Alya followed without a word. We walked to my bedroll towards the edge of the clearing, far enough that the noise of the camp became a dull murmur. I lowered myself onto it and gestured for her to sit.

  Up close, without the adrenaline of battle lighting her eyes, she looked… tired. Not weak. Just burnt at the edges, like a blade heated too many times and cooled incorrectly.

  “Thank you,” I said. “For backing me up out there.”

  She raised a brow. “Someone had to.”

  “Are you sure you want to come with me?” I asked. “It’s not going to be clean. Or easy. Or safe.”

  Her jaw clenched, not from fear, but frustration. “I can’t just stay still when we are in this position. Especially after what happened yesterday, I want the means to defend myself.” Her voice shook, not from weakness, but from tightly packed fury. “I chose Fighter even though my entire life I’ve worked behind a desk managing AI development teams. I don’t have any real-world combat experience, but I will fight. I refuse to be that helpless again.”

  I held her gaze and let a small smile tug at my lips. “I’m glad to have you watching my back.”

  Her expression softened. She looked directly into my eyes, something unguarded flickering there.

  Then she asked, quietly:

  “Why did you save me?”

  I inhaled to answer, but she cut me off.

  “And why do you want to fight the leader alone? Don’t bullshit me with the story you told Tom and the others. I want the real answer.”

  I stopped.

  For a moment, I actually hesitated.

  Why did I feel like I could trust her? There was something wrong with this whole thing since the beginning. Alya was still a stranger. Violent, traumatised, unpredictable. But something about her, maybe the honesty of her anger, maybe her refusal to flinch from ugly truths, made lying feel pointless. Counterproductive.

  And she was clearly sharp; she would spot it instantly anyway.

  So I gave her the truth. At least part of it; there was no way I would give anybody the means of controlling me through the curse.

  “There are achievements,” I said. “For killing someone ten levels higher. I got one for the gorg mage. It improved my stats ten points all across the board.”

  Understanding flickered in her eyes.

  “And I’m certain there’s one for killing a boss,” I continued. “A big one. I want it. I’m not letting myself get dragged down by the group’s pace. If I don’t push now, I’ll regret it. I refuse to sink into mediocrity because the others can’t keep up.”

  Alya stared at me for a long moment.

  Then nodded.

  Slowly.

  With something that looked very much like respect.

  “I want one too,” she said.

  That drew a grin from me. “What’s your level?”

  “Five.”

  “Good,” I said. “Then on the way, we’ll raise you up and find you a gorg mage. They’re usually higher level. You’ll kill one solo and get your achievement.”

  She inhaled sharply, excitement and fear warring on her face.

  “And after that,” I added, “if my theory is right, there will be another boss somewhere. But that’s for later.”

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  She nodded. “And you? How are you so confident you can kill a boss at your level? I know you’re strong, Elias, but that kind of thing probably is… in another category entirely.”

  I reached for my pack and pulled out two vials and the wrapped, black-bound grimoire.

  “This,” I said.

  Alya blinked at it. “A book?”

  “Not just a book.”

  I slid off the cloth.

  The Liber Maledictionum throbbed faintly, like something inside it was breathing. Ink crawled under the cracked hide, shifting like oil on water. Even Alya recoiled slightly.

  “This is how,” I told her. “I have a way to weaponise these.” I tapped the vials, “and the grimoire will make things easier. Much easier. But first I have to bond with it.”

  “I have no idea how all of this will work, but I trust you know what you’re doing. How long before we go?” she asked.

  “As soon as I finish.”

  “We’re leaving today?” she said, surprised.

  “As I said before, we’re close to the cave. One hour away at most, and it’s barely after noon. No point wasting daylight.”

  Concern crossed her features, but she masked it well. She rose to her feet, brushing dirt off her pants.

  “I still have a class skill to choose,” she said. “I’ll go prepare.”

  She turned and walked away. I watched her go, thoughts unfocused, something uncomfortable curling behind my ribs. I shook it off and turned my attention to the real problem.

  The grimoire.

  It wasn’t just unsettling.

  It was hungry.

  I couldn’t see its description anymore, but I remember well its function. Improving the power of the curses I cast, along with spells and rituals. A godsend to any normal mage.

  But for me?

  A nightmare waiting to spike. The curse of resonant suffering attached to it made all curses on me become linked. When one triggers, the others echo their effect, amplifying the overall burden. And the effect will become stronger the more curses I accumulate.

  I got this to use with another round of potions to raise my tolerance of curses and possibly trigger another trait evolution.

  But now it will become my instrument of success against the boss.

  Before binding it, I stripped off everything cursed, the mace and the cloak. They’d come with me, but I couldn’t have the curses all activating at once right now.

  Not yet.

  I drew my knife.

  “Let’s get this over with.”

  The blade wasn’t dull, but it wasn’t cutting my skin easily either. My body had toughened more than I realised. I pressed just the tip of the blade to my finger, harder. Then harder still. After a long, frustrating moment, a bead of blood finally welled up.

  I focused, gathering my mana into that bead of blood until it glowed faintly at my fingertip. The energy hummed, vibrating through nerves that weren’t made for this.

  Then I touched the surface of the grimoire.

  The reaction was instant.

  A deep, resonant thrum rippled up my arm, sinking teeth into my skin. The book pulsed, shadows roiling beneath its surface. The drop of blood sank into the cover like thirsty soil, vanishing in an instant.

  Then something reached back.

  A cold tendril of awareness brushed my mind. Curious. Patient. Hungry. But not malicious—no more than a wolf is malicious when examining prey.

  Mana flared. My curse stirred in response.

  And that’s when I felt it for the first time:

  My aura wasn’t just cursed.

  It was shaped by the curses. Thickened. Warp d. Like a storm cloud layered with static. Any time a curse was triggered, my aura rippled, and the book felt that resonance. Fed on it. Strengthened it.

  The tether snapped into place.

  A surge of power washed through me, far smoother than anything the mace ever offered. The grimoire harmonised with my mana effortlessly, guiding it, sharpening it, and strengthening it.

  A direct channel.

  I exhaled slowly.

  “Stronger,” I murmured. “Much stronger.”

  The book lay open in my hands like it had been waiting for me.

  The bond was complete.

  And now, I finally had the edge I needed.

  Now let’s see what the grimoire had in store for me; it wouldn’t open before, but now that I was bonded with it, it should have some interesting tidbits to offer. Spells and curses, mostly curses probably, are still useful stuff for anyone like me without any other magical knowledge.

  As I opened the first page of the grimoire, I stood frozen… It was blank; the second, blank. I started flipping page after page, all blank until I reached halfway through; then blots of ink, symbols and diagrams were moving around without rhyme or reason from those pages forward until the end of the book.

  What the hell should I do with this?

  It’s going to work as a spell focus, ok, but there should be knowledge available inside the grimoire; instead, half was empty and half was incomprehensible gibberish. Haa…

  I tried to think rationally. Probably the first part is for me, while the second is the information already recorded, but I need a way of deciphering it, maybe a spell or a higher level too. I will search for the solution next time; I will find a safe area. No point in complaining now.

  As I flipped back to the first page, I thought that I needed at least a pen or something to write with; I really hoped it didn’t require my blood or anything of the sort. After a second I saw some ink appearing from the surface. It was slowly starting to form into words; after just a minute, I could recognise faintly a word, 'Saint'.

  A realisation struck me: the grimoire was recording my curse, the curse of the false saint. What if it was reading it from my aura or something? Could it do it with other curses too? Would I be able to cast them after they were recorded in the book? Excitement took hold of me; the book wasn’t straightforward, but I will find the way to use it. Already it will prove itself invaluable if I can manage to understand my affliction better. And it will be my strongest weapon against the boss.

  I grinned. Oh yes, this will work wonderfully.

  20 chapters ahead!