Dagan huffed as he stared down a large, snarling monster the legends called Berid. The Berid was like a mix between a wolf and a goat. It stood on two legs, towering over Dagan, who was considered tall in his village. The monster had long, black claws meant for stripping flesh, but worse were its fangs. Like two long knives they were and dripping with saliva that matted the coarse hair on its chest, as if the beast could already savor Dagan's flesh.

Without warning, the beast charged. Head lowered, and his sharp horns pointed towards his prey. But Dagan was no simple prey. He was a Rank B – Blademaster. He sidestepped the monster and spun on the balls of his feet, and as he did, he drew his weapons.

Soul Breaker, his sword shone like a blazing star in the dying embers of the day as the last light of the sun dimmed and night enveloped the world in a blanket of stars. Encrusted in the hilt was a spherical white Opal, which gave the sword its name.

In his left hand was his dagger, Silverfang. It was the length of Dagan's forearm, and despite its name, it did not shine like his sword but had a dull blade. If anyone looked at it from afar at this time, they would not even see it, and neither did the monster.

As Dagan finished his spin, he left a bleeding slash across the berid's body. Using his superior speed, he leaped for the beast that bayed like a goat. The berid was quick on the turn. It slashed sideways with its claws wildly as it tried to put some distance between it and the Blasdemaster, but Dagan didn't let him.

He unleashed a set of three moves, followed by another set of four. His sword and dagger alternated between attacking and deflecting. The berid's hide was so tough that only his sword left lasting wounds. He switched up his stance and fell into the Windbreaker stance.

Like a whirlwind, he danced round and round the monster. Never staying still in one place, always moving, always attacking. His dagger held in close and slapped his claws away while Soul Breaker slashed the beast, cut open his shoulder, and split his left paw in half.

The berid howled in pain as it hobbled away. Dagan sprang forward, thrust Light Bringer into his chest, and clicked the Opal gem on its hilt.

The monster gave a very human-like cry as his sword glowed and spread the holy light of the goddess Kehamia inside the beast, burning his accursed soul away. The beast shivered as the divine light intensified and then fell forward. Dagan yanked his sword out and dropped the smoking corpse of his foe.

+2 Finesse

+1 Strength

+1 Agility

+3 Blade Mastery

+2 Windbreaker

"Please let this be the last one." He huffed while wiping the sweat off his brow. "I don't know how many more I can slay this day."

He sheathed his weapons after wiping the blood and grime off them. After a quick swig of water, he surveyed the darkening sky. The peak of mount Lakiah was close, but he wasn't sure how long could he go before finding the abode of the Learned Man.

The last light of the sun remained in the sky. He decided he could still walk some more. For he could not risk lighting a torch this high up in the mountain passes. Berids and other monsters would be attracted to him like moths to a light. He walked with fast steps, his head swiveling about, looking for a cave or a hut or something that could be a dwelling.

Thankfully, it was not a cloudy night, and the moon goddess Nidane shone brightly, so it was easier for him to see, so Dagan powered on. He climbed higher even as his legs ached after a day of fighting and killing monsters. If the monsters he fought during the day were tough, then the ones that came out at night would be worse.

He could just feel them looking at him from all directions. There was a tingle in the back of his neck. His breath became ragged, his steps hastened, and he almost stumbled on a rock. He took a moment to steady himself, and he could swear he felt someone's breath on his neck. All the hairs on the back of his hand stood up on ends.

He tightened his grip around his sword but didn't draw it. Then someone laughed, followed by more people.

"Another one for the taking," said a hushed feminine voice.

"Now that he's come, he will not be leaving," laughed a man.

"Who is it?" Dagan shouted. "Show yourself."

The voices laughed once again. He didn't bother waiting for them to appear and ran straight ahead, not caring if it was the right direction.

"Oh no, not that way," cried a third, concerned voice.

Then, more laughter, along with cries, asking Dagan to halt. He didn't listen. He wasn't sure if he could stop if he wanted to. Fear drove him as if it were the whip of his master. There was a cave ahead in the rock wall of the mountain. Dagan ran fast as his feet allowed and reached the outcropping. As soon as he did, all voices died down.

Words etched into the rock above the entrance in an archaic script. The moon shone brightly enough for Dagan to read the letters.

Knowledge is never without cost.

"I'm willing to pay any cost," Dagan muttered, entering the cave.

It was pitch dark. He moved with one hand on the wall and the other on his sword hilt. After a few steps, he decided it was folly. He needed to see where he was going. With difficulty, he took a torch out of his bag, and with even greater difficulty, he lit it on fire, and finally, there was light.

He was in a tunnel with some small stalactites. Rats squeaked and scurried away from the light. He continued to venture in, and it didn't take long for the tunnel to open up into a vast cavern with a high ceiling, but that was not the most shocking part of the cave.

The most shocking part was the books.

Dozens upon dozens of books lay in tall bookcases. A man standing on another's shoulders would still measure shorter than their length. Books were strewn about the cave floor, some open and some stacked. It felt more akin to an unkempt library than a cave.

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Something moved to Dagan's right. He snapped to it. An open book was floating by itself. A page flipped gently as if someone had started turning it before they finished reading it.

"What magic is this?" Dagan whispered.

"Huh?" came a voice from the book. "Oh," someone gasped. "A visitor."

The book sailed over to Dagan. He drew Soul Breaker in one smooth motion and pointed at the book. "Halt! Who are you? What are you?"

"Oh, no need for violence, young man." Then, whoever was holding the book materialized.

He had a long flowing beard and wore a white shirt with the brand of a mountain emblazoned on his breast. He had long, neatly combed gray hair, and the most striking part of him—he was dead. Dagan could see right through him.

"Greetings…" the spirit began. "I'm sorry, I don't know your name."

Dagan kept his sword firmly pointed at him.

"Oh, relax, will you?" the spirit said. "I don't mean you any harm. I couldn't even do you any harm if I tried. All I do is read." He chuckled as if it were some joke.

"I am Dagan," he said, slowly lowering his sword but didn't sheath it. "I am looking for the Learned man."

The old man smiled with a tilt of his head. Understanding struck like lightning.

"You're Roverin, the Learned Man?" Dagan asked. "I was told he had made his abode in the peaks of Mount Lakiah."

The spirit smiled knowingly. "What did the sign say outside?"

Dagan was stunned. Roverin was said to be the most knowledgeable man in the world, and if anyone could tell him how to find the treasure of Virenor, it was him. Dagan had left home to seek him out and ask for his aid in his quest.

"But you're dead?" Dagan retorted.

Roverin nodded with a glum look. "Aye. It happened a few years ago when I tinkered with things I should not have, but my spirit was not ready to move on. Look at this place, so many books to read and so much more to learn. It's better this way, no? Now, I can read and learn to my heart's content without pesky things, food, or sleep bothering me. That's enough about me. What are you doing here?"

"I came looking for you because I need your aid," Dagan said. "More precisely, your knowledge."

"Oh, I'm always happy to share knowledge," Roverin replied. "They say knowledge grows when you share it. Come, my lad, let's sit and talk."

He shut the book and floated away. He sat on a stack of books, setting the book aside he was reading. He waved a hand at a bunch of books stacked opposite him and motioned for Dagan to sit.

Dagan sheathed his sword and went to him. As he was about to sit down, Roverin snapped to his feet.

"No, no," Roverin cried. "We can't have that torch among my precious books."

He clapped his hands twice, and ethereal bluish-purple flames lit up in the lamps above, which Dagan hadn't even noticed before. Then, the spirit blew out Dagan's torch as if it were a little candle.

"Come, sit and convey the lay of your thoughts," the old ghost said.

Dagan tentatively took a seat, making sure he was in a position where he could draw his sword in a flash. The white Opal he had embedded in his sword would make quick work of the spirit if he tried anything.

"I belong to the noble house of Nashund. My great-grandfather made a vow before King Tarvost the Second and all his assembly that he would find the elusive treasure of Virenor. So confident was he in his skills that he staked all his estate on the claim. After all, why wouldn't he be so sure himself? He was a Rank A – Treasure Seeker. He left home to find the treasure and never returned."

"And the king seized all your properties," Roverin finished.

Dagan nodded ruefully. "My grandfather took up the burden next to reclaim the family's honor and wealth, but he too perished in the attempt. The same happened to my father and brothers. I'm the last one left, and I'll be damned before I pass this burden on to my son."

Roverin stroked his long beard. It was strange to talk to a spirit, and his mannerisms were just like a regular person's. If not for his translucent form, Dagan would never have thought him anything but alive.

“Hm…the treasure of Virenor. I know of it, and I'm sure I can help you find it."

Dagan sat up. "Really?"

"Yes, but I've heard that treasure is cursed. If one wishes to find that treasure, they must pay a grave price." Roverin's face grew serious. "They must give up all your ambitions, hopes, and desires. Only then can a man expect to find that treasure. Do you have the courage to pay such a sum?"

Dagan stared the man in the eye and, without hesitation, said, "Yes. You don't know what we've been through. Everyone has ridiculed us. We've lost our wealth, our stature...our ancestral home. I will not have my children grow up in poverty."

Roverin smiled. "Good. Just what I wanted to hear. Because without your determination, you cannot find your treasure. Besides, what is treasure? To me..." he spread his arms wide. "All these books are the greatest treasure in all the world. To some, its Virenor's treasure. But we won't get into that yet. Before I divulge my knowledge about the treasure, I must ask for my fee."

Dagan expected this, so he brought all the gold coins he could collect. He reached into this pack and pulled out the heavy coin pouch. "There's more than three-hundred gold pieces in here."

Roverin laughed. "Forgive me, but I have no use for gold coins. I'm dead, but there is something that only you can provide." The spirit leaned in. "Your blood."

Dagan nearly pulled out Soul Breaker and skewered the ghost. "What did you say?"

He raised both hands. "No, no, not for any nefarious purposes. You see, I'm quite fond of my privacy, and the passes up this mountain are so fraught with danger that only the bravest will tempt them for an audience with me. Now, if you go and tell everyone that I help people for free, or gods forbid you to tell them, I'm a spirit." He shook his head. "Then I'm afraid there's going to be a veritable army marching up the mountain to ask me for favors or to exercise me from my beloved home."

"What can you do to me with my blood?"

"There is no way I can put this that it won't sound threatening. So, I'll put it plainly, I can kill you if I so choose, but why would I if you don't go announcing where you learned about the treasure."

Dagan stared at the spirit, and he had half a mind to leave, but the thought of ending up a failure rooted him to the spot.

"If you do not believe me," Roverin said. "Then you can take your leave and leave me to my own."

Dagan couldn't return empty-handed. This was the last chance his wife had given him. Ramana would never let him chase after this fleeting fancy, as she called it. He couldn't let his boys take up this quest. His whole family's future relied on it, but then another thought struck him.

"What is to stop me from running my mouth if I leave now?" Dagan said.

Roverin nodded. "In that case, we will have to fight. I despise violence, and I fear that sword of yours will be plenty to slay me. The blood will also be my assurance if you turn on me the moment I tell you about the treasure."

Dagan sighed. "Fine."

Roverin smiled brightly. "I knew you would see it my way. See, this way, we're both safe from unwanted backstabbing."

He wagged a finger, and a plain bronze chalice floated from the top of the bookshelves. In the chalice lay a small bronze knife. The knife and chalice stopped between them and floated in the air, bobbing up and down slightly.

"Even a drop a blood will be sufficient," Roverin said.

Dagan picked up the knife and paused once more. He was never a man of half-measures, and if he put his mind to something, he wouldn't think twice. But this was not most things. He would quite literally be putting his life in the hands of this spirit. There was nothing about him that spoke evil. If it were, he would've sensed it. After all, he had hunted down many evil spirits. If it came to it, he could kill him once he got the information he needed or pay someone to do it since he would have the money for it, once he attained the treasure.

There's no other way.

He made a slight cut on his finger and flicked off a few drops of blood into the chalice.

Roverin clapped his hands. "That's great."

Just then, a shudder ran through him like none other. It was like an earthquake had shaken him to his core. The shudders passed a few moments later. Surprisingly, he saw no system notification for it. Usually, the system gave notifications for the slightest thing.

Maybe no blood bond has been created between us.

This meant that if the spirit wished, he could use his blood for other nefarious purposes.

"Now, before I tell you the secret to the treasure," Roverin said. "Why don't you tell me the story about your sword?"

Dagan squinted. "Why? Just tell me how I can attain the treasure, and I'll be on my way."

"I could, but I hardly get any visitors. When one stumbles their way into my cave, I try to make the most of it. So, what do you say? Just a simple story for an old ghost."

"Fine."