“Look, guys! I found the Prism of Death!”

Jerry raised the pearl with a proud smile, stopping everyone in their tracks. They gaped.

“The what?”

They knew what the Prism of Death was. Horace had talked about it when describing the Curse’s origin. In fact, the fake Prism they’d destroyed was only a pale imitation of the real Prism of Death.

Legends said there were five Prisms in the world, each corresponding to one school of magic—necromancy, biomancy, photomancy, pyromancy, hydromancy. These five Prisms were said to be the crystalized essence of the world’s magic, but little else was known about them.

Some said that a Prism could make regular people into wizards. Others said it could instantly raise a wizard to the level of an Archmage. Others yet claimed that all magic in the world stemmed from the Prisms, and destroying one would forever cut off that school of magic.

Whatever the truth was, everyone agreed that the Prisms were divine objects that carried unthinkable power. Of course, most people believed that the Prisms were mere fables, but the pearl in Jerry’s hand seemed to disagree.

While recounting Granny’s information, Horace had even described how the Wizard Order had gone to extreme lengths to locate the Prism of Death, said to be in the northern parts of the continent, even going as far as to create the Curse in hopes of resonating with it. Despite their efforts, they had failed.

How pissed would Arakataron be to learn that the Prism was right under his nose the entire time?

“The Prism of Death,” repeated Jerry, rotating the pearl before their eyes. “It’s this thingy over here.”

“The Prism of Death is not a thingy, Jerry,” said Horace, squinting at the pearl, “and if it was, I doubt you could hold it so casually.”

“Why not?”

“Because the Prism is supposed to be unobtainable. Only those recognized by magic—the Archmages—can claim it.”

“Well, I can too, and I’m pretty sure this is the real thing.”

Horace stared at Jerry, extending a hand. “May I?”

“Sure.”

Jerry put the pearl in Horace’s hand. “MOTHER—” A hoarse scream instantly left Horace’s mouth as he dropped to the ground and clutched his arm, letting the pearl roll a bit.

“Horace!” “Are you okay?”

Everyone quickly crowded around him. Dark veins popped up on Horace’s pale forehead as he furiously gritted his teeth, and his hand was spasming like crazy, almost breaking off its own fingers.

Jerry watched with worry but didn’t approach. He picked the pearl back up and stared at in confusion.

“Holy shit,” Horace muttered weakly, seeming to finally relax. He lied on his back and spread his limbs while panting heavily. His forehead was drenched in sweat.

“Are you okay? What happened?” asked Laura.

“I don’t know…” Horace stayed still for a moment, gazing at the ceiling. He was clearly not okay. “My entire body was on fire and my soul was pulled apart to the point of almost breaking.”

“By Hydra! That sounds awful!”

“...It was okay.”

Seeing that Horace was well enough to act proud, everyone looked back at Jerry—and, specifically, at the pearl he held.

“Jerry,” Laura said slowly, “maybe you should put that thing down.”

“Right.” Marcus nodded. “It sounds very expensive so be careful.” He then cowered under the gazes of Laura and every single one of Jerry’s undead. “I was joking…” he muttered.

Jerry didn’t mind, and he even laughed a bit. “It’s okay. I think it likes me.”

“It’s a pearl, Jerry. It can’t like you.”

“Do you see me convulsing on the ground?”

Everyone glanced at Horace, who snorted. “I’m fine,” he said, “just resting.”

“Okay…” Laura still eyed the pearl warily, but accepted Jerry’s words. “Can you explain, Jerry? What happened?”

“Well, I saw this pearl on the ground and thought it was very pretty so I picked it up. The indescribable, irresistible pull at my soul helped. Then, I saw a bunch of visions and became friends with the pearl.”

“You became friends with—” Marcus shook his head. “Can you explain properly, please? How do you know this is the Prism of Death?”

“I saw a million lives wink out one-by-one and a construct of death larger than the sky. It was pretty clear at that point.”

“You saw what!?”

“Yeah, it was a bit rough”—Jerry shrugged—“but I think it’s a pretty cool pearl, you know? It’s friendly; just a bit weird, but so am I! Maybe that’s why it likes me. I like it back.”

Laura weighed it with her gaze. No matter how she looked, it seemed like a normal pearl. She shrugged. “It’s pretty,” she admitted.

“Bonding with treasure is a bad idea; I can tell you that by experience.” Marcus cupped his chin.

“That thing is dangerous,” Horace spat out as he stood—slowly and carefully. He was still shaking a bit, but his eyes were sharp as they rested on the pearl. “It attacked me and I could do nothing. You should stay away from it.”

“I don’t think I will.” Jerry shook his head. “We’re friends now. It won’t harm me.”

“It’s a pearl.”

“It’s the Prism of Death.”

Horace grunted but didn’t speak further. Axehand grunted too, not letting Horace hog his signature move. Through Jerry, he could sense that the pearl was a special, powerful, and aloof existence. He viewed it as a peer. He nodded. The pearl couldn’t nod back, but he felt it echoing the statement.

“So you’re bonded with it, Master,” said Boney, and his excitement started to mount. “Is it really as the legends say? Did it make you stronger!?”

“Hmm.” Jerry frowned. “I don’t think so.”

“Maybe it’s faulty.”

“I know the Prism of Death is impressive and all, but can we talk about the corpse behind Jerry?” said Horace, and everyone seemed to suddenly remember about it.

“Oh, right! It has wings!”

“It better have some treasure too…” Marcus muttered to himself. He wouldn’t touch that pearl with a nine-foot pole, but he still owned a 99% share of the treasure!

I expected mountains of gold, godsdammit!

If Dorman’s treasure was only a notebook, a corpse, and a pearl that he couldn’t even touch, Marcus would be seriously pissed.

Everyone crowded around the corpse and gave it a closer look. It was a woman with a pure face, golden locks for hair, and skin whiter than milk. She wore a set of pristine white robes, and two wings spread out from her back, poking through deliberate holes in the fabric.

She sat cross-legged against the wall and her face was calm. How many people could die with such composure, especially when trapped and alone inside a rock?

Jerry stared at the woman and deep respect oozed from within his soul. He even felt a connection to her, as if the two were similar—but how could that be?

“Wow,” Laura said breathlessly. “She seems almost magical…”

“Maybe it’s the wings,” said Boney. “I wonder, are her eyes blue as well?”

He gently raised one of her eyebrows and was met with an off-white color. Her iris was barely separate from the sclera, producing a gaze that reached directly into the soul.

Despite that, she didn’t seem evil; just wise.

“I wonder who she was…” Marcus wondered aloud.

“Shelia Vanderful,” replied Jerry. Everyone turned to stare at him. “What? It’s in her diary,” he said, raising the little brown notebook.

Everyone looked at each other. In their excitement, they’d almost forgotten about this notebook. “What else does it say?” They quickly crowded around Jerry, who began reading. Only half the pages were filled—clearly, this woman’s life had ended sooner than intended.

The information contained within was bountiful.

According to the notebook, Shelia Vanderful was a necromancer from the Land of Clouds—nobody present knew where that was. She had grown up there and was supposed to live a peaceful life when an outsider showed up. He was a hero; strong, handsome, kind. He easily took care of the giants harassing Shelia’s tribe but accepted no reward. At the banquet held in his honor, his roaring laughter made clouds shake and hearts flutter. Shelia quickly fell in love with this man, but didn’t dare reveal her feelings. She didn’t feel worthy.

Unfortunately, that man was only passing by the Land of Clouds. Only a few months after his arrival, he departed again, but his figure was forever engraved in Shelia’s heart. She followed him. The outside world was forbidden to all tribespeople, but Shelia broke the rules, disowned herself from the tribe, and followed this mysterious, charming man into adventure. According to the diary, written by Shelia herself, the years that followed were the happiest parts of her life.

The man’s name was Dorman.

When Jerry reached here, a series of exclamations rang out. Dorman! The legendary explorer! The mysterious person whose treasure had created an entire profession! Almost nothing was known about Dorman, and they held a diary written by one of his closest companions!

Of course, Marcus and Jerry already knew this place was connected to Dorman, but they didn’t expect this woman to be connected to him. After all, she seemed like she’d died yesterday!

They quickly turned back to the diary, and everyone’s eyes burned as they hungered for more. The diary didn’t disappoint; it was a treasure trove of information.

Shelia followed Dorman for many years. They adventured throughout the world, and in their travels, a few more people chose to follow the shining beacon that was Dorman. They were six, at the end, and each came from a completely different land. The writing wasn’t clear at this point, but it seemed to indicate the existence of six different lands across the world.

Everyone looked up and stared at each other.

“But there’s only three,” Marcus said hesitantly. “The King Continent, the Sea of Sands, and the Jewel Archipelago. Right?”

“Maybe she meant nations.” Laura shrugged.

“Yeah, I guess.”

In the end, this part wasn’t too important. They hungrily kept reading.

Dorman’s group traveled throughout the world, having crazy adventures. They were strong, and tyrants existed everywhere; Dorman would liberate the people wherever they went.

Their life was dangerous and exciting. It was full in every way. Shelia never revealed her feelings towards Dorman, who also never realized them, even though everyone else knew. After all, love could not be hidden.

At this point, the contents of the diary took a sharp turn. Shelia’s entries became rarer.

The carefree days of Dorman’s group were coming to an end. During their adventures, they had collected the five Prisms and attained great power, which also brought great responsibility. They could no longer run free and wild across the land. Everyone looked up to them, and they were treated as kings. Shelia was clearly worried.

Jerry turned the page and found a gap. A large number of pages had been ripped off, leaving a single one at the very end. In this last page, Shelia claimed that she and the rest of her companions were tasked with scattering the five Prisms in specific locations around the world, one in each land, except for one—the King Continent.

And then, the diary simply ended, as had Shelia’s life, apparently. Only the inner back cover remained, on which a riddle was carved:

Where the sun shines brightest, on the tallest peak,

in the helmet of the king is the Prism you seek.

“Fuck!” roared Marcus. Everyone was trying to digest the information.

“That’s… Fuck!” he roared again. “This is such a shitty cliffhanger. What happened in the missing pages? What happened to Dorman? Why did Shelia die in this goddamn cave? What even are the Prisms? Where is Dorman’s real treasure? Argh!”

Laura chuckled. She, too, was intrigued, but she never cared much about history anyway. “Think about it, Marcus; what treasure could be greater than a Prism?”

“Two Prisms,” Boney replied quickly.

“I can’t eat a Prism, can I?” The treasure hunter crossed his arms. “Magic my ass… I just want money. Argh!”