Death After Death Ch. 116-117 (Patreon)

Ch. 116 - Digging up the Past

Simon did some further exploring on the deeper level of the tomb. He would a few inscriptions that talked about holding back the tide, and one said they would rise again to once more protect their homeland if it was ever threatened again. Unfortunately, there was no indication as to what they’d actually fought or what conditions would make them rise again. 

It was clear to him, that whoever had buried these men had thought they were heroes, not villains. But if they were heroes, then why would they reek of unclean magics? Simon wondered. Was it that everyone thought that they were the hero in these sorts of situations, or was there another purpose?

In desperation to find out more, he used the lesser word of earth a few times to try to make the rusted-out shields give up more secrets. He found a few coats of arms that way and some inscriptions to specific knights, but there were no clues as to what terrible magic animated these corpses. 

He sealed up the tomb just the way he’d found it when he left, and he walked back to the half-abandoned city of Kawsburl. They were no more helpful than before, and by the time he’d finished his second round of investigation that afternoon, he decided it was best to leave. 

Normally he would have stayed one more night at the inn. A few coppers for a bed and a hot meal beat the hell out of shivering beneath the open sky. There was something here that made him think it was time to leave, though. It was like the opposite of the times he’d stayed in the first inn and the old woman had seen some darkness about him.

Though he couldn’t actually see any sort of miasma, he could feel it. The locals had a secret to keep or an axe to grind, and since he didn’t want this run to end prematurely, he left before someone decided he shouldn’t be allowed to. 

The night he made camp well off the game trail, he was following, and a little past midnight, he heard riders and saw torches. They didn’t see him, either on the ride down or back, but only because he’d expected this. 

Simon considered stopping them and questioning them forcefully as to what they were up to but decided against it. That wasn’t because he was concerned about the morality of killing people who were obviously trying to kill him. It was because the temptation to drain their strength and make it his own was much too great. 

He’d largely recovered from his earlier weakness, but the urge to do something terrible remained even after his lassitude had faded. Maybe if it had been goblins or a terrifying wild beast like a wyvern or a griffon, he could have justified it, but people… It was a bridge too far for him in his current state of mind. 

So, he let them pass. Instead of dealing with them, he decided that the mystery of this particular place would last at least one more life while he focused on ending the cursed graveyard. Now that he knew where the tomb was located in the real world, he supposed that he could come back any time to investigate further anytime he wanted, with a little effort. The earlier level had to be decades in the past. Maybe time wouldn’t have done as much damage by that point, but he could learn more.

For now he focused on more immediate issues. He decided to skip Lyndon Hills and walk straight back to Darndelle to save time, and throw off any further attempts at pursuit. It took him almost two days to decide that where or when to destroy whatever had been taken from the tomb was the wrong question. 

If he destroyed it here, it would almost certainly solve this level, but, then on a later run, if he destroyed it back on the skeleton knight level, it would almost certainly reset this one, to some new state, like Freya’s tavern had. He’d have to defeat something else after that, because the fog itself would never have existed. 

But did he want to do that? “Right now? Definitely not,” he said, answering his own question out loud. “I’m sure I need that fucking sword for Ionar, so I can’t undo this level until I’ve undone that one.”

It was all getting hopelessly confusing, and he spent most nights by the fire, talking to the mirror as he added names and traced designs. As he did so, he started to link the levels to each other in different ways. Once upon a time, it had all been so simple and straightforward in his head, but now, every level seemed to loop backward and forward and link together in strange ways, either because of the people or the locations involved.

Even though he could check the mirror, it was still confusing. Without it, he was sure he would have been hopelessly lost. “I used to think that the Pit just got hard enough that no one could beat it,” he said to himself as he walked further south. “Now I think that most of them just got lost on the way there.”

He found Darndelle as he’d left it weeks before. It was unchanged, but on his first night back he investigated the graveyard and saw that the fog was stronger than it had been the last time, and as soon as he took a step over the line mist began to pour from the graves. 

Simon didn’t try to fight it that first night back, though. Instead he waited until mourning and began to look through the records once more. He didn’t have the name of the warlock that had started all of this, but he had the place he’d come from, the year it had happened, and general outline of events. He hoped that would be enough. 

Even with those facts in mind and a generous bribe to the archivist, it still took him half a week to find the right scroll. When he did, Simon laughed out loud. He couldn’t help himself. 

He’d spent weeks traveling and asking question after he’d been told that a name was what he needed to solve this mystery, and when he found what he was sure was the correct entry, he found only a blacked out portion of the scroll. 

Fortunately, the location of the grave site wasn’t blacked out, and with a little more research, they finally figured out where it had been. What had been one large plot decades before was now three smaller ones, all of which were now occupied. Benjamin wasn’t going to let a little thing like a dead body stop him from reaching the conclusion, though. 

Even though the sun was low in the sky, he still marched straight to the graveyard with the tiny map he’d made on a piece of scratch paper. Even a little light was enough to keep the ghosts, or whatever they were, at bay, though, and he still had the orange glow of the sunset when he reached the right spot. 

“Are they going to try to kill me if I use a little magic here?” he asked himself as he looked around. There was no one here, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. 

It wasn’t like he had a choice, though. He could hardly dig up this whole section in the next few minutes before the last limb of the sun descended below the horizon. So, he didn’t worry about it. Instead, he took a moment to center himself, and then he imagined the earth in this whole section flowing out and receding like the tide, leaving everything that wasn’t the earth behind. He wasn’t 100% sure that was going to work, of course, but if it didn’t, he could always come back with a shovel tomorrow. 

“Gervuul Vosden,” he intoned solemnly, feeling the word resonate both within him and the ground he was standing on. 

Simon had just enough time to reflect on how much less the greater words hurt when he really focused before the earth started to recede as if a sinkhole was opening up. The gravestones eased down as the earthen tide flowed out, and a six-foot-deep hole opened that was probably twenty yards on a side. 

It was a lot of earth, and he vaguely wondered where it all went, but in the fading light, he didn’t worry about that too much. He was more concerned that anything he was looking for might have been swept away with it. He needn't have been, though. 

Even as the earth retreated, there were enough puffs of the dark mist that had been hiding just beneath it to reveal the source. So, Simon uttered a minor word of light to shoo them away and hopped down into the pit as he searched for whatever the source of the black magic at the center of his little crater was. Along the way, he found all the tombstones that had been there already, a coffin, and two bodies buried in sacks that had almost completely rotted away. There was also a broken sword, a few bottles, and the remains of a shovel.

None of those were what he was looking for. When he finally found the thing, he was most surprised that it was literally a dark heart. Someone had carved a heart out of obsidian or something like it. As he studied it, he saw that it was anatomically correct, though he wasn’t sure how important that easy. Whoever made it, had obviously taken great care in both the large details and the small ones, though. There were very delicate runes carved into it. 

He bent and picked up, and it was there he made his mistake. He saw the way it smoked at his touch and assumed that it was just more mist, but when he stood and brought the thing into the direct path of sunlight… it immediately started to crumble to ash. 

“Shit!” he yelled, lowering it immediately again into the shadow of the grave, but it was too late. 

Even as he watched, all the interesting information he’d wanted to study was going up in smoke. He might have won the level, but he lost a terrible opportunity. 

Still, he did what he could, poring over each mark as they vanished, and when it was done, and there was no more to be gleaned, he sat down right in the hole and started to drawing the symbol combinations he was sure he’d seen. He hadn’t learned any new words in all that, but the way that it had used some of the ones he did know seemed very novel, and he wanted to explore that more. 

Once all that was done, he decided not to fill in his hole, even if it was disrespectful to the dead. Instead, he waited another half hour to see if the mist would reappear, and when it didn’t, he walked back to his in. 

I could just leave, Simon thought absently, eyeing the exit. There was no need to rush it, though. Instead, he’d tell everyone the good news, make sure it was really done, and then get ready to kill those bloodthirsty servants before they could cause any harm.

Ch. 117 - Life of the Party

 Though they didn’t believe him at first and only pretended to after he bought everyone a round, after a few guys went out to check the graveyard and confirmed that the mist was finally gone, a real celebration broke out. There had been a few tentative celebrations last time when the unexplained fireball had burned away whatever it was that haunted the graveyard for a few weeks, but since no one had claimed credit, it had never been more than hope. 

This news, though, spread like wildfire. Simon had just been hoping to brighten the night of the few regulars he recognized in the common room, but as word spread, the place filled up to standing room only, and he was forced to tell the story again and again. 

People were feeding him free drinks for hours, and by the time he’d drunk enough to take some liberties with the truth, adding Blackheart’s wraith to the story, along with a part where he thrust his sword into its obsidian heart when the city watch’s Marshall showed up. 

For a moment Simon thought that he was in trouble, but the man instantly joined in the celebrations, congratulating Simon for lifting the curse, and telling him, “The King himself will probably want to hear the story himself tomorrow, when news gets around, so I hope you’re ready to be drowned in gold!”

Simon toasted to that, but truthfully, he didn’t need any more riches than he already had, and if he was offered a fortune he’d gladly give it a way to a worthy cause. It wasn’t like he was going to start carting a backpack full of gold around with him. Truthfully the backpack would be the most important part of that arrangement, and he’d only just purchased one he liked. 

He expected the one he had to last the rest of his life. That thought was enough to make him smirk as he listened to another man tell him about all the heroes who had died in the night trying to claim the reward. It was morbid humor and hardly a joke he could share, but his lives didn’t tend to be that long these days, especially not when he was coming up on the dragon level again. 

Simon doubted he’d survive that one, but he hoped that this time, he could at least get a better lay of the land. He didn’t brood on that too much, though, or the premature loss of the artifact he’d destroyed. What really mattered was that he’d defeated this level cleanly, and he knew how to do it again pretty easily in case it reset on him. 

Simon enjoyed the rest of his drunken evening, though not so much that he let one of the beautiful barmaids join him in his room and congratulate him personally. Maybe if the caravan guard or one of the other ladies had hit on him, he would have gone for it, but a barmaid hit a bit too close to home. 

He did spare himself a lesser word of cure to remove the alcohol from his system. Only when ht was suddenly sober did he realzie that this was the first time anyone had treated him like a real hero. Various villagers had thanked him for his help of course, but this was the very first time he’d slain a monster and there had been a true outpouring of gratitude. It was probably the best quest reward he could have asked for. 

His minor miracle was enough to spare him a hangover in the morning and let him get an early start on the day. Simon didn’t have much in the way of clothes in this life. Nice was out of the question. But, he brushed up his armor as best he could and paid a copper or two for a bath and a shave, and by the time, a herald was sent to collect him. 

Darndelle wasn’t as nice as Leipzin, which was the large city he was most familiar with to the north. Even it looked a lot nicer from the back of a gilded and upholstered carriage, and Simon was happy for the attention as a growing parade made its way to the castle. 

There, he was met by a number of functionaries. The priests confirmed he’d been to the temple on more than one occasion, the archivist confirmed that he was the man to find the grave’s location the other day, and a couple quiet men with white beards that he was fairly certain were some kind of court wizard glard at him hard enough that he was fairly sure they could see whatever darkness was in his soul. 

They said nothing, though, and after his identity was confirmed, and he was made to swear on a holy symbol that he wasn’t a warlock, he was escorted into court. There, he found dozens of nobles and, of course, the King and Queen. 

Simon didn’t quite know what the protocol for this sort of thing, but as they read of his name as “Sir Simon of the Northern Lands,” he stepped forward and knelt deeply. Most problems like this could be solved with a quick display of humility in his experience. 

“Rise,” the King commanded before following up with, “He does speak our language, doesn’t he?”

“I do, Your Majesty,” Simon smiled as he stepped forward. 

The King gestured, and a different herald stepped forward to read another proclamation. Today was declared a holiday, and all subjects were to thank the gods for their deliverance. 

Simon stood there stiffly, noting the fine print that no reward would be given until the mist had been gone for a year and a day, but that didn’t bother him. He’d be gone long before that. 

Afterward, a banquet was held in his honor. He was given a seat at the high table next to the King’s own heir, and he was asked to regal everyone with the story of his victory. Simon had only had a single glass of watered wine by that point, so he stuck to a version that was mostly the truth. 

He told everyone that after finding the true name of the Blackhearted one, which he dared not repeat, he went to the graveyard and summoned the creature before destroying it utterly in the light of the setting sun. When he was asked for proof, he offered to draw a sketch of the heart but said that as soon as the wraith was defeated, it crumbled to dust. 

One of the young men asked if he’d used magic to defeat the thing, but Simon merely laughed. He undid his sword belt and passed the man the scabbard as he said, “If I had magic, I assure you I’d be able to afford a nicer sword.”

Everyone laughed at that, but Simon continued. “The only magic I possessed was research. There’s a great power in words, especially in learning the names of evil!”

Everyone agreed with that, though only one of the gray beard from earlier seemed to understand his joke about the power of words. The man chuckled dryly, which moved him right to the top of Simons list of people that he wanted to get to know better. Unfortunately, by the time the feasting was done, the Kings advisor Archiman as he was apparently called had retreated to his own rooms and made it clear that he didn’t wish to be disturbed. 

So, instead of seeing if someone could finally explain the nature of magic to him, Simon spent more time with the King’s family, and at the end of the evening, he announced that he was going to renounce the reward in its entirety. 

“But Sir Simon,” one man gasped, “A chest of gold is a fortune!”

“Aye,” Simon agreed. “A heavy fortune, and I travel light. Use it for a good cause instead. A hospital, or an orphanage. Do something to better the lives of those that dwelt in the shadow of that curse for far too long.”

There was more drinking and more cheering after that, and when a couple of the ladies of the court snuck into the room, he’d been given for the night. Fortunately, he was far too drunk to think that was a bad idea and far too smart to make himself sober. Thankfully, that night was a blur, and he woke up in the morning to an empty bed. 

He probably should have been surprised he wasn't assassinated during the night, but really, he was too busy basking in the half-remembered afterglow to bother. It really was the best of both worlds. All of the pleasure and only a little of the guilt to go with it. He wasn't sure he'd ever gotten either of their names, but he hoped they'd had as good a time as he had. 

Simon lingered for another few days, enjoying the town’s enthusiasm and basking in the adulation of the common people while he got his gear in order. Once he had everything he thought he’d need, including a paper mache masquerade mask that he’d gotten because it looked somewhat like the devil on the upper floors, he made his way into the temple and forced the door open. 

Beyond the door he could hear the sounds of music rather than screaming, which told him, that he wasn’t too late. Simon quickly donned his mask and then moved inside. He didn’t remember exactly how to get where he was going but as soon as he found the servant that stopped him last time, he said, “Can you direct me to the wine cellar? I’m running a little late for a private party there.”

“But guests are in the…” the man said, but he stopped talked as soon as Simon slipped him a couple silver pieces. Then he just nodded and said, “right this way sir.”

Simon reached the cellar just after Kaylee had opened the door to the side passage that let the men in, and all of them turned toward him. He didn’t draw his sword yet. Instead, he looked down at everyone and said, “Why would you ever think that a bloodbath would help your cause?”

“Who are you,” a couple of the men shouted, but Simon ignored them, walking slowly toward the knot of men, trying to figure out who the mage was. He was ready with the words of fire protection on his lips, but he wanted to wait until the last possible moment. 

When no one cast or attacked, he finally said, “I’m here for your confession. Tell me what’s happening here, and maybe this can be ended without bloodshed.”

Most of the men here didn’t have weapons. That made sense because they were all dressed as servants, and they’d stolen weapons previously upstairs. As he spoke the produced knifes, broke bottles, and picked up planks. It was clear to him this wasn’t going to end peacefully.