On the fifth day, late in the afternoon, Drenn finally rode their wagon into Karatash, and the capital city hit Dain like a wall of noise and altitude the moment they passed through the western gates.

  Built on the side of the tallest set of mountains in Obric, Karatash was a tiered city where even the lowest ring of shops, buildings, and taverns sat higher than most towns in Obric, and everything here was built to remind him of that. The main streets were angled up at steep degrees. Stone stairs cut between most buildings like knife slits, and all of the rooflines were inclined up in the same direction, pointing towards Fortress Karatash at the very top of the mountain, about five to six hundred meters up.

  It was truly as breathtaking as Anisa said it’d be. As a city of three hundred thousand people—easily the most populated settlement in Obric—giant minecarts ran up and down the main streets of the city on thick iron tracks, clanking and groaning as they hauled people between the tiered rings. Most minecarts were packed with merchants and children and soldiers, but some were also chained cargo platforms bearing barrels, ore crates, and whole bundles of timber. They seemed to be the only way one could easily get around the city. The inclined streets, as they were, were too steep for most wagon-pulling beasts to conquer, and they couldn’t very well trod up and down the stairs efficiently, so Drenn glanced back at the five of them as they marveled at the giant minecarts.

  “Hang on tight for just a little longer! I’ll stop us in the designated caravan zones, and then you can all take the minecarts wherever you want!”

  But just because they were in the bottom ring of the city didn’t mean they were in the squalors. As Drenn rode them along, plenty of colorful shops overflowed into the streets. Blacksmith stalls and gearwright kiosks and street relic sellers with their little locked cases, inns with banners flapping like tongues, and pointy Curator Churches that stabbed up occasionally through the maze of roofs… it was busy down here too. In fact, most people seemed to live down here in the bottom ring. The higher up Dain looked, the grander the architecture, so it was likely over fifty percent of Karatash milled about here.

  And today, most people weren’t working.

  Most shops' doors were closed, and vendor stalls were blocked off by masses of people in the streets. Men on ladders hung festival ribbons from street lamps, while women carried plates and platters of lavish dishes, handing them out to whoever was closest or whoever was loudest. Even children ran with colorful banners woven with some kind of metallic petal, hooking them on every door and clothesline they could reach.

  “Why’s everyone dressing the road?” Dain asked, mostly to himself, but then he realized Rena was already leaning closer to answer.

  “Tomorrow’s the last day of the autumn months,” she said, smiling as if she could taste the calendar in the air. “It’s Obric’s annual independence day. There’s going to be a military parade from the bottom of the city to Fortress Karatash, which will be attended by the Grand Minelord himself and his family, so there’ll be lots of fireworks, lots of partying, and lots of exhibitive performances. I hear the crowns even got a few jesters and clowns from the Vanisharium Troupe to show up tomorrow.”

  He raised a curious brow. “A parade, you say?”

  “Ye ain’t hidin’ yer foreign roots very well, boss,” Kargun grunted, folding his arms as he turned away from the crowds, looking semi-annoyed by the ruckus. “Obric clawed its way up from bein’ Auraline’s shit-bottom to the metal-and-stone beast it is now, so the parade’s to celebrate that. Come tomorrow dusk, the crowns’ll parade from this here city’s guts to Fortress Karatash all the way up there, just to pay homage to the same climb Obric made to get where it stands.”

  “Hm.”

  Dain watched the crowds roll by for a few more moments before reaching into his Void Archivist’s Satchel and pulling out his owl mask.

  He whistled sharply through his teeth as he put the mask on. A second later, his silverplume owl launched skyward, wings flashing pale as it climbed above the street and began circling the city in wide, patient arcs.

  And… focus.

  The left half of his vision became the owl’s, and he immediately swooned where he sat on the back of the wagon, losing his balance temporarily. It was only his vision that was linked to the owl’s, but it still somewhat felt like he was the one flying, so it took him a moment to recalibrate and steady himself.

  Karatash was even busier from above. The preparations for tomorrow’s parade were everywhere, not just in the main streets, and though the sun was about to fall, plenty of people were still out and about helping with the decorations.

  “... It’s not gonna be easy looking for Stonewraith,” he eventually muttered, glancing at the failure four. “I haven’t seen any more of her memories since a few days ago, so if I’m gonna intercept whatever she’s planning here, I’ll need a lead. Any ideas?”

  Sahlir, Ilvaren, Kargun, and Rena all looked at one another. Then they shrugged.

  Well, what’d I really expect?

  Over the past five days on the road, he’d kept his explanations to them simple: Corvalenne was destroyed by the one-eyed, he was the only survivor who knew the truth, and he was hunting down the three people responsible alongside Anisa and Yasmin. He hadn’t mentioned anything about cursed relics, Belara, or the fact that he could open portals to a Curator God whenever he wanted. Even so, none of the failure four had seemed especially rattled by what he’d told them. Seasoned adventurers, all of them—either they didn’t really care more than getting revenge on Stonewraith, or they’d seen and heard worse things.

  It’s good for me either way that they’re not too curious.

  As long as they can help me find Stonewraith somehow…

  By the time Drenn eased the wagon into a crowded caravan stop packed tight with dozens of other arrivals, he let out a satisfied sigh and tugged on the reins.

  “Well, this is it,” he said, looking back at all of them. “We made good time. Now, I think I’ll be loitering around Karatash for a week or two before I head back to Granamere, but…” He rummaged through a side compartment under the driver's seat and tossed a small bell into Rena’s hands. “Ring this relic if you need a quick lift. It’ll ring on my end, too, and I’ll also know where exactly to find you. Anisa paid me well—means you lot’ve got yourselves a personal driver for the next couple weeks, wherever you need to go!”

  Dain offered him a grateful nod. Rena thanked him warmly, then turned and fixed the others with a look that brooked no argument until Sahlir, Ilvaren, and Kargun all muttered their thanks as well.

  Once they all hopped off the wagon and Drenn took it away to rest it properly, Dain steered the group away from the caravan stop.

  “First order of business, then—you four find the nearest inn and get us rooms for a few nights. You still have enough curons from the investigation mission, right?” He paused, squinting at the failure four. “You didn’t already drink all of it away, right?”

  “Coin gone. Bought many weapons. Tribe will be happy,” Sahlir chirped, patting his shoulder sack.

  “I drank fifteen bottles of premium pearjack liquor,” Ilvaren said proudly.

  “I drank sixteen,” Kargun said, shrugging his massive shoulders. “Town ale ain’t meant to be saved.”

  Dain stared at them for a long second, then pinched the bridge of his nose. He only had three thousand curons left himself, but the three of them probably had less than him all combined. “Fantastic. Truly. Inspiring fiscal discipline—”

  “I still have eleven thousand curons,” Rena said cheerfully before he could spiral any further. “It won’t buy us luxury, but we can get a few decent rooms for a few weeks, at least.”

  “... You’re a saint, Rena. Go do that. Settle in, get some dinner in, clean yourselves up, and try not to start a bar fight before sunset.” His gaze flicked pointedly to Ilvaren and Kargun. “I’m heading to the Church of Inanna first. Gotta pick up my Skill Tags.”

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  Ilvaren raised a brow. “You’re going alone?”

  “I won’t be long,” he said lightly before pointing up at his silverplume owl circling overhead. “But I’ll keep an eye on you guys so I don’t get lost. If any of you need me for something—”

  “I throw stone at owl,” Sahlir said, nodding enthusiastically. “I throw good stone.”

  “Preferably a small one,” Dain said dryly. “I’d like my owl unmaimed.”

  Rena laughed softly. Kargun grunted approval. Ilvaren just smirked. With that, the five of them split—the failure four melted into the crowds together, laughing and arguing and gawking at the decorations all the same, while he alone slipped off into the shadowed alleys of the city’s most cluttered buildings.

  Of course, he wasn’t heading for the Church of Inanna.

  A narrow cut between two leaning buildings opened into a small alley, and Dain took it without hesitation, letting the crowd noise dull behind him. His silverplume owl still wheeled above the streets, feeding him half a world through the left side of his vision, so he knew he was alone once he slinked deeper into the dark and reached a dead pocket in the alleys where sunlight couldn’t quite reach.

  He double checked and looked around one more time. No footsteps. No voices. No curious eyes.

  Good enough.

  He brought his hands together in a soft clap, and the air before him swirled open into a reddish-purple portal. Belara’s hands slid through immediately.

  “Great Belara,” he greeted, keeping his voice low out of habit more than caution. “Hello again. Lovely hands as always. You’re spoiling me.”

  The hands made a waving gesture as if they were embarrassed. He offered a quick, easy smile anyways. Smiling at gods and god-adjacent things was good business.

  “I’d like three relics, please.”

  He produced three Tags from his satchel first—clean, simple, golden pieces of paper—and placed them into the waiting hands.

  “These will be the base offerings.” Then came the filler. The fluff. The theater. He rummaged through his satchel and drew out dozens of bundles of magic herbs wrapped in cloth, but he started with one. “A clutch of gravefern sprigs. Harvested near old graves and soaked through with residual mana from nearby mountains. They’re excellent as main offerings for relics that can stabilize bones and bodies.”

  Second pouch. “Whisperdust blooms. Only flowers at dawn after cold nights. They say the petals crumble if you stare at them too hard, but the pollen’s fantastic as main offerings for relics that deal with clarity and perception.”

  Third pouch. “Windcoil Root. Grows around fault lines and windy places. It feels heavier the longer you hold it, and that’s not metaphorical. I tested it.”

  A few more oddities followed—sunfern sprigs, dust blooms, stoneleaf shardpetals, and other road harvests he managed to pluck on the way to Karatash—but while they were all ‘main offerings’ in the sense they would isolate the exact skill he wanted to acquire from someone’s blood, the real stars of the main offerings had to be, of course, the vials of blood themselves.

  Finally, he produced three small vials from his satchel. Three different bloods, three different owners.

  “And these are the blood of three warriors possessing the windbreath, earthpoise, and Galewind Swordstyle skills,” he finished. “I’ll admit, if it weren’t for that book on Title Tags I bought back in Granamere that also had a few common recipes for Skill Tags in the back, I wouldn't have known what herbs to pick to get these skills. However, these offerings should all be… correct. Right?”

  Thankfully, Belara accepted his offerings in silence. Her pale hands slid back into the portal, leaving him standing alone in the alley with a grin he couldn’t quite suppress.

  He cracked his neck and rocked faintly on his heels as he waited, already imagining the clean, golden sheen of the three new Skill Tags settling into his palm—skills that he’d been beaten up for—but then the pale hands returned much quicker than he anticipated, and they dropped three Skill Tags that he wasn’t quite expecting into his waiting grasp.

  After all, these Skill Tags were black instead of gold.

  … Oh.

  I forgot.

  She doesn’t give normal relics.

  What are these ones gonna be?

  Belara’s hands waved him farewell as the portal closed, but his gaze was locked onto the Tags of the three Cursed Skill Tags he’d just received.

  ***

  Name: ‘Hollowbreath’ Skill Tag

  Type: Consumable Trinket-Class Cursed Relic, Common-8

  Attribute Addition: None

  Ability Description: When ingested, gives the holder the acquired skill ‘Hollowbreath’, which will give the holder better instinctive awareness of nearby motion as they continue breathing.

  However, in perfect stillness, silence will become uncomfortable for the holder.

  ***

  Name: ‘Gravepoise’ Skill Tag

  Type: Consumable Trinket-Class Cursed Relic, Common-8

  Attribute Addition: None

  Ability Description: When ingested, gives the holder the acquired skill ‘Gravepoise’, which will make the holder much sturdier and more balanced while their feet are on solid ground.

  However, when the holder remains stationary for too long, their posture will gradually stiffen, requiring brief effort to fully loosen.

  ***

  Name: ‘Stormreaver Swordsmanship’ Skill Tag

  Type: Consumable Trinket-Class Relic, Uncommon-2

  Attribute Addition: None

  Ability Description: When ingested, gives the holder the acquired skill ‘Stormreaver Swordsmanship’, which will allow the holder to use the forms and techniques of the Stormreaver Swordstyle.

  However, the Stormreaver Swordstyle is highly self-destructive in exchange for higher power output than what is normally possible with the holder’s physical attributes.

  ***

  … Fortunately for him, the three cursed acquired skills were still similar to the ones he’d been training and aiming for. In fact, as far as he was concerned—and as far as his understanding of cursed relics went—these three skills were all stronger variants of the ones he’d been aiming for.

  Hollowbreath is just a more powerful version of windbreath at the cost of making me unsettled in silence, gravepoise is just a more powerful version of earthpoise at the cost of making me stiff after a long sleep, and the Stormreaver Swordsmanship is self-destructive… because its form and techniques will push my body past its usual limits?

  But stronger always came with teeth, and these cursed effects didn’t seem that bad at first glance.

  He rolled his shoulders once, then twice—weighing the drawbacks with the same mind he used when appraising cursed relics—and decided that while none of them were ideal, they were all survivable.

  And more importantly, he needed these skills now. There was no telling when Stonewraith was going to make her move.

  He crumpled up all three Skill Tags into a black ball and stuffed it into his mouth, chewing through the ash-like texture.

  Immediately, he staggered half a step forward as the world felt clearer. Not bright, but more… defined. When he exhaled, he could better feel the movement of air between the buildings. He could better hear footsteps out on the main street he shouldn’t be able to pick out. At the same time, his bones also felt denser like gravity had tightened its grip on him, though he was already used to that sensation. His Void Archivist’s Satchel had basically the same cursed effect.

  So this is hollowbreath and gravepoise.

  But what about…

  He flexed his fingers and eyed a nearby pipe, wondering idly if he should take a swing at it with his oreblade cane just to test out his new muscle memories—but then something smacked his silverplume owl in the head, making the left half of his vision go dark for a second.

  “Ow!” he hissed, flinching on instinct even though pain wasn’t shared. He quickly swore under his breath and focused on the owl’s eyes, trying to see what’d hit it.

  He didn’t know why he had to think about it, though. Sahlir had literally said he was a good throw with stones, so he wasn’t particularly surprised when he saw the hawkkin waving his arms up at the owl, trying to catch his attention.

  That’s my signal.

  He sniffled and stepped out of the alley, melting back into the crowds and following the lazy guidance of his silverplume owl until he found the failure four gathered at the mouth of a narrow alley. Ilvaren was squinting into the alley with open suspicion. Kargun stood with his arms folded, scowling into the dark as well like he expected it to bite him, while Rena’s head was tilted, reading something deep inside with polite interest.

  “What happened to looking for an inn?” Dain asked as he joined them. “Did you already get distracted—”

  “You want see rest of memories, no?” Sahlir said, pointing into the alley. “We found interest.”

  Dain frowned and followed his finger.

  At the end of the alley was a run-down, dilapidated mess of a stone building encircled by buildings all around—like it was an old building Karatash had just decided to build around instead of tear down—but the signboard on the front door was even messier with its chipped paint and crooked lettering. A blunt declaration written ‘MATERIALS BEST NOT DISCUSSED IN POLITE COMPANY’ told him it was a magic materials shop, but… another smaller board hung beneath the main one, and this one had an oddly gentle handwriting.

  ‘Trouble sleeping? I can help with my Cognitum-Class relics.’

  ‘Deep sleep, deep dreams.’

  The failure four glanced at Dain.

  “... Cognitum-Class relics, huh? I didn’t even think about that,” he eventually said, his smile sharpening just a touch. “This might just be a lead.”

  here with 20 advanced chapters, and the link to the Discord server is , which has exclusive daily facts about the world, galleries of the maps, and announcement channels where readers may get early access to new stories!

  follow/favorite/rating! It'll help me out a ton!