When Luge returned once more to his grand bedroom open on three sides, he felt for a moment as if an entire lifetime had passed.
Was he exhausted? In pain? Drowsy?
He decided to go find Half-Man immediately. What he wanted was this very state of genuine, unexaggerated wretchedness. He hadn't shut his eyes to rest the whole way back, keeping going entirely by relying on Boiling Spirit, and had originally planned to have a good long sleep upon returning. Thinking about it now, there was no need at all. A person had to keep their word; since Half-Man had told him to come see him once he learned Demonskin, and he had already delayed for so long, he shouldn't drag his feet any longer.
He looked down at the robe and boots he was wearing, and after some thought, stowed them both into his storage pouch. Grabbing a spare beast-fang staff from the cave, he slung it over his shoulder and ambled off, feeling his way toward the location in his memory.
After walking for a stretch through the familiar yet strange tunnels, he thought of that little crybaby worm-person. On a whim, he took out the nurturing bag and shook it before his eyes.
"You'd better work hard! Come out soon. I don't even know what you look like yet. I'll wait for you a little longer, but if you still haven't hatched by then, I'm going to look for another companion familiar..."
He cooed as if cajoling a child while strolling lazily along. Being back in familiar territory helped him relax considerably.
The nurturing bag vibrated twice in response, as if it had actually understood a few words.
Varying his pace between fast and slow along the way, he took nearly half again as long as usual before finally coming upon that massive boulder once more.
Upon arriving, he said nothing at all. He channeled energy straight into the spell model and cast Demonskin.
Half-Man's hazy figure emerged, still sitting in the same posture as before.
There was the same unblinking eye, the head missing nearly half its mass, and the usual expressionless face.
Everything was as harmonious as ever.
"It seems you are already a true apprentice wizard, battered little kobold..."
The voice was transmitted through that curious application of mental power as always; who knew if Luge would ever hear Half-Man actually move his mouth to speak.
Luge adopted a pitiful look, though in truth, simply standing there relaxed was already the picture of battered misery.
"I ran into an apprentice wizard. With a wave of his hand, he could throw out a whole barrage of fire bolts. Luckily, I had the Demonskin spellcasting material you gave me, or I would've been roasted to a crisp." He smoothed down his singed, ragged fur.
"There are apprentice wizards near here already?" Half-Man said.
Luge thought of the female elf he had encountered earlier and gave a firm nod.
As they spoke, a potion bottle floated over and hovered before Luge.
He blinked at the potion, took it with both hands, and gripped it tight. This potion was also dark green, appearing no different from the one Baonte had given him. It seemed this was likely a common, mainstream healing potion; he had originally assumed Half-Man might offer something more advanced.
A thought stirred in his mind.
"That was an injured apprentice, and I managed to defeat him in the end with a short spear. This is his storage pouch. Could you help me erase his imprint?"
Stowing the potion, he produced a bloodstained storage pouch and ventured his request.
Luge still remembered that when he obtained the storage pouch he was currently using, Half-Man had mentioned erasing the mark on it.
Luge held out the storage pouch in both hands.
Half-Man offered no verbal reply. An invisible ripple appeared across Luge's hands, making the storage pouch resting in his palms jump slightly before settling into calm.
It was as though he had done nothing more than the most trivial of chores, yet it completely shattered some of Luge's speculations.
For a brief moment, he had wondered whether Half-Man might also be an apprentice wizard—not quite as high and mighty as he had previously imagined—and whether he had come here for Lord Wizard Niteli's commission, just like Baonte and the others.
"An interesting little thing, just like you," Half-Man said.
An object slightly smaller than a thumb appeared before Luge. It possessed clean edges, a cubic shape, and all manner of strange markings and numbers.
"This is that interesting little gift. Simply put, it is a curio."
Half-Man's words were met only with a blank look from Luge.
He reached out to take it, but failed for the very first time; the little object seemed anchored in midair.
As he stared at it, he suddenly found it looked somewhat familiar. It seemed to be an oddly shaped die.
"Once you grasp it with your hand, you must not release it carelessly. You may place it in your storage pouch, as that provides a faint spatial isolation, but do not take it out idly to fiddle with it, lest you accidentally drop it," Half-Man said. "It is called the Demon's Dice, a curio formed under exceedingly peculiar circumstances by six playful little demons. Six extraordinarily special little demons bestowed special power upon this die. A curio, by definition, is a wondrous, unreplicable object of exceedingly high status.
"In other words, so long as you roll it, its effects will work even on formal wizards—or even great wizards, provided you are lucky enough and actually have the opportunity to take action before a great wizard."
As Half-Man stopped speaking, Luge finally found a moment to blink his slightly dry eyes.
He wasn't swept away by the wondrous gift. His immediate thought was that this thing had to be expensive—precious beyond belief, the sort he couldn't possibly afford. What was more, Half-Man had absolutely no reason to give him such an item for nothing.
Therefore, he held his tongue and waited like an obedient child for the inevitable follow-up.
Before that follow-up came, the die drifted lazily into his hand. Recalling what he had just heard, he hurriedly gripped it tight.
The moment he seized it, knowledge of how to use the die surfaced in his mind.
The die felt like both metal and bone to the touch. It was said to possess wondrous and powerful abilities, yet in Luge's eyes, it seemed somewhat petty and trivial, carrying all the mischievous spirit of those six playful little demons. First, kissing each of the die's six faces in turn would make one its master, but being its master wasn't entirely a blessing.
The moment the die was cast was also the moment its master awaited a turning point of fate.
The first four faces of the die would, according to the master's will, inflict temporary blindness, panic, dancing, or manic laughter on the chosen target corresponding to the number rolled. That was why Luge had initially thought it petty; on closer inspection, however, it was terrifying. It had its own criteria of judgment. For example, it could plunge someone of weak willpower into permanent blindness, terrify someone harboring psychological trauma until they were unable to move or even scared to death, force a lazy person to dance until dying of total exhaustion, or drive the grief-stricken to laugh until suffocating.
Everything seemed orderly and rule-bound, yet completely devoid of reason.
And the other two faces made Luge's hand tremble.
Rolling a five or a six belonged to the master of the die—meaning the chances were quite high. Once rolled, the user would have the honor of inviting a demon who just happened to be gazing into the distance for an impromptu bargain. Furthermore, the die's selection was limited entirely to demons who loved entertainment; dull-witted brutes driven purely by brawn were never chosen by the die.
A bargain struck in this manner could not be refused. In theory, it was an exchange of equal value between both sides, but those who bargained with demons never came to a good end. Demons who sought amusement were often erratic in their thinking and might demand your left eye, or insist that you offer up whatever you held most precious.
What was truly intriguing was that all of this was inscribed on the die.
The modest die even recorded the final demise of every single past master. It truly was thoroughly mischievous.
"As long as I don't use it, I'll be fine, right?" Luge looked up and swallowed hard.
Chapter 38