Pell glanced over, catching sight of the book and the faintly glowing words scrawling themselves across its pages. “Is that the guy you mentioned before? Back in the dungeon?”
Enya kept her eyes on the book, reading the message as it formed. “Yeah. It’s Custodian. He helped me a little when I was stuck inside the dungeon.”
“What’s he want?”
“I don’t know. He’s asking if I’m still alive. The last thing I sent was me asking for help with the dungeon boss, right before I went into the boss room,” she said.
“And? What advice did he give?”
Enya shook her head. “He didn’t give any. He told me a day or two before that he’d be busy and couldn’t respond in time.”
Pell read over her shoulder as Custodian’s reply materialized on the page, written not with ink but with thought alone.
Pell snatched the book from her hands mid-thought, cutting off her response.
“Huh?” Enya blinked, startled.
Pell held the book out of her reach, his glowing soul flames thinning in intensity. “You were just about to tell him the city we’re staying in, weren’t you?”
“Uh… yeah?”
Pell snapped the book shut with a decisive clap. “Brat—” He made sure to use brat this time, steering clear of "kid" or "Enya," even though he was slowly getting used to not insulting her outright. “How much does this mysterious Custodian guy actually know about you?”
She tilted her head, confused. “What do you mean?”
“Does he know your name?” Pell asked.
Enya nodded.
“Does he know your class?”
“W-well… yeah. That’s how I can talk to him in the first place. By using the book.”
Pell’s sockets narrowed slightly. “Alright, is Custodian a necrosmith like you?”
“N-no…” she admitted, her voice faltering.
Pell’s jaw rattled faintly, his frustration barely contained. “Okay—then did he ask you how you got your class, or did he already know?”
“H-he asked,” Enya said, shrinking under his gaze.
“Do I even want to ask my next question?”
She bit her lip and stayed quiet. She already had a sinking feeling about what the next question would be.
Pell mimicked pinching his nonexistent forehead, an exasperated sigh escaping him. “Kid. You have this ultra-rare, limited, possibly one-of-a-kind class. At least, that’s what you told me—whether you heard it from him or figured it out yourself doesn’t matter. The point is, he didn’t know how to get your class, and you told him? Holy nine hells, you practically handed over your most valuable secret just because he asked nicely.”
“B-but he was… helpful when I was alone,” Enya stammered, trying to defend herself.
“That’s great,” Pell said dryly. “I’m sure he was very helpful and probably saved your life with whatever advice he gave. But that could’ve been a ploy to make you trust him and let your guard down.”
“But—”
“How did he get his hands on this book?” Pell interrupted, tapping the closed Grim Pullet with a bony finger. “Or, more accurately, another copy of it, given that he’s not a necrosmith?”
“Uh… I think he said he stumbled onto it while he was… doing something. Or maybe it was part of his job? I can’t remember exactly,” she replied.
Pell gave her a long look. “Kid, he probably killed the last person who had it.”
Enya’s eyes widened in shock. “What?”
Pell let his shoulders slump, wondering why he even needed to explain this. “Listen. He either killed the previous owner, or he stole the book from them. If this book is supposed to be exclusive to necrosmiths, I find it hard to believe he just ‘stumbled upon it.’”
Enya frowned, her thoughts drifting back to her conversations with Custodian in the dungeon. “I think he said he was a… collector of items and artifacts.”
“Even more reason to believe he did something to the original owner and stole the book for himself. I’d imagine a soul-bound item tied to a rare class would be right up his alley,” Pell muttered.
The Grim Pullet rumbled in his hand. Enya glanced at it. “I think he’s sending another message.”
Pell handed the book back to her, and she opened it.
Enya and Pell exchanged a quick glance before she began writing her response.
“See? Even he agrees you’ve been running your mouth too much,” Pell said.
Enya frowned, then started writing again.
If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.
Pell immediately snatched the Grim Pullet from her hands. “What the hell are you asking him?! There are some questions you don’t ask, and this is one of them! He won’t even answer it—but now he knows we don’t trust him.”
The book rumbled again in his hands. Before Pell could react, Enya dispelled it and resummoned it back into her own grip.
“Is that asshole calling me bald?” Pell snapped.
“Aren’t you?” Enya replied, barely holding back a grin.
Pell’s soul flames flickered irritably.
Both of them froze, staring at the ominous line. Silence hung thick in the air as they processed his response, but before they could react, Custodian continued.
Enya frowned. Pyra? The name meant nothing to her, and the mention of an eternal flame only deepened her confusion.
“It’s a famous story,” Pell said, breaking the silence.
She turned to him. “Story?”
“It’s an old folktale,” Pell said. “Long ago, before the layers were split, there was a flame that burned atop Mount Helysirin, said to grant eternal warmth and happiness. Pyra climbed the mountain alone and reached the top. She cast a spell to hold the flame in her hands, but its power and heat was much more than she could handle. The fire began to burn through her magic, growing brighter until even the mountain itself was scorched. She refused to let go and, in the end, died, with even her soul reduced to cinders.”
Enya stared at him, a mix of fascination and unease on her face.
The Grim Pullet rumbled again, drawing her focus.
Enya hesitated before responding.
She wasn’t sure what else to say. Custodian’s explanation sounded like a justification for murder. His tone suggested the last necrosmith had done something terrible, leaving him no choice but to act. Whether that was true—or a convenient lie—she couldn’t tell. Turning to Pell, she sought his opinion.
Pell caught her glance and shrugged. “If he killed the last necrosmith because they committed some high-level crime, I guess that makes sense. But it’s way too convenient that the person he killed just happened to be a necrosmith. Unless he’s out there killing people left and right, and the last necrosmith was just unlucky.”
“Should I ask if—”
“No,” Pell interrupted. “Don’t ask him if he murders people every day like he’s brewing his morning coffee. Some questions you just don’t ask.” He grumbled under his breath. “I really need to get you a book on common sense…”
The Grim Pullet vibrated again.
The words on the page began to fade as Enya finished reading. She snapped the book shut and let it wither away into nothing in her hands.
“I don’t trust him,” Pell said immediately. “He writes like a noble. Hell, he probably is a high noble. There’s a decent chance he knows about your family but doesn’t want to tell you. You mentioned he’s likely in the enchanted layers, right? If he’s from there, he’d at least know your family name.”
Enya’s brow furrowed. She racked her brain, but her knowledge of the enchanted layers was too limited. Maybe high nobles were widely known there—or maybe there were so many of them that keeping track was impossible for regular folks.
A few quiet minutes passed before the door to the waiting room opened. It was the man who had escorted them to the seventh floor. Both Enya and Pell stood to greet him.
“Hello. Thank you for waiting. I’ve brought the spell circuit,” the man said, holding a small, suitcase-like box with a latch. He set it flat on his palm and opened it, revealing its contents to Enya.
Inside were several sheets of paper, each detailing instructions for forming spell patterns, explanations of their mechanics, and guidance on combining them effectively.
With a soft click, he shut the case and locked it before presenting it to Enya. She took it carefully.
“Thank you for visiting the Magic Association,” he said with a polite bow. “If you ever acquire unregistered spell circuits and wish to exchange them for monetary compensation, our doors are always open, regardless of the spell’s rank.”
He straightened and gestured toward the exit. “Allow me to escort you both out.”
They walked back through the bustling lobby, which was just as lively as it had been when they arrived. Upon reaching the entrance, the man waved them off with a warm smile. “We hope to see you again!”
Enya turned to wave goodbye before looking at Pell. “So, what now?”
Pell glanced up at the darkening sky. The sun had set, and the clock was probably nearing 8 PM. The city wasn’t quiet yet, but the day was drawing to a close.
“Let’s check the Merchant’s Guild and get our loot appraised. I put everything in my locker there. The appraiser should have an open slot for me by now.”
“Okay!”
Pell’s gaze flicked down to the small case in her hands. “Hand me the papers. I’ll store them in my inventory so nobody snatches them off you.”
Enya nodded and handed over the case. Pell opened it, removed the papers, and slipped them into his spatial storage. Returning the now-empty case to her, he added, “The case is too bulky to store, so you’ll have to hold on to it. If someone steals it, well… whatever.”
By the time they stepped out into the streets, the moon hung high in the sky, and the enchanted streetlights bathed the city in their warm glow. Talo’s bright white stone shimmered under the artificial light, keeping the city’s pristine aesthetic intact. Though the crowds had thinned, a good number of people still roamed about some vending goods, others just strolling. Pubs, breweries, and the city’s more risqué districts were particularly lively at this hour.
Talo was a city where capitalism thrived unrestrained.
After a ten-minute walk, they reached the Merchant’s Guild. Unlike the grandiose Magic Association or the imposing Adventurer’s Guild, the Merchant’s Guild had an air of quiet prestige.
Inside, the atmosphere was calm, with about half a dozen people scattered throughout the space. Two clerks worked behind the counters, while a pair of patrons in fine tunics lounged in comfortable chairs, deep in conversation.
Enya noticed that, despite the animated expressions of the pair, no sound came from their direction.
“Sound isolation magic,” Pell explained, catching her gaze on the two men. “They’re masking their conversation to keep it confidential.”
They moved to the counter, where a man awaited them. He wore sharp spectacles, a crisp suit, and sported an obnoxiously curled and gleaming mustache.
“…How may I help you today… skeleton?” the clerk asked, his voice tinged with uncertainty, unsure if he should even be addressing Pell.
Pell didn’t seem to notice the hesitation. “Name's Pell. I came by earlier to see an appraiser for some dungeon loot. I just wanted to check if he’s available now.”
The clerk’s eyes flicked to the clipboard beneath the counter, flipping through the pages. “Ah, yes. I was notified this morning that… a unique individual had come by requesting Braxis’s services.” He found the right page and looked up. “Mr. Pell, yes? Mr. Braxis is available now. Would you like me to arrange a room?”
“Yes, please. I’ve got quite a few artifacts to appraise. I left everything in my locker here and need to grab it.”
“Of course. One moment.” The clerk turned, heading into the back room. A few seconds later, he returned with a key, sliding it forward across the counter. “Here you go, Mr. Pell. Mr. Braxis will meet you on the second floor in room B.”
“Thank you…” Pell trailed off, trying to get the clerk’s name.
“Oh! I apologize. My name is Sir Muhstsh.”
“Mustasche?” Enya chirped from below the counter.
The man’s forehead twitched. “No. Not Mustache. Muhstsh.”
“I see…” Pell said slowly, his words trailing off as he grabbed the key. With a quick motion, he took Enya’s arm and guided her away.
“He has a funny mustache,” Enya said as they walked.
“That thing’s not a mustache. It’s an abomination,” Pell replied.
They arrived in a small, cozy room lit by a warm fireplace. Pell and Enya both took a seat on one of two plush sofas. Between them sat a small table with two freshly brewed cups of coffee. The only issue? Pell couldn’t drink anything anymore, and Enya didn’t like the bitter black coffee one bit, describing it as “too bleh.”
Spread neatly across the table was their loot from the dungeon: an amulet, a crystal-shaped container, a black bone key, a black lantern, and a dark cloak. Pell also had the small rounded bracelet he'd held onto for so long. He hadn’t had the gold to afford an appraiser before, but now, with all these items, surely he could bargain for a good price. There was no way all this stuff would add up to less than five gold.
The sound of footsteps broke the silence, and the door clicked open. A man entered, looking nothing like an appraiser. His shirt was ragged with a hole or two, and one pant leg was rolled up higher than the other. His hair was neat, but his overall appearance screamed "bum."
“Hello,” he said in a monotone voice. “I am Mr. Braxis. I will be your appraiser today.”
Pell’s mind immediately screamed, What the hell?