The "museum" loomed before us, its weathered stone facade bearing the unmistakable architectural hallmarks of military construction. It featured thick walls as well as narrow windows positioned for defense rather than view. This had indeed been a garrison barracks once.

I deployed two scout spiders ahead as we approached the entrance, their sensory data revealing a cavernous interior with minimal heat signatures. Just one person waited inside.

"What exactly are we about to see?" Casper muttered, hand instinctively resting on his sword hilt.

Bonrad pushed open the heavy wooden doors. "Something the kingdoms don't want anyone to know exists."

We entered a vast open chamber that must have once housed dozens of soldiers. Where rows of beds would have stood, there was now only emptiness. It was a hollow space devoid of furnishings save for a massive table at its center. A heavy tarp draped over something substantial on the table, creating an ominous silhouette in the dim light filtering through dust-coated windows.

Despite being called a museum, the room contained no display cases, no artifacts, no informational placards; none of the trappings one would expect. Just that single tarp-covered table and the lone figure standing beside it.

An elderly man leaned heavily on a wooden cane, his stooped frame wrapped in faded scholarly robes. Deep lines etched his face like a weathered map, but his eyes burned with surprising intensity as they fixed on Bonrad. His expression soured instantly.

"Again?" The old man's voice cracked with irritation. He gestured toward our group with a trembling hand. "The third bunch of newcomers this month, Bonrad? Really?"

Bonrad crossed his arms defensively. "They have a right to know, Seimon."

The old man, Seimon, hobbled closer, his cane tapping a sharp rhythm against the stone floor. "Let me guess. You've been filling their heads with that nonsense about the 'dead god'?"

"What else would you call it?" Bonrad challenged.

Seimon's face reddened. "There is absolutely no evidence supporting your ridiculous theory! Such wild speculation isn't just disruptive to scientific inquiry, it's dangerous." He turned toward us, eyes narrowing. "If word reached the kingdoms that we're harboring what some claim is a divine corpse, religious fanatics would swarm Lathan to burn us all as heretics."

"What exactly are you arguing about?" Casper interjected, his patience visibly wearing thin.

The old man straightened as much as his bent spine allowed, assuming a posture of scholarly dignity. "Forgive my rudeness. I am Seimon Glarke, chief scholar and custodian of this find." He gestured toward the covered table. "And you are?"

After brief introductions, Seimon continued, "When settlers first reclaimed Calsor, we discovered these remains dating back to the Lathan Incident. They belong to a creature unlike any documented in scholarly records."

My interest piqued immediately. I moved closer to the table, my hidden tendrils rustling softly beneath the black fabrics of my widow's dress.

"Various theories have emerged," Seimon explained. "Some believe it's an undiscovered monster species; others suggest it might be a specialized undead creation, perhaps even the source of the alleged plague."

"And then there's Bonrad's camp," Seimon added with undisguised disdain, "who insist these are the remains of a god. Specifically Ignum, the God of Death."

"It makes perfect sense," Bonrad countered. "The Death God changed forms after the Plague ended. How else do you explain Ignum, the male God of Death and Decay, suddenly becoming Naori, a female goddess? Someone killed him here, took his power."

My mind cycled rapidly as I processed this information. The parallels were undeniable. Just as I had slain Kaldos and gained his Godseed, someone must have defeated Ignum and claimed the Primordial Mantle of Dissolution.

I glanced at Casper, noting how his eyes widened slightly. He'd reached the same conclusion.

May I see it? I projected, my mental voice carrying an urgency I couldn't suppress.

Seimon hesitated, studying me with newfound interest. "You're not like the others, are you?" He tapped his cane against the floor twice, then nodded. "Very well. But form your own conclusions based on evidence, not wild conjecture."

He reached for the edge of the tarp, preparing to unveil what lay beneath.

With a dramatic flourish, Seimon yanked away the tarp, unleashing a cloud of dust that danced in the shafts of light penetrating the grimy windows. I instinctively stepped closer, my hidden mechanical parts whirring softly beneath my widow's garments.

The corpse sprawled across the table was massive. Over eight feet in length, the body possessed a skeletal thinness that belied its imposing size. Pale white flesh, unnaturally preserved, stretched over an inhuman frame. Six arms extended from the torso, each hand bearing the bizarre anatomical quirk of dual thumbs.

But it was the face that captured my attention. A skull-like visage stared upward with empty eye sockets, lipless mouth frozen in an eternal grin of exposed teeth. No nose, no ears; just bone-white skin pulled taut over an alien skull. The ribcage lay partially exposed, each rib far wider and more curved than any human anatomy I'd ever analyzed.

Wounds marked the corpse extensively. Deep gashes from bladed weapons. Burn patterns consistent with high-level fire magic. Puncture wounds from arrows or spears. Most striking was the top of the skull; it was cleanly cleaved away, revealing an empty brain case like a macabre bowl.

"Three hundred years," Seimon said, gesturing with his cane. "Yet no decomposition. No decay. The flesh remains as it was the day it was discovered."

"When we found it," he continued, "the body wore ornate robes. Intelligent design, complex embroidery; clear evidence of sentience and social organization."

I circled the table slowly, my analytical processes working overtime. My Assembly ability instinctively assessed the corpse's structure, noting biological impossibilities and engineering marvels in equal measure.

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"My research suggests this was a construct," Seimon explained, "created by whatever mad mage initiated the Lathan Incident. This being was designed to spread the undeath contagion. Once heroes destroyed it, the plague's progression halted."

Bonrad snorted derisively. "That's pure speculation. What you're looking at is Ignum, former God of Death and Decay."

"Not this again," Seimon muttered.

"The timeline fits perfectly," Bonrad insisted. "Ignum disappeared, Naori emerged. The plague ended when this being died. These aren't coincidences."

"And why," Seimon countered, tapping his cane emphatically, "would the God of Death suddenly decide to create an army of undead? What possible motivation-"

"Perhaps he went mad," Bonrad interrupted. "Gods aren't infallible."

Seimon's face reddened. "Gods do not simply 'go mad,' you uneducated fool! Such claims border on blasphemy!"

As they bickered, I remained transfixed by those empty eye sockets. Something about this corpse resonated with me on a fundamental level. The wounds, the inhuman structure, the supernatural preservation; all echoed with a familiar vibration I couldn't quite place.

A chill crawled through my mechanical frame. If Bonrad was right, I was staring at the remains of a fallen god. One who had been killed, his divine power transferred to another. Just as I had done to Kaldos. Just as would happen to me if I failed.

Was this my future? Would my broken body someday lie on a table like this, a curiosity for scholars to debate? When the Godseed of Enmity finally hatched at level 100, would I transform into something equally monstrous before meeting a similar end?

The empty eye sockets seemed to stare back at me, as if the dead god knew my thoughts and found them darkly amusing.

We emerged from the museum into Calsor's late afternoon light, my mechanical parts humming softly beneath my widow's garments. The encounter with the dead god (or construct, depending on whose theory you believed) had left me unsettled in ways I couldn't fully articulate.

"Well, I'd best return to my post," Bonrad announced, adjusting his leather vest. "Scouts reported undead movement near the eastern perimeter."

He extended his hand to Arctur first, gripping the lizardman's scaled palm firmly. "Safe travels through the Hellzone. Watch for the Cave Clawers; nasty this time of year."

Casper received a similar farewell, the two men exchanging the brief, efficient handshake of warriors who respect each other's capabilities.

When Bonrad turned to me, however, his demeanor shifted. He bent low, taking my pale hand in his calloused fingers, and pressed his lips against my knuckles.

I jerked backward, mechanical tendons tensing beneath my disguise. The gesture triggered no reference point in Vardin's borrowed memories.

Bonrad straightened, eyes crinkling with amusement. "Forgive me if I startled you, my lady. Should you grace Calsor with your presence again, I'd be honored to show you our humble city properly." He offered a final wink before striding away, shoulders squared with self-satisfaction.

Beside me, Arctur's scaled throat vibrated with suppressed laughter.

Not. One. Word, I transmitted, my mental voice crackling with irritation.

Casper's mustache twitched suspiciously.

That applies to you as well, I added. I idly wondered if I should change my clothes to look less… female. I never had to deal with this sort of attention when I was traveling around as No Eyes.

We navigated Calsor's marketplace, surprisingly vibrant for a supposedly cursed city. Vendors hawked everything from handcrafted tools to salvaged relics from abandoned homes.

Casper methodically filled his pack with practical provisions: hardtack, dried biscuits, and preserved fruits that would sustain him through weeks of travel.

Arctur gravitated toward a stall offering protein-rich options, selecting strips of gamey jerky and pungent dried fish that made Casper wrinkle his nose in disgust. They also sold fried insects, which made the older man look even more ill.

I focused on materials rather than food: bolts of sturdy cloth, spools of thread in various gauges, leather scraps, metal fasteners, and small tools. My Assembly ability could transform these simple components into repairs for our gear, or emergency mechanical parts should my war frame require maintenance.

As I exchanged coins with a leather merchant, I caught sight of my reflection in a polished metal plate. The shadows from my cloak's hood hid most of my face, but for a moment, those empty eye sockets from the museum seemed to stare back at me.

The sun dipped toward the horizon as we concluded our purchases. Night would soon claim Calsor, and despite the settlement's unexpected hospitality, I remained cautious.

"We should seek lodging," Casper suggested, adjusting his pack. "No sense traversing Lathan in darkness."

Arctur nodded. "The Broken Shield has clean rooms. Traders favor it."

We secured accommodations at a sturdy three-story building with a cracked shield hanging above its door. The innkeeper, a burly woman with one milky eye, charged reasonable rates and asked no questions about my concealed appearance.

Our room contained a single bed, a wooden table, and two chairs. Casper claimed the bed without discussion, while Arctur arranged his bedroll on the floorboards.

"Human beds lack proper support," he explained, pressing his palm against the wooden floor. "Too soft. Bad for the spine."

I took position by the window, mechanical limbs folding into a seated configuration. Sleep was unnecessary for me. Instead, I watched Calsor's nightlife unfold; outcasts finding community in a place the outside world had abandoned.

Through the mental connection with my scout spiders, I directed the small mechanicals to explore the rooftops. They scuttled across weathered shingles and crumbling stonework, gathering information while enjoying rare freedom from constant vigilance. I sensed their contentment through our link, a curious sensation that reminded me of Vardin's fragmented memories of childhood play.

Dawn arrived with soft golden light filtering through dusty windowpanes. Casper rose first, performing a series of precise stretches that spoke to decades of disciplined training. Arctur awakened shortly after, his reptilian eyes snapping open without the grogginess humans displayed.

We departed through Calsor's southern gate, following Arctur's lead toward the distant silhouette of the Shorkath Mountains. The lizardman moved with purpose, his tall form cutting an efficient path through overgrown streets.

Just as we reached the settlement's outer ruins, a mental alert from Scout Spider Number 7 registered: Movement detected, northeast quadrant, building complex.

Seconds later, an alert from Scout Spider Number 3: Multiple figures approaching from western sector.

Chonsey then chimed in: Rear position compromised. Encirclement pattern detected.

We're surrounded, I transmitted to my companions. Coordinated approach from multiple directions.

Casper's greatsword cleared its sheath with practiced efficiency. Arctur extended his crimson spear to full length, the weapon humming with unnatural energy.

I discarded the widow's cloak, readying myself for a fight. Nine dragon-headed tendrils unfurled beneath my skirts, their auric steel glinting in the morning light.

From crumbling doorways and behind fallen walls, armed figures emerged; at least thirty combatants had formed a tightening circle around us. Their equipment spoke of professional training: reinforced armor, enchanted weapons, tactical positioning.

My Analyze ability activated, scanning our opponents.

Level 47: Sapien, Swordsman

Level 52: Dwarf, Axeman

Level 38: Elf, Pyromancer

Level 60: Sapien, Battlemage

The readings continued, each more concerning than the last. These weren't random bandits or zealots; this was an elite strike force with levels ranging from 35 to 60.

Then a figure stepped forward from behind the formation, and my systems registered a threat beyond our capacity to counter.

Name: Chosun the Mighty

Level: 100

Class: Black Knight

The legendary warrior stood before us in dark plate armor, his shield bearing Kaldos's emblem of a two crossed swords beneath the head of a bull. His eyes locked onto me with cold recognition.

He had come for the Godseed of Enmity, the divine power sleeping within me since Kaldos's death.

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