A Lich's Guide to Dungeon Mastery

Astaliar itched at his right arm– at least, the withered husk that once was a right arm arm.

When he first saw it, the young man thought that he would have to lose his arm. He was relieved when the healers told him that he could keep it.

Then they’d elaborated, and the color had drained from his face.

The invasion of foreign, hostile space magic that carried a hint of Necrosis with it had rendered his arm completely unhealable. Even the most talented space mages they could find hadn’t been able– or, in some cases, willing– to perform the procedure.

Astaliar silently seethed at the memories. Useless commoners! Who cares about your Mentum pool getting tainted by the trace amounts of Necrosis?? You should be honored to die for me!

Sadly, his family had found no good way to have the work done, and that was before the hearing.

His scowl transformed into a grimace as he recalled the king’s harsh words. Apparently, his loss of supplies and servants had been “unfitting of his status as a noble.” Who cares about a few dozen commoner women? They served their purpose. He’d been officially stripped of his right to his family’s estates upon their death. Instead, if they failed to producee a suitable heir, their possessions would be returned to the king himself.

After that night, his family– as well as all of his old friends, since the hearing had been made into a public event where even the common folk could attend– had refused to interact with him.

Astaliar had been cast into the streets by his family’s own guard, and since then he’d been living off the small amount he’d had on him at the time. He’d already been forced to sell his favorite coat just to afford another night at a decent inn.

If things kept up at this rate, he might be forced to move to an inn that lacked runic accommodations, such as heating, showers, and light control. That, or turn to the Watchers for work.

He shivered at the thought of being forced to pursue either one of those paths. I’ll kill every last one of those pigs who helped to put me in this wretched state.

Astaliar was pulled from his thoughts by his arrival at his destination.

The Brotherhood of Mana, he thought with a scoff. I can’t believe I’m doing this.

In spite of his doubts, he knocked on the hard wooden door. He’d heard rumors that these people could help with his arm, and the thought of that alone was enough to keep his skepticism at bay.

Within moments of knocking on the door, it swung open, revealing a large man whose body was completely obscured by a dark blue robe with decorative white runes painted onto it.

“Ah, Astaliar,” the… man? Woman? Rasped out, beckoning Astaliar to enter the building. “We’ve been expecting you, young one.”

“That’s Astaliar Galias to you,” he replied harshly, brushing past the odd person.

The being within the robe cocked its head. “Is it, now? How curious.”

Astaliar snarled and nearly lost his cool, but the thought of regaining the function of his arm was more than enough incentive to look past the slight.

“I was informed you could help with my arm,” he responded, pushing away all thoughts of burning this crude filth away with a scorching beam of light.

“Yes, yes…” it hummed with a voice that sounded almost like birdsong, “we can make that happen. For a price.”

The once-noble grimaced and pulled out his pouch of coins. “Would this be sufficient?”

The creature shook his head, and Astaliar was about to burst out in frustration when it explained. “The Brotherhood does not exchange mortal currency for its services, Sir Galias.”

Astaliar’s face fell a bit and he put the moneypurse away. “Then, what do you need?”

The hood of the robe shook slowly. “It is not us that requires anything, young master. Rather, it is you. To obtain that which you desire, you must make a sacrifice.”

Before Astaliar even managed to spit out a comment about the vagueness of the hooded individual’s statement, a prompt suddenly populated before his eyes.

Permanently revoke all Skills, Boons, Levels, Affinities, Class Specializations, and Attribute Enhancements to gain unique class, “Child of Mana?” N/A

Warning! This choice is irreversible, so be sure to choose wisely.

He grimaced and clutched at his arm, looking up at the creature in front of him. “That’s a high price, even to get my arm back.”

The being smirked– finally showing a small amount of its body in the form of its multiple rows of teeth. “Trust me, young one. The benefits greatly outweigh the downsides.

Astaliar spent a long time considering. He poured over every aspect of his current Legend, considering his fighting style, and wondering what “Mana” was.

Eventually, he felt that he’d considered it long enough, and knew the answer.

“I accept.” He reached out to shake the hand of the individual he’d spoken to just a moment before, but it turned into smoke the instant he accepted the prompt.

Then, Astaliar looked down.

He looked at his hand. The one he’d lost.

He almost cried from the joy of finally having his arm back in one piece.

A wicked grin crossed his face. Someday soon, his foes would rue the day they crossed Astaliar Galias.

End of Book 1