320 Mummy
Franca and Jenna couldn’t tear their eyes away from the grazing herd of cows, sheep, and horses. The swarthy men donned felt hats and thick blue or red robes, while the local women flaunted their colorful, multi-layered gowns. Numerous white buildings and shops peddling leather products dotted the scene. It was a captivating and unfamiliar sight.
Franca stepped aside as a wooden carriage, drawn by a long-haired bull, trundled by in the biting wind. She glanced at Lumian and Jenna before speaking up.
“Why the silence? Let’s engage with the locals.”
After all, what was the point of wandering without interacting?
Lumian fell momentarily quiet before responding, “I lack sufficient information.”
Jenna felt a pang of embarrassment. “I don’t know enough either.”
All she was acquainted with were tales of romantic exploits featuring Pharaoh queens and adventurers unearthing treasures within rainforests.
“Uh…” Franca gestured dismissively with her right hand. “I’m not much better.”
How much is not much? Lumian didn’t pry further. He ushered his companions into a shop named Highland Mystic Potion.
The proprietor, Sallent Empaya, an Intisian dressed in a blue coat adorned with gold accents, recognized Lumian right away. After all, his distinctive hair color and appearance set him apart. Moreover, only a few days had passed since their last encounter.
Sallent assessed Franca and Jenna, extending a warm smile to Lumian. “What brings you here this time?”
Lumian, struggling with a headache from expending too much spirituality, got straight to the point. “Real mummy’s ashes. I want to see the mummy!”
Sallent’s eyes flickered briefly, but he refrained from probing. “Very well, I’ll show you.”
Being a seasoned purveyor of mummy ashes, he knew these products didn’t bestow virility; they were combined with genuinely efficacious medicine before hitting the shelves. However, since the clients didn’t inquire about the practicality of real mummy ashes, he saw no need to divulge that information.
Furthermore, he suspected Lumian and the two women intended to purchase a mummy for resale and profit. This was a substantial transaction.
Sallent temporarily closed his shop and guided Lumian, Franca, and Jenna to the rear warehouse, where ordinary herbs were stored. They descended a narrow staircase, reaching the basement door.
Turning to face Lumian and the others, he sought confirmation. “Do you really want to see it?”
It wasn’t so much a guilty conscience as a cautionary note.
“Absolutely,” Lumian responded without a moment’s hesitation.
In the midst of his words, his gaze fixated on the basement’s pitch-black wooden door.
It bore a mystical symbol, its form a distortion of dark-green and pale-white hues.
Within, a mix of rudimentary skulls, intertwined arms and vines, and inverted triangles melded to create an enigmatic pattern.
Threads of the same hues radiated outward from these symbols, infiltrating walls, floor, and ceiling alike.
Sallent brought forth a golden key, advancing toward the door. Franca’s voice dipped to a hush as she addressed Lumian and Jenna. “Those arcane symbols appear rooted in the domain of Death.”
Jenna furrowed her brow. “What significance do they hold?”
Franca’s head shook gently as she replied, “I’m uncertain. Generally, these would play a pivotal role in ritualistic magic. Yet, without a wellspring of power, such magic can falter.
“As I understand, the cathedrals of orthodox Churches feature akin arrangements. The devout believers who pray daily lend their spirits and spirituality to sustain the ritualistic magic. While individual contributions may seem modest, their accumulation wields ample strength.”
“Perhaps this location holds the power necessary for sustaining ritualistic magic.” Lumian grinned at Franca. “You might have a reason to rejoice. This perspective heightens the likelihood of finding a genuine mummy.”
A relieved sigh escaped Franca’s lips. “Hopefully, counterfeits aren’t as rampant here as in Trier.”
Perplexed, she inquired, “But why the need to bring us here to see a real mummy? My divination could discern the authenticity of the ashes.”
“To broaden your horizons,” Lumian replied confidently.
Before Franca could curse, he added, “Directly requesting mummy’s ashes might tempt him to provide counterfeits. When your divination results manifest on the spot, should I then smash his cabinet or engage in a scuffle? Such violence is hardly ideal.”
Lumian drew on an adage often uttered by Aurore.
Of course, he left out the adverse effects of the three contracts. The Abscessed Hand stoked a yearning to snap a target’s neck. The Human-Faced Mantis fueled a heightened disdain for those who unjustly maligned the innocent. The armored shadow goaded him to break free from the shackles of life’s confines.
Perhaps Mr. Fool’s witness or the boon of Bribe rendered these effects relatively manageable. They were detriments he could subdue with focus, yet their collective might occasionally sparked such impulses.
Simultaneously, Franca and Jenna scoffed, unified in their disdain.
Only Hunters harbored an affection for violence!
At that juncture, after a brief struggle with the lock, Sallent triumphantly swung open the pitch-black wooden door, its surface adorned with a cryptic symbol.
Within the basement passageway, Lumian’s eyes landed on wall-embedded oil lamps, forever alight.
Drenched in the dancing hues of dark-green firelight, Franca and her companions trailed behind Sallent, the shopkeeper of concealed curatives, as they ventured into the corridor that lay beyond the portal.
Light permeated the space, yet an illusion of advancing into darkness seized them step by step.
The already cold atmosphere seemed to plummet several degrees Celsius lower.
Sallent proceeded seven to eight meters ahead, navigating past firmly shut grayish-white stone doors. He halted before a chamber positioned at the corridor’s midpoint.
These stone doors and the encompassing walls bore symbols akin to those at the basement entrance.
Sallent nudged open the stone door confronting him, unveiling a diminutive sepulcher to Lumian and his comrades.
In the chamber’s heart rested an exotic humanoid sarcophagus adorned with a golden base and a kaleidoscope of colors.
“This mummy hails from five centuries ago,” Sallent introduced, drawing near the stone casket and pressing down its lid.
“He seems rather unconcerned about us making off with the mummy…” Lumian mused under his breath.
Franca emitted a soft chuckle, her voice hushed. “Perhaps he simply thinks nothing of us.”
Jenna remained silent during their exchange, her curiosity and trepidation fixated on the innards of the golden sarcophagus.
Within, a corpse swathed in yellowish-brown fabric lay. Its lips were slightly parted, while faint voids marked the spots where eyes once resided. Hints of seeped oil stained its form.
Unrestrained by the foreign surroundings, Franca extracted a mirror and initiated a divination before Sallent’s presence.
His eyes flickered momentarily, swiftly reverting to their prior state, as if he’d encountered such phenomena too frequently.
Before long, an aged voice resonated from Franca’s mirror, its cadence accompanied by the gentle rush of water.
“A bona fide mummy, albeit not ancient in origin.”
Franca’s gaze snapped up at Sallent, the proprietor of the mystic potion store.
Sallent offered an awkward smile in return.
“I fibbed earlier. This mummy isn’t a relic from five centuries past. Truth be told, it was crafted just a fortnight ago and dispatched here. However, regardless of origin, it underwent a comprehensive and protracted mummification process. The sole disparity from ancient mummies is the brevity of its interment.”
An “ancient” mummy born a mere fortnight prior? Lumian quirked an eyebrow at Sallent, his tone casual. “Do you hunt down the living to fashion mummies?”
Sallent gently shook his head.
“No need for such methods. The Southern Continent witnesses countless daily deaths. Procuring fresh cadavers requires only a nominal fee. Hiring hunters to track and capture would entail far greater expenses. Undertaking the task personally would exact an exorbitant temporal toll.”
He involuntarily assessed the advantages and drawbacks of multiple strategies.
Post this explanation, Jenna regarded the mummy with a newfound perspective.
It was the body of someone who hadn’t long been dead.
His motionless form stood exhibited as a tradable commodity.
Though the two-week-old mummy served its purpose and met the requisites, Franca yearned for superior specimens.
With a sigh, she averted her gaze from the recently minted mummy, prompting Sallent with a question. “Are there older mummies available?”
Sallent hesitated momentarily before treading cautiously. “How about those from last year?”
This constituted the most “ancient” mummy within the basement.
Franca emitted a rueful sigh. “That works too.”
Less enthused, Sallent led the trio to another sepulcher.
Initially presuming Lumian and his companions intended to purchase an entire mummy, Sallent had showcased the most well-preserved specimen. Now, it seemed Lumian merely sought a segment.
The yellowish-brown mummy dating back to the prior year already displayed signs of fragmentation. Not only were lower extremities absent, but its chest and abdomen also sported gaping voids.
With Franca’s divination validating its authenticity, Sallent posed his inquiry with diminished enthusiasm. “How much do you require?”
“50 grams,” Franca responded, intending to amass a larger reserve.
Sallent mulled over the request before pronouncing, “500 verl d’or.”
Promptly, Franca remitted the payment, her eyes fixed as Sallent procured a hammer and dirk, employing them to sever a portion of the mummy’s arm, akin to extracting ore.
Jenna stood dumbfounded. To her, it seemed somewhat gruesome and brutal.
Though she’d witnessed mob fights and personally taken a life, she’d never encountered someone treating human remains as inexpensive commodities.
Internally, Franca sighed and suppressed her emotions.
This was the stark reality of the Beyonder world and its potion system, yet compared to the boons, it was strangely appealing.
With the fraction of a mummy’s arm now in her possession, Franca wordlessly led Jenna out of the tomb, trailed by Lumian and Sallent.
They had traversed scarcely three meters when the kerosene lamps lining the corridor receded, casting an eerie dimness.
Sallent swiveled his head, his demeanor a mix of surprise and uncertainty.
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