At the break of dawn the next morning, the seven of them trudged out of Mine Dermikaya and back through the eastern gate of Braskir as the first bells chimed. Anisa kept yawning behind them and then pretending she hadn’t, because a princess could be exhausted but never inelegant—even though she was the one who’d insisted they camp the night in the underground mine so they could ‘get a feel for what it was going to be like’ during the long scorpion extermination request.

  Even Dain’s back was sore sleeping on hard stone ground, and he wasn’t picky with his beds.

  Definitely gotta buy some beddings for the scorpion request.

  If there was one good thing that came from staying overnight in Mine Dermikaya, it was that they had a lot of time to harvest the parts from the orehoarder spiders and hunt down a few more orewhisper wisps. All of the materials, of course, were going to go to him. That was part of his agreement with the failure four.

  They reported in at the Seeker’s Guild just as the automatons were opening their counters, and Dain laid out their proof of a completed request: fifty-two jars containing living orewhisper wisps. Spirit-type monsters turned to plain-looking goo and sludge after death, so without seeing the wisps alive, there was no easy way for the automatons to determine if they'd actually completed the request or went to some bog to scoop up some sludge. Very few would even think of scamming the Guild, but it happened sometimes. So, the moment the automatons saw the living wisps, they immediately stamped the contract, seared the wisps to death inside the jars with their glowing red eyes, and paid Dain a small, hefty sum of a thousand and five hundred curons.

  It’s not a lot, but curons are still curons.

  And he got to keep the orewhisper wisps, which the Guild was expecting him to sell for extra curons anyways. He wasn’t going to sell them, of course—he’d make relics out of them—but now that they had a bit of initial capital, they could take on more requests over the course of the week and gear themselves up better for the scorpion extermination request.

  “.. Here you go,” he said, counting out four sets of two hundred curons from the pouch and handing them over to the failure four. “Two hundred curons each, since you four did most of the actual work. Consider this incentive to not run away before next week, so get yourselves a few drinks or something.”

  Ilvaren grinned, snatching her pouch from him. “I’ll taste mine now.”

  Kargun slapped his coin bundle against his palm like he was testing a new hammer. “Aye, drinks at the bar, then! To men who dinnae get eaten underground!”

  “Okay,” Sahlir said plainly. Then the three of them immediately took off towards the counter where the Guild was selling food for early rising adventurers, squabbling and arguing about what shape of bottle they were going to buy.

  Always rowdy, the three of them, he thought, giving two hundred to Anisa and Yasmin as well. Yasmin didn’t look like she wanted it, but he wasn’t going to be a complete slave-driver. They helped him with the request, so they were going to get paid.

  Besides, it’s not like I paid them even half of what they really deserved, but rule number one is make every trade ‘seem’ fair.

  He chuckled quietly to himself.

  I’m the best goddamn merchant in the entire world—

  “The three of you can join our celebration,” Rena offered, accepting her coin pouch with both hands and a grateful nod. “One of the automatons in this Guild can really work a mean skillet. Their leek-and-liver fry’s going to make you cry.”

  Anisa rubbed her eyes. It was evident she was still tired and could use a few hours of good sleep, but her smile kindled the moment someone said ‘celebrate’.

  “Oh, but what is the point of adventuring if one does not experience a proper end-of-request party?” she said, grinning from ear to ear. “Yasmin, come with me.”

  Yasmin’s mouth flattened into a line only slightly softer than a sword edge. “My lady, your sleep was not… sleep. You should sleep.”

  “Which is why I shall medicate with food,” she replied brightly, entirely serious. “One toast. Just one. Then I promise I will go to bed.”

  “... One toast.” Yasmin sighed, accepting defeat once again. “Then I’ll physically carry you upstairs should you resist.”

  Dain, however, lifted his satchels—his and Anisa’s and Yasmin’s—and tilted his head towards the stairs. “You six go give back the money you earned from the Guild. I’ll go up and unload our haul first.”

  Anisa’s smile curved. “Alright. Come down afterwards, yes?”

  “Alright, alright,” he muttered, already backing toward the stairs.

  Of course, unloading their haul wasn’t the only thing he was intending on doing. He just needed a bit of alone time.

  On the fourth floor of the building awaited the room Anisa had paid for the three of them. ‘Room’ might be underselling it, though. There was a broad common room with cushioned chairs and a proper table, a copper-piped bathroom off to the side with heated water, and—while it was just a single bedroom instead of multiple—there were three separate beds that each came with a cooled relic blanket. Including the balcony that overlooked a good part of Braskir, it was easily the most luxurious home he’d ever had, even if it was only temporary.

  Stepping inside, he dropped all of his satchels onto the dining table and rolled his shoulders until his spine gave a satisfying pop. His silverplume wings fluttered awake behind him as he sat down by the table, looking around as though they were worried somebody might be looking.

  Nobody was.

  “Alright,” he said, gesturing at the satchels. “Help me out a little here.”

  So he worked like he had four arms, using his wings to help him unload everything in the satchels: fifty-two jars of dead orewhisper wisps, four metallic orehoarder cores with blood-red mineral veins, and several paper-wrapped chunks of meat harvested from the orehoarder spiders. He would’ve liked to carry the mana-infused chitin plates back as well, but they were too large and heavy for how little benefit he felt he could gain from using them as side offerings, so he didn’t bother in the end.

  Now, he took a moment to admire the spread of materials.

  “Not bad,” he murmured. “Not bad at all.”

  First things first, he pushed the meat aside. They’d be of use later. Right now, he clapped his hands to open a swirling portal to Belara, and as her four pale hands slithered out, he dipped his head at her respectfully.

  “It’s been a while… well, not really,” he greeted her with a half-smile. “I’d like a storage-type relic this time.”

  Step one: he pushed forward the four orehoarder cores. “These are orehoarder cores the spiders use to preserve whatever they eat through long winters. The cores crystallize the decay out of meat, so they’re typically used as main offerings to obtain relic chests and boxes that stop organic rot.”

  Step two: he gestured at his wall of orewhisper wisps. “And these are orewhisper wisps. I’d normally save these for some sort of spirit-type or anti-spirit relic, but I’m not in need of those relics just yet, so… orewhisper wisps are a special variant of wisps. They can expand or shrink at will when they hunt, which makes them ideal as side offerings to obtain relics that can expand and shrink as well.”

  Final step: he took off his old leather satchel and placed it on the table, pushing it gently forward.

  “... And this will be the base offering,” he said plainly. “I’d prefer a storage-type relic that can preserve organic material for a long time, and can possibly shrink items I put inside so I can carry more stuff around. Do you have anything like that in your inventory?”

  The pale hands hovered midair, seemingly contemplative, before one of the upper hands dipped in a small, deliberate nod. Two hands began scooping the jars of wisps into the swirling portal. Another hand reached for the orehoarder cores, fingers closing over the metallic lumps one by one, but when the last hand went straight for his satchel, his fingers clenched around the strap on reflex.

  The hand froze. Its long, jointed fingers curled back slightly, twitching in what he could only interpret as irritation.

  “... Ah.” Dain blinked, realizing himself. “Right. Sorry. It’s just…” He hesitated, thumb brushing the worn leather where the edge of the flap had frayed from years of use. “This satchel… Old Hugo gave it to me back when I left Sorowyn Carpentry to start trading relics. He told me every proper merchant needs a satchel worth their name, and that the measure of a merchant isn’t the treasure he carries, but how he carries the ordinary.”

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  The hand waited, unnervingly still.

  “So don’t let me waste it,” he finished quietly. “Gimme something good for it, yeah?”

  The hand twitched once, almost in acknowledgment—or maybe impatience—then yanked the satchel from his grasp and vanished into the portal with it.

  The room seemed to dim a little as Belara’s presence receded. Only the faint hum of the open portal remained, pulsing softly like a heartbeat, so with nothing to do for now, he rested an elbow on the table and rubbed the back of his neck.

  Maybe he should’ve kept a few of those wisps. Spirit-type relics had their uses against wraiths, banshees, and all manner of ethereal nuisances… but it wasn’t like he had endless mana or mana regeneration to spare, and it wasn’t like he was planning on going up against spirits anytime soon again. If he needed spirit-type relics in the future, he’d just go hunt a few more wisps.

  Storage-type relic first.

  I can’t be lugging around five satchels full of magic materials constantly without looking suspicious.

  After a while, Belara’s hands finally returned through the portal, propping up an inconspicuous-looking satchel.

  He leaned forward, eyes sharpening at the possibly dangerous relic. The satchel was still made of old leather, but now it was dyed black instead of brown, and when he brushed a thumb over its surface, he felt small metallic scales shifting beneath the fabric.

  “Well, you look fancy,” he muttered, lifting it into both hands.

  The fabric still bent easily enough, soft as animal hide, which begged the question: without looking at its Tag, could he figure out what had changed?

  He flicked the latch open and lifted the flap.

  Inside the satchel was a bottomless void.

  It was absence. It was slow, swirling, and colored a faint, luminous purple like an evening stormcloud. It wasn’t flat, though, and he wasn’t seeing things. He leaned in closer with his brows scrunched together, getting so close he was almost about to poke his head inside the satchel—

  When something in the void stirred, and the purple began to distort as five shadowy shapes darted up through the void.

  “Hells!”

  He jerked his head back just in time and fell back with his chair as five enormous tentacles shot out from the satchel, slick and black as wet glass. They swiped the air, knocking over cups and vases on the table and shelves, and his silverplume wings immediately curled forward like shields. One tentacle bounced off his hardened wings. Another tried to curl around to grasp him, but then his wings ruffled and sharpened their feathers, as though baring their teeth at the tentacle and telling it to go away.

  It wasn’t clear whether or not the tentacles got the message or they just got bored, because after a few seconds, they slithered back into the satchel and closed the flap on their way in.

  Silence followed, and the pale hands still poking through the portal clapped, having enjoyed the momentary chaos.

  “... Hilarious,” he muttered, scowling at Belara. “Real funny. You almost made me a head shorter.”

  His wings rustled irritably as well, half-quivering like they were still offended on his behalf. After a long exhale, he straightened and pushed himself onto his feet, glancing at the satchel while he picked up his chair as well.

  ***

  Name: Void Archivist’s Satchel

  Type: Passive Trinket-Class Cursed Relic, Uncommon-2

  Attribute Addition: None

  Ability Description: When an item is placed inside the satchel, it will enter the void dimension and remain unchanging forever. To retrieve the item, simply reach in while thinking about it. The passive drain is 2 mana regeneration per hour.

  However, living beings cannot be stored, and items that cannot fit through the opening cannot be placed inside the satchel. Furthermore, the weight of the satchel is equivalent to double the total weight of all items stored inside, which will be evenly distributed across the holder’s body.

  ***

  At this point, he was no longer surprised at what cursed relics were capable of.

  “But you’ve gotta be joking,” he whispered, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “A satchel with infinite storage space, but I have to carry double the weight?”

  That sounded like a terribly annoying curse if he was going to carry tons of items around, but… for now, he reached for the leftover wrapped meat and an empty glass cup from the table, pushing them all forward.

  “I’m not done yet. Can you give me a Cursed Manabrew Potion again?”

  Cursed Manabrew Potions were standard procedure by now, so Belara took his offerings without a word and got to searching in her inventory.

  He'd only drank four potions in the past three weeks. Considering his natural upper limit was four potions a month, he could probably push it and drink one more potion today... but then he'd really have to stop for at least another week. He had to let his mana core digest the potions properly.

  While he waited, he picked up the Void Archivist’s Satchel carefully and slung it over his shoulder. The strap hugged his frame firmly, and the empty bag hung against his hip with a surprising heaviness—even though there was nothing inside yet.

  Except whatever those tentacles belong to.

  Do I even wanna know?

  He sighed. Still, even as he complained, he couldn’t hide the grin creeping up his face. It was a brilliant relic in concept. An outer-dimensional storage satchel was just like the Witch’s seemingly endless cloak, and the curse wasn’t actually even that bad if he thought about it. The extra weight could be dealt with if he just limited the amount of items he carried inside the satchel, and if he could just gain more might from relics to offset the extra weight.

  Besides, carrying a heavy satchel all the time meant he'd be training his natural body. His base might level was fourteen now. Simply by walking around with the satchel, he might be able to raise his base might up to fifteen or sixteen within a month, and within a year... maybe even twenty.

  It's just like walking around with metal plates on your back all the time.

  So when Belara pushed out a glass of fizzling purple liquid, he quickly checked its Tag as he raised the glass.

  ***

  Name: Cursed Manabrew Potion

  Type: Consumable Apotheca-Class Cursed Relic, Common-5

  Attribute Addition: +10 Mana, +0.5 Mana Regeneration

  Ability Description: When consumed, the potion will increase the drinker’s mana and mana regeneration.

  However, the drinker will be slightly more voracious for the next three days, and will require more food than usual to be satiated.

  ***

  Not too bad a cursed effect again.

  This one is because… orehoarder spiders are known to be pretty voracious beasts?

  Whatever the case, he downed the potion in one good gulp and checked his own Tag.

  ***

  Name: Dain Sorowyn

  Grade: Common-8

  Cursed Title: Collector

  Title Ability: Eye of Belara

  Acquired Skills: None

  Might: 14 (+4)

  Swiftness: 13 (+2)

  Resilience: 12 (+1)

  Clarity: 25 (+1)

  Mana: 72/72 (+2/hr)

  Relics: Windscar Prosthetic Arm (Common-5), Bloodlight Eye (Common-2), Firelight Oreblade Cane (Common-8), Silverplume Wingcloak (Common-4), Void Archivist’s Pouch (Uncommon-2)

  ***

  O... kay.

  Chisel me blind.

  No more... potions... for at least a week.

  As he swooned in his seat and squinted at his Tag—enduring the intense nausea and tightness in his chest that came with pushing his natural upper limit for potions to the very extreme—he felt he could do it. If he kept obtaining relics that increased his might—and the easiest way to do so was to keep offering mana-infused metal plates to his wingcloak, prosthetic, and cane so they could be upgraded—he should be able to carry his satchel around no problem. He just had to keep it relatively light for the time being and pray that, with further upgrades, the cursed effect wouldn't somehow evolve and get even more annoying.

  So far, I haven't really had any cursed effects get upgraded into something really annoying.

  Guess I'm still riding my beginner's luck.

  As he was about to wave Belara off, someone knocked on the front door, making him jump.

  “Dain?” Yasmin called out. “They’re asking when you’re coming down, and they’re getting impatient.”

  “I’ll be right there,” he called back.

  “I heard things crashing and shattering a while back. What’s going on in there?”

  “... Nothing. Please go away?”

  Thankfully, Yasmin had the sense to not come in while the portal was still open, so he quickly shooed Belara off and pulled his wingcloak on straighter… before feeling the itch to try out his satchel’s ability right now.

  Just one time.

  Just to see if it actually works.

  He unclasped the satchel once more and glanced into the mouth. The void inside was still as eerie as before—like a pocket of night cut out of the world—but this time, he didn’t stare. As long as he didn’t do that, the tentacles shouldn’t be pissed off at him… hopefully.

  Swallowing nervously, he bent down and picked up a glass shard from one of the cups the tentacles shattered before dropping it inside the satchel. It fell through the void silently, like a stone sinking into water without a splash.

  Gone.

  That’s… unnerving.

  Taking a slow breath, he reached his hand in. The temperature dropped instantly. His fingers prickled. The air—or whatever passed for air inside—felt like it was made of dense mist, swallowing all warmth and sound. Oh, and he didn’t dare look. He kept his eyes straight ahead as he thought hard: glass shard, no tentacle, glass shard, no tentacle.

  And something brushed against his palm. Smooth. Cool. He closed his fingers around it delicately and yanked his hand out.

  The shard came up perfectly intact, faint frost steaming from its edges.

  … Fuck yeah.

  I can work with you.

  He took one last glance around the room—outside the balcony, mostly, just to see if anyone had been looking in—before heading for the door. Even if he didn’t feel like drinking or celebrating, he at least wanted to get some breakfast in. He was starting to get hungry anyways—curse the Cursed Manabrew Potion he just drank.

  I guess I’ll just have to eat twice as much as I usually do for the next few days.

  But as he reached for the doorknob, a thought pressed quietly through the back of his mind.

  It wasn’t suspicion, exactly, but… cautiousness. He had just the faintest feeling that his new party members weren’t all they appeared to be, so he supposed he ought to find out what kind of people he’d really hired.

  And I know just the drinking game that can get them to confess.