“You there!” Zini hollered, pointing a pale finger at the gnome. The gnome faltered then jumped back in alarm. “Are you real?”

The gnome’s eyes squinted in confusion before answering, “What? Of course I am real, you addle brained, fuzzless, bone white, foul human!”

Zini scoffed, “Watch yourself, tree dwarf. Calling me addle brained is a mistake. I was head of my class in one of the most prestigious learning institutions in history.”

“Oh, you choose bigotry as a response? A clear sign of a simple person.”

“Would you dare proclaim intelligence? Where have you studied?”

The gnome poked his chest out, tilted his head back and answered with his beard pointed at the necromancer, “Self-taught!”

Zini began to roar with laughter. Without accreditation and prestige, what was the point in claiming intelligence? Mere posturing was all Zini could discern from this gnome.

“You’re laughing?” Polopp charged, his blue eyes narrowing, “You, someone who raids an empty tomb, dares to laugh?” The gnome had seen what the cave’s connecting tunnel led toward.

“I was able to gather many servants from this place,” Zini argued. “The tomb being empty was mere fate.”

“Oh, is that it? Where are these servants now?”

Zini was quiet.

“I thought so! And to think you’d dare blame fate for the emptiness of this tomb. It has always been empty! You raided an empty stone room is what you did.”

Zini shook his head and said, “You lead with your ignorance, gnome. This is the tomb of Phasar the One Being, a king from the fourth age, who came into power here in Loderan after the fall of the four empires controlled by the First Sons. Unlike most ancient structures, this tomb was crafted by more than humans. This place came to existence with the work of all manner of races, though they were enslaved.”

The gnome shook his balding head and refuted, “You clueless and dense human.”

Zini frowned heavily. Never did he have to suffer any insult to his intelligence. His eyes moved as the gnome then pointed out a broken vase that Zini had brought out of the tomb to study.

“Look at the symbols on the vase depicting animals,” the gnome said. “Do you notice anything? Aren’t they so similar to the civilization ruled by Phasar, yet differ in small ways?”

Zini felt as if he’d been splashed with cold water.

"I-it's from the third age," Zini admitted, his words stumbling out with a hint of hesitation. His expression quickly soured as he cursed, "Dammit! This tomb is from that period when one of the First Sons ruled."

"Correct," the gnome nodded in satisfaction. "Phasar and his people were warlike and powerful, but lacked civility and culture. They took over the civilization ruled by Emperor Cekroc, one of the four emperors known as the First Sons, and adopted its culture, making some modifications to establish themselves as a distinct civilization in history."

“…modifications like changing the animal symbology of the previous civilization by adding human heads,” Zini said. He stared unblinking at the animal symbols. They were so much like the symbols of the civilization that Phasar had ruled. It was the lack of human heads on the animal depictions that should’ve stuck out to him right away.

The necromancer had erred in his raiding this tomb.

Emperor Cekroc was never laid to rest. King Phasar had ensured that the emperor was dismembered and scattered to the four winds. The tomb appeared to have been intended for Emperor Cekroc, but there was nothing left to bury and no civilization remaining to tend to it. He should’ve known. The tomb had always been empty for countless years, devoid of a body, ancient knowledge, treasures, or artifacts. In reality, there was nothing of value to be found here besides the worker skeletons.

Zini wouldn’t be so affected by being wrong if not for the gnome. He hated that he had been bested by this creature. Was he not the top student back at the Magitarius? How could he let some gnome in a forsaken forest get the better of him?

Zini's words rushed out as he tested the gnome, "Who slew the Demon King?"

One white brush brow of the gnome lifted as he answered, "Want a history lesson? Many humans believe that Talon the First Hunter, leader of the group that founded the current Hunter's Guild, killed Lighteater. But the truth is, it was a wanderer in the beast forest who dealt the final blow. Lighteater managed to flee the battlefield when the world came for his neck, but not unscathed. The Demon King ventured into the forest and was killed while attempting to steal food.”

Zini's forehead was slick with sweat. He had only ever heard half of the tale. The true story was known to be in dusty parts of grand libraries of non-human races. Since humans liked that they dealt the final blow to the Demon King, they never really made an effort to gain access to the scroll. Though he only knew half the story, Zini knew enough to recognize the right answer. The mention of the Demon King dying in the beast forest was accurate—the gnome knew his history well.

If the necromancer wanted to prove his superior intelligence to the gnome, he had to throw the gnome off his guard.

Zini pointed upwards, prompting, "What are these arcane formulas on the wall?"

Without a second of hesitation, the gnome answered, “The smaller texts are runes and they’re written around these diagrams which humans at the end of the fourth age called the ‘Firmament Gate’ formula. This was how humans used and developed magic going into the fifth age, which eventually led them to create sage symbols.”

How’d a gnome learn so much about human history? Zini wondered incredulously. Gnomes can only live up to fifty years old. When did he find the time to read about humanity?

This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“Fine then,” Zini grunted, frustrated, “Ask me anything.”

“Where is a mortal’s soul located?” the gnome asked.

“What? How would I know that?”

“Do you admit ignorance?”

“…”

“There is a mirror of sorts on another plane of existence that the soul is looking through,” the gnome explained, answering his own question, “The soul can see us, but we cannot see the soul. The mirror can also be used as a gate, which is how demons had once come into our world.”

In pondering about demons and their leader, Lighteater, Zini considered what he knew. The gnome's words appeared to hold weight. In the past, demons could’ve misled Eronia’s races into believing that they required a host to be summoned. However, if the gnome's words were true, it suggested that mortals were the actual gateways. This could be why all who served the demons closely in the past had met their demise. Acting as a gate for a demon must be close to suicide.

Demons were a race of spirits essentially. It made sense that they behaved similar to souls. The gnome seemed to be correct.

Seeing Zini make the connections in his head, the gnome shrugged, “See? Clearly, one of us is more ignorant than the other.” He then pointed both thumbs at his chest, “Can you believe it? I’m self-taught!”

Zini’s face flushed again as his pale face became red.

“You’re still an intruder, which means we are at impassable odds!” he barked, unwilling to let things lie as they were.

All around them, the runes and Firmament Gate diagrams lit up with brilliant violet light. A dark wave of mana formed into a skeletal hand that rose above the gnome, swallowing him in shadow and plummeting towards him like a meteor.

“This is why I don’t like debating humans,” the gnome frowned before he was swept up by the magic and trapped within the grasp of the dark skeletal hand.

“I won’t go quietly,” the gnome shouted before one of the dark hand’s fingers pressed his mouth shut.

“I’ve wasted enough time on you,” Zini spat, but secretly satisfied in enacting vengeance on someone who made him feel less than intelligent. He stood where was and reached out with his mana to the magic inlaid into the walls and ceiling. His senses were then sent away to connect with his strongest servant, his trump card he’d sent out.

He located where the servant was and found him fighting the five forest intruders who had killed his skeleton army. To his surprise, they were still holding out. Despite his servant’s overwhelming strength, they held up against it, though the signs of imminent defeat loomed clear.

Zini withdrew his mana, watching the gnome struggle within the confines of his dark magic. The fact that a gnome had infiltrated so deep into his territory was concerning; it meant that anyone could do the same.

He needed guards. A necromancer without protectors was akin to leaving the henhouse open for foxes.

His gaze fell upon the young man lying on the stone table, surrounded by equipment arranged by the gnome.

Is this all for alchemy? Zini wondered, examining the strange tools. Gnomes were known as skilled alchemist the same as dwarfs were known for smithing and inventing machines.

He returned his attention to the young man. This was his first major hurtle here in the forest. The young man had dealt the first major blow to him since arriving in these lands by taking out so many of his undead soldiers.

“Once, you were against me,” Zini said to the unconscious young man, “Now, you will serve me.” The necromancer turned to another stone table where an artifact lay. “The Soul Expropriator,” he smiled, “Made before the age of demons and darkness.”

Before he could continue, he saw the gnome shaking his head silently within his bindings. There seemed to be something wrong or not factual with what Zini had said.

“Q-quiet you!” Zini commanded the gnome, his voice laced with uncertainty. He couldn't bear to be proven wrong by the gnome once again, as the humiliation would be too much to endure.

No longer in the mood for ceremony or flair, he wordlessly pressed the Soul Expropriator to the young man's chiseled chest. In a flash, the artifact radiated a brilliant aura, illuminating the surroundings with an ethereal glow.

"Rise, servant," commanded Zini, as the sleeping young man opened his eyes, as though he had been awake the entire time.

He then rose and looked at Zini oddly.

“Who are you?” the young man asked, his brows furrowed.

“I have used an artifact to force you into my service,” Zini explained.

“You did what? The champ doesn’t allow others to treat him badly. In fact, if you slap me in your dreams, you better wake up and apologize.”

“Silence.”

“The champ doesn’t quiet down,” the young man barked, eyeing the necromancer seriously, “The champ quiets others down!”

Zini was puzzled. He had already used the Soul Expropriator, an artifact that never failed to enslave a soul to the wielder. Glancing at the gnome, he could see the creature watching with interest. The idea of seeking guidance from the gnome made Zini feel disgusted, for it would mean submitting to the creature in his heart.

He refused submit to anyone.

Turning back to the young man, he commanded, “Lay back down. I have to check what went wrong.”

The young man frowned deeply, clearly tired of the necromancer's overbearing demeanor. "Make me," he challenged, his eyes blazing with defiance.

Zini couldn’t find the words to express his baffled state. Why was the young man unaffected by the Soul Expropriator? Did he not have a soul?

Without warning and before the young man could react, Zini pushed the artifact onto his chest and there appeared more dancing lights.

“Now,” Zini said with exasperated breathe, “Let me repeat, you are my servant now—”

“Hold your horses there, brother,” the young man said with his voice rumbling. “I think you got turned around somewhere because you must be lost, oh yea. No one around these parts tells Red Rumble what to do, no they do not. The thought of a mighty man like myself having to follow the orders of a lesser man such as you, it tickles me with laughter, oh yea.” He then began to flex his muscles, making them dance.

The Soul Expropriator was soon pressed to his chest.

“O que você quer?” the young man asked rudely.

This doesn’t make sense, Zini thought, frustrated. Why isn’t the Soul Expropriator working on him?

He tried again and the young man’s eyes remained clear like always as if the artifact had failed again, though this time the young man began to slouch, seeming like he was relaxing on the beach.

I’ll just keep using the artifact until I’m certain…

He pushed the Soul Expropriator once more when the young man suddenly swept up the artifact out of his hands.

“Give that back!” Zini snapped.

“Bra, you were about to assault me with this here unidentified glowing object,” the young man said in a strange accent. “You wouldn’t like it if I harshed on your vibe. Do unto other dudes as you would have them do unto you, dude.”

Air distorted around Zini as he amassed power. If he couldn’t control this strong foe, he’d at least take him out of the picture.

A foot suddenly found itself onto the necromancer’s face and launched him across the cave with a kick.

“Had to do it, man,” the young man apologized, “My kickboxer senses were tingling.”

“Watch out, Red!”

A shadow enveloped Red and when he turned to look, a black skeletal hand made of mana descended on him. Red rolled onto the floor, dodging it.

“Close one there,” Red said, putting up a hand to the gnome with his pinky and thumb out, wiggling it, “You’re the man, Polps.”

“Don’t mention it,” Polopp nodded then slightly narrowed his eyes, “And don’t call me Polps, champ.”

“They’re all just labels, man. Pick one and have fun,” Red smiled.

“You’re not Red or the champ.”

“I’m whatever the flow of things make me, bra. I kickbox, therefore I am, dude.”

“I’ll call you kickboxer so as to differentiate you from the ‘Champ’,” Polopp suggested.

“Whatever floats your boat, man.” The kickboxer shrugged. He suddenly dipped low, grabbed Polopp and cartwheeled without his hands, avoiding the dark skeleton hand trying to catch him unaware.

“I’m not feeling this dude, chea, seriously,” he commented, staring across the cave at Zini’s pale form.