Strength Based Wizard-Chapter 26. After Hours at Graveyard Castle, Part V (Honey over Vinegar)

Chapter 26

After Hours at Graveyard Castle, Part V (Honey over Vinegar)

Walter knocks on the next door we come to. Three sharp raps. Bang, bang, bang! He does it again, louder this time. One bony hand on his hip bone, foot tapping like he’s waiting for a late subway.

After a long, grinding silence, I hear the slow, deliberate clunk of locks being undone. One after another. Like someone is unsealing a vault. Finally, the heavy door creaks open, revealing a nightmare that makes my stomach tighten.

A hulking figure looms behind it, stooped down to peer through the doorway. He looks straight from the pages of Mary Shelley! It’s like Frankenstein’s monster got rejected from central casting for being too unsettling. Pale, sickly green skin stretched over massive muscles. His beady eyes glow a dull, menacing red, and his teeth—jagged and yellow—peek out from a too-wide grimace. Metal bolts jut from his collarbone and wrists, dull and rusted.

I instinctively take a step back. The guy’s easily the size of Andre the Giant—an undead, stitched-together, bad-dental-plan Hulk.

“So, uh…” I swallow, glancing up at the monster towering over me. “You’re Preston?”

The hulking figure just stares at me, eyes narrowing, nostrils flaring slightly. Silence presses down on us like a lead weight. His gaze feels like a physical force, pinning me to the floor.

Is this a trap? My muscles tense. I start calculating my next move. How fast could I deck Walter and bolt? My eyes settle on Preston’s long arms. Probably not fast enough.

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Then, Walter erupts in laughter, a dry, clattering sound, like bones rattling in a sack. He mimes wiping away a tear with a skeletal finger. “That? Nah, kid, that’s just Grush. Preston’s assistant. And bodyguard.”

Grush grunts, low and guttural, like distant thunder.

“Er… Right,” I manage, still frozen halfway between fight and flight.

Walter casually waves at Grush. “We’re here to see Preston. Got someone who needs his services.”

Grush lets out another cavernous grunt, steps aside, and gestures us in with one meaty hand.

I exhale, but my fists are still clenched. “Services,” I mutter to myself, “sure, why not.”

The door yawns wider, and we step into the foyer. The whole place is drenched in this cold, blue-tinted light from eerie glowing orbs fixed to the ceiling. It’s like walking into a dream where someone left the brightness turned all the way down.

An old red carpet, frayed and threadbare at the edges, snakes down the hallway like a tongue inviting us deeper into some strange maw. Oddly enough, compared to the oppressive gloom of the castle, this hallway feels…almost cozy. Watercolor paintings hang on either side: peaceful landscapes, sleepy villages, serene lakeshores. Completely out of place.

Grush lumbers ahead, each step making the floor creak like it's going to collapse under him. I trail behind him, glancing at Walter, who’s whistling like this is just another Tuesday. I wonder how he can whistle without any of the necessary anatomy, but decide to give up attempting to craft any sort of logical explanation.

We end up in a cramped little office space. The vibe? Less “mad scientist lab” and more “underfunded middle school principal’s office.” There’s a battered desk shoved up against the far wall with two mismatched chairs on our side and a more ornate one behind it, though even that chair looks beat to shit. Sitting smack in the center of the desk is what looks like an old-school call button, the kind you’d expect to buzz for a secretary. Right next to it, a small round fishbowl.

Inside, a goldfish with gleaming orange and white scales stares back at me with dead, glassy eyes, circling lazily.

Grush turns to us, his massive shadow swallowing the room whole. His voice rumbles like gravel sliding down a cliff. “Take. Seat.”

Then he furrows his thick, stitched-up brow and adds, like the word is something brand new he picked up this morning, “Please.”

Walter strolls to one of the chairs and collapses into the torn and tattered velvet cushion, rattling in his seat. I eye the fish, the desk, the towering undead doorman, then finally sit, still ready to bolt if things go sideways.

Grush stomps out of the room, ducking low so his monstrous frame can squeeze through the doorway. The door slams behind him with a heavy thunk that vibrates through the floor.

I sit there, staring at the now-closed door, still processing the mountain of green flesh and red eyes that just left. “So…uh, did he go grab Preston or something?”

Walter snorts, skeletal shoulders shaking. “Oh, kid. You’re killing me.”

I raise an eyebrow, wary. “What’s so funny?”

Walter gestures toward the desk with a bony finger. “Preston’s right here.”

I follow his hand to the fishbowl.

Inside, the goldfish, staring at my with its bulbous, milky eyes, does a lazy little loop like it’s got all the time in the world.

Walter grins, or at least does the best a skeleton can. “How you doin’, pal?” he says to the fish.

I blink. “Wait… You aren’t kidding this time. The goldfish is Preston?”

As if on cue, the small button device on the desk crackles to life.

“Indeed, sir,” comes a soft, posh British accent from the speaker. “I am Preston, Cleric in the service of Lichlord Dinescu.”

My jaw drops. “I thought you were supposed to be a zombie?”

“I am,” Preston replies smoothly, voice calm and dignified. “I was formerly domiciled in the ponds on the castle’s grounds with the other fish. Upon being cursed with zombification, I gained certain… talents. Lord Dinescu saw fit to enlist me.”

I stare at the goldfish, dumbfounded, mouth still agape.

The System pings in my head, and a small text box sprouts to life over the fishbowl.

New Monster Identified: Zombie Goldfish

Level 25

Classification: Enchanted Undead

I rub my temples. Well, I’ll be damned. A zombie goldfish.

“So, how may I be of assistance?” Preston asks, voice smooth as silk through the little desk speaker.

Walter wastes no time. “The kid here’s got Corrosion. Bad case of it. Plus, he cooked his arm with magical blowback from pushing his Strength too far. Rookie mistake.”

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Preston hums thoughtfully. For a goldfish, it’s an oddly sophisticated sound.

Then, without warning, he launches himself out of the bowl. The little orange and white missile arcs through the air in slow motion. I don’t even flinch as a splash of water sprinkles my face.

Immediately, I feel it. A warm pulse deep in my gut, like sipping hot cocoa on a cold day. Another pulse, this one behind my eyes, sharp and bright. I’m almost immediately met with the System’s notification.

You have been Restored by Zombie Goldfish Preston.

You are no longer under the effects of the Corrosion debuff.

I blink, staring at the dripping water on my hands. Walter just gives me a knowing nod. “Nice work, pal,” he says, admiring the results, though from my perspective I wash just splashed by a goldfish. And I’m pretty sure he pees in that bowl.

Preston flops gracefully back into his bowl, barely making a ripple. “Now,” he says, voice calm as ever over the small speaker on the desk’s surface, “what to do about that arm?”

After a moment of considering, the zombie goldfish speaks again. “How attached are you to it?”

I can’t help the deadpan tone. “Attached at the shoulder. And that isn’t changing.”

Walter snorts beside me.

Preston lets out a soft chuckle. “I do have a collection of spare limbs I could graft on. Quite the assortment. Some even come with enhancements. They could be of interest to you.”

“No thanks,” I say quickly, holding up my good hand. “I’m not looking to get Frankenstein’d today. Anything you can do without swapping parts?”

Preston considers, swirling around his bowl like he’s pacing. Then, the little call button on the desk crackles, and his voice booms out, way too loud, rattling the old wooden desk and making my ears ring.

“GRUSH! ... Bring my set of Health Potions and Reconstruction Supplements, please!”

From somewhere beyond the door, I hear the unmistakable stomping of Grush’s giant feet.

Walter leans over and whispers, “Told you. Preston’s the best.”

I shake water off my face, muttering, “Sure. The best goldfish cleric I’ve ever met.” But I have to admit, I feel ten times better already without the debuff.

The door slams open and Grush re-enters, stomping across the room with a silver tray balanced in his meaty hands. The tray rattles with every step, little vials clinking together like nervous prisoners. He sets it down on the desk with surprising delicacy, like he’s placing a baby bird in a nest. Then, without a word—except for a low grunt that sounds like tectonic plates grinding—he turns and ducks out of the room.

Preston’s voice crackles through the speaker. “Take the potion on the far left first.”

I glance at the tray. There, on the far left, is a bottle about the size of a sports drink, filled with what looks like watered-down cranberry juice.

“That is an Improved Restoration Potion,” Preston continues. “It should replenish your Health, Stamina, and Mana.”

My fingers hover over the bottle, but I pull back. “Alright, what’s the catch?”

Preston chuckles, fish-bubbles rising lazily in the bowl. “No payment necessary from you, sir. This debt is on Walter.”

I look over to Walter, who slowly turns his skull toward me, dark, empty sockets staring at me. “I’ll put it on my tab,” he says. “You can get me back later.”

Later? What does that even mean? I’m not planning on sending postcards to Castle Bonepile after this. I can’t guarantee I’ll ever see this Realm again. But I’m running from fumes. It’s hard to describe the feeling of my bars not being topped off for an extended period of time. It’s like having dry eyes, or a scab that’s ready to pick off.

I snatch up the bottle and chug it. It tastes oddly…oaky, like someone steeped tree bark in sugar water. Instantly, it feels like I’ve stepped into a boiling-hot shower. Warmth floods my body. My interface flashes like a Vegas slot machine: Health, Stamina, and Mana bars all shoot to the top.

“Thanks,” I say, blinking away the heat-haze. I gently place the empty vial back onto the tray.

Preston doesn’t miss a beat. “Now, the second to the right.”

This one’s in a tiny vial, no bigger than those sketchy energy shots you find near gas station registers. I down it in one gulp, and it tastes like battery acid mixed with regret.

Instantly, my bad arm knits back together like a time-lapse of a flower blooming. My interface chimes again.

Constitution increased by 1 point!

I stare at my newly restored arm, flexing my fingers and rotating my shoulder. That was pretty wild, I think. Also, probably worth more than my soul on the open market. I imagine what people back in the real world would pay for something like that.

Yeah, I think, glancing at the little goldfish still floating calmly in his bowl. What’s the going rate for a zombie goldfish miracle-worker, anyway? At Level 25, this goldfish was probably stronger than half of the current population of System-enhanced humans on Earth.

I set the empty vial back onto the tray. The colors in those potions are still swirling and shimmering like melted tie-dye.

“Thanks again, Preston,” I say, rubbing my now-perfectly-fine arm.

Preston’s voice hums softly through the speaker, “Quite welcome, sir. Is there anything else you require?”

Walter waves a hand dismissively. “Nah, just passing through with the kid here. Heading to the heart of the castle before I crawl back into my paperwork pit.”

“Ah, the logistical nightmare of managing legions of skeletons,” Preston says, sounding almost sympathetic. “Do give my regards to the rest of your skeletal cohort.”

Walter grumbles something that might be a thanks, and we both stand to leave. Grush is already standing back in the room, holding the door open.

Preston’s voice chimes in one last time. “I do hope our paths cross again, Mr. Sullivan.”

I freeze mid-step, eyebrows nearly climbing into my hairline. “Uh, yeah… definitely,” I manage to say.

Walter’s already halfway to the door, oblivious. I follow him out, heart thumping.

As we step back into the blue-lit main hall, it hits me. I never told him my name. Not my first name, not my last. The chill that slides down my spine feels like someone just dropped an ice cube down the back of my shirt.

I glance back toward the door.

The goldfish bowl is still sitting on the desk inside, doing lazy circles through the water.

I shudder and pick up the pace.

Walter just keeps walking, whistling through lips he doesn’t even have.

Walter leads me through a twisting labyrinth of stone corridors and ramps that seem like they’ve been pulled straight from some gothic fever dream. The walls close in, then open wide again, only to narrow into claustrophobic passages. The flickering torchlight keeps teasing shadows into grotesque shapes. My head’s still half-spinning from Preston knowing my name.

Finally, we reach the end of a hall where a massive door stands like the final boss in a video game. The thing has to be at least ten feet tall, framed by dark stone and inscribed with runes that hum faintly when I get close. Yup, definitely Final Boss vibes. Walter did say the Lich was out of town, right?

Walter saunters up to it, all casual, and tries to push it open with his bony arms. Nothing. The door doesn’t even flinch.

“Give me a hand, will ya, kid?” he grumbles.

I roll my shoulders, mutter a silent prayer to whoever’s listening, and push alongside him, hoping my arms don’t explode when my enhanced Strength activates. The door groans like an ancient beast, but it opens. Miraculously, I don’t feel any muscles tear or bones snap in the process.

The sight greeting us inside is surprisingly anticlimactic.

It’s a throne room, sure. A big one. But there’s no gaudy decor, no mountain of treasure, no swirling vortex of doom. Just a single, raised dais with an imposing—but empty—stone throne. The rest of the room is bare, save for dust motes drifting lazily in shafts of light pouring from high, narrow windows. I let out a sigh of relief. Even if I was expecting something more, I’m happy there isn’t a Lich there to greet us. If Preston was Level 25, I don’t want to know what his boss is like.

Walter sweeps a hand out like he’s unveiling a masterpiece. “And here we are, the center of the Castle: the Throne Room.”

Ding!

There’s a pulse through my mind as a System notification flashes across my interface:

Achievement Unlocked!

Achievement: [Friend of Graveyard Castle]

[Sometimes honey works better than vinegar. You have successfully cleared multiple levels of a Dungeon using peaceful means, ingratiating yourself to the native inhabitants of the Realm.]

[Reward Pending: Claim Now in Menu.]

My jaw almost drops. I didn’t even know this was possible. Clearing parts of a Dungeon without actually fighting through it? What does that say about Classes and Skills? Are there entire builds based on diplomacy or pacifism? The possibilities of how to approach the Realms beyond the Gates now seem nearly limitless.

Before I can process it fully, another notification hits my interface:

QUEST UPDATE (In the Grim Darkness of the Castle): You have satisfied the requirements of this Quest. Congratulations.

You may continue onto further Level Dungeons within this Realm, or use the Return Gate.

Note: Using the Return Gate will close the existing Gate to this Realm.

Reward: You have received one Return Ticket (Rank E Quality).

The Return Gate Ticket materializes in my hand like some golden Willy Wonka pass, shimmering faintly. A strange feeling washes over me—part triumph, part disappointment. I’m free to leave now… but a part of me isn’t ready. I came here to get stronger, after all and feel like I had somehow taken the easy road.

It reminds me a lot of working out. Some workouts were hard. Made you wish you were dead. But it was those workouts that were the most satisfying… Pushing myself to failure. It was the only way to get stronger, improve. Hate yourself a little less.

I chew on the thought for a moment, then glance at Walter, an idea blossoming in my head. “Hey, Walter.”

“Yeah?” asks the Skeleton Accountant.

I deposit the Return Ticket into my Inventory and it vanished in a pixelated flash of light.

“Can I ask you a few questions?”