Forbidden Splicer: Infinite Spellcraft

Chapter 3: Scavenger in the Dust

Scorched stone radiated leftover heat into damp vault air. Smoke hung low along Sub-Level 3, clinging to overturned book stacks and shattered ward pillars like heavy grey wool.

Jaroth pushed a coarse straw broom across slate tiles, sweeping piles of soot toward a central stone column. His eyes remained cast downward, but his focus tracked glowing red numbers floating in his vision.

[Matrix Stability Degrading: 00:01:45 remaining]

To his left, iron greaves clattered against stone. Senior Guard Varek walked his patrol along the perimeter, broadsword drawn, his sharp eyes scanning every commoner scribe in the aisle. Varek was paranoid. The intruder had escaped through a shadow portal, leaving Varek's squad looking foolish, and the Enforcer wanted an excuse to execute anyone who smelled of dark magic.

Jaroth kept his breath steady. He pushed his broom closer to the cracked base of the central pillar, where Anzor's shadow spell had slammed into an Enforcer's barrier.

[Matrix Stability Degrading: 00:00:52 remaining]

The decaying spell energy was dissolving into ambient atmospheric noise. In another minute, the leftover rune fragments would dissipate into useless mana dust.

Jaroth shifted his stance. He angled his body between Guard Varek's line of sight and the pillar base. He let his boot catch on a chunk of jagged masonry.

With a muted grunt, Jaroth stumbled forward. He fell onto his knees, throwing his arms out to catch his weight. His right palm slammed directly against the scorched fissure in the stone column.

A faint jolt of static surged up his arm. Cold energy rushed through his palm, bypassing his fractured core entirely and flowing straight into his chest mark.

[Harvesting... Success!]

Acquired: [Phase-Step Matrix Fragment — 45% Intact]

Acquired: [Iron-Skin Aegis Matrix Fragment — 52% Intact]

"Watch your footing, trash!" Varek's rough voice barked across the aisle.

The guard marched over, bringing the tip of his iron boot down on Jaroth's wooden broom handle.

Jaroth yanked his hand back, pressing his forehead against the cold floor. "Forgive me, my lord! My ankle twisted on the rubble! I am cleaning it now!"

Varek sneered, kicking the broom handle aside. "Get up and clear this aisle. If I see you lounging again, I will let the overseer cut your daily bread."

"Yes, my lord. Right away," Jaroth whimpered.

He scrambled up, clutching his broom with trembling hands while hiding the sharp glint in his eyes.

Mid-day bell echoed through the subterranean corridors, signaling a fifteen-minute rest period.

Jaroth retreated to the Archive Disposal Bay, a cavernous chamber crammed with towering piles of moldy parchment, water-damaged ledgers, and broken furniture. The air smelled of rot and damp cellulose, keeping other scribes away.

Sitting on an overturned wooden crate in the shadow of two book racks, Jaroth opened his system interface.

Two incomplete matrix icons floated in his vision, flickering with broken, unstable edges.

Standard spellcraft treated broken matrices as a lethal hazard. If a mage attempted to channel mana through an incomplete spell matrix, the unanchored nodes would collapse during spell formation. The resulting mana backfire could shatter internal pathways, burn out lungs, or blow a caster's arm off. Mages discarded partial spell scrolls without a second thought.

The Spell-Splicer offered a different path: Fragmented Matrix Fusion.

Jaroth examined the structural code of both fragments.

[Phase-Step]

was a short-range spatial relocation art, but its core movement vector was missing more than half its foundational runes.

[Iron-Skin Aegis]

was a low-tier defensive barrier spell, missing its elemental density node.

Instead of trying to repair the spatial matrix with raw mana, Jaroth commanded the system to use the dense, physical geometry of

[Iron-Skin Aegis]

to fill the structural voids inside

[Phase-Step]

He selected both icons and pressed them together in his mind.

[Fusing Partial Matrices...]

[Synthesis Complete: Displacement Sheath (Tier 1 Utility/Defensive Art)]

Effect: Instantly shifts the user 5 paces in any direction while leaving behind a hardened, illusory afterimage that absorbs 1 physical/magical hit.

Current Slots Occupied: 2/2.

Jaroth leaned his head back against stone. A smile touched his lips. He now possessed a spell that granted mobility and defense in a single action, constructed entirely from discarded trash magic that noble sorcerers had left to rot in the dirt.

By late afternoon, scribes queued up near Archivist Garrick's high intake desk to submit their collection carts for inspection before dusk.

Jaroth stood near the back of the line, pushing his iron-wheeled cart filled with swept soot, broken stone, and burnt parchment scraps.

Two places ahead of him stood Scribe Ren. Ren was an old commoner who had spent thirty years in Sub-Level 3. Decades of breathing archive dust had left him with yellow skin, stooped shoulders, and a bitter heart. Ren stared at Jaroth with raw malice in his bloodshot eyes. He could not stand that a young, core-shattered scribe had survived the vault blast without a single scratch while noble apprentices were carried out on stretchers.

As the line moved forward, Ren slowed his pace. He maneuvered his cart alongside Jaroth's, pretending to adjust a loose wheel.

Jaroth noticed the slight flicker of Ren's wrist.

With practiced swiftness, Ren slipped a heavy, gold-leafed scroll casing out from his wide sleeve and dropped it into the bottom of Jaroth's soot bucket.

Ren immediately backed away, raising his voice into a shrill shout.

"Guard! Senior Guard Varek! Over here!" Ren yelled, pointing a crooked finger at Jaroth. "This boy is hoarding vault property!"

Varek marched over, his iron boots echoing loudly against marble. "What is the meaning of this commotion?"

"I saw him, sir!" Ren whined, bowing repeatedly. "Jaroth Drake has been gathering noble relics from the blast zone! Look in his soot bucket! He intends to sell archival property on the street!"

Varek glared at Jaroth. He reached into Jaroth's cart, plunged his gloved hand into the soot, and pulled out a glittering, gold-leafed casing embossed with the emblem of House Vane.

"Theft of noble property," Varek growled, his voice cold as ice. "The penalty is immediate core-purging and public execution."

Varek drew his sword half an inch from its scabbard.

Jaroth did not flinch or scream. He kept his expression blank, stepping forward with measured calm.

"Senior Guard," Jaroth said quietly. "Inspect the silver latch on that casing before you draw your blade."

Varek paused, his eyes narrowing. "Do not tell me how to conduct my investigation, scribe."

"The casing was retrieved from Vault 4 this morning," Jaroth continued, keeping his voice steady and respectful. "Only one person was assigned to log Vault 4 ledgers today using royal violet ink. Look at the latch, my lord. There is a fresh smear of purple ink across the seal."

Varek turned the gold casing over. A damp, dark-violet streak stained the silver latch.

Jaroth pointed a finger toward Ren. "And look at Scribe Ren's left thumb."

Varek turned his head slowly toward Ren.

Ren froze. He looked down at his own hand in horror. His left thumbnail was stained deep purple from his morning clerical work.

"You set this up," Varek said, his tone dropping an octave.

"No! My lord, I—" Ren stammered, backing away.

Varek grabbed Ren by his throat, slamming the old scribe against the stone wall with enough force to knock the wind out of his lungs.

"Trying to waste my time with personal vendettas during a high-level investigation?" Varek growled. He dragged Ren toward the stairs by his collar. "You will spend the night in the lower cells explaining your clerical logs to the Enforcers."

Dusk fell over the Citadel.

Archivist Garrick assigned Jaroth to clear out Ren's abandoned workstation in the Waste Vault, adding two hours to his shift as a reward for catching a dishonest worker.

Jaroth stood before Ren's wooden desk. The surface was covered in dried ink pots, broken quills, and stacks of old ledgers.

He picked up a thick, leather-bound register titled Sub-Level 3 Logbook. Jaroth's keen fingers ran along the spine. He noticed an uneven gap between the rear cover and the inner parchment binding.

Using his bone scraper, Jaroth slit the hidden seam open.

A small object slid out, clattering against the desk.

It was a dark wooden token, three inches across, carved with the crude image of a rat skull. Wrapped around the token was a piece of parchment filled with hand-drawn maps, secret tunnel shifts, and a list of illegal meeting times.

Jaroth picked up the token, examining the skull emblem under the dim brazier light.

Ren had not just been an envious old scribe. He was a low-level fence, smuggling discarded spell scrolls and archive scrap out of the Citadel to sell in the underground city below.

A blue system notification flashed across Jaroth's retina:

[Inventory Updated: Sunless Market Pass (Basic)]

[New Objective Unlocked: Access the Sunless Quarter to acquire additional Matrix Expansion Slots.]

Jaroth closed his hand around the wooden token, feeling the rough carvings press into his palm. Beyond the walls of this damp library lay a dark market where stolen magic flowed freely—and where his Splicer system could turn him into a master of spellcraft.