[Sophitia has granted you the spell: Calcifus Curse.

  Calcifus Curse:

  Select one target within 10 meters. The curse inflicts a slow-acting petrification that registers as both a disease and a curse, applying to any resistances or cleansing effects.

  The transformation begins at the point of impact—typically the chest—and gradually spreads outward through the limbs before finally encasing the head. This process completes over roughly three days.

  During that time, the target accumulates an escalating [Petrification] debuff, progressively reducing their Agility and Durability. In addition, they become increasingly vulnerable to Shatter Stone–type spells and abilities.

  Sophitia has granted you the ability: Blood From a Stone.

  Blood From a Stone:

  Any bleed or disease effect you inflict automatically carries Calcifus Curse as an additional rider, causing the petrification to take hold alongside the original affliction.

  Sophitia has granted you the ability: Legion of the Lost.

  Legion of the Lost:

  Any creature or entity that becomes fully petrified by Calcifus Curse rises as a loyal servant within your personal legion. Each servant occupies a certain number of Legion Points.

  You possess five Legion Points per level, which determine how many petrified servants you can maintain at once. You may also spend Dice to permanently expand your Legion Point capacity.]

  “You done with the system prompts?” Allixztra asked, her voice taut in a way I hadn’t heard before. “Because the Marketplace is about to close, and the living really, really don’t want to be here when it does. The mask isn’t required for you anymore, but…”

  All three of her mouths twisted downward in unease.

  “I still wouldn’t recommend being here during the Hour of the Hunted.”

  A cold ripple slid down my spine. “Can… you get me out of here, then?”

  “Yup,” she said, all three smiles snapping back into place—but the worry remained in the dozens of eyes blinking across her shoulders. “Follow me.”

  She led me out of the broker’s office and into the hall just as the final chime echoed through the building—low, resonant, like a gong struck underwater. Immediately the lights dimmed to a dusky, corpse-blue hue. Ghostly clerks halted mid-paperwork. Tellers froze, their forms flickering like weak candle flames. Even the elevator let out a groan that sounded far too biological.

  “The Marketplace closes differently than the rest of the Underworld,” Allixztra murmured, ushering me into the elevator and stabbing a button I hadn’t seen on the way up—a glowing rune carved into bone. “They start locking down the living first.”

  “What does that—”

  The elevator lurched downward violently, as if something had yanked it from above. I grabbed the rail just as spectral shadows streaked past the glass walls—faceless silhouettes that whispered in voices that scraped like knives on a chalkboard.

  “They can’t touch you while you’re with me,” Allixztra assured, though all her pupils were constricted to pinpricks. “But they can smell you.”

  The elevator hit the ground with a thud that rattled my teeth. The doors opened into the grand lobby—except it was no longer bustling with spirits and merchants. It was empty. Silent. Every window was blacked out from the outside. The receptionist’s chair sat overturned, still spinning.

  Quickly, quietly, Allixztra guided me across the marble floor. Each tap of my boots echoed far too loud. Something scraped overhead—slow, rhythmic. Like claws across stone.

  “The Marketplace accommodates the living only by treaty,” she whispered. “But once the Hour begins, the treaty… lapses.”

  “That’s a terrible system.”

  “Welcome to the dead.”

  We reached the doors. She pressed a hand over the porcelain mask still hanging around my neck. It cracked down the center, dissolving into smoke.

  “There. No more mask needed.”

  The doors shuddered open—but beyond them was not the graveyard. Not yet. A long, dark corridor stretched outward, the air thick with the scent of old dust and forgotten voices.

  “This is the exit path for the living,” she said. “Hurry.”

  I didn’t hesitate. We walked fast—almost jogged—through the corridor. The further we went, the brighter the air became, until finally the shadow parted, and the mausoleum’s interior flickered back into view.

  The transition jarred me. One step I was in the Underworld—another, back in the mortal realm.

  Alric and Mal were right where I left them, sitting on gravestones like bored teenagers.

  The door behind me slammed shut with a hiss.

  Allixztra’s voice echoed faintly through the stone:

  “Remember, Morgan Barlow. Call if you need me.”

  Silence followed. Then Alric raised a brow. “So… that was fast.”

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  “Fast?” I croaked. “I think I almost died.”

  “Either way,” Mal said, glancing around, “I take it you’re officially haunted now?”

  “Yeah? You really can’t see her?”

  Both Mal and Alric shook their heads.

  I turned instinctively. Sophitia stood behind me—graceful, still, silent. A statuesque warrior of stone and sorrow, rapier at her hip, lantern held low, crimson tears etched into her cheeks.

  How can they not see something so obvious?

  My liege-lord, Sophitia’s voice resonated through my thoughts—reverent and echoing as though carried through marble halls. I am visible only to those with Ghostsight, Soulsight, a Haunt of their own, or potent spiritual attunement. To others, I exist beyond their perception.

  I exhaled slowly. Right. That explains things.

  “From here,” Alric said, rolling his shoulder as if shaking off a weight, “you’re mostly on your own. You already had your Sphere, so nothing changes there. Adventurers will still come through—pay the TR and the FF—and run whatever delves your Sphere generates. That part stays the same.”

  “The Tax Rate and the Flat Fee,” Mal added. “People will keep paying for access whether you’re haunted or not.”

  Alric nodded. “But your training? That part does change now. Normally we’d have you practice with the local Shikigami instructor, since they can help you refine how you channel mana through the cane, shape your battlefield presence, and keep your Haunt stable.”

  He stopped mid-sentence, jaw tightening as if he regretted what came next.

  “Unfortunately,” he said with a sigh, “the only Shikigami in this entire village who can train you is…”

  “He’s an insufferable egotist,” Mal cut in sharply. “Thinks the world revolves around him just because he’s walked the Road longer than anyone else here.”

  Alric winced. “Admittedly true.”

  I blinked. “And… what Road is that exactly?”

  Alric brightened faintly—at least this was simple to explain. “Other worlds have classes. Warrior, Mage, Rogue. Labels like that. We don’t. We have roles. Roles are living traditions. Philosophies you walk.”

  Mal nodded. “Someone who fills a role is said to ‘walk the Road.’ So a Shikigami isn’t a class—it’s a Road. A way of shaping the world with your spirit, your mana, and your Haunt.”

  “Your Road defines how you approach combat, magic, tactics—everything,” Alric said. “You’ve stepped onto the Shikigami Road now. And since you’ve got a Haunt you’re going to grow into that role quickly.”

  Behind me, Sophitia bowed her stone-carved head with solemn dignity.

  If it pleases my liege-lord, her voice murmured through my mind like a vow carved in granite, I shall walk this Road with you. Until your journey ends, or mine does.

  ***

  The Adventurers’ Guild felt different now that I’d returned—busier, louder, more real. Wooden beams and banners framed the hall, and the air smelled like inked parchment, boiled stew, and the faint tang of fresh leather. Adventurers flowed through the space: traders haggling over contracts, a pair of scouts arguing about routes, and a group of green-horns listening to a veteran rant about etiquette.

  Mal led me to the low-rank mission counter near the back. The clerk—a mousefolk who’d told the felinid earlier that no hunts were available—gave me a quick once-over and passed a scroll across. Mal slapped it on the table with a sigh.

  “Okay. Here’s your first quest,” she said, sounding part amused and part resigned. “Honestly—yes, it’s the most beginner hunting quest ever. But a hunt is a hunt.”

  “Wait,” I said. “I thought the mouse reception told the cat that there were no hunting quests?”

  “For a solo Shield? He was right,” Alric said, tapping the scroll. “But you’re not a Solo Shield. You’ve got a Haunt, and that changes the requirements. Read.”

  I unrolled the parchment.

  Mission: Slime Extermination

  Adventurer Rank: F

  Requirements: Party must contain at least one Spellcaster, Saint, or Shikigami

  Mission Details:

  Slimes are overrunning the eastern sewer channels beneath the village. Their numbers have swelled enough to impede the gong farmers and clog the sanitation lines.

  Objective: Eliminate slimes.

  Payment: 1 Copper Crown per confirmed slime.

  I rolled the parchment back up and leveled a look at them. “Before either of you lecture me on how the money system works, I’ll figure that out on my own. So: I just kill as many slimes as I can and bring proof?”

  “Yes,” Alric said. “But two important caveats. One: make sure your new abilities actually function in the field. We have no practical test yet for how your Haunt plays with your mana. Two: watch your mana. A fresh pact can blow through reserves faster than you expect.”

  “And keep in mind,” Alric added more quietly, “slimes are deceptively nasty. They can adapt to elemental attacks and some varieties are corrosive. Don’t get cocky.”

  Behind me—visible only to me—Sophitia remained statue-still, lantern dim, blood-tears frozen in place. Her presence felt like a cool stone pressed at my spine.

  My liege-lord, her voice murmured in my mind, I shall stand by you in the sewers. Should your mana fail, I will guard the line where stone meets flesh.

  I quirked a smile I didn’t entirely feel. “Alright. East gate sewer entrance. Who am I reporting to?”

  “The sanitation foreman,” Mal said, already sliding a small, crumpled map across the table. “He’ll point you to the worst tunnels. Start shallow—don’t go chasing deep nests on your first run.”

  Alric grunted. “And Morgan—keep your cane close. Use the Sphere points if you need to spawn a helpful obstacle, but don’t blow all your dice on one trick. Learn to pace yourself.”

  I rolled up the scroll, tucking it under my arm. The Guild was louder than ever as I left—voices rising and falling like waves. Outside, the village sun hung low; the air smelled of clay, smoke, and fried root vegetables. The sewers waited below the cobblestones, damp and dark and full of things that didn’t care that I’d only just learned to be haunted.

  “What would the idiots online say about this…?” I muttered, staring up at the ceiling as if the heavens would deliver a better line. They didn’t. Of course they didn’t.

  I exhaled sharply through my nose, bracing myself for the inevitable humiliation, then looked back down at the sewer foreman waiting expectantly.

  “I hate myself for this already,” I warned him—mostly warned the universe—before committing to the bit with all the enthusiasm of a man stepping into traffic.

  “It’s slime time… baby.”

  The words left my mouth like a dying sigh, limp and defeated. I winced. The foreman blinked. Somewhere, somehow, I could feel the collective groan of every sarcastic internet gremlin who had ever lived.

  But hey. A quest was a quest.