“Weapons to cut darkness, it says,” I comment while looking at the book.

“Who knows what that means.”

“I do. It’s another phrase from a book,” I say, looking intently at Minurulex. “It’s an old saying in half-giant lore to describe slaying great foes. It goes something like ‘you can cut any darkness, even from the darkest night.”

Minurulex looks at me, impressed.

“Where did you get that?”

“Licinium’s books,” I say with a point of bitterness in my voice.

“It’s a disgrace what happened to him, and what his son has done—”

“Minurulex, let’s focus on this,” I say, looking at the book, irritated.

“Sorry, sorry.”

Minurulex begins looking at the book again, and I follow his gaze, looking over his shoulder.

“I know what those are,” he says, explaining, “they are blades that can drain the power out of a weapon.”

“Drain the weapon’s power? How?”

“That’s simple, by having the sword absorb the energy out of the weapon. That’s what the glass weapon does,” Minurulex says with a serious look in his eyes. “The only thing is—”

“What?”

“The only thing is that we need a weapon that can drain enough power to kill even the most powerful of beasts.”

“What are you blabbering—”

His sharp eyes start moving around the room rapidly, in search of something. He opens a chest of holding, similar to the ones I pillaged from the [Merchants].

“This is one of the most recent creations I have made out of the glass,” he says while taking out a dagger that shines with several motes of [Light] trapped inside.

I am not following entirely. Minurulex has entered one of his famous states of frenzy. His thoughts are too scattered to be clear to anyone but himself.

“Wait!” I shout, frustrated. “Start over. I am not following, Minurulex.”

His hands are fidgety, and he clearly fights against his nature in order to explain what he’s thinking.

“This enchantment is very rare because it’s terribly expensive. The idea behind it is to have a weapon capable of discharging its own power as an attack.”

“Isn’t that what happens with several enchantments? Swords that have [Lightning] on their edge?”

The half-giant shakes his head, focused.

“No, that’s different. The principle behind those weapons is gathering Mana inside and converting it through a normal enchantment. It makes them easy to recharge and, more often than not, it means that the enchantment will be more durable because it doesn’t store violent energy.”

He look at the dagger made of glass once again with a deep frown.

“I don’t know how I missed that… it was so obvious.”

“What? What was so obvious?”

He suddenly lifts the dagger and stabs the table. Normally, that would shatter any object made of glass, but Minurulex is only an [Alchemist] in name. He doesn’t work with potions or medical concoctions, he’s a bona fide crafter.

As the dagger stabs the table, it flashes brightly, blinding us both.

“Putain,” I swear.

A split second later, the half-giant removes the dagger from its previous spot, and the illumination in the room returns to normal. Almost immediately after opening my eyes, I hear a clattering sound of glass hitting the wooden table.

“And this,” he mutters while pushing the dagger to me, almost scared of it, “is glass common in the District. Dragonglass? That would amplify the [Light] spell several times over.”

“So, what’s the difference between this and a normal enchantment?” I say while taking hold of the weapon.

“You can think of it in terms of spell matrix and spell. The enchantment guides the Mana through an artificial matrix. This glass, instead,” he points at the dagger, “has the actual [Light] spell inside. It’s not common. Rizilius’s Ears, you could say no one does that anymore. It’s extremely hard and most materials can’t hold a formed spell inside. The only reason this work is because of the combination of glass and [Light]. They don’t influence each other. They are both rather inert. And not just that, [Light] is a pure spell with very few components, meaning that it doesn’t discharge great power. If you tried to put [Lightning] inside glass? Well, we would be fragments of flesh splattered on the walls by now.”

I look with narrowed eyes at the glass. It’s not just pretty and sharp, it’s a riddle.

I put the dagger back on the table and take out a bottle of liquor from my bag of holding. I’m not usually in the habit of drinking, and most times I would have found it silly. But now? some haze brought by the alcohol would be welcome.

I fill two tall glasses to the brim with the strong liquid pillaged from Keveiz and hand one to Minurulex. They are a deep red, meant to look like blood. It’s a drink some adventurers on Carilia seem to enjoy and find funny.

“Are you sure about that?” he points at the half-giant-sized serving of alcohol in front of me while drawing back a chair and sitting.

“Yeah, it’s fine.” I lift the glass and he smiles at me. We both start sipping it in silence, looking at the dagger and thinking by ourselves. I pour two other glasses when we finish up, but we still don’t say a word for the moment.

Minurulex must have thought for at least half an hour before speaking up.

“Well… shall we start talking about the next steps?” there’s some nervousness in his voice.

“Indeed.” I reply, still slightly dazed, but still feeling like the alcohol all wasn’t that bad an idea after all.

“Well, I’ll leave the talking part to you. I’ve already said everything I knew, and I don’t think I would be able to find out much more just by experimenting. That’s all you can get from me, Cassandre, I’m sorry,” his speech is slightly slurred as he speaks.

I smile back at the half-giant and I wonder if he feels guilty or just not worthy of his station. He’s a great [Alchemist], but clearly burdened by the conflict with Melior.

“Oh, I think I’ll hear from you again; I doubt you’ll ” I reply and Minurulex takes a step back to balance himself.

“Why do you say that?” he asks.

“Because you’re a curious person and I want you to find out the answer, Minurulex.”

“We are already fighting one war, even if the battles haven’t started yet… isn’t that enough? I’m tired,” he yawns out loud.

“Aren’t [Alchemists] supposed to have skills to help them with alcohol?”

“I don’t usually make things that you ingest—and I have turned them off. Would never be able to enjoy a drink otherwise.”

“The only thing worse than being drunk is not being able to drink,” I say with a smile.

“Hmm… I find that hard to believe. You can’t have a hangover if you don’t drink alcohol. That’s not too bad. The skills eliminate the poison, but not the aftereffect if they were turned off when I was ingesting it.”

“While I went down impassive Rivers, I didn’t’ feel my haulers guiding me no more,” I recited the first two lines of one of my favorite’s Rimbaud’s poems.

“Poetry?” Minurulex raises an eyebrow.

“Poem,” I nod, “the title is ‘The Drunken Boat.’ It’s a poem of a boat that lost its crew and water slowly starts filling it, thus becoming ‘drunk.’ It’s a sinking boat that gets lost at sea.”

“Aren’t we all?” Minurulex smiles while filling his glass once again. I can see how the mood shifted in the way only drunken conversation do.

“There’s a verse that reminds me of this,” I nod at the dagger, “it goes like this… I’ve seen the low sun, stained with mystique horrors, lighting up with violet fragments, not unlike the ancient actors in dramas, with the waves rolling in the distance with their quivering curtains.”

Minurulex giggles.

“It’s a very serious poem,” I say, taking offense.

“Quivering curtains? For all my ancestors’ footprints, Cassandre, I’ll never understand poetry,” the man laughs, but the laugh slowly turns to a sad smile.

“Poetry is made of symbols. Especially Rimbaud’s. He was a great poet in how he could conjure incredibly vivid images with a few words.”

“We’re a symbol too, Cassandre, you, me and this stupid boat,” he says, not taking his eyes off the dagger.

“What do you mean?” I frown.

“I don’t know. Never mind. I’m getting way too drunk to speak any more than this without embarrassing myself,” he speaks regretfully.

“Minurulex,” I say, feeling embarrassed, “this is one of the most pleasant conversations I have had since I came to this world.”

The older half-giant smiles sadly at me and shakes his head.

“That just means you are not great at opening up,” he takes up the dagger and rolls it around in his hand. “There are decent people in this city. And I’m sure there must be a few decent Humans around as well. Why are we spending time holed up here, looking for something like this?”

“We are dedicated,” I reply, trying to stave off the drunkenness.

“We are just stupid,” he clicks his tongue, “do you actually enjoy being a [Warlord]? Like, what if we just sat on our asses. What if you became something else – like, I don’t know – maybe a [Tailor]? Or a [Brewer]? Whatever, you get what I’m saying. Why do we have to do this? There are still celebrations around the city. I heard that someone is hosting a party at their little villa, one of the few families that are quite rich. Why are we here?”

I get the feeling that Minurulex is not talking to me anymore as much as he’s talking to himself.

“We are all going to drown, sooner or later,” he laughs to himself, “just like the boat. So, why are we here?”

“I don’t know why, but I feel we’re on a great odyssey, sailing over a sea of dreams. That’s what the boat is doing, even while drifting and sinking.”

“We’re bound to die if we sail in the wrong direction.”

“We’re bound to die if we sail in the right direction too, Minurulex, trust me.”

The night slowly dies out, leaving space to the pitch black darkness of unsung dreams. Two friends keep chatting, going from deep discussions to light jokes, to how they could build some silly project, or what they would call their children. They just talk; but they talk as if it has been a while since they did, since they found someone good enough to talk to.