Unlimited Isekai and Other Unfortunate Magic

Dave stood there, stunned by the dragoness's harsh reaction. He quickly shifted his points back to Wisdom, realizing his mistake. The violin in his mind played a somber tune, urging him to tread carefully.

"I... I apologize," Dave said softly, raising his hands in a placating gesture. "I didn't mean to offend you. I'm new here and still learning the rules. I won't use Charisma in your presence again. Please, I'm not trying to trick you or anything. I just need enough money for a meal and a place to sleep."

The dragoness's scales shifted slightly to pinkish red, a flicker of something - perhaps surprise or curiosity - passing across her face. She studied Dave more closely, her eyes narrowing as she took in his battered appearance and tattered clothes.

The detective's violin began to play an Irish pub song. Dave recognized it as The Wellerman, by The Irish Rovers. The song slowly drained his frustration away.

Dave knew he was treading on thin ice with the dragoness, but he decided to push his luck. He tried to push past his exhaustion to look as sympathetic as possible. The dragoness simply glared back at him. Her glare reminded Dave of a time when he had annoyed a particularly aggressive badger that was gnawing on a piece of cheese from his bin.

"Share a secret," the violin entwined with Wisdom magic seemed to suggest after a moment of tense silence. "Break the ice."

"Look," Dave said tiredly, "I'm kind of like you."

"Like me?!" The dragoness snarled, her scales turning a deeper red. "How are you in any way like me?"

Dave felt a lump forming in his throat.

"Just yesterday, I was magicked naked to this world and forced into a teeth-pulling labor force. Everything is overwhelming and I don't really know anyone ," he explained. "Just like you, I don't like being a slave, don't like being forced into work. We're both victims here, in a way. And, quite frankly, we could both use some kindness and understanding."

The dragoness huffed and fidgeted with her claws. "Were you really?"

Dave exhaled a breath he didn't realize he was holding. "Yes, I was," he replied, "I got these clothes from an old corpse. You think I dress and smell like this normally? I just escaped from my ‘master’, a fat man that called himself a God-Emperor. Were you born free?"

The girl let out a small growl. "I was free so long ago that I can barely remember it. Now I am bound to serve this blasted town forevermore as property of a vile human."

Dave nodded in understanding. "That sounds... terrible. Not all humans are like that though," he said, even though he himself had little evidence to support that claim.

She scoffed. "Sure."

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence before Dave finally spoke up. "So, about the bugs. Can we agree on a price that's a little closer to what they're actually worth?"

"These bugs are very damaged," she said. "What did you do, bash them with a pointy rock?"

"A bone knife," Dave pointed to the knife on his belt.

“I see,” she said. “Well, they’re too banged up and are only good for melting down.”

Dave rubbed his temple, stressing out further. He hated bartering. Then the rational part of his soul intervened.

"Befriend her," Sherlock's strings sang. "Break the pattern."

Dave looked at the dragoness, her scales shifting between violet and dark red.

"What's your name?" He asked. "Where are you from?"

The blacksmith let out a small sigh.

"Remicra," she said with a trace of annoyance. "And I'm from ... somewhere very far from here. It doesn't matter. I cannot return, I am bound to this blasted smithy."

She picked up one of the metallic bugs and examined it more closely, turning it over in her clawed hand.

"Take the bugs," Dave said suddenly as his mind arrived at the perfect pattern-breaker.

"Hrrm?" The dragoness blinked.

"Take them, for free," he added with a tired look.

Something suddenly broke in the NPC script that Remicra was following. She looked at Dave, stupefied.

Dave enjoyed Remicra's stunned expression, secretly reveling in the knowledge that he had managed to derail her.

"Wait. Why?" she demanded.

Dave couldn't help but smile at Remicra's expression. Her scales shifted to a softer hue, somewhere between violet and blue, as she struggled to process his unexpected offer.

"Because," Dave said gently, "sometimes it's nice to do something kind for someone else, especially when they're having a rough day. And it seems like we're both having a pretty rough time of it lately."

Remicra's eyes narrowed, searching Dave's face for any sign of deception. Finding none, her posture relaxed slightly, and her tail swished in a less agitated manner.

"You're... different," she said cautiously, her voice losing some of its earlier hostility. "Most humans who come here just want to haggle or show off their magic or order me around like I'm their property."

Dave shrugged, feeling a warmth spread through his chest at the small breakthrough. "Well, I'm new here. Maybe I haven't learned to be a jerk yet."

"Uh-huh," she nodded. "So you really don't want money for these bugs?"

"I can probably make some money at the market with my magic," he shrugged. "I'll be fine."

"Who would even pay a coin to a filthy, smelly manling like you?" She asked. "You look like some wind could push you over."

Dave sighed, trying not to take offense. He looked down at his raggedy cloak, "This isn't how I normally smell. I crawled through a mountain of corpses, fought a giant bat and got assaulted by a bunch of metal bugs."

Remicra's lips quirked, revealing a set of pointy teeth.

"Hrm. You're not completely insufferable, I suppose," she said. "For a human."

As Dave prepared to leave, he turned to Remicra and said, "Keep your head up, Remicra. This place may be old and broken, but not everything is. Not everyone is."

"Hrrm," the dragoness huffed as she watched him leave from her fiery domain.

Dave stumbled out of the sweltering smithy.

His senses had been besieged on all sides; the oppressive heat of the forge, the acrid stench of the metal bugs and his gnawing hunger conspired to confound him. He slid onto the grass, leaning his back against the sturdy, moss-covered wall of the lighthouse. The cliff side breeze caressed his flushed face, relaxing his battered senses.

He walked for at least forty kilometers today and felt unbearably exhausted, in dire need of a nap.

As he sat there, Dave felt a warmth spreading through him that had nothing to do with the fading sunlight. It was the warmth of survival, of having faced numerous challenges and come out the other side. He'd navigated treacherous terrain, battled strange creatures, and even managed to have a civil conversation with a dragon blacksmith. It wasn't much, but it was a start. Things were definitely looking up after the whole reincarnated into bone-world business.

A fat cloud slowly rolled from the chasm, casting a diffused, dreamlike glow over the haphazard, medieval town.

Surrendering to exhaustion, Dave yawned and allowed his heavy eyelids to flutter closed. He switched all of the soul bits inside of him to Vitality.

. . .

When he opened his eyes again, he was met with the imposing figure of Remicra, who stared down at him with molten gold and violet glare that held the promise of danger.

Her iridescent scales served as a living canvas, reflecting the rich hues of the continent-filled sky above and the green meadow below.

"I thought you would've scampered off to the market by now to impress other idiots with your magic," she sneered.

Dave managed a weak smile. "No such luck, I'm afraid. I'm not really sure where I'm supposed to go next. Or what I'm supposed to do."

"Typical clueless manling," Remicra finally muttered with a derisive snort. "Always looking for someone else to tell them what to do."

Despite his tiredness, Dave couldn't help but roll his eyes. "Yes, typical clueless human. Am I meant to be asking you for guidance or wisdom, since you're so well-versed in those areas?"

"I could snap you in two right now, human," she threatened.

Dave simply shrugged. "Go ahead and make with the snapping. I'm too tired and scratched up to move. Pretty sure that damn bat broke a rib or two when it dropped me from the sky."

With a deep growl, Remicra stormed into the smithy. She emerged a few moments later with bandages and a few leaves, hurling them at Dave.

"Here. Take these and leave, before I change my mind and decide to roast you for dinner," she snarled.

Dave looked at the bandages. "What...?" he asked.

"These are, clearly, bandages and aloe leaves, you insufferable dolt," Remicra retorted. "You are absolutely covered in lacerations! The City Watch might impose a fine on the smithy if I let your corpse rot here!"

"Thanks," he murmured.

Remicra emitted a guttural grunt of acknowledgement. Dave proceeded to wrap his wounds.

As he completed the task of binding the cuts left by the metallic insects, a magical luminescence blossomed throughout the town nestled beneath the cliff side, thousands of windows lighting up with various colors from within. Dave gazed at the idyllic scene below, a tide of melancholy surging within his chest.

The violin residing in the recesses of his soul commenced an incredibly mournful serenade.

It was a peculiar sensation, to be simultaneously spellbound and wistful.

Involuntarily, as the incredibly sad violin song played on and on his thoughts drifted to Lari and the host of countless other lost souls his Phantomancy had absorbed in the horrid Citadel of the Dragon Emperor.

He blinked, only to find that his cheeks were dampened by tears. The pain, shock and despair crashed into him all at once.

"Are you crying?" Remicra asked.

Dave looked up at her. "Uh, no. No, I am not," he said, swiping the tears away.

God damn it, Sherlock, why?

"Ha," Remicra interjected. "You ARE crying!"

"Fine, I am," Dave admitted. "Yesterday, I saw more deaths than I have in the entirety of my life. It seems that the local deities just love murder and madness."

"Oh, they do," the dragoness agreed. "Look up."

Dave raised his eyes upward.

The clouds rolling over the chasm, encircled by the majestic snow-capped mountains, bore the reflection of a long, brilliant orange streak.

"The degree of refraction in those clouds is extremely high," His mind clicked. "A sun is mirrored within them, creating the illusion of a sunset."

As he looked even further up in the sky, he beheld a sight so monstrous and awe-inspiring that it left him speechless. There, in the heart of the sky, was a gargantuan black hole ringed by a shimmering orange corona.

A massive yellow star, like a celestial dancer, spun gracefully around the black hole, its fiery hue deepening as it moved past the rim of the singularity.

"Holy shit," Dave choked out. "This isn't a Dyson sphere... its a freaking... Birch world... or something."

"That's Nihilim," Remicra murmured, pointing at the sky. "The void engine built by the old gods that holds our world together."

"Incredible," Dave breathed.

He turned to his companion. "You know, now that I think about it, I have no idea what this world is called."

"Arxtruria," Remicra said.

"Does that stand for something?" Dave asked.

"Arx Tru Ria," Remicra intoned, her words stretching like a somber song. "Symphony of the Damned."

"Now that's an uplifting name," he attempted to infuse some levity into the conversation. "I suppose 'Harmony of the Merry' was already taken?"

"Indeed, the Gods have a penchant for the dramatic," Remicra said.

The inverted landscape beyond the black hole and the sun vanishing behind the event horizon was illuminated with stars that ignited and dimmed in random sequences.

"What... but there's land there, right?" he said. "What are those flickering lights?"

"You cannot see the fires of war during the day," Remicra intoned. "Each star represents a city or a nation reduced to cinders."

"What?" Dave repeated.

"Fire magics. The God-Emperors and their archmage mutts engage in endless strife over territory," Remicra said darkly.

Dave swallowed. The distant skirmishes sent a disquieting shiver coursing through him – the local gods exercised no restraint in the wielding of their power. As he stared at the incandescent display, the violin within him abruptly altered its melody, evoking an air of tension.

These distant pinpricks of light were akin to thermonuclear detonations.

"Some God-Emperors can summon endless armies into being," Remicra added. "Some build thousands of citadels across the land and the others turn it all to ashes in the blink of an eye. The war between the Gods never ends as nations rise and fall."

"Could they annihilate this town too?" Dave gulped.

"They could," the dragoness responded with a shrug. "But it is unlikely. Shandria is under the wings of her Divine Shadow."

"Meaning what?"

"The sorcery of the Shadow Empress shields this town from harm," the ruby-haired blacksmith said. "It is her domain."

"So, this Shadow Empress is safeguarding us from other god-like warlords capable of obliterating entire nations? Seems like Shandria isn't so bad then. I'm starting to like this town more," Dave mulled.

Remicra rolled her eyes, a gesture she had clearly perfected. "I daresay you would prefer to hide yourself within some subterranean recess for the duration of your existence rather than confront the world."

"Hey, I resemble that remark," Dave replied with a smile.

Remicra's scales shifted to an orange as she gazed at the darkening sky. "You should head into town NOW," she intoned.

Dave looked at her, puzzled. "Why? What's the rush?"

“Night is coming,” she said. "When the sun vanishes behind the horizon of Nihilim, it will be pitch black."

"And?"

"If you wish to die slowly and horribly, then go ahead and stay outside," the dragoness said.

At her words, his tired mind suddenly recalled the words of the fox-girl at the snail café. Her cheerful voice echoed in his memory: "Terrible things happen at night. First they take your arms. Then legs."

"Uh, where exactly should I head to?" he asked, trying to sound calm. "I'm sort of short on funds."

"The Adventurers Guild," Remicra said. "It's a massive, white cathedral in the center of town. You can't miss it. See over there? There's its spire in the distance. If you run fast, you'll make it there before darkness falls. They'll give you a room for the night on a tab."

Dave nodded, relief washing over him at the prospect of a safe place to sleep. He pushed everything into Strength and struggled to his feet, his body protesting every movement. "Thank you, Remicra," he said sincerely. "For the bandages, the advice, and... well, for not roasting me, I suppose."

The dragoness snorted. "Don't thank me yet, human. You still have to make it through the night. Run now. Before the Leviathan Nightingale spreads its wings across all of Shandria.”

Dave's heartbeat intensified at the blacksmith's words. He rushed away from the smithy, heading back into town at an ever-increasing pace.

The city streets, once inviting and magical, now seemed to hold hidden dangers in every shadow.

Dave hurried through the eerily empty streets of Shandria. The threat of being chopped into "adorkable meat cubes" spurred him on, and he shoved everything into Agility, his feet barely touching the ground as he sprinted towards the white cathedral.

A somber bell suddenly responded across town and windows and doorways all around Dave began to close. The ringing of the bell amplified itself, began bouncing from tower to tower like a lamenting warning siren.

The white cathedral loomed ahead, its imposing structure a beacon of hope in the gathering darkness. Dave's lungs burned as he pushed himself harder, acutely aware of the shadows deepening around him. He caught sight of an open side door just as the main entrance closed shut, and with a final burst of speed, he flung himself through the opening.

Panting heavily, Dave found himself face to face with a stern-looking guard who fixed him with a disapproving glare. "Cutting it rather close, aren't we?" the bearded man in the steel helmet chided. "Token please."

"I'm sorry," Dave gasped, fumbling for his token. "I... I didn't realize how late it was getting."

The guard's expression softened slightly as Dave presented his identification. With a curt nod, he asked, "And how will you be paying for your accommodations this evening?"

Dave, still struggling to catch his breath, managed to wheeze out, "The cheapest room available, please. Put it on my tab if that's possible."

"Can do," the guard nodded. "Just be wary if you go above 20 silver, the Guild is permitted to collar you until you work off the debt."

Dave swallowed. "So how much is the cheapest room?"

"Five copper a night," the man replied.

"Okay," Dave nodded.

"Follow," the guard said briskly.

Eerie, red lights ignited across the hallway they were standing in, originating from triangular runes. Oddly enough, they cast no shadows, their red, suspiciously even radiance seemingly going right through walls or perhaps around corners.

Deciding he needed more clarity on the local economy, he cleared his throat and asked, "Could you explain how the currency works here? I'm... new to, uh, Shandria."

The guard seemed to take pity on Dave. "Alright, listen up because I'm only going to explain this once," he said as he led Dave down a long spiral stairwell. "Ten coppers make a silver. A hundred silvers make a gold. A hundred gold make a platinum. A hundred platinum make a magisteel. A thousand magisteel make a celesteel."

Dave nodded, trying to commit the information to memory. The guard continued, "Most folks deal in coppers and silvers for day-to-day transactions. Golds are for bigger purchases or savings. Platinums? Those are for the wealthy merchants and mid-tier nobles. And magisteel and celesteel? Those are reserved for the Highborn Lords, obscenely rich or high-ranking Guild members, people looking to buy real estate."

"I see," Dave said. "And how much would a typical meal cost? Or a set of clothes?"

The guard sighed, clearly not thrilled about playing economic advisor. "The cheapest meal at a tavern might run you 7-8 coppers. A set of basic clothes, maybe 3 to 10 silvers depending on quality. But prices can vary widely depending on where you shop and what you're buying."

"And jobs? How much might someone earn for a day's work?"

"Depends on the job," the guard shrugged. "An unskilled laborer might make 10 to 15 coppers a day. A more skilled craftsman could earn several silvers. Adventurers can make a fortune, or end up owing the Guild a fortune, or die in the wilds. Working for the Guild is risky business."

Dave nodded, feeling slightly more informed. "Thank you for the explanation. I appreciate it."

Another nod from the guard, and Dave found himself being led down another winding staircase that seemed to descend into the very bowels of the earth.

Then, the guard paused at a nondescript section of wall. "Token please."

As Dave handed his token over, the guard slipped it inside a faintly glowing hole inhabited by an cyan Kitlix.

When the guard handed Dave his token, Dave noted that a dark red [-5 Co] was displayed on it now, hovering next to his face.

As they continued their descent, the air became thick and musty, the soft glow of red triangular runes cast an eerie light on their path. Finally, they reached what appeared to be a vast underground chamber, filled with row upon row of small alcoves carved into the rock.

"And here's your lovely room," the guard announced, gesturing to a cramped, dusty alcove barely large enough for a person to lie down. Dave peered inside, noting the conspicuous absence of any bedding or mattress.

As the guard turned to leave, Dave stared at the tiny alcove, his heart sinking as he realized this would be his accommodation for the night.

Then with a sigh, he slipped inside. The space featured rough, grimy stone walls on three sides and nothing but the cold, hard stone beneath. No mattress, no blanket, not even a pillow - just bare rock.

As the guard's footsteps faded away, Dave cautiously peered out of his alcove. The vast underground chamber stretched out before him, filled with hundreds of similar niches carved into the rock. Each was occupied by a figure, some human, some decidedly not. The air was filled with mingled scents of sweat, dirt, and something Dave couldn't quite identify but made his nose wrinkle in disgust.

The eerie red glow from the triangular runes didn't serve as very good lighting.

In this crimson twilight, Dave caught glimpses of his fellow "guests." Some were clearly seasoned adventurers, their bodies scarred and muscled, weapons clutched even in sleep. Others looked as lost and frightened as Dave felt, huddled in their alcoves with wide, darting eyes.

A grizzled dwarf in the alcove across from Dave met his gaze, giving him a toothless grin before turning over and beginning to snore loudly. To his left, a figure that seemed to be made entirely of dark feathers curled up tightly, occasionally emitting a soft, whimpering sound.

Dave retreated into his alcove, his back pressed against the cool stone. His heart was still racing from his mad dash through the darkening streets, and now claustrophobia threatened to overwhelm him. He used the dead man's ragged bag as a pillow and closed his eyes, trying to steady his breathing.

As the minutes ticked by, the cacophony of sounds in the chamber gradually died down. The muttered conversations, rustling of clothes, and occasional coughs gave way to a chorus of snores and deep breathing. The oppressive silence that followed was broken only by the occasional whimper or muffled cry - testament to the nightmares that plagued many of the sleepers.

Exhaustion tugged at Dave's consciousness, but fear kept him alert. What if the cryptic warnings about the night were true? What if something came for him while he slept and chopped off his arms? He shook his head, trying to clear the paranoid thoughts. He needed rest if he was going to survive in this strange new world.

With a deep sigh, Dave concentrated on redistributing his soul points. He pushed everything into Vitality, hoping it would help him recover from the day's ordeals.

The aches in his muscles began to fade, and the cuts and bruises from his encounter with the metallic bugs seemed to throb less painfully. Even the gnawing hunger in his stomach subsided somewhat.

As the healing warmth of Vitality washed over him, Dave's eyelids grew heavy. He fought against sleep for a few more moments, straining his ears for any sign of danger. But all he could hear were the snores and quiet breathing of his fellow destitute adventurers.

Finally, unable to resist any longer, Dave allowed his eyes to close. His last conscious thought was a mix of gratitude for having found shelter and trepidation about what the next day might bring.

Then, mercifully, he slipped into a deep, dreamless sleep.