Death feels like waking up with the worst hangover imaginable.

  I felt a light slap across my cheek and instinctively lashed out with my good hand, connecting with something solid. A shoulder, maybe. My swing was weak, pathetic really, but it was all I could manage.

  "He's pretty lively for someone who almost died," a voice chuckled, the words seeming to echo from the bottom of a well.

  My eyes fluttered open to find Perth hovering over me, his face swimming in and out of focus. Duncan peered over his shoulder, a wide grin splitting his face. Everything beyond them was a blur of gray and blue, shapes without definition.

  Perth pulled back, dragging Duncan with him. "Give him a moment," he said, his tone gentle but firm.

  I blinked repeatedly, each time bringing the world into slightly sharper focus. Gradually, the chamber revealed itself – massive gray brick walls, blue-tinted torches casting eerie shadows across the stone floor. The smell hit me next, a nauseating mix of decayed flesh and fresh blood. My blood.

  It all came back in a rush – the four undead warriors, the Champion pinning me to the ground, and the silver sword coming down, plunging straight through my eye socket and into my skull. I remembered the excruciating pain, the moment of blinding agony before everything went black.

  I tried to sit up with a gasp, but my limbs refused to cooperate. The best I could manage was lifting my head and shoulders slightly off the ground.

  "Take a moment," Perth advised, watching me with careful eyes. "Your body is trying to remember how to do the basic things after nearly being killed just a moment ago."

  There it was again. "Nearly" killed. But that wasn't right. I knew with absolute certainty I had died. No one survives a blade through the eye and into the brain. The memory was too vivid, too real – the cold metal parting flesh, the brief explosion of pain, then nothing.

  I turned my head to the right, wincing at the stiffness in my neck. Eva lay several feet away, looking exactly as weak and disoriented as I felt. A blanket had been placed beneath her, and Hellene cradled the girl's head in her lap, fiercely whispering something I couldn't quite make out. Eva's dark leather armor was stained with blood – too much blood for someone who had "nearly" died.

  That's when I noticed the clean blanket beneath me as well, though my leather armor remained covered in deep blood stains and black ichor from the undead. Something was very wrong here.

  My mind raced through possibilities, but Perth's presence supplied the most vital clue. With shaking fingers, I reached behind me, feeling for my lower back where the Phoenix tattoo had been. The skin there felt different– warm, almost pleasantly so. A quick flick of my gaze to the System window showed all my buffs were gone, including the tattoo.

  I looked at Perth, a strange mix of emotions churning inside me. There was shame—the uncomfortable feeling that I should be on my knees thanking him for what he'd done. And there was fear—the cold, rational terror of being in the presence of someone who could apparently bring the dead back to life. It wasn't just an exceptional ability; it was something which no one should be able to do even here.

  I tried to speak, to ask the obvious question, but my tongue felt like it was made of lead. My mouth opened and closed uselessly, no sound emerging.

  Duncan stepped forward, practically bouncing with excitement. "The Phoenix tattoo saved you both! Can you believe it?" His voice had an unnatural cheerfulness which made my skin crawl. "Perth said it activates when the bearer is mortally wounded. You took that sword strike right against your skull, and Eva was stabbed in the gut, but the tattoo's magic healed you both!"

  He clapped Perth on the shoulder like they were old drinking buddies. "Perth was worried about us, so he followed behind to make sure we'd be okay in the dungeon. Good thing too, right?"

  I stared at him, unable to process the nonsense pouring from his mouth. The strike I took hadn't "mortally wounded" me—it had killed me. Dead. Finished. The same with Eva, judging by the blood soaking her clothes. And why wasn't Duncan questioning why Perth had followed us secretly instead of joining us from the beginning? None of this made any sense.

  That's when I noticed Duncan's eyes. His pupils were slightly dilated, not quite focusing properly on me as he spoke. There was something off about his gaze, a glassy quality which reminded me of—

  The memory hit me suddenly. The day in the inn when Duncan learned the truth about his father's death. The rage which had consumed him, the way he had wanted to tear the room apart and everyone in it. And how Perth had placed a simple hand on his shoulder, and all that fury had just vanished. I'd thought it strange at the time, but hadn't dwelled on it.

  I shifted my gaze to Hellene. If anyone would be suspicious of this miraculous resurrection, it would be her. But what I saw chilled me to the core. The sharp-tongued, cynical old woman who questioned everything was sitting there with the same unfocused look, absently stroking Eva's hair while staring off into the middle distance. Her lips were curved in a faint, vacant smile which looked completely wrong on her usually severe face.

  Slowly, I turned back to Perth. His blue eyes met mine, and with perfect clarity, he gave me a quick wink.

  He knew that I knew. And he didn't care.

  "Let me help you up," Perth said, extending a hand toward me. "You must be feeling quite weak after your ordeal."

  I hesitated, then reluctantly took it. His grip was surprisingly strong as he pulled me to my unsteady feet. My legs felt like they belonged to someone else—wobbly and uncoordinated.

  "I think you and I should have a few words in private," Perth said, his voice low and conversational as he gently guided me toward the door we had fought so hard to get through. "While the others recover."

  That's when I noticed the shimmering portal on the wall opposite from where I'd been lying – a swirling gateway of blue energy which definitely hadn't been there before the fight. The kind of portal that should have been our reward for beating the dungeon boss. Perth was deliberately leading me away from it.

  "Yes, of course," Duncan agreed, that same vacant grin still fixed on his face. "Take your time. We'll just wait here with Eva and Hellene."

  He ambled off to join the old enchanter, who continued stroking Eva's hair with an unsettling, placid expression. Neither of them seemed remotely concerned about letting Perth take me away alone.

  We passed through the massive doorway, the one which had once been locked by the Drowning Lock, and continued down a short corridor. Once we were well out of sight and hearing of the others, Perth helped me sit on the cold stone floor. My legs still felt like they belonged to someone else – wooden and unresponsive.

  "Take deep breaths," Perth advised, crouching beside me. "It helps get oxygen flowing through your bloodstream again. The body needs time to remember it's alive after being a corpse."

  I refused to give him the satisfaction of looking shocked at his casual mention of my death. Instead, I met his gaze directly.

  "What are you?" I asked, my voice rough but steady.

  Perth studied me for a long moment, his ageless face revealing nothing. Then he countered with a question of his own.

  "What do you think I am, Will?"

  I considered what I knew – what I'd seen. The resurrection of Eva and myself from certain death. The strange control he seemed to have over Duncan and Hellene's minds. The casual way he spoke of magic that should have been impossible, even in a world filled with the extraordinary.

  "There are only two beings who might be able to bring people back from the dead," I said finally. "A deity... or a Hero from a previous Heroes Party."

  Perth's lips curved into a smile. "I'm definitely not a deity."

  The confirmation hung in the air between us. I swallowed hard, the implications crashing through my mind like waves against a cliff.

  "Are you a Hero?" I asked, the question coming out more tentative than I'd intended.

  In response, Perth stood and performed an elegant, theatrical bow, as if we were meeting for the first time at some royal function.

  "Paul Paco, at your service," he announced with a flourish. "Member of the Heroes Party three hundred years ago." He straightened, his expression returning to its usual casual amusement. "But I'd still prefer to be addressed as Perth."

  I activated my Scan ability on Perth without thinking, an instinct born from years of constantly evaluating threats. The information which flooded my vision shocked me.

  [Scan Results] Name: Paul Paco Race: Elf Class: Master Spirit Painter Level: 70 Stats: Str XX, Con XX, Dex XX, Wis XX, Int XX HP: XXX/XXX MP: XXX/XXX

  My breath caught in my throat. Level 70? The highest level I'd ever encountered before was Heather at 49. And an Epic Class—three words instead of the usual one or two, marking it as something beyond what most adventurers could achieve.

  Perth—or Paul—noticed my expression change and smiled knowingly.

  "I'm sure you have many questions," he said, settling himself cross-legged across from me. "But I imagine the most pressing one is why I don't simply use my superior level and abilities to stop your former comrades from their murderous rampage."

  I swallowed, my throat still feeling unnaturally dry. "I have a lot of questions, but yes, that one's near the top."

  Perth sighed, running a hand through his golden hair. "When I achieved Epic Class, the System imposed certain restrictions on me. Rules, if you will." He gestured vaguely with his hands, as if trying to encompass something vast. "The complete list is extensive—over fifty pages of text when the System presented it to me."

  He leaned forward, his blue eyes intense. "One of the most binding rules is that I cannot attack another Hero. Not directly, at least. Even the ability I just used to alter memories could be considered an aggressive act by the System. Which is why you don’t have to worry about me using such an ability on you—it would be considered me attacking a Hero."

  He continued, his voice taking on a more serious tone. "I'm also not allowed to reveal my status as a former Hero to anyone—unless they guess it themselves or already know through other means. Which you did, so now we can speak freely."

  I considered this information, pieces falling into place. "So these System rules are why you don't just overpower the Heroes Party or use your status to turn people against them."

  "Precisely," Perth confirmed. "My hands are tied in many ways, which is why I've had to work through intermediaries like Cardinal Stenvall—and now you."

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  A thought occurred to me. "Would Heather face the same restrictions if she reached Epic Class?"

  Perth nodded solemnly. "Yes. Any Hero who achieves Epic Class faces the same constraints."

  I considered this for a moment, picturing Heather's reaction to such limitations. Then I shook my head, more to myself than to Perth. "It wouldn't stop her. She'd just warn the other Heroes not to get an Epic Class, and together they'd find ways around the rules."

  "You're right," Perth said, looking impressed. "It would be difficult to circumvent the System's restrictions, but not impossible. Especially with multiple Heroes working together."

  I studied Perth's face, momentarily distracted by his youthful elven features.

  "How did you become an elf?" I asked, the question slipping out before I could consider if it was appropriate. "You were human once, right? Like the rest of your party?"

  Perth smiled, seemingly pleased by my curiosity. "A perk of reaching Epic Class. The System allows you to change your race if you wish." He ran a hand through his golden hair. "I chose the elf race for the longevity. Humans rarely live past eighty years, but elves can survive for centuries. I wanted time to watch over what we had protected."

  I nodded, processing this information. Then I reached behind me, fingers tapping the spot where the Phoenix tattoo had been before it was activated.

  "What was your plan with these?" I asked, my voice sharper than I intended. "You gave us tattoos to be strong and to survive death, then followed us. Why?"

  Perth studied me for a long moment, his blue eyes calculating despite his casual posture.

  "I have to admit, Will, you and your party proved me wrong," he said finally. "What you accomplished in this Four Sigil Dungeon was genuinely impressive."

  I couldn't help the bitter laugh that escaped me. "Impressive? I died. Eva died. It doesn't sound very impressive to me."

  "Perhaps it's best to say we were both proven wrong," Perth conceded with a slight tilt of his head.

  He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. "I thought your party wouldn't even reach the halfway point of this dungeon with your current levels and gear. You believed you could beat it without anyone dying."

  The realization hit me like a punch to the gut as pieces clicked into place. The Phoenix Tattoos weren't buffs to help us succeed—they were safety nets for when we inevitably failed. Perth had followed us expecting to find corpses.

  Perth must have seen the understanding dawn on my face because he nodded solemnly. "While I found your plan gutsy from the start, I never truly believed it would work," he admitted. "I expected to find all of you dead."

  "So your plan was to let us die horribly," I said, my voice flat. "You wanted us to fail so spectacularly that any illusion of being able to face the Five Sigil Dungeon would be shattered."

  "Precisely," Perth agreed, not bothering to soften the blow. "Then I'd use my foreign connections to help you all leave the country while Cardinal Stenvall and I developed a more subtle approach to curbing the Heroes Party's influence."

  He spread his hands. "But through careful strategy and tactics, you actually beat the dungeon. Yes, there were losses—terrible ones—but you succeeded where I thought you would fail."

  "And now?" I asked, searching his face.

  "Now I fully support your plan to take on the Five Sigil Dungeon," he said, his expression earnest. "You've earned that right."

  Perth's words hung in the air between us, but his confident support felt hollow. He believed in us now because we'd survived the Four Sigil Dungeon, yet the victory came with a terrible cost – my death. The memory of that sword plunging through my eye lingered like a phantom pain. I'd been dead. Actually dead. Not "almost" dead as Perth kept telling Duncan and Hellene.

  And now we were supposed to take on something even more dangerous?

  I tried to sort through my thoughts, pushing aside the existential crisis of having died and returned. Focus on what matters right now, I told myself.

  "What do you know about the Five Sigil Dungeon?" I asked, forcing my voice to remain steady.

  Perth's eyes lit up. "I know there's a treasure inside which could seriously hinder the Heroes Party. Something that would give you the advantage you need."

  "What kind of treasure?" I pressed.

  "I can't tell you specifics," he said, grimacing slightly. "The System rules prevent me from revealing details about the challenges or treasures inside. But I can say I'm very familiar with what's in there."

  "How could you possibly know what's in a dungeon that's been sealed for centuries?"

  Perth's grin widened. "Because I helped create it."

  My jaw dropped. "You what?"

  "I designed it," he said, clearly amused by my shock. "When a Heroes Party defeats the Five Sigil Dungeon, one of them gets the opportunity to remake it entirely. My party chose me for the honor."

  "They let you redesign an ancient dungeon?" I couldn't hide my disbelief.

  "I was something of a fantasy enthusiast before being summoned to this world," Perth explained with a casual shrug. "Role-playing games, fantasy novels – that sort of thing. It's tradition for each Heroes Party to tackle the Five Sigil Dungeon after defeating the Demon King, and the winner gets to reshape it for the next generation."

  My mind reeled with the implications. If Perth had designed the dungeon, he would know every trap, every monster, every danger. The word "reshape" suddenly triggered another thought.

  "The Wish," I said abruptly. "What do you know about it giving god-like powers?"

  Perth's expression changed completely. For the first time since I'd met him, his perpetual smile vanished, replaced by a genuine frown that creased his ageless elven features.

  "I have no idea," he admitted, his voice losing some of its musical quality. "I wasn't even at the Shrine of Heroes when the Wish was used."

  He looked away, a shadow passing over his face. "I was bitter. Most of the party wanted to return to Earth. Only Cody Carlsen and I chose to remain in Seanair." His fingers tapped restlessly against his knee. "I never asked Cody about the details of how the Wish was used. I was too angry at being abandoned to care."

  He looked back at me, his blue eyes troubled. "I was as surprised as you when the cardinal revealed that the Wish granted god-like powers. I had no idea Cody left a record about it."

  I opened my mouth to ask another question, but Perth suddenly stood up, brushing dirt from his knees with quick, efficient movements.

  "Turn around," he instructed, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Lift your leather armor as best you can and expose your back."

  I hesitated for a second, weighing my options. Something about Perth's request made me uneasy, but after everything he'd done—literally bringing me back from death—refusing seemed ungrateful.

  "Fine," I muttered, turning my back to him. Using my hook hand, I awkwardly lifted my leather armor, exposing my skin to the cool dungeon air.

  I heard the soft pop of a jar lid being removed, followed by the pungent smell of paint—earthy with hints of something metallic and sweet. The familiar scent confirmed what was happening- Perth was about to give me another tattoo.

  The first cool touch of the brush against my skin made me flinch slightly.

  "I apologize for not being of more help to you," Perth said as he worked, his voice soft but steady. "For all my powers and abilities—and believe me, I have many now—I'm bound by so many rules placed on me by the System that even speaking about my past could potentially break one."

  The brush continued its dance across my skin, each stroke precise and deliberate.

  "What happens if you break these rules?" I asked, curiosity overcoming my discomfort. "What are the consequences?"

  Perth's brush paused momentarily. "They vary," he replied, resuming his work. "But breaking most of them would mean instant death for me. A few others have less severe penalties."

  The brush made a few more strokes before Perth pulled back. "There, finished."

  A familiar tingling sensation spread across my skin, warmth radiating outward from where the paint had been applied. A System notification appeared in my vision:

  [Lucky Seven Tattoo— This tattoo will increase your luck dramatically at a needed moment.]

  Then a new System notification came up.

  [SYSTEM ERROR- Lucky Seven Tattoo is shown as exempt from conditions 1-ALPHA, 2-ALPHA, 3-ALPAH, 4-ALPHA, 5-AL&#%@((]

  I grabbed my skull with my good hand and hissed in pain. The System notification disappeared on it’s own, I hadn’t closed it and I was suddenly feeling a migraine.

  I turned back to face Perth while still rubbing my forehead, who gave a smile which didn’t reach his eyes.

  "I decided the best approach was to intentionally break a rule where I knew the consequence," he said calmly, wiping his brush clean on a small cloth. "That's why I just gave you a tattoo I was never supposed to paint again."

  I stared at him in shock, the implications hitting me like a physical blow. Perth had deliberately violated the System's rules—for a tattoo which made me lucky? My mouth opened to speak, to ask him why he would intentionally break a System rule.

  Before I could form the words, a System notification flashed across my vision in bright, pulsing red letters-

  [SYSTEM WARNING- Divine Intervention Will Now Take Place By Korvath, God of Thunder and War]

  Korvath. The name tugged at my memory—some god from the Foekin kingdom. I'd heard merchants mention the deity in passing, usually when discussing the warlike northern culture.

  There wasn't a chance to speak before a loud thunderclap echoed in the large chamber, causing my ears to ring. The sound was so powerful it felt like someone had struck two cymbals directly against my eardrums. I instinctively covered my ears, but the damage was already done.

  Through the spots dancing across my vision, I watched as white smoke billowed in the center of the chamber, crackling with electrical energy. The air smelled of ozone and something primal—like a forest after lightning had struck. When the smoke cleared, a massive figure stood before us.

  Viking was the first word which came to mind. Not the historical kind, but the mythological version from storybooks and legends. He towered over both Perth and me, his massive frame making even Duncan—who I'd always considered impressively built—look like a scrawny teenager by comparison. His fur cloak appeared to have been skinned from a bear, and beneath it he wore only a simple loincloth with two gleaming steel axes hanging from a belt at his waist.

  The Viking's thick brown beard cascaded down his chest, braided in places with small metal rings woven into the strands. A horned helmet covered most of his head, but his eyes blazed beneath it—literally blazed, with a golden glow that seemed to burn from within.

  Then the fear hit me. Not normal fear—not the kind I'd felt facing monsters or even when dying. This was primal terror, something ancient and instinctual that bypassed all rational thought. My heart slammed against my ribcage with such force I thought it might burst. My lungs seized, refusing to draw breath. Every nerve in my body screamed danger in a language older than words.

  The only comparison my mind could grasp was standing directly in a hurricane's path—the overwhelming sense of something unstoppable bearing down on me, something which could crush me without even noticing I existed.

  "Easy there, big guy," Perth said casually, as if addressing an old friend rather than this terrifying apparition. "Mind lowering your aura before you kill the poor kid with it? He only just came back from the dead, after all."

  Just like that, the crushing fear vanished. I gasped, sucking in air like I'd been underwater for minutes, my body trembling with the aftershocks of pure terror.

  "My apologies to the young one," rumbled a voice so deep it seemed to vibrate the stone beneath us. "I sometimes forget how overwhelming my presence can be to mortals."

  The words sounded normal enough, but they felt wrong coming from a human throat—like hearing a mountain speak, or the ocean itself forming words. Each syllable carried weight, as if the air itself bent around the sound.

  In that moment, I knew without a shadow of doubt I was in the presence of an actual deity—Korvath, God of Thunder and War. The patron deity of the Foekin kingdom stood before me in physical form, and I was still struggling to process this reality when he turned his attention to Perth.

  "Paul Paco, former Hero of Seanair, Master Spirit Painter," Korvath intoned, his voice now taking on an unexpectedly formal quality. "You have violated System Rule 12, Section 7, Paragraph 3, which explicitly prohibits the application of the Lucky Seven Tattoo to any being after your initial authorization period expired."

  Oh crap… he’s a lawyer, why does that seem almost scarier than the deity thing?

  “Said authorization period could only be reinstated if events 2B or 6D noted on System rule 12, Section 4-”

  Against my better instincts, I interrupted the divine lawyer mid-recitation.

  "Is it one of those rules where the punishment is death?" I blurted out, immediately regretting drawing the attention of a literal god.

  Korvath's golden eyes shifted to me, and I fought the urge to shrink back. He crossed his massive arms across his chest, the movement causing the fur cloak to ripple like a living thing.

  "No," he rumbled, his voice like distant thunder. "The punishment is exile. Paul Paco will accompany me to Shiverholt Island where he will spend one hundred years in isolation."

  I felt the blood drain from my face as I processed what was happening. Perth had just given me this Lucky Seven Tattoo knowing it would break a System rule. And now he was facing a century of exile on some island I'd never even heard of.

  My mind raced to connect the dots. He'd said he was intentionally breaking a rule where he knew the consequence. This wasn't an accident or a miscalculation. He'd done this deliberately, knowing exactly what would happen.

  I turned to Perth, unable to form more than a single word- "Why?"

  Why suffer a whole century to do this? Why not just stay and help in ways he could? Why do it now when I had so many more questions to ask!?

  Despite everything, Perth was still smiling, though now I could see the sadness behind it, like sunlight filtering through storm clouds.

  "Most of my tattoos, especially the Phoenix Tattoo, would never work in the Five Sigil Dungeon," he explained gently. "The dungeon has protections against such magic—protections I built into it myself, ironically enough."

  He gestured to my back where the fresh tattoo tingled against my skin. "But this one—the Lucky Seven—it won't only work, it will give you the best odds of beating the dungeon. And a certain someone here has stripped me of a few abilities deemed not ‘suitable’ previously. I couldn’t risk him doing the same with Lucky Seven before-"

  "-that is enough," Korvath declared, his voice causing small pebbles to vibrate on the stone floor.

  Another thunderclap exploded through the chamber, making me wince and cover my ears. The sound reverberated off the walls, amplified by the enclosed space until it felt like my head might split open.

  "Sorry about that," Perth said, giving me an apologetic look as he stepped toward Korvath. "Easy with the special sound effects, would you? Some of us have sensitive hearing."

  He extended his hand toward the deity, his slender elven fingers looking impossibly fragile next to Korvath's massive paw. The god took Perth's offered hand with surprising gentleness, engulfing it completely within his grasp.

  The instant their hands clasped, white smoke erupted around them, crackling with electric energy which arced and danced across the chamber walls. The brightness forced me to shield my eyes, and when I looked again, they were gone.

  Just... gone.

  I stood alone in the chamber, the faint scent of ozone hanging in the air.