Varissian looked at Topher, his face a frown of distaste. "I assume that you jest. What sort of ridiculous moniker would that be for an actual being?" He shook his head. "One might as well refer to oneself as 'the Perfect Winner'."

Topher had to laugh. "There is actually," he managed, "a very, very powerful artifact called 'the Perfect Blade', but that doesn't make it any less pretentious." He turned to Kelfir. "But you have some explaining to do."

Kelfir raised an eyebrow; his expression revealed nothing. "I fail to see how that would be the case. What are you implying?"

"Your dad," Topher continued, waving his arm towards Kelfir as he turned back towards Varissian, "has a bad habit of keeping secrets right up until they're about to get him killed. It's gonna be your problem going forward, so you might want to pay attention." He moved to face them both. "Let's walk through what happened -- for Varissian's benefit, if nothing else. About a month ago, I ended up delving into a dungeon with some Otherworlders in Thoxen; the Guardian of that dungeon was a dragon-guy called Vashyarl the Black, which is a name that probably means something to you." Varissian's eyes went wide, but Topher didn't waste time. "We fought, he lost, and he's dead now, and also he was an Otherworlder to boot -- as were the other Immortal Beasts -- and then you showed up to yell at us." He turned his attention to Kelfir, who was frowning. "You gave us a lecture about what a big fuckin' deal it was that we'd killed him and a bunch of other shit. But you also said something else."

Kelfir blinked. "I?"

"Yeah, you." Topher crossed his arms. "You said 'About the Infinite King I can tell you nothing; even I am not privy to such knowledge'."

"I recall this as well." Kelfir's brow furrowed. "What is its import?"

"Its import," Topher countered, "is that you didn't say, 'I don't know of any Infinite King'. You said, 'I can tell you nothing'. Which implies that you knew of him, at least in a general sense, but that you weren't authorized to know or reveal anything in particular."

Kelfir's expression soured; he ran his hands through his golden hair in frustration. "It is as you say. But I fail to see what difference it makes; it is true that ancient legends mention such a figure, but no more. Previously, it was the perspective of the lorekeepers that such knowledge, if it were ever deemed important, could be retrieved from Zytis and Tuveinth; that is no longer possible, as you well know."

"Goddammit!" Topher smacked his fist into his palm in frustration. "There has to be something else. Gimme that book for a second." Snatching the notebook from the Archmage, he cast Amanuensis to copy it into his Ledger, then Validated the original so that he could read it. The contents were brief, despite the volume's thickness -- a long and highly detailed analysis of archaeological and historical information Venvaris had gleaned from the ruins, a small handful of spells, occasional musings on the nature of existence and death, and about two pages of extremely morbid poetry. He handed it back to Kelfir, scowling. "The notes stop abruptly about two-thirds of the way through, just after an entry about getting a fresh start the next morning; the old nerd probably died in his sleep."

"A not-unexpected turn of events," Kelfir agreed, accepting the book once more. "Is there anything else within of note?"

"A couple spells." Topher pursed his lips. "A weird, hacky version of Wall of Force that required a lot more safety to use than the one I know -- kind of like somebody mashed it up with Fleet Zephyr. Guess magic technology marched on and refined them?" He frowned. "A couple of others like that -- prototype spells, I guess. And two other weird ones -- something called 'Gimthranuil's Ravelling' that looked like a jacked-up version of Mending, and one just called 'Unknown Spell' that was literally like fifteen runes long, with a crap-ton of crazy visualization stuff."

"Gimthranuil's Ravelling you have seen," Kelfir informed him; "It is the spell I used to summon the wood which became the torch you now hold. But the other is a mystery to me..." He opened the notebook again and began to flip through it. "Which section?"

"Near the back, maybe three or four pages from where the pages go blank," Topher supplied. He watched as the older elf flipped the entire book over, then began to flip the pages back-to-front... after a few moments, he stopped, squinting at the runes which covered the page. "Guessing it looks nutty to you too?"

"It is... incomplete," the Archmage acknowledged. "But from what I read here, it would have to be immensely powerful..." he frowned at the runes, mumbling under his breath, then his eyebrows shot up. "According to what I read here, one would have to be Level five hundred to cast this, Christopher. Even Archmagus Venvaris -- one of the greatest mages of the Elder age -- was not likely that high."

"Greatest Elder mage, eh?" Maybe he was worth some XP. Topher opened his Status curiously.

Name:

Christopher Bailey

Level:

279

Class:

Clerk

HP:

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

843/843

MP:

1124/1170

SP:

78/279

Strength:

Rank C

Dexterity:

Rank F

Constitution:

Rank C

Intelligence:

Rank D

Wisdom:

Rank D

Charisma:

Rank D

Skills:

Literacy (Rank D)

Mathematics (Rank B)

Cooking (Rank F)

Customer Service (Rank D)

Data Entry and Filing (Rank B)

Packaging and Shipping (Rank D)

Home Appliance Repair (Rank F)

Pen Spinning (Rank A)

[Disease Resistance (Rank C)]

[Poison Resistance (Rank C)]

Special Skills:

Disrupt Illusion

Improved Status

Summon Ledger

Summon Stylus

Detect Status

Metaphrasty (Rank S)

Encrypt Document

Authenticate Document

Duplicate Document

Validate Document

Restore Document

Locate Document

Minor Theurgy (Rank C)

Minor Wizardry (Rank C)

Transcendent Integrity

[Pass Without Trace (Rank C)]

[Elemental Resistance (Rank C)]

[Damage Resistance (Rank C)]

[Status Resistance (Rank C)]

[Improved Mana (Rank D)]

Unique Skill:

Attract Object

Holy fuck. He could not stop himself from whistling; it had more than doubled his Level. "Well, shit. I don't know what Level that guy was, but it must have been high; I'm almost Level 300 myself, now."

"Astonishing," breathed Kelfir at the exact moment Varissian exclaimed, "Preposterous!" Topher looked at the two of them and laughed.

"Don't read too much into it," he cautioned both of them, shaking his head. "It doesn't mean shit -- Suzume's Level is over one thousand, and Kholoth's is over nine thousand. But it is surprising." He looked down at the bones scattered across the floor, pondering. "You think maybe he got more powerful after he died?"

"One may assume," Varissian agreed, to which Kelfir nodded in turn. "Liches and Arch-Liches are purported to begin as lowlier spellcasting undead -- such as Skeletal Mages -- and grow more powerful over time." Topher winced, remembering Naungraloth. "Though that does beg the question of how the Archmagus became undead in the first place."

Topher shuddered. "He mentioned Wanbourne; if I had to guess, I'd say he got infected by the Edict there and turned into a zombie when he died. That, plus a few thousand years in a dungeon, probably explains the rest of it."

"Likely," replied Kelfir, tucking the book away into a pocket. "Spontaneous formation of undead has, indeed, been observed in many dungeons. Shall we resume our search?"

They picked through the rest of the room's wreckage; however, the only other thing of value they found was an old, empty leather scabbard. Topher hefted it, curious, but it had no Status he could discern. "Do you think he lost his sword?"

"Technically, yes," Kelfir replied; Topher looked over to discover that he was once again wielding the golden-bladed sword he'd had in the Sanctum. "I suspect it matches this; it is the ceremonial Golden Blade of Kal'Pandu, and possession of it is bestowed upon the current Archmagus." He held out his hand for the scabbard; Topher handed it over, and Kelfir sheathed the sword in it before secreting it somewhere within his robes once more. "The scabbard has been lost for generations; it appears Archmagus Venvaris retained it as a keepsake upon his retirement."

"That appears... inconsiderate," opined Varissian with a frown. "Why was a replacement not crafted?"

Kelfir shook his head, smirking. "The blade is quite dull; there has never been much need of one." Then, slowly, his expression soured, and he glared at the ground for a few moments. "It is not, as one might expect, a terribly useful artifact for a mage." Topher, remembering how useless the sword had been against Kalphegor, winced in sympathy.

"Our objective has been accomplished; we have divined the identity of the True Demon Lord and recovered two priceless artifacts important to the Elven peoples. Let us then return with haste." Before anyone could object, he reached out and grabbed Topher and Varissian by the forearms; there was an abrupt, timeless moment of golden transition, and then they were elsewhere.

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

As the glare receded, Topher blinked in surprise; he'd expected to be back outside the dungeon, or maybe even in Kal'Pandu again. But, to his shock, they were on the same hill outside Strathmore where Kelfir had dropped them off before; and, just as previously, the Archmage was no longer with them. He frowned and shook his head at Varissian. "Typical. Now we have to walk back again; but at least you can blast any weak monsters that attack you, Mister Level 25."

"I suppose," the elf agreed glumly, falling in beside him as they began the walk to the front gate; he stared upwards at the blue sky, lost in thought. "It is a deeply strange turn of events, Christopher. I had never thought to attain any Level, much less one this exalted; my plans for my future are quite in tatters." His mouth twisted. "I am not looking forward to explaining this to my wife."

Topher laughed. "Well, that's a problem we're both gonna have real shortly; Zanasha should be back from her mission today, too." He patted Varissian's shoulder in what he hoped was a companionable gesture. "But I'd imagine you're not going to be around here much longer."

Varissian halted, turning to Topher in alarm. "What do you imply?"

"Don't you remember what your dad said?" Topher smirked again. "'You have convinced me that you are capable; now you must suffer the consequences.' I'd imagine that a relocation to Kal'Pandu is in your near future; Elara will be over the goddamned moon."

"You jest." Varissian's face was a study in horror; it was as though Topher had told him he was being executed. "Surely, surely you jest."

"Nope." Topher grinned. "If I had to guess, buddy, I'd say you're probably going to be the next Archmage -- or, if not that, something like it. You're powerful, whether you like it or not, and Kelfir -- and, to be blunt, probably everybody else involved -- can't really afford to ignore that. So what's probably going to happen is that you and your lovely young wife will take an extended vacation, where Kelfir actually takes the time to teach you the basic shit he should have done a hundred years ago, and then you'll get dragged into a bunch of horrible adventures and gain a bunch more Levels." He shrugged. "It's what happened to me. Doesn't take a genius to see where this is going."

"Damnation." Varissian's expression suggested that he had just discovered a dead spider in his breakfast cereal. "Elara will be thrilled. At the minimum, she shall insist that I register with the Adventurer's Guild."

"Attaboy." Topher patted him on the back again. "Happy wife, happy life, right?"