“Alright, so how do we get this thing to work?” asked Artyom, sitting across from Neitra back in their hotel room. On the table between them lay the Yamastra, a mahogany colored staff carved with a myriad of intricate designs. They’d retrieved it from an ancient crypt within the town and brought it back to their base of operations, but not without Neitra demanding they go and thank the curator of the museum built on top of its resting place. Artyom tried to convince her otherwise, but to no success.

Of course, the curator was incredibly grateful for the knowledge that he was able to help, but Artyom was miffed at giving away more information than was necessary to third parties like him. They were, after all, still on the run from the goddess, and the staff they now had was supposedly the greatest threat to her power.

“Wait, don’t you know?” asked Neitra. “It was part of the dream last night. Here, let me show you!” She cheerily picked up the wooden rod and began to chant in a low voice. The engravings began to light up in a deep red and the room seemingly began to grow darker.

“Woah, woah!” shouted Artyom, snatching the staff from her grip. “We don’t want to go firing this thing indoors! Who knows what it’ll do? It’ll probably end up blowing a giant hole in the wall or something.”

“Oh, sorry,” said Neitra, looking down guiltily.

“Don’t worry about it. We just need to hold onto this thing until we really need it. And even then, it’d be best if we plan independently of it, since we don’t even know how it’ll match up against the goddess’ other goons.”

“Alright, that makes sense,” nodded Neitra. “But we’re still going to carry this with us when we do pay the Dark Lord a visit!”

“Oh, definitely,” replied Artyom. “By the way, what happened in your dream anyway? How come Yama taught you how to activate his weapon and not me?”

“I don’t know, he just said we were his chosen ones, and then he taught me the activation chant. I woke up right after he said it, and I seemed to have memorized it immediately. I think that’s all he had time to tell me though, since it seemed like he wanted to say more.”

“Oh, that makes sense,” said Artyom, trailing off.

Neitra looked at him suspiciously. She didn’t need to be a rogue to tell Artyom was trying to hide something. “What did you two talk about in your dream?”

“Well, we talked a bit about my past, I guess,” he replied awkwardly. “Apparently he can see someone’s past just by looking at them, and he listed off everything I’ve been through.”

“Oh, interesting. I mean, I guess it’s his job to judge souls from what he told me. But that doesn’t sound like something that’d make you feel so uncomfortable,” she said while playfully leering at him.

Artyom returned a dumbfound expression. “Of course it does, at least when you’ve had a past like mine.” Seeing Neitra’s resulting regretful face sparked a similar feeling within him. “He brought back some painful memories, and I might have spent some time venting my frustration.”

Neitra looked at him surprised. “I forgot about that, I’m sorry. I hope it didn’t hurt too bad, he seemed really nice to me.”

“Don’t worry, it wasn’t that bad,” said Artyom, waving a hand dismissively. “If anything, his words were pretty reassuring. Not that I needed them, I know I’ve been doing what’s right.”

“That’s good then, and what you said is true. You have been doing what’s right,” said Neitra with a slow nod. She paused for a moment to process her day so far before continuing. “What should we do now? We have the weapon with us, so we just need to wait for Rugul to come back with a way to sneak into the enemy base.”

“We prepare!” exclaimed Artyom. “There’s plenty for us to do; buying supplies, gaining intel, and preparing even more weapons! How much gold do we have, by the way? We’re probably going to empty most of it out to make the most of this assault.”

Neitra took a quick count of the contents of the coin purse in her bag. “About 48 gold coins, which should be enough for a lot of things. But is it really a good idea to spend it all now? And what do we do besides buying rope and healing potions, or sharpening my daggers?”

“If this mission goes off well, then we won’t have to worry about money once my friends arrive, so we need to make this attempt count,” replied Artyom. “When it comes to supplies, there’s more than just the standard healing potion or weapon sharpening. There are alchemical bombs, spell scrolls and grenades, and don’t get me started on tactical gear like ropes and trap kits.”

Neitra began to blank out as Artyom continued to list off even more items on his shopping list. She knew she had a lot of gold saved up from her time with Tommy, especially since she was still carrying the majority of that team’s operational budget, but she just hoped her savings would be able to stand up to what Artyom was about to put it through.

The duo made their way through the late morning streets of Ironheart Fortress with wallets brimming with gold, ready to make their limited time to prepare for an attack on the Dark Lord’s fortress count as much as it could. Most of the town’s citizenry were busy working and the streets were almost empty. All the better.

Neitra skipped alongside Artyom, showcasing a brimming smile as the two made their way towards their first destination.

“You know, Artyom, I never thought that I’d get to be the chosen one!” she said cheerily. “I’d spent my entire life waiting for Tommy to show up and I even joined him to stop the Da-Sworn Enemy, but now here we are! We’re the ones chosen to really stop the great evil plaguing the Kingdom!”

“Yeah, that’s something I didn’t expect to happen when I came here either. And why are you calling him the Sworn Enemy? There’s nobody around.”

“I’m trying to make it a habit so I don’t accidentally call him the ‘Dark Lord’ in front of somebody else,” she replied, her positive energy unabated at the question. In fact, she countered with her own. “So, have you ever done something like this before? I mean prepare for a huge attack like this?”

“Well, there was one time,” said Artyom, his mind going back to an old, long-forgotten memory. “It was even alongside another chosen one as well.”

“Really? What was his name? Or her name. What were they like?”

Artyom sighed, bringing back the long buried thoughts and breathing life into them with his words. “His name was Cesen…”

The tower and surrounding fields were enveloped in darkness, black clouds overhead hid the resplendent sun from the world below, denying its light to the people beneath. At the base of the tower was a single young man who wore tarnished and dented armor, drenched in blood, not all of it his own. He crawled away from the monolithic structure across the grass, using his barely functioning arms to drag himself away from what could have been his own tomb. He didn’t know if he was going to make it.

A second figure appeared, and a third. Each on opposite sides of the bloody man, they took note of him and each other. The one closest to the tower made for his sword and charged at the other two, but the third, clad in a dark cloak, ran faster. With a pair of powerful kicks, the swordsman was disarmed and on the ground. With the threat out of the way, the cloaked figure approached the survivor.

“Get away from me!” he shouted hoarsely. “I’m going to survive! I’m going to stop him!” Tears began to stream down his cheeks.

The cloaked figure stopped before him and removed his hood. Underneath was a half-asian man with all manner of scars across his face. He regarded the piteous soul with sympathy.

“You’d better, for both our sakes. I’m going to get you to safety, come on.”

Something about the cloaked man spoke of sincerity, and the bloody, sobbing figure let himself collapse, allowing the lukewarm embrace of sleep to take him.

He later awoke in a rough bed made of hay with a cotton blanket thrown on top, his armor removed and torso wiped down of blood and grime. His wounds were bandaged and his broken arm was tied to a splint. The man looked around with bleary eyes and could make out that he was lying in a barn, the wooden supports, hay, and unmistakable smell of animals giving it away.

“So you’re finally awake,” came a voice next to him. The young man darted his head to see who it belonged to, but sprained the mending bones across his body as he did and winced in pain.

“Woah, easy there,” said the voice calmly. “I found you outside of Skulleater Tower barely clinging to life. Wouldn’t do us any good if you just died on us now.”

“Who are you?” he asked in response.

“You can call me Artyom. I was sent here to help you fight against the Dark Lord, who’s apparently got some people I care very dearly about locked up.”

The injured man regarded Artyom for a long moment before turning away towards the ceiling. The soft blanket covering the hay bale did little for comfort and poked at him as he tried to settle down in it. “Well I’m sorry Artyom, but I can’t stop the Dark Lord. Not like this.”

“Well, I have some healing potions and ointments that should get you back up on your feet by a week. Might take another for you to get your full strength back, but your injuries are definitely not permanent.”

“And then what?!” he shouted, silencing Artyom and the bleating farm animals alike. “I need the sacred sword to be able to kill the Dark Lord, and I can’t get that unless I can get to the top of Skulleater tower! Which I can’t do without my party!”

Artyom looked quizzically at him as he tried to think where his party was, when the truth hit him like a truck. He was the only one he found escaping. The others didn’t make it.

“They all died to let me get away, all of my friends!” shouted the young man, tears now freely flowing from his eyes. “And for what? A chance at false hope. I can’t get the sword without them, and I can’t kill that evil bastard without it! It’s pointless, all of it! They only named me the chosen one because those summoned heroes got themselves captured before they could do anything! The prophecy about them killing the Dark Lord is all full of shit, and I bet it’s the same for what it said about me!”

Artyom looked at the pitiful creature before him as fluid continued to leak out of its face between hiccups. Even for a noblebright World, this was too much of a tragedy for anyone to face by themselves. Artyom took a deep breath and regarded the young man with thoughtful eyes. “It’s only hopeless if you think of it that way.”

“And I’m looking at it that way because it is,” he responded drily.

“It’s not,” said Artyom with a similarly dry yet more forceful tone. “You need help to get to the top of that tower, and you have it. I bet you’ve never had an ally like me before.”

“Oh, wonderful, I have you!” he replied in a sarcastic sing-song voice. “We’re definitely going to steal the sword and save the Kingdom! Hooray! But how do you think we’re going to get to the top, o’ great warrior? With my entire party, we barely managed to get halfway up the tower before we were wiped out. How will we get to the top?”

“With two things,” said Artyom. “Preparation, and cheating.”

“Oh, that sounds like a wonderful idea, why didn’t we think of that?”

Artyom looked at him with a wordless expression, the frustration evident on his face.

“And even then, why bother? I’ve lost everything. I’m not going to give them a chance to take any more of it away from me.”

“You still have your life, and you’re still the chosen one,” replied Artyom. “They’ll continue their conquest and kill you off as the only threat to their power. They’ll continue to take things away from you, especially if you run. The only way to keep them from doing you any more harm is to stop them once and for all.”

He regarded Artyom with somber eyes, his mind working to process the situation he was in. His heartbeat rose and breathing quickened. Fear-induced adrenaline poured through his veins, but a reassuring presence from beside him redirected that emotion into something else. Anger, resolution. He wouldn’t give them a chance to take any more away from him.

“Alright,” replied the young man, wiping away tears and snot with his unbroken arm. “Let’s get that sword.”

“Now that’s what I want to hear!” exclaimed Artyom. “From all of my intel, I was only able to figure out where you’d be and nothing else. So, what should I call you?”

“My name… is Cesen.”

Neitra looked at Artyom with wide eyes as he regaled her with his tales of old. They were standing in the middle of their first destination, an incredibly fancy stationery store, perusing the various papers and inks on display.

“Before you continue your story,” interrupted Neitra, “what are we doing here? Are we going to send a strongly worded letter to the Sworn Enemy asking him to reconsider being so evil?”

Artyom failed to suppress a giggle as he began to wave his right hand over the various bottles.

“If that’s all it would’ve taken, then I’m sure somebody would’ve done it by now,” he replied. “No, I’m just looking for materials to make spell scrolls with.”

“Oh right, you did have a couple of them with you earlier, it makes sense that you’d need to make more. So what are you looking for in particular?”

“I’m trying to find ink that can hold onto a magical charge. Spell scrolls work by storing a spell in the form of magic-charged glyphs on a piece of receptive paper. The better the ink is at retaining magic and the more magically conductive the paper is, the more powerful the spell scroll can be.”

Neitra nodded along to his explanation. Despite lacking the same knowledge of spellwork he had, the theory behind it still fascinated her.

“This bottle of ink seems to be good at holding magic,” he continued. “I’m trying to throw some magical energy at it and sensing how much of it comes back to me, and so far, not much compared to the other inks.”

Neitra nodded again with a smile that quickly dropped as soon as she saw the price tag. “Artyom, that bottle’s 30 gold! And it’s tiny!”

“And it’ll get us the best spell scrolls out of anything else here,” he replied. “It’ll make the old ones I used look like baby toys compared to these! Imagine making a space as big as that entire cathedral pitch black for minutes? Or stunning a small army with a massive flashbang!”

“But it’s 30 gold!” she repeated. “How can we afford anything else if we get this? Don’t we also have to visit a bunch of other places too?”

“Mmh, fine,” grumbled Artyom. “I guess we’ll have to go for something cheaper. How about this? It’s only 10 gold and works similarly well.”

“That’s better, but you also said you need good paper.”

“Right, I saw a set of vellum paper for 3 gold. It’s a cheaper variant that uses cotton and wood pulp, but that’s all the better for conducting magic all at once.”

“Alright, that’s 13 gold then, so there’s 35 left. Where to next?”

“Off to the general store, blacksmith, and glassmaker,” replied Artyom, carrying the ink bottle and stack of blank cards to the cashier.

“Haa!” shouted Cesen, as his sword descended upon his unfortunate target. The pumpkin propped up on a wooden stake was cleaved in twain by the blow, each piece falling to the ground with a thud, spilling its orange guts across the ground.

“Looks like you’ve finally got it back!” exclaimed Artyom, appreciating the young man’s handiwork.

“Yeah,” he replied. “But it’s all thanks to you. I would’ve died there if you hadn’t rescued me.”

“It wasn’t me who rescued you, I was just there in time to find and nurse you back to health.”

“Right,” he said, gazing towards the fallen pumpkin, his barely-healed wounds opened up again. Potions and magic healed his physical ailments, but did nothing for his heart. “My old party were the ones who did that.”

“Hey,” said Artyom with some force, getting back Cesen’s attention. “You said it yourself, you’re not going to let them take everything away from you again. So now it’s time you avenge your old party and prove to them that you’re going to stop the Dark Lord for good.”

“You think so?” he asked. “You know, I’ve been putting off asking you for the details, but how are we going to get the sword? You seem pretty strong, but the tower it’s held in is full of traps and even guarded by the Dark Lord’s lieutenant! How are you going to get past all of that?”

“I already told you, we’re going to cheat.”

“And I think it’s about time you told me what that really means. How do you cheat in a battle against evil? Isn’t everything technically fair?”

“They say all’s fair in love and war. At least back home.” Artyom shrugged. “But cheating is a mindset. Everyone always tries to think of the most straightforward way to achieve their goals, never really considering something unless it’s part of their mental toolkit.”

Cesen nodded along with a patient, yet confused, expression.

“The best way to put yourself in that mindset is to limit what you have to work with, so you’re forced to think outside of the box. There’s another saying, necessity is the mother of invention, and boy are we about to start inventing some really crazy shit!”

“That sounds impressive and all, but I want to actually hear some details.”

“I’ll do better and show you.”

“You know, I think it’d be a lot more convenient if you’d just tell me what you’re planning now, because I have no idea what we’re going to do here,” said Neitra. “I mean, I can get my dagger sharpened at the blacksmith, but what about the other two places?”

“Since we’re here, I’ll go ahead,” said Artyom, somewhat disappointed. “We can get rope and a strong hook from the general store, rust and aluminum shavings and ball bearings from the blacksmith, and glass dust from the glassworker.”

“And what are we going to do with those?” asked Neitra. “And better yet, what even are bearings?”

Artyom replied with a devilish grin and a twinkle in his eyes. Neitra returned an exasperated frown.

The man from Earth and the chosen hero scaled the walls of Skulleater tower by a thick rope secured by a steel hook embedded in the window on the top floor. The waxing crescent illuminated their path under the cover of darkness that otherwise hid them from those who would see them dead. Pull after pull, they continued their ascent.

“By the gods, we’re in,” said Cesen, falling through the open window. “I can’t believe we’re actually here on the top floor!”

“That’s what happens when you cheat!” excitedly replied Artyom, helping Cesen up to his feet. “But we’re not done yet, we still have to get to the treasure room and get you that sword.”

“Right, let’s go.”

The duo continued down the corridors slowly but surely, ducking past sparse patrols and quickly silencing stationary guards along the way.

“It’d be nice if there was a map of the place,” lamented Cesen. “Seriously, it’s like this place is a maze!”

“Wouldn’t be surprised if it actually were one,” replied Artyom. “The lieutenant’s goal is to keep us out, so turning the place into an actual maze would be his best bet at doing so.”

“My, you’re sharp!” shouted a voice from the end of the corridor. The two turned around and saw the very man in question, an imposing figure 7 feet tall clad in black armor and surrounded by half a dozen soldiers. He didn’t waste any more time on banter and pointed towards the two would-be heroes, sending his men after them.

“Run!” shouted Artyom as the duo began a mad dash down the corridor. He reached into his bag and threw down his ball bearings, covering the narrow floor with them. The first set of guards ran into and tripped over them, the others slowing to a snail’s pace after truly comprehending the nature of the insidious trap.

“So that’s what those are for!” exclaimed Cesen. “Makes sense, now that I see it in action.”

“Yeah, but more hands would’ve been more helpful,” said Artyom, thinking back to his mission briefing. TOAL at the time was still getting itself set up and didn’t have the resources to help him much beyond providing some starting provisions and a lot of specialized knowledge to make the best use of whatever he could find in this World. The knowledge surprisingly did a lot for him.

“Yeah, more would’ve been helpful,” replied Cesen, now sounding forlorn.

“Oh shit, I didn’t mean it like that, sorry!” apologized Artyom. “I was talking about my friends back home and how they just sent me here on my own.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Cesen slowly exhaled while still running. “I’m not going to let the Dark Lord take anything away from me ever again.”

“That’s more like it,” said Artyom with a soft smile. “Hey, I think that’s the treasure room!”

The duo approached a massive set of double doors sealed together with a similarly humongous cast-iron padlock.

“That thing has to be for show, right Artyom?” asked Cesen, regarding the slab of metal. “You can pick or break it, right?”

“You know, lockpicking has never been my forté. Different lock systems and specs used by different worl- kingdoms, I mean.” He fished around for a small package from his back and stuck it inside of the lock, then lighting the string dangling from it with a quick firestarter spell. “So that’s why I usually go with the showy way of opening these things. You might want to look away in a second, just FYI.”

Cesen copied Artyom as he took several steps back and faced away from the lock. “I thought you were going to toss that bag away, wasn’t it just metal scraps?”

“Yes, but it’s amazing what you can do with just ‘scraps’. Rust and aluminum shavings, for instance, combine to make thermite, which burns at over 4000 degrees Fahrenheit!”

The package immediately ignited, creating a brilliant flash of sparks the two had luckily prepared themselves against. Within seconds, the red-colored mixture within the package burned through the cast iron padlock, reducing the metal to molten slag as it began to drip off, before they heard a barely-audible click as the lock disengaged. Or rather, the mechanism keeping it together was no more. Before they could go about removing the structure, the handle on the other side melted off as well and the entire piece fell to the ground in a reverberating clang.

“Alright, they definitely heard that. So let’s get the sword and get out of here,” said Artyom, kicking open the doors and slowly making his way into the treasure room.

Luckily, the place wasn’t trapped and they quickly located the holy sword they’d come here for, sitting in a pedestal at the center of the collection, surrounded by chests of gold and gems.

Cesen slowly walked up to the sword and picked it up, acutely aware of its power that now flowed through him. He was the chosen one, after all. He was meant to wield the weapon.

Artyom looked up from one of the chests as he stuffed his pockets with treasure. He saw an uncharacteristic smile on Cesen’s face, full of happiness and hope, but not one he’d seen while nursing him back to health. He dismissed it as him being excited to finally achieve a goal he’d sacrificed too much for.

“Hey, what are you doing?” asked Cesen, eyes on Artyom’s bulging bag and pockets.

“We’re broke,” he replied matter-of-factly. “I spent all of my money to prepare for this raid, and now I’m financing our assault on the Dark Lord.”

“Just save some for me, I’d like to actually enjoy my life for once. Growing up as an orphan is tough, you know. I wonder what those fancy restaurants the nobles always frequent are like?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” came a familiar voice from the entrance of the treasure room. “Too bad you’ll never find out.”

The Dark Lord’s lieutenant stepped into the room, sword raised and ready to draw blood. He was alone, Artyom noticed, and that would give them a chance to get away.

“Alright Cesen,” whispered Artyom, inching his way towards his friend. “We’re going to distract him and run. We have what we came here for, we can just leave and go directly to take out the Dark Lord.”

“I’m done running, Artyom,” he replied, voice level. “I’m not letting people like him take everything from me again.”

Cesen charged at the man who’d taken his party from him, holy sword raised and ready to avenge his old comrades. Empowered by the divine energies embedded within his weapon, he closed the distance in an instance, but the lieutenant was ready and expertly parried his blow while whispering the name of a Skill.

Cesen didn’t let up his onslaught and quickly recovered for another strike. It was once again deflected, and he tried to get ready for a third strike, but the dark knight he faced shoved him back. Cesen quickly regained his balance but not before his opponent closed the distance and started an assault of his own.

As the two continued their dance, Artyom rushed over to the combatantants while palming a soft ball in his hands and crushing it, freeing its contents.

“Cesen, I’ve got ‘thermite’!” shouted Artyom.

Somehow understanding his plan, Cesen closed his eyes and turned away from Artyom. The Dark Lord’s lieutenant on the other hand looked towards him in curiosity, ready to intercept whatever strike was coming his way.

But it wasn’t a strike. Artyom threw the glass dust in his hands into the eyes of the dark knight, forcing him to grab at his face in some attempt at relief. Before Artyom could follow up with an order to Cesen to get out of there, the chosen one quickly got back up and plunged his sword into the lieutenant’s chest piece, straight through his heart.

The man stopped struggling at his eyes, his arms drooping before he fell to the floor.

“Well that works too, I guess. Now it’s off to the Dark Lord’s castle.”

“Yeah, the Dark Lord’s next,” said Cesen with a smile.

Artyom swore it was the same one as before.

“So that’s what all of that stuff is for,” said Neitra, once again enchanted by Artyom’s story. “But I think it’s good that he killed the lieutenant.”

“Really?” asked Artyom. “You always seemed like the pacifistic type to me. You even looked pretty bad when you killed those members of the Dark Lord’s kill team.”

“Sworn Enemy’s kill team, and yeah, I did.” Neitra sighed, scratching her head. “It was the first time I’ve ever killed a human before. Normally, it’s all been monsters and other non-humans, so it was a first for me.”

“You don’t sound particularly distraught about it,” said Artyom with a cocked eyebrow.

“Well, it wasn’t the first time I’ve killed. Even the Kobolds and other monsters I’ve fought alongside Tommy have been pretty human-like, so at the time it felt like I crossed some kind of line, you know?”

“Yeah, I know what that’s like. It’s never a fun line to cross, and sometimes it feels like you can never go back. But this is our job, and I’m at least thankful we only go after those who are capital-E Evil.”

“Yeah,” said Neitra, looking down at her feet. She balled her fists and rocked her head back up at Artyom. “I don’t feel bad about it, though. They’ve all been servants of the Dark Lord, er, Sworn Enemy, and he needs to be stopped. I’m not going to let him take anything away from the Kingdom anymore.”

“Yeah, that’s the plan,” replied Artyom, his eyebrows once again raising at the familiarity of that line. “Let’s get to our next stop then, it should be the most fun. You’ll see when we get there.”

“You know, it looks like you really do have a bad habit of hiding things until the last minute. You know the rest of us aren’t very fond of that kind of dramatic tension, we just want a straight answer!”

“Rest of us?” asked Artyom. “I can see you wanting me to get to the point, but who else?”

“Cesen, of course! Well, him and Rugul. You didn’t even let him do the same, like you have a monopoly on drama or something!”

“Hey, I was hungry back then! If you’re hungry right now, we can grab a snack or something. Actually, it is just about time for lunch, so how about we stop for a bite to eat?”

“Sure, and you can continue the story. What did you two do after the tower? How did you defeat the Dark Lord?”

“Hey, one step at a time! Some of it is relevant for our current plan, so I want to go over what I did step by step.”

“Fine, but please try to stay on topic.”

“I’ll try,” he said with a cheeky grin.

“So that’s another general down,” said Cesen, as he wiped blood off of the holy sword in his hand. “Any more left?”

“No, that should be it,” replied Artyom with an exhausted sigh. “Seriously, why the hell did the Dark Lord have to surround his palace with a barrier and tie the keys to opening it to his generals? I swear, I’ve read that exact move in a book or something.”

“Not sure what kind of books you’ve read, that doesn’t sound like anything I’ve heard of before,” replied Cesen. “But he probably did it as soon as he heard I got the sword and killed his lieutenant.”

“Of course he did,” Artyom whispered.

“Hey Artyom, we’ve been hunting down his generals for two months so far, right?”

“Yeah. I thought it’d take another week at most to kill him and rescue his prisoners, but I guess that just happens when you’re dealing with paranoid megalomaniacs.”

“Right… and we’ve become really good friends in that time. We’ve saved each others’ lives countless times.”

“Yeah, we have.” Artyom looked at Cesen with a small level of suspicion, half-expecting him to declare his love for him or something equally unexpected.

“Once we kill the Dark Lord, will you still be my friend? Can I trust you to always have my back?”

“Sure, man. You’re the hero after all, we’re just trying to do what’s right. I’ll always have your back while we’re fighting the good fight.”

Cesen’s face betrayed a strained look for an instant before he hid it with a smile, right as Artyom stated his entirely reasonable stipulation. “Thanks Artyom, it’s good to know that.”

Artyom and Neitra finished their lunch, a pair of meat and vegetable wraps reminiscent of falafel or shawarma at a local cafe, before continuing to their final destination.

“So the alchemist is next, right? What kind of potions are you going to buy?” asked Neitra.

“The standard healing and magic potions, but I was hoping to use their laboratory for a few hours as well.”

“What are you going to make there? I never knew you were an alchemist.”

“Oh no, I don’t bother with alchemy. I’ve never been able to wrap my head around the subject, way too many arbitrary rules. I practice something called chemistry… which is also filled with arbitrary rules, but they make more sense. Sort of.”

Neitra nodded along to his words, not entirely knowing what he was talking about but finding it fascinating nonetheless. “So what are you going to make with this ‘chemistry’? And what makes it so different from alchemy?”

“Well, chemistry doesn’t deal with any magic whatsoever. It’s based on the natural, totally mundane properties of the building blocks of the universe. So no fresh morning dew or eye of newts here, fine thank you.”

“But normal stuff is pretty… normal though. What can we do with that?”

“Oh, plenty! I don’t want to disappoint you in case I can’t find the ingredients, so let me take a look inside first before I tell you what I’m up to.”

Neitra once again sighed in a huff, but let Artyom have his fun. She was starting to enjoy his surprises. Ball bearings and glass dust were perfect additions to her roguish repertoire, and whatever he was planning to concoct here was shaping up to be even more impressive.

The two arrived at the largest alchemist in town and entered their shop. After a quick aura-aided bartering session with the one in charge, Artyom was able to gain access to their laboratory at the reasonable cost of 10 gold coins plus the cost of materials. That put their funds at 20 gold for supplies and living expenses. Neitra sighed, considering what kind of jobs the two could get if their funds wore out before their attack.

“Alright, their selection looks good, so it’s time I get started,” mumbled Artyom to himself, with Neitra listening in. “Could you please grab those three bottles for me, Neitra?”

“Here you go,” she said, handing them over carefully. “What are they, and what are you going to do?”

“The first contains formaldehyde and the other ammonia,” he began, carefully uncorking the bottles and pouring them into a pair of glass bottles with tubes that led to a third, much larger container. “Transform them to a gaseous state and let them react, and you’ll get hexamine.”

“Hexa-what?” asked Neitra.

“Hexamine, don’t worry about it. It’s just an intermediary,” replied Artyom, his mind entirely focused on the glassware in front of him. “I’ve never really paid attention to what a lot of this stuff actually is myself, just the process. Which you should never do yourself, alright? I’ve had some very specialized training by some of my friends on how to create this stuff, and I’m using magic to make it much easier. You try it out, and you end up dead.”

“Alright,” replied Neitra hesitantly. “That’s why you’re doing it, though. And I’m not stupid enough to start randomly mixing up alchemical reagents, I already have a Skill to make my own poisons. Wait, is that what you’re doing?”

“Oh no, something quite different. Though it’ll still kill whoever I use it on.”

“Uh huh,” replied Neitra, with crossed arms.

“Yup. So then we take that hexamine and react it with some nitric acid here, otherwise known to you all as aqua fortis. Of course, you have to get it nice and concentrated, which is near impossible without a lot of time and effort unless you know just the right spell, and… here we are.”

A white powder began to precipitate from the mixture, which Artyom quickly separated with another spell rather than using the small centrifuge beside him.

“This here is what’s known as RDX, a powerful explosive agent.”

“A bomb?!” exclaimed Neitra. “You’re making a bomb? But why not just use magic for that? A fireball is much more potent than even the stuff used in fireworks.”

“Well, most large enemy structures are enchanted against magical heavy ordinance, at least from my experience. But they’re never protected against mundane explosions, making this kind of chemistry knowledge essential when doing what we’re up to.”

“But why not firework powder then? Why go through all of this trouble when we can just outright buy it?”

“Sadly, black power is nowhere near as powerful as modern day explosives from back home. We’d need to lug a small barrel of the stuff around to do any substantial structural damage. We can get the same power with just under 3 times less RDX.”

Artyom took the separated powder and folded it into beeswax, before placing a piece of the magic-holding vellum on it, and wrapping the final package in a thick, brown paper.

“So you’ll use it to blow up their castle? Is this going to be enough?”

“Oh no, I’m just going to be using it to create a new entrance. The last thing anyone expects is people coming through a wall. Of course, if there’s a smaller structure that needs to be destroyed, this should hopefully be enough.”

“Will it not?” asked Neitra. “Do you know how to make other kinds of bombs?”

“Sure, there’s always nitroglycerine to make some TNT, but that’s just asking for trouble. It’s more likely that I’d blow up the entire laboratory if I tried to make that.”

The head alchemist peeked his head in just then, and sneered at the duo.

“What?!” exclaimed Artyom. “I said I’m not making that!”

“I wish you were, though,” whispered Neitra. “I’d love to just blow the Sworn Enemy and his castle to smithereens.”

“Wouldn’t we all?” joked Artyom, yet somewhat surprised by Neitra’s uncharacteristically violent comment. “But we’re coming here for information first and foremost, and the dead don’t talk.”

The two continued their little chemistry experiment for a few hours longer, finally wrapping up as they used up the alchemist’s entire stock of formaldehyde. They paid at the front counter for the materials used, which dropped their funds down to 3 gold coins after they added several healing potions to their bill. They had just enough to get dinner and two more nights in town.

“So how did the story end?” asked Neitra, as the two made their way back to their hotel room. “And how do the explosives factor into it?”

“Right, get ready for a happy ending,” replied Artyom with a forlorn smile.

The Dark Lord Ytteriferix sat upon his opulent throne, the only source of true brightness within his palace. Dark stone walls surrounded the throne room, with blood red carpets and a tarnished silver chandelier being the only other decoration present. Sure, the light spells suspended from the ceiling by the argent fixture brought a soft illumination to the room, but it only served to highlight the melancholic atmosphere.

To the left side of the room were a row of cages, each holding one of the summoned heroes first brought to stop him. Oh, how Ytteriferix laughed when he had them all captured and imprisoned. Whatever worry came to him when a new chosen one was declared to stop him quickly passed when his lieutenant killed the upstart’s entire adventuring party, only to come back when the blessed fool returned with greater force and stole back the holy sword. The Dark Lord was indignant. He worked incredibly hard to steal it in the first place, how dare the chosen one take it back!

Ytteriferix let out a sigh. All but his most loyal and powerful guards were sent to the castle entrance, ready to take on whatever army that damned hero was working with to have gotten this far. He’d killed all of his generals and laid his palace bare of its shields, and must have done so with a tremendous force that still eluded the Dark Lord’s eyes!

It mattered not, he was a master of trickery! The palace had been laid with trap after trap, sure to decimate an entire army every step they took! Only his throne room and bedroom were safe, thus he was sequestered away safely where he was, biding his time until…

A loud boom reverberated from behind him and a section of the wall collapsed, sending pieces of stone and dust flying into the room. Everyone immediately turned to face the disturbance, readying their weapons and steeling themselves for whatever may enter through the new entrance.

Rather than a man or an army, a small cylinder flew into the room instead. They all stared at it in curiosity, when it finally detonated and released a blinding flash of light and an even more deafening boom.

“Go, go, go!” shouted Artyom as he jumped into the entrance alongside Cesen, decked out in spells and armor.

The duo quickly entered the room and incapacitated or killed all of the guards inside. A wicked slash with the holy sword here, and an armor-rending punch there, and soon the room was cleared. Artyom rushed over to the cages lining the Eastern wall and began smashing off the locks, freeing the children from Earth imprisoned within.

“Lucky for us that the Dark Lord never wanted to take his eyes off them and had the cages installed in his throne room. Alright Cesen, do what you need to do and we can all get out of here. I’ve done what I came here for and rescued these kids, and you’ve finally brought peace for the kingdom.”

“Wow!” exclaimed Neitra. “And you rescued everyone and stopped the Dark Lord?”

“That’s right,” replied Artyom, entering their hotel room. “I brought them all somewhere safe, and the Kingdom finally got the peace it’d been chasing for decades.”

“Yup, that’s a happy ending, alright,” said Neitra. “But a hot shower would make the end of today even happier for me. You can go after, but since you’re not covered in snake goop, I’m going first this time!”

“Alright, enjoy.”

As Neitra closed and locked the bathroom door, Artyom settled down onto the couch as his mind continued the incomplete story.

“We’ve won, let’s finish up here and I’ll get these kids somewhere safe,” said Artyom as he unlocked the last of the cages.

“About that,” said Cesen as he beheaded the Dark Lord with his holy sword. “With the Dark Lord dead, there’s going to be a power vacuum here we’re going to have to deal with.”

“Huh, it’s not everyday I meet a hero who cares about what happens after the adventure. I guess your Kingdom will send a delegation to demilitarize the place and guide it towards a more peaceful future.”

“Or, I could fill that vacuum,” replied Cesen, his voice beginning to grow cold.

“Well, that works too I guess,” said Artyom awkwardly. “I mean, who better than the hero to continue his quest in stopping not just the Dark Lord but his evil legacy as well, and all that?”

“Who said anything about stopping?” Cesen looked at Artyom with a grim expression. “With this kind of power, nobody can ever take anything from me again.”

“Uh, all the better for you then, I guess,” replied Artyom, continuing to grow even more uncomfortable. “I only came here to rescue these kids, I’ll be out of your hair. We’ve known each other for a long time and I trust you to not turn into the monster the Dark Lord was, you know, haha.”

“There’s one problem with that, however.” Cesen turned towards the children who looked upon him in fear, knowing where this was going. “The original prophecy is still in effect, you know. That a hero from another World would come and kill the Dark Lord? If I were to take his position, I’d be the new Dark Lord, and these children would continue to be a threat.”

“Cesen,” said Artyom carefully. “You don’t want to do this. You’re not the Dark Lord, you’re the chosen hero.”

“No, you’re right, I’m not the Dark Lord,” he sighed. “He was too shortsighted and only imprisoned them. I’m going to kill them right now and be done with the last threat against me.”

Artyom looked into his manic eyes. “Cesen, they’re children. I’m going to be taking them away, far away! To an entirely different World, even. You’ll never see them again! I promise!”

“I can’t take that risk, Artyom. I thought you said you’d always have my back, why don’t you kill them for me if you don’t want me to fall that far?”

“I promised so long as you stayed the hero. You’re no hero anymore. You’ve already fallen.”

Cesen sighed again. “Then I’m sorry it has to end this way.” He lifted his sword and pointed it at Artyom. “So long, old friend.”

“I’m sorry too,” replied Artyom in a hoarse whisper, slowly walking towards his once-friend. “I’m sorry it has to end this way. The Wo-”

The next moment was a blur in Artyom’s mind, he refused to process what he did, both in the past and the present. When he came back to, the holy sword lay in Cesen, straight through his heart.

“How did you-” Cesen sputtered. “You could’ve done that the entire time?”

“No, I just got enough levels to finally be able to cast that spell again a few days ago.”

“Again?” asked Cesen, coughing out blood.

“Levels reset whenever you travel between Worlds, and I’ve been doing that a lot in recent years.”

“Another world… that means-”

“The prophecy did come true after all,” said Artyom, finishing his sentence. “A hero from another World would stop the Dark Lord with the holy sword, and here we are. Yeah, I’m also from Earth, like these kids.”

“Oh… so I brought this upon myself then?” Cesen whispered, as his eyelids began to droop. “In the end, my closest friend was the one to take everything from me. I hate prophecies.”

“No, Cesen. You took everything away from yourself when you declared yourself Dark Lord and threatened these kids.” Artyom looked upon his friend with tear-stained eyes as he collapsed to the ground, blood pooling around his once-noble corpse. “And I fucking hate prophecies too.”

Artyom snapped back to reality, shaken by the memory. He thought he’d buried it far enough down to never remember it again, so much so that he never brought it up in TOAL’s mandatory therapy sessions. They hadn’t been instituted until recently anyway, so he never had the chance to share what happened with anyone in a meaningful way.

He sighed. He’d rescued the children, but had a great friend turn on him. Power was poison, he should’ve seen that when Cesen first picked up the sword. But he ignored it, he let it continue to corrupt him until the old, heroic Cesen was no more.

Artyom looked over towards the bathroom door, listening to the muffled sound of the flowing water striking the shower tiles. Neitra would be in there for some time longer, judging by how she pampered herself there yesterday.

Fear, suspicion, and paranoia ran through his mind then, imagining the worst case scenario, and failing to convince himself that it was out of the realm of plausibility. It all started when Neitra said that line, that “she’d never let the Dark Lord take things away…” and got worse as his mind began to wander. She was the smartest person he’d met here, and so far he thought it was because she was able to compensate against the taint. Maybe that was the case, or she was a plant by the goddess?

Artyom forcefully shook his head, banishing the thought. There were plenty of opportunities for her to get him killed that she didn’t bother capitalizing on. The Dark Lord’s kill team, the winged serpent. In fact, she pretty much told him how to kill it! And the goddess wasn’t the one to play the long-con, she went in guns blazing the moment she saw something unfavorable.

Still, Neitra was also the most ambitious person he’d met in this World so far, and even if her goals were noble, who knew what lengths she would go to in order to achieve them? Artyom turned to look at the mahogany staff sitting on the table. He sighed. Even besides the Dark Lord and goddess, Tommy was tied up in this mess too, and she might focus her anger on him as well if the power of the Yamastra went to her head. He knew what could happen when a chosen one let the power of their position go to their head. No, he wouldn’t allow that. Not again.

He picked up one of the RDX packages and carefully unwrapped it, taking the explosive wax and shaping it into long cylinders. Beheld by pain and paranoia, Artyom went over to Neitra’s bag and began to line the corners of its inside with the compound, using a sewing kit to hide it beneath the fabric, with a detonation spell scroll stitched between two pieces of fabric. Light enough for her not to notice.

The shower in the bathroom turned off, and Artyom scrambled to put the sewing kit and bag back where he found them. By the time he sat back onto the couch, Neitra exited the bathroom followed by a cloud of steam, dressed in a set of clothes that fit in with the local fashion. Who said she could get some shopping in too?

She walked over to Artyom, a wide smile on her face.

“I just remembered, you don’t know the activation chant for the Yamastra. So I’ll teach it to you!”

“That’s great!” smiled Artyom. “So how does it go?”

Neitra honestly seemed like a nice person to him, but so did Cesen. His original mission was to save Tommy and get out of there, and he didn’t forget it. Absolute power corrupts absolutely, after all, and he wouldn’t take that risk, even with Neitra. If she turned on them at the last minute and he couldn’t stop her from doing something terrible, he would never forgive himself. He wouldn’t let anyone take away the people he cared for.