At the slightest lift of the lid, it burst upward a sound reminiscent of a burst of air from a closed mouth, then from the box came a tide of… haze. It was a technicolour haze with multiple hues and it rolled towards Nyte like the waves of a relentless ocean.

  He took a step back, then somewhere within himself he found he recognised the haze, mid step he froze and watched on curiously as it approached him.

  Least it can do is kill me. He giggled softly within his mind, his face a black canvas, he didn't even flinch when the lid crashed on the floor beside his bed.

  You have acquired an Auxiliary

  You have acquired an Auxiliary

  You have acquired an Auxiliary

  “Ah!” He exclaimed, I was right.

  Nyte horridly called up his system status like he would post the Auxiliaries, a small smile grew on his face, who would have thought? Me getting not one, but three fucking auxiliaries.

  STATUS

  Name:

  Nyte Dante

  Race:

  Sitsi’an

  [Modified]

  Traits:

  [Lineage Memory], [Endless Tongue], [High Perception], [Dark Shelter], [Unseen sights], [Cu-jar'kuhun]

  Bloodline:

  [Blood of the pale]

  Titles:

  N/A

  Pure Essence:

  0/1000

  Rank:

  Sprout

  Branches:

  [Unlock Quest]

  [Unlock Quest]

  [Unlock Quest]

  [Unlock Quest]

  Leaves:

  N/A

  Vines:

  N/A

  Auxiliaries:

  [Arkandris Ark]

  [Fortunia Medalis]

  [Tricksters Husk]

  Harbingers:

  Presence - 15ft

  N/A

  Cruel Thesis

  Physical Operator

  Strength: 1×

  Fortitude: 1×

  Cognition: 1×

  Lithe: 1×

  Mutation Actuator

  Flesh defilement: 0%

  Temporary:

  N/A

  Adjustable:

  N/A

  Permanent:

  N/A

  He went through his system status everything was the same from his race to his vines from there the magic began.

  He looked at the first auxiliary he had gained wishing to get more detail.

  Auxiliary:

  Arkandris Ark

  Rank:

  Bronze [Soulbound] [Sealed]

  Type:

  Armament

  Lore:

  "Arkan! Lumenu! Aradis!"

  These were the final words of Arkandris, the first and last of his people to ascend to godhood. Gift. Future. Progress. His last decree, spoken as both blessing and curse. He left behind a gift for his people—a sword forged from his death, for their future, a symbol to lead them to progress. But his wish went unanswered, and with it came the downfall and extinction of his race.

  Now, the Ark lingers as both burden and legacy, waiting for one worthy enough to wield its power and carry the name Arkandris into eternity. Bear the gift. Bear the burden. Let the name Arkandris Ark be known once more.

  Abilities:

  [Sealed]

  [Sealed]

  [Sealed]

  [Sealed]

  [Sealed]

  [Sealed]

  [Sealed]

  [Sealed]

  Nyte felt a chill run through his spine at the lore of the sword, if not for the terrible weight of it, but for the sole fact that the sword had been created by the System from the death of an actual God.

  Nyte had never heard of the God, a bit of curiosity arose in him but he quickly quenched it, his interest captured by other aspects of the blade. Like the fact that it was Soulbound and sealed, Nyte knew not to speak of any of both facts aloud, he had seen such Auxiliaries getting people missing.

  Rank:

  [Soulbound]

  Speak this vow of brotherhood with the Blade and forever chain your soul and that of Arkandris Ark together

  “By will and by blood, I bind myself to thee, Arkandris Ark. From this moment until the dust claims my bones, we are one—blade and bearer, soul and steel. No hand but mine shall wield thee, no path but mine shall guide thee. In darkness and in light, in triumph and in ruin, I shall not forsake thee, nor shall thou forsake me. Let our paths entwine, unbroken, until the end of all things.”

  Nyte read through the vow, he knew of only one benefit Soulbound Auxiliaries carried, the sharing of ranks with both the wielder and the Auxiliary, yet Nyte doubted that was the only benefit. He was a bit frightened to tie his soul to a weapon, yet it called to him. What would my master do? Nah, that's a arse idea. Urg fuck it. He already knew what he wanted, yet he felt making the decision too quickly could be bad.

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  With a sigh he decided to look at more of the Auxiliaries details.

  [Sealed]

  The abilities of this auxiliary are too powerful and have been sealed to the minimal starting rank, use pure essence allocation to unlock and aid ability usage.

  Nyte and the other slave's idea had been right it seemed, Auxiliaries with sealed abilities were more powerful. Nyte felt his decision tilting further in one direction.

  Abilities:

  [Sealed]

  0/25,000 Pure Essence

  Nyte froze, he read the amount of pure essence required and sighed. Just how powerful is this sword? He wondered. Knowing that ascension from rank one to two wouldn't even cost as much pure essence. Zero out of a thousand proved it.

  He looked though the other sealed and all showed him the same thing: unseal the first ability.

  He debated within himself for a moment, it was either to summon the blade or not. He chose to see what the other Auxiliaries held in store for him.

  Auxiliary:

  Fortunia Medalis

  Rank:

  Bronze

  Type:

  Wile

  Lore:

  “Piss off”

  Those, sadly were the last words of the gambler, why had he been killed, and who had killed him? Do you care or do you desire only wealth? Like his murder, vile.

  Abilities:

  [Toss those dies]

  [I know the game]

  Nyte found himself intrigued by the Auxiliary, which he had no idea in exactly what shape or form it would turn out to be. it called to him, was this his path to riches?

  Abilities:

  [Toss those dice]

  Type: Passive

  Essence drain: Abysmal

  Effect: Feel the perfect toss, become the master of rolling the dice.

  Fucking interesting. Nyte tried activating the ability but he couldn't feel any connection. Maybe I have to summon it first. He decided to check out everything before summoning. He called up the other ability.

  Abilities:

  [I know the game]

  Type: Active

  Essence drain: Moderate

  Effect: The Gambler knows all games, he's played them and broken them.

  Nyte found himself wondering where he could gamble. Oh, I have no money.

  He moved on to the next auxiliary, his mind still caught by the last two, The power of Arkandris Ark and the Whimsey of the Fortunia Medalis, he could see aspect of his master in both though, the blade could be the customary long blade for the Death's Gambit and the Fortunia Medalis could be seen as an addition for his love of gambling. What else? Nyte wondered. A rope? He guessed he knew that was a big part of the style, Or maybe a short sword?

  The Auxiliary details popped into being before Nyte.

  Auxiliary:

  Tricksters Husk

  Rank:

  Bronze

  Type:

  Armour

  Lore:

  The nameless trickster was a phantom on the battlefield—struck down a hundred times, yet never bled. Blades met only air, and those who swore they had fought him could never recall his face. Was he a man? A shadow? A lie?

  Then, one day, he vanished. Some say he slipped past death itself. Others claim he shed his own form, leaving behind only his hollow husk—a relic of deception, mischief, and the art of never being where you're expected.

  Now, the Husk lingers, waiting for the next fool—or master—to step into its game.

  Abilities:

  [Guess again]

  Nyte had definitely not forgotten that armour's existed during his guessing, in fact he had left it out, because it was obvious. He nodded to his shameless thoughts and, briefly considered if the armour would be the skin of this trickster, definitely not, right?

  Abilities:

  [Guess again]

  Type: Active

  Essence drain: Moderate

  Effect: Your movements are harder to perceive, your tricks are less perceptible.

  He nodded, the ability would definitely be useful for the type of style the Death's Gambit was, but Nyte found himself wondering how strong these abilities would be, given their ranks, he wondered how much limitations they would have.

  He finished going through the detail and his eyes finally saw that something extra laid within the box as the system display vanished from before his eyes.

  “An Architect's ledger.” He heard the soft voice of Drazel come from beside him.

  When had he gotten there?

  Nyte looked at the boy.

  “I've been off slumbering for a couple minutes.” Drazel offered. “Did he by improbable chances help you with fussels?”

  “He didn't. I have no nothing.” Nyte said with a small shrug. “By Architect's Ledger do you mean the thing used to create leaves?”

  Drazel nodded, through his frustration of Nytes first reply. Nyte picked up the black leather sheet and quill, it was nothing like Nyte had expected. It felt thick but seemed normal radiating no power. The quill was just as simple as the leather of the ledger.

  He looked at Drazel.

  “Although he did leave me with an Auxiliary that assists in gambling, I don't know why he'd do that without leaving me fussels.” Nyte said wonderingly.

  Drazel piped up, his gloom fading away.

  “I suppose he did allow me to do our finances during our stay.” Drazel said, quickly adding. “Though we do have a countable amount left. I might have made a massive miss calculation”

  “How many?” Nyte asked, raising an eyebrow. If his guess was right and they were in an inn, then he didn’t want to starve to death.

  “Four full rank-one fussles and two empty,” Drazel said, sounding less certain than usual. “It’ll be enough for food until the end of tomorrow.”

  Nyte’s gaze sharpened. “How many did he give you?” He wasn’t sure why he asked. He didn’t really care. Maybe a little.

  “Fifty.”

  Nyte stared at him. Or more accurately, at the green-tinted glasses that hid his eyes. His expression didn’t change, but his mind paused for just a moment.

  Fifty fussles.

  “What the fuck did you use that much money for?” Nyte asked, his voice rising slightly, head tilting.

  Drazel sighed. “Here’s the thing, Nyte. It was all for an excellent reason. I’m working on an extensive sigildry project.”

  Nyte nodded. “And?”

  “I needed a number of tools. But… I overestimated my chances of multiplying the initial amount.”

  Nyte’s expression didn’t shift, but his voice was sharp when he asked, “Gambling?”

  Drazel ran a hand through his hair, his usual composure slipping. “I’ve been stuck as a sigildry master for three years now.” His voice carried a weight Nyte hadn’t heard before—frustration, maybe even desperation. “Got the title at fifteen. Now I’m getting old.”

  Nyte snorted. “You’re eighteen.”

  Drazel shot him a look. “And at thirty, I’ll be nothing but another sigildry master who never broke through. Do you know how many of us stay stuck at this level forever? I need—” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “I need an edge. And that takes resources.”

  Nyte nodded, considering his next move. A decision was here, sitting in front of him. He could help. Just like his master and Cipher had helped him. And like them…

  I need to gain something from helping, don’t I?

  He gave the thought a mental nod. He spent a moment thinking, weighing the choice.

  Fuck it. I just want fussles.

  “fifty-five percent of everything earned,” Nyte proposed.

  A small spark of satisfaction flickered inside him. He was acting on what he wanted. He had the ability to go for it.

  Drazel blinked. “What?” His confusion was obvious.

  “I might have a way to help you. Double the money. Assist your logical capacity.”

  “A second—” Drazel adjusted his glasses. “The auxiliary?”

  “Yeah.”

  Drazel considered for only a moment before nodding. “After my bath” He was already stumbling toward the bath, long legs moving awkwardly.

  Nyte exhaled, shaking his head. Didn’t even bargain.

  Every fucker with their own interests, I guess.

  As for Nyte? He was about to get rich, buy himself some nice clothes, maybe a mansion. After all, at the end of the day, the fussles belonged to both of them.

  Drazel walked into the bathroom, new clothes in his hands and a towel, there seemed to be a spring in his steps.

  Looking at the closed bathroom, Nyte remembered that he hadn’t summoned any of his Auxiliaries to check them out, so he decided to summon Arkandris Ark first.

  He stretched out his hand before him opened his palm and thought the name: [Arkandris Ark]

  Nyte reached out, and the system answered. A chill raced through his skin, electric. The haze coiled around his fingers, twisting like living smoke. Another chill, and the haze thickened, swirling with quiet promise. The third chill struck deep, a shiver not of cold, but of something greater: power, purpose. And then, with effortless grace, the sword materialized, its hilt settling into his open hand like it had always belonged there.

  He was left breathless. The blade was a masterpiece of elegant yet baleful artistry.

  The hilt, long enough to accommodate both his hands with room to spare, rose into a dangerously arced pommel, a crest of lethal beauty. Created from golden, steel-like metal, it felt strangely comfortable despite its bare, unyielding surface. The crossguard curved subtly outward, guiding the eye toward the blade’s length.

  The fuller stretched nearly half the length of the 1.12-meter blade, its first segment adorned with golden patterns and script etched against a pitch-black backdrop. Where the gold and black met their end, a deep blue took over, its surface carved with silver constellations, radiant suns, and celestial sigils. These patterns flowed seamlessly with the fuller until they, too, gave way—where silver consumed the rest of the blade, a whisper of raw lethality.

  It was art, but a dreadful one—crafted for death.

  In Nyte’s grip, the sword felt perfect, its balance absolute, its hold immovable. The air itself seemed to shudder as he shifted it, the edge humming, vibrating, as if thirsting for blood.

  Nyte's eyes widened. Wow. Although Nyte felt wonder at seeing the sword he couldn’t help but get a foreboding feeling within his gut. Just what waited for them?

  Nyte didn’t know but gritted his teeth and affirmed his decision to stay the course.