffered before death, the greater control he would gain over their souls.

So he almost never gave swift deaths.

"O’ mother of mine, mother of all endings, this child of yours wishes for protection as he ventures outside."

[[Protection: Immunity(C) Level 5 granted.]]

[[Protection: Indestructible Body(E) Level 5 granted.]]

[[Protection: Loved One(E) Level 5 granted.]]

The Shaman ventured outside, captured living subjects, and brought them back to be tortured.

It was not easy at first.

When he was Level 13, he had nearly been destroyed by the Holy Magic of a priest.

"Haha, Mother, the fool was too much of an idiot. When I begged her to spare me and promised I would never attack anyone again, she stopped. That was enough for me to grab a club and strike her head."

He had nearly died to a priest wielding holy magic. He had collapsed before her, bones cracked, body smoldering.

"I will never harm anyone again," he had told her.

She hesitated.

That hesitation saved him.

He smashed her skull the moment her guard dropped.

Now the roles were reversed.

He dragged her body through the forest and into the Dungeon’s hidden passage. He hung her above a fire, sealed her in clay, and turned her slowly while the flames baked her alive. Her screams dulled into muffled tremors beneath hardened earth

Three more priests from the nearby town went missing after entering the forest.

More priests soon followed.

They all met the same fate.

The Shaman enjoyed it.

He especially enjoyed their screams, muffled within the hardened clay.

His hunt continued.

Children became his targets. Adventurers fell for his cheap tricks... items, treasure maps, and false promises.

He especially loved how he killed the adventurer Billie Curly. He had written the man’s name all over the trees on the fourth floor.

Azeth soon realized this.

As he stood before a small tree, looking at the familiar red circle with a star within it, he noticed the entire diagram was composed of tiny words.

Billie Curly.

The words formed the shape.

Azeth did not know who Billie Curly was, nor did he care.

He took several quiet steps forward, each step leaving a faint trail in the forest as he approached the scene.

A gigantic stone platform stood ahead. It appeared to be a sacrificial altar. Blood stains covered its surface, along with the carcasses of monsters.

Azeth raised his small pitch-black right claw and pointed at the Shaman seated on the rocky platform.

"Let her go."

A soft, boyish, cheery voice, slightly deeper than what Pebbles could produce, reverberated through the area.

The voice alone made the Shaman shudder, but he forced himself to remain composed.

He glanced behind him.

Nightstone was still trapped inside the bone cage.

Then he turned back toward Azeth.

"You see... I waited."

One of Azeth’s eyes widened.

A mocking expression lingered on his face, as if questioning what this fool was about to say.

"For five hundred years."

Azeth’s second eye widened as well.

"I must say, you are strong. You survived my attack last time..."

A small vertical red circle appeared in the air. From it, he pulled out the familiar black scythe, now crimson red, covered in glowing inscriptions.

The inscriptions read the same words:

Billie Curly.

"But these five days were enough to make me strong. I was just a simple Grave Shaman back then."

He pointed upward.

Azeth tilted his head slightly, eyes still wide.

Through [Shared Senses], Pebbles was astonished.

The painted sky that had once decorated the ceiling of the fourth floor...the clouds, the sun, had become real.

The clouds moved.

The sun shone brightly.

Two red moons obstructed one another in the sky.

"I’ve evolved. Let’s see how you kill me."

He raised a finger toward the heavens.

"Kakaka! O’ Mother, watch how I kill this imposter! I am the real child!"

"..."