Skill increases were a welcome pat on the back, a little "you go, girl" from the universe. But this whole (Deception) thing? It was growing like a particularly virulent strain of mold in a forgotten lunchbox.

  Worrying. She didn't want to be a master deceiver, a puppet master of the heartstrings, a whisperer of sweet little lies. But… Could she really just blurt out, "Oh, by the way, I'm a Necromancer?" Not yet. Their rapport was more "awkward meeting at a dimly lit coffee shop" than "soulmates sharing secrets under a starlit sky."

  Yes, he had a crush on her. The poor lion practically tripped over his own feet whenever she was within a five-foot radius. But that was it. This wasn't some cheesy TV drama where the heroine could commit grand larceny while juggling flaming torches and everyone still adored her because of her quirky personality and adorable dimples.

  She was a fucking Necromancer. Capital N fool. A stain on society’s pristine white tablecloth. The darkness everyone knew lurked in the basement but politely pretended wasn't there. It had been thrust upon her by a series of unfortunate events that would make even Lemony Snicket weep. But people rarely cared about the whys. It was always the whats. "Oh, she's a Necromancer? Grab the pitchforks and the conveniently placed torches!"

  (Identify) was a gem. It was like having a magical Wikipedia page open in her brain. Or it would be when the skill gained some traction. It seemed to level up at the pace of a snail on a leisurely Sunday stroll. Even though she used it every time she remembered, which, admittedly, wasn't always. She was, after all, a busy Necromancer. So many corpses, so little time.

  She was slightly miffed that her (Pain Resistance) hadn't leveled up after her little mishap with the tree. You know, the one where she face-planted into it at terminal velocity. But with her stats boosted to ludicrous levels, she hadn't even felt it. Probably because she was too busy seeing stars to feel pain. It was like hitting a brick wall and then wondering why the wall didn't apologize.

  She was also slightly miffed – miffed, I tell you! – that she hadn't gotten any experience points for the dead rabbit. She strolled past, it was dead. Simple. Clean. Yet, no triumphant "Ding! Necromancer has leveled up!" Azrael, her ever-so-helpful (and slightly sarcastic) inner voice, had kindly informed her that it was because the creature had shuffled off this mortal coil due to natural causes.

  Apparently, passive observation didn't count. She had to be an active participant in their destruction, wielding the metaphorical axe herself. Which, she supposed, made a certain twisted kind of sense. Otherwise, she’d level up her "Witness people act like arses!" skill every day, becoming a grandmaster in the art of observing human stupidity. And frankly, she already had enough experience in that particular field.

  Sarah emerged from a brisk shower, the invigorating spray chasing away the last vestiges of sleep. A quick glance in the mirror confirmed she was presentable – not that it mattered much within the tower walls. Her to-do list, a mental scroll that seemed to lengthen with each passing day, loomed large. But first, sustenance. A rumbling stomach was a poor companion for a productive day. "Fuel the troops," she chuckled to herself, adorning her robe. "Or, in this case, the children."

  The bakery, thankfully, was an early riser. The aroma of warm yeast and caramelized sugar spilled out onto the street, a siren call to anyone within a block. Golden-brown croissants nestled beside plump pain au chocolat, their flaky layers practically whispering promises of buttery delight.

  Sarah, never one to deny the power of a good pastry, selected a generous assortment – enough to satisfy even the most discerning magical palate. She added a crusty loaf of sourdough, its dark, flour-dusted crust hinting at the tangy goodness within. Healthy minds in healthy bodies, she thought, a slight smile playing on her lips. "Or at least, happy minds in well-fed bodies."

  Back at the tower, the reception area presented an unexpected scene. A seasoned woman, curled uncomfortably in one of the plush armchairs, was fast asleep. Sarah paused, a flicker of recognition stirring in her memory. Melanie? No, that wasn't quite right. Mellisa? Melissa! That was it. A wave of guilt washed over Sarah who, in her haste for food, had walked straight by without noticing her.

  She remembered the brief, awkward exchange, the elder woman's hopeful plea for a job, and her own hasty attempt to pawn her off on Ariel. She'd been so preoccupied, so eager to escape the tower and see the world, that she'd completely forgotten about Melissa. "Terrible," she muttered under her breath. "Absolutely terrible."

  Sarah gently nudged Melissa awake. "I'm so sorry," she began, offering the young woman a warm croissant and a cup of freshly brewed coffee. "I was in a rush before. Please, have some breakfast."

  Melissa blinked sleepily, her eyes widening slightly as she took in Sarah's apologetic expression. "Oh, thank you," she murmured, a faint blush creeping up her cheeks. "I… I didn't have anywhere else to go. Ariel said it was alright if I stayed downstairs."

  Sarah’s guilt deepened. It wasn't just about forgetting Melissa; it was about the larger picture. She was the master of this tower, responsible for the well-being of everyone within its walls, even those who technically fell under Ariel's purview. She thought of some of the less-than-stellar leaders she’d encountered during her military service. They were efficient, perhaps, but often lacked empathy, treating their subordinates as mere cogs in a machine. Sarah didn't want to be like that. She wanted to be better.

  "Of course you can stay," Sarah reassured Melissa. "But," she added, a thoughtful frown creasing her brow, "this isn't ideal. We need to find you somewhere more comfortable than the reception area."

  The thought sparked a new item on her ever-growing to-do list. Another section of the tower needed to be converted into living quarters. It seemed like a daunting task, but Sarah wasn't worried. Magic, she’d discovered, was remarkably good at solving logistical problems. And for the more… Mundane aspects, well, there were always the souls. They were surprisingly adept at interior design, it turned out.

  As Melissa gratefully nibbled on her croissant, Sarah’s mind raced. She envisioned a cozy room, perhaps with a view of the street, a place where Melissa could feel safe and comfortable. It wouldn't be just a room; it would be a symbol of her commitment to her people, a testament to her resolve to be a better leader than those she’d known before.

  A leader who remembered names, who offered not just employment, but genuine care and support. And as she climbed the stairs, the scent of fresh pastries following behind her, Sarah knew that this was just the beginning. There was much to do, much to learn, but she was ready. The tower, and its inhabitants, were in good hands.

  Sebastian and Ariel were already awake, somehow managing to be both energetic and lethargic at the same time, and were keeping Solus company before the tower opened for business. Sarah was grateful for their… Unique brand of assistance. She delivered breakfast, a precarious stack of croissants and muffins, trying not to trip over Ariel’s oversized squirrel tail (don't ask), and then left the tower.

  Setting up a living area for Melissa, could wait until later. Her first order of business today would be joining a guild. Mainly for the guild card so she wouldn't have to pay the gate fee, but she supposed it would still be some kind of experience. Like, maybe she’d learn how to juggle flaming torches while reciting Shakespeare. One could only hope.

  This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  As she moved towards the west gate, Sarah took in the names of each guild she passed. The Woodcutters Guild. The Blacksmith Guild. The Carpenters Guild. These were the old guard, the guilds with names so straightforward they practically screamed “We’ve been doing this since before indoor plumbing!”

  The newer guilds, however, those were a different breed altogether. They were the guilds with pizazz, with flair, with names that made you wonder if their founders had perhaps indulged in a little too much of their own product. Like the “Knights of the Round Tablecloth,” for example. Sarah imagined them jousting with needles.

  Even so, as she perused her options, Sarah decided it didn't matter which guild she chose. She wouldn't be coming back after receiving her guild card anyway, so it was all just a bureaucratic hurdle to jump. Coincidentally, or perhaps by some strange twist of fate, she found herself standing outside the "Ale for All" guild. The one that had apparently closed its competition due to being too good at what they do.

  Good at… What, exactly? Sarah wondered. Competitive drinking? Ale-themed interpretive dance? The world may never know. Her idea to go undercover for Leo, who had some vague and probably ill-advised plan involving the “Ale for All” guild, didn't slip her memory either. Before she knew it, fueled by a potent mix of curiosity and the desire to avoid paying three silvers at the gate, Sarah was inside and had already signed the registration form.

  "Here's your guild card," a bubbly receptionist with mousy brown hair chirped, handing Sarah a laminated piece of cardboard that smelled faintly of hops and yeast, a surprisingly pleasant aroma. "You can use the facilities here to test your theories or participate in tasting sessions with the others when they're on. We hold classes on brewing throughout the week too. Everything from what temperature is the best to keep your ale sitting at, to where to source the best kegs for storage." She paused, her eyes sparkling with an almost manic enthusiasm. “We even have a class on how to properly froth your ale that's on now! It’s… Life-changing.”

  Sarah blinked, a flicker of amusement dancing in her eyes. Life-changing froth? The concept seemed absurd, yet the receptionist's fervor was strangely compelling. Maybe she would have to check out this class. Even though she had no idea how to brew ale, the concept intrigued her. The earthy scent of the guild hall, the bubbling sounds emanating from what she assumed were brewing stations, and the general air of jovial camaraderie sparked a nascent curiosity within her.

  This might be interesting, she thought. A welcome distraction from the mundane tasks that usually filled her day. She had a few errands to run, but Sarah could certainly spare an hour for a lecture, especially one promising such a dramatic transformation of something as simple as beer froth. It wouldn't be the worst waste of her time imaginable. Besides, she’d always been a sucker for the quirky and unexpected.

  The lecture was held in a small, wood-paneled room, the air thick with the aroma of roasted barley and something vaguely sweet. It was surprisingly crowded, a mix of seasoned brewers with weathered hands and eager novices like herself.

  The lecturer, a young man Sarah had missed the name of as she'd arrived late, stood at the front, illuminated by the warm glow of a nearby lamp. His hair was blonde like sun-ripened corn, but his eyes held a tired, almost world-weary look that belied his youthful appearance. He droned on about the intricacies of gathering froth on ale for the majority of the time, his voice monotonous yet oddly captivating. He spoke of the "sacred dance of the bubbles," the "perfect confluence of surface tension and fermentation byproducts," and other phrases that sounded impressive but ultimately meant very little to Sarah.

  Finally, he moved on to what, according to the receptionist, made this seemingly mundane topic “life-changing.” With a flourish that seemed practiced, he reached inside his robe and produced a small, dark vial filled with a viscous, shimmering liquid.

  "This," he announced, his voice suddenly gaining a theatrical edge, "is the key. A special substance, only able to be bought directly from me, guarantees that any ale brewed with this additive will be… pristine. Free from the unsightly, cloudy substance that plagues even the most experienced brewers."

  He held the vial aloft, as if it contained liquid gold. "No more will you have to suffer the embarrassment of serving a clouded ale! No more will your patrons question your skill! This, my friends, is the dawn of a new era of brewing!"

  The room erupted. A chorus of disbelief and outright naysaying filled the air, punctuated by the occasional cough or nervous chuckle. However, strategically placed within the crowd were several individuals who began to applaud enthusiastically, their voices ringing out over the dissent. Sarah recognized the tactic instantly – an age-old trick used by charlatans and genuine innovators alike to sway public opinion. She couldn't help but chuckle at the sheer simplicity of it. The young lecturer, emboldened by the planted applause, continued his spiel, weaving tales of brewing perfection and the envy of his competitors.

  Sarah, her curiosity piqued despite the obvious theatricality, decided she’d heard enough. She slipped out of the lecture before it ended, a new skill added to her repertoire. She also now possessed the information to take it further if she wanted to. Did she want to start brewing her own ale? The thought lingered in her mind as she walked out into the crisp afternoon air. It might make for a good hobby in the long run, she mused. Or, at the very least, a good story to tell.

  < A new skill has been acquired: Ale Brewing

  (Ale Brewing)

  - Through guidance, you now understand the basic concepts of brewing ale. How to properly mill the barley, adjust the mash temperature, and select the right hops all essential components in what makes great drink. Experiment with different ingredients and create your own unique brews.

  Emerging from the Guild Hall, the smell still clinging to her clothes, Sarah’s thoughts were abruptly pulled back to the grim realities of this strange world. "It's not common for people to just die in the middle of the day, right? Even here?" she asked Azrael, her voice a low murmur.

  Azrael, as always, remained imperturbable. [No, Master. It would seem someone was… Removed… Within the confines of the guild hall.] His choice of words, while technically accurate, did little to soothe Sarah’s unease. She knew that death was a constant presence in this world, but the casualness of it, the sudden snuffing out of a life without apparent cause, always left her feeling unsettled. The Book of Souls, that ancient, leather-bound tome that seemed to possess an almost sentient understanding of this place, knew far more than she did, a frustrating fact that gnawed at her. She had spent countless hours poring over tomes, but they ended up outdated

  Azrael, sensing her unease, offered a piece of information he usually withheld unless specifically asked. [If you are curious, and were present at the deceased’s location, you can now bear witness to their death using your skills.] He paused, a hint of something that might have been… sympathy? [It is not always a pleasant experience, Master. But sometimes, understanding how a life ends can offer its own form of… Closure.]

  He remained tight-lipped about the specific skill required, though Sarah already knew. The thought of witnessing someone's death, even a magically replayed memory, churned her stomach. It was an intrusion, a violation of sorts. Yet, the enigma surrounding the person's sudden demise, the unsettling feeling that something was profoundly amiss, just as Leo had hinted, gnawed at her. Perhaps, she reasoned, understanding the circumstances, however grim, would offer a sliver of peace, a semblance of control in a situation that felt increasingly out of hand.

  She slipped back into the Guild Hall, attempting an air of nonchalance that felt increasingly strained. Then, with the subtly of an elephant attempting to blend into a crowd of mice, she poked and prodded into every accessible nook and cranny. The deceased was nowhere to be found. She scrutinized the bubbling concoctions at the brewing stations, peered into the swirling ingredients at the mixing stations, even lingered in the echoing lecture halls and musty storage rooms. Nothing. It was as if the person had simply vanished.

  One door on the ground floor, however, was conspicuously off-limits. Two hulking guards, their arms crossed and faces like granite, stood sentinel. Surely, the dead person – or their recorded memory – had to be behind that door. It was far more logical than them being stashed in the rafters. The thought sent a shiver down Sarah's spine.

  She’d seen enough. Leo was right. This was more than just brewing potent potables. Something far darker, far more sinister, was brewing beneath the surface of the Guild Hall's respectable facade. Sarah decided it was time to leave, but not before making a mental note of the guarded door. She had a feeling she'd be back.

  Sarah barely made it out the door before two figures blocked her path. "The Guild Master requests your presence, miss. If you'll come with us." Their tone left no room for argument. A knot tightened in Sarah's stomach. She still wasn't sure of her own strength, even against an ordinary person, let alone these two, who were clearly anything but ordinary. What did they want now?

  "Sure," she managed, her voice a little too high. The bravado she'd felt moments before had evaporated, replaced by a wave of anxiety. With a deep breath, trying to project an air of calm she didn't feel, Sarah turned and stepped back into the Guild Hall for the third time that day.