Chapter 47: Underworld

Chapter 47: Chapter 47: Underworld

"There is no such thing as a free lunch." — Milton Friedman

The stone steps of the Undervault felt unusually steep on the climb back up.

Riven climbed slowly, one hand resting against the damp wall. Every breath carried a faint, chilling undertone, as though the air itself had been filtered through dry bone and cold ash.

The mask on his face felt heavier with every step.

He had entered the Undervault looking for better equipment. He was leaving with something he couldn’t take off.

To understand how things had gone so terribly wrong, he had to think back to the beginning of his visit.

Riven hadn’t intended to visit the Undervault.

The black market beneath the settlement was a place he’d heard about from other adventurers, but he’d never had much reason to go there. Most of what was sold below ground was either illegal, stolen, or dangerous.

However, his recent breakthrough had left him with a practical problem.

His core had reached Level 2, and his abilities had improved considerably. He had also earned a substantial amount of money from the orc bounty.

His spatial storage bag, however, was still the same one he’d taken from Gorn.

Its capacity was limited.

After his recent goblin contract, he’d been forced to leave several weapons behind simply because he couldn’t carry them. He didn’t intend to repeat that mistake.

He needed something larger.

A few days earlier, he’d heard a rumor about a merchant beneath the settlement who specialized in magical equipment. The merchant supposedly dealt in rare artifacts and didn’t ask too many questions about where his goods came from selling them for a cheap price.

Riven had followed the directions he’d been given.

Behind a disused tannery, he found a heavy wooden trapdoor partially hidden beneath old crates. He lifted it and descended into the darkness.

The air changed almost immediately.

The smell of the upper settlement disappeared, replaced by cheap pipe smoke, unwashed bodies, dried blood, and the sharp metallic scent of alchemical reagents.

Torches flickered in iron sconces along the rough stone walls, casting long shadows across the narrow passage.

Riven kept one hand close to his short sword.

The Undervault was crowded, but it was nothing like the Adventurers’ Guild. There were no cheerful conversations or merchants advertising their goods. Most people here kept their heads down and watched everyone around them.

To his left, a gambling den filled the corridor with noise. Dice clattered against wooden tables while desperate men shouted at one another over their losses.

Riven glanced inside.

Several gamblers were betting away their remaining silver, their faces twisted with frustration and greed.

He quickly looked away.

He had no interest in gambling. He’d seen enough desperate people in the slave camp to understand how easily someone could lose everything.

Farther down the passage, several figures stood beneath heavy cowls. They remained motionless near the stone pillars, watching the people who passed.

Riven didn’t need anyone to explain what they were.

Assassins and mercenaries for hire.

People who killed for money.

He felt a familiar unease settle in his stomach. The frontier was already dangerous enough without having to worry about someone deciding that his life was worth a few coins.

He continued walking.

Then he reached the eastern wall.

Iron cages and wooden pens lined the corridor. Inside them stood men, women, and demi humans, many of them wearing little more than dirty rags.

Some stared at the floor.

Others watched the passing crowd with hollow expressions.

Riven slowed.

For a moment, he was back in the slave camp. He remembered the cramped quarters, the mines, the guards, and the old man who had helped him escape.

His chest tightened.

He wanted to do something.

But he didn’t have the money, influence, or strength to free anyone in those cages. Even if he tried, he would likely end up imprisoned himself.

He forced himself to keep walking.

He couldn’t afford to get involved.

The merchant stalls were tucked into the back corner of the Undervault.

Unlike the gambling den and slave pens, this section was relatively quiet. Several merchants sat behind wooden counters, displaying their goods beneath dim lanterns.

Riven found the merchant he’d been directed to.

The man was old, with a deeply lined face and a missing tooth. He wore a thick coat that looked several sizes too large and had a collection of strange rings on his fingers.

His stall was cluttered with magical equipment.

There were battered storage bags, enchanted weapons, cracked crystals, and several objects Riven couldn’t identify.

"Looking for something, boy?" the merchant asked.

"A larger spatial storage item."

The merchant chuckled.

"Got money?"

Riven placed several silver coins on the counter.

The man’s expression changed slightly.

"Well, then. Let’s see what I can do for you."

He reached beneath the counter and produced a reinforced spatial belt.

It was made of dark leather, with several small metal clasps and a faint magical inscription running along its inner lining.

Riven examined it carefully.

"Capacity?"

"About three times what your little pouch can hold."

"Any other benefits?"

"None worth mentioning. It stores things. That’s what it’s made for."

Riven tested the belt’s spatial capacity with a small wooden block the merchant provided. The item disappeared into the belt’s storage space without difficulty.

He tried it again with a larger object.

It worked just as well.

After a little bargaining, Riven purchased the belt.

It wasn’t cheap, but the additional capacity would be useful during future contracts.

He transferred his belongings into it and secured it around his waist.

The merchant bought his old bag from him.

With his main purchase completed, Riven considered leaving.

Then he noticed something unusual on one of the merchant’s shelves.

Several dark parchment scrolls lay in a wooden case. Each contained a single use combat spell. They were designed to release a powerful magical attack once activated, after which the scroll would burn away.

Riven examined one of them.

The spell was far beyond what his Level 2 core could normally cast.

It would have been useful in a dangerous situation, but the price was considerable.

He put it back.

Shortcuts were tempting, but he preferred to develop his own abilities. A scroll could save his life once. His own magic could save him countless times, provided he learned to use it properly.

He continued browsing.

That’s when he saw the mask.

It was buried beneath a pile of broken trinkets.

At first, Riven thought it was a piece of blackened armor. But when he picked it up, he realized it was a half mask.

The material was unlike anything he’d seen before.

It was dark, almost completely black, and seemed to absorb the light around it. Even beneath the flickering torches, its surface remained difficult to distinguish.

The mask covered the upper half of the face, leaving the mouth and lower jaw exposed.

Its edges were smooth, and a pair of narrow eye openings had been carved into the front.

Riven turned it over in his hands.

He could feel a faint magical resonance coming from it.

It was familiar.

Shadow mana.

His interest immediately grew.

"What’s this?"

The merchant glanced over.

"Ah. That old thing."

Riven looked at him.

"What does it do?"

The merchant shrugged.

"Depends on who’s wearing it."

"That’s not an answer."

The old man grinned chuckling, revealing the gap in his teeth.

"Fine. It’s a shadow artifact. Helps conceal the wearer’s identity, improves vision in darkness, creates an intimidating aura, and enhances spatial awareness. Supposedly, it also strengthens shadow magic."

Riven examined it more closely.

Those were considerable benefits.

If the mask worked as described, it could make him far more effective during nighttime missions and in dark environments.

He could also conceal his identity whenever he needed to.

But something bothered him.

"Why is it so cheap?"

The merchant laughed.

"Always asking questions, aren’t you?"

"If it does everything you say, it should be worth considerably more."

"Maybe. But I didn’t make it."

He leaned back in his chair.

"Picked it up from a gambling debt the previous owner couldn’t pay back, so I took it of his body."

Riven looked down at the mask again.

It was strange that something so valuable had ended up in a pile of broken trinkets. Still, the merchant’s explanation seemed plausible enough.

He had seen plenty of adventurers gamble away their earnings.

Perhaps the previous owner had simply been desperate.

"Does it have any curses?"

The merchant’s grin widened.

"Not that I’m aware of."

Riven studied him for a moment.

The man didn’t appear particularly concerned.

Eventually, Riven decided to take the risk.

He paid the merchant and turned the mask over in his hands one last time.

Then he placed it against his face.

For a heartbeat, nothing happened.

The mask rested against his skin, cool and smooth.

Riven reached behind his head and pulled the straps tight.

A small clasp clicked into place.

Then the world went cold.

A sharp flash of pain shot across his face.

The mask pulsed with dark energy, and a burning sensation spread from its edges. It felt like liquid ice running beneath his skin, moving across his cheekbones and into his jaw.

"Ghh!"

Riven staggered backward.

His hands flew to the mask.

He tried to pull it off.

It wouldn’t move.

He grabbed the straps and yanked harder.

Pain shot through his head.

The leather had changed.

It was no longer resting against his skin. It had fused with it.

Riven’s breathing quickened.

He clawed at the edges of the mask, desperately trying to find somewhere to grip.

Nothing.

The material seemed to be sinking into his face.

Thin strands of dark mana spread beneath his skin, weaving into his flesh and bone. He could feel them moving, attaching themselves to something deep inside him.

His core.

Panic surged through his chest.

"Get off!"

He pulled again.

The mask remained firmly attached.

The burning grew worse.

Riven stumbled into the merchant’s counter, knocking several objects onto the floor.

The merchant watched him.

He wasn’t surprised.

That realization frightened Riven more than the pain.

"You said it wasn’t cursed!"

The merchant shrugged.

"I said I wasn’t aware of any curses."

Riven glared at him through the narrow eye openings.

"Take it off!"

The merchant shook his head.

"Can’t."

Riven froze.

"What?"

"Does it look like I can break curses"

For a moment, Riven couldn’t process what he’d heard.

He tried pulling at the mask again, but the pain was unbearable. His fingers slipped against its smooth surface.

The straps had become part of him.

The mask had become part of him.

He was trapped.

The realization struck harder than the pain.

He had survived slavery. He had escaped the camp, fought monsters, and spent months building his strength.

And now, because of a single purchase, he had willingly placed something on his face that he could never remove.

His breathing became ragged.

He wanted to scream.

Instead, he stood there, trembling, with his hands pressed against the sides of the mask.

The burning slowly subsided.

The cold remained.

Then the mask’s properties began to activate.

The darkness changed.

At first, Riven thought the torches had gone out.

But when he looked around, he could see everything.

The merchant’s stall was perfectly clear. He could make out the smallest scratches on the wooden counter, the dust caught between the floorboards, and the faint movements of insects crawling along the stone walls.

Even the darkest corners of the Undervault were visible.

His vision had changed.

He could see in the dark as clearly as he could in daylight.

Then he noticed something else.

He could sense the people around him.

Not their thoughts or emotions, but their positions. Their movements. The faint disturbances they created in the air and mana around them.

The mask was giving him a new awareness of his surroundings.

He turned toward the merchant.

The man’s magical presence was almost impossible to distinguish.

Riven looked down at his own hands.

His mana signature felt strangely muted, as though the mask had wrapped it in a layer of darkness.

He could still feel his core, but the energy radiating from it was no longer as obvious.

Then he tested his shadow magic.

A small amount of mana gathered around his fingers.

The response was immediate.

His shadow mana felt stronger, denser, and easier to control. It flowed through his channels with an almost unnatural smoothness.

The mask was enhancing his abilities.

But Riven couldn’t bring himself to appreciate it.

He touched its edge again.

It didn’t move.

The merchant’s grin had disappeared.

"Well," the old man said, "looks like it chose you."

Riven stared at him.

"What does that mean?"

The merchant shrugged.

"Means it’s yours now."

Riven’s fingers curled into fists.

He wanted to hit him.

But he knew that wouldn’t accomplish anything. The merchant had already made it clear that the mask couldn’t be removed.

Riven took a slow breath.

He had to leave.

He needed to get somewhere private before anyone else saw him.

The climb back up through the Undervault felt much longer than the descent.

Riven kept his hood pulled low, although it did little to conceal the mask’s outline.

The people he passed stared at him.

Some stepped aside immediately. Others muttered curses or reached for their weapons.

He kept his eyes forward and climbed the stone steps until he reached the trapdoor.

When he pushed it open, the evening air greeted him.

The upper settlement was quiet compared to the Undervault, but the moment he stepped into the street, he realized he had another problem.

People were staring.

A five year old boy wearing a black half mask that seemed to swallow the light was hardly inconspicuous.

A merchant carrying a basket of vegetables stopped in the middle of the road.

Two adventurers turned toward him, their hands moving instinctively toward their weapons.

A woman hurried her child away from the street.

Riven pulled his hood lower.

He didn’t want to explain anything.

If word spread that he possessed a powerful shadow artifact, someone might try to take it from him. Worse, the Guild might decide the mask was dangerous and demand that he surrender it.

He wasn’t willing to risk that.

He slipped into a narrow alley and made his way back to the inn.

The walk felt endless.

Every time someone glanced in his direction, he felt the same knot of anxiety tighten in his chest.

He kept his head down until he finally reached the inn’s back entrance.

Then he climbed the stairs and entered his room.

He bolted the door.

Only after checking the window and making sure no one had followed him did he allow himself to relax.

Riven stood in the middle of his room.

The mask remained firmly attached to his face.

He reached up and touched it again.

Nothing.

He couldn’t remove it.

He would have to live with it.

For now, there was only one thing he could do.

Understand what it was capable of.

He dropped his new spatial belt onto the floor and took a few steps backward.

Then he closed his eyes.

"Status."

The familiar window appeared.

[STATUS]

Name: Riven

Age: 5

Core: Level 2

Affinity: Shadow

[SKILLS & TECHNIQUES]

Shadow Veil: 97%

Intermediate Swordplay: 6%

Umbral Needle: 52%

Riven studied the display.

Nothing had changed.

He wasn’t surprised. The mask was an artifact, not a skill.

Still, he could feel the difference in his body.

He reached inward and drew a small amount of mana from his core.

The response was immediate.

Shadow mana flowed through his channels, gathering around his body.

He activated Shadow Veil.

Darkness spread outward, covering his clothes and obscuring his outline. The effect was far stronger than before, forming a dense cloak that seemed to swallow the light around him.

Riven looked down at his hands.

They were barely visible.

He moved across the room.

His boots made almost no sound, and the mask’s enhanced awareness allowed him to navigate the cramped space without difficulty.

He stopped near the wooden training post he’d salvaged.

Then he raised his hand.

Umbral Needle.

A jagged black spike formed above his palm.

The spell came together almost instantly.

Riven focused on the target and released it.

The projectile shot across the room.

Thwack.

It punched through the wooden post, burying itself deep into the timber before dissolving into dark smoke.

Riven stared at the damage.

The spell was considerably stronger than before.

He had expected the mask to improve his shadow magic, but the difference was still surprising.

He could form spells faster, maintain them more easily, and draw on his mana with less effort.

The mask had made him significantly more dangerous.

But it had also made him conspicuous.

Riven sat on the edge of his bed.

For a long time, he didn’t move.

He thought about the people he’d seen in the Undervault. The slaves in their cages. The assassins waiting for clients. The gamblers throwing away their lives.

He had escaped one prison only to find himself trapped by something else.

The thought made his chest tighten.

But he wasn’t going to give up.

He had survived worse than this.

He could adapt.

He pulled his hood lower and looked toward the window. The last traces of sunlight were disappearing, leaving the room in darkness.

For the first time, the darkness didn’t trouble him.

He could see every corner of the room with perfect clarity.

He could sense the faintest movement beyond the walls.

And beneath the mask, his shadow mana hummed with renewed strength.

Riven rested his hands on his knees.

The frontier had taken another piece of his freedom.

But it hadn’t taken his determination.

He would survive.

Even if he had to do it behind a mask.