TravelingDreamer
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B5—Chapter 61: Ghosting a Castle
🕑 Added 2025-03-03 19:39:23 +0000 UTCA thin carpet of snow greeted me as I stepped outside that morning, and I stopped short. Right—my wanderlust had kicked in, but it hadn’t taken into account the approaching winter. Not that it mattered with everything on my to-do list.
Hm. The hail, though—that might be a problem when bringing the slaves from Zarad.
All thoughts of my to-do list vanished the moment I registered the cold. Not that the cold itself was an issue—every time my Constitution increased, I felt less affected by the weather. Well, temperature, at least. Humidity was still miserable.
But it wasn’t just the cold. It had an odd, shifting quality, not solid or uniform. It took me a moment to pinpoint why. The currents in the chill matched the mana eddies in the air, like the different mana types were making the cold fluctuate in small pockets, some sharper, some duller.
By now, I was used to my 100+ Perception, but every now and then, something still caught me off guard. This was one of those times.
I stood there, tracking the shifting eddies of mana and how they shaped the cold. Some currents felt like biting ice, sharp and almost electric against my skin, their hues a bluish-gray. Others carried a damp chill, the kind that seeped into bones like a winter storm rolling off the ocean, more blue than gray, with translucent white spots scattered through them. Pockets where the cold thinned felt almost like early autumn instead of deep winter, while others wrapped around me in an eerie stillness, as if the air had frozen solid in place.
Fire-aspected mana softened the chill in fleeting bursts, barely noticeable until it brushed against my skin like a lingering ember. The red stood out far more than the warmth itself. Water mana thickened the damp cold, amplifying the discomfort like mist that clung and refused to let go—pure white and heavy. Wind mana sharpened the bite, turning the air into a series of ghostly knives that flickered past in sudden gusts. Those blades shimmered with many colors, as if the wind had layers woven through it.
I exhaled, watching my breath spiral away in uneven wisps, all the mana currents now tinged purple. It was mesmerizing. The more I focused, the clearer the layers became—magic twisting through the cold, turning the morning air into a chaotic, shifting landscape of temperature, sensation, and color.
A sudden shove sent me stumbling forward, nearly causing me to plant my face in the snow. Whipping around, I found Mahya standing behind me, arms crossed, her brow furrowed.
“Hey! What was that for?” I shot her an annoyed look.
She huffed, jabbing a finger at my chest. “You’ve been standing here, staring into space, for over two hours. I called your name, squeezed your shoulder, even shook your hand. Nothing! You didn’t react at all. I was worried.”
“Two hours?”
She nodded, exasperation clear in her expression. “Yep! What happened?”
I rubbed the back of my neck, suddenly aware of how stiff my muscles had gotten. Looking away, I muttered, “I got mesmerized by the mana.”
Mahya’s face scrunched up like I’d started speaking in tongues. “Huh?”
I waved her off. “Never mind.”
She shook her head, letting out a snort. “Sometimes I forget you’re a wizard, but then you go and remind me.”
Rolling my eyes, I shoved her in return, even harder. “Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard it all before. Many, many times.”
Since wrapping up the weaponized healing project with Rima, I’d planned to experiment with tiftaf, but with all the snow, that would have to wait. The slave relocation, too—no sense flying through hail and snow.
With my plans on hold, I headed back inside, leaving crisp boot prints in the snow before shaking it off at the door. Warm air wrapped around me, a sharp contrast to the biting cold outside. I made my way to the storage halls to sort through the piles of items, separating anything I didn’t need that might be useful for New Sanctuary.
The first storage hall held all the alcohol we’d brought from Earth. I scratched my head, debated briefly, then shook it. Yeah, no—Mahya would kill me.
Moving on, I entered the next hall, filled with supplies from DIY, hardware, army surplus, and home improvement stores. Shelves lined with stacked toolboxes, coils of rope, and bundles of heavy-duty tarps stretched down the aisles. Nails, screws, and bolts sat in labeled containers, alongside rolls of duct tape and spools of wire.
Well, extra supplies never hurt. The basics—hammers, wrenches, saws, and other tools—would always be useful, especially the ones that didn’t rely on power. I made a note to enchant the ones I planned to give away. The tarps could be used for temporary shelters or to cover goods. And you could never have too much rope. Glues, paints, and various chemicals may also be helpful.
I kept moving, mentally sorting through what I could spare and what we might need later. I had no intention of giving them everything—they had to learn to produce what they needed. Besides, all this wasn’t mine alone. Nevertheless, a little helping hand wouldn’t hurt.
The army gear gave me pause. It was too uniform, a dead giveaway of mass production, and too different from anything in this world. Ultimately, I decided against it.
Next was a half-empty hall filled with the last remnants from Lord Damarion’s spire, the ruined castle we’d found, and the mansions in Tolarib—the stuff I hadn’t sold or given away yet. Most of it was in rough shape, which was precisely why it was still here.
I sorted through everything, feeding about half of it to the house. For the rest, I either hit with Clean and stored directly for drop-off or set aside for Restore. The project took me three days, and the snow never let up. By the third day, it had piled over a foot deep, with an icy, slick layer hiding beneath the fresh powder.
In this hall, I came across the glass orb that needed blood to activate. Turning it over in my hands, I frowned, debating what to do with it. After a moment, an idea struck me. Before we left, I planned to ask Roda and Rima for a vial of their blood. Maybe, sometime in the future, I’d take a peek and see how they were doing.
Hmm. Perhaps villains have something useful after all.
Here, I also found a collection of odds and ends I’d gathered over time. I found various weapons from the trap dungeon stacked in one corner, along with the second crossbow I’d taken off Rue’s paws for a barrel of beer.
Turning the crossbow over in my hands, an idea formed. I should teach Rima how to shoot and give it to her. Much better than explosive diarrhea—though I had a feeling she wouldn’t agree.
There was a massive pile of neatly folded spider silk, but I didn’t even consider giving it away. Mahya had plans for it, and they’d run that dungeon over and over just to gather more. Handing it out wasn’t even on the table—I valued my life, thank you very much.
I found a flask, and only Identify reminded me what it was. With that came the memory of the dreadful dessert dungeon, filled with fiery creatures.
Vial of Eternal Water
A magical flask that never runs out of water. Perfect for survival in desert environments, it provides a constant source of cool water, ensuring the bearer is never without hydration, no matter the circumstances.
I considered it for a moment and decided to keep it. That reminded me—I pulled out a sheet of aluminum, cut it into squares, and stored them away with a note to create ten water purification blobs for the city. So far, no one had gotten sick from drinking the river water, but it was better to be safe than sorry.
The next thing I came across was a furry bag. This time, I didn’t need to identify it to recall what it was or where I’d gotten it—but I cast it anyway, just to refresh my memory on the exact details.
Pouch of Rat Fur
A small pouch crafted from enchanted rat fur that grants a brief boost to stealth abilities. Ideal for sneaking past lesser creatures undetected for a few minutes.
I added a note to ask Mahya, Al, and Rue if they would like to donate their pouches as well. I was pretty sure they’d all agree—we hated that dungeon and its annoying pouches. Maybe some Rogue in Sanctuary could put it to good use, sneaking into the neighboring cities and returning the favors.
I found the feathers we’d taken from the cassowary dungeon—perfect for arrow fletching. I made another note to ask the gang if they wanted their bundles. Rue’s was already mine, traded for a massive sirloin steak.
I still had over forty massive crates of building materials from Vegas. That, I was definitely giving them. It was the perfect new home for the supplies—no point in hoarding them when New Sanctuary could put them to good use.
Bricks, cement, rebar, insulation panels, and rolls of wiring filled the crates. Metal sheets and pipes of all sizes were also present. The materials could help expand the city, reinforce structures, or repair anything that was falling apart. I set aside the wiring and metal sheets for Mahya, but I stored the rest to drop off.
I had two entire storage halls packed with trade goods from China, but after some thought, I left them alone. There was a fine line between offering needed help and giving too much, and I didn’t want to cross it.
That evening, over dinner, I set my fork down and pulled out my notes. “I was sorting through the storage halls and came across some things,” I said, scanning the list. “Remember the rat dungeon with the fur pouch that grants some stealth abilities?”
Al gave a curt nod, unfazed. Mahya shuddered, arms wrapping around herself. “Don’t remind me.”
A powerful wave of disgust hit me through the bond, and Rue half-shouted, “Yuk!” His ears flattened as he curled up on his beanbag, clearly not a fan.
I chuckled at his dramatics.
“So, do you guys want to keep the pouches for anything, or can I give them to the Sanctuary?”
Al raised a brow. “Why would they need them?”
“To sneak into Almadris and Almatai, or scout the surroundings—something along those lines.”
Mahya waved a hand dismissively. “You can give mine.”
Rue flicked his tail, the bond practically radiating distaste. “Rue no need rat bag.”
“Mine as well,” Al said, stabbing a piece of meat with his fork.
“Good.” I crossed that off the list and moved on. “Next—what about the boxes we got from the edible dungeon? I’m giving them my hive. No way I’m raising bees. What about you?”
Al barely glanced up. “I am not giving up the raisin collection box you gave me.”
I chuckled. “Of course not. I gave it to you for a reason—it literally has alchemy in the description. I meant the other one. Which did you get, the squirrels or the birds?”
A grimace crossed his face. “The birds. And yes, you can have it.”
Mahya nodded, already focused on her food. “The squirrels too.”
Rue perked up. “Rue give bananas to Al.”
Al set his utensils down with a sigh. “I am not giving up the fertilizer.”
I patted his hand before he could get too worked up. “No need to fret, it’s yours.”
Satisfied, he resumed eating, and I checked the next item on my list. “Last thing—the feathers from the cassowary dungeon. Any plans for them, or can I give them away for arrows?”
Al barely looked up. “You can give mine away. I do not need them.”
Rue stretched, tail flicking. “Rue no need feathers.”
I smirked at him. “Your feathers are mine already. You got a steak for them.”
He gave a pleased nod. “Good. Rue is smart.”
Mahya shrugged. “You can have mine.” Then, as if remembering something, she leaned forward. “When are you going to take apart the castle in Almadris?”
I leaned back in my chair, stretching. “I’ll start when the weather improves.”
The next day, I dropped off all the supplies I’d gathered from the storage halls and moved on to the next project. At first, I planned to just create the Aluminum Purification Blobs myself, but then a better idea struck me.
Back in Shimoor, I’d read an Archive entry explaining the method, noting that it was common in low-mana worlds. Zindor wasn’t exactly low mana—it was medium—but its knowledge level was zero. Instead of just making the blobs, teaching someone how to do it made way more sense.
I added it to my to-do list and moved on.
For five days, I spent my daylight hours enchanting tools, but at night, Almadris became my playground. I didn’t start by tearing the castle apart or dismantling it gradually. I learned my lesson and had no intention of doing it brick by brick. Instead, I set out to convince its residents that the place was cursed, haunted by something far beyond their understanding.
It started subtly—windows slamming shut just as someone reached them, candles snuffing out the moment a hand stretched toward the flame. Doors creaked open by themselves, but only when no one was watching. The first few incidents earned uneasy glances but no outright fear. That changed fast.
On the second night, as a pair of guards patrolled the dimly lit corridors, I dragged a heavy wooden chair across the stone floor directly in front of them. The grating screech sent them stumbling back, hands flying to their weapons. One swore under his breath. The other muttered something about the wind.
Wind doesn’t shove people.
A passing noblewoman let out a startled yelp as an unseen force pushed against her back, causing her to stumble forward. She whirled around, eyes darting wildly over the empty hallway. I let the silence stretch just long enough for doubt to settle in before flicking the hem of her skirt as if something unseen had brushed past. She bolted.
The castle's grand dining hall provided another opportunity. As a group of nobles sat enjoying their meal, I slowly and deliberately dragged a heavy table two inches to the left. The legs scraped loudly against the floor. Conversations faltered. They stared at the table, then at each other. No one moved.
A moment later, I yanked the tablecloth off the table, sending everything crashing to the floor. Wine splattered across the stone like blood. That was the tipping point—one noble pushed back from the table so fast his chair toppled over. Another muttered a prayer under his breath.
But I wasn’t done.
As the servants hurried to clean the mess, I knocked over an entire silverware tray, sending spoons and knives clattering loudly to the ground. The sound echoed through the hall like a death knell. One footman dropped to his knees, pale as a ghost.
For half the night, I crept into every room I could access while they slept and blasted the loudest bicycle horn I had. The results were spectacular. They displayed some truly impressive jumping abilities—one of them even launched nearly four feet off the bed.
By the third night, I escalated things further. I slammed doors shut behind people, tugged at their clothes like ghostly fingers, and whispered their names when no one else was near. But the best trick? Sticking my hand into the snow until it was ice-cold, then pressing it against the back of their necks. They shrieked like banshees. I reserved that little trick for the nobles. The servants had enough to worry about.
By the fourth night, the guards moved in pairs, weapons drawn, eyes darting at every flickering shadow. The servants refused to go anywhere alone. The nobles were openly discussing leaving.
To give them a final push, I waited until they were all sound asleep—then stripped every blanket off them and stored them away. Let them try to explain that in the morning.
By the fifth night, half of them were already packing their bags. For an extra push, I stored those bags, flew outside, and carefully arranged them in a neat row along the driveway leading to the main road.
Hint, hint…
It took another two nights of intense haunting—and putting the biggest pot I could find on the ruler’s head. I didn’t bonk him; I just placed it on him like a helmet. That was the breaking point.
With the last frantic packing complete, the castle stood abandoned—silent, empty, and mine to dismantle.
I flew through the half-cleared halls, moving from room to room, methodically storing everything left behind. Heavy and elaborate tapestries still clung to the walls, their colors dulled by age. Forgotten crates sat in corners, filled with items the residents had either deemed unnecessary or missed in their rush to leave. Beds remained unmade, scattered with clothing, personal trinkets, and the occasional half-packed chest.
The vault had been my first priority on my first night here. I’d already checked for safes and found one—deep underground, sealed behind layers of stone and metal. But cracking it open had been a disappointment. Empty. Mahya sulked for two days, occasionally muttering curses and kicking random inanimate objects.
With the interior stripped bare, I turned my attention to the real challenge—bringing the place down.
Unlike the last castle, this one wasn’t just an outer shell—it was fully intact. That meant a steeper incline was needed to reach the no-return point. The foundation was different, too. The bedrock wasn’t a solid, uniform slab like before. It was uneven, layered in jagged formations beneath the surface, making it trickier to destabilize.
I flew to the center of the main hall and pressed my hands to the ground, sinking my awareness into the earth. The moment I reached the foundation, I could feel the difference. The weight distribution, the way the pressure spread—everything about this structure resisted my attempt to tip it.
I exhaled and adjusted. No brute force or reckless shoving. Just apply careful pressure, steady manipulation, and shift the right sections at the right time.
It took longer, demanded more precision, but bit by bit, I coaxed the foundation into a state of instability. The castle groaned above me, stone grinding against stone, dust trickling from the walls as unseen stress fractures formed. The balance was tipping. Not yet collapsing, but ready.
I pressed deeper, pushing the settlement disparity past the failure threshold. The moment came like the snap of a bowstring—one last shift, and the structure could no longer support itself.
The ground trembled beneath me. Cracks raced up the walls, splitting the stone in jagged lines. The castle buckled under its own weight, struggling to stay upright. A deep, grinding noise rolled through the air as stone strained against stone—the sound of centuries-old architecture giving in.
And then, with a final, shuddering sigh—gravity took over, and I shot out the door at top speed.
This time, I stuck around to watch.
I hadn’t realized how long I’d spent destabilizing the place. Storing all the leftovers had taken about two hours, so I figured it was still the middle of the night. But when I flew out, the sun had already risen, and morning light bathed the entire city. Even better, it was the perfect visibility to watch the castle go down.
At first, nothing much happened. A few cracks widened, bits of stone crumbled off the edges, and some dust drifted up. Then, the real shift started. The central buildings sagged first, their weight pulling down unevenly as the foundation gave way. A deep, grinding noise rolled through the air, the entire structure was groaning under its weight.
Chunks of the outer walls broke off, tumbling down in bursts of debris. The tallest towers leaned, hesitated, then tipped faster and faster until they slammed down, sending up thick clouds of dust. More walls buckled, breaking apart in sections, folding in on themselves rather than toppling outward. That was the plan—to collapse inward and keep the mess contained.
The main hall held out the longest. With a crash, the roof gave way, sending a fresh wave of dust and rubble from the floors below. The walls followed, breaking apart chunk by chunk, collapsing into what had once been the castle's center.
By the time the last of it settled, all that remained was a massive pile of stone, barely recognizable as a building. I hovered above it, taking in the wreckage, letting out a slow breath.
Yeah. That worked.
I thought about feeding the stone to my core then and there, but I was too damn tired. This time, destabilization had been easier—but still no walk in the park.
Yawning, I turned and flew home.
Comments
JJB4345_80_815
Perception is the best stat... for staring off into space. (Jake Thayne/Zogarth humor) Thank you for the chappy! May your day include chocolate (if desired).
Constantin
Hui buh,
