He was invisible, the very embodiment of the word stealth. Not a footprint nor a shadow nor a trace was left in his wake. No one would see his approach, and no one would see his exit.
He had a simple job ahead of him, get in, get the goods, and get out. It would be as simple as one, two, three. His preparations had long been finished to carry out his mission. Although, the challenge in doing so could be called into question, as all he had to do to prepare was find the building.
Which, while a simple task in theory, proved to be much more difficult when you could not ask anyone for directions. It could’ve been something about the smell in the air, or perhaps the breeze that went by, or maybe it was just his natural instinct as a master thief, but he was certain that the building before him contained the loot he desired.
Still, it would prove unwise to count his acorns before they hit him on the head, so he had to contain his excitement until the job was finished, and he was back at his safehouse, or rather, his safe bush. Maybe he should try not to joke around, even mentally, while he was working, as if he laughed, he would draw attention to himself, something that he did not want to happen.
Calmly stifling his laughter before it could form, Edward seized the opportunity to enter into the building behind a larger man. Once inside, before the man could move out of the way and reveal him, he ducked behind a particularly lush row of plants; their many leaves would help hide him as he made his way across the room.
With skillful movements, he bobbed and weaved around the plants, making his way to the other side of the room without being spotted. Or if he had been spotted, no one raised any alarm regarding his presence.
In any case, before him was the payload he’d been looking for, and it wasn’t even being guarded or locked away. It was almost too easy, but then again, it wasn’t like he’d been expecting any trouble to begin with. Not wanting to waste any time admiring the object, he scooped it up, and in a single moment, it disappeared from his hands, as if had never existed in the first place. Only it was not actually gone, but instead, safely stashed beneath his shirt.
Another successful heist was almost added to his record, and this one would be his biggest yet. It was also the riskiest heist of the day, as the item he had just nabbed was far larger and more unwieldly than the other two.
That did not faze him though, as he had not only mentally prepared himself for this moment for a massive ten minutes, but he’d also been through a more exciting experience recently. Although it might not have been the best idea to think back to that particular, exciting time, as it could throw him off his game.
Shaking his head and steadying his breath that had grown erratic, he put on a casual demeanor. Then, as if he owned the place, he strutted back across the room, carefully tracing the path that he had initially gone through and made his way back out of the building. It was his best performance to date. It had been smooth, he held open a door for someone else, no one would expect a thing. No one would expect the burglary that had just taken place.
Edward forced his face to remain neutral, despite wanting to smile at the success. He still had to return to his hideout and stash away his ill-gotten gains before it could be considered safe. Not to mention, what was waiting for him back at his base was another set of work to do, this time though, it wasn’t thievery. It would keep him busy and his mind off of things, so it was probably for the best.
Sleeping had not come easy to him after he’d woken up from the illusory dungeon. He got some, sure, but not nearly enough to satisfy him. In the short term, he’d be fine, but if the trend continued in the coming days and weeks, sleep deprivation might be what kills him, not the spirit. At least he’d been tired enough when he finally fell asleep that he did not dream, he did not want to know what sorts of dreams he’d have after the experience he’d gone through.
It was better to not focus on those dreary thoughts of his future for right now, though, they’d only make him worry needlessly. He’d deal with it when he got to it.
On a brighter note, Edward realized in the morning that the bush he’d slept under that night was a great spot to carry out his plan of digging a hole to live in. It was ever so slightly sloped, so redirecting rain away from where he’d dig the hole should prove to be quite easy. Not to mention that the slope itself made it so the actual hole he dug would be easier to crawl into and out of.
And as he neared said bush, he remembered to check to see if he was being followed. He didn’t think that the gang would still be looking out for him, as they should’ve been finished with their business after they had carried out the evil spirit implantation ritual on him, but one could never be too careful. Especially because that one that used rock-based magic seemed to be unstable, even for a member of a cult, and he seemed the type to attack him regardless of the cult’s orders.
The coast was clear, unless someone was following him while being quite literally invisible. They’d also have to have avoided stepping on any sticks or crunchy leaves on the ground, so he doubted that would actually be the case. Not to mention that invisibility magic was probably pretty difficult to pull of by itself, much less while you were moving and avoiding making noise.
Regardless, Edward figured he was fine to return to his bush. Lowering himself to the ground, he was careful not to get caught on any of the thorns, as he shimmied his way into the interior of the bush. Once safely inside, a simple shake of his leg caused a dagger to fall out of his pants. Then, repeating the motion with his other legs, a small knife fell out. Finally, he lifted his shirt to reveal the most prized of his new loot, a trench shovel.
Honestly, he was somewhat surprised the building had actually had a trench shovel. It seemed like for planting purposes a larger, normal shovel would be preferred, but he guessed that a small shovel was nice to have for certain things. In any case, it wasn’t like they had it anymore, it was now property of the Great Thief Edward.
He already knew that it was going to be difficult to reintegrate himself into society after his experiences in this city, as stealing things was beginning to become a habit of his. His breakfast that morning, along with his lunch and dinner later on in the day, was all food that he had absconded with from the canteen. At the very least though, his water had not been stolen, unless that is, that the water in the well he took it from was privately owned.
On second thought, it most likely would not matter either way, as he did not exactly own the water skin that he stored said water in. But that begged the question, was stealing from a cult still considered a crime? They were criminals, after all. You wouldn’t say looting a bandit encampment was a crime, now would you? Edward hoped that the authorities, if they captured him again, would agree with him.
At any rate, it was time for him to start digging, and as he dug, he began to picture what he’d want it to look like when he was finished. The entrance had to be large enough that he could quickly and easily move in and out, and he figured he could mound up dirt on either side of it and lay sticks across the top to create a make-shift roof. That would leak though, so he’d need to put the roof at an angle, and maybe weave some leaves in to create a pseudo-thatch roof.
He nodded to himself, for not having any experience, that was probably the best he could do on short notice, and it didn’t seem like there were any flaws with his plan. And as for the inside of the hole, he’d just have to do it like he’d thought about the day before, with an elevated platform to keep him well above any water that still managed to pool in, and the bugs, for that matter.
Unfortunately, Edward had been naïve in his thinking. Not about the hole that he was digging, but instead about the work keeping his mind off of things.
The work was nowhere near strenuous enough to stop his mind from thinking about things. He hadn’t noticed, because thinking about the nice, little hole-house that he was digging were happy thoughts. But once he ran out of things to think about on that front, it left room for the unhappy thoughts to enter his mind. The specific unhappy thoughts was, of course, naturally, the demons from his experience in the night.
It was all in his head, he knew that, but it felt almost as if he could see the smile and hear the laughter of the bones of the skinwolf in the soil. Luckily, unlike in the dungeon, he was not only clothed, but also had a weapon in his hands, the mental demons could not defeat him. In fact, they only made him work harder at striking the soil, as in doing so, he not only covered up the sound of laughter with the crunch of the dirt, but it also smashed the smile of the beast to bits.
His anger was unnatural, however, as, once again, he knew that the skinwolf was only in his head. Something was putting him on edge, and he had a sneaking suspicion he knew what.
The chatter at the back of his mind had been loud from the moment he’d woken up. It seemed that the spirit who paid no rent for staying in his body was upset for some ungodly reason. But what could it be, did it have something against stealing? That couldn’t be the case, because it was trying to steal his body!
Maybe it could taste what he could, and it didn’t like his choice of food? But now that he was really thinking about it, Edward realized that neither of those two options made any real sense. The chattering had started the moment he woke up, not when he ate, or when he stole things, it had been ubiquitous from his first moment of consciousness. In fact, it could’ve started before he’d even woken up, and he wouldn’t have known.
He couldn’t speak to the spirit at the moment, as he would risk being heard if someone was nearby for some reason, but it wouldn’t hurt him to listen in on what it was saying. After all, a little bit of entertainment while he worked would definitely help keep his mind off of things.
“I should’ve realized something was up when he stole that shovel. Why is he digging a hole? Does he feel so much fear from his experience last night that he desires to prepare an early grave for himself? I sincerely hope his mind has not been broken from the experience.”
The spirit was as monotone as ever, but based on its words alone, it seemed confused. Maybe this entire time it had been pondering his actions aloud for lack of a better thing to do with its time. Now that he thought about it, he couldn’t really blame the spirit for trying to take over his mind, it was probably really boring being stuck inside of someone.
Not to mention that it might’ve not even had a choice in the matter, its not like he knew whether or not the cult and the spirit actually communicated at all prior to the ritual. Although he did somewhat expect that was the case. What else could that transfer division bit been about if not referring to members of the cult?
Still, him not blaming the spirit for wanting to take him over would not prevent him from blaming it for insulting him. Did it really think that one measly hug with a skinwolf, even if that hug did result in his death, would be enough to break him? They didn’t refer to him as the Iron-Willed, Great Thief Edward on the streets for nothing, after all.
And even if he did not have such an illustrious title attached to his name, would a broken guy be trying to hide from every person in a city, and dig a hole beneath a bush to hide out in? With the incident where it only repeated the word dungeon for like twenty minutes straight combined with this sort or behavior, it might as well have been confirmed that spirit had been cooped up too long and gone insane. After all, what sort of normal individual calls someone else broken?
It was always the crazy ones who tried to frame others as being crazy. Instinctive manipulation probably came with the craziness, so it wasn’t like they could help themselves.
Edward did find the situation to be pretty funny though. The great and mighty evil spirit, driven by his very nature to cause insanity in its host, had fallen to insanity itself after barely a full day spent with him. That did beg the question though, was the spirit bad at its job? Or was he actually secretly a very awful person to be around?
Technically speaking, he had heard zero complaints about himself, whereas he knew for a fact that at least one person did not like the spirit and thought it was bad at its job. So, in a way, the answer spoke for itself. Edward 1, Evil Spirit 0.
“Please stop digging the hole. You do not need to create your own home; the school is providing you with a free dorm room for a reason. If you do this, you will miss every. Single. Flag. That. Was. Planned. For. You. Its as if I can hear the red string of fate snapping in the distance.”
Why would he stay in the room provided to him by a cult? That had stupid written all over it, not that he’d be able to read it, but the context clues were enough for him to keep him away. Personally, Edward quite enjoyed keeping his organs where they should be, inside of his body, and not where the cult probably wanted them, scattered around a ritual site. Not to mention, even if he was suicidal, the hole was already something like ten percent dug out, so it might as well have been a completed project.
The spirit was also not aiding its case by mentioning some sort of flag and a string of fate, whatever those two things meant. He’d just assume that the cult had some sort of nefarious plans for him and his organs, which was just added to the growing list of great reasons to keep away.
But honestly, he was far less scared of both the cult and the spirit than he thought he’d be by this point. The cult was clueless as to his whereabouts and probably thought he’d been consumed by the spirit by now, so they’d be off his radar for a bit still. And the spirit was far more mundane than he’d been expecting based on the legends.
It was always a possibility that he was strangely resistant to possession for some reason or another, but it also seemed like the spirit wasn’t doing much to further its goals. Like, all of the legends regarding normal, or even slightly powerful people, involved epic battles of will between man and spirit. Evil spirits were supposed to be such a frightening menace, that they alone were the reason the kingdom was forced to carry out a purge of the cults. And yet here he was, having a normal day and digging a hole, no interference from the big bad spirit who didn’t pay rent.
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
He had been joking about the spirit being insane or crazy, but maybe there was an actual answer regarding its behavior, it was defective. Or, borrowing its words, broken. What else would you call an evil spirit that couldn’t even properly possess a young, cute, innocent boy like himself?
Honestly, if it wasn’t that, the only other reason he could think of for the spirit not trying to take him over at every moment was that it was afraid of holes. Or dirt. Or shovel for that matter. That thought was far too silly, however, even if he was just joking to himself.
Being on edge constantly was probably making him tired, it was hard to have no idea when the spirit might strike next. He figured it would probably drag him into the dungeon again as he slept, but outside of that, he had no clue if it was capable of anything else. It could be that unlike his jokes about it being defective or afraid of holes, that it was waiting for him to exhaust himself before it tried its other tricks.
If that was the case, then even the act of thinking about what it was secretly planning was probably a bad idea, as it’d be almost impossible to guess what it would actually do with only the limited amount of information that he had on hand. At least he was certain of one thing, that the cult would have to fear him in the future.
As harrowing as life had been since his skull was nearly caved in the day before, not succumbing to it all was only tempering his will further. And by the end of the month, if he had to survive in the dungeon every night for hours on end just as he had that night, his senses would likely be honed to perfection. He could already see himself in the near future, able to tell if any members of the cult even dared to think about him, much less if they got near him.
That, of course, would only happen in the future if he survived. He knew he wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, but the cult didn’t seem to be either, so he had high hopes. It’d also help if the spirit provided some directly useful information, instead of vague implications of plans that had been put in place and have since been rendered out of date.
“I wish I had any information to go off of regarding his plans, or if he could even see the system alerts. He hasn’t said a word since last night, and even that was only telling me to be quiet, as if he could hear me somehow. It is quite clear that he knows I exist, so why else would he ignore the alerts I’ve been sending him, if not for him not seeing them at all?”
Edward couldn’t believe it; it was like he and the spirit were twins. They were both complaining about the same thing about one another, like they’d planned this accidental comedy from the beginning. Still, for the same reasons as before, he could not talk to the spirit at the moment, as it was too risky.
They’d have ample time to chat when he got sucked into the dungeon anyway, so the spirit would have to stay confused and annoyed by itself for a while. Doubly so, as he was going to stop listening in on it until the night came because he’d unintentionally slowed down his digging speed to a snail’s pace while doing so. It seemed like he needed quite a bit more practice before he’d be able to listen to it while doing other things.
And so, as quietly as he could, Edward went back to digging out his new home, content that he’d started to get a grasp on the unfamiliar set of circumstances he’d found himself in as of late.
Interim
Caves and dungeons are awesome! Who wouldn’t want to spend their sleeping time traipsing around one? If he were only slightly more insane, he might’ve even started skipping out of pure joy at his return to his own, private death hole.
He’d felt mostly fine after hitting his head the other day, like whoever had healed him did a good enough job that he’d be alright, even without further rest. But that thought made him reconsider his position on the condition of his noggin. There was a chance that there was some lasting brain damage, as he felt far too calm about hanging out in the dungeon once more.
It was like the 24 hours since he’d been eaten by the skinwolf was enough to purge it from his memories, like those were the good ole times of his youth. But logically, he knew that it was a terrible experience that was still fresh in his mind. Could the spirit have added a layer to the dungeon that made him happy-go-lucky and dumb?
After all, stuff like that didn’t exactly disappear from one’s mind, as if by magic, unless magic was actually at fault for the disappearance. Or did it? He didn’t really remember much about the time that the scumbag trio’s servants had beaten him, but that was literally years ago that it had happened, he could have simply forgotten.
Or maybe the work that he had thrown himself into actually did keep his mind off of things like he thought it would? And if combined those two theories, it resulted in holes, or digging holes, being a magical process that cured all wounds, even mental ones. His shoulder didn’t hurt that much anymore, after all, but the fall also wasn’t a large one, so his pain might’ve been more mental than physical. That also played right into his unified theory of magical holes.
It was a bit farfetched, but then again, so was the fact that there was a cult that ran a city to carry out evil spirit implantation rituals. Especially since it was happening in this day and age, cults were so a century ago, definitely outdated. Maybe they were making a comeback? If so, he wondered if he could get anybody to fall for his magical hole theory and start a cult about it.
If he survived the evil spirit, he could even claim that he, as a normal, young boy, had only managed to survive due to the amazing and powerful magical hole digging technique that had been bestowed upon him by the great gods of hole digging. What would those even be, rabbits? Snakes dug holes too, right? Or maybe moles?
It was his cult, he could just say all three, and that they each represented a different aspect of hole digging. And if he bent scripture enough, he could probably even convince religious folk that his cult wasn’t actually a cult, but instead a gathering of people who worshipped a specific trio of lesser gods that happened to take on the forms of burrowing animals. Then their cult-like practice of digging holes would just be added to the list of the countless ways people worshipped the gods.
Could he avoid paying taxes if he did that? Churches didn’t have to pay taxes, right? So, if he registered his cult as a church, then it should work out. But then he’d have to find cult-church gang wars with the other churches or whatever they did when they wanted to get rid of a rival church.
Edward shook his head, it wasn’t time to think about forming a cult-church-thing to avoid taxes and fight in wars. He would note the idea for a later day, as even if he was not actually planning on doing it, it could still be a pretty funny idea to share with his friends, if he had any.
It was sad, but the closest thing he had to a friend at the moment was the evil spirit that lived inside his head. The same one that he’d let stayed confused about whether or not he could actually hear it. Which, he figured, he should probably follow up with now that he was at no risk of inadvertently exposing his secret base.
As if it were a switch in his mind, Edward instantly tuned into the connection with the spirit, ready to finally have a proper conversation with it for once.
“Great, second round in the dangerous dungeon and my contractor prepares for it by digging a hole all day. Didn’t even bother to check for or open the newbie package, which is not that surprising coming from the guy who does not even check system alerts. Maybe he’s blind and the configuration is not right for him to get the messages? Nope, the settings would have auto adjusted if that was the case.”
What was he supposed to prepare that would’ve satisfied the spirit? Should he have instantaneously obtained a powerful physique and mastered a martial art that would take years of training to perfect? Even young children knew that was impossible, much less him.
And even if he could, there was no way the gods would allow him to get away with it. The only way to get knowledge and power like that in a short amount of time was through channeling some higher being into your person, and that almost always resulted in your flesh instantly melting off of your bones, unable to contain that which it was not prepared for.
From what he knew, even some high-class paladins were permanently crippled after channeling too much of their god’s power. But apparently, the spirit did not know any of that, and since that was the case, if it did ever take over his body, it would likely accidentally kill itself in the pursue of power that was beyond it.
He was done with flip and flopping on whether or not he thought that the spirit was actually insane or just plain stupid and ignorant, it would do him no good to know the actual answer. Either way, it was unpredictable as far as he was concerned.
And despite that unpredictability, he was about to engage in an open dialogue with it.
“Oh, evil spirit that inhabits mine body, won’t you please find it within you to let this feeble, young pauper off easily, and not possess me. My body is not one of great strength or fortitude, so is there not a better vessel for your great self?”
He said it every time he had to act, but he was damn good at it. Not only had he flattered the spirit despite his true, inner thoughts about it, but he also made himself appear weaker in its eyes. It was the perfect, two-pronged approach to engaging in his first of many talks with the spirit.
“Is he talking to me? Unless he has truly gone crazy and is attempting to communicate with a skinwolf, he has to be talking to me. It would make sense, as he had also told an evil spirit to be quiet yesterday in the dungeon, but that begs the question, why does he think I am an evil spirit? Is he not aware of our common title, goldfinger?”
Check. The spirit could, in fact, hear him, it just was uncertain about whether or not he was actually talking to it or not. And that clarified the goldfinger term a little bit, it seemed that evil spirits referred to themselves as goldfingers.
He so wanted to mess with the ‘goldfinger,’ as it would be far too simple with the advantage that he had over it. All he had to do was pretend like he was actually trying to talk with a skinwolf, and then the goldfinger would have no clue what was going on.
That was, however, not his goal at the moment. He was trying to talk with the goldfinger for a reason, information, and he could not let the temptation of a shallow joke blind him from that fact. Even if the temptation to do so was eating away at him.
“Yes, I am talking to you Mr. Evil Spirit, or should I call you goldfinger? Neither option really rolls of the tongue nicely, so instead, how about I call you something else? But what?”
He thought for a moment, what would be a good name for a goldfinger. Why not something that starts with a ‘G’ so that it could be G-name the Goldfinger. That title and name combination would go hard on the streets, everybody would know to fear him and his economic expertise. Hopefully he actually was good at business, because with a title like goldfinger, you kind of had to be.
That wasn’t the point, however, he needed to come up with a good name that started with the letter ‘G.’ Gertrude? No, despite the goldfinger’s monotone voice, Edward got the impression that it was more masculine than feminine. Gorlock the Destructive Goldfinger? That didn’t really suit it either with the whole business persona he’d come up with his mind. The name needed to be sophisticated to go along with the title.
He knew exactly what it would be then.
“I got it! Henceforth, you will be referred to as Gerald the Goldfinger!”
Edward waited in excitement, he had used a lot of brainpower to come up with that name, and personally, he thought it was a great name. Only, he soon began to doubt himself, as the goldfinger had not said a single word for over a minute, hopefully out of amazement for the great name it had obtained for itself.
Still, regardless of whether it truly liked the name or not, that is the only way he would refer to it from now on. Its fate was sealed—
—An echo of laughter erupted past him causing a chill to run down his spine as he began to erratically gasp for air. The laughter was familiar to him, as the memory of it lingered in his very bones, it was the cracking of a skinwolf’s bones.
Only there were no skinwolves in front of him, nor any in his peripheral vision, which left one location where one of the creatures could be, directly behind him. It could’ve been dozens of feet away still, or practically breathing down his neck, he had no way of knowing until he looked behind himself.
But Edward could not bring himself to do so. Fear had paralyzed him; he was already picturing the smile the creature would wear as it stumbled towards him. It was also as if he could sense its long arms stretching out to impossible lengths to wrap around him. All he could think of was the torment he had gone through the night before, being trapped and forced to slowly die over the course of days and weeks and listening as his bones synced up with those of the skinwolf’s.
It was an inevitable ‘death,’ there was no escape for him once it had spotted him. Even if he tried to get away, it would alter his perception of time and eventually close in on him. He was doomed.
He felt faint, his vision was darkening, and the ground was growing ever closer.
“Snap out of it, boy! And run!”
It felt as if a wall of glass had shattered around him. The fear that had plagued his mind and the loss of hope that had come with him had left him all at once, as if it were never there to begin with.
And with his mind no longer clouded, he took a desperate breath, he hadn’t realized that he’d stopped breathing in his panic. Then, he burst out in a sprint, not wanting to risk falling for the skinwolf’s tricks once more.
Running brought him another set of relief. Something about the feeling of freedom and safety that it brought him comforted his troubled mind. Nothing could hurt him if he had already run away, that was what he’d been taught by his uncle to do if he ever got into a fight or a bad situation.
His uncle had explained to him that to fight was to risk oneself. Their opponent could be more skilled. They could be stronger. They could be trickier. But none of that mattered if they could not catch him and force him into a fight. It was a great equalizer that reduced all factors in the fight to two things, who was faster and who had more stamina.
And not to brag, but on open ground, Edward had never been caught before. Which was probably the reason that his uncle had led the troops to his room at home to capture him, instead of just revealing his results in the orb’s test. It was smart, he had to admit that much, he never would have expected that he needed to keep his guard up even at home. His acute senses didn’t even warn him of the incoming danger until it had been too late.
Perhaps it was not the best time to think about such sad thoughts, he could save those for when he was no longer running for his life. Which shouldn’t be too hard of a task, as long as skinwolves did not suddenly become graceful, speedy runners the moment someone tried to make a getaway. And it wasn’t like he was going to check behind him to see if it was somehow keeping up with him, he’d rather figure that one out by running for a couple more minutes and seeing whether or not he had been caught by then.
This running was also an ideal scenario for him to chat with the goldfinger during. He had free time from being trapped in the dungeon, nothing could sneak up on him again while he was running, and it also helped him practice listening to it while doing another task. Three birds with one stone was not bad at all.
Not to mention he had a new question for the goldfinger that was already beginning to eat away at him. If the goldfinger was an evil spirit that wanted to break his will to take over his body, why did it help him escape from the skinwolf? Was it a long con of some sort that was meant to gain his trust? To make him lower his guard so that it could swoop in and take over his mind with little effort?
Whatever the case may be, it had helped him, and would presumably be on his side for at least a little while longer. He could use that to his advantage. After all, they didn’t call him the Conniving, Iron-Willed, Great Thief Edward for nothing, any small advantage in his hands might as well have been worth the world.
But the bards could sing his praises at a later date and time, for now, the dialogue with Gerald to begin once again.
“Okay, Gerald, now that we have some alone time together, what’s the deal with sucking me into this illusory dungeon?”
That was not exactly the way Edward envisioned himself easing into the conversation, unfortunately, limited oxygen supply tended to cut even the most verbose of speeches short. There was no use in crying over spilled milk, so that would have to do. And besides, maybe the goldfinger took pride in his kidnapping-to-a-dungeon abilities and would want to talk at extent about them.
“There is a lot to discuss, my contractor. In fact, one of the topics will eventually have to be about how we are communicating with one another, as it should not be possible.”
It turned out he was right after all! And with good reason, too! He knew that there was no way that the gang that couldn’t even use their normal, elemental spells properly would be capable of pulling off the ritual without any mistakes.
“But that is not where I would like to begin with you. Instead, tell me, what do you know about reincarnators, the system, and the contract?”