A celebration is a good, even wonderful thing, provided it is well-organized, and all the city's services are prepared for it. Unfortunately for Nimartz, today's event arranged by the priests did not meet either of these requirements. Crowds of drunk people on the streets were not nearly as delightful to deal with as it might have seemed. I would have gotten out of here immediately, but from the explanations of the novice, it became clear that the Gates would only operate tomorrow. Running to another city also made no sense, as wherever there were Temples of Sundbad, the same thing was happening as here.
I helped the young acolyte to the square and said goodbye to him. Then I pondered where I could wait out this "celebration," which, with every passing minute, was increasingly resembling a natural disaster.
Apparently, Sundbad truly favored me - it hadn't been even ten minutes when I noticed an old gray-haired man sitting on the flat roof of a house in a comfortable chair, looking down condescendingly at what was happening on the streets. Activating the Perception aura, I enhanced my vision and saw on the lapel of the old man's robe the sign of a retired tunneller. I caught the gray-haired man's attention and gestured for permission to come up. The old man turned out to be uncommunicative, but noticing my Sheriff's Sign, he allowed me to sit next to him on the roof and wait out the celebration, even offering me tea. To my relief, the homeowner did not ask me anything and soon vacated the roof, citing poor health, leaving me alone. It was even better for me this way, no unnecessary conversations.
Having dropped my belongings, I sat in the lotus position and began to meditate, practicing the release of pure prana. It was a unique experience in its own way. As it turned out, meditating in the city, where drunken crowds rampage in the streets, was far from the same as meditating in a quiet forest. As evening approached, fights broke out here and there in the city. I even noticed three fires starting, which, however, were quickly extinguished by water spells. In one case, they miscalculated and caused a minor flood on one of the streets. No matter, it was even better; someone sobered up from the unexpected bath. When the sun set, it became significantly quieter, and only the most resilient remained on their feet. Soon, the only sounds were the occasional drunken songs and the priests' chants of praise coming from the central square.
A quarter of an hour before midnight, I, not forgetting to take my belongings and leave a couple of silvers on a small table, jumped from the roof to the pavement and walked toward the center. The city was drowned in filth; the streets were almost entirely vomit-covered. Drunken bodies lay so densely that I had to jump over them. If the Invasion had begun now, Nimartz would have fallen within minutes, offering no resistance to the attackers.
At precisely midnight, the final chant of the priestly hymns sounded, and the High Priest of Sundbad, raising his hands to the heavens, announced the end of the celebration. Most of the priests immediately left the square, leaving only the High Priest of the God of Paths in the center. Lowering his hands, he observed in horror the drunk people crawling around. They vomited, fought, and demanded the continuation of the "party."
I crossed the square at a calm pace; no one stopped me, as the guards were busy breaking up numerous fights, and the acolytes of the Pantheon were nearly collapsing from exhaustion. The High Priest of Sundbad only noticed my approach when I was five steps away.
"Om Raven Alexandrite, sheriff of the Tunnellers' Guild," I introduced myself with a slight bow.
"The Gates will open with the first rays of the sun," the priest said wearily, immediately understanding my intent.
"Now," I cut him off, patting my Guild's Sign.
"Young man..." the Keeper of the Temple Gates began his reprimand, but something suddenly changed in his eyes. He extended his hand toward me and froze for a few seconds.
"A Dark artifact has been discovered in one of the dungeons," I pressed, patting the green cloth bundle over my shoulder with my left hand.
My words did not interest the priest; he simply let them pass by. Nevertheless, he did not refuse again, continuing to study me closely. I fell silent as well, since everything necessary had been said, and to insist further would be just a waste of breath. We stood facing each other for almost a minute, after which the priest lowered his hand, smiled tiredly as if to a friend, and, nodding, invited me to follow him.
The reason for this change was unclear to me, but I obediently followed the priest. We entered the Temple of the Pantheon and then slowly ascended to the top where the Gates were. Still silently, the High Priest personally calibrated the Gates, confirming my transition point. He ran me through all the tests, "weighing" my energy. Then he nodded at the Gates, where the mist of the Road was already swirling.
"Why did you change your mind?" I asked, stepping onto the first step leading to the Transition Arch.
"It is my duty," the High Priest said with a fatherly smile, "to help those who follow the Road of Sundbad."
Nodding to the priest as if I understood what he was talking about, I continued my ascent to the Gates. "Am I following this Road?" This was my thought as I stepped into the Arch...
To my great relief, the ancient portal network worked flawlessly once again, delivering me to where I needed to be, the city of Perry, which, as it turned out, was slightly closer to my goal than the originally planned Stolmid.
The spacious platform located on the roof of the Temple of All Gods greeted me with silence. There was no one at the Gates. Even the duty priest and the novice who were supposed to record the arrivals to the city in a special book were absent. However, this silence was deceptive. Once I listened closely, I distinctly heard the measured chants coming from the central square, as well as drunken songs being sung at the top of someone's lungs.
Approaching the edge of the roof, I looked out and saw a familiar scene. Drunks lay sprawled right on the streets, some sleeping in puddles of their own vomit. It took me a few seconds to reach quite definite conclusions. First, the celebration organized by the priests of Sundbad was apparently international, taking place in every city with a functioning Arch of Transition. And second, due to the time difference, the celebration in Perry was not yet over, hence the absence of even the duty shift at the Gates. All the priests were occupied in the square.
Of course, I could have waited until midnight and the end of the festivities to officially register my arrival. But I didn't want to waste time, and besides, it wasn't my fault that there were no priests on the Transition platform. I even liked the idea that none of the locals would know about my transfer to Perry. Yes, in the morning, the priests would realize that someone had arrived through the Gates, but they wouldn't be able to determine who exactly it was.
There was no real benefit to such secrecy for me. But back in the Last Cycle, I had gotten used to the idea that the fewer people who knew where I was and what I was doing, the calmer my life was. So I decided not to go down the main stairs and looked out from the edge of the roof again. From where I stood, it was about fifteen meters to the pavement, and if it weren't for the backpack on my shoulders, I could have risked just jumping down, since Wootz's capabilities allowed for that. What held me back was the uncertainty about whether the backpack straps could withstand such rough treatment.
I took a closer look at the architecture of the temple wall and realized that jumping down to the pavement was not necessary. Bas-reliefs, statues, stucco, and ledges allowed me to descend the wall opposite the central square without much effort. Compared to jumping from one piton to another in the underground city of the dwarves, this was a "walk in the park." My peculiar and unusual for the locals descent, which resembled parkour, didn't draw any attention from the drunken townsfolk.
As soon as my feet touched the pavement, I adjusted my slightly slipped backpack and walked toward the nearest city gate, habitually hopping over the sleeping and the vomiting. As I had expected, despite the late hour, the city gates were open. This, by the way, was a very sensible decision on the part of the local authorities, allowing those peasants still on their feet to leave the city and sleep at home instead of causing trouble within the city walls. There were no guards at the gate, or rather, they were there but occupied with throwing the most inebriated out beyond the city moat. None of the guardsmen paid any attention to me. In the gaze of one of them, I clearly read: "He's leaving the city on his own feet, all the better for us."
Hmm. While the restoration of the long-defunct Gates was truly a Miracle, what the priests of Sundbad had turned this celebration into was beyond any reason. If what I witnessed in Nimartz and Perry happened in every city of Ain with an operational temple of the god of Paths, then it was not a celebration but sheer bacchanalia.
Once I had walked a kilometer away from the city, I left the road and, navigating by the stars, set out toward the village poetically named Silver Meadow. There was an hour and a half before midnight, and I was in no hurry, so I moved at a calm pace, fully focused on my training. Every half hour, I stopped to practice with my spear and then continued on my way. But even with all the breaks and at this pace, I reached Silver Meadow four hours before dawn.
I woke up the watchman sleeping on the guard tower, who, as I remembered, was the miller's eldest son, and sent him ahead to wake the innkeeper. Of course, I could have gone straight to Katashakh, as he had invited me to visit "at any time," but I chose not to abuse the hospitality of the head of the local tunnellers' team. Besides, if I had gone to him immediately, I was sure I would have had to drink, and I wanted to get some sleep.
The innkeeper greeted me with a sleepy but cheerful look. Yes, it was deep into the night, and yes, she wanted to sleep, but she remembered me and knew that I would leave a decent tip, and this fact made her greet me like an honored guest. I rented a room, declined the offer of a reheated midnight dinner, and before going to bed, asked the innkeeper for two things. First, not to wake me until I woke up on my own, and second, to invite the best seamstress in the village to come by morning. After that, I went up to the room, dropped my things, undressed, and with a tired smile, fell onto the bed, falling asleep before my head even touched the pillow.
The first thing I thought when I opened my eyes was, "Wow, I'm quite the sleeper!" Judging by the position of the sun, I had slept quite a lot, and it was now about three hours after sunrise. But I felt rested and energetic, and most importantly, the heavy thoughts about the new questers' assignment and everything else seemed to have faded into the background.
After washing in the basin thoughtfully left by the innkeeper, I did a short warm-up. Then, I cut a suitable piece from the fabric purchased from Scully, rolled it up, and tucked it into my belt. I glanced at Striking Whisper, leaning against the head of the bed, but decided not to take it with me.
Descending into the dining hall, I wasn't too surprised to find that I was expected. The local team of tunnellers, having pushed two tables together, had already had breakfast, and right before my eyes, Dragan opened a second keg of beer, the first one lying empty and forlorn near the chairs. My appearance was met with a welcoming roar. Everyone except Katasakh jumped to their feet, and Patrick even rushed to hug me. However, the young sheriff, under the reproachful gaze of his uncle, quickly pulled himself together and stepped back. After listening to how happy everyone was to see me, I asked for five minutes, after which I would definitely join their feast.
The seamstress invited by the innkeeper was sitting quietly in the corner, avoiding eye contact. She looked about thirty, dressed simply, and resembled what people on Earth would call a "plain jane." Sitting next to her, I introduced myself and explained what I needed, placing a piece of green fabric on the counter.
"Gloves to fit your hand," the seamstress nodded to me. "But the material is completely unsuitable, sir."
"It doesn't matter; it's a tool, I won't be wearing them all the time," I smiled. "And yes, I almost forgot. For the seams, use the threads from the same fabric."
"It will be very weak," the craftswoman sighed.
"And again, it doesn't matter. The main thing is to use no other materials except this fabric."
"We could glue it," the woman suddenly smiled, "it would be stronger."
"No, no glue. Nothing but this fabric; that's the main condition." And to avoid further arguments, I placed ten silver coins on the table, five times the usual cost of such work.
"Very well, sir."
Not taking her eyes off the money, the woman immediately stopped arguing. What difference did it make that the gloves would be weak and poorly made if the customer paid well? I easily read these thoughts in her eyes.
"Since the threads need to be made, then..." she thought for a moment, "it will be ready in three hours."
"That suits me," I nodded in response.
Having made arrangements with the seamstress, I sat down at the table, where not only the tunnellers but also a big mug of frothy beer were waiting for me. Of course, drinking in the morning wasn't the best omen, but I couldn't refuse, especially since I was genuinely happy to see everyone at the table alive and well.
"Well," I raised the mug, "to our meeting!"
Despite the relatively early hour, the revelry had fully bloomed. They asked me where I had been, what kind of "crazy stuff" was happening in the cities, and inquired about gossip and news. I leisurely recounted, not forgetting to eat heartily. Beer, of course, is a low-alcohol drink, but the tunnellers drank it not just by the mug, but by the liter, and I didn't want to lag behind them. This unexpected drinking bout reminded me so much of an ordinary day in Dice's company that my liver ached from such memories. When the fourth barrel showed its bottom, I asked the question that concerned me the most, turning to Katasakh:
"So, did you find an artifact master or a priest of Antares to rid the Tomb of dark artifacts?"
"Eh-h-h-h." The head of the tunnellers grimaced as if he had drunk donkey urine instead of beer. "If only. If only. The priests have a person who can both neutralize artifacts and see beyond the hidden... But... He crossed the First Wall long ago and can't enter the Tomb. As for the masters of the Artifactor's Guild, they suggested contacting Pentapolis and demanded," he lowered his voice to a whisper, "a thousand gold. A thousand!"
"Bastards!" Commented Lomerak on his captain's words, and everyone at the table nodded in agreement.
"I'm heading towards a small village where my fellow countrymen have settled." Wiping the beer foam from my lips, I continued, "And, you know, I'm free today. I can help."
"We didn't really plan for this." Katasakh objected, but was immediately drowned out by the joyful shouts of the other tunnellers.
"Two more barrels, hic," Dragan said, staggering and raising a finger to the ceiling, "then sober up, and we're ready."
The rest of his words were met with unanimous agreement. Katasakh was clearly doubtful, but he didn't argue against the collective opinion of the rest of the team. We drank another round, and then the team leader, who was pretending to be completely drunk but whose attentive eyes gave him away, addressed me:
"Your people, do they happen to have someone named Vidar as their leader?"
"Yes," I answered cautiously, sobering up quickly.
"I've heard of him. They're building something. They've received land as a gift. A priest of Ishid passing by our village spoke very highly of them. So, they're your people?"
"Yes, our people are called Sortudo."
"Never heard of them," Katasakh shook his head.
"We lived on a large island, far from the continent," I began my story, filling both our mugs. "Seventy days ago, the volcano at the center of the island erupted, and our land started sinking into the sea. All the ships sank at the very beginning of the eruption. To save at least some and prevent our people from dying out completely, the priests and magi selected the best and youngest among us..." I spoke as if each word was difficult to utter, as if this tragedy was unfolding right before my eyes. "They conducted a terrifying and bloody ritual, the result of which scattered us, those deemed worthy of living, across the continent."
This story was invented by Morpheus in the previous Cycle, and it satisfied everyone – guilds, rulers, priests, and even the Order of Paladins. So, I had no doubt it would work now. From the perspective of any earthling, this tale was clearly fabricated, but for the locals, it wasn't anything unusual and was quite understandable. After my short story, the gathering didn't end at just two more barrels; we only stopped once we had completely emptied all the tavern's cellars. Moreover, Akhlak topped off our final mugs of beer with some rather strong cherry liqueur.
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
To be honest, I got as drunk as a sailor. Apparently, just sleeping wasn't enough to fully relieve the tension, and I found solace in excessive amounts of alcohol, enough to knock out even Wootz. The other tunnellers drank no less than I did. The sun hadn't even reached its zenith when the tavern owner offered us available rooms so the tunnellers wouldn't stumble home drunk. She laid us down to sleep and sober up, not forgetting to give us restorative elixirs - for an extra fee, of course.
After dragging the young sheriff, who had drunk the most and couldn't stand on his feet, to his designated room, I realized that my legs wouldn't carry me any further, and I collapsed to sleep right there in an armchair.
We were woken up by Katasakh, who looked as if he hadn't drunk a drop a few hours ago. As soon as I opened my eyes, the head of the tunnellers handed me three small vials. After drinking their contents, I felt invigorated, refreshed, and it seemed like if I had been drinking, it was three or four days ago. Pharmaceutical companies on Earth would sell their souls for the secret of making such medicines.
For about a minute and a half, I was honestly spacing out, staring at Katasakh, who had started reviving Patrick, until I remembered that at the end of our drinking session, we had agreed to go to the Tomb today after sunset. And judging by the fact that Seguna was already rising outside the window, sunset was very close.
Descending to the dining hall, we ordered the so-called "hangover soup" recommended by the hostess. While it was being prepared, I approached the seamstress, who by then was once again quietly sitting in the corner. During the time we were drinking and sleeping, the craftswoman had completed my order perfectly. Trying on the gloves, I was satisfied. Yes, the seamstress was upset, believing that the material I provided was not suitable for gloves, but I managed to convince her that I got exactly what I needed. I even added another silver coin for a job well done.
I warmly said goodbye to the seamstress and sat down at the communal table. On Earth, after the kind of drinking binge we had, everyone would be waking up with glum faces and suffering from hangovers. Here, however, there was nothing of the sort; the alchemical potions quickly revived us, and the hearty, very sour, and moderately spicy soup only added to our vigor. We laughed and joked, recalling how a few hours ago Patrick had overindulged and started reciting his own poetry. The problem was that the gods hadn't blessed the young sheriff with the gift of verse, and his creations were truly terrible. To my mild surprise, Patrick himself took the tunnelers' laughter in stride, smiling at the quotes they reminded him of.
After we finished the soup, Dragan suggested drinking again, but to my relief, no one supported him. Which was for the best since we had the Tomb to clear.
When the other tunnelers went off to get ready, I stepped into the courtyard. I stripped down, poured two buckets of cold water over myself, and then, fully dressed again, I trained with my spear. My body felt great, and I ended up feeling satisfied with the warm-up. Afterward, I bought a regular roll of sturdy black fabric from a local merchant and, once back in my room, wrapped Ridan's sword in it, thereby freeing up the material Scully had given me.
While I was busy with all this, the other tunnelers had already prepared for the dungeon expedition. After settling the bill for my stay, I gathered all my belongings and said goodbye to the innkeeper. I wasn't planning to return here after clearing the Tomb since I intended to set off on a further journey right away.
Unlike the last time when we took the same path from the Silver Meadow to Bogash's Tomb with the same group, the tunnelers were in noticeably high spirits. The only person who wasn't smiling or chatting was Katasakh, and I understood him. Yes, the last time had gone relatively smoothly, without any curses or serious injuries, but the captain of the local party was clearly uneasy about the relaxed attitude with which his team was heading into the clearing.
My suspicions about Katasakh's mood were confirmed when we stopped in front of the dungeon's entrance Arch. The captain conducted such a strict briefing, more akin to an exam on one specific dungeon, that the good mood of the others vanished without a trace. I added to the seriousness as well. And it took me simply stating the facts without overdramatizing or exaggerating. I explained that after extinguishing the braziers in the crypts and getting rid of the cursed air, no one would save us from being hit by a skeleton archer's arrow or from the dark priests' magic. After I finished speaking, Katasakh looked at me with gratitude. Then, each of us repeated our roles, and in a tight group, we simultaneously touched the Arch.
"8 out of 12?"
"Yes."
As soon as we were inside the dungeon, I raised my hand up.
"You probably already understand that the main task in this expedition is not just clearing the dungeon, but extracting dark artifacts. Therefore, in agreement with your head, I will be leading the raid today." Katasakh nodded, confirming my words. "If I say jump, you don't ask why or what for, you jump. If I command you to fall, you do it."
"Routine stuff," Aklak shrugged, and the others nodded in agreement, indicating they understood everything.
This kind of pep talk was necessary for me so that after clearing all the undead, no one would get in my way.
Before entering the first crypt, Katasakh shot down the runic brazier, which was emitting cursed smoke, with an arrow. After that, Aklak, using Air Element magic, dispersed the smoldering embers in different directions, destroying the structure formed by the coals. Then we waited until the embers, scattered in complete chaos on the cold stone floor, were completely extinguished. We waited another ten minutes, and only after Aklak confirmed that the air was clean did we burst into the crypt.
This time, I wasn't acting alone. Lomerac and Dragan covered my flanks, while Sigerik and Patrick protected the backs of our strike trio. This allowed me to act much more decisively and aggressively. Leaving the awakened archers to be dealt with by the cover group, I immediately began searching for the Dark Soul, illuminating the entire crypt with Flashlight. This allowed me to drive the ghostly creature out from behind a column and destroy it effortlessly by infusing the blade of Striking Whisper with Light.
After dealing with the main threat, I quickly turned and struck the backs of the dead warriors who had risen from their tombs and were attacking Dragan and Lomerac. By this time, Katasakh and Aklak, who no longer needed to maintain the air shield, had dealt with the skeleton archers. Less than three minutes had passed when the head of the last risen zombie flew into the wall, torn off by a blow from the young sheriff, strengthened by some spell from the Earth school.
As before, we didn't collect trophies immediately but moved on to the next crypt. The swift clearing of the first one significantly boosted our group's confidence, and we spent a few dozen seconds less time on the second.
Today, no feats or "powering through" were required of me. Katasakh's team, enhanced by my skills and Patrick's surprisingly good abilities, struck down the risen undead without fail. Besides, Aklak, freed from creating air walls, contributed significantly with his magic. Precise, coordinated, swift. We mowed down the undead like a combine harvesting ripened wheat fields.
Assessing the actions of the tunnellers, I thought that now, knowing the secret of the cursed rune braziers, they could handle it without me. Yes, they would take more time, but they would clear the dungeon on their own without serious injuries. It was now clear to me that these people had been fighting together for many years and could sense each other without words or commands.
Not even three hours had passed when the previously challenging Bogash's Tomb was cleared. But no one thought of relaxing. Following Katasakh's commands, we checked all the crypts and every nook of the dungeon once more. Only after ensuring that all the undead were slain did we begin collecting the trophies.
As before, I searched for caches and checked the found items for curses. Despite our efforts, we managed to gather barely one-twentieth of what we had obtained just over a week ago. Nevertheless, the tunnelers were more than satisfied with this result.
When everything found was packed into baskets, I ordered everyone to wait for me at the entrance and under no circumstances to follow me if they didn't want to get a dark curse. Only Katasakh joined me, knowing from my words that there was no real danger. And it was all my fault for having a loose tongue, as I had whispered it to him during the morning drinking session.
Since I already knew what and where to look, I easily found the cursed chalice and, putting on new gloves, took it from the cache, then carefully wrapped it in a piece of fabric that protected against dark emanations. After the chalice, I sequentially extracted the ritual dagger, a ring radiating Darkness, and a black staff, which apparently once belonged to a priest of Nulgle of not-so-high rank. However, there was a problem with the last dark artifact, a richly gold-embroidered cover.
"Is something wrong?" Katasakh tensed, sensing my hesitation.
"I don't understand," I replied honestly. "It feels like the cursed cover is either glued to the stone block it lies on, or somehow they magically bound the cover's fabric and the stone into a single whole."
"Is there nothing that can be done?"
"I didn't say that."
Gesturing the captain of the tunnellers not to interfere, I sat in a lotus position and plunged into meditation, trying to merge into a single whole with the Light, a small part of which "lived" in my Core as a symbol of Affinity. For more than an hour, I tried to comprehend how the stone and the cover were connected, but to no avail. However, I became completely confident that there was no protective magic on the stone block, and it was not radiating Darkness.
"You better leave the crypt, go out into the corridor," I asked Katasakh.
"No. If something happens, I won't be able to help you from there."
"If something happens, we will both perish here," I said with a bitter smile.
"Don't ask, I am staying," the old tunneller stubbornly bowed his head. "I'm not about to abandon a fellow guild member in the face of danger at my age. That won't happen." Then he added more quietly, "I've got enough sins to carry; I don't need another one."
Something in Katasakh's eyes convinced me that insisting was useless; he would not leave. What a stubborn old man.
"At least step back three paces," I said, removing one of my gloves and showing the Rune of Destruction on my palm.
This time, Katasakh did not argue. He already knew how the Rune worked and obediently stepped back, but his demeanor made it clear that if something happened, he would come to help.
Placing my palm on the block covered with gold-embroidered cloth, I applied the smallest amount of energy to the Rune. The stone immediately cracked. Three more careful applications of the Rune of Destruction, and the block crumbled into small fragments, freeing the dark artifact. Putting my glove back on, I carefully folded the cover and wrapped it in green fabric. Katasakh watched my every move intently. When I finished packing, the tunneller captain's eyes gleamed predatorily, and he stepped past me towards the niche formed by the block's destruction.
"Stop!" I roared. Katasakh froze obediently. "Don't go in, there might be residual emanations! My Affinity with the Light protects me, but you don't have such protection!"
"There is something over there, under the stone fragments," the tunneller captain said very quietly.
Turning to the niche, I took a closer look. Sure enough, something was faintly glinting. I still had plenty of green fabric left, so I mercilessly tore it into rags and made a makeshift small brush. Using this new tool, I began to sweep away the dust and stone crumbs from the niche. After a few minutes, we were able to make out our new find.
A small bracelet made of blued steel, intended for a very slender wrist. It had no jewels, gold, or silver. Just plain steel, not even Avalonium or Valirium. A rather beautiful pattern, applied using the technique of decorative alchemical etching, ran along the blued surface, depicting an arrow flying under the moonlight. Before reaching for the bracelet, I summoned Light but felt not the slightest echo of Darkness. The bracelet "smelled" of Shadow and fresh night wind. Glancing at Katasakh, I noticed the greed with which he looked at this bracelet. The old man clearly knew what we had found, and I didn't like it. Seeing my attention, the tunneller captain immediately adopted an expression of ordinary greed.
"Interesting," I said, recalling that in the Last Cycle, I had seen a similar ornament depicted in one of the scrolls from Morpheus' library. "This is a Night Huntress Bracelet, from the Cult of Seguna the Avenger. A cult that was mercilessly destroyed after the Fall. The bracelet is incomplete, you see," I pointed to two recesses, "missing a couple of stones."
I said this deliberately, carefully watching Katasakh's reaction to my words. The longer I spoke, the more convinced I became that the old man knew all this without my help.
"Probably a valuable thing," the tunneller captain said with feigned greedy interest, trying to appear indifferent.
"Very. A whole rope and a gallows to go with it," I sneered. "How's that for a price? Expensive enough?"
"Too much for me," Katasakh laughed nervously.
"Then you won't mind if I take it as part of my share?"
"What's your interest?" the tunneller asked warily.
"I'll hand it over to the Artifactors' Guild and get a reward," I lied shamelessly.
"You're already doing a lot for us by cleansing Bogash's Tomb of Darkness," Katasakh said, straightening his back. "So, I don't mind. But let's not tell the guys about this find."
This completely threw me off. Just like that, he was going to give it away? I saw the genuine greed in his eyes when he looked at the antique artifact we found. Moreover, the old man definitely knew what kind of bracelet it was and who wore such things in ancient times. Such erudition was surprising for a simple tunneller from the backwoods.
Was there some hidden motive in his behavior, or did he genuinely not want the item, which would make any Priest of Light order the entire village to be purged, to be found with him or anyone in his team? Moreover, the bracelet was not only broken and incomplete but also utterly useless for men. Such an artifact could only be worn by a woman with an Affinity with Shadow. It couldn't even be sold; no merchant would buy it, fearing retribution from the priests of Antares. The only option might be to approach the priests of Seguna, but whether they were present in the Rur region, and if Katasah knew of any of them, was unknown to me.
"Are you sure?" I asked, looking the tunneller straight in the eyes.
"Yes. Take this thing far away," Katasakh grimaced. "If necessary, I'm even willing to pay you extra for it."
"No need," I waved off the offer. "At the Artifactors' Guild, they would give me at least fifty gold coins for it." I wasn't lying here.
"So little?" This time the tunneller's surprise seemed genuine.
"Because it's broken," I shrugged.
"Oh, right." The cunning old man smiled tensely, his past clearly more mysterious than I had initially thought.
Under the watchful eye of the tunneller, I wrapped the bracelet in green cloth, although it wasn't necessary, simply marking the new bundle with stone dust, leaving light gray streaks on the fabric.
"Will the Tomb be less dangerous now?" Katasakh asked when I had gathered all the found artifacts.
"Yes. Most likely, the Dark Souls will disappear, and the risen priests will lose some of their power. I'm not sure about the rest."
"A request," Katasakh addressed me before we left the crypt. "Don't tell the others about the bracelet."
"Why?" I asked innocently.
"Dragan has dreamed of earning the Night Mistress's blessing since childhood," the tunneller whispered. "I wouldn't want to tempt him."
"Alright."
"And yes, don't refuse your share. The guys wouldn't understand."
"More money, not less money," I smiled.
"Good, then," Katasakh exhaled with obvious relief, and we headed towards the entrance Arch.