The Shackled Void

Saturday night in the capital was as restless as the nights in The Undercroft, where every shadow could be friend or foe, and every deal a path to riches or ruin.

Nihil no longer wandered aimlessly. Guided by Heze's mind, he moved with purpose. He passed food vendors and beggars, ignored thugs trying to intimidate. He sought the real market—the one where desperation was traded.

His logic led him to a small district known as "The Gilded Leech."Here, grimy pawn shops stood shoulder-to-shoulder with illegal alchemy clinics. This was where people came when they had no other options.

From the shadows of an alley, he observed. His chance soon appeared. A large mercenary, frustration etched on his face, stormed out of one shop cursing. Slung across his back was a magnificent tower shield, but it pulsed with a faint, sickly purple aura.

Nihil had read about such things in the original Nihil's journals. An artifact soul-bound to its dead owner.

He followed the mercenary into a quieter alley.

"You have a problem with your shield," Nihil stated. His voice, muffled by his hood, was calm and flat, making him sound older than he looked.

The mercenary whirled around, hand instantly gripping his axe handle. "Who are you? Mind your own business, ghost."

"I can solve your problem," Nihil continued, ignoring the threat. "I can erase that 'binding.' Permanently."

The man scoffed. "Even the priests of the Dawnlight Temple couldn't purge it. What can a scrap like you do?"

"I'm no priest," Nihil replied. "I offer a solution, not prayers. As payment, I need only two things: enough coin for a meal and a room tonight, and information—where I can find a safe place and someone who sells secrets."

The mercenary eyed the robed figure suspiciously. But desperation outweighed caution. He'd tried everything. "Fine," he growled. "Prove it. Fail, and your head's the price."

He unstrapped the shield and slammed it onto the ground. The purple aura pulsed defiantly. At its center was an intricately carved magical sigil—the Soul-Brand.

Nihil stepped forward. He knelt and placed his pale palm directly over the sigil. He focused his will, calling the power from within.

[Activating Skill: Void Grasp (F)]

[Target Detected: Soul-Binding Residue (Low-Grade Curse)]

No explosion, no dramatic light. Instead, the purple glow of the Soul-Brand flickered wildly, then was sucked into Nihil's palm as if devoured by a black hole. The etched symbol on the metal faded, crumbling into brittle grey dust that blew away on the night breeze. Within seconds, the shield's surface was clean and smooth, as if the cursed mark had never existed. The malevolent aura vanished completely.

The mercenary stared, slack-jawed. He bent down and tentatively touched the shield. Cold. Normal. No more nightmare whispers, no phantom pain lancing up his arm.

He stepped back, his gaze on Nihil now a mix of gratitude, awe, and deep-seated fear. He quickly fumbled in his pouch and tossed a leather coin purse towards Nihil.

"Go to the inn 'The Whispering Flagon'. Show them this coin; they'll give you a room without questions. There... look for an old woman called 'The Weaver'. She's who you want for secrets," the man said hurriedly. "By the Gods... what are you?"

Nihil caught the coin purse. He paused before turning to leave.

"Call me... Nihil."

As his figure melted into the darkness, the mercenary knew he'd just witnessed something that would shift the power map of The Undercroft. A new rumor was born tonight.