Gifts and Kisses

When Ruger returned to his spacious bedroom open on three sides, he was struck by a sense of having crossed into another lifetime.

Was he tired? In pain? Sleepy?

He decided to go find Half-Man immediately. This was exactly the sort of naturally wretched appearance, stripped of any exaggerated acting, that he needed. He had not closed his eyes to rest the entire way, relying wholly on Mental Boil to keep himself going. He had originally planned to return and get a good sleep first, but now there was no need. A person had to keep his word. Since Half-Man had said to see him after learning the Demon Skin Spell, Ruger had already delayed long enough. There was no point dragging it out any further.

He looked down at his robe and boots, considered for a moment, then put them one by one into his storage bag. He took a spare long beast-fang staff from the cave and slung it over his shoulder, then swayed his way toward the direction he remembered.

After walking a stretch through those familiar yet unfamiliar passages, he thought of the little crybaby insectman and simply lifted the cultivation pouch, giving it a shake before his eyes.

"You need to work hard! Come out soon—I still don't even know what you look like. I'll wait a while longer, but if you still don't come out by then, I'll go find another companion demon pet..."

He spoke as he walked, and once he returned to familiar territory, his whole body relaxed considerably.

The cultivation pouch answered with two little tremors. Who knew whether it had understood any of that.

Though his mood had eased somewhat, his physical condition truly was poor.

He staggered along the way, taking nearly half again as long as usual before he saw that huge boulder once more.

Once there, he said nothing. He directly empowered the spell model and cast the Demon Skin Spell.

Half-Man's hazy figure emerged, still holding the same seated posture as last time.

He still had those unblinking eyes, that head missing nearly half of itself, and that same expressionless face.

Everything was as harmonious as ever.

"Your appearance... you are already a true wizard apprentice, little dog-headed man covered in wounds..."

The voice still arrived through that peculiar application of spiritual power. Ruger wondered when he would ever hear Half-Man speak by moving his lips.

Ruger put on a pitiful look. In truth, all he had done was stand there in a relaxed manner, and he already looked miserably bedraggled.

"I encountered a wizard apprentice. With a wave of his hand, he could throw out a whole swarm of fireballs. Fortunately, I had the Demon Skin Spell casting materials you gave me. Otherwise, I would have been roasted alive." He smoothed his tattered fur.

"There are already wizard apprentices nearby?" Half-Man said.

Thinking of the female elf he had seen earlier, Ruger nodded with certainty.

A potion drifted over and stopped in front of Ruger.

He blinked at the potion, accepted it with both hands, and clenched it in his grip. This potion was dark green as well, and looked no different from the one Baangte had given him. It seemed likely to be a mainstream, fairly common restorative potion. He had originally thought Half-Man might give him something more advanced.

A thought stirred in his heart.

"That was an injured apprentice. In the end, I defeated him with a short spear. This is his storage bag. Can you help me erase his mark?"

He took out a bloodstained storage bag and tried making the request.

Ruger remembered that when he had obtained the storage bag he currently used, Half-Man had said he had erased the mark on it.

Ruger held the storage bag up in both hands.

Half-Man gave no verbal reply. An invisible ripple appeared in Ruger's hands, making the storage bag resting in his palms twitch slightly before it settled again.

As though he had done something utterly ordinary, Half-Man also shattered some of Ruger's speculations.

For a moment, Ruger had wondered whether Half-Man might also be a wizard apprentice—not as lofty as Ruger had imagined—and whether, like Baangte and the others, he had come here on behalf of that Lord Wizard Niteri's commission.

"An interesting little thing, just like you," Half-Man said.

Something a little smaller than a thumb appeared before Ruger. It had neat lines, a square shape, and all manner of strange patterns and numbers.

"This is that interesting little gift. Simply put, it is a wondrous item."

Half-Man's words earned only a blank look from Ruger.

He reached out to take it, but for the first time, he failed. The little object seemed fixed in midair.

As he stared, he suddenly found it somewhat familiar. It appeared to be a strangely shaped die.

"When you touch it with your hand, never let go carelessly. Normally, keep it in your storage bag. Do not take it out to play with it at will, lest you drop it by mistake," Half-Man said. "It is called the Demon Dice, a wondrous item condensed from six playful little demons under exceedingly special circumstances. Six highly unusual little demons endowed this die with special power. A wondrous item is something of an extremely high order that cannot be replicated."

"In other words, as long as you roll it, it can affect even formal wizards, even great wizards. The premise is that you are lucky enough—and that you have the chance to act against a great wizard."

As Half-Man's words fell silent, Ruger finally found the chance to blink his somewhat dry eyes.

He was not dazzled by the miraculous gift. His first thought was that this thing must be expensive—the precious kind of expensive, the kind he could never afford. Nor did Half-Man have any reason to give him such a thing for nothing.

So he said nothing. Like a well-behaved child, he waited for the follow-up that Half-Man was bound to give.

The follow-up had yet to come, but the die drifted unsteadily into his hand. Recalling what he had just heard, he hurriedly clenched it tight.

The instant he grasped it, knowledge of how to use the die appeared in his mind.

The die felt like metal and bone at once. It supposedly possessed miraculous and powerful abilities, yet to Ruger, it also seemed rather like child's play—fitting the mischievous nature of those six playful little demons. First, he had to kiss each of the die's six faces in turn to become its master, but being its master was not all good.

The moment he threw the die would also be the moment his fate turned.

The first four faces would, in accordance with the die master's will, inflict the corresponding number of temporary blindness, terror, dancing, or wild laughter upon a chosen target. This was the child's play Ruger had thought of when he first saw it. Yet upon closer examination, it was terrifying. It had its own standards of judgment: it could even cause those with weak willpower to fall permanently blind, make those burdened by psychological shadows so terrified they could not move—or frighten them to death; make lazy people dance until they collapsed from exhaustion and neared death; make grief-stricken people laugh until they suffocated.

Everything seemed to follow rules, yet there was no reason to it at all.

As for the other two faces, Ruger's hand trembled.

Rolling a five or six meant a feast for the die's master. In other words, there was a strong chance that he would have the fortune—or misfortune—of inviting a demon that happened to cast its gaze into the distance for an impromptu trade. And the die only chose demons that enjoyed amusement; dull-witted ones made of nothing but brute strength would never be selected.

Trades conducted in this manner could not be refused. In theory, both sides were equal, but those who traded with demons never came to a good end. Demons who enjoyed amusement often thought in wild leaps—they might ask for your left eye, or demand that you offer up what you considered most precious. Interestingly, all of this was recorded on the die.

Even on that small die were recorded the final fates of every one of its masters.

"If I don't use it, then I'll be fine, right?" Ruger raised his head and swallowed.