Chapter 101

  Castle Archewald, Part IV (The Category Is... Trousers!)

  I wake up feeling like one of the undead inhabitants of Walter’s castle. Ready to sleep for another hundred years, if they’d let me. The wonders of having a bed, I think, keeping my eyes closed and trying to let my body just enjoy a few more moment’s of the sheet’s soft embrace. The room feels eerily silent with the lack of the marsh’s ambient noise, or the sound of my spine screaming from nights spent on the cold, damp ground. Yeah, this is nice.

  My peace is only interrupted by the ache in my groin of an all-too-full bladder.

  “Fuuucck!...” I groan, eyes blinking the sleep away. How long had it been since I’d eaten an Adventurer’s Cookie? Besides being a treat enjoyed by my slimy pal Jelly Boy, the consumable item also eliminated the typical demands of a functioning human digestive system. Specifically, the need to find a bathroom in the strange otherworldly castle straight out of some B-list horror-musical knock-off. Liv was pretty good about making sure she kept up with her daily ration of Adventurer’s Cookie. I—apparently—had been too lax in my consumption.

  Now, paying the price, I groggily roll out of bed and nearly trip over the absurd pile of decorative pillows I had tossed off the bed while sleeping. They’re shapes like snakes, with embroidered scales. I fumble toward the hallway in my cursed jorts, bare footed and bare chested, hair sticking up like I’m doing my best hedgehog impression.

  “Right,” I mumble to myself, rubbing my temples. “If I were a bathroom, where would I be?”

  Pause.

  The stale morning breath creeps up to my nostrils and punches me straight in the nose hairs. My mouth feels like I slept with it open, mouth-breathing my way through dreams of fireballs and high-heeled raptors. It’s absolutely disgusting. Had I not noticed it only because I was surrounded by the nature and muck?

  “Huh…” I consider something—only for a moment—before saying ‘fuck it’ and shrugging.

  I flex my face muscles, nose scrunching, and cast [Clean], focusing on my face. A tiny shimmer of light and poof! A beat later and I have minty-fresh breath.

  I smile.

  Magic is neat.

  “Now, about that bathroom situation…”

  “Ah! Was just coming to wake you!” says Walter, rounding the corner at the far end of the hall.

  He’s wearing nothing other than a dark, felt bowler hat. His bones clack in time with his stride as he makes his way towards me.

  “Morning, Walter,” I say, doing my best not to let the strain in my voice reveal that my bladder is dangerously close to exploding. “Uh, you wouldn’t happen to know where the facilities are?”

  Walter pauses, jaw clicking. Then, he gestures vaguely with a bony thumb. “Take a left at the end of the hall. Second door on the right.”

  “...Noted.”

  I move with purpose, hoping the bathroom is exactly where he says and praying the length of the hall isn’t some cruel optical illusion.

  Walter watches me go, the amused rattle of his bones echoing down the corridor.

  “Also,” he calls, “Dr. Archewald’s waiting for you in the parlor. He says he wants to talk to you… about your pants.”

  I groan in response, the urgency too great to rip any actual words from my throat.

  The skeleton accountant chuckles before calling to me. “I’ll be waiting right here! I can show you there!”

  I hit him with a speedy thumbs up as I turn the corner and powerwalk my way into the lavatory.

  I walk out of the bathroom a new man. Bladder empty and everything equipped: boots, cape, Behemoth Cap, rings. I’m mindlessly chewing through an Adventurer’s Cookie, the crunchy, too-sweet thing crumbling in my mouth with notes of whatever flavor makes up ‘cookie butter.’

  Walter is waiting for me just outside my room, arms behind his back. He stops his whistling when he notices me coming down the hall. “Feeling lighter?” he asks.

  I grunt around a mouthful of cookie.

  “We should get moving. I told Dr. Archewald that I’d fetch you right away,” Walter says dryly, then gestures for me to follow. “Everyone has been busy at work while you were sleeping in.”

  “Busy? Shouldn’t we be leaving for the World Seed soon?”

  Now, it’s Walter’s turn to grunt. “The Serpentine Lord convinced me that we could afford a few days here at his castle to make preparations.”

  “Preparations?”

  “That’s correct.”

  I finish the last bite of the cookie. “And why didn’t anyone wake me up? How long have Liv and Jelly been up?”

  “Seven hours.”

  I nearly trip when the words hit me. “Seven hours?! What the hell!”

  “You took on the brunt of the battle against the Guardian. Least we could do was let you get some extra rest to recover.”

  “I guess so…” I say uncertainly.

  We walk through the castle’s velvet-lined inner halls, where the sconces flicker with green fire and the portraits seem to whisper at the corners of my hearing. At least once, I swear one of the portraits portraying the Serpentine Lord himself moves, causing me to jump in surprise. I’m not sure if it actually moved, as my [Perception] wasn’t triggered, but it’s unsettling all the same. It’s as though it’s always mildly haunted here, like a theater after closing, if all the actors were also experimental lizard-monsters with degrees in interpretive dance and the director was a mad scientist in drag.

  “Preston and Liv are in the alchemy wing,” Walter says, his skeletal feet clicking on the black marble floor. “Using Archewald’s facilities to brew a fresh batch of improved healing potions.”

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  I raise an eyebrow. “Liv?”

  Walter shrugs—or at least shifts his shoulders in what I assume is a shrug. “She’s got the knack for it, apparently. Despite being a pure healer, she understands restoration magic at a granular level. Preston was impressed.”

  “Who would’ve guessed.”

  “Your sister didn’t take to being in our world too well, but she’s displayed an adaptability and resilience that I have to admit are… admirable. You two are very similar in that regard.”

  I scratch at my cheek, not sure how to take the praise. “Er… Thanks. Resilient enough to complete this Quest in one piece?” I chuckle.

  “Too soon to say.” Walter’s tone is flat, factual.

  “Wow, thanks,” I mutter.

  We pass a tapestry that shows a velociraptor in a ballgown wrestling a manticore. I blink and keep walking. Unlike the portraits, this display thankfully doesn’t seem to move.

  “Also,” Walter adds, “Archewald and some of his assistants have been helping Jelly Boy.”

  “…Helping Jelly Boy with what?”

  Walter turns his skull toward me, and if he had eyelids, I think he’d blink. “A specific request. The slime was quite adamant, apparently. Never met a slime so opinionated.”

  “Wait—Jelly Boy asked for something? Like, from Archewald?”

  Walter nods. “Quite passionately, from what I gather.”

  “How the hell did Archewald understand what he wanted?” I always assumed it was my [Slime Tamer] Ability that allowed me to understand what Jelly Boy intended to communicate.

  “That, I don’t know. But given how powerful the Serpentine Lord is, I’d imagine he’d have a few tricks and surprises up his sleeve.”

  I chew slower now, trying to picture my blue, jiggly friend conducting a business transaction with a glam-reptilian demigod, involving god knows what.

  Walter continues walking, not breaking stride for a moment.

  “And what’s up with the new get-up?” I ask, gesturing to his bowler hat.

  “Archewald’s specialty lies in crafting enchanted gear,” Walter explains. “Even the cursed stuff is borderline miraculous. Preston’s work is solid, reliable. But it’s a pale comparison to the equipment the Serpentine Lord is capable of creating. Though, don’t tell Preston that. Fish has got a fragile ego. But if you ask me, he should stick to alchemy.”

  “So what’s the hat do?” I ask.

  “The hat enhances my connection to my undead workforce. Part-timers, contractors and staff. Helps me coordinate, manage, command them more efficiently. Especially when we’re deployed en masse.”

  I frown. “So, it’s like upgrading from smoke signals to Slack?”

  “To what?”

  Pause.

  “Never mind.”

  I withdraw another Adventurer’s Cookie, quickly scarf it down in a couple of bites, and brush the crumbs off my cursed jorts.

  “Well,” I say. “Let’s go see a man about my pants.”

  The parlor is pure chaos. Velvet curtains draped in garish greens and deep purples. A fire crackles in the hearth, but the flames are inverted—cold blue, licking upwards with no smoke. The flames form a face twisted in a cruel grin. The ceiling is painted with a moving fresco of reptilian monstrosities biting and snapping in a sea of scales, tail and fangs.

  Dr. Archewald sits in a highbacked chair, with deep red velvet cushions. The Serpentine Lord appears to be whispering to the strange, blue fire.

  Walter, ever the professional, tips his new bowler hat with an elegant skeletal gesture and bows. “I’ll leave you two to it. I’ll be in the library, if anyone’s looking.”

  “Don’t summon anything I wouldn’t summon,” sings Dr. Archewald.

  “Payroll isn’t big enough to support anything half as dangerous as that!” exclaims the skeleton.

  He leaves with the click of polished bones, and I turn just in time to see Dr. Archewald standing a foot away from me while casually adjusting the black satin ribbon on his corset. His lips are painted a venomous purple today, and his hair is swept up into an updo that defies gravity and likely physics. How did he move so fast? I can’t help but wonder.

  “Joseph, darling!” he purrs, arms wide like a Broadway villain. “I trust you slept well?”

  “Best bed I’ve been in since Earth. And no flaming horsemen to interrupt my REM cycles, so that’s a bonus.”

  “Mmm. We do our best.” He slinks over to a chaise lounge in the corner of the parlor and drops onto it with an audible sigh. “I’m sure you’re asking yourself why I called you here.”

  I lift one leg and give the cursed shorts a snap. “Actually, it’s about my pants, right?”

  “Oh, honey,” he croons. “Please be courteous to your host and give me the pleasure of my theatrics.”

  “These cursed jorts,” I say, not particularly in the mood for games. “You made them, right?”

  He squints and adjusts a lorgnette that appears from nowhere, perched on the bridge of his nose. The spectacles glow a faint blue and my [Aura Sense] spikes as a surge of magical energy flares from the item. “The Trousers of the Serpentine Lord,” he intones dramatically. “Yes. A fine piece of enchanted couture. One of my early masterpieces in my Curse Series. Enhanced movement, sporadic bursts of speed, mild shame curse. I had forgotten about this particular piece, however. I have to admit. I continue to impress myself, darling!”

  I nod slowly. “Right.” I clear my throat. “Is there a way to… remove that ‘curse’ part?”

  “They’re mood pants,” he says, waving a hand. “Emotion-reactive. It’s mostly a harmless curse.”

  “As harmless as they may be, they’re still cursed. You created them so I thought you might be able to… You know.” I gesture vaguely before pointing at my exposed quads.

  The lorgnette vanishes into thin air and Dr. Archewald taps a long, polished nail on his chin, considering. “I might be able to remove the curse. I wouldn’t know until I tried. And I’ve never tried. But that all seems like a massive waste of our time here. I’m sure you’ll want to learn more about the later stages of the trousers’ evolutions.”

  “Evolutions?”

  Archewald’s face freezes, just for a moment, before he quickly schools his expression. “The trousers. They have evolved by now, yes?”

  “Uh…”

  A look of absolute embarrassment and pity washes over the Serpentine Lord.

  “They haven’t evolved yet, I mean,” I say. “I don’t think so.”

  He falls backwards, hand on his chest as though I’d just stabbed him. “You’re… You’re absolutely sure?”

  I hold up a finger. “One moment.” With a couple of mental commands, I conjure the description for the Trousers.

  Item: [Trousers of the Serpentine Lord]

  Description: These trousers are imbued with the energy of the Serpentine Lord, one of Lichlord Dinescu’s archrivals he defeated in combat long, long ago. This is an Enchanted Item.

  Enchantments:

  [Personalized]: These trousers will take a unique form specific to the wearer. (Note: This is a Shame Curse. The form this item takes will be the result of shameful emotions drawn from the wearer.)

  [Growth]: These trousers will grow in strength the more often they are equipped and used in combat.

  Attributes:

  +8 to Dexterity

  +5 to Willpower

  +10% chance to evade any area of effect type Spells and abilities

  Skill: [Speed Boost] (Beginner)

  Description: When equipped, this item provides the user access to the [Speed Boost] Skill. When triggered, the user’s speed and acceleration are increased by +100% for ten seconds. This Skill has a 2-hour cooldown timer.

  “Still seems the same as when I first got them,” I say. Though I’m pretty sure the part about the Shame Curse was a new piece of information, reflecting what I’d just learned about the exact nature of the jorts.

  Dr. Archewald rises and sweeps an arm before him. He makes a slow circle around me, eyes gleaming with magical light. He crouches, stares directly at the shorts, then clicks his tongue like a disappointed dance coach.

  “All that potential, wasted,” he says. “Joseph, darling, when you receive a boon, it’s best you actually use it.”

  “They’re pants,” I say, arms wide. “I wear them. I run fast. Faster sometimes. Once every two hours, if I remember. I’m forced to wear them in every fight. What more do you want from me?”

  “That’s not bonding, Joseph,” he says, standing up and wagging a finger. “That’s utility. These are not utility pants. These are mood pants. Were you not listening to anything I was just saying? They’re woven with a reactive enchantment matrix. They require emotional resonance for evolution. It’s one thing to simply wear the pants. It’s another to be the pants, babe.”

  I blink at him. “I have no idea what the fuck that even means.”

  “And that’s the very reason I told that dusty bag of bones that there was no way you were all marching straight to the Hollowroot Bastion. The World Seed will have defense mechanism. You lot will need to be prepared. And that’s what I’m going to help you do. Prepare, darling!”

  I let out a sigh, grabbing the bridge of my nose. “Okay, fine. What do I have to do?”

  “Use those strong, muscles of yours for starters,” he says, eyes gleaming.

  “I use them all the time. What do you mean?”

  “Oh, you’ll learn what I mean. You’re mine for the next three days here. And during these next three days you’ll be thinking trousers, breathing trousers, and living trousers. Get ready to know those jorts, as you call them, on a personal level!”