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‘So how old do I need to be in order to not need this suit?’ Hector asked. ‘As a servant, I mean.’

‘Bare minimum?’ said Garovel. ‘Eight years. Your passive soul defense would be strong enough to protect you from all the heat, though you’d still be sweating like a dog. Which doesn’t make sense, because dogs don’t sweat. They primarily use their tongues in order to cool off. Point is, though, you’d still be uncomfortable, even at eight years old.’

‘Thank you for shoehorning that extra bit of trivia in there.’

‘Well, if you’re not laughing, you’re learning. Win-win, right?’

‘Yeah, but I was already--whatever. Is there anything else I should know about the Undercrust before we get down there?’

‘Oh-ho yeah,’ said Garovel, all but laughing.

Hector waited. ‘...Well?’

‘Eh.’

‘Garovel, don’t be an asshole!’

‘Alright, alright. I was about to bring this up anyway. Ever heard of something called a feldeath?’

‘A what?’

‘Feldeath. As in, a death that’s... fel.’

‘What are you even saying, right now?’

‘You would’ve heard of it in myths and legends, if at all.’

‘Doesn’t ring a bell,’ said Hector.

‘Mm. Well, there’s a moderate chance that we’ll run into one, so I should probably warn you so that you don’t shit your pants.’

‘...Why would I do that?’

‘Because they’re some of the most dangerous and terrifying beings in existence.’

‘Oh, is that all?’

‘Bit of background is probably needed here,’ said Garovel. ‘So you know how, after a normal person dies, their soul is removed from their body and begins to degrade over time?’

‘Uh, yeah? I think. I remember you saying something about the soul becoming a prison of agony within a couple days.’