“Tye, I need potions!”

Behind his counter, amidst the smell of potions and perfumes, Walter Tye forced himself to smile at the new customer. Why did everyone have to make that joke?

“Welcome to Tye’s Cauldron, Lyonesse’s best magic item shop,” the spellcaster repeated his usual sales script, “What are you looking for? [Healing Potions]?”

“Yes, Tye,” the customer replied. It was some kind of swordsman wearing a black cloak too long for him; another of these ‘Japanese’ people, according to his facial features, “Can I call you Tye?”

“Well, you already did, so why stop there?”

Nobody called him Walter. Everyone called by him by his last name, Tye, because it was in his shop's title: “Tye’s Boiling Cauldron.” As the best Crafter in the city, the alchemist had a steady clientele, and most local adventurers went through his establishment at least once.

Which complemented his other business nicely.

“Is there something on my face?” Tye asked, the customer having grown silent. Since he had white hair, pale skin, and crimson eyes, most mistook him for a vampire at first glance; even if the few vampires he knew had enough class to wear other things than a shirt and pants.

“You look spooky.”

“Just a minor case of albinism,” Tye joked, having been black-haired while alive, “Nothing sinister.”

“What would you suggest for a dangerous adventure?”

“[Healing Potions],” Tye replied, “Lots of them. I get the feeling you’re going to burn through your HP faster than a witch on a pyre.”

“Got me,” the customer laughed back, glancing at the impressive rows of potions and trinkets on display. Tye had accumulated a large collection of magical items through his existence, from amulets to animated dolls; half of them he crafted himself. “What class are you?”

“[Alchemist] mostly,” he replied while leaving out a key detail, “And a few other levels in a Spellcaster class. I’m trying to stay balanced between both.”

“Ah, a Crafter class,” the customer replied, something in his tone betraying his true thoughts on the matter. Dick. “I thought about taking one, but goddesses only go out with strong warriors.”

Ah, a new earthlander. The rookiefest continued. They were the worst customers, expecting the world to bow down to them because they died doing nothing in their previous life and received a [Sacred Weapon] for their trouble. The few who survived their first quests either became even more insufferable or matured, but it was like tossing a coin. Would that one even live that long?

“Any rumors in town?” the customer asked.

Did he take him for a barman or innkeeper? “There are always new things in Lyonesse, so I’m not sure what could interest you.”

“I’m going to challenge the dungeon,” the customer continued while Tye put eight healing potions in a pack, loving to hear himself talk.

With a sword too big for the narrow corridors? He would die then. “You should take a shorter weapon,” Tye advised, because the client was everything.

“Nothing can match my holy sword, [Tyrfing],” the poor fool replied. Well, Tye tried! “I’m hunting a necromancer.”

“A [Necromancer]?” Tye raised an eyebrow, suddenly interested. That was new. “Isn’t that some kind of black wizard raising the dead?”

“The guild believes there’s one at the bottom of the dungeon,” the man replied, “How else do the undeads keep replenishing their numbers?”

“Maybe they just kill and turn the fools who keep trying to challenge them?” Tye replied dryly.

“Nah, it’s a necromancer,” the man replied, “Can’t wait to cut off his head and bring it back to the temple. I bet he has a goatee.”

“Oh oh, well, sucks to have you for a barber.” If the sword hadn’t sealed the boy’s fate, his words did. “There is a very strong [Dullahan] down there. Maybe you should start with him.”

“Aren’t [Dullahans] headless?”

Yes, that was the joke. “That will be four hundred gold coins, mister...”

“Ryoma. Kazuki Ryoma. You better remember it when I become famous.” Tye wouldn’t, but he accepted the rookie’s purse all the same. “See you later, Tye!”

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

The alchemist neglected to mention that he had switched one of the potions for an [Elixir of Diarrhea].

Nobody suspected the shopkeeper.

Thankfully, the next customer, a pretty sorceress with brownish, shoulder length hair and grey eyes, was a lot more bearable. She was reaching seventeen, having entered the Royal Academy one year earlier than most students. “Greetings, Tye!” she waved a hand at him.

“Annie,” the alchemist smiled back kindly, not having seen her since she left for the capital, “You’re back in town?”

“We’re hunting goblins near the mountain,” she replied. As a student of the Royal Academy, she was expected to join her class in ‘field training missions,’ usually cleaning up the countryside on behalf of the crown. These missions were meant to prepare them for the much more dangerous Convergences, when the Nine Realms aligned and monsters invaded the world of men. “I couldn’t pass by without seeing my favorite shopkeeper!”

“Thanks.” The attention pleased Tye greatly. “How is your class? The school one?”

“Amazing!” she replied, “I made so many friends, and the princess is with us! She’s so talented!”

“Oh really?” Tye listened intently, just in case, “Aren’t the king’s heirs privately tutored?”

“Her brother is, but since she’s second-in-line and very good at magic and swordsmanship, the king sent her to study at the Academy,” Annie said, before adding with pride, “But Archwizard Calvert said that I had more arcane potential.”

She deserved it. Such a kind, hard-working girl. After a short exchange, the alchemist learned that she was to hunt a [Hobgoblin Shaman]. The perfect target for rookies, dangerous, but no match for a well-armed group.

“I have a [Curselock Amulet], perfect to fight a goblinoid Spellcaster,” Tye advised, “Alongside [Potions of Lesser Fire Resistance]. I will give you a discount.”

“Thanks!” Annie rejoiced, her bright smile reminding him why he loved this job.

“Just recommend me to the princess if you have the opportunity,” Tye winked at her. This may be an opportunity he could not let pass.

After Annie promised him to come back once she completed her mission, the shopkeeper watched the student leave, his smile fading when she was out of view. “[Lock & Key],” he spoke, the magical seal locking the shop’s front door after she left.

The alchemist moved to the back of his shop, to the basement. Cleverly disguised as a mere storage area, with casks of potions, sacks of ingredients, and bins full of magical seeds awaiting transformation, the area would have been unremarkable to the uninitiated.

None would notice the hidden secret door along the back wall, nor the slightly grayer stone serving as the switch.

Tye pushed it, the wall crumbling to reveal stairs leading down, to the darkness below...

How long until he met Ryoma down there?

----------------------------------------

That night, after his service finished, Tye opened the door in the basement and walked down, into the dungeon.

In the kingdom’s early days, the city of Lyonesse had once survived off a thriving mine, until they dug too deep and opened the ruins below. While the dungeon’s discovery had made mining impossible, the promise of hidden treasures attracted adventurers and tourists. If anything, it had worked out in the town’s favor.

Most of the dungeon’s upper levels were the remnants of the condemned mine, narrow stone corridors where no light but torches shone. Not that it bothered Tye, whose true nature allowed him to see in the dark perfectly.

The [Draugr] zombies and [Skeleton Warriors] patrolling the place left him alone; mostly because they were mindless, and as such didn’t attack other undeads, even those disguised as men. The living dead recognized their own.

He crossed paths with a maddened, purple ghost, more wailing echo than substance. “Greetings, chief,” the specter said upon recognizing him.

“Hello Ghostring,” Tye greeted the specter back, “What’s up down there?”

“Hagen caught a prey. The living flesh caused a stir, cut a draugr. Poor Bron. He was good at conversation. Brain this, brain that...”

“The best of us always die first,” Tye deadpanned, taking a turn towards Hagen’s hunting ground.

He didn’t have to walk for long to find the headless knight standing over Ryoma’s body. An animated, headless black armor, his old pal Hagen had lost his life to an executioner’s axe; they had met in the underworld of Helheim and stayed together after Tye broke them out.

He had racked up quite the kill count since they took over the dungeon.

“Greetings, chief,” Hagen welcomed his old friend, “Look at what I killed today!”

“Let me guess,” Tye said, glancing at the disarmed corpse, his weapon a few feet away from his hands. Ryoma must have hit a wall with his blade, causing it to fall out of his hands. “Sword?”

“Sword,” Hagen replied, himself carrying a shorter blade and a small shield for mobility in the tunnels, “They never learn.”

“Well, they usually do if they survive.” Sometimes, they came back to ‘life’ as he did. “But now he’s dead.”

“You will raise him as a sentient?” The Dullahan chuckled. “You would waste your time. I caught him while he was taking a dump. In a dungeon.”

“I would have raised him, if he hadn’t wished me harm,” Tye replied, “I will try this [Flesh Golem] variant I conceptualized.” Having semi-perfected the art of putting back souls in a corporeal shell, he struggled with a permanent method to keep bodies from decomposing. Sentient zombies usually went mad because of it.

Necromancy was a tough job.

Not that Tye minded helping his community. He replenished the undead fauna, who didn’t threaten anyone unless disturbed, and got paid for equipping the suicidal adventurers wanting to test their skills against them. This brought tourists, made the economy of his town develop, created jobs. Everybody won.

He wasn’t doing it out of greed though. An immortality research lab cost a lot, especially since he couldn’t buy most of the necessary materials through the usual channels without alerting the guild of his true activities.

One day, once he had perfected the undeath process and created the perfect [Resurrection] spell, the world would finally recognize him as the visionary he was, but alas, he would have to wait a long, long time.

“Hey, I’m Ryoma,” Tye grabbed the corpse’s head and made the lips move on their own, “I love brains. Braaaaaaaiiiiiiinss! With beeaaans!”

Hagen looked at Tye as if he had gone crazy; which was no mean feat, since he lacked a head. “No?” the alchemist asked, “I got the voice wrong?”

“Chief, you’re creeping me out.”

“Everyone’s a critic nowadays,” Tye complained, “Can you help me carry him to my lab? I swear earthlanders get heavier with time.” As for the sword, since only earthlanders could wield a [Sacred Weapon], he would either sell it to the black market or study it.

“Only if I can keep a toe as a trophy.”

“Deal.”

The things I do to kill death, Tye mused, as he and the Dullahan dragged the corpse through the tunnels.