Dagan was wary of the ghost's words, but there was no reason to draw his sword. As Roverin said, he would listen to his tale and decide the spirit's fate.

  Roverin began. "This is the tale of my books and how they brought me great joy and a little misery. I was always an inquisitive lad. Growing up, I wanted to learn everything about everything. It didn't matter to me what the subject was. Be it Geometry, arithmetic, herbology, theology, or even cartography, this one caused me a lot of trouble, but I'll talk more about that later. But despite all that, what I cherished the most was stories. I begged my father to buy me books, but we didn't have much money, so I befriended the librarian who would let me read for free. Then, once I grew up a little more, I took the job of a Scribe in the same library, copying old books so their knowledge wouldn't be lost. Once, I was hanging around in a tavern and overheard a sailor telling a tale about a sunken treasure. Thankfully, I had an empty scroll on me and quickly jotted down his story. That began a lifelong passion."

  He turned around and looked down the long row of bookcases. "You know I still have that scroll here somewhere. Would you like to see it?"

  "I'll take your word for it." Dagan wasn't particularly excited about roaming around this dead man's cave. He wanted to keep the exit in sight at all times in case he needed to make a quick dash.

  Roverin continued. "In my free time, I would run to the tavern to see if anyone was telling a story worth recording. If the taverns were dry if you know what I mean." He chuckled. "I would head to the ports, and there was always a story or two waiting to be put down on paper. There, I found many stories about sunken treasures or great treasure hunts that the captain had to give up because it got too dangerous. Some even told me about great battles with pirates and how the pirates took great sums of money and chests full of gold and precious gems. Some fellows even told me of gold mines high up in the mountains that no one knew of and that they were saving money till they had enough to go mine it themselves."

  "How did you know if they were telling the truth?" Dagan asked the obvious question.

  "I didn't," Roverin replied. "Or, more precisely, I couldn't. To me, they were just stories that men wanted to tell, and I assumed that was all they were—stories. But to adventurers like you, they were more. They assumed I held the secret knowledge of the treasures they sought. Remember when I said that cartography caused me a lot of trouble? Well, here it is where those troubles started."

  "Let me guess, adventurers wanted maps of the treasures," Dagan said.

  "Precisely," Roverin exclaimed. "You see, a lot of these, let's say, patrons wanted maps. One time, I told one such story to a colleague at the library, who would not believe me and thought the boat captain was having a bit of fun with me. Then, knowing what I knew of the sunken treasure and using cartography and geography, I created a map. We had ourselves a wager that if a boat captain brave enough to sail to the Dead Triangle—because that is where the treasure was—could find the treasure, only then would he believe my stories to be true. So, we put it to the test. We found the boat captain, and he was even gracious enough to agree to give me a share in the spoils."

  Dagan scoffed. "I doubt he came through on that promise."

  "Oh no, he did. He more than came through. You see, he didn't just find the treasure I had told him about, but he found so much more. He was so happy that he nearly gave me a quarter of it. Of course, he asked for more maps, which I happily supplied. But then the proverbial cat was out of the bag. Thanks to my colleagues at the library and, of course, sailors can only keep quiet about this sort of thing for so long."

  "And so you became the Learned Man."

  "Not quite then," he replied. "It took a few years and some major treasures long thought lost to be unearthed. Many of my customers were quite generous and paid me a handsome fee, and soon, I didn't have to work at the library. So, I sat in my study, just creating maps or scribbling treasure hunt stories because there was no way I would let them go without getting a good story about their find. And some people had excellent stories. One could make some thrilling plays based on those."

  "Then why are you hiding up here in the mountains?" Dagan asked.

  "Well, as they say, nothing good ever lasts. Even I wasn't always right, and though I was giving this information for free, my customers were disappointed. Some just said a curt word or two, while others were more boisterous in their disappointment. It got to the point that I decided to come here, where a nobody couldn't come to me. At first, I had to hire some bodyguards to help me make the trip, one of whom even taught me some great spells. It was because of him that I was able to shed my mortal coil before my natural death and stop my spirit from moving on."

  "What sort of magic did you learn?" Dagan asked warily. He knew spirits had their own magics, but if he knew how to trap spirits, then this spirit may not be as benevolent as he thought.

  "Come," Roverin said, standing up. "I'll show you."

  He floated through the stacks of books, and Dagan followed. He didn't want to, but as long as he had his blade by his side, he need not fear any ghost.

  Roverin moved to the bookcase on the left, looked up its length, and mumbled something to himself before shaking his head and moving on. Eventually, he paused and moved to the bookcase on the opposite wall.

  "Maybe I kept it here." He paused and surveyed the books. He leaned into a book, blew some dust off it, shook his head disappointedly, and moved on. They were in a long hallway with tall bookcases on both sides. Dagan couldn't help but picture them toppling over with the slightest push.

  "Found you!" cried Roverin. His haunting voice echoed in the cave. He floated to pick a book that must've been a dozen feet high. He plucked it out and blew the dust off it. "I never figured you would ever come here, Dagan, or so your father told me."

  "My father?" Dagan asked. "How do you know my father?"

  Roverin floated down with the book in hand. "He came to me asking for the treasure. We had long chats regarding you and your mother. I didn't quite place your name until you told me the story about him. I have so many of your family members here, some of whom are also named Dagan. Must be a popular name in your house."

  Dagan took an uncertain step back. "What do you mean?"

  "It's easier to show you." He opened the book and blew on it. A glowing green figure, about the size of Dagan's dagger, rose from the pages.

  "What do you want now?" Dagan's father snapped. "Don't you have any other souls to torment?"

  "Come now, don't be like that, Sarolin. I haven't troubled you in many years. Besides, this visit is not about me. It's about your son. Look, he's come, and you said he wouldn't."

  "Father?"

  The green figure turned slowly, looking terrified. Sarolin fell to his knees. "No…"

  "F-Father, is it really you?" Dagan's hands trembled. He couldn't believe his eyes. The figure looked exactly like his father. Exactly like the day he had left home to search for the treasure.

  “Dagan, there is no time. Run!" His father cried. "Don't try to fight. Just—"

  Roverin snapped the book shut. "Don't do anything rash, Dagan. Let's talk about this. It's not—I'm not what you think I am."

  Dagan's hand snapped to his sword. He unsheathed it in one smooth motion and slashed the evil spirit's chest, but his sword went right through him. Dagan slashed a few more times, and each time, the blade just whisked through his misty form.

  "That's not going to work," Roverin plainly stated. "Now, let's talk about this like civilized men."

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  Dagan didn't care to talk. He slashed through Roverin's head, and by the time it reformed, he was running towards the cave exit. But before he could get into the main cavern, Roverin clapped, and the hovering lights shut off.

  Darkness descended on the cave.

  Dagan stopped in his tracks. There was only one source of light, and it was coming from the tunnel that led to the exit. Without waiting another breath, Dagan ran for his life and the lives of his children. Many books must've been scattered on the cavern floor, but he somehow avoided them.

  “Dagan, please come back,” Roverin said.

  The closeness of his voice made the hair on the back of Dagan's neck stand. He picked up the pace, and soon, he was in the tunnel, running towards his freedom. Behind him, Roverin asked him to stop, but he didn't dare stop. He burst through the tunnel and into daylight.

  Despite the cave's darkness, his eyes instantly adjusted to the bright light. There were no monsters about. He dashed down the mountain, not daring to look back. He kept running all day. He didn't know how, but his feet carried him swift and true until sundown. Then he walked, but he didn't stop for one instant.

  Thankfully, he didn't run into any monsters, though he knew they were lurking about. He heard their howls and shrieks all through the night. Then, the day broke, and with the first light, he ran again until he got off the mountain.

  It took him another two days to reach his town again. It was a rainy night when he reached home. Soaked to the bone and tired beyond all belief, he slammed his fist on the door. The door thrummed, but no one answered. He could see the light peaking from under the door, so he knew his family was home.

  He tried again, and finally, on the third try, the door opened, and he was in his home. His wife and sons started as he burst through the door. They were sitting at the table and in the middle of dinner.

  "Oh, thank the gods, you're all safe," Dagan cried as he fell into an empty chair. "Raemina, water, please."

  "Oh my." She stood and closed the door. "We must get this door fixed."

  "Yes, I'll fix it, but first, I must tell you all something," Dagan huffed. "I was wrong. I should never have gone after the treasure. We can never go after the treasure and never ever go to the Learned man."

  "I can try fixing the door," Deihan said.

  "Huh?" Dagan frowned. "Did you all hear what I just said?"

  "No, son, it's fine," Raemina said. "I'm sure it'll hold till your father returns."

  "Returns?" Dagan said. "I'm right here!"

  "I hope he is okay," Little Raelmir said.

  His mother moved a loving hand through his hair. "I'm sure he is. He'll be back any day now and bring the greatest treasure in the world. Soon, we will all go live in your ancestral castle, and no one will dare to make fun of you ever again."

  "No, we can't," Dagan cried and went to Raemina. "Don't you see me? I'm right here, and I'm telling you—"

  Then his wife moved away as if he wasn't even there.

  "Rae?" Dagan tried weakly. "Can't you see me? I'm right here. I'm back…"

  He looked from his wife to his sons, and no one acknowledged his presence. It was like he wasn't even there—like he was a ghost…

  Then despite the chorus of raindrops outside, he heard a singular drop, and right away, Dagan was sucked out of his home. He was dragged through the town at unbelievable speed. He was moving so fast that the whole world was nothing but a blur. Then, finally, the world stopped moving, and once again, he stood outside the tunnel with the words etched above its entrance.

  Knowledge is never without cost.

  "Come in, Dagan," came Roverin's voice from inside the tunnel.

  Anger fumed inside Dagan, and he forgot his fear as he stomped into the tunnel. But when he arrived at the cavern, his legs nearly gave way. Roverin sat on a stack of books waiting for him, but opposite him lay a body.

  Dagan's body.

  "W-What did you do?" Dagan asked. "W-When…Why?"

  "Come in, Dagan. Let's talk."

  It was like a command that Dagan could not deny. It was like the wind itself carried and deposited him before the spirit.

  "I'm dead?" Dagan asked, looking down at his hands. For the first time, he noticed that they were misty as if he were made of the mists themselves, like Roverin.

  Roverin nodded. "You are."

  "When?"

  "Since you made the cut in your hand and deposited the drop of blood in the chalice."

  Dagan remembered the shudder that had gone through his body. The system stopped sending him notifications after that. He realized how he could run for two days non-stop. How not a single monster attacked him on the mountain, even at night. It all made sense.

  "How? W-Why?" Dagan asked. "I didn't do anything to you. I didn't break our accord. Then why did you kill me?"

  Roverin raised a hand. "I'll explain everything. I wasn't finished with my tale. Why don't you have a seat, and we'll continue."

  Dagan looked at his dead body and shook his head.

  "Okay. So, as I was saying, I learned some spells from the adventurers I had hired as bodyguards. One of the adventurers could take his memories out of his mind and put them on a scroll. I was very fascinated by it. I paid him a handsome fee, and he taught it to me. However, after some research, I modified the spell to capture a person's entire soul. All I had to do was put a drop of their blood in my book. With that, I could open the book and talk to them whenever I wished."

  "That's how you captured my father?" Dagan said through gritted teeth.

  "Yes, and not just him. Many adventurers," Roverin replied casually. "Of course, I am no fighter and abhor violence. So, I learned the craft of enchanting metals, just like you did. You see that small knife and chalice are enchanted to take the life of anyone who willingly makes a cut and drops their blood in the chalice. The two work hand in hand. The knife kills while the chalice extracts the soul. The whole cave is enchanted as well. Anyone who dies here cannot move on unless I say so."

  "So I…" Dagan couldn't bear to finish the sentence.

  "Yes, you killed yourself. I didn't force you. You could've left, and I would have no power to stop you."

  Dagan's world shook. He fell to his knees, and his head felt like it would split in two—if that were even possible now. He took deep breaths, and even if he didn't need to breathe, the process calmed him down. He focused on his anger, and that brought everything under control.

  "So, there is no treasure of Virenor," Dagan said.

  "Oh no, there is a treasure of Virenor, and it's all around you," he replied. "But before we get to his treasure. Let's talk about Virenor himself."

  He waved his finger, wrote his name in the air, and then letters rearranged to form Virenor.

  "I am Virenor. It's an anagram of my real name, and this…" He spread his arms wide, and the whole cavern lit up with an ethereal light. "…is my treasure."

  Dagan watched in horror as the books lit up, lifted off their shelves, and spun around the old ghost as he laughed. Then, as his laughter died, one by one, the books slowly replaced themselves on the shelf they had come from.

  Dagan's hope had been crushed. His dream shattered. There was nothing he could do anymore. His fate had been sealed the moment he had given him his blood. He cursed himself for being so stupid. He cursed his great-grandfather for staking his entire fortune against finding this evil man's treasure.

  I should have never come here.

  He wanted to weep. Toren died for nothing. That one struck home with him. His friend could have gone on to have a family, but now, his soul would remain trapped in Soul Breaker forever.

  Dagan would never see his family again, or see his sons grow up, or be with his wife again. He would be stuck here for all eternity.

  "Why?" Dagan found himself asking.

  "Once I set up here," Virenor went on. "There weren't many adventurers that were coming to me. So, I couldn't get fresh stories, and adventurers always had the best stories. So I let a few of them go and asked them if they knew of any who had heard of the treasure of Virenor and where to find it. Honestly, it didn't take long for the news of Virenor's treasure to spread like wildfire, and soon after that, I had a steady trickle of adventurers coming to me to ask for my treasure."

  "You're evil."

  "Evil?" Virenor shook his head. "Oh no, my lad. I'm just inquisitive and have a deep thirst for knowledge and learning new things. Could you imagine the wealth of new techniques you would have had at your disposal had you killed me? This place is a treasure trove for any adventurer. It might not be gold, but this library of mine is a treasure. It's sad that people only consider things that glitter as treasure."

  "Still doesn't change the fact that you lured people here only to kill them and entrap their souls."

  "And how is it any better than them dying outside on one of their adventures? This way, they'll be a part of my treasure and make it greater with their knowledge. Knowledge is never without cost—this warning is etched outside the cave. I gave up civilization so I could preserve all this knowledge. It's only fair that you give up something too. You wanted to find the treasure of Virenor, and you have. Now, you will forever be a part of it."

  Dagan wanted to run, but he was rooted to the spot, and even if he did, this malicious spirit would just bring him back. He wanted to kill this thing, but he couldn't even touch his sword, let alone lift it.

  "I know you're angry, and your anger is justifiable. But I told you everything from the start. I said this was the greatest treasure in the world, but you didn't listen. I said I could kill you with a drop of your blood, but again, you didn't listen. You could have gone on your way, but you chose to give up your blood willingly. Do not fault me for your greed. I am not as evil as you think me. I will let you spend some time with your family. I'm sure you have many things to say to your father. I don't suppose you've ever met your grandfather; he is here too, and so are your uncles. In time, maybe your sons will join you."

  Dagan couldn't stand it anymore. He snapped. "If you had already killed me, then why waste all that time listening to my stories."

  "Because I had to ease you into it," Roverin replied. "I find it best to listen to their stories before I add them to the treasure. Somehow, it makes the transition easier. In the end, we were just two dead men telling each other our stories to get to know each other better."

  He began closing the book in his hand, the book in which he had written Dagan's stories. Dagan jerked forward as some invisible force pulled on him from inside the book. He tried pushing against it but couldn't fight it. The more he fought, the harder he was pulled inside the book.

  "I find that dead men tell the best tales."

  Virenor snapped the book shut.

  The End