"And what about Sunless?"
"Sunny can eat my ass for all I care."
Sasrir was silent for a moment, then gave a single, resigned nod. "Just try not to start speaking in riddles. One prophet in our future group is already more than enough. And remember: don't let Amon use it too much."
With that final piece of morbid encouragement, I reached out. My fingers brushed against the cold, smooth bone of Weaver's Mask. Gently, I untied it from the desiccated head of the corpse. The moment I did, the corpse broke down into dust, just like in the novel, and then the Spell's voice sang softly in my ear.
[You have received a Memory.]
Biting back my smile, I quickly raised my hand and summoned back the Mask, clutching its' cold wooden form. Staring into the black void where the eyes would be, I felt like someone was staring back at me. Perturbated, I quickly turned the Mask around and put it on. And what a sight to behold.
Inside the black mask, seven radiant embers were burning with such intensity that it was almost blinding. All around them, incalculable ethereal strings were weaved into a pattern so vast and intricate that it almost seemed boundless.
Memory: [Weaver's Mask].
Memory Rank: Divine
Memory Tier: VII.
Memory Type: Tool.
Memory Description: [Weaver believed that knowledge was the origin of power and so always hid behind numerous lies, wearing them as a mantle. No one knew Weaver's thoughts, Weaver's face, and Weaver's heart. Even the gods could not see what hid behind the mask.]
Memory Enchantments: [Mantle of Lies], [Where is my Eye?], [Simple Trick].
Enchantment: [Mantle of Lies].
Enchantment Description: [Hides the identity of its master.]
Enchantment: [Where is my Eye?]
Enchantment Description: [Allows the wielder to peer into the Strings of Fate.]
Enchantment: [Simple Trick].
Enchantment Description: [Reverses the effect of one's Flaw.]
Reading the Runes with a grin across my face, I turned towards Sasrir to share the news with him, only to freeze. Where Sasrir once stood, now there was only a vaguely humanoid shadow, with bundles of golden and silver strings flying out of him. They went in every direction, extending infinitely into the void before vanishing at some point. One particularly thick string extended from Sasrir's centre right into my chest.
"Adam?"
His voice snapped me out of my daze, and I hurriedly lifted the Memory off my face. At once, Sasrir appeared before me, perfectly fine and normal. I fell silent for several seconds more, before Sasrir called out to me again. Snapping back, I coughed and showed him the Mask. "Here, you try it."
He did so, but didn't react strangely like me. Instead, he asked a question: "Why is Simple Trick already unlocked for us? Shouldn't it have to wait until we're Awakened or higher to have the Essence to use it?"
"Just because we can see it doesn't mean we can use it. It's probably revealed to us because we technically already know what it does despite never using it. I don't know, the Spell is weird enough even without us anyways."
"Right. Well, I don't feel like my Flaw has changed in any way. How about you?"
I shook my head. "Justice usually only kicks in during battle, and the other times are too subtle for me to detect at the time. You're Flaw also only becomes apparent if your allies are injured around you, so we can't test it here."
"I don't think we should. Reversing Scapegoat would probably make it so my wounds are reflected on others, which really doesn't suit my future fighting style. I might possess the regeneration of a Rose Bishop then, but you won't."
"Fair enough" I shrugged and took back the Mask. Admiring the style one last time, I dismissed it and sent it back to my Soul Sea. "Already let's get back to the Castle before Seishan and Gemma get suspicious of just what we're doing here."
Turning and starting to leave the crypt, I turned to look over my shoulder at the pile of dust that the Spell Priest had become. For a moment, I felt a flicker of emotion as I though that nobody would ever come and visit him again, but then I pushed that feeling away. He was long dead, no need to be sentimental. Spare that for the living.
Once we were outside, breathing in the fresh air, Sasrir asked another question. "So what do we do while we prepare to take the Dawn Shard? Just gather more Soul Shards, maybe save for the Armour of the Underworld?"
"Didn't you say we shouldn't steal all of Sunny's opportunities?" I raised an eyebrow, causing him to cough and look away. "And aren't you the one who said he could get fucked? In for a penny, in for a pound: we've come this far so we might as well go all the way."
"Ha, I never imagined you'd be the one to say that!"
"Yeah yeah, anyways just get to the point."
"Yes," I agreed, feeling a surge of purpose. "That armour is too special to give to someone like Sunny. The Mind defences in particular is necessary to help you resist the Soul Devourer.
We began the trek back, the ruined city feeling less menacing and more like a landscape of opportunity. "And after the Mantle?" Sasrir prompted.
"Then we hunt," I said, my mind already mapping out territories in the Dark City. "We need a specific type of Corrupted. We need that regeneration Memory. The Dawn Shard won't be a quiet retrieval; I need to be able to use the Crucifix without being bedridden for a week afterward."
"It won't be easy. From what I heard, those types are rare and work in groups"
"Nothing worth having is," I replied, a familiar, calculating calm settling over me. "We'll find it. We'll just need to be smarter and faster than everyone else."
"And what about our... associates?" Sasrir asked, his tone making it clear he meant our treacherous lieutenants.
"We keep them close," I said. "We feed them just enough truth to be useful. I don't trust Seishan worth a damn but she's also one of the strongest Sleeper in the Forgotten Shore."
As the dark bulk of Bright Castle came into view, its walls no longer felt like a prison, but a fortress we were learning to conquer from within. We had a divine artifact in our souls, a list of legendary items to acquire, and a map of the future in my head. We slipped back through the gates just as the first hints of dawn tinged the sky, the guards offering nothing more than a bored nod.
The next few days fell into a new kind of rhythm, one charged with hidden purpose. My public persona remained that of the gentle preacher, but my private hours were now consumed with two goals: drawing up plans to fight the remaining Shard Lords and accumulating the soul shards we needed.
I found a secluded spot on the outer walls during the quietest hours of the night. There, I would don the Weaver's Mask. The world would once again dissolve into a breathtaking, terrifying tapestry of shimmering strings. My focus wasn't on grand destinies, but on smaller, more immediate threads. I couldn't read any of them, not without Blood Weave, but it was still fun to look. It was like learning a new language—the language of cause and effect, of hidden relationships.
Meanwhile, our hunts became ruthlessly efficient. With Sasrir's newfound power as a Monster and my ability to subtly nudge our patrols toward areas ripe with weaker, more numerous Corrupted, our shard count swelled. We avoided flashy fights, opting for swift, silent ambushes that yielded steady returns. The other Hunters just thought we were getting lucky.
A week after our return, I sought out Stev the Jolly Giant in the Memory Market. His stall was as cluttered as ever, and the Mantle of the Underworld still up in the far back, its black metal seeming to drink the light around it.
"Preacher!" he boomed, his voice as large as his frame. "Back to gaze upon my wares? Still dreaming of this old thing?" He gestured to the mantle.
"I prefer lighter, softer clothing, Master Stev," I said, offering my most beatific smile. "But even the most devout can appreciate fine craftsmanship. And I admit I am greatly drawn to this wonderful suit of armour." I gestured to my own worn jacket. "We've had a run of fortunate hunts. Perhaps we can discuss a price?"
The haggling was a delicate dance. I played the part of the naïve holy man, impressed by the artifact but ignorant of its true value. Stev, for his part, tried to inflate the price, citing its "unique properties." But I had read the novel. I knew he was desperate to move it to make room for new, more easily sold stock. In fairness to the man, he didn't try and cheat me: he had warned me on the first day that the Mantle was broken, that only an Awakened could repair it.
In the end, we settled on a price that was fair, if still steep. As I handed over the heavy pouch of shards and he allowed me to mark the armour as my Memory, I felt a thrill that had nothing to do with faith. It was the pleasure of a collector finding a shiny Pokemon card.
That night, in the privacy of our quarters, I propped it up against the wall. The Mantle of the Underworld was a cage of deep, shifting blackness, like solid shadow. As I moved my hands along it, I felt a subtle pride in myself for having done so well.
"Too bad we can't test it," Sasrir murmured from his bunk.