Seven bands of metal bound the length of the staff and an ethereal blade protruded in one end — giving it the appearance of a scythe.

Each band held different enchantments carefully chosen by its maker.

The iron band at the end tapered to a barbed point. Its enchantment was healing.

The next band was silver and plain. It held a ready gate — albeit the size of a thumb.

Further up the staff, where one of its maker’s hands would hold it, was a contoured golden band that held pain. Its enchantment made anyone touched by the staff suffer excruciating pain. The enchantment was a persistent one, affecting even its wielder.

Steel bound the middle of the staff. Its enchantment created an arid area around its wielder and lowered the temperature.

Higher up was textured copper, allowing for easier grip. It held twin enchantments of time and space magic, allowing its user to know his exact location and the exact time as long as he held the staff.

The next band was bronze, Its enchantment was fortification, making the staff more durable than steel.

The staff was topped by a mithril band. Its enchantment created a swiveling ethereal blade that changed color based on the wielder’s mood. At that moment, the blade was a golden yellow.

Jeremy stared at his finished staff and smiled. Now he looked like a proper wizard.

Sure, his staff didn’t have a clawed dragon hand holding a gem or a gnarled end — but the glowing ethereal blade made it scream magical.

He couldn’t wait to show Sebas his work — the Painful Staff of Pain.

If only he had one of those cultists to stab with the barbed end of his staff. It would squirm and scream — but the healing band would keep him alive.

Jeremy chuckled. He looked forward to the day when his enemies would fear his healing more than anything in his arsenal.

Too bad he didn’t have enemies.

He should probably keep some of them around instead of sending them all to hell. Someone plotting your doom tended to spice up one’s life — but then again, he now had people and otherworldly snails around him to worry about.

No — hell was the best for pests. At least now he could make them beg to go there.

The staff felt alive in his hands. It was probably the godstones that he made the dwarf incorporate into the bands.

Jeremy sent the staff a sliver of psychic rage to quell any hints of intelligence. He already had a cacophony of voices in his head — he didn’t want to add another one on his hands.

He should probably deal with the rest of the cultists as soon as Sebas got back. He didn’t know if Malice would be a problem — the guy was centuries old, he probably had a few tricks up his sleeve.

Cleaning up a whole nest of cultists was also a daunting task for one or two people — even with Shelby and her snail squad.

It was time to get Siege to summon his adventurer buddies. The attack on the nest would require discerning eyes and resilient spirits — experience in battle was also a plus.

Jeremy needed a few choice men to come with him. There would probably be a lot of loot — and he needed porters to carry stuff to the wagon.

***

Deckard Mack stood outside the walls of the capital. He wanted to do his toga run within Adessa, but he couldn’t get the necessary permits.

Today was the day he made his mark at the capital. The Longsword™ took Bountiful by storm — but with less than two dozen nobles, he could only earn so much.

Adessa was different. Gold flowed into the capital, making it the home to the richest nobles and merchants.

The city had the mightiest heroes, the greatest leaders, and the wiliest merchants. It was home to proud but aging men — and nothing diminished pride more than the disappointed stare of a lover at a limp weapon.

The Longsword™ would allow those men to once again stand proud — literally and figuratively.

Instead of selling in the shadows, Deckard wanted his product to be in the limelight. Today’s toga run was just one of the many marketing ploys that he had lined up.

Participants would be given a Longsword™ before the start of the race. Deckard wanted to market the Longsword™ as an invigorant aside from its normal use behind the sheets — a toga race was the perfect venue to do so.

Onlookers were already lining the walls, curious as to what event was unfolding.

The race had over fifty participants — most of them past their prime. Using the elderly to market his product was a given — young people with the same problems tended to keep hush about their situation.

Some of the runners seemed uncomfortable with their togas. The style dated back to a bygone age, and was hardly worn by anyone in recent ages.

To Deckard, the biggest advantage of the togas was their production cost. He could hardly afford to get seamstresses to make proper clothes for everyone — so he just draped a length of cloth over the runners.

Surprisingly, the older runners drew a lot of supporters. Grandkids were cheering for their grandpas, and drinking buddies were out in full — ready to cheer or mock their friends.

Deckard gave a few encouraging words as his staff handed out the pills. He told the participants and the watching crowd the miraculous nature of the Longsword™, as well as how it would change their lives.

There were shouts of surprise and joy among the participants once they took the pills — most of them remarking on their renewed strength and vigor.

One of the older participants approached Deckard.

“Excuse me, sir,” he started. “Seeing as most of us got a taste of youth once more — this race just became a proper one.”

“Your meaning?” Deckard asked.

“Is there a prize for placing first?”

Deckard expected this, but he hoped the runners would be satisfied with the free Longswords™.

“100 gold to the winner — and 20 to the first four behind him.”

The race wouldn’t be a short one. Adessa spanned more than six miles from north to south or east to west. The runners would have to cross over 20 miles of road.

“All we need to do is run around the city, right?”

“Yes,” Deckard smiled. He could feel the enthusiasm of his runners growing. “Preferably fast if you want the prize.”

The man immediately tore off his toga — displaying the full effects of the Longsword for all to see.

“Damned cloth would likely trip me,” he spat.

A handful of runners did the same before the bell that signaled the start of the race rang.

Looking back, it seemed the togas were not that good of an idea for a race. They tended to slip or tear leaving their wearers bare. The rest of the runners just took them off as a sign of solidarity. One or three naked men might be seen as shameful — but fifty men running in the buff was glorious.

Deckard stared at the mass of running naked old men.

I guess it’s a success.

***

First the cultists, then spies — now this?

Duke Cedric’s hands shook as he read the missive in his hands for the third straight time.

The message came from the capital, brought by messenger birds that were used only in times of urgency.

Bountiful was already neck-deep in problems with the spies and the cults — now the capital wanted them to send troops to Evergreen?

Duke Cedric fumed.

His city was tasked to send a thousand soldiers or twenty war wizards — there was no way he could muster up the forces without leaving the city vulnerable.

There were growing numbers of reports regarding goblins and orcs. Soon one lair would remain undiscovered for too long, spawning the larger trolls that led their ilk.

What was in Evergreen anyway? The Ice? The walls of the citadel were enough to hold back the paltry remnants of the Ice’s hordes.

As far as he knew, the Ice was receding. They even built a town beyond Evergreen’s walls — a testament to the diminishing threat of the Ice’s legions.

He would need to talk to his cousin and make him see Bountiful’s circumstances. The missive was sent by mere advisers and not the King himself — though his son, Prince Elis, put his mark on it.

What was happening in Evergreen? Was the Ice really advancing? He wanted to see for himself before he committed troops.

Urgent knocking on the door stopped the Duke’s musings.

The door opened before he gave his permission to enter.

“Urgent developments, my Duke,” bowed the messenger — clearly winded and nervous. “A messenger arrived from the King.”

***

Sebas arrived in Bountiful. His first instinct was to go home, but he needed to check on Min and her efforts to tend to the city’s newly homeless.

He saw makeshift tents lining the newly-leveled grounds. A few of their farmhands were there lugging timber — but the butler knew it would take weeks for a single house to be built.

Min was there with her orphans, handing out food to the stricken families. The children knew firsthand what it meant to be homeless and afraid — now they were helping others cope with the situation.

“Sebastian!” Min waved as she saw him. Fatigue was clear in her eyes, but she managed to smile at the butler.

She was a kind person, if a bit naive.

Sebas wanted to protect her from the harsher realities of life — not that she hasn’t seen some already.

No — she hasn’t. Not the true evil that lurked in the dark — the kind that left the kids in her care orphans. Min saw the harsh realities of life in others. Aside from her brother, she has yet to experience one herself.

“You’ve done a marvelous job.” Sebas clasped her hand, thanking her.

“It was the right thing to do,” she tried to hide her blush. “How was your trip?”

“It had a few more stops than expected — but I’m here now.”

“I’m glad that you came,” Min looked up at the butler still clasping her hands. “The Duke’s men came to relay his thanks. They said the city would be able to take over our operation within two days.”

“It is good that I got to see you then.”

Sebas noticed his hands, finally letting go of Min’s.

“What are your plans after?”

“Back to Forge and our empty orphanage.” Min forced a smile. “I took everyone here, as you can see. Better to keep an eye on them.”

Sebas paused as if struggling to find the right words.

“Why don’t you stay?” he started. “Not at Bountiful — but at my master’s home.”

Min could only stay silent — not knowing how to react.

“There’s plenty of space and we already have a dozen boys living there — what’s three dozen more?”

“I have girls, you know?”

Sebas paused — lost in the semantics.

“I know what you mean,” Min chuckled. “But what of our orphanage in Forge? What good would it do the children to move?”

“Most of your kids have adventurer parents, don’t they?” Sebas asked.

“Yes, most of them,” Min confirmed.

“All of your kids have traces of mana — some stronger than others.”

“Not enough,” Min shook her head. “They missed their chance at training early — their magical affinities are horribly low.”

“That can be fixed,” Sebas promised. “My master is one of the best wizards in Bountiful. He could train your kids — make their sliver of magic grow into a river.”

“So stay.” Sebas implored. “The better to keep an eye on you and your kids.”

Min could only nod.