Book 2 – Chapter 1: The Vault

Chapter One: The Vault 

There were only three people in the world who could open the Kingdom of Magic’s true vault. 

King Ragmár, Sen Locke, and Mori. 

The vault’s mechanism was designed in such a way that would-be thieves would have to risk their lives simply for the chance to break through its defenses. Most wouldn’t even make it this far. King Ragmár had left many, more easily accessible vaults spread throughout the castle. Vaults filled with treasures that were certainly valuable, but nothing that a god-class magician or a king-class swordsman couldn’t easily replace. It was those vaults that had been plundered over the years, while this one, hid away in obscurity. 

Its entrance was in the one place nobody would ever think to look.

The servants’ quarters.

Despite that, these halls had been picked clean over the centuries. Even the most mundane of objects associated with the Kingdom of Magic from the past held great value to collectors, historians, and thieves. If the heavy presence of mana hadn’t attracted magic beasts in equal measure, the castle walls themselves would have been plundered. 

So, this simple room that had once served as bedchambers for the servants of the castle was now empty, picked clean over the centuries. Sen stood in the room’s center, surrounded by his friends and the man they’d only just recently met. Dirke, a self-declared member of the Cult of the God of Magic. Though he’d insisted they went by a different name, and Sen half wondered if they really were the order that Ragmár mentioned in his last message. His mind still reeled from all he’d heard, and the emotion of receiving a message from his best friend for what would be the last time. But the notification he’d received after seeing the message still pressed at the back of his mind. 

[Secret Quest Complete.]

[Now Preparing Secret Quest Reward. Please proceed to the vault for Class Modification.] 

“Now what?” Milim asked, breaking the silence with the question surely on everyone’s mind. 

[You led them here then grew eerily silent. I think they’re concerned about you.] 

“Sorry. I was…thinking.” Sen turned to face the wall of the room and held out a hand. “Soul Key - Unlock Seal Maxim.” A mauve, ethereal key floated from his palm and toward the wall. A thick door carved from black metal clawed its way from the stone walls of the room. It was carved from demonite, melted down from the armors and weapons he’d taken as trophies during his assault on the Shadowhell Continent over a thousand years ago. The keyhole was set in the perfect center of the door. It looked far too large for the small key that floated forward to find its home, but the two were a perfect match. The key slid inside and then froze. 

The room was so silent Sen was sure not a single one of his companions was breathing. Each of them were just as eager as him to see what Ragmár had left behind.

“So…what now? Are we going inside, or what?” The cultist, Dirke, asked. 

Samara hit him on the shoulder. “Some cultist you are. Don’t even understand the value of dramatic effect.” She turned to look at Sen. “But uh, we are going inside, right?”

Sen smiled. Tutor, take over. I don’t want to fall like a fool when I step out of my body. 

[That’s no fun. What about a little stumble? Just so everyone knows the God of Magic has a human side too?]

Adamantine Mind Maxi—

[No stumbling! Got it!] 

Sen took a deep breath and surrounded his body with armor made of mana. His soul armor was airtight, with no room for escape. In truth, the key made things easier, but a skilled enough mage could try to enter the vault without it. The real security measure in place was what the vault required of any who would open it. Leaving their bodies behind to pass into the unknown, devoid of protections, wards, artifacts, and the like. “Soul Walk - Maxima.” As he stepped out of his own body in the form of a specter, he briefly heard the sound of a dying breath. An eerie side effect of the spell. He was invisible to his friends in this form and turned back to inspect them for just a moment. 

Milim reached out to touch his body’s shoulder with concern. Mori caught her eye and shook his head. She swallowed. Samara and Dirke exchanged an anxious look. Ilm stared at the vault door with fascination. Fawna quietly meditated in the group’s rear; she’d seen this a hundred times before. 

His soul grew warm at the sight of his friends, and he moved toward the door. He wrapped his hand around the key, twisted it, and pushed open the vault. It crept open slowly at first, groaning as the vault’s soul moved in tandem with his push. Its physical manifestation did likewise. 

Spirits and vault guardians assailed his armor, seeking to rip through it and feast on his soul. He didn’t resist. Instead, he sent a pulse of his mana outward toward the spirits. They ceased their attacks, and he heard the faint whispers as they conversed. 

“It’s him.”

“The God of Magic Returns.”

“Ragmárwillbesohappy!”

“Ragmár’sdead.”

“Oh no. I liked him!”

“The masters mana is sooo tasty! Gimme more!” 

“Stop that, it’s rude!” 

Sen smiled as the vault guardians stopped resisting and joined him in opening the vault. Others disabled the security spells hidden within. Without a key, leaving your body to face a horde of king-level vault guardians, alongside several ancient spells and defensive wards, was death waiting to happen. Death, and much worse, considering some of the spells he’d included when designing the vault. As the vault slid open, it revealed a downward staircase leading into the castle’s depths. 

He turned to look at his body. 

Tutor, to me.

Tutor obeyed immediately. Sen’s body walked forward until it reached him, and he returned to it. Without missing a step, he turned to look at his friends. “Come on. It’s time. Let’s see what we have waiting for us.” 

As they descended the stairs, rows of blue mana-light lanterns lit up to guide their way. It was odd, realizing that the last person to enter this vault had been none other than Ragmár himself. They’d entered it together many a time, to store the treasures and loot they collected on their adventures. Over time, Sen had moved most of his most precious artifacts to his temporal world, and he’d unfortunately lost those when he traveled to the future. But Ragmár’s message had implied he’d kept watch over some of the belongings he had left behind, and that he had added some other items to the vault as well. 

Let’s see what you’ve got in store for me, old friend. 

A second door waited for them at the bottom of the steps, this one made of wood. When he reached it, he wasted no time pulling it open and stepping into the room. 

The first thing they saw were shelves full of magic essence spheres. Hundreds upon hundreds of them sat neatly displayed on specially designed holders to keep them from rolling around. The spheres ranged from low to high grade and covered all the most common elements. Milim’s eyes in particular fell on rows of pink orbs that she immediately recognized as dream essence spheres. 

“I’ve never seen so many in one place…” she whispered. 

Dream magic was one area in which Sen still had a lot of work to do. He’d also found the world of the living more interesting than the fleeting, shifting world of the unconscious. But the idea of studying magic with Milim was appealing. “They’re all yours, if you want them,” he offered. Of all his friends, she’d taken to spell crafting the most. These dream essence spheres would be invaluable to her. 

Her eyes lit up, but she hesitated. “I…I can’t take those. They were left for you.”

Sen smiled and looked at his friends. “They were left for us.” He raised a brow when he spotted Dirke put one arm around Mori’s shoulder and the other around Samara’s. 

“Wow, you’re really the best friend I could ever ask for, Sen. I love all of you guys,” Dirke said with a grin. 

Mori sighed, removing Dirke’s hand from his shoulder. “I’ll keep an eye on him to make sure he doesn’t steal anything.”

“Wait, what?” Dirke asked. 

Samara gritted her teeth. “Can I—”

“Go for it,” Sen said before she finished. 

A devious glint filled Samara’s eyes a moment before she twisted Dirke’s arm and flipped him over her head. A few of the nearby magic essence spheres rattled in their holders, filling the air with the sound of glass chinking. 

Sen smiled. He walked further into the room. The vault was a large, hallway-like space that ran directly below the throne room. After all, Sen and Ragmár had been on a lot of adventures, and they needed a place that was easily accessible for both of them. Especially since Ragmár couldn’t retrieve things from Sen’s temporal world without help. The vault was much, much more organized than Sen had ever seen it before. He walked past the many shelves of magic essence spheres, which would prove invaluable for crafting weapons and armor, as well as spells. Motion-sensing spells detected his movement, and mana lights sprang to life above, revealing racks of ore. He skimmed over the more common kinds. But his eyes quickly fixated on melted-down demonite leftover from his raid on the Shadowhell Continent, as well as mana ore. Mana ore was mana that was given form to create magic weapons or small artifacts. There were also several weapon molds of various levels. 

Until he’d come to this time, Sen hadn’t been one for crafting aside from spells. But that had changed. He’d gotten immense value out of Malleore, and he’d even created weapons for some of his friends. Samara, Joseia, and Milim, for example. He actually hoped to create a blacksmith’s forge within his temporal world so he could refine his craft more often, and he’d gotten a blueprint from Sikar for that very purpose. 

“Tutor, will this be enough demonite to replace some materials needed in the blueprint?” 

[That, and then some. With this amount, we could create a demonite forge. It could very well be the first in history to exist outside the Shadowhell.]

Demon weapons and armor were among some of the best. In theory, a forge like that would make for more powerful weapons, even when using non-demonite ore or weapon molds to craft them. 

He nodded, his mind already filled with anticipation. He had so many ideas to bring to life. With the magic essence spheres, spell crafting was a matter of time rather than resources. With the ore, and soon a forge, he could create weapons and armor more frequently. His arsenal was going to increase dramatically. 

The hallway expanded slightly from this point forward, and his friends caught up with him just in time for a walkthrough of glass-cased artifact displays. Though most of these artifacts would be low or mid-grade, unfortunately. Artifacts that Sen had outgrown during his time, which was why he hadn’t brought them into his temporal world. However, that didn’t mean they were useless. After all, his unique class allowed him to upgrade artifacts from time to time. He smiled as his friends spread out to inspect artifacts that represented not only the power of his time but history itself as well. 

Tutor, create a full catalogue of these items for later. I’d like to know which items are ideal for upgrading. I’d also like you to search them for compatibility with the others in our group. He felt Tutor’s innate analysis spell activate immediately. This was the kind of work the interface craved. Though Sen had long replaced the functions of most of these artifacts with spells, they could still help some of his teammates. Ilm in particular was still adjusting to the memories of spells Sen had embedded within her. That took time, and these artifacts might help her bridge the gap in the meantime. Aside from that, there may be one or two items that could make his other friends more effective as well. 

He eyed Fawna touching a display case with a longing expression on her face. He approached her and peeked over her shoulder. “What is—oh?” It was a simple staff, but he knew in an instant why she was studying it. “You lost yours? In the fight that corrupted your spirit?” He briefly remembered fighting her in a shadowy version of the feral form she could call upon whenever she wished. She’d been defeated shortly after Sen had left their original time, on a mission Ragmár gave her. 

She nodded. “Yes. I can never replace it, and I will take it back one day. But this…this one speaks to me,” she said. He understood why she felt a connection to it. A fellow druid, a mage with an affinity for plant and forest-based spells, had carved the staff. Sen had helped the man and his people and received the artifact as a gift in thanks. It would certainly be compatible with a spirit born of natural forest magic, like Fawna was. 

“Would you like it?” he asked.

Fawna shook her head. “No, I think you should give it to that dog of yours.” 

Sen blinked. “Dog?” He realized she was talking about the Black Wolf Pack Leader. He hadn’t told her or even used it in the fight against her corrupted form. But it had devoured the book spirit of the Queen of Garden. Since it had the power to steal the abilities of those it consumed, its class had changed into a Void Druid. Sen still hadn’t found the time to experiment much with it, but he had to admit, he wondered if a druid-based artifact would enhance the creature somehow. “Hm, it’s not a bad idea. But how did you—”

Fawna gave him a knowing look. “Master Sen, I’m the steward over all your spirits. The wolf may only be spirit-adjacent, but I can still sense him sleeping within your mana. And that cute little lizard of yours as well.”

Xochi popped out of Sen’s hood as if he could sense her talking about him. He licked his eyeball to say hello. Fawna smiled and held out her hand. Xochi scampered over and nuzzled into her palm.

Sen thought for a moment before summoning the Black Wolf Pack leader. The creature sniffed the air for a moment. Since Fawna’s mana contained traces of Sen’s, the wolf detected only one foreign scent. It stared at Dirke, who immediately noticed and looked up with a concerned expression. It then looked back at Sen, as if waiting for instructions to attack. “No, I don’t need you to eat him yet, but that may change.”

Dirke’s eyes widened further at that.

Sen motioned to Fawna. “This is Fawna. She’s going to help you test your compatibility with a magic artifact. Stay with her and do what she says.” 

The wolf bowed and looked at Fawna. Sen left her to get acquainted with the Wolf Packer Leader and Xochi and moved on. 

Milim was perusing various minor and mid-grade accessory artifacts. Bracelets, earrings, and necklaces. None of them were particularly compatible with her magic, but he made a note that she was in the market. Perhaps he could craft something with her dream affinity in mind. 

Samara and Ilm were browsing together. They’d made a game of trying to guess what each artifact did based on the type of mana that could sense from it. From what Sen overheard, they weren’t very good at artifact analysis, but he was glad they were having fun. 

Finally, Mori and Dirke were spending time among the more historically relevant artifacts. One’s Sen and Ragmár had used in famous battles. 

Mori sounded like a tour guide. “If you look to your left, this one in particular was instrumental in the fight against—” 

“Serpia…I’d know that artifact anywhere. The Wind Shaper. I can’t believe it’s here, right in front of me,” Dirke said. His eyes were wide.  

Mori blinked, taken aback. “Impressive. How did you know that? You identified it just by sight?”

Dirke looked at him, serious for perhaps the first time since they’d met him. “I told you, we aren’t a cult. We don’t worship the God of Magic, but we certainly respect what he stood for. This…this is history. This room is proof that an era of peace was achievable.” He sighed. “A peace I’m working to reclaim.” The seriousness faded from his voice. “Though I’d accept glory, wealth, and unimaginable power as a consolation prize if all else fails.” It turned out seriousness wasn’t his strong suit. 

Mori scowled. “I’d almost been impressed, but you’re still a jester in cultist clothing.” 

Sen smiled. It seemed Mori was coming around on Dirke already. He felt the trace of a familiar mana signature and hurried forward. Dirke and Mori noticed, as did Samara, Ilm, and Milim. They quickly hurried after Sen. Fawna alone remained behind with Xochi and the wolf. 

The hallway culminated in a door. When Sen opened it, they entered a vast room filled with treasure. Gold, jewels, and chests filled with valuables. The wealth of the Kingdom of Magic. The richest nation in the world at the time, most of it accumulated by its adventuring founders, the heroic King Ragmár and Sen, an unrivaled mage. But the wealth was merely a footnote to him. His eyes fell on the pedestal sitting on the far side of the room. A sword hung proudly on display, and Sen’s breath caught. 

Samara stepped beside him. The sword on her back blazed with shadow flame suddenly, and she turned to look at it. “What’s going on?” She seized control of the flames with her mana, and they quieted. But the sword still glowed in response to the blade before them. 

Mori was the one to answer. “This was Ragmár’s weapon. The King of Swords.”

“All other swords acknowledge its superiority,” Dirke said, nodding along. 

Samara shook her head. “I don’t understand, was that King Ragmár’s title? I thought it was something else.”

“Ragmár was the King of Heroes,” Ilm corrected. Sen smiled. It was odd to think about because Sen hadn’t known Ilm until they’d come to this time. But she had grown up knowing Ragmár. Mori had created her just shy of two decades before Sen’s one hundred year absence ended. 

“That’s right. Ragmár’s title was different. His sword was one of only a few weapons in history to earn a title,” Sen said. There were plenty of named weapons; mages and warriors named their weapons all the time. He’d named Malleore, after all. But for a weapon to earn a title, it and its wielder had to accomplish something truly remarkable together. Ragmár’s feats on the battlefield had made his blade the first in history to receive one. “The King of Swords is acknowledged by all other weapons.” 

He felt mana radiate off Malleore, and to his surprise, the King of Swords radiated mana back. Sen’s mouth fell open. He’d seen plenty of weapons acknowledge Ragmár’s blade in the past, but he had never seen the King of Swords acknowledge one in return. Was it because of their master’s connection? Or…had the King of Swords recognized his Malleore as a truly formidable weapon? He had no way of knowing, but the interaction went unnoticed by everyone else in the room. 

Sen felt a calling to reach out and touch the blade. He did so, and as soon as his fingers grazed it, a pedestal climbed from the ground. A book sat upon it, with the symbol of King Ragmár’s house. 

Dirke’s jaw dropped. “Don’t tell me…is that what I think it is?”

“What? What do you think it is?” Samara asked.

“Could it be?” Mori stroked his chin.

“Someone tell me what it is!” Samara stomped a foot. Milim smiled and patted her on the back to calm her. 

Sen lifted the book and felt the power radiating from it. Its name was clear to him in an instant. 

The Journal of Sword-mastery. “It seems my friend took some inspiration from me. He chronicled his own experiences and techniques within this book.” King Ragmár had created a tome of his very own.

[The reward for completion of your secret quest is ready.] 

He’d been waiting for that. He held up a hand to instruct his friends to wait a moment. Tutor used the opportunity to interject. [Master, this vault has remained hidden for over a thousand years. This may be an opportune moment for the high-grade artifact upgrade reward you received previously. Here, we can complete it in secret.]

Sen nodded. It was time. “Everyone, I need a moment alone. Please wait for me outside. I won’t be long.” His friends obliged his request quickly. Mori bowed, and Milim offered a sympathetic smile before exiting. She was the last to leave, her eyes on him until the last moment, when she slipped outside and pulled the door shut behind her. 

He wasted no time reaching into his temporal world and retrieving the artifact he intended to upgrade. 

His cloak. 

The God of Magic’s cloak was an item that symbolized all that he was, his moniker made whole. When he wielded it, he was operating at the pinnacle of his power. Though it was more than a mere artifact, it was a physical representation of his mana. But he believed the System would accept it as a candidate for upgrade. 

The System overtook Tutor and flooded Sen with notifications. 

[The God of Magic’s Cloak will be upgraded to a God-Grade artifact. Stand by for information.]

[The Black Wolf Pack Leaders powers have evolved. Stand by for information.]

Runes on the ground exploded to life, and Sen took a step back as in the center of the room a new pedestal emerged from the ground. On it sat a spell tome. He tilted his head at that. “What?” This wasn’t related to his class. This was something else Ragmár had left for him. Before he could pick it up, the final notification came.

[Secret Reward is ready. Stand by for modifications to the unique class: God of Magic.] 

Next Time: Chapter Two: Power.