Gifts and Kisses

When Ruger returned to his spacious, open bedroom, he suddenly felt as though a lifetime had passed.

Was he tired? In pain? Sleepy?

He decided to go find the Half-Man immediately. This was exactly the kind of naturally bedraggled state that required no exaggerated acting. He had not closed his eyes to rest the entire way, relying solely on Mental Boil to keep going. He had originally planned to get a good sleep first after returning, but now it seemed completely unnecessary. A person had to keep their word. Since the Half-Man had told him to come see him once he learned the Demon Skin Spell, he had already delayed long enough. There was no need to put it off any further.

He lowered his head to look at his robe and boots, then, after some thought, put them away in his storage pouch one by one. He took a spare long beast-fang staff from the cave, slung it over his shoulder, and staggered toward the direction he remembered.

After walking for a while through the familiar yet unfamiliar passageways, he thought of the Little Crybaby Bug and casually lifted the breeding pouch, giving it a shake before his eyes.

"You need to work hard! Come out soon. I still don't know what you look like. I'll wait for you a little longer, but if you're still not out by then, I'll have to find another bonded magical pet..."

He spoke as he walked, and returning to familiar territory relaxed him considerably.

The breeding pouch responded with two little tremors, though he did not know whether it had understood any of his words.

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

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

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

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

The same unblinking eyes, the same head missing a small portion, the same expressionless face.

Everything was as harmonious as ever.

"From the look of you, you have already become a true Wizard Apprentice, wounded little Kobold..."

The voice still reached him through that peculiar use of mental power. He wondered when he would finally hear the Half-Man speak with his mouth.

Ruger put on a pitiful expression. In truth, all he had to do was stand there in a relaxed manner to look utterly miserable and disheveled.

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

"There are already Wizard Apprentices nearby?" the Half-Man said.

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

A potion floated over and stopped before Ruger.

He blinked at the potion, accepted it with both hands, and gripped it tightly. This potion was also dark green and looked no different from the one Baangte had given him. It seemed likely to be a common, mainstream restorative potion. He had originally thought the Half-Man would give him something more advanced.

A thought stirred in his mind.

"That was an injured apprentice. I ultimately defeated him with a short spear. This is his storage pouch. Could you help me erase his mark?"

He took out a bloodstained storage pouch and tried to make his request.

Ruger remembered that when he had obtained the storage pouch he currently used, the Half-Man had said he had erased its mark.

Ruger held the storage pouch up in both hands.

The Half-Man gave no verbal response. An invisible ripple appeared in Ruger's hands, making the storage pouch resting in his palms bounce slightly before falling still.

As if he had done something utterly ordinary, the Half-Man also shattered some of Ruger's suspicions.

For a moment, he had wondered whether the Half-Man might also be a Wizard Apprentice rather than someone as lofty as he had imagined. Perhaps he had come here for Wizard Niteri's commission, just like Baangte and the others.

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

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

"This is that interesting little gift. Simply put, it is an Oddity."

The 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 at it, 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. Keep it in your storage pouch normally, and do not take it out to play with it at will, lest you accidentally drop it," the Half-Man said. "It is called Demon Dice, an Oddity formed under extremely special circumstances by six playful little demons. Those six highly unusual little demons bestowed this die with special power. An Oddity is an irreplicable object of extremely high standing."

"In other words, as long as you roll it, it can affect even Formal Wizards, perhaps even Grand Wizards, provided you are lucky enough and have the opportunity to make a move against a Grand Wizard."

As the Half-Man fell silent, Ruger finally had a chance to blink his somewhat dry eyes.

He was not dazzled by the miraculous gift. His first thought was that this thing had to be expensive—the exceedingly precious kind of expensive, the kind he could not afford. And the Half-Man had absolutely no reason to give something like this to him for free.

So he said nothing, waiting like a well-behaved child for the explanation that was bound to follow.

Before the explanation came, the die swayed through the air and floated into his hand. Remembering what he had just heard, he hurriedly clenched it tightly.

The instant he grasped it, the method of using the die appeared in his mind.

The die felt like metal and bone at once. Though it possessed miraculous and powerful abilities, it also seemed rather like childish mischief to Ruger, carrying the playful spirit of those six little demons. First, one had to kiss each of the die's six faces in turn to become its owner. But becoming its owner did not bring only benefits.

The moment the die was thrown was also the moment its owner's fate turned.

The first four faces would, according to the die owner's will, inflict the corresponding number of temporary blindness, panic, dancing, or manic laughter upon the target the owner wished to affect. This was the childish mischief Ruger had initially thought it was. Yet upon closer inspection, it was terrifying. It had its own criteria of judgment. For example, it could cause someone weak-willed to remain blind forever, make someone with psychological trauma so terrified that they could not move, or even frighten them to death. It could make a lazy person dance until they collapsed from exhaustion and hovered near death, or make someone consumed by grief laugh until they suffocated.

Everything seemed to follow rules, yet there was no reason behind them.

The other two faces made Ruger's hand tremble.

Rolling a five or six meant a feast for the die's owner. In other words, there was a strong chance he would be fortunate enough to invite a demon who happened to be gazing into the distance to an impromptu trade. The die only selected demons who enjoyed amusement; the dull-witted sort who possessed nothing but brute strength would never be chosen.

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 that delighted in amusement often thought in erratic ways. 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 the small die recorded the final fate of every one of its owners.

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