“I don’t understand,” Lic looked at the cracked bowl in my hand.

“That’s a self-cleaning bowl,” I said. “I can push my mana into it and see the magic hexagrams that are responsible for cleaning it light up.”

“What?” Lic gasped. “You can see… magic?!”

“Mhmm,” I nodded.

I put the bowl down in front of me, pulled a notebook out of Saccy, pushed a bit of mana into a rune at the base of the bowl and started to sketch the shimmering hexagrams inside it on a piece of paper. “I believe I can extrapolate a generic cleaning spell out of it.”

“I see,” the cobbler blinked.

He looked like I had broken him.

“What’s she doing?” Nandine had emerged out of the house on her crutches.

“She’s drawing magic hexagrams from that bowl,” Lic replied.

“If you're going to lie, at least put some effort into it,” the ex-adventurer spat. “Only artificers can see magic hexagrams using absurdly overpriced tools.”

“Do you mind not distracting me?” I looked up at her.

The woman looked down at me with a glare. I ignored her and returned to my sketching. Lic had finished his meal, stepped into the house and emerged with a few large bags.

“I’m going to my workshop,” he said.

“I’m coming with you,” I shoved the bowl and the sketchbook into Saccy, getting up.

Nandine’s hate-filled eyes followed us as we went down the street.

. . .

I had spent the day helping Lic clean up his workshop. When it became more or less presentable, he set out to repair some old shoes that had filled his bag. In the meanwhile, I set out to sketch the hexagrams again and again, trying to gain an understanding of how the bowl worked.

Unfortunately, it had been damaged and missing a section, so my mana failed to go down several paths so I had to make guesses. After about an hour of a struggle, I admitted that I required help. I pondered about who else could aid me and nearly slapped my head. Dawn! Of course! The portrait could also see magical currents. Her magical receptions could be better than mine at figuring out hexagrams. I went into Saccy and emerged wearing my Dawn-dress in about ten minutes.

“That’s a nice dress, Grogs,” Lic looked up at me.

“Hello cobbler Lic,” Dawn bowed to him.

“Your dress is… talking?” Lic’s eyes bulged wide.

“Yeppers, she’s my depictomancy-made bestie,” I smiled.

“I… see,” the cobbler returned to his work on the shoes, periodically glancing at Dawn.

“You can see currents of magic, yes?” I asked the painted girl.

“Yes,” she answered.

“Can you help me finish this cleaning hexagram?” I said. “I’m missing like a quarter of it.”

“Sure,” she replied. “I’ve seen cleaning magic at work before. It should go up and then at an angle like… umm… how can I show you?”

I placed the bottom part of the dress beside the drawing. “Draw the missing lines with your finger. I’ll try to follow. Do it slowly.”

“Right,” she said. “Okay… here I go.”

. . .

It took me nearly the rest of the day to fully draw the entire [Clean] hexagram. Dawn had evaluated it as ‘acceptable’.

A food vendor had come by Lic’s workshop and offered a trade of some fried fish and questionable-looking seaweed noodles in exchange for a pair of shoes. It was a simple transaction which led to Lic and I getting seven fried-fish dinners in exchange. The fried-fish cook departed with new shoes, promising to bring some fish to Nandine. I chewed on the fish, pondering how Undertown denizens had avoided having money by exchanging goods and services in a manner of ‘promises’. A week of dinners for three people for a pair of fixed up, old shoes fished out of the river of trash seemed like a fair price.

“Dad, how do you pay the Guild without having money?” I asked.

“With services to the Guilders,” Lic sighed. “The Fighters come by and bring shoes to be repaired.”

“So you do work for the Guild in exchange for… nothing?” I asked.

“The Guild offers… protection,” he said.

“That’s called a protection racket,” Dawn commented smartly.

“I know what a protection racket is,” I said with a frown.

Lic shrugged, returning to his work.

“Okay so I got the cleaning hexagram down,” I looked at Dawn. “Now what?”

“You’re really set on learning spell-work before you get to Nemendias?” Dawn asked.

“It’s good to be prepared, no?” I said.

“Nemendias?” Lic choked from his work desk.

“Dawn thinks I’m going there,” I commented.

“You are going there,” the painting insisted.

“My daughter is going to Nemendias?” Lic mumbled. “Please… don’t say that near Nani, she’ll have a fit. She thinks that place is the heart of all evil.”

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

“Well, I guess it wouldn't hurt you to learn how to do spells,” Dawn mulled. “My main concern is that you’ll run out of skill slots for them quickly.”

“Slots?” I blinked.

“At level five you should be limited to three... to five slots, depending on how strong your body is,” the painting replied.

“Limited by what?” I asked.

“The System and your body’s magical conductivity,” Dawn said.

“I don’t have any skill slots,” I commented.

“What?” Both Dawn and Lic asked.

“Uhhh… comes with being the Chosen One I guess?” I smiled weakly. I tried to recall what Eunice said about chimera cendai being different from humans. “I’m how to put it… more magically malleable… I think?”

Dawn suspiciously squinted up at me from the dress while Lic looked completely lost.

“Well, Madame Malleable, I suppose it won’t hurt to teach you a spell then,” Dawn muttered. “Let's try it. Arm the armacus and switch it to the [Foci]. Visualize the entire hexagram in your mind and push mana through the armacus in that shape, while aiming it at some dirt.”

I unfurled the bracelet into its gun-form and aimed it at the nearest wall. Then I pushed mana from my hand into the [Foci] sphere while imagining the [Clean] hexagram. Nothing happened except for some sparks dancing around the firing end of the device.

“You’re not visualizing the spell clearly enough,” Dawn commented. “It’s coming apart. The mental focus of your brain-meat is lacking.”

“Gee thanks,” I huffed. “What do I do?”

“Do you have Intelligence points?” Dawn asked. “Use them to visualize the entire spell with greater clarity.”

“Right,” I nodded.

I focused on my [Calculator] and pushed the [Clean] hexagram through it, mentally tinting the entire thing in purple color. Then, I attached the calculator thread to the armacus, aimed the spell and pressed the trigger.

I didn’t even get sparks this time. Nothing happened. I growled in frustration.

“You’re not using a skill,” Dawn commented. “The armacus hexagrams are made to recognize skills. If you don’t have a skill that’s shaped exactly like a spell, it can’t fire it. Do you... even have spells that can affect the environment?”

“I absolutely do!” I insisted. “I have a compressor!”

“Try pushing that through the Foci?” Dawn tilted her head. “Let’s see what happens.”

With irritation I connected the [Compressor] thread to the [Foci] of the armacus and pressed the trigger. A new blue screen flashed in my right eye.

[Armacus 2]: [Foci] < [Compressor LV 1 [x2] ]

Air rushed into the firing end of the armacus with far greater intensity than I was used to. Before I could let the trigger go, the bubble of compressed air detonated. Dust and lightweight debris blasted away from me in billowing clouds and Lic yelped in fright, balking back. The shoddy walls of his workshop wobbled for a few more seconds before falling silent.

“I told you, I have a spell!” I laughed, feeling my ears ringing. “Damn that was freaking loud. This could probably make a decent airgun.”

“I don't know what an 'airgun' is, but now you have to do whatever it is you did for this air-folding spell… but have it shaped exactly like the [Clean] hexagram and have it as a skill,” Dawn replied.

I pondered about her suggestion. I didn’t have extra, newborn soul-threads that could be formed into a [Clean] spell. I needed to level up to get those and I didn’t have anywhere near enough experience for that. I frowned, pondering my situation. Sitting on my butt in Undertown wasn’t getting me the needed experience. I needed to do something more productive… like kill some monsters and eat their flesh to level up effectively.

“By Sempitinent Infi, do you mind warnin’ me ahead next time? I feel like I’ve almost gone deaf!” Lic coughed.

“Sempai-what now?” I blinked at him.

“Uhm,” The old cobbler rubbed the back of his head. “We, the Undertown born, believe in Infi Sempiternity, the goddess of Eternity, Darkness and Oblivion. I’ve taken you to the Shogun Gate once a year since you were five to speak with the ghosts of the dead. Did you ...forget our goddess?”

“What?” I stepped towards Lic, my eye twitching. “...we worship a goddess… of Death?!”

Eunice’s words made a resounding gong of doom in the back of my head. A manifestation of Death and Oblivion seemed exactly like the kind of a Threat to Humanity that I was supposed to prevent as a cendai!

“Are you freaking kidding me?” I quietly hissed to myself, rubbing my forehead.

“Sempiternity doesn’t ask for worship,” The old cobbler commented. “She is simply a gate to the afterlife. Anyone can go to the Shogun Gate and talk to the departed once a year for about five hundred heartbeats.”

“Right,” I exhaled. “Right… a goddess of Death.”

“Are we going to this Gate thing now?” Dawn asked. “I feel like my poster-gathering mission is getting derailed over here.”

“You don’t think that stopping a goddess of Death and Oblivion is important?” I snapped, whisper-hissing at her. “This sounds like a Threat to Humanity biz right here.”

“Sempiternity can’t be stopped,” Lic said, shaking his head. “She’s present across all worlds in magic that has no end. It is because of her patronage that the Infinite Dungeon exists. She’s not a threat to people. It is because of her work and her chosen heroes like Saint Charles that we are free, permitted to exist at all.”

“And here I thought my mom was the zealous one,” I sighed. “You hear him, right? Permitted to exist?”

“I hear him,” Dawn sighed. “Let's go check out this Gate.”

“I’m not going to get the life slapped out of me by a god of Death, right?” I mulled.

“No, this is a good path,” Dawn said. “No deaths.”

“All paths will lead you to her,” Lic interjected. “For Infi is the beginning and the end and neither for she is the ouroboros of perpetuity, the link between us and our ancestors.”

“Uh-huh,” I ignored the cobbler’s rant of devotion. “Dad? How far is this Shogun Gate? Can you take me there? I’d like to talk with... my ancestors.”

“Oh, of course, of course,” Lic nodded. “I will take you to the gate of the dead. We can be there by the time the clouds dim tonight, I bet you want to chat with your grandfather! It’s been more than a year now since your last conversation with him.”

“Riiiight,” I nodded, squinting at the excited-looking cobbler. I had extreme doubts that Grogtilda’s grandfather would bother to speak with me as a ghost. “Just let me change into my… night armor. I’d rather not get my nice dress dirty.”

I went into Saccy and emerged in about ten minutes wearing Juni’s body.

“Shall we?” I asked dad, my voice tinny.

Lic didn’t seem to be surprised by my full-body-covering nightcrawler armor one bit. He was far too focused on bringing me to the magic gate so that I could talk with my ancestors. He took my gloved hand into his and we left his workshop.

Undertown around us stirred with evening life, crystal lanterns and candles lighting up all around as the Chasm clouds turned dark orange and gradually dimmed. As we walked, the old cobbler ranted to me about his late father - an Undertown-born Level 20 strongman who went out into the Chasm and killed all sorts of large monsters, bringing their parts back to the Fighters Guild.

As we descended several hundred stairwells and levels built from random junk and circled the enormous basalt column, I saw it standing there - a large, obsidian-black gate formed from perfectly fitting hexagons.

The Shogun Gate stood on the uneven pavement made of compacted trash. It didn't fit at all with the rest of Undertown and looked completely out of place here amidst mountains of junk, boxed in and practically surrounded by colorful favelas. A few pilgrims dressed in dirty robes were waiting in line in front of the gate. An old, silver-haired woman stepped underneath the black gate, silently stood beneath it for a few minutes and then passed through it with tears in her eyes.

I recognized the damn gate right away - it looked exactly like the black gate that Eunice had in her basement, beneath her skull-home in the center of her Soul-Garden.

It was an End Gate, a passage into the Still Forest and it clearly wasn’t built by the high-cendai!

I stared at the Shogun Gate with my mouth wide open as Lic and I came closer to it. A faded, barely visible, large, English letter G was embossed into the black surface atop of the central hexagonal segment of the gate.

I suddenly recalled the ice-covered buildings in the depictomancy, golem-lander painting that Lambert gave me and recognized the style of the architecture. The logo-style, fat letter G was from, stood for the English word "the Good Directorate".

There was only one explanation that made sense in my mind now. The End Gate was an arcane artifact, a remnant shard of the bygone, magitek civilization that had managed to destroy itself on Inaria.