The toilets in the Undercroft were a place where hope went to die. Rows of cracked porcelain stalls, rusted pipes dripping brownish water, and a smell that was a permanent mix of mold and sewage. It was the perfect laboratory.
It was 11:00 PM. Curfew had started an hour ago. The halls were patrolled by Golems—mindless stone constructs that followed a strict path. Avoiding them was easy if you knew the algorithm of their patrol routes, which I did.
"Hold the bucket steady," I whispered.
Zane was kneeling on the wet tile floor, his massive hands gripping a rusted metal pail. He looked ridiculous—a giant of a man, capable of crushing skulls, acting as a lab assistant in a toilet. "It smells like piss and burning," Zane grumbled, wrinkling his nose.
"That's the ammonia," I explained, carefully pouring a clear liquid from a stolen cleaning bottle into the pail. "And this..." I held up a small vial of blue powder I had swiped from the supply closet yesterday, "...is crushed Nightshade extract. Usually used for calming horses."
"You're making a potion?"
"No," I stirred the mixture with a wooden stick. The liquid turned a murky, swirling grey. "Potions require mana. Potions glow and sparkle. This is just chemistry. It's ugly, it's dangerous, and it doesn't trigger mana sensors."
I was making a crude version of a sleeping gas. In my old world, mixing bleach and ammonia created deadly chloramine gas. Here, mixing Whitestone Cleaner (ammonia-based) with Nightshade created a heavy, vaporous fog that induced immediate, coma-like sleep. It wasn't magic. It was biological warfare.
"Done," I capped the pail with a wet cloth to stop the gas from leaking. "We have about twenty minutes before this loses potency. Let's move."
The Academy at night was a necropolis. The gargoyles on the roofs cast long, claw-like shadows across the courtyards. The silence was heavy, broken only by the rhythmic thud-thud-thud of the Stone Golems patrolling the perimeter.
We moved through the shadows. I led the way, using [Mirage - Optical Camouflage]. It wasn't invisibility. I couldn't bend light perfectly around us—that cost too much mana. Instead, I blurred our outlines. We looked like shifting shadows, blending into the dark stone walls.
Zane moved surprisingly quietly for a man of his size. He was a hunter by nature. He placed his feet carefully, rolling from heel to toe, making no sound. To him, silence was a religion. He wouldn't break it.
We reached the Faculty Tower. The door was locked, of course. A simple magical seal. "Can you break it?" Zane whispered.
"If I break it, the alarm sounds," I replied. "We go through the service entrance."
We circled to the side of the tower. There was a small, iron grate near the ground. The ventilation shaft for the basement alchemy labs. I pulled out a small set of lockpicks I had fashioned from stiff wire. Click. Click. Snap. The grate swung open.
"It's tight," Zane noted, looking at the narrow tunnel.
"For you, maybe. Squeeze. Or stay here."
Zane grunted and shoved his massive shoulders into the shaft. We crawled through the dust and cobwebs, climbing up the internal ladder that ran through the spine of the tower. Floor 1... Floor 2... Floor 3... Floor 4. Department of Demonology.
We stopped at the vent grate looking into the corridor outside Vex's office. I peeked through the slats. Empty. I pushed the grate open, and we dropped into the hallway.
The door to Vex's office loomed ahead. The brass plaque glinted in the moonlight. PROFESSOR VEX.
I approached the door. I didn't touch the handle. I knelt down and put my ear to the wood. I could hear faint scratching. He was still awake. Working late. Perfect.
"The Supply Cabinet," I signaled to Zane. The cabinet was right next to Vex's office door. It shared a wall. And more importantly, it shared a ventilation duct.
I used the stolen key I had swapped yesterday. Click. The cabinet door opened smoothly. We squeezed inside among the mops and buckets. It was cramped. Zane's knee was digging into my ribs.
"There," I pointed to a small vent high on the wall. "That leads directly into his office."
I took the pail. I removed the wet cloth. Foul, grey smoke immediately began to billow out. "Lift me up," I ordered.
Zane grabbed me by the waist and hoisted me up effortlessly. I held the pail up to the vent. I used a small wind cantrip—a tiny, insignificant puff of air—to push the smoke through the grate and into the office next door.
We waited. One minute. Two minutes. The scratching sound from the other room stopped. Then, a heavy thump. Like a head hitting a desk.
"He's down," I whispered. "Put me down."
We exited the closet. I pulled my shirt up over my nose and mouth. "Hold your breath. The gas is still in the air."
I tried the office door handle. Locked. But Vex was unconscious inside. He couldn't maintain the magical lock active if his mind was asleep. I placed my hand on the lock and pumped a burst of mana into it, overloading the mechanism. Click.
We slipped inside.
The office was filled with a thin, grey haze. Professor Vex was slumped over his mahogany desk, his face buried in a stack of papers. He was snoring softly—a wet, rattling sound.
I moved quickly. I didn't look at the jars this time. I went straight for the desk. I held my breath, my lungs burning. There it was. The Weirwood Box.
It was still glowing with a faint violet hum. A ward. If I touched it, it would trigger a defensive spell. Likely a shockwave or an alarm. "Zane," I signaled. "Tongs."
Zane grabbed a pair of long iron tongs from the dissection table. He handed them to me. Iron was mana-neutral. The ward wouldn't react to dead metal. I used the tongs to carefully lift the lid of the box.
Creak. The lid opened. Inside, resting on a bed of black velvet, was the ring. It wasn't flashy. It was a simple band of dark, matte metal, inscribed with faint runes that seemed to absorb the light around them. The Ring of Whispers.
My heart hammered in my chest. This was it. The key to my survival. I reached out with the tongs to grab it.
CROAK.
The sound was sudden and wet. I froze. Zane froze. We looked at the dissection table. The purple frog-creature Vex had been cutting open yesterday... was moving. It wasn't alive. It was a Necro-Construct. A watch-dog made of dead flesh. Its chest cavity was open, organs exposed, but its eyes were glowing with a sickly yellow light. It opened its mouth to let out a screech that would wake the entire tower.
'Shit,' I thought. 'If it screams, we're dead.'
I was holding the tongs. I couldn't cast a spell fast enough. The frog's throat swelled, ready to burst with sound.
WHOOSH.
A massive hand blurred through the air. Zane didn't use magic. He used pure reflex. He snatched the frog out of the air mid-leap. His hand completely engulfed the creature. He squeezed. SQUELCH.
There was no scream. Only the sickening sound of wet meat being crushed. Black ichor oozed between Zane's fingers. He held the crushed remains of the construct, his face pale, holding his breath against the gas. He looked at me with wide eyes. 'Did I do good?'
I nodded, exhaling a breath of relief (into my shirt). 'Perfect.'
I turned back to the box. I grabbed the ring with the tongs and dropped it into my pocket. "Go," I mouthed.
We backed out of the room. I closed the door. I locked it again with a pulse of mana. We ran back to the supply closet, through the vent, down the ladder, and out into the night.
We didn't stop running until we reached the safety of the Undercroft. We collapsed on our bunks in Room C-104, gasping for fresh air.
"Did we..." Zane panted, wiping the black slime from his hand onto his pants. "Did we get it?"
I sat up, my heart rate slowly returning to normal. I reached into my pocket. I pulled out the ring. In the dim light of the dorm room, it looked harmless. But I could feel the power radiating from it. A cool, soothing energy that sought to connect with my core.
I slipped it onto my right index finger. Instant. A rush of cold water seemed to flow through my veins. My mana regeneration, usually a slow trickle, turned into a steady stream. [System Alert: Artifact Equipped - Ring of Whispers] [Mana Regen: +50%] [Passive Effect: Silent Casting Enabled]
I closed my eyes and smiled. It was better than I remembered from the game. I looked at Zane. He was watching me, waiting. The noise of the dorm was starting to creep back into his mind. I could see the tension returning to his shoulders.
"The deal," Zane grunted. "You have your toy. Where is my silence?"
I stood up. I walked over to him. I didn't need to touch his head this time. I didn't need to whisper a chant. I just thought it.
[Skill: Mirage - Auditory Void (Amplified)]
The mana flowed from the ring, silent and invisible. It wrapped around Zane's head like a soft, thick blanket. But this time, it was different. It wasn't just blocking sound. It was filtering it. I wove a complex layer of illusions that turned the harsh, grating noises of the world into soft, ambient white noise. The dripping water sounded like rain. The buzzing lights sounded like wind in the trees.
Zane's eyes widened. He didn't just relax; he melted. He slumped against the wall, his mouth falling open slightly. The constant, agonizing pressure on his brain vanished completely. "It's..." he whispered, his voice filled with awe. "It's soft."
"The ring amplifies my control," I said, my voice clear and calm in his mind. "I can keep this up all night. And all day tomorrow. As long as I wear this ring, you have peace."
Zane looked at the ring on my finger. Then he looked at me. Slowly, he slid off his bunk. He knelt on the cold stone floor. It wasn't a bow of submission to a master. It was a warrior kneeling to his king. Or perhaps, a drowning man kneeling to his savior.
"You have the wall," Zane said, his voice deep and steady. "You have the sword. Point me at the enemy, Aren. And I will break them."
I looked down at the giant kneeling before me. The "Mad Dog" was no longer a loose cannon. He was a guided missile. And I held the remote.
"Get up, Zane," I said, turning back to my bed. "We don't kneel. We prepare." I lay down, twisting the cold metal ring on my finger. Phase One was complete. I had the muscle. I had the mana. Now, it was time for Phase Two.
"The Architect needs money."
Tomorrow, we would pay a visit to the Black Market of Babel. Because saving the world—and destroying the plot—was going to be expensive.