TO&FQ: Book 2 - Chapter 4 (RAW)

Book 2: Chapter 4 - The Quest 

It is forbidden to kill; therefore all murderers are punished unless they kill in large numbers and to the sound of trumpets. 

- Voltaire

The security at other guard posts around the thieves’ hideout proved as laughable as the first. With Seraphina’s blade and the deadly precision of Frest’s crossbow, it was a simple enough thing to neutralize them. 

In the aftermath of the carnage, the pair discovered a modest cache of fine wines hidden away in one of the guild’s storage rooms. Frest took a generous swig straight from a dusty bottle, then offered it to Seraphina.

“So, what do we do now, milady?” he asked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “You’ve done more work here than Meridian’s city guards have in years.”

Seraphina wrinkled her nose at his casual disregard for etiquette but ultimately let it pass, shaking her head. “Now,” she said, her voice turning grim, “the horrid part begins. We must enter the old sewers.”

Frest raised an eyebrow. “The old sewers?”

“Actually,” she continued with a dismissive wave, “I was considering going alone. You can fetch Miriam to clean up this—” She gestured at the carnage around them. “—mess.”

Frest glanced around uneasily. “It is quite a lot of mess to clean up,” he admitted. “A whole buffet of…”

Seraphina released a weary sigh. “I’m sure she’ll manage. But don’t worry yourself. As my personal guard, I understand you may feel compelled to—”

“I can’t very well let you wander off defenseless,” Frest interrupted, sounding almost offended by the suggestion.

“Defenseless?” Seraphina snorted, incredulous. She raised an eyebrow, the corner of her lips curling into a half-smile. “You think I am defenseless?”

“Not precisely,” Frest said, his brow furrowing in earnest, “but you know my meaning, Lady Seraphina.”

“Fine,” she relented with a dramatic roll of her eyes. “If you’re that determined to come along, I suppose I can’t stop you. Honestly, Frest… Sometimes I wonder what I’m to do with you.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but she cut him off with a curt wave of her hand. “Enough dilly-dallying. We go now. Chop-chop!”

Frest shook his head and heaved a resigned sigh.

***

They stood before a heavy iron grate, beyond which lay only darkness and the faint rush of flowing water. Without hesitation, Seraphina grabbed the rusty iron bars, straining against the metal until it finally tore free under her determined effort.

She knew there was a more conventional entrance to the Old Sewers—one that wound through a maze of traps and hidden chambers—but she also remembered discovering this hidden shortcut during one of her old-world gaming sessions. Back then, she had accidentally “clipped” through into this section of the Thieves’ Guild hideout in Meridian.

Of course, in that digital realm, destructibility was not nearly as extensive as it was in this new reality. Here, she could quite literally carve her own path in this world if she felt like it. Perhaps there was a lesson in that, she mused silently, if only she could be bothered to unravel it.

Seraphina stood on the edge of the murky drop, her nose wrinkling at the foul stench rising from below. Below almost complete darkness.

Seraphina turned back to him, her eyes flashing with resolve. “You will speak of this to no one,” she said, her tone deadly serious. She held out her hand. “Zajasite.”

Without a word, Frest placed a small, glowing gem in her palm. Seraphina clipped the Zajasite to her belt, its light cutting through the gloom just enough to reveal the swirling current of sewage below. She bit her lip, drew a slow breath, then shut her eyes and leapt down into the dark, dirty water.

It was about a three-meter drop, and she created quite the splash. A putrid wave touched her thighs, and she grimaced at the sensation. Still, she steadied herself, trying not to think about the filth clinging to her boots. Overhead, Frest peered down with concern etched on his face.

Up above, he called out to her, “You alright down there, milady?”

“I’m fine!” she called softly, more to reassure herself than him.

Turning away, Seraphina raised a hand to shield her eyes from the faint, eerie glow of the stone, letting them adjust to the gloom. The Zajasite’s crystal’s eerie light cast dancing shadows on the slime-slick walls. She took one cautious step forward, then another, determined to reach her destination.

Behind her, Frest dropped down, inadvertently splashing her with more yet more of the effluvia. This would be a devil to wash out of her hair. He apologized profusely before following closely in her wake. Despite the sewer’s stench and the vile current swirling around them, Seraphina pressed on.

Perhaps this was a test of the gods to teach me humility, she thought bitterly.

Seraphina led them on for what felt like half an hour, trudging through the clinging mire until they finally found a hidden tunnel veering away from the sewage. They entered, following this dark path for another two hundred paces. Finally, it seemed they had reached a dead end—nothing but a solid wall of stone blocked their way.

Frest peered at the wall, his brow furrowed in confusion. “Milady, are you sure this is…?”

“Finally! We are here!” Seraphina announced, her voice echoing softly in the cramped space.

For the briefest moment, the knight feared she might be truly mad. Not the eccentricity that so often affected the well-to-do nobility, but the stark raving mad. Then, to his astonishment, she stepped into what appeared to be solid rock. It was as if her body were melting into the wall. Frest gasped and stumbled backward, shock and disbelief washing over him in waves.

On the far side, Seraphina turned around. From her vantage, she could see only the illusory barrier that perfectly imitated a wall of stone. She opened her mouth to call out, but remembered the spell would likely block any sound. Instead, she pushed her arm back through the wall, beckoning for Frest to follow.

A moment later, his hand pierced the illusion, followed by the rest of him. He emerged with a dazed look, eyes wide with wonder—and just a hint of disbelieving terror.

“What witchcraft is this?” he breathed, voice wavering between awe and dread.

Seraphina gave him a small, almost playful smile. “Just a minor illusion devised by an ancient republic to hide one of the shrines to the Old Ones.”

“The Old Ones, Lady Seraphina?” he asked, swallowing hard.

She lifted a brow. “Do you really want to know?”

“When I think about it,” Frest said slowly, “it’s probably better if I don’t, correct?”

“Quite so,” she agreed, her face illuminated by the eerie glow of the Zajasite. The light lent her features an otherworldly radiance. “Knowledge of them is... dangerous. One might bleed from every orifice. It’s supposed to be incredibly painful.”

He shivered at the thought. “When you put it that way, you make a convincing argument.”

“This is where you wait,” Seraphina said, her tone suddenly brisk and businesslike. “The dangers up ahead aren’t the kind you can handle, and I can’t have you bleeding out on me. That would be most inconvenient.”

Frest drew himself up and gave her a sharp salute. “I live but to serve, milady.”

A gloop of viscous sludge flew from him as he finished his salute, nearly striking Seraphina’s cheek. Both of them flinched, and Frest shut his eyes fearing reprisal.

“I won’t be long,” she added, turning away. “Wait here. That’s an order.”

Annoyed, Seraphina strode down the rough-hewn passage without waiting for his reply. The tunnel sloped deeper beneath the city of Meridian, the walls damp and close, but large enough for three men to walk abreast without stooping. Even so, the girl felt a touch of claustrophobia. A touch of claustrophobia that she pushed down by the sheer force of her stubborn will. Her footfalls echoed ominously as she ventured alone toward whatever lay in the hidden shrine of the Old Ones.

Seraphina had lied to Frest, of course. There were secrets she simply refused to share. Truths she safeguarded for she knew that even the most loyal of minions would abandon her if they knew. This particular place burrowed deep beneath the marshes of Meridian, was one the original Seraphina had once discovered during a history assignment—little more than an obscure footnote in ancient texts. Yet that morsel of knowledge had sparked an obsession: locating the shrine of the Old Ones rumored to slumber beneath the city.

Her footsteps echoed off the stone walls. Each step she took felt heavier than the last. The shrine was close—she could feel it in her bones—and yet the game system remained stubbornly silent. No new Quest appeared to guide her, even though by the logic of her memories. Memories of playing the game that this world was but a mirror. 

Seraphina had already triggered every requirement for a quest activation. The bitter truth stung: she was not the main character of this story. No matter how many conditions she met, the system simply refused to acknowledge her.

Doubt sank its claws into her mind. If she could not even prompt a single new Quest, did that mean her fate was already set in stone? Had she broken the narrative too much by skipping certain parts of this “level”? Where had she gone wrong? Was everything around her just an elaborate illusion—and even if it was real, did it matter?

She paused mid-stride, shaking her head as if to cast off those dark thoughts. Suddenly, She recognized the trick for what it was: the shrine’s defenses, influencing and worming its way into her mind. Rage flared inside her chest. She had known about this—the mental intrusion designed to keep away those who sought the Old Ones—and yet she had still almost succumbed.

“How dare it,” she seethed. This was her life, her story, and she would twist even the threads of fate to suit her purpose. She stamped a foot in defiance. Instantly, the ground rumbled, pebbles and dust tumbling from the ceiling in protest.

In the glow of her Zajasite crystal, Seraphina glimpsed the walls’ impossible patterns: twisting shapes of living geometry, lines that folded in on themselves in maddening cycles. She forced her eyes away and pushed forward, keeping her attention rigidly fixed on the path. There was a long, frantic run—ten minutes by her reckoning, though every second dragged like an hour—until finally, she arrived.

The shrine of the Old Ones sprawled before her, a grotesque fusion of living flesh and cold metal. Strands of what looked like sinew and veins snaked around steel columns; they throbbed in tandem with a central core that beat like a heart. Silver wires snaked across the fleshy walls, the entire structure pulsing with an unearthly rhythm.

The shrine of the Old Ones was in truth a protective seal that held back the entities that had existed since the birth of the universe.

Seraphina’s breath caught. By unraveling the shrine’s ancient seal, she could siphon the Old Ones’ power—power she desperately needed. Yes, each open shrine would slowly weaken the barriers that kept these malevolent entities locked away, pushing the entire world closer to calamity. 

Yes, doing so would empower monsters throughout the world, granting them new strengths and abilities. This had been one of the original mechanics of the game, its intent to stop the protagonist from spending too much time away from the main quest. A death timer of sorts as the original villainess discovered more and more shrines. 

Still, she reasoned, she only needed to open this one. She vowed she would not unleash complete Armageddon. Just a taste of that grand power… enough to keep her alive against assassins’ daggers and subtle poisons. Just a little headstart.

Cautiously, Seraphina reached out. Her fingertips grazed the throbbing heart of the shrine. At once, a profound stillness gripped the chamber. She gasped as a wail—felt rather than heard—tore through her soul. Then came the surge, a torrent of energy flooding into her body. Colors she had no name for exploded behind her eyes, and for a moment, she felt invincible, more complete than she ever had in her life.

Then, almost as swiftly as it began, it ended. The world spun and she collapsed to the floor, the aftershocks of that euphoria leaving her both exhausted and oddly fulfilled. New words emblazoned themselves across her inner vision, like molten iron branding her mind:

You have gained the dark gift: Resilience of the Old Ones.

+25 to Constitution

You have gained 3 levels.

You have 9 Attribute points to assign.

You have 3 Skill points to assign.

The future Queen of Aranthia’s lips curled into a shaky smile. The power was hers and she would deal with the consequences later. She would not tread the path that the original Seraphina had taken before her. 

After all, that would be boring.