"Did I make a mistake?"

Pell was second-guessing himself. How did the Gravecaller's Band sell that quickly?

It was only a silver-tier item—one he'd listed for ten gold coins, no less. Maybe if it were a high-tier silver, then maybe. But this? Ten gold wasn't exactly cheap.

He reorganized the screen and immediately pulled up his seller history. There it was: Gravecaller's Band.

A strange name appeared beside the purchase.

"Who the bloody hells is… Lord of the Abyss? What ridiculous name is that?" he muttered, absolutely befuddled.

"You sold it to a lord?" Enya asked, leaning annoyingly close to the screen.

Pell nudged the interface slightly away. "No, I don't think it's some lord. It's some stupid fake moniker," he replied.

"What's a Monica?" she asked.

He shook his head instead of answering.

Instead, he dug deeper—navigating directly to the buyer's market status page. From there, he could see all the items they were selling.

"Well… certainly seems like a necromancer. Either that or some other evil dark class," Pell muttered.

Around a dozen listings filled the screen, each one dark, creepy, and ominously named. Darkroot's Cream. Shield of the Nightshade.

The tiers varied wildly. Some were silver. Others gold. And one was even listed at diamond: The Snarl's Eye.

"Damn… I might've undersold," he finally admitted. "But why would someone buy this item for that much? Were they that desperate for a summoner item?"

"Maybe because it's really rare?" Enya offered, tossing the idea out casually.

He shrugged. "Maybe. Your class is a unique one. I wouldn't be surprised if all the item recipes you have have either been lost to time or aren't even on the marketplace at all."

There was something important here. If that was truly the case—then an opportunity had just arisen. Enya's necromancy class might be able to make both of them rich.

Although niche, surely there were items in her book that weren't just for necromancers. Powerful artifacts. Potions. Equipment. Things for combat, daily life, or even protection.

And now that he had full access to the marketplace, he could gather any material she needed.

He turned to her. "Hey, what else can you make?"

Enya simply tilted her head.

"Are you kidding me? What is with that absurd quantity?" Pell mocked. "Do you know how heavy 500 kilograms is?!"

Enya shook her head. "No. How heavy?"

"Even I don't know! But that's probably heavier than a tree! Probably multiple trees!" he exclaimed.

A quick glance at the marketplace confirmed it—no one was selling bones of any cheap variety. There were bones from spirit beasts and other rare creatures, sure. But buying them in bulk just so Enya could complete a class quest? Impossible.

"Look. How about we try for your goliath-whatever later. The bones you need? It'll probably be better to just hunt monsters for them. No one on the market is selling animal or human bones. Since you can't even get the bones right now, there's no point in buying the other ingredients."

Enya pouted. "Fine…" she replied.

She opened The Grim Pullet and began flipping through recipes.

Although she wasn't too sure about the value of money, she did know one thing: being wealthy was important.

If she had enough money, she could buy anything she wanted. Maybe even afford a personal chef—one that could make chocolate ice cream cheesecake whenever she wanted.

And if all she needed to do was create some items to get there, then so be it.

"Hey, Grimmy. What's something easy I can create that I could sell?"

One of her new perks, Crafting Assistant, allowed The Grim Pullet to react to spoken words. It wasn't sentient like Pell, but it could recognize simple commands and respond based on the knowledge written in its pages.

<Grimmy> Based on the holder's level, the following requested item is simple to craft, and demand has been historically consistent. Item price is unavailable.

The words appeared on the page, in neat, perfect handwriting. It was much better than Pell's, and even her own.

Chilled-Soul Cleansing Pill (Bronze Tier)

Description: A pill that can cure the symptoms of the Chilled-Soul ailment. Recommended dose of two pills a day, every day, until symptoms subside.

Materials:

Pill Capsule

Bitterbloom leaf

Soul-flame

10 Soul Energy.

<Grimmy> Chilled-Soul is a common affliction caused by interaction with spirits and ghosts that affects a person's soul. The ailment is non-fatal; however, extreme discomfort is caused when left untreated for a long period of time. Mild cases can take up to one week to cure, while severe cases can take up to a month of regular dosage.

"Hmm… that certainly seems like something useful," Pell commented, reading over her shoulder. "I've never heard of whatever that Chilled-Soul thing is, though. Haven't interacted with a ghost long enough to find out. There's no way to prove if this is useful or not."

Immediately, he pulled up the marketplace.

Entering the keyword Chilled-Soul, he repopulated the list.

Each page displayed around thirty items—and for this particular keyword, there were five entire pages of results.

"Alright… seems promising," he said, bony hand clasped beneath his jaw.

Sorting by least-expensive, the cheapest item he found was something called:

Emberwreath Patch Seller: Jansen's Healing Club Seller Description: An adhesive patch created from Emberwreaths that helps alleviate cold-related ailments and promotes healthy blood flow. This patch can clear blood clots and regulate body temperature, lasting up to one week of use. Also helps in suppressing the Chilled-Soul ailment. Price: 16 gold, 50 silvers.

"Only suppresses Chilled-Soul?" Pell muttered. "This seems fine, but… it doesn't seem to be able to cure the ailment."

Sifting through the rest of the listings, he examined each item that appeared. Most were medical in nature—healing herbs, tinctures, enchanted trinkets. A few were armors designed to resist the ailment altogether.

But one pattern stood out.

None of them cured it.

Each product only suppressed symptoms or provided temporary relief.

Only when he reached the last page did he find anything claiming to be a cure.

"Gah! These prices are ludicrous! One hundred diamond coins for a soul-cleansing needle?" Pell spat. "There appear to be other uses for it, but the first item that claims to cure this affliction costs one hundred diamonds?! How stupidly hard is it to cure this thing?"

"Is the cleaning pill good to make then?" Enya asked, watching his increasingly agitated skull-face shift.

"Cleansing pill, kid. You've got the name right in front of you," he corrected.

A complicated look plastered his skull.

"I don't know. These prices are quite high, but I'm not entirely sure about the actual demand for these things. It could be a super rare disease, or one mild enough that people don't care about it. It wasn't fatal, right? Hell, maybe a healer could cleanse it themselves, and we'd just be wasting time."

"Hmm… oh—what if I ask Custodian? He's probably knowledgeable about this stuff. He seems pretty smart," Enya suggested.

"Custod—oh. That guy," Pell muttered.

He'd nearly forgotten about that mysterious man.

Pell was still apprehensive about Enya's hidden pen pal. The man had admitted to killing the last Necrosmith—and had even pried for information on how to obtain the class from her.

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Sure, it was obvious he'd helped Enya inside the dungeon while Pell was gone. But even then… the guy seemed off. Too smooth. Too interested.

With a reluctant grumble, he caved in.

"Alright, fine. Just ask him if Chilled-Soul is a common thing or not. And if it's easily cured. If it is, then this pill recipe you have—it might be a jackpot for us. If not, we'll have to find something else."

Enya nodded.

<Enya> Heeey!! Hey Custodian! Are you there right now?

She waited half a minute. Just as she was about to turn to Pell and say it wasn't working—a response appeared.

<Custodian> Ah. A pleasant evening to you, Miss Enya. My sincerest apologies if I have missed any of your previous messages—matters here have been… unusually demanding as of late.

<Enya> Oh! You're actually here!

<Custodian> Indeed I am. I find myself currently attending to some dreadfully dull paperwork within my quarters. Still, I can spare some time; I am at your disposal. What brings you to contact me this evening?

<Enya> Um—me and Pell had a question!

<Custodian> Very well. If it lies within the breadth of my knowledge—and does not cross into overly delicate matters—I shall answer. What is it you wish to ask?

<Enya> Do you know what Chilled-Soul is?

<Custodian> Chilled-Soul? Are you referring to the disease inflicted by spirits?

<Enya> And ghosts! But yeah, that one!

<Custodian> Quite so. I am familiar with it. May I ask what has prompted your interest?

<Enya> Well, me and Pell were wanting to make something. It can apparently cure Chilled-Soul, but we weren't sure how common or rare it is. Pell doesn't want to waste his time. (He gets really grumpy).

Pell hovered behind her, arms crossed, watching every word flicker across the page. That last line? He definitely noticed.

<Custodian> Haha… I can certainly understand the value of caution. Still, your question is well placed.

Chilled-Soul is not what one might call "common" in the domestic sense—but it is far from rare in the field. Adventurers, scouts, and War Paragons who delve into haunted ruins, cursed battlegrounds, or spirit-infested planes frequently encounter it. Most carry charms or protective gear to resist its effects, though such protection is not always effective—or available.

While there do exist a few items capable of curing the ailment outright, they are unfortunately quite scarce… and prohibitively expensive.

<Enya> Ah… okay. Then making a pill that can cure it, that would be an awesome item, right?

<Custodian> I suppose it would.

<Enya> Okay! Thank you for the help, then, Custodian! Bye-bye~!

<Custodian> Ah—just a moment, if I may. I have one small matter I'd like to discuss with you, should you have the time.

She looked over at Pell.

He simply shrugged. "Whatever," he said, waving his hand.

She turned back to the Grim Pullet.

<Enya> Yeah? What is it?

<Custodian> Now that you have begun your journey into crafting—and as a Necrosmith, no less—I have a proposal for you.

Enya's eyes went wide.

She whipped her head toward Pell. "H-he's proposing to me! Wh-what do I do?!"

"No, no, he isn't," Pell replied flatly, arms crossing over his ribs. "He means a deal. Like an offer. I highly doubt anyone's trying to marry you."

"T-That's not true! Risha said a boy in the tournament likes me! He might propose!"

"WHAT?!" Pell spat, louder than he meant to.

He cleared his dry, hollow throat and grumbled, "Just reply to him already. Ain't no kid getting married to a High-Noble. No one down here on the Second Layer's worthy of your status."

No need to mention I turned her into a necromancer, he thought darkly. But if I let the kid get married to some commoner brat, her family'll torture my soul for the next millenia.

Eventually, Enya returned her attention to the book.

<Enya> What's the proposal?

<Custodian> Since it seems you've taken a genuine interest in crafting, I wished to inform you—I have a colleague who is most eager to… shall we say, poach you.

<Enya> Like… an egg? I don't think I taste very good…

Pell slapped his skull with an audible clack the moment he peeked at the reply.

<Custodian> Oh, no worries at all, haha. What I meant to say is that she would like to recruit you into her association. Due to your rare class, you would be granted an immediate rank—and a few special privileges as well.

Enya tilted her head, unsure of what to make of the words.

<Enya> What's she want me to join?

<Custodian> The Crafter's Association. Lady Jira is the current Head of Crafters, and she has been hoping to contact you for quite some time—ever since your first correspondence with me, in fact.

<Enya> Correspon… Uh—Crafter's association?

<Custodian> Indeed. Lady Jira actively seeks to gather promising artisans. Given that the last Necrosmith passed away many ages ago, she would greatly appreciate your membership. Upon joining, you would be formally recognized under the title of Paragon of Crafting, and entitled to additional benefits once you visit any of the Association's regional branches.

Enya's eyes went wide. There's something called a Paragon of Crafting?

<Enya> I can become a Paragon of Crafting? But… does that mean I can't be a Paragon of War anymore? I don't want that!

<Custodian> Paragon of War, is it? An intriguing choice. I am curious as to why that one in particular piques your interest.

Regardless, there is no conflict. One may be part of multiple Paragons simultaneously. However, this requires swearing a Paragon Oath to each. It can be demanding—but seldom proves troublesome for those with resolve.

<Enya> What's a Paragon Oath?

<Custodian> Each Paragon holds its own tenets. By joining, you agree to uphold those rules. For example, War Paragons must answer calls during times of great peril. Should the layers come under threat, you may be summoned to assist. As for the Crafter's Paragon, I confess I do not know the exact wording of their Oath.

<Enya> Okay… that doesn't seem too bad.

<Custodian> Excellent. I'll inform Lady Jira of your willingness to join. Once she gets back to me, I'll inform you of what to do next.

<Enya> Okay! Sounds like a plan! Thank you Custodian!

<Custodian> My pleasure.

<Enya> I—Oh—I have one more question, if you can answer.

<Custodian> Yes?

Enya turned and looked at Pell. "Hey… can I ask him if he knows who Pin is? Or who Lia is? You guys said Zerus and Pin came from higher layers, right? Custodian might know something."

Pell crossed his arms, thoughtful.

"We think Pin, at least, is from one or two layers above us. I doubt she's from the Fifth. But if anyone actually recognized you—it'd be someone from the Fifth anyway."

He paused, mulling it over. "…Alright. Ask him. Just don't say more than you should."

Enya gave a quick nod.

<Enya> Do you know someone called Pin? Or a demon named Zerus?

<Custodian> Unfortunately not. Should I?

<Enya> Then do you know who Lia is?

Silence.

A much longer pause lasted between now and his next reply.

<Custodian> No. No, I do not. Why do you ask?

<Enya> Someone named Pin sent a demon after me. She thought I was someone called Lia. But I don't know who that is.

It kinda felt like she might've known who I was… but I don't know why she called me that, she thought separately.

Again, a long pause.

<Custodian> I am afraid I have little to offer in terms of clarity. I do not know either of the individuals you've named. And as for the identity of this Lia… I, too, remain in the dark.

<Enya> Do you know of a family with the last name Empyria?

Another pause, but a shorter one.

<Custodian> Yes. There is an Empyrean Empire that governs a small domain within the Enchanted Layers.

Enya's eyes went wide.

<Enya> There is? How come you didn't tell me before?

<Custodian> You never asked, Miss Enya.

If I recall correctly, our first correspondence took place while you were still trapped within that dungeon, yes? You mentioned you were of High-Noble lineage, but under current mandates, most High Nobles are restricted to the Enchanted Layers—particularly those from a family such as the Empyrians.

I merely assumed you were from a lesser house that shared the name, or perhaps a family of elevated status from one of the lower layers. After all, few High-Noble lines actually reside in the lower layers.

<Enya> Then… you don't know anyone called Enya Empyria in the Empyrian family?

A quick reply, this time.

<Custodian> I am afraid not. I looked into the records when you first told me your name. There is no one by the name of Enya Empyria registered within the Enchanted Layers—at least, not within the prominent Empyrian line.

<Enya> Ah… okay. I see. Thank you, then, Custodian.

<Custodian> The pleasure is mine, as always. Once I receive further instruction from Lady Jira, I shall inform you on how to proceed with your application to the Paragon of Crafting.

<Enya> Okay! I'll wait then.

<Custodian> Very good. For now, I shall take my leave—I still have a rather irritating stack of paperwork awaiting my attention.

<Enya> Okay! Bye bye!

The ink across the page shimmered once, then gently faded away with her farewell.

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