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The Shanty Codex I, by Saint Morgan LeFay.
Walking through Orange Town at dawn felt… odd.
The day’s liveliness was nowhere to be seen, and neither was the night and its treachery. It truly felt like Francis had been sent to a different dimension.
The thought alarmed him momentarily, before he remembered that nothing out of the ordinary had happened.
“You never know with this world,” Francis said with a deep sigh.
Truth be told, the assignment left much to the imagination—and little comfort. But then again, the task wouldn’t be entrusted to a nobody such as himself if the danger level were catastrophic. As modest as the island was, it was still a main hub between Grenada and other Iberian holdings.
His thoughts then turned more pleasant, as the town’s gravel gave way to wild patches of grass and dirt of varying colors. The dust clinging to his boots made Francis glad it wasn’t winter; otherwise, the walk to the abandoned tower would’ve been worth more than the task itself.
Come to think of it, I’m glad it didn’t rain back home either.
Going back to town covered in mud from head to toe would’ve certainly been fun to explain—especially to Camila, who was more observant than most.
Thinking of her opened that wound once more. This time, however, it was coated with acceptance rather than anger or confusion.
She had every right to leave him. He was the anomaly in all of this.
Not only that, but he had repeatedly lied about his whereabouts under the guise of protecting her—something he had only recently realized was nonsense.
He simply didn’t want the question of Shanties and Stanzas brought up. How could he? The moment she came across them, she left.
It was only then that he realized what Saint Agnes meant. Normal humans shouldn’t be privy to such a world, even by extension. The consequences of his Stanzas accidentally killing his loved ones years down the line would’ve been too much to bear.
Besides, Francis wasn’t the kind who needed love to function. Companionship provided everything to be gained from a union, save for intimacy. And if sacrificing that meant not destroying countless lives in the future, then so be it.
Francis was about to ponder further when he felt… off.
His throat burned, his head throbbed, and every muscle in his body was overcome with a terrible cold.
Normally, he would’ve assumed he’d caught a cold—but he knew better. Francis immediately activated the Rejuvenation ring, restoring his vitality in the process.
“No wonder Valeria is always energetic,” he mumbled as he walked closer to the tower.
The incident brought his attention to artifacts once more. Not only was it possible to turn someone’s powers into an item, but it was as simple as placing said item on their corpse for mere minutes. It made Francis think the powers in question wanted to keep going, regardless of what happened to their original user.
Can’t exactly complain, seeing how I’m only still alive thanks to them.
The following minutes were the toughest. The closer Francis got to the tower, the more intense the ailments became. He was afflicted with everything known to man—from fevers to necrosis. Fortunately, the ring didn’t fail to deliver. The pain was nothing to scoff at, but it faded as quickly as it came, sparing him the worst of it.
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Regrettably, disease was only a sliver of what the tower could throw at him—something he quickly realized as a pack of wild dogs approached, fangs fully bared. The frothing at their mouths was the clearest indicator that the tower had done to them what it did to anyone else who got too close.
The unfortunate creatures couldn’t help but lunge at him, and he, in turn, couldn’t help but pulverize them with his flames.
The attack came a second too late, however, as his hesitation allowed one of the dogs to bite him in the forearm.
Blood poured like a fountain for a few seconds before Rejuvenation sealed the wound. The idea of such an attack being fatal under normal circumstances made his heart sink, but he laid it to rest. Nothing about this was normal, and the world wasn’t going to wait for him to adjust.
As the tower came into view, the ailments stopped intensifying. The cycle of sickness and health was excruciating, but he couldn’t retreat—not when people were losing their lives.
The door was thankfully open, prompting Francis to enter without a moment’s hesitation.
What greeted him on the other side was a dark, humid ground floor that smelled of dust, urine, and feces. And a dozen squeaks.
Francis immediately used Ignition to illuminate his surroundings, and his heart skipped a beat before he hurried back outside.
Fighting a pack of dogs in the open was one thing; dozens of rabid rats in a cramped space was another entirely.
He was tempted to burn the rodents as he had the dogs, but the enclosed nature of the tower made him hesitate—the fire would only mark him on the map.
We’ll see how they fare against necrosis, the plague, and rabies.
As things stood, Francis had Ignition, Intimidation, Liquidation, Premonition, Substitution, and Rejuvenation. While most served a purpose, only two could deal substantial damage.
Intimidation was an Observation beacon, but it didn’t matter in that moment. The chances of a Demise Acolyte being in Orange Town were close to none. And even if there were, the tower’s effect would make them think twice—Rejuvenation or not.
“That settles it, then,” Francis said with a resigned sigh as he activated Intimidation.
Usually, he kept it active for only a few seconds, but unwilling to leave anything to chance, he persisted for longer.
It wasn’t until the squeaks stopped entirely that he found the will to enter the tower once more.
This time, nothing moved.
“If only I could kill the smell as well,” he muttered as nausea crept up his throat. He summoned a ball of flame for light and climbed the stairs, greeted along the way by half-eaten human remains.
Requiescat in pace.
Thankfully, the place grew cleaner the higher he climbed—undoubtedly the byproduct of most people being unable to handle the strange Stanza.
The thought of ending up like the dozen who had succumbed to the cursed place, if not for his artifact, still gnawed at him. Submerged or not, he was as vulnerable as any regular person.
Assuming I remain an Acolyte.
That thought led to another. He had been an Acolyte for nearly a month, and yet he hadn’t heard the sea sing once—not since his revival, anyway.
It was to be expected. Saint Agnes had all but confirmed that the sea could only be heard when one was ready to Descend.
Or rather sink deeper.
As Francis neared the last floor, a putrid stench assaulted his nostrils. Whatever it was, it had lingered long enough to spread across dozens of meters. Still, better that than an attack.
Suddenly, Premonition activated.
Francis had walked straight into an ambush.
Of course it was an ambush. What else did I expect?
A tower this potent couldn’t have been discovered by an average person—especially when the Shanty was an unknown one.
No, the intel had been deliberately given to Leonie so she would obliviously hand him a task he couldn’t refuse.
Refusing to make the first move, Francis backed into a corner and waited, daring the stranger to strike first.
Seconds stretched into minutes, yet the presence remained undetected.
Approaching them instead would be suicide, so Francis did the most logical thing he could think of.
“I know you’re in there!” he shouted, hoping the assailant might see reason. “I’m not here to fight you. Can we just talk?”
The reply came in the form of a soothing melody.
Panic threatened to tear his heart out of his chest—until he realized the singing had no effect on him.
He didn’t freeze. He didn’t lose consciousness. Whatever the Stanza was, it was far weaker than the one used on him not long ago.
The stranger didn’t need to know that.
Feigning helplessness, Francis deliberately climbed the stairs, waiting for Premonition to warn him again.
One step. Five steps. Ten.
The attack never came.
Eventually, Francis reached the final step. Premonition remained dormant, so he scanned the chamber and spotted the figure in the far corner.
She was a blonde woman not unlike Valeria in appearance—save for her attire, which resembled a pirate’s more than a navy officer’s.
Her features were hard to make out in the darkness, so he drew closer. Recognition came quickly.
He had seen her poster mere days ago.
It was Eloise “The Siren.”
And she was there to kill him.