NOVEL NEXT Chapter 129: The Artifact
It was eerie inside and silent. The shop looked like it was fashioned from an old cottage, fixed barely enough to carry the long shelves, the floor fitted with a variety of cobblestones. Each had an odd nick to it, as if they were mementos picked from different places.
Valens's skin prickled as the Resonance rang loud in his mind. The glass jars across the shelves, each veiled with a thick, black cloth, whispered to him in a speech that was familiar.
"Stay behind me," he muttered to Selin, who gave him a tight-lipped smile and a sharp nod. "These are not normal artifacts."
That much, he expected since it was the odd Resonance of the place that was why he picked this shop, after all. If Nomad's words were to be believed, true Artifacts were dark things. Strange things. Things that you couldn't hope to chance across in a normal shop with a smiling lady behind the counter.
Here, there were no shopkeepers. No one in sight, as if the owner of the place feared not that someone would dare to steal one of their prized possessions.
"Anyone?" Valens tried for the third time, hoping to get an answer this time. He was a lot of things, but being fearful was not a part of his traits. He would get permission to check those jars if he could, and if not, he wouldn't mind slipping a finger under those cloths and taking a peek for himself.
Curiosity is a dangerous worm.
He was about to do just that, reach for a glass jar with a particularly strange set of frequencies when he heard a knock across the shop, coming from the far back.
"Don't touch anything!" a voice followed with a raspy quality to it. Then, to the further back of the shop, a shriveled hand parted the black curtains and pulled them to the side, allowing an aged figure to stoop near them with a sigh.
Valens paused at the old man's figure. He looked scarcely different than a corpse left out to dry under the sun for a week save for a pair of black eyes that peered out into the shop with venomous disdain. His cheekbones jutted out from his face, stabbing into the dark bags under his eyes, leaving little room for a mouth that seemed rotten beyond remedy.
A stench washed off of him, but Valens found it puzzling that it differed from that of the undead. Surprised, since there could be no further retort had the man claimed himself an undead crawled back here from the Underworld.
He's alive, if you could call him that.
"You're meaning business?" the odd man rasped, blinking round at him, one fist over his stooped back as he pulled himself, wincing, closer to the pair of them. "Or are you one of those bright-eyed collectors thinking cursed things belong on a shelf next to pretty candles?"
Valens offered a courteous nod, careful not to make it too deep. "I'm looking to purchase. I need a few items. Void-based ones, if you have, and some related to divination, as well."
The old man squinted, and for a moment Valens thought he might collapse under the weight of his own bones. But instead, he let out a dry chuckle and pointed a crooked finger at Selin.
"She yours?"
Valens glanced back. Selin stood frozen, fingers tightly clenched around the bundle of herbs she still hadn't let go of.
"She's with me," he replied.
"Shouldn't have brought her in here. Place like this eats kindness. Spits out what's left." The old man gestured vaguely toward the shelves. "But if you've got coin, then maybe we can play a game of choices. I don't sell to everyone."
"Like I've said, I'm here to purchase. We can strike a deal if you have anything to my liking," Valens said, dipping his chin low. "I'm a rather hard man to entertain, I might add."
"Fancy that!" the old man chuckled humorlessly, then waved that crooked finger around and lurched off toward the curtains. "Catch up. I'll show you around."
Valens lingered for a while, having lived through a fair share of traps and sudden Cursed Rifts to stride into dark places, but the Resonance showed him that those curtains were… well, just your average curtains that served their purposes. Beyond them lay a generously decorated room, wider than the place they were in.
Taking another look at Selin, he followed after the old man. The moment they entered through the curtains, a sudden stench stabbed at his nose. It was almost visible across the room, hazy like smoke, but too thin to hamper his eyesight.
Then came the whispers.
'Cruel Master…'
'Save us…'
'Master!'
'Ancient…'
'Surgemaster!'
Valens froze at the sight of artifacts being displayed upon various pedestals placed across the dark room. Rusted gauntlets etched with script, bones strung into pendants, cracked mirrors, tiny coffins no longer than a palm. A dozen things that hummed, and none that felt remotely sane.
"Quite the collection, don't you think?" the old man seemed mightily proud of these wicked things as he gestured at them. "I've got B-Grade Cursed Artifacts here. Real B-Grade ones, you see, not those man-made imitations you'll find in most cities. These were dug by valiant men, with enough sacrifices to latch a story to each one of them."
The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
"Stories, eh?" Valens asked, brows furrowed.
"That's how you sell things, honorable Mage," the old man nodded. "You give the customer the history behind. A reason, a justification of the name 'Cursed' before each one of them. They say these things speak in the dark speech."
"And they're allowing you to sell them here, in Ashen City?" That was one of the first questions that popped into his mind when Valens saw this scene. "Don't they have a code or a law against that?"
"Better to keep them close than risk losing them to the dwellers," the old man said matter-of-factly. "It was the Midnight Blade who said to bring the fight to the Shadow, us humans have to first learn its ways. Ain't that the truth? I'm doing the God's work, here. Ah—"
He paused all of a sudden, squinting up at Valens then to Selin. "You're not of the Sun's Church, are you?"
"Why?" Valens asked.
"They don't like it when you involve God in some way or another," the old man chuckled humorlessly. "Too serious, those bunch, and hurt and disappointed, too, lately, no doubt. A lifetime of prayer, devotion and going by the book, only to be left alone by your God when the Shadow comes knocking on your door. Bet some of them gonna be waking soon."
"So they say," Valens waved him off, instead approaching a worn wristband that stood over a needlessly wide pedestal.
It looked like a sleek, black coil of metallic thread that would loop around the wrist. It absorbed light, casting no reflections. At its center sat a tiny obsidian stone that occasionally fractured light into faint violet strands, visible only through his sound vision.
That is Void, but something's off.
"An eye for detail," the old man caught up to him right away, dragging his legs to the pedestal. "I don't have any divination artifacts, but this piece is a special one. A real B-Grade Void Artifact, cursed through and through. Supposed to grant the ability to 'Blink' twenty feet across the distance, once every hour."
"Supposed to?" Valens asked, curious. "It's broken, isn't it?"
"A shame," the old man nodded. "I bought this one from a ragged group. Ten strong, only one came back alive. A miserable wench in desperate need of coin. She needed that for her treatment. It ain't cheap here if you're not of the big guilds. I'm not for broken artifacts, but kind as I am, I took pity on her. Gave her a price higher than deserved. She managed to pull herself through those wounds. Even opened a shop in Ashen City, saying that she's moved on from adventurer's life."
"How much?" Valens asked as he checked the artifact.
[Whispercoil - Cursed Artifact
Grade: B
A broken replica of the wristbands worn by the late Dread, Voidcrawler, who was said to course through the void waves across the land with ease. Grants the ability [Blink] if repaired.]
"Voidcrawler?" Valens muttered out loud.
"A terrible beast from the Ancient Era," the old man seemed to be waiting to entertain his questions as he replied readily. "Said to be a slippery bastard who gave quite the headache to even the Divines. Reckon blinking through the void does that."
"Makes you a hard game to catch," Valens nodded. "You've a price in mind?"
The old man smiled him a crooked smile. "Two hundred thousand Caligian crowns."
"Two hundred—what?" Valens gawked at him. "For this broken thing? It doesn't even work."
"It's got a good story behind it," the old man shrugged. "And if you can find a Master to fix it through, you'll get a lifesaving artifact for a pile of Caligian notes. This is the only artifact I'm willing to sell for cash alone."
I doubt whether I could get Seris to hand me a couple of thousand creatures to skin. Her business is too small for that. What if I asked around to see the other opportunities? Can I find a plague or a sick man with deep enough pockets to sponsor me?
He shook his head. Before the dust of the recent matters happened in Belgrave settled nicely, he couldn't go around announcing his true presence to anyone. An odd Healer who'd begun providing his expertise in Ashen City would surely get attention.
It's too much.
Anyone who had a thousand Caligian notes in his pocket could live a joyous life in Belgrave. Ten thousand granted you a lifetime of peace and prosperity. A hundred thousand could rival the riches of the old families who were rather clumsy with their attempts at keeping up with the new technology.
Two hundred thousand, though?
That was a fortune that could make anyone's eyes go red with envy.
"I can't afford it," Valens said in the end.
"The plight of the youngsters nowadays. It hurts me seeing it, but reckon it's a big part of our lives," the old man said, sighing regretfully. "If you can't afford it, there's no merit in you keeping me occupied more than necessary. The price is fixed, and it's not going to change any time soon."
Valens gave the artifact one last look, feeling its Resonance in the depths of his mind. Void piqued his interest like no other field of magic did. It was, in a way, a connection between him and his old world. Prying more into that forbidden field seemed almost like a mission. He had to do it, one way or another.
Not before I get myself a fortune, though. I should've expected these things to be expensive.
The Sphere of Veiled Fates was a Divine-grade Artifact, which to Valens's knowledge was beyond A-Grade ones. Above Divine were the Ancient-grade Artifacts. That was why a B-Grade Cursed Artifact couldn't be a common commodity.
Trouble was, he couldn't hand out a Divine-grade Artifact just to make a fortune out of it. He wasn't familiar with how they dealt with the trade of such rare goods, and he was meaning to learn more of it. After all, in Haven's Reach the use of Cursed Artifacts was almost non-existent.
The boundaries essentially kept them in check, but here, there are no rules. Dangerous lands, indeed.
Valens turned away from the pedestal, nodding absently, his mind still brushing against the shape of the stone embedded in the artifact. Selin trailed after him, her steps light. Together, they passed once more through the black curtains, into the outer room, where the jars still whispered, though more faintly now.
The dusty air outside felt like a balm as the door creaked open and the sun spilled back over their skin.
But just as Valens stepped over the threshold, he stopped.
Then he turned his head back, eyes narrowed at the gloom within the shop. The old man had already begun to disappear into the recesses of the room again, melting like wax into shadow.
"You said she opened a shop," Valens called, voice steady. "The one who sold you the wristband. The survivor. What's her name?"
The shop was silent for a breath. Then a voice drifted out. "Back in the day they called her Laina, but after that deal she changed it."
"Changed it?" Valens echoed, glancing at Selin before facing the dark once more.
"She did," the old man replied, "reckon that's one of the ways to leave your past behind. What, you're thinking of trying her? To make her tell her side of the story?"
"It's basic logic," Valens said. "If there's one wristband in your shop, then where is its pair? It's ought to be out there, somewhere, eh?"
"And here I reckoned Mages were supposed to be clever," the old man said, chuckling oddly. "Right. I'll give you her name. You go try your chance. Perhaps I could get another story from out of it. They call her Seris, nowadays. Her shop's close here, right around the corner. You can't miss it."
"Seris?" Valens blinked, then turned slowly to the street. "Now that is a bit of a coincidence."
.....