The manor grounds contained four sheds in total, including the recently demolished one. The subject of his attention was the one the Gharzoth had come out of. Like all the others, it was a small, single room structure. It had a window, but the glass in it was shattered and that which remained was so pollen coated it would have been impossible to see through.

The interior was dark, the situation not helped by the perpetual gloom — the dense pollen walls surrounding the manor connected at the top, too, forming a roof that blotted out most of the suns' rays. It gave the manor and its grounds an eerie look, like it was perpetually dusk.

Even in his past life, he'd always had good vision. Still, he was sure that Acuity was making things just a little smoother for him. It wasn't like he could see in the dark — even Safiya couldn't, not fully — but his eyes still adapted to the low light of the shed's interior unnaturally fast.

What he saw inside matched his expectations. The interior was as decrepit as the rest of the grounds, and similarly dust coated. There was a small cooking area, really just a little firepit with a metal sheet over it, a few rotting wooden boxes with various farming implements and materials, and a bed. To call it a bed wasn't entirely accurate, as it was more of a ratty mattress on the ground than something proper, but it was at least the only thing inside that didn't have a thick layer of black pollen over it.

The bed must have been the only thing it still used... I wonder what it ate?

The interior was strikingly mundane, even through the years of disuse. He was confident that nothing else lived here, so it would be safe to check his Ledger to see what rewards he'd gained defeating the Gharzoth. It had been both dangerous and easy — he hadn't been hit once, but he'd have been in a lot of trouble if he was — so he was expecting some good rewards.

Without needing to say or even consciously think anything, the thick layer of pollen against the wall was already shaping itself into letters.

[ Status: Name: Symon Class: Cursed Healer Strength: 0.98 {+0.03} Constitution: 1.33 {+0.02} Acuity: 1.03 {+0.04} Intelligence: 1.06 {+0.02} Will: 1.38 {+0.07}

Vessel (Vitality): 22/22 {+2}

Abilities: Idealise (19) Seize (19) {+3} Essence Bond (14) {+1}

Passives: Anatomy (5) {+1} Bleeding Resistance (3) Languages (10) Pain Resistance (14) Poison Resistance (4) {+1} Running (9) {+1} Swords (6) {+2}

Titles: Blessed by Order Blessed by Chaos World Traveller ]

He wanted to get a full overview, so the Ledger responded to his subconscious. He wasn't worried about someone spying on his Titles in here.

Both his main abilities were just below the required level to evolve. Idealise not levelling was a good thing, he supposed, because it meant he hadn't been hurt. Seize was the opposite; getting it evolved was his best shot of being able to control it, but it was also a risk. If it didn't work out, it meant he'd given it a longer range and faster draining for nothing. Already, he knew he'd have to think long and hard about if it was even feasible to go back to Brackstead. It had been a miracle that no one had been hurt already, but a now five-metre range in all directions would be huge in a civilised place. It felt annoyingly short out in the forest or during a fight, but dangerously unwieldy around people.

There was some more helpful information in his Ledger. His Essence Bond going up confirmed for him that Keelgrave was just trapped and not gone forever. He still wasn't sure how he felt about that. Similarly, the extra level in Poison Resistance confirmed to him that it was the reason why the pollen didn't hurt him, or at least one of the reasons. He found it noteworthy that the resistance still improved even though the pollen was weak enough to not actually damage him. It was likely then that he could only get a couple levels from it, but free resistance without any pain or vitality cost still sounded great to him.

Finally, his Will had the best improvement of his main stats. Probably from how hard it was to drain the gharzoth, and maybe the purifying of it too, he thought.

Speaking of, the purification process was still slowly ticking away in the background. It was certainly a glacial pace, but that was fine with him. It felt strange and heavy in his vessel, but that was it. He could try to speed it up, but felt no desire to hasten his reunion with Keelgrave — it was nice to be alone in his own head for a change.

The words written on the wall flattened themself out automatically as Symon left the cramped interior, his gaze directed toward the manor itself. He followed one of the paths to it, getting a good look as he did so.

The neat bricks it was constructed of were surprisingly free from any invasive roses growing through them, although they still pressed right up to the walls. One end of the manor was collapsed, while the opposite end had a raised level, giving it a sloped and lopsided appearance. It had a few proper windows, but much like the sheds, the glass was shattered, littering the dirt with shards. The inside was probably filled with them too, so he'd have to step carefully. Training Bleeding Resistance using all the flowers as fuel could be a good idea, but he'd rather do it intentionally after he'd cleared the manor, not by stepping on a random shard of glass.

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He wasn't about to torture himself just to train the resistance, but presuming it worked like Poison Resistance did with the pollen, he'd be able to slowly train it with such tiny injuries that he couldn't even feel them. Although, he did find it strange that it had levelled without consuming any vitality. He must be missing something, but he felt like his current theory was almost there.

Either way, any potential extreme training would only be done after he was confident there weren't a bunch of monsters hiding in the manor. The path lead to the main entrance of the manor, itself on a stone deck raised a half step above the ground. His boots ground the gritty pollen into the neat stones with a crunch as he walked up the short stairs to it.

As always, the pollen was ever-present, making the grey stones appear much darker. The film was thick enough that even a tracker as unskilled as Symon could notice the oddity leading up to and presumably through the open door. There was a clear trail through the pollen — not individual footsteps, but a single solid line. It was partially filled in, but the rut was still easily visible. After a quick glance through the door to make sure nothing would be rushing out at him, he got down on one knee and inspected the depression as closely as he could.

The track's depth was about halfway into the pollen, so they weren't particularly fresh. He didn't have a very accurate estimate for how old they were, as he didn't know how much pollen fell on this area per day. They were definitely a few days old, but he wasn't confident about anything further. They could have been left three days or three months ago.

That seemed odd to Symon. It looked like something had been dragged in or out, yet there wasn't a single footprint. The groundskeeper's feet had been large and clawed, so he would have noticed their tracks already.

"Hmm, maybe a snake slithered in. Any guesses, Ke—" Symon mumbled, catching himself at the last second. With a sigh, he pushed himself back to his feet and approached the doorway.

"Right, right, just me investigating a haunted mansion all on my lonesome." Although, maybe he didn't have to stay solo for this. His friends were all stuck outside the dome, but that was a solvable problem. There were so many vitality-rich roses in here that he'd be able to help them all get Poison Resistance, and still have plenty left over for his own purposes. Then, they'd all be able to reunite inside, making the exploration much safer.

They had at least a month to get their rewards from the dungeon before the next trade ship arrived, but Aslan had already floated the idea that he'd be willing to stay longer. He'd known even less details about dungeons than Keelgrave, but he'd still acted like they'd be fools to pass over it.

With that in mind, he decided to do the smart thing and return for backup. If the manor had lasted this long without anyone else but Symon making it in, then they'd be fine to take another day or so to train up his friends' resistances.

He paused halfway through his turn away, something just inside the open doorway catching his attention. It was a small clump of the pollen, all bunched up around something. It was tiny, around the size of a fingernail.

Shit, that reminds me of the mana cores. The gardener probably had one...

Symon shook his head clear of the dark thought, refocusing on the item in front of him. Stepping into the manor and picking it up, he saw that it had only a cursory resemblance to a core. He took it back outside, where the lighting — while still dim — was much brighter than inside. It was the right size for one, but it fell apart in his fingers as he held it. The outside was coated in the black pollen, but the inside was a dark, rusty brown.

Blood, Anatomy whispered into his mind. Not literally, but the sudden thought felt intrusive. The substance was clearly old, but he didn't know much more beyond that. He'd had plenty of experience with blood, but he wasn't a forensic investigator. Usually, any blood he saw was fresh.

His experience was enough to know that this wasn't fresh. It had to be at least a few days old, but he couldn't estimate anything more precise than that. Still, that told him a lot. The Gharzoth didn't bleed, not properly, and also hadn't left any tracks in the area.

Whatever the source, something else had been alive, at least recently, in the manor. Something that was wounded.

Immediately, his instincts kicked in, urging him to charge in and save whoever was wounded, but logic quickly chimed in. There was no guarantee that just because something could bleed meant it was a friendly person or, for that matter, even a person. It was very possible that there was some other type of undead, a type that could still bleed and had left a trail behind it.

Even if it was a living being, they could still be dangerous. Getting past the outer barrier of pollen in the first place was no easy feat, so they must have been strong, or have some unique advantage like Symon did.

No, the smart thing to do would be to return to his friends, help them train up their resistance using trips back to the roses as fuel, then come in and investigate the source of the blood together. He'd gained his Poison Resistance fast, but he'd been hovering on the edge of death, his heart and lungs paralysed by the centipede's venom as his magic struggled to keep him alive for an unknown period of time. The training for the others wouldn't be anywhere near as extreme, so it would take a longer time. He'd also only be able to help one of them at a time safely.

He was sure that's what Keelgrave would have advised, or told him to keep all the vitality for himself, but Symon couldn't waste time when someone could be in need. His brief time on Cathar had done much to strip away his naivety and idealism, so he would expect the worst and remain on guard, but he wasn't sure what he would do if he delayed only to find someone's still warm body. He didn't see himself as some noble hero, but if someone had been in need of his help and he'd abandoned them...

Something had left drag marks in the pollen, bleeding all the while, and Symon was going to get to the bottom of it before it was too late.

It might have already been, he thought as he stepped past the threshold.

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