The cemetery, Village of Engel
The 15th Vulcarian day, year 2025
On a small mound at the northern edge of the village, fresh graves had been dug in the cemetery. From there, Adrian could see the sunset bathing the wooden houses in a golden glow, while the shadows of the orchards stretched across the horizon.
Most of those present wore white, a symbol of mourning and respect, while the dead were covered in black robes. Among them, five had peach seeds placed over their eyes and small agricultural spades in their hands; another, held a large glossy marble between his hands – reminders of their connection to the earth. The last two wore polished metal masks, their reflections flickering in the evening light; each carried a small sheathed knife – one resembling a kitchen blade, the other reminding Adrian of a chisel.
Priest Hugo spoke of passage and rebirth, of gods and traditions that, for some, offered comfort, while for others, were nothing more than empty words amid their pain. The same woman he had seen with her children that morning clutched the arm of her eldest son, her gaze fixed on the grave before her. Her eyes were dry and dull – she had already shed all the tears she had. Beside her, a younger woman sobbed softly, her face buried against a brother’s shoulder. An angry teen bit her lips to hold back her tears, but her hands trembled, clenched into fists at her sides.
Adrian tried to focus on Hugo’s words, but while the sounds reached his ears, they did not settle in his mind. The grief surrounding him was widespread, and he couldn’t shake the feeling of guilt. According to the system notifications, he was already responsible for the deaths of 21 people, even if he hadn’t delivered the final blow to all of them. Adding the eight lives being mourned in this ceremony – those he had failed to protect – and the five still under Wakina’s intense care, Adrian knew he was directly tied to the ruin of many on this day.
Perhaps it wasn’t fair to blame himself; he hadn’t asked to be sent here. Yet that didn’t change the fact that he was here, and that his actions – or lack thereof – had led to this. It could have been worse. Much worse. But it could also have been better.
The prayers grew more intense, pulling Adrian from his thoughts. At Hugo’s command – a command that sent shivers down the spines of all present – the souls began to rise from their bodies. Wrapped in a thin, shimmering membrane, they ascended slowly, glowing in the fading light of day. Gasps rippled through the crowd as people clutched one another’s hands. Children cried out in fear and Adrian spotted Luanda with her family, holding a child in her arms, murmuring questions too softly for him to hear. Hugo’s voice carried on, guiding the souls and soothing the uncertainties of the living.
From the priest chanting and weight of the moment, it was possible to grasp the unspoken fear: if a soul was not guided to the beyond, its body could rise again in a corrupted existence – as an undead. Though most bodies never stirred again, no one wanted to risk seeing a loved one return as an aberration trapped between life and death.
When the last glow faded, as if passing into another dimension, Hugo concluded the ritual, leaving only the sound of children’s cries and the quiet sobs of mourning mothers. Then, without the need for further instructions, people began to cover the graves with earth. There was no magic for this task – only ordinary shovels and calloused hands.
The metallic rhythm of spades, the deep rumble of soil falling onto coffins, and the weeping of the bereaved mingled like a somber funeral orchestra – a sorrowful percussion beneath a chorus of grief. For some, this marked the final farewell, the moment they accepted the permanent uncertainty of life. For others, it was just another step in the slow, stumbling march forward.
Gradually, the crowd began to disperse. Some mothers led their children home, whispering promises that everything would be all right. A larger group made their way to the tavern.
The guardhouse, Village of Engel
The 15th Vulcarian day, year 2025
The evening air was warm, the sky clear, and the last light of the sun cast the mountain range in an ominous silhouette. Adrian felt exhausted. The day had been demanding, and using Overload had especially taxed his body. He didn’t feel like socializing, and he had already eaten at Engel’s house; however, he had promised Marshal Justin that they would meet and talk, so he set out to find him. Exhaling deeply, he started to walk back into the village of Engel.
The village streets grew darker by the minute, but most locals knew them like the back of their hand and didn’t bother with lights. With other plans in mind, Adrian turned down a few invitations to walk with them to the tavern and pulled a lantern from his inventory. He studied the magical item in his hand. He’d already examined several – Aurora, his Survivor Set, the map of Granada, and other uncommon pieces from his “birthday gift”. Some relied on runes, others on magical materials or enchantments. This one used a glyph.
He would need to study or learn from others to fully grasp the differences between those categories; still, he could discern a few distinctions simply by using Analysis. Most of his Survivor Set, for example, had light-absorbing enchantments, the only exceptions being the armor and the cloak, which were made from magical materials, likely extracted from monsters. In the enchanted items, the only difference was the addition of a State after the description. The apparent redundancy of information – Condition and State – led him to conclude that one referred to the condition of the item, while the other described the state of the enchantment. The magical effect of items crafted from magical materials, on the other hand, seemed to be directly tied to the condition of the item.
Although these conclusions were merely speculations, Adrian felt confident in them. What was more confusing, however, was the difference between Runes and Glyphs.
Aurora, the Divine Sword – Runes (7/7)
Rarity: Mythical
Condition: Excellent
Price: Not Applicable
Description: Crafted by Vulcarius at the flames of Olympus itself, this sword carries the essence of all the gods of Ertar. Whoever wields it will experience the perfection of combat and make full use of their attributes.
Its blade, forged of pure Adamantium with a Sunsteel core, possesses an ultimate resilience. Adamantium grants it unyielding durability and sharpness, while Sunsteel radiates an undying light, serving as the weapon’s ceaseless source of power.
The guard, a masterwork of the legendary alloy Divine Tracery, is crafted predominantly from Aurichalcum. Not merely ornamental, its intricate design facilitates the flow of mana towards the blade while acting as a conduit of light energy towards the runes.
The hilt, sculpted from the bone of a celestial dragon, stands as the spine of the sword’s magic, etched with ancient runes that breathe power into its form. Encasing it is a covering of Aether-Silk, woven from the hair of a young angel – softer than any earthly fabric, yet near indestructible and ever pristine.
At the sword’s base, the Dawnstone pommel mirrors its twins embedded in the scabbard, forming a bond unbreakable by distance. These stones act as both anchor and key – when separated, they awaken the blade’s dormant runes, igniting its divine power. The scabbard, formed from a celestial dragon scales, is adorned with Aurichalcum, exuding both majesty and resilience befitting the weapon it guards.
Aurora is not merely a sword; it is a covenant between gods and mortals, a radiant testament to the harmony of power and grace, of destruction and divinity.
Rune of Maximal Strength – Luxor Anathor Magniv-Fortyum
(Sigil of Light; Sigil of Binding; Sigil of Max-Strength)
Description: Allows the user to channel Bellator-mastery of Strength.
State: Cabal
Rune of Maximal Dexterity – Luxor Anathor Magniv-Agilitheas
(Sigil of Light; Sigil of Binding; Sigil of Max-Dexterity)
Description: Allows the user to channel Vulcarius-mastery of Dexterity.
State: Cabal
Rune of Maximal Endurance – Luxor Anathor Magniv-Vigoris
(Sigil of Light; Sigil of Binding; Sigil of Max-Endurance)
Description: Allows the user to channel Thalos-mastery of Endurance.
State: Cabal
Rune of Maximal Intelligence – Luxor Anathor Magniv-Sapientia
(Sigil of Light; Sigil of Binding; Sigil of Max-Intelligence)
Description: Allows the user to channel Sylvanor-mastery of Intelligence.
State: Cabal
Rune of Maximal Perception – Luxor Anathor Magniv-Percipere
(Sigil of Light; Sigil of Binding; Sigil of Max-Perception)
Description: Allows the user to channel Fenrir-mastery of Perception.
State: Cabal
Rune of Maximal Magic – Luxor Anathor Magniv-Arcanum
(Sigil of Light; Sigil of Binding; Sigil of Max-Magic)
Description: Allows the user to channel Mentarus-mastery of Magic.
State: Cabal
Divine Rune of Combat – Luxor Anathor Evolvir Archos-Mars Dominis-Gladii
(Sigil of Light; Sigil of Binding; Sigil of War Mastery, Sigil of Blade Mastery)
Description: Overwrites the user’s readings of combat with that of Bellator.
Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.
State: Cabal
Lantern of Light – Glyphs of Dimming-Light
Rarity: Common
Condition: Excellent
Price: 4 Liras, 8 Cinaras
Description: A barebones camping lantern featuring a Glowstone. The embedded Glyph allows adjustment of the light intensity.
Capacity: 99%
State: Cabal
The lantern had a round dimmer that worked exactly as the glyph described, but it was otherwise an ordinary item. The idea that the difference between Runes and Glyphs was simply a matter of power didn’t seem right. Additionally, why not simply use enchantments for everything? Was there any advantage to using Glyphs or Runes? These questions lingered in Adrian’s mind.
After a good fifteen minutes of walking, he arrived at his destination, pushing aside the scattered thoughts about runes and glyphs. Two soldiers Adrian didn’t recognize, Aster and Yan, were on watch duty at the Guard Tower. As he entered the Guard House to check on Will and Rita, Oslow, who was guarding the prisoner cells, immediately dropped to one knee.
“There’s no need for that. Like I said, I’m not even from this country,” Adrian said, brushing off the display. Without waiting for a reply, he continued, “How are their wounds? Have they been treated?”
“The man’s bleeding has been controlled with fresh bandages, my lord, but he hasn’t received specialized treatment,” Oslow reported, rising to his feet but still bowing slightly, maintaining a degree of formality and respect.
“And what about her wounds? I couldn’t help but notice she had several as well.”
“They appear to be old injuries, my lord. She refused treatment, and we didn’t force it on her,” Oslow explained.
With several men under intensive care by Wakina and many others nursing smaller wounds in the village, Adrian wouldn’t dare pull away their resources for the benefit of prisoners. Still, leaving two injured people in his custody without treatment unsettled him. He considered using Phoenix Embrace, his magic skill, but dismissed the thought. There were others who would immediately benefit from it, and rationally, they had priority. He simply accepted the uncomfortable reality.
“Have you finished the interrogation?” Adrian asked.
“Yes, my lord. But you’ll have to obtain that information directly from Marshal Justin. It’s classified, and I’m not authorized to disclose it,” Oslow said, sounding almost regretful.
Adrian turned to the prisoners. Will lay asleep on one side of the cell, while Rita sat awake, observing. She was perched on a clean blanket spread over the floor, but she still wore long clothes that clung to her body with splotches of blood.
Rita’s body ached from the reopened wounds and lying on her back would only cause the fabric of her clothes to stick to her blood – so sitting was the lesser discomfort. She usually spent most of her earnings on pomades and healing balms, but the last of them had run out long ago. Her stomach was empty, yet hunger eluded her – only nausea remained.
The interrogation had already taken place, and to her relief, neither she nor Will had been harmed, even after refusing to answer questions about the RBL. That was likely due to Adrian’s earlier request. The Marshal, anyhow, had seemed far more interested in the Monster situation than the bandits, and those questions, they had no reason to withhold.
When her captor entered the room, a chill ran down her spine. He was cold and calculating, always firm, always following through with his orders. She couldn’t read anything from him – because she lacked the most crucial piece of understanding: what did he want?
Unconsciously, she pressed herself against the wall, instinctively trying to put as much distance between them as possible.
Most men couldn’t hold her stare – not because they were afraid of her, but because of something else entirely. They looked at her with revulsion. Two reasons explained this. The first was obvious: her disfigured face. But in truth, plenty of men had the stomach to tolerate something so simple as scars. The second reason, the real one, was her competence Hollow Presence; tied to the achievement she earned on the miserable day she lost her father; a critical moment in her life when she decided to endure and survive no matter what.
Achievement - Burned Hollow
The flames took more than your flesh – they carved a wound into your soul. Pain is a familiar companion, but you endure it with unnatural resilience, even as your scars remain indefinitely. These marks are a testament to suffering turned to permanence, and those who look upon you do not see mere disfigurement, but something unsettling. Something hollow. Fear, disgust, and unease cling to you like a shadow, inescapable. Not even a father’s love could suppress this feeling. Only those strong enough to peer into the darkness can see your true self.
Competence – Unyielding Flesh
Your pain tolerance is vastly increased. You can keep fighting when others would yield and keep moving when others would fall. However, your wounds can never close naturally.
Competence – Hollow Presence
You radiate an aura of unease that makes people instinctively recoil and avoid your presence.
Adrian, however, terrified her – for the exact opposite reason. He didn’t flinch when looking at her. His gaze was unreadable, his expression indifferent. The only emotion she thought she had glimpsed in his eyes was pity. ‘That’s absurd… I must have imagined it. No one looks at me like that,’ she reasoned in her mind. ‘He hasn’t killed me yet. That means something… but what? He doesn’t seem the type to hesitate. He’s not gloating. Not playing the hero. So what the hell does he want?’
Adrian looked at Rita, who returned his gaze – defiance in her eyes, but fear beneath it.
“You know, I don’t know you or your history, but I just came from the wake of several innocent people you and your kin killed. You brought misery to an entire village and here I am, second-guessing your deserved punishment, death. What am I to do with you?” Adrian said, his voice measured, trying to suppress the rage that threatened to rise with each word, his conflicting emotions warring within him.
Rita hadn’t expected this. Not from him. Sentimental? That didn’t match the coldness in his eyes. She hesitated.
“You’re right – you don’t know me,” she tried to bark, but her voice barely rose above a whisper. Ashamed, she turned her gaze away.
Adrian turned to the guard and asked for more information about the prisoners, trying to keep his composure. He regretted coming the moment he laid eyes on the sleeping thief – visiting the bandit prisoners right after the wake ceremony hadn’t been the wisest choice. Just before leaving, he managed to say, “Please, Private Oslow, keep them fed and hydrated. I’ll be back in the morning.” As he addressed the man by name, he noticed Oslow puffing out his chest with pride before responding, “Yes, Your Grace,” and giving a deep bow.
Adrian simply ignored the theatrics. He was already being honest – he didn’t feel the need to correct others at each step. They could decide for themselves how to treat him. With that, it was time to meet with Justin, who, according to Oslow, should also be at the tavern to meet with Engel.
Merogy’s Tavern sat at the easternmost edge of the village, right by the entrance road – an ideal location to greet travelers. Adrian had expected a typical fantasy tavern: a sturdy bar at the back, rows of wooden tables filled with rowdy drinkers, and perhaps a few rooms for guests upstairs.
What he found was nothing of the sort. Merogy’s home resembled any other in the village, but instead of orchards, vegetable gardens, or a chicken coop, it was surrounded by a well-kept lawn, offering space for wagons and makeshift camps. A pair of outhouses stood apart, serving as restrooms, and inside, rather than a proper tavern hall, there was only an oversized kitchen with a large hearth and three long tables.
“Lord Adrian, welcome,” Merogy greeted him in a high-pitched voice, recognizing him from the gossip of the previous night. “Please, sit wherever you like.”
“Good evening, ma’am. A pleasure to meet you,” Adrian replied, scanning the room for Justin. He wanted to get this over with and go rest. He took a seat across from the Marshal – one that wasn’t truly unoccupied, but had been cleared for him as others moved aside.
The Marshal gave a formal salute. “Your Grace, I hope you are well.”
“Marshal, it’s good to see you again. I must reiterate that I’m neither a noble nor from Granada. Just Adrian is fine.” He exhaled through his nose, leaning back slightly.
Justin hesitated, his expression unreadable, but said nothing. To avoid an awkward silence, Adrian greeted those he knew – Engel, Wakina, Hugo, and James. Their conversation quickly became livelier, filled with small talk about the food and the expectation of more rain after a dry and hot summer week.
Tommy approached Adrian personally to express his gratitude and invited him to his workshop the next day to discuss a form of repayment. Adrian politely refused any payment but accepted the invitation. The moment carried no real awkwardness – he didn’t feel guilty, let alone regretful, about what had happened with Luanda. On the contrary, he was open to more chances to be with her. In Adrian’s view, matters of fidelity were for the couple to resolve; they had nothing to do with him. As Tommy returned to his table, Adrian took note of the lively atmosphere among the villagers.
Between several sips of ale, the villagers reminisced about past adventures and misadventures – stories marked by both tragedy and humor – celebrating those who had passed. To Adrian, it seemed both absurd and amusing, as if the dead were being publicly disrespected. Yet, there was no secrecy in the practice; the tales were shared openly, as though making fun of the deceased was their way of coping with loss – an accepted part of their culture.
Each pint of artisanal ale, brewed by Merogy’s husband, cost only four Quintas. The drink had a nutty, caramel scent with a faint sharpness from the hops – unfiltered and slightly cloudy, it clung to the sides of the mug with a creamy persistence. Adrian had learned the local coin system worked in multiples of five: five Quintas made a Penny, five Cinaras a Quinta, and so on – climbing through Lira, Aura, and finally Vedra, the most valuable coin. With five Vedras and five Liras from the time of his transmigration, Adrian felt no guilt in indulging a little.
Not accustomed to alcohol, he found its warmth loosening his tongue and sharpening his confidence. The buzz hummed behind his eyes and in his chest as he said, “I’m sorry to bring this up so soon, but I think we have important matters to discuss. Maybe we should take a walk – somewhere more private.”
To his surprise, everyone agreed at once, as if waiting for someone to say it first.
Adrian, Justin, Engel, and James stepped outside into the cool night. They made their way across the well-kept lawn, past low hedges yellowing from lack of rain and fire-lit lamps that flickered as they burned the insects drawn to their glow. A faint breeze stirred the leaves, carrying the mingled scents of woodsmoke and rosemary from the nearby herb beds.
They reached a secluded lounge surrounded by waist-high vines of flowering red roses. Four broad, cushioned chairs were arranged in a loose circle around a sunken stone hearth, where slow-burning logs crackled and sent up fragrant curls of pine smoke. Small side tables held half-melted candles, where they could rest their half-empty mugs of ale. The fire cast shifting shadows on the stonework and bathed their faces in a quiet orange glow.
Everyone waited for Adrian to choose his seat, and the boy simply stared at them for a moment, confused by the unspoken expectations. ‘This is so tiring,’ he complained silently, frustrated by his lack of etiquette and, worse, by how stubbornly these people refused to believe he was no one special. And yet, as he lowered himself into the chair, they followed in silence – as if the seat had been his all along.
