In the Kingdom of Escarbot, not many villages had inns—but the particular settlement Jerry was currently in, located on a main road, begged to differ.

The Fat Boar inn was a stub of a building, short and square. It barely had room for three tables inside, but when the weather was nice, they would often place another two outside, on the cobbled courtyard where children liked to play.

Tonight was such an occasion—though, due to the late hour, there were no children rushing and yelling like tiny primitives. Only two groups of people enjoyed beers under the moonlight, one comprising of two drunk couples and the other of just two men, Jerry Shoeson and Marcus Copperfield.

Jerry relaxed on a soft blue pillow—he couldn’t carry his heavenly soft chair everywhere, so he kept the pillow as a substitute, placing it on every inferior chair he laid his buttocks on.

He leaned in, dragging his tin mug over the rough wooden table.

“A treasure, you say?”

“Not a treasure,” replied Marcus, his easy, wide smirk inspiring a copy on Jerry’s lips. “It’s the treasure—the famous treasure of Dorman. Everybody knows it, from grannies in rocking chairs to babies in cradles. What world have you been living in?”

“One without the treasure of Dorman, apparently,” replied Jerry, chuckling.

Though Marcus spoke slowly, his every word was uttered with a surety that his crisp voice only served to enhance.

“Well, my friend, you’re missing out.” The treasure hunter leaned in, his voice tinged with excitement. “Dorman was a legend; he lived six hundred years ago, during the Great Enigma, and he’s left inscriptions—riddles—on various ancient sites across the world. It’s the oldest and hardest treasure hunt, and at its end lies the richest treasure stash the world has ever seen… or so they say. Imagine what would happen if we found it, the things we could do.”

“Mhm, sounds good, I guess.” Jerry took a sip. “I suppose I could bribe many villages.”

Marcus blinked in surprise before he kept going. “That’s one use of money, yes, but you must think larger. This is the stuff of legends. Why bribe a few remote villages when you can buy the entire Kingdom?”

“I can buy the Kingdom?” Jerry’s eyes went wide. “Why would I do that? Having a Kingdom sounds very tiresome.”

Marcus deadpanned. “You could buy better equipment for your circus too.”

“Now, that sounds better!” The necromancer smiled. “I like that idea. Oh, maybe I could buy the world’s softest wool and make a truly heavenly soft chair too.”

“You have oddly specific wishes, but of course, you could! You should snag me one of those chairs as well; my waist is not what it used to be.”

“Hmm, I don’t know, will Dorman’s treasure be enough for two heavenly soft chairs? I mean, Kingdoms are nice and all, but some things are simply priceless.”

“If you can buy one chair, it isn’t priceless, so you can buy another.”

Jerry considered it. “You’re right, I guess.”

Marcus laughed. “You’re an odd one, my friend—can I call you Jerry?—but that’s alright. You know what they say, the best people are often crazy.”

“You can call me Jerry, friend, or crazy, whatever you prefer—I’ve heard worse.”

“I’m sure. Come, let’s drink some more!”

Marcus seemed full of momentum, but Jerry did not dislike him—in fact, his instinct said this was a great person to be swept around by. Laughing, they cheered and downed their cups, at which point Marcus wiped his stubble and said, “By the way, running a circus must be a pretty profitable business, right?”

“More profitable than shoemaking, that’s for sure—but you know, undead circuses have all sorts of perks, like not having to feed everyone. I guess you could say we’re making some money. Oh, I know; the next round is on me!”

“Hahaha, excellent, excellent!” Marcus seemed in a great mood, and Jerry was happy too.

“So,” said the necromancer after the next round of hay beer had been delivered, “back to that treasure of yours… What of it?”

“Well, you see…” Marcus leaned in, suddenly speaking in a lower volume, and Jerry followed suit. “Many hints of Dorman have been discovered around the world, and most aren’t exactly secret, but nobody had been able to piece them together… until now. While exploring an ancient tomb in the Sea of Sands, I found a yet-undiscovered relic of Dorman!”

“You did?” Jerry gawked. “That sounds great!”

“It is the greatest discovery of my life.” Marcus nodded. “I quickly sealed the place back up so my local helpers didn’t see it, but not before I memorized it. I then returned to my base and looked up the relevant information… And Manna be my witness, Jerry, I found it. I found the missing piece of the puzzle. Everything fell together and made sense… and I have an actual hint to Dorman’s treasure!”

“Congratulations!” said Jerry, then leaned back and crossed his arms. “So you know the location of the greatest treasure in existence and decided to share it with a random circus guy… Boney has warned me against guys like you. Said you’d steal my chairs.”

“I have zero designs on your chairs, Jerry, I assure you.” Marcus laughed, his smirk widening. The inn’s torches reflected on his eyes as they sharpened. “I know how this looks, but what if I told you… that treasure is in the Dead Lands?”

“The Dead Lands?”

“Yes. Dorman actually placed his treasure in what would later become the world’s most dangerous place… Talk about bad luck.”

“I see. So you need a necromancer to fetch it for you.”

“Gods no!” Marcus grabbed his chest. “I just want to recruit your help. I’ll get there myself or die trying.”

“Oh. Well, last time I checked, the Curse was rather unhealthy for the living.”

“Not if you know what you’re doing. The explorers of Alabaster—where I hail from—have gone everywhere in the known world, including the depths of the Dead Lands, and have long discovered a way to keep themselves safe from the Curse. I know the recipe to a wood nettle-based potion that makes you temporarily immune.”

“Is that so?” Jerry asked with disappointment. “I hate to break it to you, Marcus, but the wood nettle thing is just a superstition… It does not actually repel the undead.”

“I am fully aware, but when mixed with the right ingredients, it does prevent affliction by the Curse. That has been proven multiple times.”

“What, really?”

“Really.”

“Oh.”

Would you look at that. Necromancers didn’t know everything, apparently.

“But then, why me?” he asked. “If you can go to the Dead Lands yourself, what do you need me for?”

Marcus took a deep breath, leaning back in his seat. “Think about it, Jerry,” he said. “Even if I can survive the Curse itself, the Dead Lands… are not a hospitable place. Wandering roves of undead salivate at the smell of living flesh. Endless, dark mists sprawl endlessly, devouring those who dare tread their depths. Mutated flora and fauna hunt the living as delicacies, and who knows what other, unspeakable dangers lie in wait... Necromancers are by far the most suited people to traverse the Dead Lands; without one as my guide, I’m afraid that even I wouldn’t survive.”

“That makes sense,” replied Jerry, “but still, why me? I’m just a random guy with a circus.”

Marcus grimaced. “Because necromancers aren’t exactly common in these parts, and the ones that do exist are backstabbing individuals I wouldn’t trust with a single coin, let alone my life. You run a circus; that is so ridiculous it has to be true—or an extremely elaborate facade, but I don’t believe that. Moreover, you are already heading to the Dead Lands, which decreases the price to hire you, and if I’m being honest… you don’t seem like a fellow that would betray anyone.”

“That’s true.” Jerry nodded. “Unless they deserved it.”

“Let’s assume I don’t.”

“So, let’s go over this again,” said Jerry. “You know the location of a grand treasure in the Dead Lands and want me to escort you there. Is that right?”

“Very.”

“And then how will we share it?”

“Naturally, I get all of it, and you get the agreed price for your services.”

“Oh…” Jerry was disappointed. “Can I have some of it too? I mean, you did promise me a heavenly soft chair.”

“I can throw in the world’s softest chair too,” replied Marcus, suddenly defensive. “But if you insist, I could maybe give you… one-hundredth of the treasure? And let’s say… a thousand taels for your trouble?”

Jerry considered it. He vaguely recalled that a thousand meant ten hundreds. If one person paid three taels to watch their show… that was the equivalent of… at least a hundred people!

That many?! Boney will be ecstatic!

Moreover, Jerry didn’t really care about treasures and money; all he wanted was his friends, a heavenly soft chair, and to fix the Curse. He was already going to the Dead Lands, so it didn’t feel right to be paid for something he would have done anyway. In fact, he might have even helped for free, if Marcus had asked.

But only fools refused free money.

“Throw in that chair,” he said, “and you got yourself a deal, mister.”

Marcus’s eyes widened. “Great!” he said quickly, reaching out and practically grabbing Jerry’s hand before shaking it. “Excellent, excellent. We have a deal, Jerry!”

“Yes.” The necromancer smiled. “You seem like a good guy anyway.”

Marcus wasn’t listening, too busy smiling from cheek to cheek. “Wonderful,” he said, “wonderful. In fact… this is so amazing that I will buy us the next thr—the next round of hay beer!”

“You will? Thank you, Marcus!”

Their cups had already been emptied, and new ones soon arrived. “Come, Jerry!” Marcus raised his cup. “Let’s drink to a long and fruitful cooperation!”

“Let’s!”

Their cups smashed into each other, and the two men emptied their contents. When Jerry wiped his lips, he was smiling.

I made such a good deal… Boney will be so proud of me. Hehehe.