Wisdom does not require intelligence. Even an idiot can figure out that their hand will burn when put into a fire.

~Gwyddion, God of Illusions

1st Floor

A campfire crackled, shootings sparks into the forest’s canopy above. It was strangely quiet for a forest, and a man stared dazedly into the flames as he contemplated the silence. Not even an insect was buzzing, and while summer was ending, it wasn’t time for them to go away yet.

He tugged the hood of his white and blue robe forward to move his face further into the shadows of its depth. It was the first time he felt this self-conscious, especially when he was out here alone.

At least he was alone…

“Hello, the camp!” An amiable sounding man called from outside the edge of the fire’s light. Once he spoke, the man sitting at the fire sensed others circling around his camp.

In reality, it was an odd situation, as both parties were equally suspicious. On the one hand, a man was sitting alone at a fire without paying attention to anything. On the other, a group of people were moving around in the middle of the night.

“You are?” The man at the campfire asked bluntly. There was usually camp etiquette of sorts, but the amiable man broke those rules by standing in the darkness rather than stepping ahead so he could see his face.

“That doesn’t seem very polite.”

“Neither does skulking in the shadows nor having your people surround my camp.”

“We really mean no harm, but strange things have happened in this area. Do you know anything about that?”

“Should I?” The man frowned, but the shadows of the hood hid his face.

A shiny metal disc flew out from the darkness and landed at the man’s feet. He reached down and picked it up and saw a badge issued by the tower for investigation purposes. They were rare and were provided by the tower’s Keystone when something required investigation. It almost always had something to do with an event disrupting the tower’s operations, such as preventing cultivators from ascending.

It was to be taken seriously. There were rules, spoken and written, about investigations like these. People with the badge could not abuse that power, or their reward could turn into a punishment when they completed the investigation. The rewards for these investigations were worth the effort.

Anyway, the robed man tossed the badge back to the man at the edge of the camp. Everyone learned the rules, and he wasn’t about to become an enemy of the tower because that was suicidal.

“Well, join me then. If you remain standing in the shadows, I’m going to think you are up to something nefarious.”

A portly man walked out from the darkness, and his jowls were unnaturally saggy. If Crow was there, he’d have recognized the guy from the wagon incident that he dubbed the Meatball.

“If you are complying with me, may I ask you to show your cultivation?”

This was one of the reasonable requests. A simple display was usually enough. They did not consider it evidence either way, but it would help eliminate people as suspects. If the undead were walking about, only a handful of known practitioners used spells like that.

The robed man sighed and activated his Source, but his hands kept flexing. His power wasn’t something he was in complete control of yet. It was easy to summon but not easy to refine so that it obeyed him.

Bluish-white light came from within the depths of the hood as his eyes glowed with power. His exposed blue hands turned translucent as the power etched into his bones glowed and revealed itself.

Meatball watched in awe and couldn’t take his eyes off the ancient script burning inside the robed man’s hands. It wasn’t a text he’d ever seen, but on a deeper level, he felt he could almost read it.

Moments later, the robed man floated off the ground, his body rippling as if it was changing shape, but that wasn’t it. An illusory form surrounded the man, and it gave him the appearance of ghostly were-beast. The fat man wasn’t sure what type of animal he was staring at, but it felt like an apex predator. It was like a maniacal beast had discovered him, and the pressure of being prey under the robed man’s presence was unnerving.

However, Meatball was many times stronger than the robed newbie. It was easy to quell that fear, but he did not know what kind of cultivation he was looking at.

“What are you?”

“A Spiritualist, you may call me Kafe,” a growly voice came from the strange merged form in front of him.

“Are you beast transforming?”

“No. I’ve summoned a Spirit within me, and its power has combined with mine.”

“I’m Commander Savins, and I apologize for my suspicious behavior. I must insist you make haste for Rosdoe. It really isn’t safe out here.”

“What is happening?”

“Not sure how it started, but a Hunger Curse has become active. It’s dangerous because it works on those with Shields. Since they are dead, the Shield doesn’t provide any resistance.”

Kafe knew that the Hunger Curse was, and it startled him that anyone could pull it off. As far as he knew, the method of creating the curse was long lost.

“How is that even possible?”

“Best guess? A cultivator that created dead puppets died, but his puppets didn’t. Smarter people than me claim this method, while seemingly extremely unlikely, has the greatest possibility of being the truth.”

“So the magic in the undead didn’t dissipate with its master meaning it gained some intelligence…” Kafe nodded at this theory and felt it was indeed possible, but something about the situation disturbed him. “When did this start?”

“Roughly a few months ago. We don’t have an exact time.”

Dammit. Kafe frowned, released his Spirit magic, and pulled back his hood to reveal his blue skin and white hair. The hair was new and something he’d started growing in the last month.

He had a feeling his karma debt was increasing exponentially. If he wasn’t mistaken, he started this Hunger Curse. Thinking about what he was now, he couldn’t sit back and ignore the situation.

“Bring me along with you. I may not be as strong as your men, but I can fight.”

Savins stared at the blue-skinned boy in front of him and felt his words were reasonable. Truthfully, he couldn’t escort the kid because he lacked manpower. It was probably safer for him to come along. Besides, he was curious about Kafe’s cultivation because he’d never heard of a Spiritualist.

“Alright, we can do that,” the commander agreed. “Steets, you stay out there and remain our sentry. The rest of you may approach the camp.”

“Steets?” Kafe asked. That name was a bit odd. The way the commander spoke in a normal tone of voice meant that the people out there were powerful enough to hear the entire conversation. He wasn’t sure if Savins did it on purpose or not, but the warning was there. No matter what, Kafe wasn’t on their level.

“Stinky Feet, we just call him Steets. I think his real name is Jarl or Gerald—something like that. Militant groups like patrols or guards rarely use given names, anyway.”

Kafe met the others, but their small numbers surprised him. After learning they were a scouting group for a much larger party, he understood. He figured there were more, but the six he had sensed were the entire party.

Either his Spirit Sense gained a significant boost, or these people deliberately let him sense them. Kafe felt it was reasonable that his sensory perception became more sensitive. These people had no reason to expose themselves like that against an unknown person. Even knowing that, Kafe wasn’t sure he’d be much help in resolving the current situation. Had he not given up his previous cultivation, he might have proven to be an asset if they didn’t treat him as the enemy.

Old Man Snow sent him out after summoning his spirit and filling that reservoir in his Spiritual space. Kafe’s Spirit Sense may have gained a significant boost, but his foundations and power base were still unstable. The reasoning the old bastard gave was there was no one to teach him how to use his power, and the best method was to use it. Learn what needed to be learned on his own and through the trials of ascending the tower.

The old man wasn’t a Spiritualist, and Kafe understood that was the primary reason he sent him out. When he was leaving, the old man told him there were many doors in the temple, and they connected to many places throughout the tower. However, he could only access those doors if he found the entry points outside the necropolis. Since he came to the one on the first floor, it was the only active door inside, which meant it was the only door he could exit from.

To Kafe, this nexus of doors was a massive reward for becoming a Spiritualist. It was like his own private transportation hub, provided he found the other exits. In total, there were thirty-nine doors, and the old man explained it had to do with the power of threes. Three primary doors had three secondary doors, which had three tertiary doors. Each section of the three-sided pyramid then had thirteen doors: One, three, and nine. The doors were on tiered steps, rising up to the single primary door at the top step. His only active door was a small tertiary one in the Triskele section. The other two sections were the Endless Knot and the Ankh.

Based on what he learned about being a Spiritualist, the Triskele referred to life, death, and rebirth. The Endless Knot meant that time had no beginning or end and life’s perpetuality existed in the infinite void. And the Ankh was the breath of life or regeneration of it. Their beliefs leaned toward the Spirit form as the highest form life could achieve.

Initially, Kafe didn’t take his words too seriously until he saw markings he did not recognize but could read. Each door or archway in the nexus had them etched into their frames. The runes looked similar to the ones on his bones, which only became visible when he performed any Spiritualist spell, incantation, or ritual.

“Why the heavy thoughts?” Savins asked.

“I recently took on a new master, and he left me in the lurch and told me to ascend the tower, but…”

“He gave you cryptic advice and left you questioning your life choices?” The amiable man laughed, and Kafe found the rotund man a little less repulsive. At the very least, Savins was more intelligent than he appeared.

“Piece of advice, one I wish people would have given me. There is no incorrect path.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it. It doesn’t need to be some profound wisdom but think about it. The meaning is deeper than the surface. You worry because you travel an unknown path, but we all do. No cultivator is the same. No personality is the same. No life experience is the same. You can question choices, but never your path, and neither can anyone else. If you understand what I’m saying, the burden of ascending is much easier. Don’t attempt to be someone else.”

Kafe’s jaw dropped open. It wasn’t often that Kafe experienced a shock that overwhelmed his ability to whip out a snappy comeback. Even if the snarky thought was only held internally, it always came to him until now. Simple advice, from a simple man, but filled with wisdom that Kafe couldn’t refute.

As he processed that, a strange keening sound came from the forest. In the silence of the dark woods, it was eerie and forlorn. It was also a sound Kafe recognized—the living dead. Souls wanted to depart from their dying bodies and longed for eternal rest.