With lungs burning and sweat falling into her eyes, Rova ran, Aldhelm slung over her shoulder with his god-cured armor stabbing into her side.

The tremors running through the ground she could handle. The falling trees any half-practiced mage could handle. What really bothered Rova was that Aldhelm was so damned heavy.

The fool compressed his armor, making it hold against great weapons wielded by even greater hands. But it also made the thing heavy, too heavy for most, especially a mage.

An especially large tremor, like a rippling wave, swam through the ground causing Rova to slam her shoulder into a large tree. “Why the fuck am I even doing this!” she yelled looking at the many soldiers surrounding her. She pointed at the one closest to her. “Keeping this idiot alive is now your job.”

The soldier, some unnamed noble, reached for Aldhelm without complaint. Rova was about to through her charge like a sack when the forest came alive with color, blinding and in every direction, but only for an instant.

Then, came the lightning.

The soldier Rova intended to take Aldhelm convulsed when multi-colored lightning descended from the heavens. He fell over with the distinct smell of cooked meat oozing off him.

Rova sprinted for her life, redoubling her speed as thunderclaps roared. The only hope she and her fellow soldiers had was to get as far away from the waring gods as possible.

She stumbled again after considering leaving Aldhelm’s to his faith. Her oath responded with fury stabbing a spike of pain in her mind that tightened her grip and urged her to conjured magic not only for herself but for the unconscious fool. Although, she soon realized such defenses were not enough when gods struggled close by.

“What the fuck!” Rova screamed as three soldiers just ahead of her were flattened by a house-sized boulder.

More boulders, some even larger than the last, rained down continuously. Rova abandoned her mana shield, instead, spreading her perception to its limit. If a boulder was coming to crush her, she wanted to know. A second later, her foresight paid off as she sensed one coming for her at frightening speeds she could not avoid.

Rova's spun, her baculus thrumming and crackling with magic in her hand. She released her spell as a ripple through the air as the overpowered cantrip spread. The formless power slithered over the boulder just before it landed, saving her from a crushing death by turning it to sand at the last second.

She was still thrown back by the tons of sand raining down on her. Rova would have begged to let Aldhelm stay buried. She heaves and struggled and bled as her fingers split but the god-cured oath kept her going.

She would have used magic. She had plenty, but the heavy, gaudy, useless armor was warded. So, Rova cried out with tears and pulled.

Once free, the running continued but at least she saw no more boulders flying through the air. A moment later, boulders seemed trivial in the face of a giant god falling from the sky.

Vidar landed, and Rova braced herself for the worst but found herself wanting. The land kick upwards like becoming a hill growing ever steeper.

Rova jumped for a tree, standing on his truck as the world turned. She leapt to another when its roots tore free. Half the forest rained down, and soon, several vellian soldiers followed.

By Vidar's mercy or Rova's own luck, the ground stopped moving just as what used to the forest flow became a cliff face. The terrified vellians hung from trees waiting for the ground to fall as if the slightest shifting of weight would bring the forest crashing down.

Rova didn't bother waiting. She removed Aldhelm’s armor then levitated him with mana as she made her way down the newly formed ridge. As she reached a deep voice greeted her.

“I’ve got to say I like what you're wearing,” said a man that grabbed Rova by her ankles as she was about to leap from her last tree.

She let Aldhelm drop to concentrate her power into a shadow bolt fired point-blank into the mysterious man’s face. The explosion sent her flying, but she landed like a cat with baculous aimed forward with another shadow bolt ready.

“What are you doing?” the man asked in a panicked voice. “That could have destroyed that great footwear you’ve got.”

Getting a better look at the man’s face, Rova realized she'd seen it a few minutes ago falling from the sky. The tattoos on his chest peeking through his wolf’s cloak, handsome bearded face, and expensive-looking boots left no doubt to his identity or divinity.

Rumors of the god’s appreciation of boots ran throughout Vellian court and even his own church, but Rova never believed it could be true. The king of the gods, roads, and mountains, also being the god of boots just seemed ridiculous. Although, he had yet to look her in the eyes, or her chest. He just kept eying her feet.

“What's going on?” Aldhelm groaned, his last drop apparently waking him from slumber.

Vidar finally looked away from Rova’s boots. “Tell me, boy, was that the first time you called on a god?” Aldhelm nodded his head in the affirmative. “First time knocks most people out,” Vidar reassured. “Don't worry about it too much. All that divinity rushing through you can be a little intense.” Vidar looked back at Rova, this time seeing her painted face. “Oh, you're a pretty thing-.”

Not waiting for him to finish, Rova activated her focus, preferring to remain unseen. The last thing she needed was a horny god after her. Not only did this idiot not know the meaning of restraint but his wife could be one jealous bitch despite her oh-so-loving nature.

“Well, that's a damn shame,” Vidar continued. “I could have blessed those boots if she didn't run off.”

“She's not gone,” Aldhelm informed him. “She just won’t show herself, it's kind of what her family does.”

Vidar scanned the forest with his eyes. “I guess they do it well because I can't see shit.”

The god shrugged, turning back to Aldhelm bringing him to his feet with a helping hand. “Anyway, I just wanted to know if you survived. Vara would kill me if I let one of you die again.”

Vidar took a look at Aldhelm’s feet that were naked and covered in dirt thanks to Rova tossing his chainmail and boots. He shook his head sadly then disappeared with a soft popping sound.

Aldhelm called out to Rova as she walked away looking forward to the weeks of travel ahead. Her job was done; the fool was alive, and the orcs were dead. If the king wanted more from her, he’d need to tell her personally and Makarov could just send a striker if he needed anything. Maybe she could plan her path home by the food she could sample on the way home.

Rova felt the ripple of something passing through an adjacent dimension. “Excuse me,” came the disembodied voice of a young man. “I'm with the company.”

Rova bit back a curse for a moment then let it fly. “Fuck off shadow boy. I'm not doing anything but relaxing for the next few months. If the old man wants a mind flayer, tell him to look somewhere else.”

Uhtred, the shadow boy, as strikers were coming to know him as let a bit of irritation into his voice. “The king is dead, or is your vacation more important?”

Rova stopped walking. She longed for rest and relaxation. A few days of pampering or laying in a hot spring on a snowy day was all she wanted. With Uhtred’s message, all that was gone, or maybe? “I can't get back to Vellia in time. Never got Vidar’s blessing.”

The shadow boy’s spirit laughed. “How long can you hold your breath?”

Half a day later, Rova emerged from the shadow realm gasping for breath. She found herself in a pitch-black room with the shadow boy’s real body sitting cross-legged at the center. She made a sigh of relief happy that after several dozen trips through the shadows, her journey was finally over, at least this part of it.

Her eyes glowed with mage sight getting a good look at the boy gossip mongers of Dreyark were raving about. He wasn't as boyish as the rumors made him out to be. He was taller than Rova, reaching just above the five and a half feet most vellians achieved. His popularity must have begun before learning magic because his well-defined muscles were never mentioned to her. He was hardly what she'd consider a boy, and she liked what she saw.

Uhtred, naked as the day he was born, made his way towards the only door in the room. Rova cast a mage light before he could open it, revealing his nakedness to her.

He blushed and tensed up fighting the urge to cover himself. Rova couldn't help but giggle as she wrapped an arm around him.

“No need to be nervous, Shadow Man,” she said in an eerily seductive tone. “You're going to be a striker. A little bit of skin shouldn't make you blush,”

She practically peered as her fingers slid down his stomach and around his inner thigh causing Uhtred's lower half to stiffen. She leaned into him with a passionate kiss while caressing every part of his body she could touch.

“I've been to war for months and now my vacation has been stolen so I'm going to have at least a little fun before seeing the old man.”

****

Makarov released a tired breath. He didn't want to leave his comfortable chair or eat or do just about anything. All he wanted to do was sit back and watch something entertaining on a balling in peace or read a good book, one with valiant heroes and childish morals to distract him from the real world.

It wasn't that he was truly tired or weak in any sense of the word. An eighth-ranked cultivator rarely needed sleep or food for that matter, he just felt old.

Not physically of course, his skin was not wrinkled, there was not a shred of fat on him, and he could easily lift a ton without issue. He just felt like he'd been working for a century without respite.

Makarov laughed at his own thoughts. “I've only been working for 95 years.”

The death of the king was a huge reminder of his age. The king was only 107 while Makarov's 112th birthday passed just a month ago. Any moment now the silent death would come for him. Every few days when he went to sleep, he wondered if he’d wake up in the afterlife.

No matter how powerful a magic-user made their body, mortals were still mortal in the end. Muscles, bones, and organs could be heavily reinforced with magic or even replaced entirely but the silent death came for everyone in the end, snuffing them out without spilling a drip of blood.

Makarov himself was quite lucky, most didn't live this long especially in his line of work. The only real sign of aging upon him was his top of completely white hair. If nothing in his life changed, he’d be going the way of the king soon; spilling soup across a table as he died eating it.

Makarov thought of killing a Bryer, himself, then a named noble without permission like picking at a wound just to feel it throb. Each thought came with a familiar serving of pain quelling his murderous appetite. That was the worst part of realizing his life was coming to an end. He had yet to find a way to free himself from the oath forced on his family so long ago.

He tried to think of ways to teach psychomancy to others or the enneagram used to become invisible without the need for the focus. If he could teach those skills, his students would be able to break the chains on every Dreyark's mind.

The greatest loophole within the oath found so far were strikers. Makarov may not have been able to teach them invisibility or psychomancy spells, but he could make them into the most dangerous force within Vellia capable of killing corrupt nobles.

To appease his own oath, Makarov was forced to shackle their minds as well, thankfully in a more lenient manner.

Only three rules were carved into their minds; to not act selfishly, tell no one of their existence, and under no circumstances ever bring harm to a Bryer. The last rule Makarov would’ve happily left out but without it, he could not train the strikers without his own oath getting in the way.

Knowing there were things to be done, he reluctantly stood from his seat and began stretching to release his built-up tension.

Pushing his fingers back until they rested on the back of his hands, released audible pops of pleasure. He bent backward until his head touched the back of his feet appearing as if he broke his back to any would-be onlookers. Makarov bent his joints in impossible angles and rotated his body as if he stood without bones.

After turning his head in a complete circle, he opened his wardrobe.

Makarov dressed in scaled leather made from pitch black basilisk hide with Damascus steel plates sewn in. Never leaving his home without being armed, he tucked dozens of knives into hidden pockets along his body. A few unstable beast cores went beneath his skin in pockets made through careful flesh weaving. Not wanting to look too much like a thief, he wore a fanciful overcoat to look a bit more noble, after filling it with more weapons of course.

Lastly, were two nine-inch daggers, his personal weapons, a gift, or perhaps a bribe from the Runesmith noble family. The blades of rune-covered dragon bone and Damascus steel alone edges were lavish and deadly, not that it saved their creator once orders came for his death.

Makarov placed the daggers in hidden sheaths on his back and headed for the door. He opened it to find his daughter still dressed like she was the jungle killing orcs by the dozen.

Her insistence on wearing comfortable clothing unbecoming of a noble annoyed him. Their family had an image to uphold. Threading, mysterious, cutthroat, he expected, not the look of a hedge mage. But at least her mage craft was coming along nicely, especially since opening fourth gate; the last one possible for a mage like herself.

Now, Rova was an apex mage as such powerful individuals were known by. Her specialty might not be in destructive magic but destroying anything less than a fortress would be trivial. And yet, despite her power, she somehow was still able to suppress her magic enough to go unseen. Amazing growth, and far faster than him in his youth.

Makarov embraced Rova in a warm hug that she returned. “I guess one good thing came out of this. I get to see my little girl again.”

Rova broke the embrace complaining with false anger. “Old man, I told you to stop calling me that.”

“And I told you to stop calling old man,” Makarov replied. “Can't I get a da or at least something better than old man?"

Rova kicked him in the shin probably as hard as she could without leaving so much as a bruise. “You’ll get a foot up your ass. Now, where is Dagfinn? I haven't seen that boy of mine in too long.”

“He’s around here somewhere. I let him take the day off seeing how the family rarely comes together like this.”

Makarov and Rova headed to exit the compound under the Dreyark mansion. On their way out, they inspected those still in training.

Rova laughed as she saw a fresh recruit arguing with her trainer about being stripped naked. In her mind and Makarov's when he was young, there was no sense in the practice. For some, it might be true, but for others, they needed to be broken free from typical ideas of civility.

Concepts like shame, honor, and the rules of war were notions strikers did not need. If you needed to sell yourself for information, that’s what you did. If the death of hundreds saved millions, that was the correct path. If a dirty underhanded trick won the day, it’s the option you were expected to choose. The complete destruction of their sense of propriety was one of many steps taken to make them into proper weapons.

Makarov paid extra attention to Astrid who was currently beating the absolute hell out of her fellow trainees. After she was able to wound her instructor, Makarov made it his business to keep track of her progress.

Astrid moved like a leaf in the wind avoiding attacks with her newly gained flight while staying within range of her opponents. She was obviously playing with them, intentionally exaggerating her movements to make fools of them.

Flying just above a fist that could have easily knocked her out, she grasped the hair on a boy’s head lifting him off the ground with the strength of her flight then spun quickly around sending him crashing into his partner. Rollo, who was supervising the training, stuck daggers in the ground for each to use. They all picked up the weapons, ready to start anew, the victor being the first to draw blood.

Uhtred was not doing as well against his single opponent but was giving as much damage as he got, at least until he was distracted earning a powerful strike to his stomach. He crumpled to the ground coughing then looked up with embarrassment at Rova.

Makarov looked over to her with a disapproving gaze that she instantly understood.

“What, was more than willing,” she taunted. “Besides, I've been stuck fighting road wars and I wasn't going to let any of those noble fucks give it to me even if I could erase their memories.”

“That’s not the point,” Makarov insisted. “We can’t carry on with recruits.”

“You can't carry on with recruits,” Rova pointed out. “I’m not involved in their training at all."

Makarov rolled his eyes and looked back at Uhtred seeing he was still distracted. A flaw that would need correcting.

He created a perfect illusion of himself superimposed over his body. Makarov then activated his focus, becoming completely invisible, and walked away from the double he created, stopping behind Uhtred.

The boy had yet to be taught the skills needed to detect invisible enemies, so Makarov released his focus. Waiting two seconds before striking, his right hand moved like a whip aimed at the back of Uhtred’s head. To his credit, the boy dodged then made a sweeping kick which Makarov dodged by jumping. He then landed a kick on Uhtred blocked by a raised forearm before landing on the ground.

Makarov was ready to end his lesson and give Uhtred high marks for avoiding his strike when Astrid charged his back with her knife ready to draw blood.

Makarov smiled. The girl was mad. To attack him, the head of Dreyark. It was foolishness, but that could be fixed, and he'd have fun doing so.

Makarov spun avoiding the blade completely. Before Astrid could react, he smacked her wrist freeing the blade from her hand and sending it into the air. He twisted intending to catch her but saw but Astrid was gone until appearing a moment later with the knife in hand and a toothy smile eager for blood.

Makarov couldn’t believe the lengths this girl was forcing him to take. He caught her knifed hand then neck before bringing her to the ground with speed and grace she couldn't hope to match.

If he were the same cultivation level as Astrid, she would have had her blood. If that happened, she could demand anything within reason as her prize. She would have earned it and he and any strikers would have earned the shame that came such complacency.

“You cheated!” Astrid yelled through Makarov’s tight embrace around her neck.

She kicked and tried to punch him with her free hand. Her shouting was becoming downright disrespectful, but Makarov saw her eyes look behind him for just a moment then back at him to not give warning. He wasn’t fooled, but still let her throw her knife then teleport out of his hold. He could have dashed for the knife catching Astrid as she appeared but decided to end his lesson.

“I’m very impressed. In a few years, one of you might be able to-” Makarov paused as he felt an unstable beast core vanish from within his body.

Uhtred and Astrid threw something at him at the same time, Uhtred sending the stolen beast core while Astrid sent her knife. The two projectiles met a few feet from Makarov shattering the core in a flash of light.

“Take cover!” Makarov shouted as he unsheathed his dagger focusing his magic through its Damascus steel.

A bubble of mana covered the core as it exploded expanding the bubble to several times the size of a man, but no more. Makarov groaned as he struggled to keep the power contained. The loud rumbling sound coming from the contained explosion made Rollo and Rova erect their own shields; unlike Makarov, they might not survive if he failed to hold strong.

An air-piercing screech filled the room as Makarov opened small holes in the mana bubble, slowly releasing the beast core's energy safely. After about a minute, he dropped the shield completely and wiped his sweat-drenched face clean.

“Where the fuck are those two!” Makarov shouted with rarely seen anger.

A small shadow in the room darkened and grew, slithering across the floor like tentacles. Out of the dark abyss, the trainees Makarov had been too busy to keep track of emerged, taking deep breaths. The last to come out was Uhtred and Astrid wearing disappointed faces.

“I thought that would work,” Uhtred said in defeat.

“You should’ve stolen more than one,” Astrid chided. “Then we could've given three bloody noses.”

Makarov’s anger quickly turned to surprise. He was angry because the beast core explosion would have killed every trainee. The only survivors would have been himself, Rollo, and Rova. By taking everyone into the shadows, they risked nothing and nearly took down three enemies far above their own capabilities.

Makarov took a deep calming breath. These children just cost him several dozen gold pieces along with most of his mana pool. But he established the anything-goes policy so there was no one to blame but himself. Although it felt like he lost in spirit, even if he did not technically lose.

Placing his daggers back in its sheath, Makarov walked off with all the swagger he could muster. “Better luck next time.”