"Scrolls." The Zurrernorn leader rasped, their grating voice like metal grinding, reacting to Khajiit's account of his death.
"Scrolls? How?" Khajiit stammered, incredulous.
Revived from death, he felt physically frail but mentally sharper than ever.
His clearest memory was the middle-aged man killing him. He'd suspected scrolls but dismissed the idea.
Third-tier angels?
The major nations' scroll-crafting peaked at third-tier. Masters capable of such work were rare, and their scrolls were hoarded by Magician's Guilds or reserved for national arsenals.
Moreover, scroll-cast magic was inherently weaker.
He'd heard only the Slane Theocracy was researching fourth-tier scrolls, but whether they'd succeeded was beyond his former low rank.
"Don't be fooled by appearances." The leader sneered. "Third-tier scrolls are precious, but not as rare as you think. Kekeke-"
Their eerie laugh sent ripples through the black mana cloaking them. "The Theocracy began studying fifth-tier scrolls a century ago. Fourth-tier? They cracked that long before."
A hundred years?
The revelation shook Khajiit, a testament to time's weight. His great-grandfather wasn't born then.
Even his mother's memory had faded.
His heart trembled.
This was what he sought.
"You fool." The leader scoffed. "You didn't notice your opponent used only two spells? You don't even know their face or build."
"Now that I've revived you, you'll serve as my slave for a while."
"Yes." Khajiit replied hastily, rising from his knees. His eyes flicked cautiously over the death-soaked landscape. "Where is this?"
"Dread." The leader said flatly, striding deeper into the undead realm.
…
The next day, at Wil's Tailor Shop, two streets from the Adventurer's Guild in E-Rantel, Adam stood before a mirror, admiring his new outfit.
The shop's name was plain, but its owner, Wil, was renowned among adventurers. His clothes, though pricier, were top-quality, designed for their needs.
Adam wore a snug black inner layer, deceptively loose-looking, topped with a white priestly robe, tailored to avoid the usual bulk. The waist was cinched, and the hem shortened for mobility.
His hair, grown long after a month in the Great Forest of Tob, was lightly trimmed, retaining length. The ensemble gave him a gentle, approachable air.
With money to spare, Adam had commissioned the outfit days ago. The priestly robe suited his divine type magic Caster persona, while the black inner layer ensured agility, unhindered by loose garments.
"How's it feel? Any adjustments needed?" Wil asked softly, his graying hair peeking from under a leather apron.
"Your work's excellent." Adam praised.
Wil nodded calmly, accustomed to compliments.
After a pause, he ventured, "The sleeves, aren't they too wide?"
The robe's cuffs draped over Adam's arms, concealing them entirely, impractical for wielding weapons or other tasks, in Wil's view.
"No issue." Adam said, flicking a sleeve with a smile.
The loose cuffs were intentional, hiding items drawn from his item box or scroll usage.
"Forgive my presumption." Wil added sheepishly, brushing his white hair. "I added hidden clasps at the shoulders. You can pull the sleeves up and secure them, freeing your arms."
Adam noticed subtle folds at the shoulders, each with a discreet white button.
Clever design.
"I'm impressed. Are the others ready?" Adam asked, smiling.
"As ordered, three more sets, plus this one, four total. Six gold coins each." Wil said, eyeing Adam.
The price was steep, costs inflated by the rush order.
"Twenty-four gold coins?" Adam raised an eyebrow, then pulled a pouch from his robe, counting out the coins.
With roughly 600 gold coins left, plus Khajiit's Shadow Staff and skull necklace to sell, he'd soon have more.
"Let's go, Shadow." Adam called to the Invisible Hound, grabbing the packed clothes and leaving.
The bustling streets were quieter than days prior, a subtle tension in the air.
Adam had gathered intel recently, prompting his plan to leave E-Rantel for the Baharuth Empire soon.
He headed to Lizzie's shop to sell some of his two baskets of herbs.
The Empire trip wouldn't be smooth, and he'd need funds.
Navigating the crowd, Adam reached a corner, subtly swapping his clothing parcel for one with herbs, just a portion, to avoid suspicion.
Reflecting on the fifth-tier Resurrection · Modified he'd acquired last night, he grew warier of this world's humans.
Modifying divine type magic for arcane casters wasn't unheard of. The novels mentioned Silence, a divine spell superior to Mute, adapted for arcane use by the Theocracy.
But that was low-tier.
Resurrection, a fifth-tier spell, required immense skill to adapt, hinting at Zurrernorn's leader's prowess.
Adam's expression turned grave.
His recent experiences had shifted his view of this world's "weak" Humans.
Potion-making, scroll-crafting, magic modification, humans achieved feats impossible in YGGDRASIL.
Over 600 years, their mastery of magic and technology reached astonishing heights.
Racial limits were an insurmountable barrier, but without them, their accumulated knowledge might rival players who treated YGGDRASIL as a game.
This was the weight of centuries.
"Resurrection magic's the ultimate killing tool, isn't it?" Adam mused, eyes glinting as he thought of Resurrection · Modified.
***
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