Cedric sat on his oaken chair, trying to make out the writing on the report before him. Not that its contents were difficult to fathom — the handwriting was just too bad.

“Did you write this?” he asked Jeremy, the Blackstaff’s son. The wizard’s moniker of Scourge was growing on him — especially pertaining to his sanity and mental well-being.

“No,” the Scourge replied. “A child wrote that — I’m pretty sure of it. He looks around six or seven, but could probably be older. I gave him valuable input and details about the task.”

The wizard smiled at him, probably believing his answer made a lot of sense. Cedric was hesitant to ask why he made a child write the report. Knowing the Scourge, the answer would be something nonsensical like allowing the child to practice for a life of a scribe or delegating tasks to the people around him.

“So there was no curse?” he paused from reading the report, wanting confirmation in case the child who wrote it was mistaken. The few adventurers who ventured to Shallowpoint claimed they could feel the traces of one, but the report claimed there was no curse. Instead, an entity that fed on negative emotions was preying on the villagers.

“No curse whatsoever,” the Scourge smirked. “There was a witch — but she was harmless.”

Cedric doubted that, knowing how the Scourge thought and what he considered dangerous. For all he knew, the wizard might even consider a rampaging dragon harmless to a certain extent. He certainly feels that way about his monster of a snail, but the Guild felt that it could level half the city if it wanted to — and that was a conservative estimate.

He turned back to the report, noting a few details. “Whoever wrote this said he was running for his life from the entity while you watched — but then he killed the entity with a useless knife. I don’t understand that part.”

“It’s like this,” the Scourge took a deep breath, as if preparing to go into details. “I gave the kid a dagger precisely for the entity. His life was never in danger, he was just being dramatic. I made that dagger myself — I’m quite sure it could kill its target.”

Cedric frowned. There were so many things he could say about allowing a child to fend for himself — or even giving one an enchanted dagger.

“Can I see this dagger?”

“Of course,” the Scourge beamed as he pulled out a dagger from his robes. “It took me two whole weeks and a lot of traveling to make it.”

Cedric took the offered dagger. He didn’t realize the wizard dabbled in weaponsmithing. He pulled out the blade from its finely-crafted leather scabbard, realizing that “dabbled” was the right term to use for the wizard’s smithing.

He ran a finger on its edge, feeling its almost perfect smoothness. It would be impossible to cut anything with it. Even the point was rounded. It looked like a training weapon used by young nobles, though it lacked their craftsmanship and intricate designs.

Still, he could not let go of the dagger. It pulsed with power — like a relic of forgotten times. It reminded him of the Sword of Blood and Darkness, a weapon of evil that required the blood of hundreds in its forging.

“How many people died for this,” he whispered, not realizing he was voicing his thoughts.

“I’m not sure,” the Scourge answered. “Mining is a dangerous task — which is why I’m planning to revolutionize the process through golem power. Imagine hundreds of tireless golems working the mines, never needing breaks, food, or even air. They would empty out mountains in months with no threat to human lives — though the displacement of the workforce could be problematic if not taken to account.”

“Huh?”

“I didn’t sacrifice people for that,” the wizard explained. “It holds the essence of around two hundred demons. I should have it written somewhere.” He took out a notebook and started riffling through its pages. “There — two hundred and twelve. One of them was a potential demon lord, look at that.”

Cedric forced himself to smile as he returned the dagger to the Scourge. It would have been interesting to study the dagger — but unleashing hundreds of demons into his estate was not something he would risk.

“You said something about ants before Mason left,” he pried, thankful to move away from curses and enchanted daggers.

“Something strange is happening in the forest,” the Scourge started. “The ants were too far away from their hunting grounds. They were either running from something or being drawn away.”

“There was talk of a hydra in the Forest of Dun.”

“That’s not it,” his words were dismissed by the wizard. “Lenny is a pacifist. Even his severed head would probably be the same.”

“What?”

***

Motes of light floated around the cavern, illuminating a silver door. The door seemed to absorb and reflect light, shifting into phases of darkness and brightness every few seconds.

Sebas stood before the strange door, wondering what to make of it. There were no records of dwarves or any other sentient beings living on the nearby mountains — and it was certainly no door to a hidden kingdom. It was too striking for a vault door, and who would conceal their riches far beneath a mountain?

He was entertaining the thought that it might be a mad mage’s laboratory — a dungeon of sorts filled with traps and magical beasts. Then again, his master was the only mad mage he could think of — aside from the ones driven insane by mana, and they were as likely to build a dungeon as they were to spread love and joy.

The door was locked — arcane forces preventing it from being opened by force. It was hardly the only defense the door had. The entire mountain was concealed, though it hardly mattered to the ones visiting it. Sebas didn’t even notice until the villagers complained of getting lost. His mastery of spatial magics and the farmhands’ connection to the earth allowed them to disregard the magic obfuscating the mountain.

None of them noticed the concealment — but that was luck more than fate. His master would never have stumbled upon the mines if Shelby didn’t detect the presence of goblins — or greenies, as his master would often refer to them. The boys were never drawn to the place, only going there after realizing their need for weapons and armor. The entity they were connected to never mentioned the place. Warden and the others would be quick to report if the place held significance to the earth entity, such was their loyalty to his master or perhaps, to his familiar.

This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

Sebas stared at the closed door and smiled. Doorways were his forte. He sent a sliver of mana into the door, sensing the matrices within. They were quite complex. The usual arcane locks would take a few seconds to brute force — this one would require a couple of minutes to maneuver through the intricacies within.

The process was like picking a modern lock. Some matrices needed to be set to disable their magic, while others required to be bound. It was a relaxing exercise — the dozen or so magical traps and locks providing him with a respite from thinking, allowing his mind to flow like a thread as he manipulated mana.

After the twenty-third matrix, the door’s defenses were undone. Any other wizard would have considered it finished, but Sebas continued prying. He had encountered a couple of doors that were enchanted with magic that only activated once the previous wards were bypassed. This wasn’t that kind of door.

Disappointed, the butler gave the door a slight shove.

A short corridor lay within the door, branching into opposite directions. His theory about mad mages building dungeons seemed befitting to what he was seeing. The corridor had all the trappings of a trap-filled maze.

He would have loved to spend time figuring out the maze, but there was the Corner Shop™. Min was there to attend to it in his place. With her there, the barn kids had free reign — and a lot could go wrong with kids and magic, especially with how his master had taught them.

He opted for a simple location spell that would allow him to know his location relative to a given point. In this case, the door. It was like leaving a trail of bread crumbs using mana. Navigating the maze would be simple.

Or so he thought.

Once he reached the junction, he could feel the room shifting. It moved through dimensions and locked into other parts of the maze. Sebas checked his location, finding he was more than a mile away from the door.

The place was definitely special — or spatial, for that matter. He would have to apologize to Min later — it seemed quite improbable that he would return before lunch.

Sebas started walking.

His first hour of walking was uneventful, aside from a few traps — one of which caught his attention. It was a pressure-activated pit trap. On its own it would have been unimpressive, but whoever built the place took great effort to make the trap a bit brutal. Silver spikes were placed inside the pit and molten metal dropped from the ceiling, engulfing whoever or whatever was trapped underneath.

Some kind of mechanism — likely using spatial or temporal forces — drained the molten metal, revealing the unharmed silver spikes and resetting the room to its previous configuration.

By the second hour, Sebas had mostly figured out how the rooms shifted. It only happened once someone or something enters a junction or room — and the shifting followed a distinct pattern. The rooms would move in conjunction with its occupant’s movements during the tenth second, or a random one if no movement was detected.

He gave up on finding the end to the maze, opting to head back to the entrance. There was likely a key to travel the maze with the least possible shifting, but he didn’t have the time to check every possibility.

It took him another hour to get to the entrance.

Sebas closed the silver door. At least he discovered what it held. It was no vault or door to a laboratory or some wondrous place. It was a prison — and someone took pains to hold something dangerous inside instead of killing it.

***

Jeremy walked into a tailor shop. The talk with the duke lasted a bit shorter than he expected and Mason had left by the time they finished. The old man left him a note saying they would meet again soon — and that he should take better care of himself or his mother might worry.

The old man wasn’t wrong. His encounter with the ants made him realize the risks he took for granted. While his lifesavers could take care of severed limbs and other injuries, there was still the risk of decapitation and instant death. Which was why he was here.

“Can I help you?”

Jeremy stared at the man behind the counter. He was built like a woodsman, his arms bulging beneath his clothing. He wasn’t what people would expect from a tailor, but the man proved quite competent at his work.

He approached the man. “I need a hooded mantle and a gorget underneath it.”

The man stared at him as if weighing his words. “I don’t do armor. The mantle — I could do. Do you have any materials in mind?”

“I do, actually,” Jeremy responded, taking out several snake skins from a bag he carried. Shelby often mentioned snakes beneath his home. He didn’t realize they were quite big.

“Hmm, snake skin.” the tailor murmured. “You an adventurer?”

“Sort of,” he answered. “I’m a merchant by trade, but I do work for the duke when needed.”

“You’re that Scourge people talk about,” the tailor glanced at him. “I didn’t recognize you without your scythe.”

Jeremy frowned. He couldn’t help but feel a bit insulted. Most people wouldn’t need to see him to recognize him. Most of them would sense his aura and keep distance — this man didn’t notice it.

He should probably focus on branding as his father suggested. Too many wizards walked around in hooded robes and dark cloaks. His scythe was one thing that made him stand out. He should probably make one for show since Shelby seemed to like playing with the Painful Staff of Pain.

“I am that,” Jeremy answered, not offering his real name. The Scourge had a better ring than Jeremy — though not as good as his father’s moniker of Blackstaff.

“I heard you made good weapons. Any daggers for a tailor like me?”

“You want a hell-forged cutting knife?” Jeremy raised an eyebrow. “I can get you one by tomorrow. I could even add a heat enchantment to help you with your work.”

“That should cover the snakeskin mantle,” the man smiled.

“That would cover the mantle and the gorget,” he demanded. “I happened by a group of ants on the way to the city, these should be enough material for it.” He took out strips of hardened chitin from another bag — a bag that disappeared almost immediately.

The man stared at the snake skins and pieces of ant armor on the counter. “Fine. But I get to keep what’s left,” he agreed. “You’re knife better be worth it. The name’s Sacher, by the way.”

Jeremy took a step back, surprised by the man’s words. “Do you happen to know a Sacher in the capital? She’s a bit older than you — sharp nose, red hair.”

“I’m not sure if she’s the one — but I have an aunt that fits the description. Mostly serves nobles, even the King himself and the Blackstaff.”

“That’s the one.” Jeremy smiled at the grinning man.

“You can get your mantle next week,” Sacher noted down the order. “The gorget would take another week. I’ll need to hand it over to a proper armorer, but I know a few who could handle it.”

Jeremy thanked the man and left the shop. There had to be something about that name. It was too common to be a coincidence. There was something compelling parents to name their spawn kids Sacher — a sick spell by some ancient wizard, or perhaps a joke from a forgotten god.