The tavern was dimly lit, hardly being able to see the faces of three figures present on the bar. It was a very lively place, being the go-to place for many customers (if you actually lit it), but tonight, it was empty except for three people.
A mysterious man sat at the bar, clad in a long black suit and dark navy waistcoat. His black top hat added a touch of style, he looked like a traveler who was just being fancy. He sipped his beer quietly, the amber liquid catching the faint light from the dim lanterns. The mood around him screaming, "I am so mysterious that I can almost sense the plot thickening."
Near him, but two stools apart, another man sat with an aristocratic air. He was dressed in a blue tailcoat, white shirt, trousers, gloves—everything was saying "I'm important," including the black hat that perched on his head like a crown. If you didn't know better, you'd think he was here to purchase the whole tavern just because he liked the decor.
Hawthorne, the mysterious man in black, finally broke the silence. His voice was deep, like he was using soundboard to feel more mysterious. "What did you call me for? My work doesn't come cheap."
The nobleman, unfazed, leaned back and adjusted his gloves. "I'm well aware. I don't hand out cheap work to mercenaries like you."
Hawthorne took another sip of beer, eyeing the nobleman as if deciding whether he'd prefer to throw him out of the window or just listen. "Then spit it out. What do you need?" His tone was very unwelcoming, as if even seeing the guy was beneath him.
The nobleman leaned forward, his voice dropping to a whisper, as if even the walls might eavesdrop on the information that he was about to share. "Mr. Hawthorne, I want you to find something for me. Something... delicate."
The bartender, polishing glasses with a deliberate slowness, glanced over but said nothing. After all, bartenders in mysterious scenes never say much unless they're part of the plot.
Hawthorne raised an eyebrow. "Delicate, huh? What are we talking? A missing cat? A love letter?"
"A torn diary," the nobleman replied, his voice as sharp as his well tailored suit. "It belonged to an ethercraft researcher, someone who was studying the... less conventional sides of ether. The use of the said ethercraft seems to burn through your psyche due to the complexity, I want to know how much have it progressed and whether a less demanding principle was found"
Hawthorne leaned back, setting his glass on the bar with a soft thud. "And what's so special about this diary and its ethercraft?"
The nobleman's gloved fingers tapped the table, his eyes narrowing towards Hawthorne. "The researcher was working on something... unique. The ability to create nothing."
Hawthorne blinked. "Nothing?"
"Yes, nothing. To make nothing appear in a place where something should exist." The nobleman's voice grew tense, as if even speaking about it made the room feel colder. "The researcher's notes mention experiments inside the Devfronds Forest. I need you to find the rest of the diary."
Hawthorne chuckled, though it lacked any credibility. "So, let me get this straight. You want me to go into a creepy forest filled with powerful monsters just to find the rest of a diary from a guy trying to create... nothing?"
The nobleman nodded, his face serious. "Exactly."
"Well nobody makes a joke with that face in this setting." The bartender finally slid in, placing a fresh glass in front of Hawthorne. "You'd better get paid well for that one, mate."
Hawthorne gave a light, genuine laugh after hearing the bartender. "Oh, I will. But I'm curious—what do you plan on doing with this 'nothing' once I find it?"
The nobleman's lips curled into a thin smile. "That's none of your concern, Mr. Hawthorne."
Hawthorne shrugged, finishing his drink. "Fair enough. But I'll warn you—nothing's a dangerous thing to mess with. Literally." He wanted to laugh after he had said it, but the scenario didn't exactly let him do that. "And what makes you think I can find it? Maybe I prefer to work with... something."
"Your reputation speaks for itself," The nobleman reached into his coat and pulled out a small slip, he unfolded it. He reached inside and took out a pen, writing a bill of fifty sten. Which was a huge sum "Consider this... an advance."
Hawthorne took the slip, looking for any spots of a counterfeit cheque. "You've got my attention. But tell me, what exactly am I supposed to do once I find this diary containing information about... Nothing?"
"Bring it to me, of course," the nobleman said smoothly. "The contents are... valuable. More valuable than you can imagine."
The bartender, who had now polished the glass to a state of near transparency, couldn't help but join in. "Valuable how? I mean, you're talking about nothing. Seems like a risky investment."
The nobleman didn't even glance at him. "Let's just say that what this researcher discovered could change the very nature of ethercraft as we know it."
Hawthorne sighed, setting his glass down. "Fine. I'll take the job. But if I end up finding a whole lot of nothing, you'd better believe I'll be charging double."
The nobleman smiled. "I trust you'll find more than nothing in the Devfronds Forest."
With that, the nobleman stood, tipped his hat—because that's what fancy people do—took his cane, and left the tavern. Leaving Hawthorne alone with his thoughts... and the bartender, who had definitely polished that glass long enough.
The bartender finally broke the silence. "You really think there's something to this 'nothing' business?"
Hawthorne chuckled, finishing his beer. "I don't know pal. But I've learned that when nobles or their knight families are involved, there's always something. Even when they're talking about nothing."
The bartender shrugged. "Guess that's one way to make a living. Chasing nothing."
Hawthorne stood, tipping his hat to the bartender. "If only things were that simple. I've got a bad feeling about this. Hope I could see you again." He left after leaving some black-colored stones on the counter.
"Thank you for your patronage," The bartender smiled as his last customer of the day left.
———
"Let's see..." Judge muttered to himself, placing his hand on the cold stone of the cave wall, specifically where ether wasn't flowing. A frown formed on his face. His first instinct was to punch right through it—because, let's be honest, when in doubt, break things—but he held back. He had no clue what was causing the blockage, and breaking stuff blindly wouldn't solve anything. He wasn't that reckless. Yet.
Judge sighed and ran his TPE hand along the rough surface. "Okay, no smashing. Not now."
He decided to try a different approach—something more scientific. Ethercraft was all about being creative, right? He focused, summoning the ether within him to scan the wall. His first attempt was… well, let's just say it didn't go well. His mind buzzed like an overworked engine, but the wall remained as silent as a rock (because it was a rock).
"Alright, maybe I need to tweak the principle," he mumbled. He tried again, channeling his ether a bit more carefully this time. For a moment, it seemed to be working. He felt a slight pulse beneath the surface—almost like the wall was hiding something. But just as he thought he was getting somewhere, the ether backfired, making his brain feel like it had been dunked in cold water. His vision blurred, and he stumbled.
"Okay... note to self: this scanning thing is harder than it looks."
Determined not to let the wall win, Judge took a deep breath and gave it one more go. This time, he concentrated, pushing the ether just right, like adjusting the volume on an old radio. Slowly, the wall seemed to reveal itself to him. There was something behind it. Something big.
"I knew it," he grinned, feeling victorious. "It's always the third try."
With newfound confidence, he decided that maybe breaking the wall wasn't such a bad idea after all. He stepped back and, using just a little bit of force (okay, maybe more than a little), shattered the wall with a burst of raw strength. Dust filled the air, and when it settled, Judge found himself staring into... a room.
It wasn't just any room. It was a full-blown steampunk office, complete with gears on the walls, pipes running across the ceiling, and stacks of paper everywhere, it's just that the place seemed old—very old. The room looked like it belonged to someone who had either invented every gadget in the world or had severe hoarding issues.
"Huh, not bad," Judge muttered, stepping inside. He immediately noticed that most of the papers were covered in wild scribbles. They looked important—probably notes from some genius researcher—but to Judge, it might as well have been the ramblings of a sleep-deprived toddler.
"Let's see if there's anything useful here." He activated his new scanning ethercraft, determined to be more precise this time. The problem was, he had to focus a lot harder, and each second felt like his brain was being squeezed like a sponge.
By the time he finished scanning the room, Judge was light-headed, his vision swimming. "So much for my theory of infinite Psyche while in the clone," he groaned, realizing that even his backup body had limits, because the soul moving the body was still his. "Good job, genius."
Still, his efforts weren't wasted. His scan revealed a suspiciously hidden compartment in the wall. Judge approached it, using a bit of force to force it open, and inside, he found a box.
The box was small, and unremarkable. It looked like the kind of thing you'd find at the bottom of someone's sock drawer, but Judge knew better. He opened it and found a pouch inside, filled with twenty-five small blue stones.
He stared at the stones, unsure what they were. "Well, they look important... but I have no idea what they do."
He shrugged and sent the stones into his Studio, where they'd be safe in his personal inventory. Better to store first, ask questions later.
But that wasn't all. As he rummaged through the box, Judge pulled out something else—a book. At first glance, it looked boring. It had a plain cover, no title, nothing flashy. Just a regular, inconspicuous book.
Judge flipped it open, and immedietly realized that it just half, or more. This one seemed like the latter half. "No wonder it had a plain cover and no title! I was looking at it from the back side." Eyebrows raised, he looked through the book. "And what secrets do you hold?" he muttered to himself, ready to uncover the next piece of the puzzle.