By noon the next day, sunlight over Braskir had turned bright and honest. From the balcony outside their rented Guild room, Dain lounged in a chair that was far too soft to be called comfortable. He made it work anyways, boots hooked on the railing, wingcloak draped over his lap like an oversized, sulky cat. His owl construct perched on his shoulder, watching the street below as minecarts rumbled past and miners shouted to one another in the lanes.

  There was a debt he needed to repay, and that was giving his relics the attention they’d been starved of the past week while he was unconscious. He stroked the feathers of both his wingcloak and his owl absentmindedly as he looked out at the town, and he wondered, for a brief second, if he should give them names already.

  … Nah.

  I’ll give them names once there’s so many of them that I can’t keep track of them.

  Beside him lounged Anisa and Yasmin, similarly relaxed upon their soft reclined chairs, though he didn’t pay them as much mind as he did the sack of magic materials by his feet. The upside of having a stampede barrel into the northern walls was the surge of magic materials in the markets for the next few weeks. With the payment of fifteen thousand curons he’d received from joining the voluntary investigation request, he’d gone out yesterday and bought as much galehorn ram horns, cyclone ibex hooves, and silthide bison pelts as he could reasonably buy. He’d wanted to buy a few slabs of magic beast meat to turn into Cursed Manabrew Potions as well, but it was probably for the best that he didn’t. A few more days to detoxify the accumulated mana core sickness was the safer play, even if he was already on his eighth week on the road and he hadn’t had his eighth potion yet.

  Since he didn’t end up buying any magic beast, he’d bought himself, with his remaining money, a new pair of shoes and a set of more form-fitting black clothes—which were warm enough that he could discard his coat and purely rely on his wingcloak, probably even through the winter months—as well as a new glove for his left hand. He’d already burned his left arm overusing his firelight oreblade against Stonewraith, and it was still blistering slightly under the layers of bandages, so he hoped the glove would help him absorb some of the heat for the time being.

  Once I get to Karatash, I’ll need to get a proper cooling relic. I can’t ignore the firelight oreblade’s cursed effect anymore if I’m going to be upgrading it more and more.

  And he had to keep upgrading it. After all, Stonewraith had a week-long head start on him to Karatash, and though Anisa had chartered for him the fastest possible ride to the capital—which would take him around four to five days instead of the usual eleven—he was still going to be slightly late to the party. He’d need all the additional firepower he could get before arriving there.

  Assuming she’s going there on foot, though, it means we’ll both reach Karatash at around the same time.

  With any luck, Anisa and Yasmin will also reach their peace summit at the same time.

  Now they were all just waiting for their respective carriages to roll into town. The western and eastern gates opened to traveling caravans three times a day: eight in the morning, midday, and six in the evening. Their rides were coming in at noon, so for the time being…

  His owl ruffled its feathers, then nudged its beak into Dain’s hair again in a proprietary little gesture.

  “Yes, yes,” he mumbled. “You’re here. I’m here. We’re all here. Try not to look so pleased about it.”

  The owl screeched softly, which was as close as it ever came to laughing. Anisa watched their exchange with a curious look. Then her eyes moved from his owl to his wingcloak, and then to his face.

  “How do you do it?” she asked idly.

  He glanced at her. “What do you mean?”

  “Every time I look away, you seem… stronger. And you also have more relics. Yet you have not been carrying your Altar with you since Granamere, and you have never once visited the local Curator Churches.” She tilted her head. “Where, exactly, are you getting your peculiar relics from?”

  Dain looked at her. He listened to the clatter and clamor of Braskir. Their room was on the highest floor of the Guild, which was already a large building to begin with, so nobody was looking up at them. Here, on this balcony, the three of them had the whole world to themselves.

  So he exhaled through his nose and brought his hands together in a soft clap.

  Space folded. A swirling portal tore open behind his chair with a deep reddish-purple light, and before either girl noticed it, four pale arms slid out of it and wrapped around his shoulders gently.

  Anisa startled so hard her chair scraped. Yasmin was already half-standing, one hand snapping to her swordstaff, lips drawing back as if a curse were queued behind her teeth. Dain, meanwhile, leaned back just enough to peer over his shoulder.

  “Hey, Great Belara,” he said mildly. “Long time no see. How’ve you been?”

  One of her pale hands poked his cheek furiously, while another patted his head like she’d missed doing so the past week.

  He smiled a little. “Sorry for dying. But in my defense, I really, really didn’t plan on doing so. Look on the bright side, though—I brought you more offerings. You want them?”

  As the four pale hands waved him off—an impatient, almost offended little motion—Dain took that as a ‘yes’. He reached up, twisted the release at his shoulder, and detached his prosthetic arm before offering it forward.

  “First things first: can you separate the Bloodlight Eye from the palm?” he asked mildly. “Against Stonewraith, trying to track her with my prosthetic is going to be a nightmare. By the time I even think about using the Bloodlight Eye on her, she’s going to be gone, so I’d like it if you could take it out and slot it into my left eye socket directly. That way, I can activate it as long as I have a line of sight on my target.”

  To sweeten the deal, he produced a small pouch of fractured quartz crystals he’d bought from the materials store yesterday.

  “As for the side offerings, you’ve already seen these fractured quartz crystals before,” he said. “They boost the efficacy of Cognitum-Class relics. I’m aware my Bloodlight Eye isn’t a Cognitum-Class relic, but considering its terrifying effects, this side offering should be enough to warrant an upgrade. Could you please strengthen the relic for me, Great Belara?”

  The hands exchanged a brief, silent gesture between themselves. Then they nodded. They took the pouch and prosthetic arm from him with surprising care while another pair of hands moved swiftly, fingers digging into the prosthetic palm. The amethyst Bloodlight Eye was wrenched free with a brutal squelch, and he didn’t flinch outwardly, but his stomach still twisted at the phantom sensation of what that would’ve felt like if the prosthetic were still attached to him.

  Glad I didn’t ask her to take it out before taking off my prosthetic.

  Before the four hands could disappear inside the portal, though, he lifted the heavy sack of materials by his chair and nudged it forward.

  “Also, these are ten galehorn ram horns, thirteen cyclone ibex hooves, and two full silthide bison pelts, wrapped at the bottom,” he said. One of the pale hands quickly opened the sack, rifling through the contents. “Galehorn rams and cyclone ibexes are known to generate localized wind spirals around their special horns and hooves, and they use the wind for intimidation, balance, and battle. Meanwhile, silthide bison pelts resist wind shear naturally, which allows them to live pretty high up in the mountains without fear of getting picked up by strong winds. These are all strong wind-type materials between Common-6 to Common-7, totalling fifteen thousand curons in price, so… I’m thinking maybe you can upgrade my prosthetic for me again?”

  The hands didn’t have to think about this one. They simply dragged both the prosthetic and the sack into the reddish-purple portal, and now, silence settled over the balcony.

  Just for good measure, he looked around to double-check if anybody—anybody—could even catch a glimpse of the portal.

  “... I cannot believe it,” Anisa whispered. “How are you doing that? Is this your title ability? And who is that god? I read everything I could about relics while you were unconscious, and I have learned that the Seven Curator Gods each have their own distinctly colored portals and hands. None of them have reddish-purple portals. None of them have pale hands. Just who—”

  “I don’t know,” he said truthfully, sighing slowly as he reclined back into his chair. “She’s nobody anyone has ever been taught or told about, but she’s been helping me out since Corvalenne, so I owe her my life. I try not to pry too much.”

  Before Anisa could press further, Belara’s hands emerged with his prosthetic arm and a small, delicate lens pinched between two fingers.

  His prosthetic looked slightly different now. The black metal plates, which were previously etched with a feathery pattern, were now etched with additional spiralling horn-like patterns, making it look even more wicked than before.

  This novel's true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.

  ***

  Name: Windscar Prosthetic Arm

  Type: Active Elementum-Class Cursed Relic, Uncommon-0

  Attribute Addition: +3 Might, +2 Resilience

  Ability Description: When mana is channeled into the prosthetic, the holder can continuously swirl wind around the prosthetic to create barriers, small cyclones, or release bursts of wind. The cost of each activation is at least 2 mana, and the more mana channeled into the prosthetic, the stronger the wind. The prosthetic has slight frost resistance, and if damaged, the prosthetic will slowly regenerate over time.

  However, use of this prosthetic will also draw breaths from the holder's lungs, making them more and more light-headed and nauseous with extended use.

  ***

  He couldn’t resist a grin as he read the Tag.

  The mana cost for each activation has doubled, but… now I can just swirl wind in general?

  I bet I can do more than just make wind barriers and cyclones and shoot windspheres with it now.

  The second relic was the Bloodlight Eye pinched between Belara’s fingers. It was upgraded alright—it no longer resembled an amethyst gem, but rather a prosthetic amethyst eye.

  ***

  Name: Fearlight Eye

  Type: Passive Cognitum-Class Cursed Relic, Common-6

  Attribute Addition: +3 Clarity

  Ability Description: The holder can see better in the dark at will. The eye can also terrify anything staring at it, but is less effective against stronger beings. This does not work on anything that is more than five grades higher than this relic. The passive drain is 0.2 mana regeneration per hour.

  However, the eye must be embedded into the holder’s body, and the surrounding area will become pale, cold, and numb to sensation.

  ***

  Apart from its name class change from Trinket-Class to Cognitum-Class, his ‘Fearlight Eye’ also no longer shone in the dark. Instead, it’d be giving him simple night vision while giving him two additional levels in clarity for no increase in passive mana drain. That was a pure win.

  Excited, he accepted both relics from Belara without ceremony.

  He reattached his prosthetic first, his jaw tightening as the nerves reconnected with a sharp surge of pain that faded just as quickly, and then he carefully pressed the Fearlight Eye into his empty left eye socket.

  It didn’t hurt. The cursed effect numbed the pain… though he did blink a few times as the left half of his vision suddenly returned.

  He didn’t realize how much he’d been missing out on until he got his left eye back.

  ***

  Name: Dain Sorowyn

  Grade: Uncommon-0

  Cursed Title: Collector

  Title Ability: Eye of Belara

  Acquired Skills: None

  Might: 14 (+6)

  Swiftness: 13 (+3)

  Resilience: 12 (+2)

  Clarity: 25 (+3)

  Mana: 100/100 (+1.4/hr)

  Relics: Windscar Prosthetic Arm (Uncommon-0), Fearlight Eye (Common-6), Firelight Oreblade Cane (Common-9), Silverplume Wingcloak (Common-6), Void Archivist’s Pouch (Uncommon-2), 2x Darkmind Key (Common-9), Silverplume Owl Construct & Mask (Common-9)

  ***

  He turned to look up at Anisa and Yasmin. “Well? How does it look?”

  Both girls blinked.

  “It’s… unsettling,” Yasmin murmured, unable to stop herself from frowning. “Now it’s like you have three eyes.”

  “Is it scary?”

  “I wouldn’t want to talk to you if I saw you on the street.”

  He chuckled. “Then it’s doing its job.”

  Belara’s hands withdrew the moment Dain gave them a small, satisfied nod, and the reddish-purple portal folded in on itself like a closing eyelid.

  But Yasmin’s stare still remained pinned to the empty space behind his chair.

  “... So that’s how you do it,” she breathed. “You can open a portal to that Curator God anywhere, anytime you want. You alone have the ability to become more powerful than… anyone else in the world.”

  “I need that power,” he muttered, patting his owl’s head again. “If I’m going to be intercepting Stonewraith again, I can’t lose. Not this time. I need more relics to beat…”

  He trailed off for a moment as he remembered something.

  “Ironshade Corps,” he whispered.

  Anisa’s posture straightened a fraction. “Excuse me?”

  “Ironshade Corps,” he repeated. “When I was unconscious, I saw bits and pieces of Stonewraith’s memories. I’m still far from understanding how she got to where she is today, but… decades ago, she was part of the ‘Ironshade Corps’ during the Black Exhibit War. Does that ring a bell to either of you?”

  “Are you certain she was part of the Ironshade Corps?” Anisa asked carefully.

  He nodded. “She had a silver medallion shaped like a hand clutching a dagger. I saw the same medallion in Corvalenne when I briefly met her.”

  Anisa’s gaze went distant for a heartbeat, then returned with a scowl that looked too old for her face. Dain knew she knew something right there and then.

  “It rings a bell,” he said.

  “It rings an entire bell tower,” Yasmin murmured.

  “During the Black Exhibit War, the Ironshade Corps was… a knife Obric kept under its tongue,” Anisa said quietly, looking around as though she were worried someone might be listening in on them. “Simply put, they were Obric’s most covert assassins, trained in all manners of subterfuge and sabotage. And not only against Auraline. They were sent out to deal with Obric’s enemies across the world—Xuesi traders, foreign Guild scouts, dissenting lords, and anyone else who threatened Obric’s independence.”

  Dain narrowed his eye. “And what did they do, exactly?”

  “I do not know. I was not taught. The Ironshade Corps are not the sort of thing you teach a princess meant to smile at envoys and recite treaties,” she said plainly. “I imagine even my elder sister does not know the full breadth of their operations during the war, and she is the one meant to inherit the country once father passes. After all, the Ironshade Corps was quickly disbanded after the war ended. Their operations were never acknowledged by the crowns. They never received banners or recognition or rewards or… funerals. All I know is that my father struck their names from all known records and ledgers as though they had never existed.”

  “... He erased them.”

  “He had to,” she said sternly. “Whatever they did in the shadows of war can never be publicized without ruining the reputation Obric has worked painstakingly to build up. If the Ironshade Corps could become a rumor, and then a myth, and then nothing… so be it. I know nothing more than the shadow of what these shadows used to be.”

  Real shadows, huh?

  At first, he wondered what that might feel like—to have everything he worked for, fought for, and sacrificed for be struck from every known record and account—but then he realized it wasn’t much different from his current situation.

  According to the rest of the world, everyone in Corvalenne died a month ago, and the one-eyed were making sure that was the case.

  “... And if Stonewraith was one of them, then it explains why she was so… proficient,” Anisa added quietly. “The Ironshade Corps assassins were elites of the elites during the war, given all types of relics that were never documented in official recipe books. Please, do not beat yourself up over being unable to defeat her.”

  “Being defeated is one thing, but being defeated so soundly is another thing entirely,” he muttered. “You’d love to have your Amulet of the Stoneheart Dragon with you now, right?”

  A small smile bloomed on her lips. “Well, I suppose I have finally repaid you for saving me on multiple occasions. A life for a life is a debt repaid, is it not?”

  He breathed out a short laugh. “Fine. I’ll count it as cleared.”

  The deep midday bell rang then, carried by the wind across Braskir’s rooftops. Below them, the far western and eastern gates groaned open as caravans and carriages began to file in, all sorts of dusty wagons, armored escorts, and banners snapping in the wind. Somewhere among them were two paths diverging.

  “Well,” he said, slapping his knees as he began to rise. “Our rides should be here. I suppose that’s our cue to—”

  Before he could stand, Anisa grabbed his sleeve and held him down. With her other hand, she reached up and pulled out the silver hairpins from her hair.

  “What are you…” he began, then stopped as she pulled him closer and started weaving the hairpins on his collar.

  He knew better than to interrupt her when her eyes were this focused.

  “... I grew up moving from fortress to fortress,” she began. “I was always watched by a small army. I had mentors from all walks of life teaching me how to be a good princess. There is an Obric saying that a crown is only iron until the people give it weight, so every step of my life has been measured for me before I even knew where I wanted to go… and learning how to adventure is nowhere close to the many skills a princess is meant to be taught. I had never seen Obric outside of my books, and I had never dreamt of my own stars. What is something I want to do? What is a dream only I can make true?”

  She met his eye, and her gaze softened.

  “It might be horrible of me to say to a survivor like you, but Corvalenne’s destruction gave me the excuse—and the courage—to run away for the very first time,” she whispered. “My plan to investigate Corvalenne’s destruction was childish. It was arrogant. It was foolish. But in that foolishness, I stumbled onto the one man in this world who allowed me to live like an adventurer for a month, and that, perhaps, is the most definitive proof that ‘fate’ exists in this world.”

  Dain remained silent as she finished arranging her hairpins into the shape of a silver flower, pinned onto his collar.

  He recognized this flower, but he wasn’t sure if Anisa did.

  A starfall bloom, huh?

  The perennial flower that only blooms for a few minutes every few years when a falling star arcs across the sky and leaves a trail of stardust in its wake.

  With that, Anisa stood up, followed by Yasmin, and both of them bowed at the same time.

  “You are not the lucky man for having met me, Dain Sorowyn. I am,” Anisa said, head lowered. “Thank you for indulging my adventuring fantasies these past two months, but all men have their parts only they can play. It is time I return to being the Second Princess of Obric again.”

  Then she lifted her head and winked at him, making his heart skip a beat.

  “Keep my pins,” she said. “When this is all over, you will return them to me, and… maybe I can give you a proper tour of the Grand Karatash Fortress?”

  … You’re the lucky one, huh?

  In response, he stood up as well and dipped his head.

  “I’ll hold you to that, then,” he said.

  The faintest smile quirked Anisa’s lips before she turned to go, picking up her satchel and heading for the front door, but Dain wasn’t quite done with the two of them yet.

  More specifically, he wasn’t quite done with Yasmin.

  “What about you?” he asked, and Yasmin lingered, glancing over her shoulder. “What’s your dream, steward? What do you want to do when all of this is over?”

  She considered him for a long, long moment—and then, after checking to ensure her lady wasn’t looking, she turned and stuck her tongue out at him.

  “Wouldn’t you like to know, merchant?” she said.

  And so the two girls left the room, leaving him alone on the balcony, wind tugging at his coat.

  He pinched the silver flower brooch on his collar idly before looking east, towards Karatash.

  For some reason, he didn’t snort in amusement until long after the steward had gone.

  Alright, then. Keep your secrets.

  Time to go.