Quest Rewards (2)

Here's the chapter!

If you'd like to support me, you can read 3/7/13 chapters ahead, plus two parts of the Group Chat OMAKE, over on my (P)(A)(T). If not, I'm still grateful that you're reading — thank you very much!

Good night, and enjoy the read!

(P)(A)(T)/CalleumArtori.

[...]---[...]

The next item I picked up was the planetary globe. It was, once again, exactly what the name suggested—a globe. But unlike the ones I was used to, it had nothing on it. No map, no countries, no oceans, no islands.

It was a blank globe.

It was about the size of a basketball, floating above a bronze-colored base—round and flat, with a recessed slot in the middle.

With a simple Analyze: Item, I found out why. It would remain blank until I chose a world for the globe to represent. I needed to place something from that world into the recessed slot in the base, and only then would the globe transform into a globe of that world.

It was also based on my own understanding of that world. If I knew a place, it would appear on the globe and have a name. If I didn't, that area would be covered in white fog until I went there and explored it myself.

I tossed the globe into the Voidbag for later. There was something I wanted to test eventually—but not now…

The next item was the reward from the "Nurse"—Melissa, specifically: Monstrous Knives.

Which, in reality, were not knives at all, but a fucking pair of gloves.

Small. Feminine. Dark brown in color. They reeked of blood and looked like they were made of some kind of leather or skin.

I also had the unsettling impression that the gloves were hungry.

Which, by itself, was already pretty fucked up.

There were several Mystic Symbols engraved into them, both on the outside and the inside. No runes.

This thing is made of Terrarian skin, isn't it…?

-//-

[Monstrous Knives]

Type: WeaponRarity: Light RedPrefix: None

Mystic Symbols (Goblin):

Absorption (Blood) (Supreme–Mid), Absorption (Mana) (High–Peak), Cut Protection (High–Mid), Piercing Protection (High–Mid), Fire Protection (Mid–High), Ice Protection (Mid–High), Acid Protection (Mid–High) (+)…

Damage: 224 ~ 874 (Based on how much blood it has been fed)Knockback: 3 (Very Weak)Defense: 236 ~ 718 (Based on how much blood it has been fed)Durability: 70,000 / 70,000 (Regenerates with blood)

[..]

Ability – Everything Is Blood!

The gloves convert the wearer's own blood into scalpels, stilettos, and curved blades of variable density, fully formed from condensed blood mana.

The weapons created evaporate minutes after losing contact with the gloves or if they are not embedded in a living body. While active, however, they possess terrifying cutting power.

The ability operates in two cycles:

Blood Source:

Whenever the user activates the ability, small spikes pierce the user's hands, and the gloves drain their blood and vitality in large quantities.

This blood is used to:

Create blood blades, the more blood supplied, the sharper and more durable they become.Repair the gloves themselves.Automatically regenerating durability.Temporarily increase the gloves' defense and resistance.

Blood Harvest:When cutting an enemy, the gloves actively absorb the victim's blood.

This absorption:

Immediately strengthens the blades, increasing damage and penetration.Reinforces the gloves' defense with hardened, coagulated blood.Heals the user's injuries based on the vitality of the stolen blood.Artificially prolongs the victim's life by sealing wounds, stimulating blood regeneration, and triggering adrenaline and vitality release—in exchange for years of future lifespan.

Blood preference:AB+ — the blood type of the original "Nurse."

Due to repeated use by the original "Nurse," the gloves respond with heightened intensity and possess an extreme preference for female blood.

They will drink male blood only as a last resort.

[..]

Description:

Forged by the trembling hands of a "Nurse" who lost her sanity after staring at the reflection of the Blood Moon in a pool of her own blood, these gloves carry the madness that created them.

Her natural mana-based regeneration became the cruelest blessing of all: her wounds healed too quickly, allowing her to cut herself over and over again, bathing in the red liquid she came to worship with cannibalistic fervor.

But in time, her own blood became too ordinary.

Driven by obsession and withdrawal, she began hunting others, performing "surgeries" as precise as they were grotesque. Drinking blood, eating organs, venerating the same red that had driven her insane.

From the same hands that tore flesh and organs apart, these gloves were born—crafted from layers of the "Nurse's" own skin, stacked upon itself, becoming both a tool and a "companion" that twistedly satisfied her obsession.

They shaped blades of coagulated blood, scalpels and knives made to butcher bodies—fed both by the blood spilled by their creator and by every victim she dissected.

Over time, the gloves inherited the "Nurse's" ravenous will and developed a hunger of their own, forming a kind of "pseudo-consciousness."

Part of the "Nurse's" mana mutation was passed on to the gloves, regenerating the wearer—and their victims—just enough to keep them alive.

The longer the suffering lasts, the greater the harvest…

[..]

~ Everything is blood! ~

-//-

I stared at the two gloves resting on the table for a moment.

This was the first item I owned that had been directly created by an NPC. Well—by a previous generation, at least.

Maybe this predecessor of Melissa lived in Terraria's equivalent of London?…

[(MOD)GeniusBillionairePlayboy]You're not going to burn that like a sane person would, right? That's literally a pair of psychopathic gloves!(Iron Man flamethrower emote)

"Would be a waste of a good item." Gross, but good.

I flicked Stark's message away. It hit the wall and exploded.

Those Goblin Mystic Symbols were useful—especially the blood absorption ones. I didn't have any examples of those in my library.

They gave me some very good ideas…

It was also the first time I'd ever seen a Mystic Symbol at the (Supreme) tier.

"I don't think these are going to fit my hands…" I picked up the gloves and tried to put them on, even as half the (CHAT) screamed at me not to.

I ignored them, obviously.

Unfortunately, they didn't adapt to me at all. They remained small gloves meant for feminine hands. Even when I forced a few fingers in, nothing happened and the ability didn't activate.

In fact, it felt like the gloves were disgusted by my touch.

What the fuck?...

"Of course… a misandrist item," I muttered, half incredulous.

"Can I try using them?" Jinn asked, tilting her head slightly. "I'm more spiritual than physical, but it should still work. I still have 'blood' in my veins, so to speak."

I slowly turned my head to stare at her.

"Did you not read the part where these gloves were made by someone driven insane by the Blood Moon? That they drink blood? That they absorb vitality? It literally says 'in large quantities' right next to it," I said slowly, like I was explaining something to a child.

"Not to mention that this thing prefers drinking and absorbing women's blood. It's dangerous, Jinn."

"You're really saying that right after you tried to put them on yourself a few seconds ago?" She raised her right eyebrow and crossed her arms under her chest, lifting it slightly. "Seriously…?"

"Pointing out my hypocrisy doesn't work on me. I'm proud of it!"

Jinn snorted and took the gloves from my hands. I could have stopped her easily, but whether I liked it or not, I couldn't use them—and if she could, that would be useful.

"If anything happens, I'm burning the gloves," I warned, keeping Shadowflame ready, just a thought away.

Truthfully, Shadowflame already wanted to burn them. I was the one holding it back. To the flame, the gloves' "pseudo-consciousness" should have gone to hell a long time ago.

Jinn didn't seem to care about the warning and slipped the gloves on without hesitation.

To my disbelief—and irritation—the gloves practically molded themselves around her hands, resizing until they fit her slender fingers perfectly.

This shitty item…

The gloves took on a deeper reddish hue, and their "leather" became rougher. I could see them pulsing, almost aggressively. Focusing slightly, I could hear Jinn's "blood" being drawn out.

At first, Jinn didn't react, simply studying her covered hands with an analytical expression. After about five seconds, I felt the connection to the mark on her thigh strengthen.

Dark circles formed under her eyes, and red veins spread through her sclera, like she hadn't slept in days. The orange eye in her palm glowed through the white fabric of her dress.

The veins across her body began to darken, the skin along them shifting into a deeper shade of blue.

That dark blue spread outward, starting from her thigh where the palm mark was, crawling up her waist, chest, neck, and arms.

When the dark blue finally reached her hands, the gloves spasmed violently, as if shocked—then froze.

A sweet, gentle smile appeared on Jinn's face. She brought her hands close to her mouth, cupping them, and softly whispered into her palms:

"Behave. Or I'll hand you over to 'him'." She delicately moved her fingers, then pointed her open palms toward me. "You don't want that, do you?… Devas is millions of times more terrifying than I am. Do you want me to ask him to show you?…"

Almost instantly, the color of the gloves began to change—from red to brown, then to a blue slightly darker than Jinn's own skin tone.

She gently stroked the back of one hand.

"Good girl... Behave, and we won't have any problems, alright?"

…That was kind of sexy.

"Girl?" I asked, snapping back to reality.

"It's feminine. I can feel it," she explained, opening and closing her fingers a few times. Then she turned to me. "The 'pseudo-consciousness' is probably based on the mind of the "Nurse" who created it. It's a bit unruly, but nothing serious."

"Fair." I shrugged and poked the glove on Jinn's hand with a finger. "You can keep them. Just tell me if anything happens. I'll study them before sending them to hell."

I emphasized the last word by igniting Shadowflame at the tip of the finger poking the glove. Even after pulling my hand back, I could feel terror and horror radiating from it in waves.

Jinn laughed softly and whispered to the gloves, "See? I told you. Now go to sleep—I'll call you later." Then she tossed the gloves into the Relic of Knowledge.

I moved on to the next items: two small boxes, one silver and the other greenish-silver. Inside were the silver and tungsten bullets.

They were just normal bullets, so I didn't even give them a second glance before tossing the boxes into my inventory.

The item from the Armsdealer's reward that really caught my attention was the red weapon: The Undertaker.

It was a short revolver, made of dark metal reinforced with red plates. It emitted a faint smell of blood, far more subdued than the stench coming from the blood orbs or the Monstrous Knives.

The crimson parts stood out the most. That was where the odor came from, and they reminded me of a very specific metal from that disgusting biome.

And considering I knew where The Undertaker was normally obtained in the game, that was very possible…

The red plates weren't decorative; they seemed to replace actual components. I wasn't an expert, but it looked poorly patched together—the red pieces crooked and warped, some of them almost resembling veins growing through the dark metal.

The red metal was slightly warm. It didn't feel like flesh or blood, but it wasn't entirely metallic either. It felt… wrong.

I rotated my wrist and opened the cylinder. Empty. Six chambers.

But what really caught my attention, aside from the Crimtane, were the three runes etched into the weapon.

One was on the grip, another wrapped around most of the barrel, and the last one was inside it. There were also several Mystic Symbols engraved along the barrels.

I used Analyze: Item:

-//-

[The Undertaker]

Runes: Containment (Inert), Anti-Evil, Anti-Malefic

Type: WeaponRarity: Light RedPrefix: None

Mystic Symbols (Terrarian):Absorption (Blood) (High–Low), Condensation (Mana) (Mid–High), Amplification (Projection) (High–Mid), Resistance (Structural) (High–Low) (+)…

Damage: 24 ~ 1,267 ~ ??? (Depends on the bullet used + blood supplied)Knockback: 2 (Very Weak)Durability: 32,691 / 34,813 (Partially regenerates with blood)

[..]

Ability – Crimson Overload:

When activated, the weapon consumes the user's blood and vitality through the exposed Crimtane plates.

This blood is converted into pulsating energy inside the cylinder, wrapping the bullet with a throbbing red "heart" vibrating on the brink of rupture.

The next shot gains, cumulatively:

Massive damage, proportional to the blood supplied.Piercing, allowing it to pass through multiple bodies.Rupture, causing internal impact and bleeding.Reduced stability, increasing the risk of partial fragmentation.Internal recoil, displacing non-Crimtane mechanisms.

If used repeatedly without rest, the ordinary steel overheats and cracks, reducing durability until the Crimtane partially regenerates the structure, corrupting the metal like a pulsating cancer.

Overload Break:

If the user feeds too much blood in a short time, the bullet absorbs so much power that it explodes inside the cylinder, causing:

Severe damage to the user.Massive durability loss.Involuntary activation of the "Containment" rune, which seals the weapon until the Crimtane regenerates it back into a usable state.

[..]

Description:

Forged in the shadows of a lost era, The Undertaker was born from the desperation of an ancient "Armsdealer" from generations past, hunted by "Cultists."

With no time to fight, no path to escape, and no other choice, he fled into the dead tunnels of an old mine near the Jungle. Poorly lit and panicked as he ran, he eventually became lost.

Among barren stone, a crimson-red light illuminated the mine and caught his attention. A vivid red metal—pulsing, warped, bleeding: Crimtane.

As a smith, the "Armsdealer" could recognize most ores at a glance. This one was new. It was the first time a metal had ever looked truly alive—and truly evil—to him.

But it seemed useful. More than that, it seemed capable of giving his weapon enough firepower to kill the "Cultists" hunting him.

Grabbing an abandoned pickaxe, the man tore a piece of the ore from the wall. A small fragment. Even through his gloves, the "Armsdealer" felt the metal tremble like it had a heartbeat.

Instinctively realizing that touching it directly would expose his mind to madness, he wrapped it in the thick fabric of his cloak and fled toward the surface once he found a way out.

Back in his village, at the forge, hands trembling and fear burning hotter than the metal, he resorted to the only option left to him: an ancient Fae ritual he had discovered years earlier during one of his expeditions to the far east of the continent.

Using the ritual as a medium, he managed to engrave three strange symbols onto the weapon—something the "Armsdealer" felt he had no "permission" or "authority" to do otherwise, as if something within him was lacking.

Nearly half of his hair turned white and brittle by the end of the ritual.

The Crimtane squealed like a pig being burned alive.

The weapon split open like a wounded creature.

And then he patched everything together—common iron and metallic flesh—creating a crude, unstable revolver that looked almost alive.

The result reeked of muffled blood.

The red plates looked like raw meat under the forge's firelight.

The cylinder pulsed with every shot, like a heart.

With the reforged revolver in hand, the "Armsdealer" left his forge to take revenge on the "Cultists" in blue robes who had hunted him.

[..]

~ Blood, gunpowder, and steel… ~

-//-

I felt a shiver run down my spine when the confirmation came that the crimson metal was, in fact, Crimtane.

I had more than a passing urge to simply destroy the revolver—burn it to ash and then purify everything with Purification Powder and Aqua's hair.

Anything even remotely connected to that cursed biome made the rational side of my brain start to wither, revealing underneath it the part that screamed: "exterminate everything with extreme prejudice."

But since my body hadn't reacted aggressively when touching the metal—as it had with the mark of Shahrabad and the markings of the people of Jille—it shouldn't be an immediate danger.

I had no doubt it was dangerous, of course. Any piece of shit that came from that shit biome was.

But it felt… domesticated. I didn't sense "evil" coming from the metal, just a kind of hunger—and even that felt neutral, as if the hunger itself didn't really matter.

I memorized the three runes on the weapon with near-maniacal focus. I would probably get Crimtane from the Treasure Bag, so having something capable of taming that metal would be extremely useful.

I'd also rework part of the runes on Proto-A, spreading those three runes throughout the ship.

But more than anything else, what I really wanted—and unfortunately didn't get—was the ritual the "Armsdealer" used to engrave them. Alalia had said that Terrarians could no longer inscribe Runes, that this ability had been lost, but it seemed it wasn't completely impossible.

Well… it looked like the price was steep. The description of "half his hair turning white" didn't sound trivial.

At least I had the information that the "Armsdealer" had found that ritual somewhere in the far eastern edge of the continent. That gave me a direction to search later.

I tossed the revolver into the Voidbag after analyzing the Mystic Symbols and Runes for a while longer. I'd test it later.

The next items I picked up were four: the recipes for Throwing Knife, Red Solution, Bloodbath Dye, and Hellfire Arrow.

Out of all of them, I thought the Throwing Knife would be the most useless—but I was wrong. It was practically a forging ritual, actually—with a chance to create a mutant Throwing Knife that would be, as the description put it, "magical and almost infinite."

It sounded a lot like the Magic Dagger, which, if that were the case, would be an absurd gain.

The Red Solution and the Bloodbath Dye were items I probably wouldn't be able to craft anytime soon. The materials involved parts from creatures of that shitty red biome, which I didn't have access to.

In the case of the Bloodbath Dye, I might be able to improvise something. An inferior version, sure—but still useful.

As for the Red Solution, I planned to try recreating it in a "clean" version: the Green Solution, if I remembered correctly—the one used to purify evil biomes. I'd use Purification Powder and Aqua's hair as a base, along with part of the Red Solution recipe.

Finally, I also wouldn't be able to craft a Hellfire Arrow. It required Hellstone—the fucking ore found only in the deepest layers of literal hell…

Still, the ritual to forge Hellstone would be useful.

I stored all the recipes in the Voidbag along with the others I already had and moved on to the next item: Evil Presence.

The painting was covered by a white cloth. It was small, roughly the size of a simple poster—no more than half a meter wide and a bit less tall. It would easily fit on any wall without drawing attention by size alone.

I slowly pulled the cloth away, revealing the painting.

The instant it appeared, the surrounding environment shifted slightly. It didn't become heavier, more oppressive, or denser. What changed was a single, familiar sensation…

…The feeling of being watched by a evil presence.

I saw Jinn freeze slightly for a second. Millia shrank back, jumping inside my shirt and hiding against my chest. The fox, still unnamed, curled into a ball on my shoulder and began to tremble.

As for me, I simply stared at the painting.

The painting stared back.

The World was Transparent.

The painting had a simple wooden frame, with uneven cuts—handmade with a small knife by someone not particularly skilled.

The background was composed of dark, blotchy shades of purple, like dull clouds in a stormy sky. Between those tones, like lunar lightning, threads, stains, and streaks of blood-red had been embedded.

The red seemed to ripple, wavering as if the purple clouds were moving and changing how the light passed through.

At the center, a massive eye—'The Eye'—stared down at me.

An irregular oval shape. An iris of dirty, grayish white, with black, red, and dark brown veins that writhed like worms.

From the back of the shape extended optic nerves that moved in disturbing, erratic ways—sometimes like tentacles, sometimes like twisted parasites.

The iris shifted between dark blue and deep green tones.

Like a Starless Sky, the pupil of 'The Eye' gazed at me with clear malice and malevolence. Empty. Something ominous. Like the void of space where stars should exist.

I stood up slowly. Took a step to the side. The gaze followed me.

The painting was static. Nothing moved. No mana leaked from it. There was no energy at all. Not even something Fae-like, such as a blessing—of that I was absolutely certain.

And yet, it was watching me.

And yet, its presence seemed to contaminate the room.

I examined the painting as a whole. Outside and inside. I could see every brushstroke, every line, every motion that had gone into creating it.

I touched the edge slowly and used Analyze: Item, which only confirmed what I already knew.

"Intent. A painting made so vividly, from such deep trauma, that it carries the intent of its creator," I said slowly, running my finger over the dried paint. "A presence this striking… a gaze this piercing… almost perfectly replicated with oil paint and blood."

It was… impressive.

The "Painter" who made it had witnessed 'The Eye' with his own eyes many years ago—and survived long enough to paint it.

Not without consequences. He hadn't even seen the true 'The Eye', only a mirrored image—not its real self. Like the reflection of the moon on a lake of blood.

Even that vision drove him mad. It tore out his left eye, robbed him of depth perception, shattered his mind until he no longer remembered anything—his name, his family, his life.

But he knew how to paint. That was all he remembered, all that remained. So he painted his madness. When paint was no longer enough, he painted with blood.

The madness stirred partially, for a brief moment—revealing what it truly meant to be a "Painter."

When the sun lit the following morning, the "Painter" was dead, and his painting stared down at his corpse…

I didn't need to move my head to see everything happening around me. The World was still Transparent. I saw everyone on Proto-A. No one noticed the presence trapped inside that single room.

It wasn't a perfect replica. It didn't observe everything. It didn't come from all directions.

It didn't have the sound…

I pulled the white cloth back over the painting. Instantly, the sensation of being watched by a malevolent presence vanished.

I felt everyone around me relax.

I closed my only eye for a moment. When I opened it again, the world had returned to normal. I ignored the headache and pulled the painting into the Voidbag, storing it away.

I sat back down in the chair.

I'll create a gallery room on Proto-A later. If a painting like this existed, then there was a chance others existed as well. I knew there would be others—there were dozens in the game; this was just the first.

I'll collect them…

Four messages appeared rapidly in my vision.

[AinzOoalGown]How much do you want for the painting? Name your price and I'll buy it.

[MagicalGirlSera-Tan]I'll skin an angel and give you the feathers in exchange for the painting!(♡ >ω< ♡)つ──☆*:・ﾟ

[MoonPrincess]Reluctantly, I'll admit the painter's talent. But do everyone a favor and burn that trash. Or give it to me. Consider it a gift to a princess.

[TheRainWitch]I… would like to buy this painting to study it, if possible…

"I'm not burning it. Not selling it. And definitely not donating it. I'll put it in a gallery room later," I replied.

As utterly fucking tempting as Serafall's offer was… and not that Ainz's wasn't either. But I didn't really trust that items from his world wouldn't end up malfunctioning in my hands.

Those four messages revealed something. Ainz, Serafall, and Kaguya were top-tier in terms of power in my (CHAT). Not equivalent in strength, but on the same level—far above most others.

Sirzechs and Ajuka would probably ask for the painting too. They were just much less "online" than Serafall.

Still, TheRainWitch appeared alongside them and had the same desire to acquire the painting. Putting two and two together, she had to be strong as well…

Or not, and I was just making up rules.

I didn't even ask why they wanted the painting. It was probably for the same reason I intended to keep it, even while hating that fucked-up eye with every fiber of my being.

Something so well made, so incredibly well crafted, and that conveyed the presence of 'The Eye' almost perfectly—even if that sensation was pure misery—was still something I would keep with me.

After all, a trophy is a trophy.

I could already imagine that if Ainz or Serafall got their hands on the painting, they'd hang it in their offices or something like that—probably in the throne room, in Ainz's case—just so anyone who entered would feel the presence of 'The Eye'.

I planned to do the same, actually…

I ignored the attempts to buy my painting, gave the fox a couple of gentle pats on the head to calm him down, and apologized to Millia by pulling a slice of cake from my inventory for her.

"I wasn't scared! I just… got cold…" she grumbled childishly while biting into the chocolate cake.

Cute. I put out more cake for her to eat.

Jinn was the least affected of the three. She asked me to let her study the painting later, all while sharing a piece of cake with Millia.

With that small episode settled, I returned to the rewards. I picked up the Fog Machine—the reward for keeping Ísis alive. It was identical to the Bubble Machine I'd gotten in Shahrabad, except this one produced fog.

It had its uses. It ran on mana and created different kinds of fog depending on the liquid composition used, without losing effectiveness. That alone made it great, and it gave me several ideas.

One of the first: create fog using a potion and place the machine in an enclosed room. A healing "sauna."

Actually… building a sauna sounded like a good idea…

I stored the Fog Machine in my inventory alongside the other machines I'd received.

The next item was the Ice Rod.

It was an incredibly simple item, really. It created ice using mana, converted mana into ice-aspected mana, absorbed ice to convert it back into mana, and could partially control temperature.

It would be perfect alongside the Ice Blade and the Bone Helm. Useful during the Hallucination Storm—especially considering the storm would be weaker while my armor was still damaged.

Then again, it depended. I had the Shadow Puppet now… I'd test it later and see how strong it was.

I placed the Ice Rod with my other weapons.

With only two items left from this reward batch, I grabbed the one that had caught my attention the least and saved the best for last.

The Slick Cane was about the size of an ordinary walking cane. Well, at least as far as I could tell.

Its handle appeared to be made of some kind of carved bone, gray in color, with a simple finish. The surface was straight and smooth, covered in numerous Mystic Symbols.

I recognized some of them, and unlike the misandric glove, the Mystic Symbols on the cane were both Terrarian and of Goblin origin.

At the top was a dual head: one side flat, like a small hammer, and the other formed into a short, conical spike, similar to a reduced pickaxe tip.

The head was made from what looked like a large wolf fang—or something equally big. It almost resembled stone rather than bone. It was attached to the shaft by two golden metal bands, probably gold, fixed into the bone with four silver-colored pins.

I stood up and tested the cane, walking back and forth across the room a few times. It was the right height for me. And I intended to use it, even if I didn't strictly need it, for one simple reason: it had a concealment ability.

The bone used to make the cane was the femur of a "Bandit," an NPC that didn't exist in the game, but apparently existed here. Probably what Mirabel was.

The name "Bandit" scratched at my brain in a way that almost made me want to rip it open just to see what memory was trying to surface.

It was irritating. I even stopped to meditate, trying to organize my thoughts, but got nowhere.

If it weren't for the Relic of Knowledge, I would've asked Jinn to enter the Spirit Realm and comb through all my memories looking for something.

But considering that damn lamp would probably cause some kind of mess—and my body, soul, and everything else would instinctively react with extreme aggression, which would end up hurting Jinn through backlash—I decided it was better to forget that idea.

I didn't know if I could suppress that instinctive reaction, and as frustrating as the lack of answers was, I wasn't willing to risk hurting Jinn over it.

I turned my attention back to the cane after all that.

The tooth at the tip belonged to a Sand Shark—a shark that swam through sand instead of water. I knew about them, both from the game and from the bestiary I'd bought during my first days in Terraria.

I'd half expected to encounter some in the desert of Shahrabad, but unfortunately, I hadn't been that lucky.

The Sand Shark was an extremely efficient ambush predator. But it was solitary, and a tide of insane ants was probably enough to hunt them to extinction—or something close to it.

The "Bandit" who created the cane had killed one, but not before losing his own leg. Using the femur and the shark's corpse, he forged this cane to help himself walk.

Because it carried the Bandit's femur, the cane retained part of her innate "concealment" ability. And that was amplified by the Sand Shark components, creating an effect where whoever used the cane—so long as they didn't display hostility—would be far harder to detect.

It worked better as a "theft" type of concealment rather than an "assassination" one, which made sense.

Combined with my own concealment through hallucinations and perceptual distortion around me, I estimated I could practically dance on a stage and no one would even notice I was there.

I stored the Slick Cane and moved on to the final reward for keeping the NPCs alive: the fucking Terragrim.

One of the rarest weapons—if not the rarest—that existed in Terraria. At least before that abomination of flesh died. And also one of the most useful.

I grabbed the hilt and lifted it, inspecting it.

It was a one-handed sword. Very light, though pretty much everything was fucking light to me these days. The design was simple. It was probably around seventy or eighty centimeters long in total, maybe a bit more, but nothing excessive.

The blade made up most of its length. It was straight, made of something that looked like greenish crystal or glass. The thickness at the base was probably around two centimeters, tapering only slightly toward the tip. Almost uniform.

The material's texture reminded me a bit of Remnant's Dust and the Life and Mana Crystals. I ran my thumb along the blade—completely smooth, with no noticeable irregularities or cracks.

The hilt was cylindrical and about fifteen centimeters long.

There was a short guard forming a narrow cross to the sides, slightly curved upward. Both the hilt and the guard were made of the same material as the blade: that same greenish crystal.

I rotated the sword and made a few practice swings. It was very well balanced. After so much training and fighting, I could instinctively tell things like that—and this sword was well made.

If that was even the right word for whatever the hell this thing was.

I couldn't see a single chisel mark or imperfection—no sign of a hammer, a carving tool, or anything of the sort. It was as if the entire sword had simply been torn out of a single larger crystal, or as if the crystal had always existed in that shape.

It looked ridiculously fragile. But I think the best word in this case was "delicate." Somewhat elegant, too, even in its simplicity. The whole sword felt so delicate that, if I pinched it a little too hard, it would shatter.

But when I tightened my grip on the hilt, nothing happened. It didn't chip or crack. So it wasn't as delicate as it looked. And there was mana and natural vitality flowing through the blade, so it was obviously not an ordinary material.

No decorations. No leather on the grip. No engravings. No Mystic Symbols. No Runes.

Nothing.

A green crystal sword. Period.

I used Analyze: Item on it:

-//-

[Terragrim]

Type: WeaponRarity: RainbowPrefix: World Record

Damage: 3333 (Devastatingly weakened due to the "Wall That Seals the World")Knockback: 3 (Very Weak)Durability: 300,000,000 / 300,000,000 (Devastatingly weakened due to the "Wall That Seals the World")(Regenerates using the World's mana)(Recovers even if only a single fragment remains)

[..]

Ability — World Record:

When the Terragrim is swung, the World records the motion in its memory. Every cut, every arc, every vibration is registered. A moment later, the World itself replicates the strike through a World-Mirage—a luminous echo the same color as the crystal that created the Terragrim.

The World-Mirage reproduces the exact force, speed, and precision of the original attack.

The faster the wielder swings the sword, the more records are created, resulting in multiple consecutive World-Mirages.

To observers, it appears as though the blade is not being swung, but rather emitting a continuous thread of moving light.

World-Mirages ignore conventional physical resistance.

World-Mirages do not harm the wielder of the Terragrim.

[Note: This ability functions only within Terraria]

[..]

Description:

Forged not by mortal hands, but by the living will of Terraria itself, the Terragrim was created as a gift for the first "Princess," when she was still young.

The blade was born from a leaf that fell from a tree beside the "Princess's" head while she was taking a nap. When the leaf touched the ground, it crystallized into a soft green crystal, already in the shape of a sword.

With it, the young "Princess" began her journey. Thanks to the "strikes of light" the sword seemed to emit, she received the title of "Princess of Light," which remained even after her ascent to the throne.

Throughout all the years the "Princess" wielded the Terragrim, she never modified the sword. She never engraved a single Rune or Mystic Symbol, keeping it exactly as she had received it.

When she ascended to the throne and later to the position of "Empress of Light," the Terragrim ceased to be a tool of battle and became her personal treasure.

Carefully preserved, it became a keepsake of a simpler time—and of the first gift the World ever gave her…

[..]

~ A gift from the World… ~

-//-

I stayed silent for a few seconds, absorbing the information—and what I was really holding.

I genuinely hadn't expected the Terragrim to be a gift created by the planet itself and given to the Fae Empress.

I didn't quite know what to think about that… This was devastatingly weakened? Seriously? What kind of ridiculous restriction was that…?

The Empress of Light being the first "Princess" was something I had already theorized mentally, especially after what Alalia had said earlier.

But the fact that she had received that "title" so early surprised me. I had assumed the agreement that created the "titles" with the World only happened after she became the Empress of Light—but apparently it occurred much earlier, for some reason.

The World seemed to favor her greatly as well…

As for the Terragrim's ability, it was beyond absurd. I didn't even need to test it to know how stupidly broken it was.

Still seated, I casually swung the sword. Nothing happened beyond a slight displacement of air. Curious.

I swung it again, this time faster—slightly above the speed of sound. I used Shadowflame to consume the shockwave and the noise.

Nothing.

I swung the sword a third time, returning to a casual speed, but this time keeping my "intent" clearly focused on creating a World-Mirage.

If it didn't work, it would probably be because I wasn't the "Princess," and the sword simply had no ability in my hands.

I would still use it, of course. Even as a simple sharpened stick, it already had three times the base damage of the Relic of Destruction—at least without me burning through several hundred years of lifespan to boost the relic's damage.

But, to my relief, it worked.

After my strike, about a fraction of an instant later, another identical strike followed it. Same power, speed, force, and exact angle.

There were only two differences. First: only the Terragrim's replica appeared—my hand wasn't holding it. Second: the replica was slightly translucent and emitted a subtle pale-green glow that the original lacked.

No mana. No energy. No heat. Nothing.

It simply existed—as described in the ability—as a memory, a "record" of the World itself. Like a recording of something that had already happened being played again.

I ignored the (CHAT) messages and turned my head to the side, toward the Proto-A's garden.

The instant the Terragrim's replica appeared, I felt a gaze upon me. I activated the Transparent World.

As the headache intensified, I returned the gaze.

It was Alalia.

She was in her normal body, having abandoned the living wooden doll. She stood in the middle of what looked like a large, human-sized nest of straw, her head slightly tilted, her expression half confused, half curious.

I waved at her with my free hand.

She stared at the sword for a few moments. A flicker of recognition passed through her eyes, but she said nothing and shifted her gaze back to me.

She looked directly at me with my single eye, nodded slowly, and then returned to building that strange nest, twisting branches together with her own hands while humming cheerfully.

… Curious. She didn't seem to sense the Terragrim itself—but the World-Mirage?

Ignoring the pain in my head, I picked up Millia and the nameless fox and handed them both to Jinn.

I stood up and moved to an open space in the middle of the room. I rolled my wrist a few times, getting used to the Terragrim's weight, then swung faster—again slightly above the speed of sound—but now with my "intent" fully clear.

Shortly after the swing ended, around fifteen or twenty World-Mirages appeared, attacking in sequence like a continuous luminous trail.

I didn't attack again and deactivated the Transparent World, letting out a breath.

I felt a strange mix of emotions: half irritated, half satisfied, half "what the hell is this?"

"I would've killed that fucking eye in under a minute if I'd had this thing…" I muttered, tossing the Terragrim into the Voidbag.

What a ridiculously broken ability…

Honestly, I was barely restraining myself from letting an insane grin spread across my face, from jumping or shouting in joy. Probably all three.

I did have a certain image to maintain, after all…

Even if this ability could only be used in Terraria, I was more than satisfied.

Jinn let out a short laugh, stroking the fox with one hand. Millia had climbed onto the top of her head.

"I don't think I need to say how absurd that ability is," she said, staring at the spot where the World-Mirages had vanished. "I didn't feel anything at all. It was literally the world's own reality copying your strikes…"

"I didn't feel anything either." I dropped back into the chair. Even with the Transparent World, I hadn't seen anything.

The only abnormal thing was a vague, fleeting sensation every time a World-Mirage appeared.

It was as if I almost managed to detect something—a sense I didn't even know truly existed—before the sensation simply vanished without warning.

That was why I put the Terragrim away without further testing. If I started testing seriously, I'd probably stay there for days—or longer—trying to understand what that sensation was and what kind of "sense" it represented.

I had the impression that if I came to understand it, I might be able to replicate—even if only partially—the way World Record functioned…

But that could wait. I had other things to do and check. And besides, trying something like that while the "void" was eroding my body and Aura didn't seem like a good idea in the slightest…

"That was Aunt Alice's, wasn't it?"

My attention shifted to Millia when she asked.

She formed a small hand of gel to scratch her own "head" with two fingers. "I wasn't sure before, but I think I remember seeing that sword hanging on the wall in her castle's living room. I was still a baby, so I don't remember very well…"

"You're still a baby," I replied, poking her with a finger. She formed a tiny mouth and tried to bite it; I quickly pulled my finger back. "But yes. It belonged to your aunt."

She pouted, inflating her entire body at being called a baby, but then nodded without replying.

When I sat down, she hopped from Jinn's head onto mine. The nameless fox had fallen asleep in Jinn's lap, so I didn't take him back.

I slowly massaged my temple and, as the headache eased a little, I turned my attention back to the reward list…