The system notification appeared.
[OBJECT OF POWER DISCOVERED!]
[NOT ENOUGH POWER INTENSITY. ABSORBED AND CONDENSED INTO 5 ARTIFACT SEEDS.]
[DETECTED THE HOST POSSESSING 11 SEEDS]
[AVAILABLE CONVERSION OF 8 SEEDS TO A PERSONAL ARTIFACT] CHOOSE ONE:
[GRIM REAPER ATTIRE]
[SHIELD OF DUAT]
[BATTLE MAGICIAN CANE]
Jack stared at the choices. The notification was hanging in his vision. Just like a persistent fly. Grim Reaper Attire. Shield of Duat. Battle Magician Cane. Three objects. As usual, no other information but the names.
He started contemplating.
Grim Reaper Attire... Instantly, his mind went to aesthetics. He already had the scythe. A matching outfit? Completing the set felt… right. More than that, however, he considered utility.
An attire implied clothing. What could clothing do except for decency sake? Armor, perhaps. Something to protect his draugr flesh while he was out dishing out judgement.
He pictured himself. An undead in flowing black robes. Deadly scythe in hand. The very image of death. Badass? Definitely. Practical? Maybe. He needed more info.
The Shield of Duat… Duat. He clearly recalled the information about this from his past life. He had made a content about this. Duat was the Egyptian underworld.
A shield from the underworld? Intriguing. Was it just a defensive item? Or would it grant him some sort of connection to the netherworld?
He considered the implications. High degree of protection. Strong defensive role. But... Did he even want to fight defensively? Not really. He was more of a "strike first, obliterate later" kind of guy.
Finally, the Battle Magician Cane... A weapon? Indeed, he had been delving into mystic arts. Canes. Staffs. Wands. Those things would help a lot for mystic arts.
The word 'Battle Magician'... somehow made him imagine a mage in melee fight. Cane implied magical focus. A conduit for his spectral powers and newfound magical abilities.
But he mostly used his mystic arts in his specter form. Could he make the cane spectral and invisible? He had his spectral grimoire for his specter form and Grim Reaper Scythe for his draugr form. Did he need another weapon artifact? Probably not.
No. Grim Reaper Attire felt right. He liked the thematic symmetry with the scythe. Plus, a boost to survivability? Without changing combat method. He was all for it.
He immediately chose the [Grim Reaper Attire] option.
The world shimmered. His current ragtag set of clothes glowed. The tattered remnants of the slaver clothing he had pillaged pulsed with strange energy.
The transformation began. The threadbare fabric thickened. Coalescing into something more substantial. The colors deepened. Settling into an absolute, light-devouring black.
The changes were subtle. Yet profound. The hood was once flimsy and prone to slipping. Now it was draped perfectly, obscuring his face in shadow.
The torn hide clothing was still torn. But it became tougher, with a reinforced underlayer, leathery and resilient. And the tattered robe... It morphed into a thick, still tattered, yet flowing garment that seemed to ripple with its own internal darkness.
Without the nightmare effect from his [Mysterious Dream], it started emitting black mist. The faint, black mist truly began to emanate from the attire
Another system notification information popped up.
[Grim Reaper Attire. An epic attire with defense equal to a leather armor of epic tier quality. It automatically repairs any damage after combat is over. Wearer's physical form regenerates at an accelerated rate. However, it does not regenerate blood, restore vitality, or recover life force. When paired with Grim Reaper Scythe, it would significantly increase resistance toward physical and magical damage.]
Okay. It was not exactly super durable plate mail. But it was still good. Its automatic reparation ability meant less headache trying to find spare clothing.
Its rapid regeneration sounded promising. It wouldn't bring him back from oblivion. But it would definitely keep him in the fight longer.
And the blood, vitality, and life force thing? They didn't matter. As a draugr, he was a living corpse after all. He ran on supernatural energy. Not traditional biological fuel.
He observed his Grim Reaper Scythe. Trying to see any change.
[Grim Reaper Scythe. An epic weapon that deals immense damage and inflicts a chilling curse with each strike. This curse weakens the target's life force, making them vulnerable to further attacks. The weapon is extremely effective against defensive objects made of metal, but it is not as effective against magic defense. When paired with Grim Reaper Attire, it grants the user increased effectiveness against magical defense.]
Nice. Increased damage against magical defense would be great. Just in case he had to face magic user.
Jack flexed his spectral fingers. He tried to feel the weight and texture of the new attire. It felt… right.
He grinned. Great. He was ready to get out of this cursed town. He glanced back at the broken locomotive. Its metal carcass was a silent testament to the darkness he had banished. He had done good here. Now, it was time to move on.
Calmcoast was calling. Sand. Sea. And hopefully, some deserving souls to judge.
...
Three days later...
Calmcoast Town lived up to its name. The air was thick with the fresh scent of the sea. The sounds of gull's cry and crashing waves filled the air.
He drifted through the streets. Invisible and unnoticed. A specter in paradise. It was almost sickeningly peaceful.
He remembered the taste of the ocean when he was alive. He remembered the feeling of the sun on his skin. Now, he felt nothing but a distant echo of those sensations. Still, it was a change of scenery.
His spectral senses led him to a small herbal stall. It was tucked away on a quiet side street. He phased through the wall. But what he saw made his eyes widening in surprise.
Amaranth White. It was that girl. The young herbalist from Asquall Village. The one accused to be a witch. She was behind the counter. Carefully arranging jars of dried herbs.
He hadn't seen her since he left Asquall. What was she doing here? He stayed silent, observing.
He watched as a man with thinning grey hair and tired eyes entered the shop. He recognized him. Father Lucca. The priest from the Church of Prosperity. Another transcendent from Asquall Village. He didn't look like a priest anymore now. He didn't wear a priest robe.
It seemed that he had abandoned his role after the Kinderman fiasco. Why would they both be here? Did the Church Inquisitors give them problems?
But there should be some surviving inquisitors from that incident. They should know that both of them were not guilty.
"Ama," Lucca said, his voice worn. "Everything ready?"
"Almost, Uncle," Amaranth replied, smiling.
Uncle? Ah! So that was their relationship. That was why he was so uncharacteristically mad when that inquisitor accused her as a witch. She was his niece. They did seem similar in a way.
"Just finishing up the last of the tinctures," Amaranth continued. "Dr. Crafton wants enough to last the whole expedition."
Lucca frowned. "Are you sure about this, Ama? About this expedition? And that dream of yours? That place is quite dangerous, you know?"
"It's important, Uncle. You know my dream is reliable." She replied. "Tideless Island is calling to both of us."
Tideless Island? Dr. Crafton? Jack pricked up his spectral ears. He focused his senses, listening intently.
"We can just go there ourselves." Lucca commented. "That old professor didn't seem reliable."
"Dr. Crafton is a very renowned professor, you know?" Amaranth explained patiently. "He and his few archeology students had long planned the expedition. Joining in it was more convenient for us. Tideless Island has a lot of ruins. And they have knowledge about them that can help us a lot."
Lucca sighed. "I just don't want you getting hurt. Especially after... everything."
"I'll be fine, Uncle. Besides..." Amaranth grinned. "I can handle myself. And so can you. We got much stronger after that incident."
Jack watched as Amaranth winked. A faint shimmer of misty energy flickering around her fingers.
He focused his senses. Analyzing the energy signature carefully. He had sensed similar energy from Lucca.
He was much more knowledgeable in Mystic Arts now. He was no longer an ignorant ghost like when he was in Asquall Village.
He could tell... it wasn't learned Mystic Arts. Or Force of Faith. Or power from Eldritch Contract. It was something... inherent. It was pure Supernatural Power.
Primal Sorcerers. That was what they were. They possessed innate magical abilities. Talents drawn from the core of their existence itself.
Understanding dawned in Jack's eyes. The churches could look away from Mystic Scholars, Faith Acolytes, or Sacred Druids. Their powers were systematic and understandable, to some extent.
But Primal Sorcerers, Eldritch Warlocks, and Eldritch Witches were different. They were too unpredictable. Too uncontrollable. They would never let known transcendent characters like them escape their surveillance.
So, that was why they left Asquall Village. The orthodox churches would have detained them after the whole Inquisitor mess otherwise. No matter whether they were guilty or not.
They probably wanted to avoid any further attention.
He hung back. Listening. Observing. He let them finish their conversation. He needed to know more.
Later that day, he followed Amaranth and Lucca as they strolled along the beach. They talked about the upcoming expedition. About the island. About their hopes and fears.
"Tideless Island is supposed to be the home of ancient power of nature," Amaranth said. "From what Dr. Crafton said... there were legends saying it was once a sacred place, a nexus of power."
Lucca grunted. "It was then. Now, it is just an isolated area. Full of trees, snakes, and insects. People here don't seem to think highly of that island."
"The people here only care about this town being a beautiful paradise. Free from those machines." Amaranth scoffed. "They don't care about anything else."
Lucca didn't argue as it was not wrong.
"And your dream?" Lucca asked after some seconds of silence. "Did you still experience it? Did it change?"
Amaranth shivered. "No. It's still the same, Uncle. I still saw that particular ruin again last night. A ruin made of stone and sand. I still felt... something stirring beneath the surface. Something old. Something powerful. And it felt like… we were meant to be there."
Jack's interest was piqued. An ancient island? A powerful force? And two primal sorcerers who felt compelled to go there? This was far more interesting than punishing petty thieves and cheating gamblers in Calmcoast Town.
He made his decision. He would join the expedition. He would be the silent observer. The spectral spectator. He would see what secrets Tideless Island held. And if those secrets needed... judgement.