I fought a few more monsters after that. Mostly Dread Fowls, though I suffered a brief moment of panic when I encountered a nest of snakes.

My level increased by one sometime around midday. I expected the same three-point increase in stats and one-point increase in energy, but the [System] proved full of surprises. Instead of the usual, it awarded two points to attributes, and two each to VP and MP.

I noted the changes down in my parchment, which I’d now taken to calling Damien’s Notes. Stat points were supposedly finite, needing judicious management to achieve a desired build. The fact that they suffered a rate drop the higher up I went didn’t sit right with me, but it just made me more determined to single out core stats.

Dexterity, Perception, and Endurance all improved my chances of survival. But, I couldn’t ignore Strength and magic Intellect if I desired to be a more effective Assassin. The twin energy stats of Vital Force and Magicka could wait in the meantime, but what I wouldn’t give for more of those two to rely on.

Despite an earlier session of [Meditation], I’d again managed to beat VP and MP down to abysmal levels from all the fighting. I was also running low on stamina, though I’d done my best to preserve my health.

A quick look at [Map] revealed I stayed on course, due south for Skeelie. But, a new anomaly had appeared just inside the perimeter of the circle.

I frowned at the sight. A cluster of three rocks lay off to the west in depiction of a point of interest. Zooming in on the landmark provided no further information, save that the cluster was greyed out as a result of its unvisited status.

To go or not to go?

Had this been a video game, I would have rushed over with gusto at the promise of loot. However, facing danger in the flesh rather than as polygons left little by way of wiggle room. If I stuck my nose in a crisis that could otherwise be avoided, I would only have myself to blame.

Not to mention, I was much too depleted to entertain further adventure.

“Just walk on by, Damien. Just walk on by.”

My feet ground to a halt. Didn't the best gear and buffs tend to be hidden in places like this? Imagine finding a dagger better than the Blackreach. Or a lamp. With a djinn. Who could grant three wishes . . .

I paced about the spot. What if it was something worse? The landmark could be a goblin trap built to snare unsuspecting travelers or the home of an ancient being seeking to laden mortals with a quest.

My paranoia was probably a result of my affinity, but . . . I was going to have to decline, good sir. Not interested in exploring. Not interested, at all.

I would continue south and make it out of Dreadwood . . .

I ended up meditating in a dell because I was a cautious bastard and needed to be at peak form in case I changed my mind.

My elven senses acted differently during [Meditation]. I remained aware of my surroundings—of the wind on my skin and the sweat on my forehead—even though the sensations reached me as though from across several layers of cloth.

The worst disadvantage came in the perception of sound. I wouldn’t hear an elephant approach until they stood right next to me. Getting ambushed during meditation was bound to suck.

Not that there was a good time to get ambushed. And, if there was, it was my job as an Assassin to rid people of that notion.

Once my renewables were back to maximum, I returned to normal ground. This part of Dreadwood brimmed with undergrowth, forcing me to tread carefully for fear of snakes. I held my dagger close to my chest and plodded through the landscape, watchful of every step.

A small bog cut across my path, interspersed with thick clumps of grasses.

See that right there? The universe must have thought me a dumbass. Everything about that bog triggered warning bells, from its grotesque mossy color to the way it lay just out of sight of the tallest grasses.

The only way the bog could get more ominous was if a black screen hovered over it with the words You Died written in red letters. And, even then, the OSHA rating would still read: Not foreboding enough.

I gave the death water a wide berth, then gave it a few more meters just to be sure. The leaves rustled in the trees from a warm wind that blew overhead.

Come, stranger. Why do you run?

What?

Come, said the bog. I won’t bite. Come look into my depths.

No, fuck you.

And yet, despite my violent reservations, I found myself walking—actually walking—toward the bog.

What the hell was I doing?

Come, the bog said.

My god. This was mental compulsion. Hypnosis, wasn’t it? And the one defense I had against it was already in the Common tier.

My arms shivered at my side, even as my feet hastened to my demise. Bubbles broke the placid surface of the bog, lingering far too long for comfort. Something lay beneath the moldy green.

Something expansive.

I didn’t care to find out what.

Hey! It seems you are afraid.

+1 has been added to all stats.

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

I reached a point about fifty meters from the bog. One of the bubbles littering the surface popped.

You're getting really scared, aren't you?

Another round of +1s have been added!

Come, my child, the creature cooed, interrupting the [System] message.

I took another step and gritted my teeth.

First off, I had only one mother, and although she was dead, her spirit would rather die a second time than persist in bog water.

Secondly: fuck you. Stop messing with my head!

I plunged The Blackreach Dagger into my arm. Pain like a beacon radiated from the impact, rousing me from hypnosis.

I sprinted off before the creature could react. A scream emanated from the bog or in my head—I wasn’t sure—as the monster lost the meal it had come close to tasting. I kicked dust behind me, even as I felt the beginnings of another psychic attack.

One Dread Monkey landed in my path. It surged up with claws unfurled, aiming for my face. I stepped backward to evade the blow and responded with a dagger strike across its jaw. It died with eyes wide open, scream lodged in its throat.

A small group of monkeys gibbered in the trees. Survivors from the last fight, if I guessed correctly. They didn’t notice the danger in the bog or seem to care in the least, but I wasn’t about to fight a second troop of monkeys while the unseen creature screamed in my head.

With no other avenue left to me, I sprinted for the landmark.

What had looked like a pile of rocks on [Map] was actually a small house, built from stone with slate for roofing. It stood alone in a clearing in the woods, surrounded by a once-garden which had now fallen into neglect.

Wild grasses obstructed the area leading up to the entrance, which itself featured vines and other creepers from years of abandonment. [Identify] supplied a brief description:

Abandoned Mausoleum.

Yes, yes, I could see it was abandoned, you freaking idiot. Thank you for the useless piece of info.

The monkeys had stopped chasing after the activation of [Stealth], but they lurked somewhere off in the vicinity. The smart option thus would be to hide beside the mausoleum until the situation cooled enough to allow for a safe escape.

But, the smart option wasn't always the most rewarding. Besides, I had a nagging suspicion that the [System] had intended for me to visit this place and encounter whatever awaited. Might as well get it over with.

Two stout pillars framed the short flight of stairs that led to the entrance of the mausoleum. The entrance itself consisted of a set of double doors, stiff from the years of unuse, that cracked open with a strong push.

Mausoleums tended to be synonymous with the dead, which in fantasy settings, ironically included the undead. Assuming that creatures like skeletons and draugrs waited within, exploration promised to be a different experience from the usual Dreadwood fare.

. . . Which sucked because I didn’t do well with horror.

I was a freaking Assassin with the trait [Born of Fear]. I should be spooking things, not the other way around. Why did I have to give in to phobia?

Where are you, child? a muted voice said in my head. Come to me.

Okay, that settled it.

I let [Fear Aura] seep out of my body and into the mausoleum. Nothing came running out, which only worsened my anxiety. It meant that the monsters of the tomb were either too high-leveled to succumb to my abilities or resistant to Fear by virtue of being undead.

I didn’t know which was worse.

I activated [Stealth] and [Dark Stalker] and crawled into the building, though not before wedging a stick in the doorway just to be safe.

The boarded-up windows left the interior dark and musty. Dust motes drifted in the air, illuminated by the sparse lighting that made it through the boards. My elven sight adjusted to the darkness, revealing a decrepit interior occupied by rotten pews. Broken urns and stools littered the corners, lain low on floorboards caked high in dust.

Considering how monsters littered every corner of Dreadwood, their absence in the mausoleum sent shivers slithering up my spine. I glanced back at the slightly open door, wondering if it wasn’t too late to make like a cat, the scaredy type at least, and disappear.

Despite my inner reservations, my feet continued their foolish trek to the end of the hall. Rotten wood stood there, in a vaguely rectangular pile—the remnants of an altar since fallen into disrepair. A glass-topped sarcophagus occupied the space behind the altar, bearing a single occupant: a desiccated skeleton.

I backed away at the sight.

The skeleton remained immobile, doing that dead thing skeletons often did. A cassock covered the majority of its length, complemented by an amice and a skull cap on its head.

The skeleton's position didn't change, even after I turned away and glanced back again. If it had any intention of surprising me while my attention was occupied, it did a good job of it.

“You can get up if you want to,” I mumbled. “No point drawing this out.”

Silence replied me.

I sighed and rubbed sweaty palms on my pants. “[Identify].”

Corpse of Wood Elf Mage.

A simple description, which meant the corpse wasn’t a monster. [Identify] typically added a level to those and elaborated further for ranked items.

The dead Wood Elf held a scepter in his hands which seemed to be his staff of office. I focused on the item and earned a new infobox for my troubles.

Staff of Cleansing [Greater].

A special item containing the affinity of Compassion. Provides protection against weaker monsters and undead.

Requirement: [2].

That could come in handy. Greater tier aside, the staff was probably responsible for the absence of Dread beasts in the mausoleum. I didn’t want to steal from a corpse, but he certainly wasn’t using it, and I doubted anyone had employed the services of the tomb in decades.

Muttering a silent apology, I unlocked the sarcophagus. The lid slid open with minimal resistance, allowing me to reach in and pluck the staff. The instant I made contact, its power dampened, causing a noticeable drop in ambient temperature. The wooden staff heated up beneath my palm, forcing me to drop it lest I should burn.

Error: This item requires [INT] no less than Greater.

You are not of the relevant class.

Just say it from the start, dammit!

I puffed on my fingers, which smarted in a way that signified true damage, and stomped my feet. A soft clank revealed a door I’d missed earlier, nestled in the wall behind the sarcophagus.

I tugged the wooden handle to reveal a flight of stairs that descended into the dark.

Smiling serenely, I tugged it back shut. Enough with the You Died, okay?

The area beneath the altar typically contained a crypt in fantasy settings. However, nothing would make me inspect this one. Not even the promise of a hidden way back to Earth.

Murals littered the area above the door, spanning up to an arch in the ceiling. They depicted curious scenes of some tale or fable related to the tomb.

One scene showed a trio of hunters meeting a shirtless man in the forest. Another showed that same man giving them a ring.

A third, which I interpreted as a direct sequel to the former, depicted one of the hunters, now dressed in flowing robes, addressing a crowd. A flame hovered in his open right hand, a ring in the other.

A final scene showed the hunter being laid to rest with the ring entombed alongside him.

Hu-hu-hu. Big brain time. There was a puzzle here waiting to be solved. But, what on earth was it about? Except for the crypt that waited at the end of the stairway, the only other coffin was the one behind me . . .

. . . which now lay empty, devoid of lid and skeletal occupant.

The remains of the Wood Elf Mage floated instead above the altar. Eyeless sockets glared at me, seeing straight through my techniques.

One long, bony hand raised the Staff of Cleansing in my direction.

The third You Died screen commenced with the sounds of heavy metal.