"What do you want?"
Jenkins directed the question at the beautiful little sprite, a growing certainty in his mind that this was no benevolent creature.
A gust of wind swept by, and the leaf-strewn ground rustled, but Jenkins's mood only soured further.
The mont he spoke, the laughter ceased. The sprite's face underwent a bizarre transformation; its once-fair features began to lt like wax.
The skin sagged, its complexion turning a sickly yellow. In a flash, its face had beco a grimy, jaundiced color, its eyes as terrifying as two bottomless wells, and its lips stretched into a grin that nearly reached its eyes. Even a fairy tale wouldn't feature a creature so horrifying.
Its voice grew even more shrill as it asked, "Young traveler, do you desire buried treasure?"
The question was like a devil's temptation. Jenkins subconsciously started to say "Yes," but Chocolate suddenly leaped down from a tree, landing squarely on his shoulder.
The sudden weight made Jenkins feel a slight dizziness, but it cleared his head, and he instantly grasped the situation. He blinked. This wasn't so exotic creature at all—the black spiritual aura ant it was a Cursed Item.
"A-11-02-3219."
He muttered the creature's designation in a very low voice. Ever since the incident with the Young Flower Seller, he had pored over materials about the Cursed Items one might encounter at any mont.
A-11-02-3219, the Treasure Elf, also known by so as the "Life-Devouring Spirit of the Forest."
A Cursed Item wasn't necessarily a physical object; it could be a piece of information, an entire species, or even a phenonon.
A-11-02-3219 was precisely that: a hallucinatory phenonon that manifested only in forests. The creature resembled a sprite, but it wasn't a living being at all. It didn't even have a physical body—it was nothing more than a phantom. These phantoms typically appeared in densely wooded areas, tempting travelers to follow them to find treasure. The "phenonon" itself was the process of travelers being ensnared by the illusion and subsequently vanishing without a trace.
The treasure, however, was real. The phantoms were called Treasure Elves for the simple reason that they only ever appeared where a real treasure was hidden.
The Treasure Elf's bizarre nature was that it targeted only a single chosen creature. In other words, even if a thousand people were standing here, only Jenkins would be able to see it. Not even Chocolate, who had accidentally broken the spell, could lay eyes on the phantom.
Once a victim was ensnared, the Treasure Elf would guide them deep into the heart of the forest. The mont they found the treasure, the traveler would be devoured by the woods.
And by "devoured," the texts ant a literal consumption. Jenkins had only read about it in the files, which offered no further graphic details.
This Cursed Item had a danger level of two, the sa as A-01-2-0198, the Young Flower Seller. While identical levels didn't equate to identical degrees of danger, this wasn't the kind of threat you could just refuse and walk away from.
Once you encountered the supernatural phenonon known as the Treasure Elf, no matter which direction you walked, you would inevitably arrive at the treasure it guided you to. There was no escape. In other words, much like the Young Flower Seller, an encounter was basically a death sentence... unless one was an Enchanter of level 8 or higher, who might have a chance to overco the disorienting spatial distortion.
Jenkins was reviewing the basic information Papa Oliver had provided, so he had no idea if there were any recorded cases of survival after an encounter with A-11-02-3219. He had been fortunate enough to survive his run-in with the Young Flower Seller, but Destiny wouldn't always smile upon the sa person.
"Chocolate."
He stood rooted to the spot, his gun hand growing slick with sweat. As a breeze blew through the trees, he realized his entire back was drenched.
Just as attacking the Young Flower Seller would lead to terrible consequences—case in point, the ice-wielder, Brut—attacking the Treasure Elf would also trigger a dangerous transformation. Jenkins was suddenly very grateful that his first instinct in a crisis wasn't to open fire.
"Go ho now," he whispered. "Bring back that black tal block. You know, the one you always play with."
He gave the command in a low voice, then hesitated. While Chocolate was smart enough to deliver a letter, the sequence of going ho, finding a specific object, and returning might be too complex. He quickly added:
"If you can't find when you get back, or if you can't find the tal block, just run. Don't go back to the house. Find Papa Oliver, or Miss Audrey. But whatever you do, don't lead them here. When they realize I'm missing, they'll take care of you. Just be good..."
Miss Bevanna, the level-eight Enchanter from the Church of Knowledge and Books, still hadn't returned. Writing a note for Chocolate to take to a Keeper of Secrets, or anyone else versed in the nature of Cursed Items, would simply be too slow. The files ntioned that even if he stood perfectly still, the Treasure Elf had its own ways of moving its victim toward the treasure.
As far as Jenkins was concerned, there was no going back.
His only option now was to achieve a divine state and crush A-11-02-3219 directly. With Chocolate's speed, there was a chance the cat could make it back before he t his end in the forest. But there were no guarantees.
"ow~"
Standing at his feet, Chocolate circled him twice and looked up at the man. The cat brushed his pant leg with the white tip of its tail, let out one final ow, and then scurried away, its paws crunching on the fallen leaves.
Jenkins swallowed hard, his eyes glued to the increasingly grotesque Treasure Elf. According to the records, no one had ever survived more than two hours after an encounter with A-11-02-3219.
That ant that within two hours, for one inexplicable reason or another, he would find that damned treasure.
"What exactly is this treasure you speak of?"
Even knowing escape was impossible, Jenkins still tried to formulate a plan. If he knew the treasure's exact location and appearance, he might be able to consciously avoid it... perhaps.
"Young traveler, do you desire buried treasure?"
It repeated the sa line in its shrill voice, floating slowly around Jenkins within a halo of iridescent light.
Jenkins sighed and holstered his pistol. It was useless now.
The midday sun hung high in the sky, but shrouded in the shadows of the trees, Jenkins couldn't feel an ounce of its warmth. He stiffly lifted his feet, stomping on the ground to generate so heat. He'd already made a promise to himself: if he made it out of this alive, the very first thing he would do was buy a proper, warm winter coat.
Reviews
All reviews (0)