Chapter 210: Monsters and Magic Lamps #3
Jack was a man who consumed the sand of the desert like it was his breakfast and drank the scorching sun like it was water. In his quest for the mythical treasures that probably didn’t exist, his everyday scenery consisted only of dull ancient ruins and an array of traps that could turn a decent fellow’s day into a real disaster.
With his luck, it was a given that no woman would ever be enchanted by him, and he didn’t exactly have a single friend to share a joke with. In a world full of nefarious treasure hunters, opening up to others was practically impossible—like trying to catch smoke with your bare hands.
“My heart may be a mystery, but I certainly have a knack for opening graves!” Jack would often mutter his not-so-witty jokes to himself. The only entity that stuck around to listen to him was a caramel-colored camel—strangely enough, his only confidant.
“My father told me that my clan descends from desert priestesses, connected to that notorious Ojimann the Great and his wife, Solara’s descendants. Surprising, right? Everyone thinks it’s a fib, but I don’t. The fact that I can read these ancient inscriptions… it has to be destiny. I’m destined to find the treasure of the ancient king!”
Jack would endlessly share his dreams and aspirations with the camel, which was the closest thing he had to a listener. Of course, he wondered if the beast secretly mocked him in its head.
“Just wait. I’ll show those fools!”
Even when ridiculed by others as foolish or simple-minded, Jack couldn’t help but chase after myths. It felt like the only justification for his existence in this world.
But time was not on Jack’s side. He was increasingly weakened by a mysterious illness that made his days seem darker. The caramel camel licked Jack’s forehead, as if offering comfort.
“I knew inhaling gas from that sarcophagus was a bad idea. I’ll be better soon! We’ll cross the desert together again…. This time for sure…. The moons of the Second Pyramid….”
Unfortunately, Jack’s cluelessness was destined to turn him to dust.
Shortly after, the camel, now shimmering with peculiar light, transformed into a human form. It was then that he inherited Jack’s name.
The new Jack looked at the ancient text before him, feeling a swell of emotion rise from his chest.
“Your words were not a lie, my friend. Everything we’ve searched for is right here, right before us! Can you see it?”
He thought of the friend who had taught him those ancient writings, that bumbling face flickering in his memory.
— Truly foolish are the ones who laughed at us: the dreamers they teased.
The transformed Jack murmured to himself, placing his hand on the lid of the metallic cylinder. Slowly, he began to recite the characters inscribed upon it.
— Trust, affection, and faith are all merely lies. The emotional constructs are the illusions fabricated by beasts that form societies.
— Is it really written there?
The White Beast asked, and Jack nodded.
*
— Is it really written there?
He tilted his head in affirmation. Then, in a quiet voice, he began to read each character aloud with great care.
— I have lived in a world entirely based on lies. Every throne, every destiny, everything given to me—except for my beloved Solara. But even she betrayed me; now, I am left with nothing. Oh, foolish souls, do not err by confusing temporary feelings for love, for it leads to a lifetime of suffering.
— Hmm.
The words struck like a veteran’s lament, making one think twice about marriage.
— There’s nothing else written after this.
— Didn’t seem to help much. What do you think, Jack?
Upon hearing my question, Jack frowned, continuing to trace the letters with his fingers.
— I don’t know either. We’ll just have to open it with force.
— I tried that already—and it didn’t budge!
At my comment, Totuga, the nearby blacksmith, stroked his beardless chin contemplatively.
“Ancient things aren’t always great. This sealing method was designed to be unyielding with ancient magic infused into the bronze and copper. It’s not likely to open by our brute strength.”
— Is there any other way?
Questioned Sand as Totuga rummaged through his hefty satchel and laid out an assortment of tools: nails, a hammer, odd beakers with suspicious liquids, and unidentifiable gems, sparking a flicker of anticipation within us.
— Did you discover a way to break it?
Upon my inquiry, Totuga grinned, exposing his white teeth.
“Just because it’s ancient doesn’t mean it’s all secrets and treasure. This sealing method was broken a long time ago. It won’t take more than five minutes.”
— Oh, splendid!
“Then I shall begin work.”
Totuga dipped a tool—something resembling a chisel—into the beaker’s strange liquid. He then heated it with a peculiar little torch he had fashioned and finished by sprinkling a silvery powder from his pocket.
After a bit of time, bubbles began to froth noisily at the end of his chisel.
“Now I’ll scrape away the magical coating on the surface. This requires precision, so let’s focus.”
The blacksmith started to meticulously scrape at the cylinder with his enhanced chisel, causing a splotch of blue residue to appear as the previously glowing bronze revealed its hidden layers.
Azidahaka watched in awe, his eyes sparkling as if he were witnessing a magician.
“Ah, so this is the skill of the Stone Dwarf! They say meticulous craftsmanship is bestowed with great talent and assistance.”
— Quite so.
I nodded in agreement.
Although my experience in creation was limited, watching Totuga sweating profusely made it clear that even the smallest tasks could be unexpectedly arduous.
Crack.
Clang.
Just as Totuga was getting into the groove, lightning sparked from the tip of his tool, followed by the sound of glass shattering.
“Finished! Now our collective strength should be enough to pry it open!”
— Just as expected, Totuga the Blacksmith! Yes, you excel at illegal work!
At Jack’s compliment, Totuga straightened his wiry frame and casually responded.
“Piece of cake! Now we should all join in.”
— Sure, let’s all pitch in.
— Alright.
Together with Jack, we wedged our fingers into the gap of the metal cylinder’s lid, bracing ourselves for a mighty push. That was when…
— Wait, stop! Something sour is coming out!
Sand called out, halting our efforts.
‘Sour?’
As I took a whiff, the metallic cylinder indeed emitted a citrusy scent that tickled the nose.
— It’s real.
I tapped the lid with my paw, nodding as Jack started sniffing as well.
— This smell…. It’s gas. There’s no doubt. I can’t believe we’d run into this again. Everyone, back away from the cylinder!
Jack’s urgent shout prompted us all to maintain our distance and observe the situation.
— What kind of gas is it?
At my question, Jack grimaced as if he could burst from suppression.
— It’s what they call Ojimann Dias’ Curse, a toxic gas formed by putting parasitic mushrooms and various poisonous insects into one jar and letting them consume each other to create this potent poison. For treasure hunters like us, it’s as good as a d*ath sentence.
“I’ve heard of that before. They say you feel the pain of your organs and skin being eaten by scarabs and scorpions.”
— That was a close call!
Sand wiped his forehead as if relieved. If he hadn’t intervened, half of us would have likely succumbed to that toxic gas.
‘Poison.’
Though I’d shrugged off various liquids before, gas was a whole new ballgame.
— So it’s made from putting toxins like poisonous mushrooms, scorpions, and snakes together?
At my inquiry, Azidahaka recalled something.
“I’ve heard there’s such a curse. They say gathering all sorts of harmful entities in one place leads to an outpouring of hatred and poison, creating a curse that is impervious to any antidote.”
“Tut, tut.”
Ras, stationed beside Azidahaka, clicked his tongue in response.
Then, pointing a finger at me, he declared, “Of course, it’s deadly for mortal beings. But for brothers, it’s different. I can feel the energy of the liberated, Nirvana, and the unnamed hero dwelling beneath that soft fur of yours. Nirvana had transcended all adversity. The poison should be nothing for you. Now go, break open that cylinder with vigor!”
Seems he had complete confidence I wouldn’t be affected.
Hardly surprising, considering I had dismissed the venom of El-Gasa, the queen snake whose poison could melt rocks even before my first evolution as Grid Ratel.
‘Let’s see if my resistance to poison holds out.’
I drew my shoulders and front paws high, stretching like an archer getting ready to sh**t.
— Everyone, step back! I don’t know what kind of gas this is, but wouldn’t it be an issue if we stayed away?
— That’s unlikely. It didn’t affect me when I was several meters away. If anyone gets poisoned, the symptoms would manifest right away.
Jack’s eyes shone with a glimmer of sadness. Although I wondered if there was a backstory behind that gas, it wasn’t the pressing matter at hand.
— But isn’t that a bit too far? I’m feeling a little left out here.
Our party had retreated to the farthest edge of the massive hall, looking as small as dots.
“Come on, hurry up and open it!”
At Azidahaka’s impatient nudge, I clenched my front paw, cracking my joints for effect.
— Let’s see what’s inside, oh great one. What kind of trouble are you causing me?
With that, I firmly wedged my paw and claws onto the released lid of the cylinder and bit down on my lower jaw.
— Hah!
Creak.
With a mighty grunt, I felt the thick metal lid yield. Pushing it forward with all my strength…
Whoosh!
As the sealed lid opened, a yellow gas erupted forth like a bomb’s aftershock. I didn’t know what the toxin would do, but the superheated vapor was enough to raise my fur in alarm.
— Gaaah! The poison…!
My scream echoed as Azidahaka shouted from a distance.
“Are you okay!?”
— Seems I’m just fine. Looks like the poison doesn’t work on me after all. Although, the gas is hotter than expected; that was a surprise!
“You gave me a scare! Should we come to you now?”
— No, we don’t know when the poison in the air will neutralize, so stay put. And….
I glanced at the opened cylinder and the mummy lying inside, narrowing my eyes.
— So we meet at last. And you’re the one holding that supposedly legendary artifact?
Inside the cylinder was a mummy, cross-armed and oddly regal, with something resembling a bizarre cross eerily grasped in its bony hand.
Rather than a cross, it resembled what’s depicted in ancient Egyptian murals—an Ankh.
— Not quite what I pictured; I expected a gleaming Excalibur or something.
To my monologue, the apparition of the mist-like spirit, Ra, hovered closer, smirking.
“Whatever that Excalibur is, this nail of Ra is a superior masterpiece above any tool. It’s not an exaggeration to say that I poured all my power into creating it.”
Seeming proud of this artifact he claimed to have made, I gave a slight nod.
— So it was a nail.
Upon closer inspection, its sharpened end suggested it could easily function as a dagger or a sort of ice pick.
— So what’s the power of this nail? Does it grant wishes or something? It sure doesn’t look like it.
“It holds power that dwarfs trivial wishes. Brace yourself. With this, you could resurrect the dead.”
At Ra’s declaration, it felt like I’d been struck by lightning. In a world rife with magic and bizarre beasts, I never imagined such an item existed that could revive the deceased.
‘Good heavens, and here I thought it was just a quirky design…’
I nodded knowingly.
— So, those gravekeepers were also using the might of this item to resurrect the dead. And….
I turned my gaze from Ra’s nail back to the mummy. As its bandaged face revealed hollow eyes, red light flared from its depths.
Grrr.
A ghastly metallic sound echoed as wind whistled through the momified throat.
— So this half-dead, withered creature wants to come back to life because of this nail.
“Correct! Quickly, bring down that Ojimann and free my power, brother!”
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