-Celio-

Celio had learned [Claim] out of sheer spite.

He’d been younger, then, and hadn’t given up on adventuring yet. Ira had never truly given up on it—had gone to fight monsters in the mountains, actually—but Celio loved art more than fighting. Had only been set on adventuring at all because the Laurus Sect insisted he wasn’t allowed to.

So, it was out of spite that he’d learned any adventuring skills, and [Claim] was the pinnacle of that.

The skill was originally meant for artifacts, or any semi-sentient object, and simply established ownership. No one unauthorized by the owner could use what was Claimed, and the owner could enforce simple commands on it when necessary. Traditionally, it had been applied to magical weapons, who tended to get a little bloodthirsty.

But then someone thought of using it on dungeons.

Celio took a deep breath, [Sensing] the mana around him. It tasted salty-sweet, like fresh taffy. Quivered in a webbed cloud, permeated every inch of the grotto.

Moving fast, he pushed through a metallic grove, into the thickest mana. Another statue loomed above them, surrounded by a moat.

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Ira was on his heels. Checked out the area while he focused on his magic. “Can you electrocute the water?”

Without questioning why, Celio lobbed lightning into the moat, still focused on the delicate mana. This dungeon was young—weak enough that it was hard for him to read it.

Still, this was its center. Following the currents, where they snagged in a decoy, where they wound about in a whirl--

“There.” He smiled. “I found the core.”

Ira nodded. “Hurry.”

The crickets reached a fevered crescendo in the insane tune they were playing. Moved to a frantic cacophony as melody fell apart.

Celio took a few steps back. “It’s in the statue base.” He leapt over the moat, high-leveled stats carrying him. Crouched on the polished marble.

Sans chisel, he grabbed his knife, pulling on his artisan skills. “[Carve].”

There was sudden resistance. A last-ditch enchantment? Some kind of dungeon trap? He pushed mana into the skill, chipping into the stone by his feet. Whatever it was, it wasn’t powerful enough to be a problem.

A faerie—like those from earlier—darted out from the statue. The source of the resistance.

It sent a wave of Iron and Dove-metal at him (some variant of [Paint]?), clinging towards his bleeding-burnt limbs in manacles. Almost had him, too, but Ira threw a dagger.

Faerie blood, mixing with his own.

Celio took a deep breath. On the other side of the moat, Gloria had caught up and was sitting on Ira’s foot. She cooed at him.

Any remaining music died, as the dungeon’s chirpy choir fell silent.

“[Carve].”

It was not pretty work. The artist in him cringed, but the long-slumbering adventurer stirred in hesitant excitement.

He blew stone fragments from the hole in the statue base. A pale crystal, strobing with light.

It was silky under his touch, and he tasted taffy and sunlight and sharp ocean-tang.

“[Clai—

[HOW DARE YOU.]