I raised my head, peeking up to see a small shaft of moonlight pouring in from the newly opened ceiling.
It took me several seconds to realise the discrepancy in a shaft of moonlight appearing underground. Not because I wasn't highly perceptive and quick-witted. On the contrary, I was a girl of reason. And moonlight underground most certainly didn't belong in my world of ice cold logic.
I blew my dark fringe away from my eyes, then shook off the dust and small pieces of rubble that had settled on my head. Beside me, Coppelia did the same, then nodded as she peered up at the small hole leading up to the sky.
“8/10,” she said.
“Excuse me?”
“8/10. My rating for the explosion.”
“That was an 8/10?”
“I've seen better. Look at us. We're fine.”
“Is … Is that a merit or demerit?”
Coppelia shrugged, still lying on the floor. She looked down and peered at the water basin ahead of us. Or rather, the dry crater that had taken its place.
“I think you should ask that to Miss Ultimate Power. Speaking of whom ...”
I joined Coppelia in taking in the view.
Well, now. Wasn't this a mess?
It was a wreckage beyond imagination.
A dedicated team of five maids armed with very large dustpans would be required to sift through the rubble for any usable arcana crystals. And then also tidy up afterwards, too.
Neither my sword nor the shaft of moonlight was capable of highlighting the extent of the destruction. But it wasn't needed. It was like the day a poodle had run through my armoire. Unsalvageable.
And then there was the matter of Marina Lainsfont.
“She's no longer here,” I said, climbing to my feet. “... In any capacity.”
It didn't take a surveying team to see a lack of anyone in the crater.
And that included a body.
Despite the size and scale of the explosion, Marina Lainsfont had made herself scarce. The alternative, that she'd been blown into oblivion, was unlikely. Not only because she was clearly a prodigious mage, but also due to the presence of her effects in the centre of the crater.
“Clothes,” said Coppelia, stretching herself out before kicking up the scythe at her feet. She caught it nimbly in one hand. “All of it. And in one tidy pile, as well. Including her underwear.”
She raised her hand to her brow and narrowed her eyes.
“Hmm. Black. I figured as much.”
I took a few steps forwards, skidding on a loose pebble, and then peered clearly into the crater.
Why, it was true.
That really was her underwear.
I had … yes, I had absolutely no clue what to make of that.
“How is it that Miss Lainsfont has come to vanish, while her highly personal articles of clothing remains behind?”
“Hmm … if I had to guess, by use of a very crude method of teleportation.”
I turned around to see Coppelia give a twirl of her scythe, just before she held it out horizontally in front of her. As she'd done when calling forth her weapon, she clapped her hands. This time, however, the scythe dematerialised as her palms came together, leaving only a puff of misty shadow as evidence of the ridiculous weapon she'd just utilised.
Ugh.
Questions.
I had to ask questions, didn't I?
This was the problem with commoners and nobility alike. Why couldn't these people simply provide me an answer? It was no secret I was going to query the giant shadowy moonlit death scythe conjured in and out of existence. Did I need to write out my question with quill and ink first?
I let out a quiet sigh.
One thing at a time. As always.
“Doesn't all forms of magic teleportation include the transfer of one's articles of clothing with them as a matter of personal dignity?”
“As I said, crude. It might be a lesser version of an established spell, chosen for brevity over function. If she was in the middle of a blow-up-everything attack, then that would've made it all the harder to cancel it. The feedback from stopping a big purple swirly ball spell that size would normally have knocked someone off their feet. If she managed to escape, then that would be her most impressive feat of spellcasting yet.”
I frowned. Impressive or not, Marina Lainsfont was now a wanted felon. She had attempted to murder me, and in the process dirtied my attire.
Ah, and she attempted to starve the poor. I almost forgot.
“How do we find out where she is now?” I asked as I brushed more dust off my skirt and leggings.
Coppelia shrugged.
“That'd take a lot of factors. And we're missing the biggest one: a mage of our own.”
“Are you not capable of wielding magic? I just witnessed you summoning and desummoning a scythe. A scythe!”
“Handy, huh? I don't need to carry it on my back. Sitting down is really hard if I do that. I have to pay for an extra chair at restaurants.”
I raised an eyebrow, waiting for her answer.
“… But no, no magic. Not really. I can cast spells from tomes and scrolls. Sort of. On a good day. When there are no crowds. In an empty field. But I'm not a mage. My scythe is unique to me. I don't summon it with magic. I call it from the Clockwork Repository.”
“What is the Clockwork Repository?”
Coppelia blinked at me.
“I said nothing.”
I gave her even more of the raised eyebrow. She deserved nothing less.
“Very well … we've no magical method to track the mage, then.”
Frustrated, I looked back at the scattered clothing. That the culprit fled without the possibility of pursuit was deeply vexing. Almost as much as the tiny pebbles rattling around in my boots, but which I could only deal with when I had no witnesses to see me hopping around on one foot.
Then, I noticed something else among the hazardous collection of discarded clothing.
Sticking out from beneath a sock was the strap of a bag.
My interest perked up at once.
Well now … perhaps this wasn't a lost cause, after all?
“Her apron and dress weren't the only things she left behind,” I said, slowly dropping down the newly created embankment to this still smouldering crater.
“Mmh, about that, are we just not going to talk about the racy corset?”
“We're not going to talk about the racy corset.”
“Because it's very bold.”
“I can see that, yes.”
“Why do you think she needed to wear something so daring under her work dress? Is it to make her feel more confident? Something to give her the mental edge when haggling with customers?”
“Please, Coppelia. She only tried to murder us. Allow her some dignity.”
“My bad.”
Coppelia followed after me, offering a hand as I almost slipped and fell. I accepted it, then allowed her to lead me as she treaded a path while I shone Starlight Grace upon the numerous smaller holes that dented the crater.
Once at the pile of shrunken and twice drenched clothes, I leaned down and picked up the strap of the bag.
“Ugh … the odour.”
It was Marina's alchemy satchel, filled with the contents of her store.
Potions of all shapes and colours peeked out at me, almost none of which I could recognise, save for the healing vials. There was more than potions, too. In addition to finished concoctions, a myriad of … dead things were here. Reagents, almost certainly. But whether they came from something that was once animal, plant or monster was a mystery to me.
More to my interest was the envelope.
“That's the one you handed over, isn't it?” said Coppelia, already motioning for me to open it. “Go on. Finders, keepers.”
Habit instructed me to pretend to hesitate before pulling out the letter.
To read another's correspondence was an unseemly thing to do, which is why I always feigned guilt before doing so.
Why, if my mother and father wished for me to stop reading their letters, then they needed to stop sending out invitations to meet with me. To date, more than two hundred replies had been inexplicably lost in transit. Couriers, apparently, had difficulty locating the Royal Villa.
Marina,
I won't waste ink on apologies. If you wish to hear them, then I will do so in person.
Each night, I hear new stories from travellers, soldiers and adventurers.
They spin tales of devastation to the south. Of felled crops sapped of life, as though drained of the will to live.
I don't know what has happened, yet I fear the worst is to come. Something dark stirs in this kingdom.
I do not wish for you to become part of it.
Please come home. Before it's too late. Cedric will take you. He and Apple both know the way.
Your father.
I read the letter, then carefully placed it back into its envelope.
Did the barkeeper know, I wonder? The wording was … ambiguous. Perhaps to him, his daughter truly was a simple alchemist making do in a farming town.
I frowned. He'd need to reconcile with the fact that his daughter was a runaway criminal of the highest calibre. A problem. That pub was the only thing keeping the drunks of that village under observation in one location. If it closed for even a night, we may have riff-raff wandering as far as the Royal Villa's main gate.
I shuddered at the thought.
“How boring, not even a love letter,” said Coppelia, before leaning over the alchemist's satchel. “Is there a book in there, by any chance?”
I offered her the satchel. She took it, then began tossing out potions and vials one by one. A disgusting ooze soon formed behind her, melting what remained of the earth until it was no longer inhabitable by even the dust.
“The spell she learned from that … book of yours. Are you familiar with its workings?”
“Here and there. I skim a lot of books. The library's big.”
“You mentioned that the original spell needed maintaining. If that's so, is it possible that the Withering will fade if Marina is no longer capable of doing so?”
Coppelia gave a hum, pausing to eye a black liquid, before tossing it over her shoulder. A plume of smoke in the shape of a skull rose from the bottle as it smashed.
“No spell lasts forever. And the rule of thumb is that the stronger it is in one aspect, the weaker it is in another. Magic is about compromise, not perfection. If I were to bet, I'd say that the Withering will fade exactly as fast as it spreads.”
She looked up from the satchel and beamed.
“I'm not betting, though. So it'll be up to the poor farmers and townsfolk of this dreary town to decide how best to survive until then.”
I nodded.
In that case, the next set of actions was clear.
It was to ensure that every guard and adventurer in the lowlands was aware of Marina Lainsfont's plot … along with a generous bounty to boot. So long as she was suitably disrupted, then she would no longer be able to maintain her hold on the kingdom's grain production.
A name from the letter tugged at me as I thought back to the Adventurer's Guild.
Cedric. That was … well, I had a 50% chance of being correct. Perhaps 40%. Whatever his name was, I would need the twirly moustache guildmaster to deliver the news of Marina's nefarious plot to a host of parties. His own guild members. The local garrison captain. The baron and his staff. And then the adventurers, captains and nobility of all the surrounding towns as well.
And then also the barkeeper.
I glanced at Coppelia, noting her glum expression as she emptied the satchel from the bottom. I caught a glimpse of the smouldering pile of liquid death behind her and stepped away from the upside-down satchel.
“No unreturned book, I take it?”
“Nope. But this is good. I know who has it now. I'll be prepared next time.”
“Will you leave in pursuit?”
“Hmm ...” Coppelia pursed her lips in thought, looking to the corner. “I could. But I have a feeling I don't need to. Miss Pyromaniac will appear again. And I'm guessing it'll be to you.”
For a moment, I felt nothing but grief, realising I now lived a life where people could very well do that. My appointments were considerably less dramatic when those without invitations were stopped by armed guards.
“Oh? And what makes you say that?”
“People don't plot famines for fun. There's a design. Whoever wrote this letter is right. Something dark stirs in this kingdom. And if you intend to shine that very bright sword of yours onto it, then those doing the stirring will take note.”
Coppelia leaned in and smiled.
However, in contrast to the usual stars which glittered in her turquoise eyes, all I saw during that smile was the impression of an empty, night sky, devoid of even the thinnest moonlight.
“As assistant librarian, my job is to find missing books and levy fines to those who fail to uphold their borrow agreement. The fine is very far-reaching, and cannot be commuted. Should Miss Racy Corset fail to pay the full fee, then I will be forced to extend the terms of her punishment to those who can.”
I leaned back slightly, feeling a shiver run up my spine as I took in the coldness in her words. Needless to say, I was utterly shocked by the change in demeanour.
It was wonderful!
Oh, how truly marvellous! The broad shift in tone! The subtle hint towards indiscriminate methods to achieve her goals! The wanton disregard to those who fail to match her unilateral demands!
Here was not just a future attendant … but a future handmaiden!
Only those who could threaten with a smile were eligible for the role. Yes, she would need to learn how to dress me and de-bedify my hair. But those were skills that could be learned.
Laying low foes with but a word … now that was a talent.
Sadly, this version of Coppelia wasn't to last.
She upped the radiance of her smile, her eyes returning to their sparkly ocean hue as she lightly tossed the empty satchel back to me.
“That's why I'm going to stick with you a bit longer,” she finished, twirling around before pointing towards the chamber exit. “... Shall we?”
I blinked at this unexpected declaration.
And then—I smiled.
“Ohhohoho … but of course! You need not state the obvious. As my future handmaiden, your place is as set in stone as my cuteness is set in my embarrassing childhood portraits. I would not entertain you leaving my side for even a moment.”
“No, I'm definitely leaving your side for lots of moments. I have things to do. Sleeping. Bathing. Sleeping while bathing.”
“Come, Coppelia! We must deliver news of this evening's events to the Adventurer's Guild. We will find no shortage of willing mules there to carry word of Marina Lainsfont's vile actions.”
“Okie~”
Buoyed by the unexpected upgrading of a mere prospective attendant, I set off towards my next destination.
“Oh, wait. I almost forgot.”
And then came to an immediate stop.
Turning to Coppelia, I eyed the empty space over her shoulder, picturing the absurd weapon masked in moonlight and shadows that had briefly resided there.
“Why a scythe?”
Coppelia hummed, putting her finger against her cheek in thought.
At last, she clapped her hands together and beamed.
“Because scythes are cool!”
“I see.”
I turned to the chamber's exit, deciding not to ask any further questions.
I raised my head, peeking up to see a small shaft of moonlight pouring in from the newly opened ceiling.
It took me several seconds to realise the discrepancy in a shaft of moonlight appearing underground. Not because I wasn't highly perceptive and quick-witted. On the contrary, I was a girl of reason. And moonlight underground most certainly didn't belong in my world of ice cold logic.
I blew my dark fringe away from my eyes, then shook off the dust and small pieces of rubble that had settled on my head. Beside me, Coppelia did the same, then nodded as she peered up at the small hole leading up to the sky.
“8/10,” she said.
“Excuse me?”
“8/10. My rating for the explosion.”
“That was an 8/10?”
“I've seen better. Look at us. We're fine.”
“Is … Is that a merit or demerit?”
Coppelia shrugged, still lying on the floor. She looked down and peered at the water basin ahead of us. Or rather, the dry crater that had taken its place.
“I think you should ask that to Miss Ultimate Power. Speaking of whom ...”
I joined Coppelia in taking in the view.
Well, now. Wasn't this a mess?
It was a wreckage beyond imagination.
A dedicated team of five maids armed with very large dustpans would be required to sift through the rubble for any usable arcana crystals. And then also tidy up afterwards, too.
Neither my sword nor the shaft of moonlight was capable of highlighting the extent of the destruction. But it wasn't needed. It was like the day a poodle had run through my armoire. Unsalvageable.
And then there was the matter of Marina Lainsfont.
“She's no longer here,” I said, climbing to my feet. “... In any capacity.”
It didn't take a surveying team to see a lack of anyone in the crater.
And that included a body.
Despite the size and scale of the explosion, Marina Lainsfont had made herself scarce. The alternative, that she'd been blown into oblivion, was unlikely. Not only because she was clearly a prodigious mage, but also due to the presence of her effects in the centre of the crater.
“Clothes,” said Coppelia, stretching herself out before kicking up the scythe at her feet. She caught it nimbly in one hand. “All of it. And in one tidy pile, as well. Including her underwear.”
She raised her hand to her brow and narrowed her eyes.
“Hmm. Black. I figured as much.”
I took a few steps forwards, skidding on a loose pebble, and then peered clearly into the crater.
Why, it was true.
That really was her underwear.
I had … yes, I had absolutely no clue what to make of that.
“How is it that Miss Lainsfont has come to vanish, while her highly personal articles of clothing remains behind?”
“Hmm … if I had to guess, by use of a very crude method of teleportation.”
I turned around to see Coppelia give a twirl of her scythe, just before she held it out horizontally in front of her. As she'd done when calling forth her weapon, she clapped her hands. This time, however, the scythe dematerialised as her palms came together, leaving only a puff of misty shadow as evidence of the ridiculous weapon she'd just utilised.
Ugh.
Questions.
I had to ask questions, didn't I?
This was the problem with commoners and nobility alike. Why couldn't these people simply provide me an answer? It was no secret I was going to query the giant shadowy moonlit death scythe conjured in and out of existence. Did I need to write out my question with quill and ink first?
I let out a quiet sigh.
One thing at a time. As always.
“Doesn't all forms of magic teleportation include the transfer of one's articles of clothing with them as a matter of personal dignity?”
“As I said, crude. It might be a lesser version of an established spell, chosen for brevity over function. If she was in the middle of a blow-up-everything attack, then that would've made it all the harder to cancel it. The feedback from stopping a big purple swirly ball spell that size would normally have knocked someone off their feet. If she managed to escape, then that would be her most impressive feat of spellcasting yet.”
I frowned. Impressive or not, Marina Lainsfont was now a wanted felon. She had attempted to murder me, and in the process dirtied my attire.
Ah, and she attempted to starve the poor. I almost forgot.
“How do we find out where she is now?” I asked as I brushed more dust off my skirt and leggings.
Coppelia shrugged.
“That'd take a lot of factors. And we're missing the biggest one: a mage of our own.”
“Are you not capable of wielding magic? I just witnessed you summoning and desummoning a scythe. A scythe!”
“Handy, huh? I don't need to carry it on my back. Sitting down is really hard if I do that. I have to pay for an extra chair at restaurants.”
I raised an eyebrow, waiting for her answer.
“… But no, no magic. Not really. I can cast spells from tomes and scrolls. Sort of. On a good day. When there are no crowds. In an empty field. But I'm not a mage. My scythe is unique to me. I don't summon it with magic. I call it from the Clockwork Repository.”
“What is the Clockwork Repository?”
Coppelia blinked at me.
“I said nothing.”
I gave her even more of the raised eyebrow. She deserved nothing less.
“Very well … we've no magical method to track the mage, then.”
Frustrated, I looked back at the scattered clothing. That the culprit fled without the possibility of pursuit was deeply vexing. Almost as much as the tiny pebbles rattling around in my boots, but which I could only deal with when I had no witnesses to see me hopping around on one foot.
Then, I noticed something else among the hazardous collection of discarded clothing.
Sticking out from beneath a sock was the strap of a bag.
My interest perked up at once.
Well now … perhaps this wasn't a lost cause, after all?
“Her apron and dress weren't the only things she left behind,” I said, slowly dropping down the newly created embankment to this still smouldering crater.
“Mmh, about that, are we just not going to talk about the racy corset?”
“We're not going to talk about the racy corset.”
“Because it's very bold.”
“I can see that, yes.”
“Why do you think she needed to wear something so daring under her work dress? Is it to make her feel more confident? Something to give her the mental edge when haggling with customers?”
“Please, Coppelia. She only tried to murder us. Allow her some dignity.”
“My bad.”
Coppelia followed after me, offering a hand as I almost slipped and fell. I accepted it, then allowed her to lead me as she treaded a path while I shone Starlight Grace upon the numerous smaller holes that dented the crater.
Once at the pile of shrunken and twice drenched clothes, I leaned down and picked up the strap of the bag.
“Ugh … the odour.”
It was Marina's alchemy satchel, filled with the contents of her store.
Potions of all shapes and colours peeked out at me, almost none of which I could recognise, save for the healing vials. There was more than potions, too. In addition to finished concoctions, a myriad of … dead things were here. Reagents, almost certainly. But whether they came from something that was once animal, plant or monster was a mystery to me.
More to my interest was the envelope.
“That's the one you handed over, isn't it?” said Coppelia, already motioning for me to open it. “Go on. Finders, keepers.”
Habit instructed me to pretend to hesitate before pulling out the letter.
To read another's correspondence was an unseemly thing to do, which is why I always feigned guilt before doing so.
Why, if my mother and father wished for me to stop reading their letters, then they needed to stop sending out invitations to meet with me. To date, more than two hundred replies had been inexplicably lost in transit. Couriers, apparently, had difficulty locating the Royal Villa.
Marina,
I won't waste ink on apologies. If you wish to hear them, then I will do so in person.
Each night, I hear new stories from travellers, soldiers and adventurers.
They spin tales of devastation to the south. Of felled crops sapped of life, as though drained of the will to live.
I don't know what has happened, yet I fear the worst is to come. Something dark stirs in this kingdom.
I do not wish for you to become part of it.
Please come home. Before it's too late. Cedric will take you. He and Apple both know the way.
Your father.
I read the letter, then carefully placed it back into its envelope.
Did the barkeeper know, I wonder? The wording was … ambiguous. Perhaps to him, his daughter truly was a simple alchemist making do in a farming town.
I frowned. He'd need to reconcile with the fact that his daughter was a runaway criminal of the highest calibre. A problem. That pub was the only thing keeping the drunks of that village under observation in one location. If it closed for even a night, we may have riff-raff wandering as far as the Royal Villa's main gate.
I shuddered at the thought.
“How boring, not even a love letter,” said Coppelia, before leaning over the alchemist's satchel. “Is there a book in there, by any chance?”
I offered her the satchel. She took it, then began tossing out potions and vials one by one. A disgusting ooze soon formed behind her, melting what remained of the earth until it was no longer inhabitable by even the dust.
“The spell she learned from that … book of yours. Are you familiar with its workings?”
“Here and there. I skim a lot of books. The library's big.”
“You mentioned that the original spell needed maintaining. If that's so, is it possible that the Withering will fade if Marina is no longer capable of doing so?”
Coppelia gave a hum, pausing to eye a black liquid, before tossing it over her shoulder. A plume of smoke in the shape of a skull rose from the bottle as it smashed.
“No spell lasts forever. And the rule of thumb is that the stronger it is in one aspect, the weaker it is in another. Magic is about compromise, not perfection. If I were to bet, I'd say that the Withering will fade exactly as fast as it spreads.”
She looked up from the satchel and beamed.
“I'm not betting, though. So it'll be up to the poor farmers and townsfolk of this dreary town to decide how best to survive until then.”
I nodded.
In that case, the next set of actions was clear.
It was to ensure that every guard and adventurer in the lowlands was aware of Marina Lainsfont's plot … along with a generous bounty to boot. So long as she was suitably disrupted, then she would no longer be able to maintain her hold on the kingdom's grain production.
A name from the letter tugged at me as I thought back to the Adventurer's Guild.
Cedric. That was … well, I had a 50% chance of being correct. Perhaps 40%. Whatever his name was, I would need the twirly moustache guildmaster to deliver the news of Marina's nefarious plot to a host of parties. His own guild members. The local garrison captain. The baron and his staff. And then the adventurers, captains and nobility of all the surrounding towns as well.
And then also the barkeeper.
I glanced at Coppelia, noting her glum expression as she emptied the satchel from the bottom. I caught a glimpse of the smouldering pile of liquid death behind her and stepped away from the upside-down satchel.
“No unreturned book, I take it?”
“Nope. But this is good. I know who has it now. I'll be prepared next time.”
“Will you leave in pursuit?”
“Hmm ...” Coppelia pursed her lips in thought, looking to the corner. “I could. But I have a feeling I don't need to. Miss Pyromaniac will appear again. And I'm guessing it'll be to you.”
For a moment, I felt nothing but grief, realising I now lived a life where people could very well do that. My appointments were considerably less dramatic when those without invitations were stopped by armed guards.
“Oh? And what makes you say that?”
“People don't plot famines for fun. There's a design. Whoever wrote this letter is right. Something dark stirs in this kingdom. And if you intend to shine that very bright sword of yours onto it, then those doing the stirring will take note.”
Coppelia leaned in and smiled.
However, in contrast to the usual stars which glittered in her turquoise eyes, all I saw during that smile was the impression of an empty, night sky, devoid of even the thinnest moonlight.
“As assistant librarian, my job is to find missing books and levy fines to those who fail to uphold their borrow agreement. The fine is very far-reaching, and cannot be commuted. Should Miss Racy Corset fail to pay the full fee, then I will be forced to extend the terms of her punishment to those who can.”
I leaned back slightly, feeling a shiver run up my spine as I took in the coldness in her words. Needless to say, I was utterly shocked by the change in demeanour.
It was wonderful!
Oh, how truly marvellous! The broad shift in tone! The subtle hint towards indiscriminate methods to achieve her goals! The wanton disregard to those who fail to match her unilateral demands!
Here was not just a future attendant … but a future handmaiden!
Only those who could threaten with a smile were eligible for the role. Yes, she would need to learn how to dress me and de-bedify my hair. But those were skills that could be learned.
Laying low foes with but a word … now that was a talent.
Sadly, this version of Coppelia wasn't to last.
She upped the radiance of her smile, her eyes returning to their sparkly ocean hue as she lightly tossed the empty satchel back to me.
“That's why I'm going to stick with you a bit longer,” she finished, twirling around before pointing towards the chamber exit. “... Shall we?”
I blinked at this unexpected declaration.
And then—I smiled.
“Ohhohoho … but of course! You need not state the obvious. As my future handmaiden, your place is as set in stone as my cuteness is set in my embarrassing childhood portraits. I would not entertain you leaving my side for even a moment.”
“No, I'm definitely leaving your side for lots of moments. I have things to do. Sleeping. Bathing. Sleeping while bathing.”
“Come, Coppelia! We must deliver news of this evening's events to the Adventurer's Guild. We will find no shortage of willing mules there to carry word of Marina Lainsfont's vile actions.”
“Okie~”
Buoyed by the unexpected upgrading of a mere prospective attendant, I set off towards my next destination.
“Oh, wait. I almost forgot.”
And then came to an immediate stop.
Turning to Coppelia, I eyed the empty space over her shoulder, picturing the absurd weapon masked in moonlight and shadows that had briefly resided there.
“Why a scythe?”
Coppelia hummed, putting her finger against her cheek in thought.
At last, she clapped her hands together and beamed.
“Because scythes are cool!”
“I see.”
I turned to the chamber's exit, deciding not to ask any further questions.
