I created my own system

"The Artisan is waiting. But be careful what you ask for. Some truths cannot be untold."

Alicia glanced at Apollo before they moved toward the door. A brief look passed between them, as if they came into a silent agreement to remain silent. The door opened and they continued walking into the dark, every step felt heavy, and there were doubts if they could really get something in this trip, but they buried those to continue.

They stepped into a narrow, dimly lit hallway that seemed to stretch into the shadows, their footsteps barely making a sound. It led to a steep staircase descending into the basement of the old building, the air growing colder with each step.

At the bottom, they entered a room filled with ancient maps, faded parchments, and magical artifacts, these objects serve as a testament to that man's knowledge and interests.

The room smelled of dust as if it hadn't been clean for a long time, however, in a strange way it was also chaotically neat.

In the center of the room, sitting at a worn wooden table, was a man whose face was mostly hidden beneath the shadow of a hooded cloak. He appeared middle-aged, but the deep lines etched into his face told a story of countless years of seeing the darker side of life.n/ô/vel/b//jn dot c//om

A person's existence whom they only heard in a stranger's tongue, the seer, the man they called the Artisan—one of the kingdom's most skilled informants. Some called him a Seeker, a title reserved for those who specialized in uncovering truths buried beneath layers of lies and deception.

"So, you're the ones the Archduke sent," the Artisan said, his voice smooth yet carrying an undeniable edge of suspicion. His fingers idly traced the edge of one of the many maps scattered before him, though his eyes remained hidden beneath the hood. "I've seen and heard a lot about you two."

Apollo and Alicia exchanged a glance. The feeling of being watched, and being seen, was overwhelming. It seemed the stories of the Artisan's legendary sight were true—his gaze could pierce through time itself, seeing either the past or the future. Perhaps both. They didn't have time to dwell on the eerie sensation, though. There was a far more pressing matter at hand, they were being followed.

That man by the fountain earlier, Apollo thought grimly, his face tightening. They couldn't afford to stay here long. The Artisan might have the information they needed, but time was slipping away. Every moment they lingered here brought their pursuer closer.

Alicia, her posture rigid, crossed her arms as if shielding herself from the Artisan's probing gaze. "We're here for information," she said, her voice firm. "Many people have mentioned you've been tracking the movements of the Church's gods. You've known them, or more accurately, you've seen them."

The Artisan slowly raised his head, just enough for the dim light of the room to catch the sharp angles of his face. His eyes, though barely visible, gleamed with a strange intensity. "I've been tracking more than that," he replied, his voice low but steady. "The gods are only a part of the Church's plan. They're sowing seeds of chaos throughout Nadezhda and beyond.

If you think you can stop them by taking out a few gods, you're sorely mistaken."

Apollo felt a knot form in his stomach. "What do you mean?"

His words struck a cord since one of Apollo's plans was to capture one of the gods which was already marked by Jeremiah. However, hearing such a warning felt like that action was something he must have done in the future the seer have seen. Perhaps in that future, he failed and thus the seer gave such a warning.

The Artisan leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest as if preparing to deliver a grim lesson. "The Church has been slowly infiltrating every level of society. Their operatives have slipped into the royal court, the military, and even among the common folk. The gods you're after? They're just the figureheads.

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The real danger lies in their network—people who could be anyone, anywhere."

Alicia clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms. "So, you're saying it's not just about identifying the gods. We need to dismantle the entire network."

"Exactly," the Artisan said, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. "But there's more." He leaned forward, his gaze intensifying. "I've uncovered something far more disturbing. The Church isn't just recruiting followers. They're experimenting with a new form of magic—dark magic that can turn ordinary people into living weapons. I believe you've already encountered one of these."

Apollo felt a cold chill sweep over him, as he remembered the terrifying appearance of the first living weapon he had seen "Living weapons? Do you mean... the devourers?"

The Artisan's lips curled into a grim smile, though there was no humor in it. "Similar, but this is even more sinister," he said softly. "It's a magic that binds a person's soul to a god, turning them into a vessel for that god's power. It's unstable, and dangerous. But if they perfect it, they won't need to hide anymore. They'll be able to openly challenge the empire.

All they need is the right vessel, someone who can withstand the power they bestow."

Alicia's breath caught in her throat, her eyes darkening with dread, knowing the potential chaos this weapon could cause. So she asked a question she thought needed to be asked. "How far have they gotten with this?"

For the first time, the Artisan hesitated. His fingers drummed lightly on the table as he considered his words. "They've successfully created one vessel," he admitted. "I don't know where they're keeping them, but if the Church finds a way to mass-produce these vessels, it won't be long before they make their move."

Apollo's mind whirled with the implications. The Revolutionary Church had always been a threat, but this? This was on another level entirely. The empire could be facing a war much worse than the one that happened three hundred years ago. "Do you have any leads on where they might be conducting these experiments?"

The Artisan pulled out a weathered map of the city, his movements slow and deliberate. He pointed to a district on the outskirts. "There's a warehouse here. It's heavily guarded, and from what I've gathered, they've been moving supplies in and out for weeks. I suspect it's a front for their operations."

Alicia studied the map, her brow furrowed. "We'll check it out. But there's something else I want to ask you."

The Artisan chuckled softly, as if he'd been expecting this. He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone. "You want to know about the World Tree fragment and Excalibur, don't you?"

Apollo nodded, tension visible in his posture. "Yes. Have you seen where we can find a lead?"

The Artisan hummed to himself, a low, amused sound that sent a wave of impatience through Alicia. She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could, the Artisan answered. "I've seen it," he said, his words measured. "In one of my visions, I saw someone who will know where it is. But I don't know who this person is, only that it will happen in the near future."

Apollo and Alicia exchanged a confused glance. His answer, while seemingly helpful, raised more questions than it answered.

"So... we don't have any solid leads yet?" Alicia pressed, her frustration evident.

The Artisan gave them a grim smile. "Not yet," he admitted, his tone devoid of the playfulness it had held moments before. "My advice is to focus on the immediate threat—the warehouse. Time is running out. You won't have the luxury of backup, they won't make it in time. Be cautious.

I know you two are powerful, but inside this city, your abilities are restricted. Your enemies are more dangerous than anything you've faced before. If you're going to stop them, you'll need to be smart. Infiltrate, gather intel, and strike when they least expect it."

Apollo nodded, taking in every word. There was no denying the weight of the situation. "We'll do whatever it takes. Thank you for your help."

The Artisan inclined his head slightly, as if he had expected those words. As Apollo and Alicia turned to leave, however, his voice stopped them in their tracks.

"One last thing, child," he said, his voice suddenly grave. He stood, his movements slow and deliberate, and approached Apollo. Leaning in close, he whispered words that sent a shiver down Apollo's spine. "Remember the man who asked you this question, Who are you?"

Apollo froze, his heart pounding in his chest. "What?" he gasped, his mind reeling as those words triggered a flood of memories. A man—no, a shadow—had asked him that very question in his dreams. The Artisan stepped back, giving Apollo a knowing look.

"Go now, and do what you must," he said quietly, his voice returning to its usual tone.