Chapter Ten
CHAPTER TEN
The first thing I notice is the iron chest. It sits just inside the revealed corridor, medium-sized and polished to a mirror shine. The torchlight dances off its surface like rays of glory, creating tiny stars in my vision as I approach. With my good hand—the one not connected to an arm with a protruding bone—I carefully lift the lid.
Inside lies a single item: a book bound in dark leather with runes embossed on its cover. My first weave book. I analyze it, curious about what it might contain.
This book contains the knowledge of how to weave the spell: Mass Charm (Basic Level 1). Mass charm allows you to influence the domains of others, turning them into allies who believe themselves to be serving you and your agenda. They will follow all commands except any command to harm themselves intentionally. You lack the proper class and cannot learn this weave.
I hang my head and let out a gigantic sigh. I had been hoping for healing potions—something to help with my injuries. I am battered and bruised, and one of my bones is literally sticking out of my arm. I know my health is dangerously low, and it is not healing on its own. My entire body aches, and I feel slumped and sagging, my thoughts sluggish like mud flowing uphill.
I eye the fang symbol carved above the corridor, and I just know there is more ahead of me, more to do. More danger, more chances of dying. For a second, I actually consider letting myself die.
It is a very dark thought; I know that, but it would send me to respawn and I would come out fully healed. To me, in this moment, it seems less of a dark thought and more of a strategic decision. Yet, I know I will not go through with it. It feels too much like giving up, and furthermore, it would place me on my last life, something I simply do not want to risk. With one extra life, I have a buffer—another chance to move forward if I make a fatal mistake. Just throwing that away without fighting for it would be foolish.
The crimson river in my Domain churns with what feels like agreement. The strange sense that it has a will of its own grows stronger by the day.
I consider resting, but there are problems with that plan. Mainly, there are goblins not too far from me at all, and they could stumble upon me while I sleep. I am a little shocked they did not find me when I passed out earlier, in fact. Furthermore, even if I did rest, it would not heal me. I am certain of that. The Eden Tree does not allow health to heal over time, or I would have healed even a little bit by now, and I have not. There is just no other conclusion to reach.
Yet I have to face it; there are no healing potions in this chest. Just a book containing a weave I cannot even use. I sigh and deposit it into my bag of holding. The pain in my arm throbs, deep and unabiding. I close my eyes and breathe slowly, pushing the pain away with my thoughts.
Opening my eyes, I focus on the fang symbol. I have finally found it. I bring up my quest; it has been a while since I read it.
Quest: Locate the hidden tomb of Lazarus. Lazarus's tomb is within these catacombs and can be found by locating the hidden portal on the catacomb's first floor. Look for the mark of the fang.
Well, I am looking at it. It stands out against the gray stone, a white engraving that is definitely a fang. I turn a little awkwardly and shuffle forward, touching the fang with the fingers of my injured arm. I figure if something bad happens, at least it will happen to my bad arm and not my good one. Nothing happens.
I frown and blink. More puzzles. I hang my head again. A wave of mental fatigue passes through me, and I imagine that my brain seems to actually sag within my skull. I take a deep breath and set myself to the task.
What do fangs usually mean? Obviously, they are sharp, usually for eating and tearing into meat. I get the feeling that offering it rations would not get me anywhere, however. Instead, I decide to focus on what I can do and what I have access to.
Fangs also tend to be related to blood; in fact, fangs are almost always related to blood in some way. With that in mind, I reach over and into the cloth I have wrapped around my arm. It is already soaked with blood and it is easy, if painful because I jostle it, to get a little blood on my finger. I coat the fang with it...and nothing happens.
I growl and kick at the wall, succeeding only in hurting my toe. More pain stacked on top of the rest of it does not bother me that much anymore. I am still not ready to give up on the blood angle; instinct tells me I am on the right track.
A memory whispers at the edge of my consciousness—my mother reading me stories of vampires and their fangs that drank blood. The memory fades before I can grasp it fully, but it strengthens my resolve.
The only other thing I have that is related to blood is my Domain's blood aspect. I immerse myself in it as I learned to do in what seems like forever ago and weave it into the fang in the way I might if I were enchanting it.
The fang begins to glow, an inner crimson light swirling from its center. It continues to expand until a vortex of red light encompasses the whole wall. I step back and consider it. This must be the portal the quest spoke of. The Judge confirms it:
Quest update! You have found the hidden tomb of Lazarus! To complete this quest, explore the tomb of Lazarus and overcome its puzzles.
The crimson river in my Domain surges forward, as if eager to enter the portal. The strange thirst returns, stronger than before. With a heavy head and a sense of trepidation, I step into the portal.
Where I end up is a very simple room, if you can call any room in this dungeon simple. There is a mirror inlaid into the graystone of the wall directly ahead. There is nothing else in the room—no furniture, no decorations, nothing. Just the mirror and four stone walls.
I approach the mirror, and it is the first time I get a good look at myself.
I do not look good.
My black curly hair is a matted mess, caked with slime and blood, and stuck to my skull. My sharp features look gaunt, and my pale skin looks like it belongs on a corpse. There are deep bags under my eyes. This is the first time since entering the dungeon that I have seen my eyes, and I realize I had not remembered what color they were.
My eyes are blue, but currently they are bloodshot, shot through with lines of swollen red. My clothes are shredded, showing patches of bloody skin beneath. The sight is disturbing, like looking at a stranger wearing my face.
After examining my harrowing appearance, I look around the room. Other than the mirror, it seems empty. I close my eyes and push back the sudden desire to scream. I really hate puzzles.
I know I should be grateful; I could be facing down some monster trying its hardest to kill me, which, admittedly, could still happen. I turn back around and look at the mirror again, and rather than look at myself, I examine the reflection of the rest of the room. It looks the same. Nothing appears out of place.
Dismissing the mirror for now, I walk around the room, examining the stones. I cannot see anything else I can do except look for anything that seems unusual. Every stone looks mostly the same, but I keep at it, inspecting every stone as closely as I can.
It is not until I make it to the back right corner that I find anything. I rub the dust off a particular stone at eye level and am presented with small, faded red text. It reads, "Life moves ever onward."
I mutter the words aloud, the sound of my voice oddly flat in the small room.
Now, what could that mean? The obvious interpretation is that it is true—life does move on, whether you want it to or not. But it is clearly a clue, so what does it mean in this context?
To get in here, I used blood weaves, so I try the same, using blood weaves to infuse the mirror. No dice; nothing happens. Blood is often associated with life, and this tomb has already set a precedent for using blood. Not seeing any other choices, I flick a little blood from my injured arm at the mirror.
The mirror ripples, like a pebble dropped into a pond. Well, that is interesting. I rub at my chin, trying to mush through my sluggish thoughts. It feels like I am trying to make my way through a swamp of thick mud.
The mirror rippled, yet there is no sign of the blood on its surface. I stand in front of the mirror again and look for changes.
I find some. The little bit of blood I flung at the mirror appears to have landed on some stones at my feet—at least, they are visible in the mirror. Looking down at the actual floor, I see none of the red drops. Yet in the mirror, they are most assuredly there.
What does that mean? The only thing that makes sense is that the mirror is a door to another room, though it looks identical. The mirror is the size of a door, so it does make sense in a way. Steeling myself, I attempt to walk through the mirror. It ripples around me like water, and I pass through it.
I have made it to the next room.
I had expected this room to be identical to the previous one. It is not. There is no sign of my blood at all. In fact, the room is much larger. A pool of water lies off to the right; it is surprisingly large, with stone steps leading down into the depths. Words are engraved into the wall above the pool.
"Embrace death, or life is not worth living," I read aloud.
As I look forward, I see five statues spread throughout the room. The statues depict some large winged beast with an open maw of jagged stone teeth. I analyze the statues.
This is a statue of a gargoyle. It has no level.
Past the gargoyle statues is another portal of swirling crimson red. Seeing the clear exit for this place, I do not hesitate to stride forward.
Instantly, the statues move, the sound of stone sliding on stone echoing throughout the room. The gargoyle statues surround me, blocking my path forward and leaving me with only the option of moving backward. I cannot move forward.
"I should have known it would not be that easy," I say to no one in particular.
Back to the words, then. "Embrace death?" I have already died once before; that is about as embracing of death as one can get. Clearly, that does not qualify here, though.
The burning question is why there is a pool of water in the room. There does not appear to be any reason at all for its presence. It is not like the gargoyle statues need baths. Then there is the location of the words, which are obviously a clue; they hang over the pool. I look around and confirm that there are plenty of other empty stone walls where the words could have been engraved, so why that wall? It is not the first wall you see, so it cannot have been placed there for convenience. No, it has to be related to the pool.
But what does embracing death have to do with a pool of water?
The crimson river in my Domain stirs, almost as if trying to offer guidance. A memory surfaces—drowning is called "the little death" in some cultures. Could that be it? The pool seems to represent death, and I need to embrace it.
I stare blankly at the water, a wave of exhaustion wiping away all thoughts. What was I thinking about? Oh, right, water and death. Perhaps I just need to go into the water? It seems as good a plan as any.
I hesitate, though; I do not think the water will feel good on my open wound. In fact, it might make things worse. But I cannot see any other choice. I take several deep breaths and gather my wits, bracing for what is to come. I know this is going to hurt, and I have to steel myself for it.
One step, and water moves around my boots, rippling outward. Another step. There is nothing for it, and being hesitant is not going to do me any good. With a final breath, I plunge into the pool, bringing a world of pain with me.
The cold water shocks my system, sending a jolt through my injured arm that makes me gasp. The water fills my mouth, and I choke, sputtering as I try to keep myself upright. The pain is immediate and intense, like fire racing through my veins despite the coldness of the water.
As I sink deeper, the water rises to my chest, then my neck. The crimson river in my Domain surges, reaching out as if trying to connect with the water around me. The strange thirst intensifies, but not for drinking—it feels more like my very being yearns to absorb something from this place.
"Embrace death," the wall had said. With a final, desperate gamble, I let myself sink completely beneath the surface, fully submerging my head.
The water closes over me, and darkness takes hold. Yet within that darkness, I sense something waiting—something ancient and powerful. Something that knows me, even if I do not know myself.