The "immortality" granted by the mystical item and its accompanying negative effects were not mutually exclusive. One enhanced the user's physical resilience during activation, while the other gradually eroded their vitality under the demigod-tier item's curse—its benefits unable to offset the drawbacks.
"Tch. The side effects are worse than I expected."
[Naturally. This is a Sequence 4, demigod-level artifact.]
[The current 'Artisan' tier cannot produce items with minimal drawbacks. Host, please collect more Savant characteristics~]
'What would happen if we crossed paths with the God of Craftsmanship?'
Don couldn't help his curiosity.
[Why, reclaim Him, of course.] The System's electronic voice turned ominous.
Don's cheek twitched. Reclaim a deity? You've got some nerve.
He had no idea if the System could actually do it—and certainly lacked the audacity to try.
'Not afraid of getting smited? Though I suppose that's the Lord of Storms' jurisdiction...'
---
Food in this era was lackluster, even for nobility.
With Baron Lamud's departure imminent, Owen shamelessly inserted himself between their parents during breakfast, determined to be the brightest third wheel. He wanted to inquire about the Death pathway, particularly clues for Sequence 5 main ingredients.
Don, ever the filial younger brother, dragged Owen away before he could attempt anything heroic.
"I forgot to ask yesterday—what kind of mystical item do you want?"
Owen hesitated, then muttered, "I can customize it?"
"Preferences help. No point wasting a demigod-tier characteristic."
"Well..." Owen pondered. "Something Spirit/Underworld-aligned. Though 'Undying' implies longevity?"
"Theoretically." Don nodded. Selecting all three System options should work.
As for the negative effects... he'd let their father handle those. A Sequence 2 angel, even amnesiac, could manage artifacts from his own pathway.
"Any preferred form?"
Owen's gaze drifted to the decorative armor lining the hall.
Don: "...Right."
Leaving the castle, Don headed to the town outskirts to test his plans. He summoned yesterday's demon marionette, bringing it into the settlement.
The supernatural skirmish hadn't caused panic. Those with connections or awareness knew the world brimmed with horrors—but with churches, priests, and lords as shields, commoners rarely worried.
Don, now disguised, manipulated the marionette to knock on Lirda Sen's door.
"Who's there?!"
A short, swarthy man yanked the door open, his surly expression melting into obsequiousness upon seeing the hulking figure. "S-Sir! How may I help you?"
Mistaking the visitor for a knight (despite the lack of armor), Lirda Sen bowed deeply. In these lean times, only the wealthy grew so robust.
Don didn't correct him. The marionette spoke: "My master wishes to purchase property."
"O-Of course!" Relieved, Lirda ushered him inside. "What type? Though most prefer leasing over selling..."
Few in town sold ancestral homes. The desperate couldn't afford to; the rich saw no need.
"Spacious. Isolated. Private." Don kept it concise.
Though the entire territory technically belonged to his family, regulated transactions stimulated the economy—and more importantly, concealed his identity as the marionette's true master.
A core tenet of Marionettist acting.
Lirda's grin widened as he listed options. Don selected a house near Ellison Street, moderately close to the castle. Its previous owner had left for Backlund years prior, but the price and remote location deterred buyers.
With an ancient key in hand, Don guided the marionette inside. The black-bricked quadrangle was dust-choked, sending Lirda into a coughing fit.
"Apologies, sir! It's been neglected..."
He eagerly highlighted the "advantages": secluded, private, large—though also dilapidated, unfurnished, and thermally cursed.
From a nearby tree, Don's true body watched, twitching as he haggled through the puppet.
After much negotiation, the house sold for £210, including adjacent land rights.
As they parted, Lirda slipped a bribe to the "servant."
"This one's got initiative."
(End of Chapter)