“It must be hard being alive. So much to do, so much to manage. Problems and tasks keep piling up endlessly. You’re constantly forced to think and decide. Was I like this too, back when I was still alive? Is this just a necessary part of life—or is this life itself?”

  These thoughts occupied me all day while I stayed with Beri. She bustled about constantly—searching for items, recounting inventory, wiping down and preparing equipment. It was amusing to watch how, in moments of deep concentration, she’d occasionally stick out her tongue. Only the very tip peeked out, yet it made her look far less serious than usual.

  “You’re sticking your tongue out again,” I said aloud.

  “Huh?” she asked, not looking up from the small spoon she was polishing.

  “Your tongue. Again.”

  “Oh—oops. Happens sometimes,” Beri smiled. But twenty minutes later, it happened once more.

  Such tiny things concern her so deeply. Is cleaning cutlery really that important or interesting? She could just throw them away and buy new ones—then spend her free time on something far more meaningful. She could practice weapon skills, for instance. After all, they have so many magical artifacts. Each one surely has astonishing properties with countless possible applications. Take that spear again—the one that heats up over time. How hot can it actually get? Could you melt other objects or substances with it? How long can its user stay near it? Which part heats up faster? And what if you submerge part of the spear in water while leaving another part in air—would it heat evenly? Or would it depend on where the user touches it? So many questions—and that’s just one artifact.

  While these thoughts swirled in my head, Beri finally finished with the spoons and moved on to clothing. She began inspecting garments and mending them wherever possible. Unable to hold back, I asked:

  “What other artifacts do you have? I’m curious—you said each of you received one.”

  “Yes, we do—but the captain usually forbids talking about them,” Beri glanced at me for a couple of seconds, then resumed sewing. I didn’t dare speak further, afraid of raising suspicion. We sat in near silence for almost half an hour—until the girl spoke again:

  “Well… I don’t think the captain would mind too much if I told you a little. But—not about weapons.”

  “Yes, please. That would be more than enough for me.”

  “Okay. I know Larry has a hairpin she always wears. From what I understand, it lets her hear the heartbeat of every living creature within a kilometer. I don’t know exactly how it works,” the girl shrugged and began examining a fresh stitch on a pair of trousers—likely Drodul’s.

  “Heartbeat? Literally the heart? So only in humans? What if a creature has two or three hearts? Or some other organ instead of a heart?” A flood of questions immediately came to mind.

  “I don’t know. Maybe… I only heard about the hairpin in passing during a conversation—that’s all.”

  Silence fell between us again: I pondered possible uses for the artifact, while she picked up a thin shirt.

  “I also know Drodul has boots that help him move. He used to be terribly slow and clumsy—always late. Scot even gave him a nickname once, but after a private talk, he stopped using it right away. Anyway—those boots let him move like a dancer or acrobat.”

  “I haven’t really noticed that in him.”

  “Yeah, he’s learned to use them subtly. A quick step here, another there—and suddenly he’s just a regular big guy again.”

  “And what’s their backlash?”

  “Heh-heh—guess,” the girl smiled and doubled her focus on her work. At that moment, I began mulling over her question. Imagining various possibilities, I arrived at three answers and voiced them:

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  “Maybe it causes general body weakness afterward—something like extreme fatigue and malaise. That could happen, right?”

  “Nope. That’s too ordinary—even normal. You forgot that using an artifact drains soul-force, remember? Your answer’s wrong and boring. Try again.”

  “Then I thought—maybe after using them, he gets extremely hungry. Like, in exchange for light feet, he gets a heavy stomach. Which would explain how he gains so much weight so easily.”

  “Hmm, that sounds plausible—but no, you’re wrong again. Try something simpler.”

  “My last idea: since he gains such amazing control over his legs, he later loses control over his hands. So his body becomes oddly balanced—one part precise, the other clumsy. If that makes sense?” I offered my final guess from my empty skull.

  “No, you’re overcomplicating it again,” the girl looked at me. “Try combining your second and third ideas—and make it simpler.”

  “Hmm…” With nowhere urgent to go, I even started thinking out loud: “Combine them, huh… Maybe after getting light feet, his head becomes ‘heavy’?”

  “What? How did you—?” Beri paused her work, then continued while explaining: “Yes. You almost got it exactly right. Drodul gains the ability to move his body—especially his legs—with great ease, but in return, his thoughts become nearly incoherent and sluggish. Though, as far as I understand, the duration of use doesn’t affect the backlash’s strength. It works like this: the quicker and more agile his legs become, the slower and duller his mind gets. We even have a story about it.”

  “Yes, I’d love to hear it.”

  “Here’s what happened. Drodul and Scot got drunk and decided to see who was the better dancer. Scot wasn’t as drunk at first and danced well—and so did Drodul with his boots. But then… they kept drinking more and more, and the dancing had to get faster and faster. Scot held on as best he could, but Drodul sped up and outdid him. The moment he stopped, though—the backlash hit. Drodul just froze in place, drool dripping from his mouth, eyes glassy. Scot tricked him, and Drodul practically turned into an idiot. Of course, he snapped out of it later—but Sem was furious. He made Scot drink an entire barrel of beer, which he immediately threw up. Ever since, Scot hates dark Trokisk ale. But I never told you any of this! If any of the guys find out I spilled this secret, I’ll get a serious scolding,” Beri had long stopped working and now tugged at my sleeve, trying to extract a promise that I’d keep quiet.

  “Alright. I understand these are your personal matters, and I have absolutely no desire to pry,” I pulled back slightly so she wouldn’t accidentally notice my lack of muscles. “Besides—don’t you think I’d get beaten up too if I went around revealing secrets like that?”

  “Yeah, exactly. They’ll thrash you good if you do,” reassured by this justification, the girl returned to patching clothes. Meanwhile, I drifted back into thoughts about artifacts:

  The backlash is strangely tied to the artifact’s effect. It’s not a literal trade—like if a blade softens, the hand doesn’t necessarily harden. Some other trait or quality of the person changes instead. Of course—because the artifact interacts not with the body, but with the soul. Wait… So the soul shapes the body. Alter the soul—and the body changes. And vice versa: change the body—and the soul changes too. How accurate are these thoughts? Have I considered this before?..

  We spent the rest of the day like this—until the others returned for dinner. The team gathered at the table again. Most of the food was already gone, and they were now slowly finishing their drinks. Sem looked surprisingly fresh—relative to sleeping people, of course. He spoke first:

  “Alright, let’s summarize. Twins—what’ve you got?”

  Two identical voices answered in unison—so alike that, with eyes closed, one might think a single person was speaking:

  “We reached the place quickly. No one alive there.”

  “And no dead either. Clean as a steppe.”

  “Felt no danger. None at all.”

  “They were attacked. At night. Everyone was asleep. Everyone vanished.”

  “Tracks lead into the forest. They tried to hide them, but too many people left traces.”

  “Didn’t enter the forest. On orders.”

  The report ended, and Sem spoke, pressing a finger to his forehead:

  “So they were used either as new soldiers or as a test of existing forces. Necromancers are as vile as ever. But where did they disappear to? Normally, they’d start building strength as fast as possible—not hide after their first raid. We’ll have to go into the forest and search. This whole thing feels strange.”

  “Maybe they ran into something? They say a strange beast lives in that forest,” Scot added.

  “Yes, that’s possible too,” Sem kept rubbing his forehead. “Tomorrow we head into the forest. We won’t get any more information sitting here anyway. And yes, S—you’re coming with us. Since there might be a fight with a necromancer, we need every available hand.”