"Wait? What're you doing? Let go of me!" said Vesper as he struggled against the mercenary, shoving him off. He tumbled out from underneath the wagon, and onto the open field. So far no more arrows were aimed at his leg. The bandits were too distracted.

"What're you waiting for? One of you knuckleheads snatch him!" shouted Joric.

The two guards eyed each other. Only for a second, before the larger one lost whatever staring contest they were doing. At this moment, it occurred to Joric that if he hadn’t cut the mercenary budget for lavish food, then maybe his guards wouldn’t be incompetent losers.

Although it only took one incompetent loser to catch up to Vesper and grab hold of his ankle. Vesper tugged and flailed his leg, but the mercenary had a solid grip. Behind him Alry zipped by, slicing at Joric's mercenaries with her tiny toothpick-like sword.

It was an exceptionally sharp toothpick, so it wasn’t surprising that the incompetent loser of a guard let go of Vesper. Minimum wage mercenary work just wasn’t worth actually fighting. That was for professionals.

The bandits savagely executed the hired mercenaries like slicing through butter. Large axes swung down on the screaming soldiers, arrows whipped through the air gouging their eyes. Some mercenaries fought, the smarter ones ran, but their deaths were inevitable.

"Enough! This is a waste of precious time!" Shouted Gunthar, his voice resonated throughout the camp.

The bandits looked at him with wary eyes, a [mage] was never someone worth double-crossing. He wore his hood low. His eyes glowed because of the intense mana coursing through his body. This was the sign of a powerful caster.

All fighters paused. This was unexpected.

A grisly one-eyed bandit with hair closely shaved to his head rode up to Gunthar on his horse. His functioning eye was light brown; the other was closed shut with a scar running across it. His simple leather armor had stains of blood and his mace nicks from cracking skulls.

"Leave us, mage. We're here for that boy," the one-eyed bandit said, his voice hoarse. He pointed at Vesper, who was slumped on a tree. It was as far as he managed to get with his injured leg. "That wicked devil of a man over there might not look it, but he's a dangerous criminal. Probably more dangerous than the likes of you. He brutally murdered two orphan boys from the fine establishment Lothar’s Orphanage Farm."

"I don’t care. That boy is my ticket to salvation. I’ll drag him through hell and back before I let you take him from me. He is the chosen."

The more Gunthar spoke, the less Vesper wanted to deal with that lunatic. Maybe if he got far enough into the forest he could live as a hermit. It wouldn’t be ideal, but Vesper could make it work. He’d make anything work, rather than fulfill Gunthar’s glorious purpose.

The one-eyed bandit scowled. "Bloody religious lunatics," he muttered. "We've got the numbers, mage. Hand the boy to us, or we'll murder each and every one of you; Lop all your heads right off! You won't take all of us. My crew isn't low-level trash."

Gunthar wiggled his fingers. It looked kind of funny like those crazy beggars hopped up on magic mushrooms, until tendrils of lightning fell from the sky, slamming into bandits. A surprising number of the bandits withheld the magic. Either their levels were ridiculously high, or they were adorned with magic artifacts. Some of the bandits weren't so lucky, incinerated in mere seconds.

"Charge!" screamed the one-eyed bandit.

A formation of bandits formed, organized as if they were a skilled army. Mercenaries, Vesper realized; they were mercenaries playing as bandits. Vesper turned his head, noticing that Joric was regaining his courage.

"Fine, if you incompetent fools won't grab him, I'll have to do it myself!" Joric heaved himself towards Vesper. Vesper tried crawling away, but the adrenaline was leaving his body, and Alry was nowhere to be seen.

The boulder of a man fell on top of Vesper pinning him to the ground. Not even his [Strength of the Fae] was enough to push Joric immense weight off of him.

"This was supposed to be easy. Curse my luck that the old man was secretly a [mage]," Joric spat. He pinned Vesper to the ground, unsheathing a knife he held inches from Vesper's neck. Vesper struggled, but he couldn't break free in his fatigued state.

"Stop moving, or I'll slit your throat." Vesper stopped moving.

The battle raged on, and Gunthar was winning. It didn't matter that the bandit had more men, nor that his bandits were strong. Flame walls were cast, a raging inferno blocked their charge. Alry zipped through enemies, full of bloodlust, poking their exposed skin with her toothpick-like sword. Death by a thousand cuts seemed worse than voluntarily jumping in the raging fire.

[Piercing strike] yelled a bandit archer. His arrows flew through the firewall, thunking into Gunthar's arm. He grimaced, but a golden light enveloped Gunthar, and it was as if the wound hadn't ever existed. Gunthar took what was left of the arrow, pointed it at the archer, and shot air mana out of his hand.

BOOM. The arrows broke the sound barrier and pierced the archer's skull. He slumped off his horse like a bag of bricks.

[Iron Defence] yelled the one-eyed bandit, activating his skill. The skin of his bandits turned into a shimmering silver, like being fully enclosed in armor. His troops regrouped and formed a defensive formation.

"Stop, Morrel! One more spell from you, and I slit the boy's throat.” Gunthar turned around, surprised."

Gunthar fiddled with his fingers again. Vesper closed his eyes, waiting for Joric to stab him.

Nothing happened as Joric pressed into Vesper. Vesper opened his eyes and peaked.

Flowers? In Joric’s hand, where his ornate dagger had been, he wielded a bundle of tulips. It wasn’t the time or place, but Vesper did think they smelled nice.

“Flowers!” Shouted Joric, raging. “That was an antique!”

“Why’d you betray me, Joric?”

“He’s a criminal! With a juicy bounty! We were all going to be rich, you, me, them! All of us. We’d be set for life!”

“But he is the chosen.”

“You’re a nutter, Morrel. Only a crazy person turns down that type of gold. That’s generational wealth.”

While Gunthar was preoccupied, Joric's cook appeared behind Gunthar and slammed his poisoned dagger into his back. [Corruption] was cast, and the poison spread quickly. Gunthar snarled and cast [cleansing light] repeatedly, but it was only slowing down the inevitable.

“For the first time in the fight, Gunthar panicked.” He swiveled around, thinking. Trying every cleansing and healing spell imaginable. Nothing worked.

"Hahaha," Joric bellowed. "It's always good to have a [mage killer] as your cook. I'm afraid this is where we'll be parting ways, Morrel!"

"Eat Dirt!" shouted Gunthar as tendrils of dark magic left his body. The bandits screamed as their souls were being sucked from their bodies. Gunthar fell to his knees, bellowing in agony. His veins took on a sickenly black hue, and his body began to decay. His eyes bulged from his skull, and his body shriveled like a raisin. Then it stopped.

Vesper looked around, only to find husks. He pushed Joric's corpse off his body and crept towards Gunthar. His breath was heavy; he was going to die. Vesper clutched grimoire to his chest and bent over Gunthar.

"You’re insane! You killed all those people for what? " Vesper screamed.

Gunthar opened his mouth, bile oozed out of his blackened teeth.

“I did it for the cause. Not all is lost, a contingency is in place. I know you don’t care about restoring the Fae, but to fix your bond head to the ruins of Caldmor. There you’ll find your answers, brat,” said Gunthar with his dying breath.

Vesper stumbled towards the wreckage of Quill's cart. He dug through the scattered books, carelessly throwing them into the dirt. Inside sat Quill, cowering. The fear in his eyes told Vesper everything that he needed to know.

"You saw it all?" Vesper asked.

"Yes, it was horrible. All of it. Is that what you're supposed to become? Like him? What were those dark tendrils; I can't be a part of this."

Vesper sighed. "I hope not. You were right, you know."

"About what?" Quill diverted his gaze, unable to look Vesper in the eyes.

"Hiding in a pile of books. As silly as it was, it worked." Vesper reached down and pulled Quill out of his wagon.

"I suppose it did. Did you really murder two men?"

"No, Lothar was the one who killed them. But the more I run from my problems, the more I feel responsible for their deaths. Death and sorrow seem to follow me wherever I run. I'm tired of running; I'm tired of watching those I love die. I'm too selfish, Quill."

Quill turned away from Vesper, scavenging the torn and mud-covered books that fell off the wagon.

"Am I a monster for running away from my problems?"

Quill started stacking his books back onto his wagon.

"Are you even listening?" Vesper paused.

He sat himself down, gritted his teeth, and yanked the arrow out of his leg. He scavenged some cloth from the dead bandits, wrapping the trickle of blood flowing out from his leg.

Alry propped herself on Vesper's shoulder, completely covered in blood. Her manic grin, and pearly white teeth, contrasted the gore covering the rest of her body.

"Cheer up, mortals! Today we witnessed glorious combat! It was good fun." yelled Alry.

"Fun? There's nothing fun about this. How can you stand here and say that with a straight face? So many people died. And for what?"

"Relax, Vesper. They were enemies and they died a glorious death. It was them or us, and we won!"

"They were people! Gunthar, Joric, every single one of those bandits. If it was a simple death, sure, fine; they might even have deserved it. What the hell did Gunthar do to those people? Watching those tendrils turn people into husks was wrong."

"Soul magic is costly but an effective weapon. Don't argue the morality of magic; you don't even understand it. I've experienced thousands of mortal lifetimes and have a far greater understanding of what is good and evil. This was fun in every sense of the word."

Vesper stomped off to find quiet, somewhere away from Alry. Wizardry scared him; it made him wonder if he would ever grow so callous.

A distant voice of a Fae spoke in his head.

You can't escape me. We're connected more than you know.

Dralik POV:

Every inch accounted for, only the slightest trace of mana residue remained. And Dralik could find nothing. Scowling, Dralik took a sip of the bitter poor man’s ale, thinking about his fine vintage wine in his collection. The sooner he found the anomaly, the sooner he could get back to good food and drink.

He sat at a sturdy table tucked nicely in the corner of the inn. It was the perfect spot to avoid unwanted eyes, bar fighters, and stumbling alcoholics. Across from Dralik was his [knight]. Well, one of his [knights]. Dralik had about a dozen. It was a modest sum, but quality was far more important than quantity.

To onlookers, it would appear as if the [knight] outranked the two of them. His dark, ornate armor stood out like how a platinum piece stood out from copper. He was handsome and ripped and had caught the eye of the barmaid. It was the combination of dark black hair, deep green eyes, and a chiseled chin that did it for her, or maybe it was that he was rich. Being rich was always a bonus.

She wasn’t the first barmaid that had fallen for Dralik’s [knight]. In fact, she was just one of the hundreds of commoners who fantasized about becoming more than filth. It was a fool’s dream, and Dralik didn’t tolerate fools.

“Another Ale, Barmaid,” Dralik demanded the barmaid, who couldn’t keep her eyes off his [knight].

“Yes, sir,” she said. She turned to face Dralik’s [knight]. “And anything for you, handsome?” She couldn’t help but smile.

The [knight] stared back, his expression stern. “No, ma’am.”

“If you say so.” She scurried off to get Dralik his Ale.

“Whatever was here is gone. All the mana residue within the city is weeks old, and the connecting strands were severed.” Dralik commented to himself, more than tell Goroth, his knight.

“A professional then?” Goroth asked.

“A professional wouldn’t have created a mana signature noticeable in the first place.” To say Dralik was disappointed was an understatement. He was maybe even a little mad. “How has the investigation gone on your end?”

“Well, the guards were fruitless. They don’t know anything, although I put in a word that if anything unusual pops up to find me here. With my levels, they’ll, without a doubt, call on me to help them. The goblin was different. He felt off and wouldn’t answer any of my questions directly. You said his mana residue levels were the highest?”

“Yes. He was involved in the event.”

“Well, he’s certainly hiding something. I did some investigation and found out he’s an exiled prince to the Great Western Tribe. The locals don’t talk about it and want nothing to do with the goblin but know better than to antagonize him. He may be exiled, but that won’t stop the Great Shaman from protecting her son. Could the event have been her doing? Some remote spell or something?”

“Maybe, but it’s unlikely. Not many can cast a spell large enough to set off our sensors from that distance.”

“But she could.”

“Yes, she could, but it would severely weaken her. It wouldn’t be something she’d do during the tribe’s conflict with the elves to the north.”

“So you’re stumped. For now, yes.”

The clingy barmaid dropped off his ale. Dralik waved the barmaid off and took a sip of his ale. Time passed, and Dralik grew slightly tipsy, never drunk. Only fools got drunk. The doors swung open, and Lucridge’s Sergeant rushed in.

“Sir Goroth, something unusual has happened, and we humbly ask for your support. A mercenary was found injured crawling back along the road to the capital. Initially, we weren’t worried, but he said a powerful mage decimated almost everyone.”

“We’d be more than happy to accompany you,” Dralik cut in.

“I’m afraid I don’t know who you are. Something of this nature is too dangerous for common folk like yourself.” said the Sergeant.

Dralik frowned.

“I’m afraid I’ll have to insist.” Dralik snapped his fingers, and a small flame hovered over his palm.

“Very well,” said the Sergeant because he knew that it was never a good idea to get on the wrong side of a caster.

“It better be worth it.” Thought Dralik, who was sore from a full day of hard riding.

In the distance, Dralik spotted piles of corpses, dried like husks, inhuman. This was what he was looking for, and it scared him. From everything that Dralik knew, magic didn’t do this. Whatever the hell had happened.

One step over, and Dralik’s mana sensor started pinging like crazy. There must be some sort of field blocking his signal, he realized. He’d never heard of such a thing, but that was the only explanation on why it didn’t even register the anomaly one step away.

It was apparent to everyone there that the guards were in over their heads. They aimlessly wander the strange remains. Dralik didn’t let on, but this was way over his head as well. Dralik strolled towards the body, where the mana residue was off the charts. The body was different. It was only partially shriveled as if whoever did this had shown a modicum of mercy. Perhaps, it was because the man was old.

“How many wagons were chartered on this expedition?” Dralik asked.

“Three.” responded the Sergeant.

Dralik nodded. Whoever had done this had left with one of the wagons.

“And what was registered inside the missing wagon?”

The Sergeant pulled out some parchment. “Well, it looks like two of the wagons contained a variety of goods, while another carried a large load of books.”

“Books? From where?”

“Says here that it was the former head librarian of the Lucridge library. Old dump fell down recently.”

What sort of text would a powerful [mage] want? There were grimoires, spell tomes, alchemical recipes, historical books, among many other books. Not all books were valuable, but some were worth their weight in gold. Dralik knew that whatever mage had been here, they had something quite valuable. Something that wasn’t merely Imp romance.

“Good. Keep this incident between us. It wouldn’t do anyone any good to scare away any travelers. Clean up the bodies, and claim that the merchants had been killed the typical way, with arrows and swords skewering their guts.”

“And who’re you to tell us what to do? We serve the King, not some caster. If word gets out that we’ve covered up something like this, it’ll be my head that gets lopped off,” said the Sergeant.

“Then don’t let this secret get out, or it won’t only be the King who’s going to come for your head.”

“What because you’re an uptight caster? I’ve dealt enough with your lot to know you’re a bunch of pushovers.”

“Because I’m the heir to Lord Albran’s Dukedom. And as an apprentice [wizard], I’m afraid a quick death will be mercy for the likes of you.”

A look of understanding flickered in his eyes as he looked back and forth between Dralik and Goroth. “Ah, so you’re the one paying that [knights] pockets. I bet he has some sizable pockets. Does he have an advanced or elite class?”

“That’s none of your business. Just keep news of this event from leaking, and you’ll live. That’s motivation enough, isn’t it? I don’t have to have Goroth over there bash your skulls in, do I?”

“No. No. We’ll keep quiet.” stuttered the Sergeant.

“Good.” Dralik patted the Sergeant on his back. Dralik casually walked up to Goroth with a bit of spring in his step. It was the first time in a while that Dralik felt so excited, so motivated to catch this mysterious mage.

“Goroth, how long since the incident?”

“Two, maybe three days. It’s hard to tell with the states of these shriveled bodies. All I have to go off of is the freakishly high mana concentrated one in the center.”

“Let’s go find our prize.”