Naruto: The Chosen Undead

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Chapter 144 Of Faith, Flame, and Fraud

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How many times in life does something just click; a sensation so sudden, so pure, it crashes through the mind like sunlight through storm clouds? That spark of knowing, of rightness, as if the world briefly aligns?

That was what Naruto felt.

As the rusted chains groaned and the elevator descended, a golden shaft of sunlight spilled through the open cage, warm and gentle against his bloodstained armor. Below, the branches of the great tree came into view—twisting, ancient things that pierced the crumbling architecture of Firelink Shrine.

The lift clanked to a halt at the small stone platform where, long ago—or was it only a month—Naruto had first taken the wrong path into the graveyard of the dead. Now, seeing it from above, through the filtered glow of sunlight and the quiet rustle of wind, the place didn't seem cursed.

It felt like home.

"This is awesome," Naruto whispered, the corners of his mouth curling into a small grin. Dattebayo…

A strange sense of nostalgia washed over him, unexpected and bittersweet. For all the horrors Lordran had thrown at him, this broken shrine was the closest thing he had to peace. He took a long breath. The air smelled of ash and moss and something faintly metallic. The world here was quiet in a way nothing else in Lordran was. Not dead, just... resting.

Descending the steps carved into the stone, he paused at the sight of a familiar figure.

Petrus of Thorolund.

The cleric stood in his usual place near the crumbled wall, hands calmly folded over his belt, his face a mask of serene condescension. "Ah," Petrus said smoothly, his voice like honey poured over iron. "Greetings once more. You seem to have been... busy."

Naruto exhaled, slow and deliberate, suppressing the spike of irritation he felt toward the man and the sanctimonious cult he represented. "Can the Heal miracle cure curses?"

Petrus raised an eyebrow. "Ah… a wise question." His tone was smooth, measured, insufferably smug. "The power of the gods, my friend, is absolute. If your faith is strong enough, there is no affliction that miracles cannot mend."

"Cut the bullshit. Yes or no?"

That pulled a chuckle from the priest. He reached into the folds of his robe and withdrew a scroll—old parchment bound in golden thread, inscribed with delicate ink patterns that shimmered faintly in the light.

"It is as I said," Petrus replied. "Such things are well within the grasp of divine power."

He extended the scroll toward Naruto.

"Four thousand souls."

Naruto checked his HUD.

[Souls: 22,000]

Without a word, he passed the souls across and inspected the miracle scroll.

Petrus gave him a nod, equal parts approval and condescension. "Very good. You are learning. But remember…" His voice dipped, oily and smug. "The effectiveness of divine magic depends not on the miracle itself—but on the faith of the vessel that wields it."

Naruto resisted the urge to tell him exactly what he thought of that. Instead, he turned away, muttering a curt, "Thanks."

He moved deeper into the shrine, feet tracing familiar steps across the mosaic floor. The great bonfire awaited him, nestled in the heart of the ruin. Its embers danced lazily, casting flickering light across the crumbled stone archways and broken pathways that spiraled out like the spokes of a shattered wheel.

Naruto sat down beside the flame, feeling the warmth seep into his limbs. He rested the scroll beside him and glanced around, eyes searching the half-ruined alcoves of the shrine.

Alexander wasn't there.

"Tch," he muttered under his breath. "Kinda miss that depressed guy."

Funny how silence could feel louder when someone was missing.

[Item: Heal Miracle]

[Description: An elementary miracle cast by clerics. Restores HP. To cast a miracle, the caster must learn the sacred words, calling upon the will of the gods. Heal is the shortest and simplest of such prayers.]

Naruto's fingers traced the worn parchment, the inked script flowing in elegant, looping characters.

"O light of the divine, let your radiance mend flesh and restore spirit. In the name of the first flame, let this body be made whole."

The moment the words left his lips, the system responded.

[Fireball has been replaced by the attunement of the Heal Miracle.]

But Naruto barely registered the miracle's system message as a vision washed over him.

He stood on a vast battlefield scorched by war. The earth was blackened and torn, spears jutting up like the bones of giants. Hundreds... no, thousands of knights in silver armor moved in grim formation, each one bearing a shield etched with divine markings. They were smaller than the Black Knights he'd faced—more human, less monstrous. But they fought with a burning desperation, as if standing between the world and its end.

At their heart stood a young man in gleaming gold-trimmed armor. His hair shone like a halo, and his hands glowed with celestial light. With arms outstretched, he released a radiant pulse—a circle of golden healing that swept across the broken army like a rising dawn. Wounded knights lifted their heads. Crushed limbs straightened. Blood reversed its course.

"Lloyd…" Naruto murmured, guessing who the figure was. That must be Young Lloyd…

But the vision did not end.

The battlefield shook. The soldiers froze. Their eyes turned skyward.

Naruto followed their gaze.

And there, emerging from the swirling clouds, was something vast.

Something ancient.

An Everlasting Dragon.

Its scales shimmered like molten glass, layered in translucent silver and starlight. It moved slowly, not from weariness but from an unspoken authority—each motion deliberate, sovereign. Its wings didn't flap—they undulated, bending the very air with their sheer mass. Its eyes, impossibly large, gazed down at the world not with malice—but with quiet detachment. A gaze that had seen gods rise and fall like waves on the shore.

The vision dimmed.

The miracle faded.

But Naruto didn't move. He wasn't caught by the healing, or the golden light, or the battlefield echoing with the sounds of war. He was caught by that.

The dragon.

Naruto blinked slowly, the bonfire's light returning to full glow. The scroll of the Heal miracle rested in his lap, still warm. But his thoughts had drifted far, far above.

"…That dragon," he whispered, eyes wide. "Why did it feel like it saw me?"

Shaking his head, Naruto equipped his talisman, gripping it tightly in his hand as he drew in a slow breath. He closed his eyes and focused—not just on the miracle he had just learned, but on the memory the scroll had shown him.

The battlefield. The wounded knights. The golden light spilling from Young Lloyd's hands.

Naruto whispered a prayer under his breath, mimicking the stance he had seen. Feet planted shoulder-width apart, knees bent slightly. He brought the talisman close to his chest and focused—not on chakra, but on faith. Whatever that meant in this world.

The talisman pulsed.

A golden ring of light flared beneath him. Intricate lines of script formed between concentric circles, each glyph burning with a soft radiance. The light rose in a slow wave, washing over his armor and skin with the warmth of a distant sun.

A sigh slipped from his lips, unbidden.

It felt good. Not like drinking an Estus, where the healing came sharp and sudden. This was different. Like his soul was being steadied. Like someone had gently placed a hand on his shoulder and told him to rest. To breathe.

When the light faded, Naruto flexed his fingers. Then, hesitantly, he lifted his cursed arm. For a heartbeat, he felt something. He dared to hope. He unlatched the gauntlet.

A cold draft kissed his skin as his heart sank.

The hand beneath was still blackened, withered—a dead thing clinging to a living body. Useless. The miracle had done nothing.

Naruto stared. Then exhaled slowly. "Figures," he muttered.

Oddly enough, he wasn't angry. Not really. He needed the Heal miracle anyway. He'd learned that during the Wave mission—Estus flasks weren't infinite. If the world wanted to throw hell at him, he'd need every tool he could get.

Still…

He was definitely going to throw this in Petrus' smug face. "PETRUS, YOU BASTARD! THE HEAL MIRACLE DIDN'T DO SHIT!"

"Are you serious right now?!"

The ancient stones, long since accustomed to silence and suffering, seemed almost startled by the outburst.

Naruto turned sharply, eyes narrowing to slits as he spotted the source of his ire. The cleric approached with measured steps, hands folded neatly in front of him, wearing that same insufferable expression of practiced humility.

"Ah, my pupil."

"Don't you dare ever call me that," Naruto snapped, voice low and dangerous.

Unbothered or at least pretending to be, Petrus offered a shallow bow. "Apologies. I meant no offense. Perhaps you would be interested in the Great Heal Excerpt? A mere ten thousand souls. A small price for one so... talented."

Naruto's jaw slackened. "...How shameless can one person be?"

"One cannot place a value on the power of the gods. Souls are, after all, the currency of faith."

Naruto exhaled through gritted teeth and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Petrus, I swear to every god you've ever name-dropped… I am this close to kicking you off the cliff."

The cleric's eyes flicked subtly toward the ledge behind him. He smiled awkwardly and raised his hands in mock surrender. "I was merely trying to help. Knowledge must be earned, after all." Naruto didn't buy a single word of it. Not for a second. But he changed tactics—not to spare Petrus, but to get what he needed.

"You really wanna help? Then tell me where Alexander went."

That caught Petrus off guard. His smile twitched. "Alexander…? Ah yes. The crestfallen warrior."

"Yeah. Him."

Petrus offered a half-hearted shrug. "Perhaps he was inspired by your heroics. Not many of us have the privilege of witnessing someone from another world."

Naruto froze. He turned to face Petrus fully, all levity gone from his face. "...What did you just say?"

Petrus blinked. Once. Then coughed awkwardly into his sleeve, a bead of sweat appearing at his temple. "Oh… well… ahem." He shifted, suddenly unsure of his footing. "Your… green soul drop. It caught my attention. It wasn't… native. Alexander absorbed it after you left. Then he simply… went."

Naruto narrowed his eyes. There was more to that story. Much more. But now wasn't the time. He could feel it—this man was a snake, but the kind that only bit when cornered. Pushing now wouldn't work. Better to bait him later.

"Fine," Naruto said flatly. "Then how about this, you wanna be useful? Tell me how to get to the New Londo Ruins."

Petrus gave an exaggerated sigh, as if the question itself burdened him. "Ah, but that is very important information," he said, tone mockingly grave. "I'm afraid I cannot simply give it away. That would cheapen its value." He smiled again, extending one hand palm-up, waiting... no, expecting a bribe.

"However…" he continued smoothly, "as my pupil..."

Naruto's chakra flared.

A wave of killing intent rolled off him like a crashing tide. The smug cleric stumbled back, breath seizing in his throat as the warmth drained from the world around him. Shadows deepened. Time seemed to still.

Then, without a sound, a massive blade touched the soft flesh of his throat.

The Black Zweihander hovered inches from severing his head, steady in Naruto's grip. "Kidney. Spleen. Fingers," Naruto said, his voice ice-cold, each word a scalpel. "Pick your offering, Petrus."

The cleric didn't move. Couldn't. Sweat rolled down his temple, his knees trembled beneath him. That cheery mask of false holiness cracked, revealing raw, quivering fear underneath. "You get to choose how this goes. Tell me what I want, or I start removing things until you run out."

Petrus cracked. "The stairway beside the old tree!" he gasped. "Take the stairs down towards an old elevator! It leads to the New Londo Ruins."

Just as suddenly as it had come, the killing aura evaporated. The weight lifted. Light returned.

Petrus collapsed, landing hard on his knees, robes sodden with sweat. He coughed and wheezed, air finally filling his lungs again.

"See? That wasn't so hard."

He turned, taking a step toward the edge of the shrine.

"You'll regret this!" Petrus snarled, voice brittle but rising with defiance. "When the Lady arrives… and the rest of the Way of White, they'll see what you are. They'll hunt you down like the damned Hollow you are!"

Naruto paused.

One step. Two. Then he slowly turned his head, eyes sharp as glass.

Petrus's voice died in his throat. The false bravado drained from his face like blood from an open wound. He stumbled backward, tripping over his own feet as Naruto's expression said more than words ever could.

"You're only alive," Naruto said evenly, "because I still need your miracles."

Petrus bolted, cloak flapping behind him, vanishing into the darkness of the shrine.

Naruto exhaled through his nose and muttered, "Scum."

He descended the spiral staircase toward the sound of running water and clinking chains, the great ruins below calling to him like a whisper in the deep. It was time to find Rickert of Vinheim.

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A Fire Keeper does not dream.

At least, that is what she told herself. But some nights, when the world above was quiet—when the cursed Undead who rested at her flame had long since left, and the sky was frozen in its eternal, stagnant cycle—she thought she could remember.

Warmth.

Not from the bonfire above, not from the heat that coiled through her veins, binding her to its glow. No, this was different. It was the warmth of sunlight, the warmth of another's hand grasping hers. A presence, a voice, something she once knew.

But the memories never stayed. Because Fire Keepers do not dream.

She heard it before she felt it. The soft crackle of fire, the familiar whisper of embers shifting as someone sat at the Firelink Shrine bonfire. The flame flared to life, its energy washing over her like a tide, filling her with purpose, with duty. She let out a slow breath, her body trembling at the sensation. She was useful. That was all that mattered.

The soil above her was thin. She could feel the weight of the bonfire pressing down, its tether binding her to this cage, this hole in the earth that was neither tomb nor home.

She could never leave. Not far, at least.

If she strayed too far from the flame, it would flicker, grow weak and fade.

And then what would she be? Nothing.

A Fire Keeper without fire had no purpose.

And so she stayed, listening to the sounds of the shrine above, counting time by the footsteps of the lost souls who passed through. Most of them came and went without a word. Some lingered, hesitating by the bonfire, staring into the flames with vacant, hollowed-out eyes. A few spoke to her, demanding, taking, asking for power, for the flame she tended so obediently.

But they never stayed.

They never looked at her. She was a thing, a means to an end, a forgotten voice locked in the dark.

And that was fine.

It had to be.

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Then, new footsteps.

She heard them long before she saw the one who made them. Strong, purposeful, yet unburdened by the weight of despair that clung to most Undead.

Young.

That was the first thing she noticed. The Undead that passed through Firelink Shrine were often weathered, beaten, barely clinging to their sanity. But this one was different.

The second thing she noticed was his armor. Her breath caught in her throat.

She hadn't seen that crest in so long, not since... (Don't think about it. Fire Keepers do not dream.)

He turned toward her and then, he spoke. "Hello there."

Her fingers curled, dragging her maimed legs forward as she inched closer to the bars, her head resting against the cold iron.

She wasn't sure why.

Maybe it was the way he looked at her. Not with pity, not with revulsion, but with curiosity. Maybe it was the fact that, for the first time in ages, someone had actually greeted her. Or maybe it was because, for the briefest moment, she thought she saw something in his eyes.

Something like kindness.

"My name is Naruto, Squire of Oscar, Elite Knight of Astora." The boy's voice was bright and steady. "What's your name?"

Anastacia opened her mouth and revealed nothing. Where her tongue should have been, there was only a mutilated stump. It was jagged and raw. Long since scarred over from where they had cut it out.

It was fair, really.

She deserved it. No need for useless words, for idle chatter. Her purpose was simple. Tend to the bonfire. Sustain it for the Undead. For the Church. For the Gods.

There was no need for a Fire Keeper to speak.

And yet Naruto reached into his pouch, pulling out a talisman. A soft golden glow flickered to life in his hands as he began to cast a Heal Miracle.

Anastacia's breath caught. Did he… want to heal her tongue?

The thought sent a shock through her chest, an unfamiliar, unsettling feeling coiling in her gut. She didn't deserve that. The warmth of the miracle surrounded her, curling at the edges of her wounds, reaching... She grunted, violently pushing herself away from the bars, turning her face away from him.

The warmth receded.

Naruto hesitated. "Hey, I'm sorry. Did I do something wrong? Are you hurt?"

She remained silent.

Naruto frowned. "Did it not work?" He clicked his tongue. "Oh, that damn Petrus. I knew he sold me some useless crap. I swear, I'm gonna find him and..."

Anastacia inhaled sharply.

A cold sensation bloomed in her mouth. The miracle had worked. Her body shook, but she forced herself still, shaking her head.

Naruto blinked. "What? Do you not want me to go give him a piece of my mind?"

She nodded quickly. She couldn't let him be antagonistic to the Way of White. To the Age of Fire. To the Gods. If he did, he would stray. He would turn from his purpose. And that was something she could not allow.

"You know, if the Heal Miracle didn't work all the way, maybe you should try an Estus Flask. That stuff regenerated my entire arm. It might do the same for you." He crouched down, reaching through the bars of her cage, placing an Estus Flask before her.

Anastacia stared at it.

She did not move. She did not react. She did nothing.

Naruto huffed. "You know, I just learned that the bonfires are… corporeal manifestations of Fire Keepers. I guess that means I have you to thank for the Firelink Shrine bonfire."

Her breath hitched.

She turned to him, wide-eyed. The words hit her like a strike to the chest. Gratitude? For her? For something so small, so meaningless? She hadn't realized she was crying until the tears hit the stone floor.

Her body trembled.

Naruto panicked. "H-Hey, hey, don't cry! You're awesome! You're the reason I get to always come back to a bonfire!"

He fumbled for words, trying to fix what he had done, but she couldn't stop.

She had been thanked.

In all her years in this cage, in all the long, endless days of serving, tending, fueling the fire... No one had ever thanked her. Anastacia's gaze lifted just in time to see Naruto pull something from his inventory, and her breath caught once more.

It floated before her, glowing with a soft, ethereal white flame.

A Fire Keeper's Soul.

Another sister, gone.

Anastacia stared at the soul, her own hands trembling as she reached for it. She closed her eyes, pressing her forehead to the bars, whispering a silent prayer.

A prayer for her fallen sister.

A prayer congratulating her, for being useful to the Chosen Undead. She gently crushed the soul, letting its white liquid drip into the Estus Flask, merging with it—reinforcing it so that the flask would retain more of the healing heat.

Then, with a small push, she slid the flask back toward Naruto. He blinked, staring at her in shock. She said nothing. She only bowed her head, a quiet act of thanks.

Naruto turned the reinforced Estus Flask over in his hands, its golden liquid glowing just a bit brighter than before. He scratched the back of his head, offering a small, unsure smile. "Thanks for the upgrade."

Anastacia only nodded. Her fingers twitched slightly, then lifted, pointing at the rest of the flasks he carried. "Oh, you wanna do the rest?"

She said nothing, only kept her hand extended. Wordlessly, he placed the remaining Estus Flasks before her. The glow of the Fire Keeper's soul still lingered in her fingers, sinking into the flasks with each reinforcement.

More power. More warmth. Something she could give him.

When she finished, she pushed the flasks back through the bars, her hands retreating once more into her lap.

Naruto picked them up, nodding in thanks before glancing around. "Hey, can you point me toward the elevator to New Londo?"

Anastacia lifted a pale hand, pointing towards the spiraling stairway leading down.

"Got it."

He stood, adjusting the weight of his armor, readying himself to leave.

Anastacia wanted to stop him.

To say something. To make him stay, just a little longer. To hear his voice, to have someone acknowledge her, not just as a Fire Keeper, not just as a silent servant of the flame but as a person.

But that wasn't her purpose.

She could not burden him with her impure tongue. She had no right to speak freely. Even now, though the Heal Miracle had restored her tongue, her lips remained sealed shut, her voice a prisoner to the teachings that had been carved into her soul long ago. But then Naruto stopped. He turned back to her, his expression unreadable. "…Hey, next time, if you wanna talk, I'd love to know who you are, Fire Keeper."

Anastacia's breath hitched. He knew.

She clenched her fists, heart hammering against her ribs, her mind screaming at her to remain silent, to stay in her place. And yet a whisper escaped her lips, soft, trembling, uncertain. "...Th...thank you."

Naruto's eyes widened slightly.

She swallowed, pushing through the shame, the fear, the ingrained obedience that told her to shut her mouth and be silent. "I... I am Anastacia of Astora."

The words felt strange leaving her mouth—forbidden, dangerous, like a prayer spoken out of turn. She dropped her gaze, hands curling in her lap. "Now, I can continue my duty as a Keeper... but I only hope that my impure tongue does not offend."

Naruto stared at her for a moment.

Then, he smiled. "See you around, Anastacia."

And with that, he turned and made his way down the stone steps, disappearing into the ruins below. Anastacia leaned against the cold iron bars, her fingers brushing against the rusted metal as she stared after him, waiting.

Hoping.

A Fire Keeper mustn't dream.

But I dream for you to return... O Chosen Undead.

Then a sound. A sharp, piercing caw echoed through the shrine, making her spine stiffen. A small crow landed on the grass before her, pecking at the earth before lifting its head, tilting it slightly as it stared at her.

For a moment, she thought nothing of it.

But then, something shifted in the shadows beyond it. A gleaming yellow eye, deep in the darkness, watching.

Anastacia's blood turned to ice.

She knew what that meant. She was being watched. The Gods saw everything, and a Fire Keeper had no place to dream.

No place to hope.

Only to serve.

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"Anastacia of Astora... huh." Naruto muttered the name to himself as he made his way down the winding staircase beneath Firelink Shrine. The stone steps were uneven, their edges eroded from time and moisture, slick with lichen that squelched faintly beneath his boots. He kept one hand on the wall, tracing the deep grooves.

His thoughts lingered on the girl beneath the shrine. She wasn't like the other Undead he'd seen.

No madness in her eyes. No frantic desperation clawing at her movements. Just silence. A heavy, permanent kind.

She was still.

Caged beneath the shrine, surrounded by rusted iron and crumbling masonry, Anastacia had looked like something preserved. Her hands were scarred, fingers twisted unnaturally, gripping the bars of her cell like they were the last remnants of the world she belonged to. Her tongue... gone. Her legs... ruined beyond healing.

Someone had mutilated her. Taken her voice. Crushed her freedom.

And then had the nerve to leave her in charge of the Fire.

Naruto clenched his jaw and pressed forward. The staircase ended in a domed chamber where the walls curved with age, forming a low arch of bricked stone that pressed down like a shallow bowl. The entrance to the elevator was framed by iron gatework, corroded and bent inward like a maw. Rusted chains hung in bundles from the ceiling above, tangled and twisted into the elevator mechanism itself.

Three interlocking rings formed the base of the platform, each one carved with worn, overlapping symbols. What they once meant was long lost, their etchings now nothing more than ghostly swirls and fractured geometry. A thick lever, caked in grime, jutted up from a stone plate near the edge.

Naruto stepped onto the platform. As the central disc clicked in, a deep, groaning clank echoed as the chains above came to life. The platform shuddered, then began to descend.

The world rose around him as he sank, stone walls giving way to a vast vertical shaft carved directly into the bedrock.

As the platform slowed and stopped, he stepped off into what looked like a collapsed tower base. Cracks laced the flagstones. Water had pooled in the corners, stagnant and stinking. Even the statues lining the wall had been reduced to vague humanoid shapes, their details lost to erosion.

Then the wind hit him.

Not wind like on the surface but a slow, unnatural exhale. Naruto followed the narrow walkway until it opened onto a ledge.

And there it was.

New Londo.

A drowned metropolis, its towers leaning at broken angles, rooftops caved in, streets swallowed by murky black water. Fog clung to everything. It pooled at the bases of buildings, curled around broken bridges, and hovered just above the flooded streets.

The ruins were massive. Collapsed walkways jutted out at impossible angles, half-submerged in black water that reflected nothing. Naruto's boots hit the stone with a soft slap. The silence was eerie. Even his footsteps felt muffled here.

Then he saw them.

Hollows.

But these weren't the charging, screaming husks he was used to. They stood or sat in bizarre, almost ritualistic postures. One knelt in the center of a flooded courtyard, staring into the water, hands folded in prayer. Another leaned against a support column, its body limp, yet it breathed. Barely. One more was tapping the hilt of a broken sword rhythmically against stone. Clink. Clink. Clink.

"This place isn't right."

Still, he pressed on, stepping carefully along the fractured stone, wondering how he was going to find Rickert.

A dozen shadow clones burst into existence, scattering across the area.

"RICKERT! WHERE ARE YOU?!"

For a moment, only the howling wind answered him.

"What?"

The voice was faint, disbelieving, but definitely human.

Naruto whipped his head toward the source, tracking the sound to a ledge below.

One of the many Hollowed figures sat slumped near the cliff's edge, gazing vacantly at the submerged ruins beneath the misty waters. But just beside it a hand shot out from the shadows. "I am here!"

Naruto's feet were already moving, his heart pounding as he followed the broken staircase downward, only to find that it ended abruptly, the last few steps crumbling into nothingness. He skidded to a stop, eyes scanning the rock wall to his right. And there, built into the mountain itself, was a cage-like enclosure.

"What is it with people in Lordran hiding in cave cages?"

He stepped forward, peering inside.

And there he was.

Rickert of Vinheim.

The man was clad in deep navy blue and black robes, similar to what Naruto had seen with the Sorcerer's class, though his were darker, almost faded with age. His black hair was unkempt, and his face was plain, tired, marked by an expression that spoke of years of waiting, of stillness, of resignation.

But despite that, his eyes were sharp.

They studied Naruto with careful calculation, taking in his armor, his weapons, the way he carried himself. Then, finally, he spoke. "Hrm? Well, this is unusual."

His voice was smooth, measured, but laced with a note of surprise. "You haven't lost your head. And more importantly, you know my name? How on earth...?"

"Andre sent me to find you."

Rickert's brows lifted slightly. "Ah. I'm surprised that the old man hasn't bitten the dust. A miracle, considering he isn't Undead."

Naruto froze mid-step. "Wait, what?"

Rickert raised an eyebrow. "You didn't know?" He let out a small chuckle, shaking his head. "You must have earned Andre's trust for him to tell you my location, yet you don't know the most basic fact about him. Hah. Strange, indeed."

"Well... I guess I never thought to ask."

Rickert exhaled lightly, tilting his head. "Well, I shouldn't pry."

He gave a small, almost amused smirk before placing a hand over his chest in a formal gesture.

"I am Rickert of Vinheim."

"Great, can you teach me magic?"

"No."

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[ Personal Note: First off, thanks a ton to all of you for sticking with this story. Seriously, you guys are awesome. Now, if you're interested in supporting me on P@treon, let me just say that over there, I post these massive 5k-word chapters. But heads up, if you're jumping to P@treon, you'll need to start from Chapter 68, since that's where this chapter lines up with the content there.

To everyone here just reading along, please don't forget to leave a comment! Honestly, your comments make my day, and they let me know you're as invested in this story as I am. So yeah, thanks again, and I hope you have an amazing rest of your day!