"Oi, newbie. Don't just stand there!" A stern-looking woman with a decaying face peered at the skeleton as it dragged it further down the salt mine.
Various undead figures briefly looked up, stopping their pickaxes. Some faces flashed with pity upon seeing the small stature of the cloaked figure, some with indifference, and some with amusement.
All were met by the cold stare of the zombie woman, who simply propped her arms up and glared down at them.
The skeleton followed in her footsteps as she moved even further, entering a passage where no one mined.
"Okay, kid. Take this."
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Simple Dead's Pickaxe LV 01
Grade: Passing
Description: A pickaxe from the mining town of Swillberg. Made exclusively to handle the different types of salts in the Saltmines, it resists wear and decay when used for its purpose.
Additional Effects:
Durability LV 01
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"You're lucky Mark Dugraff can quickly transmit orders through the ectogrid-hooked speakers. Some of those slimy bastards want to pretend to be Participants, killing their fellow dead for no reason. Now, good luck."
The zombie woman trailed up the passage and left, leaving only a small lantern to serve as a light for the skeleton.
Our skeleton didn't exactly know what the undead figures were saying, but it could somewhat tell what it was supposed to do. Just from listening to the miners speaking as their words tumbled from the crevices, it sat down and leaned against where the voices were strongest.
For hours, it simply sat there and listened, leaning its skull closer to the vocalizations.
It soon became able to register their speech, and the meanings of their words. Subtle energy fluctuated as something glimmered within its soul, and Mara was relieved to see a new skill appear in the skeleton's skill window.
[Passive Skill 'O'Fallen Babel' LV 00 has been created.]
With that, the skeleton stood up and stretched its stiff bones. Then, walking up to the large crystal, mortisim billowed out of its frame as it centered around his ten fingers.
Skeleton's Perforating Fingers was activated, the macabre art sharpening its fingers with a glistening yet misty outline.
Releasing a stuttering few poking movements, particles of dust weakly blow away from the salt crystal.
A lame sound weakly fizzled in the deep bowel of Chthonim as the skeleton's fingertips tapped against the crystal without any fanfare.
Tff, tff, tff.
The skeleton "mined" for hours, trying its best to improve its finger strokes and damage the polished yet dusty mineral stone composed of salt.
Mark Dugraff walked into the cavern at the same time as it finally broke off a chunk of salted stone.
Illuminated by the blue-green light trickling out of the lacquered lantern, the skeleton toyed with the shard in its hand. The grizzled man chuckled, his mighty chest heaving as his laughter rocked his frame.
Whispering took place in the more communal sections of the salt mine.
"Is he really laughing?"
"Old Dugraff? You must be kidding. He hasn't even bothered to do anything but grunt for ten years."
"I think the old man's finally happy. Don't take it away from him; he's been irritated ever since…"
…
Back in the sectioned-off portion, Mark Dugraff searched his pockets. 11 dollars clothed in the colors of amber and autumn, each with a value signifying one on each of its corners.
There was a figure in the center of the dollar, who was half composed of flesh and blood and the other half simply bone. He was quite handsome and had a swaggering grin streaming behind a lollipop's stick, the candy revealed in his sharpened teeth.
He made punkish gestures with several hands linked to his form, various tattoos lining his fingers. Wearing chic and flashy clothing, his hair was neat and styled in a loose pomade hairstyle. Beneath his locks of hair were the words "William E. Dedd.".
"Hey, it's not much, but you've been working for 11 hours, kid. You're free to continue if you want…"
The skeleton collected the Deadman's Splendors and tilted its head as it studied them. Then, sifting through their frames and feeling happy with their textures, the tall middle-aged man made a confused face.
Arching a brow, he chuckled once again.
"Sorry, sorry. It's just that when I was little, my parents tended to give me more money in smaller units. It made me think, "wow, I really got a lot of cash!" So I figured it would work for you. Are you mad?"
Much to the man's surprise, the skeleton shook his head as he clutched the amber dollars to its chest. Then, they disappeared, entering its inventory…
Which prompted it to look a little sad.
"Uahahaha! Don't worry, skelly kid. It just went into your inventory. No harm, no foul! Do you want to leave? I can take you somewhere to rest."
The skeleton shook its head once again and pointed at the salt crystal. Then, it slipped into a sloppy stance as it swiped its arms, arching its fingers like spears as it jabbed them forward repeatedly.
"…huh? I'm…not sure what you mean, kid. But if you change your mind and need out, find Winona. She's the "scary" looking zombie lady that led you here earlier."
The man glanced around again, bending over to pick up the salt stone shard that was left in the skeleton's wake.
"Hmm. I'll see if we have any food suitable for a skeleton…if you're not going to come with me. I'll come to find you when I do, alright?"
....
Weeks passed, the skeleton getting into a continuous loop of mining out the resources in the little passage it was sectioned off in. The miners got used to its antics, even despite the increasing ruckus it made as it improved its macabre art.
The production of salts had spiked recently as it frenziedly moved hither and thither with its piercing fingers. Mark Dugraff, who was partial to the skeleton, allowed it to keep some of the full saltcrystals it had.
It would've paid it more Deadman's Splendor, too, had it not known that would cause an uproar down in the lower levels of Swillberg. The Participants in the mining city's second and third rung were getting a bit too curious about the happenings of the "production area," as they put it.
Too close for Mark Dugraff's liking.
The man sighed as he organized some papers on his desk. In an earthen passage, he fashioned into his own office, his eyes glanced over a bowl of gruel at his side.
There were notes before him that he was writing. An artful depiction of the little skeleton and his antics was scrawled onto the papers with uneven pencil strokes.
These were the words Mark Dugraff had placed around the drawings. He had gotten fond of the little skeleton, as did the miners of Swillberg. One of his worries had to do with the skeleton he affectionately titled "Skelly" in the first place.
It all happened a couple days back.
The "owner" of Swillberg was a Participant who went by the name of CCW-Stemmer. He was responsible for the current state of Swillberg, most notably the division of classes showcased so openly by the sectioned off levels of the town.
He was looking for something within the whole of Swillberg, driving the Inhabitants into the ruined uppermost level—the Saltminer Downs. Forcing them to work like dogs, producing materials that they used at their leisure…it made Mark's blood boil.