Ash stood up, bowed first to Garangan, then to Arthur, and then turned to his opponent. There was no signal. The duel began when Ash took his staff and assumed a battle stance.

Uttering a mad cackle full of bloodlust, the convict charged at the young mage. Blade shining with an emerald light, the man shouted as he swung at Ash, who blocked it with his staff and used the momentum to redirect the blow to the side. The man stumbled, took two unskilled steps back, and attacked once more.

“First Form: Incarnation.”

Flickers of flame danced around Ash. The convict cackled, licking his cracked lips. He continued laughing even when the flames flew toward him. Spinning wildly, he attacked them with the sword, the blade of which was now shimmering ruby red. Only an experienced swordsman could slash through elemental spells. Ash seemed to have underestimated his opponent.

The man took a strange stance: bending his legs, he outstretched his right hand, and put his left on the blade, the tip of which he pointed directly at Ash’s heart. The young mage, however, didn’t seem at all worried about the deadly sting threatening him. Arthur was right when he called him a sculpture devoid of a soul.

“Bloody Dawn!”

The convict ran his hand over the blade, drawing blood and dying the steel scarlet. There was a whistle followed by a thud. The sword, despite being imbued with a skill that could cut through stone, could not cut the wood shrouded in flame.

“Second Form: Cover.”

Spinning his staff, Ash knocked his opponent to the side and hit him in the stomach. There was a sharp cry, followed by the smell of burning flesh and a clatter of steel hitting marble. Ash grabbed the unarmed man by the hair and, turning toward the king, held him up like a hunter presenting their prey. Garangan looked impressed; his eyes were glimmering with anticipation. Arthur, on the other hand, was just waiting to say goodbye to his dinner.

“I did as you asked, my Lord.”

“Not quite.” Garangan smiled. “Finish him off.”

“No!” Arthur yelled, but he was too late.

Without so much as batting an eye, Ash covered his hand in flames and pierced through the man’s chest. Pulling out his hand, he presented to everyone the man’s still-beating heart. The last thing that convict saw was his heart crumbling into dust.

Arthur felt a wave of fear overcome him. The spell that the young mage had used wasn’t a part of the curriculum. It wasn’t in any book or ancient scroll that he had ever read. Hell, he had never seen it before. Was it possible that Ash had invented it on his own?

“What in the world came over him?” he thought, placing a defensive ward over himself.

“What a show!” Garangan clapped and rose to embrace his friend once again. “You’ve passed the test,” he said, patting Ash on the back. “That’s what I’ve been looking for! Now, I suppose you want to hear the details?”

“If his Majesty would be so kind.” Ash bowed.

“You remember how you saved me in the Mons Forest?”

“I do.”

“It was the Kingdom of Arabist that attacked me. Our eastern neighbors. That was their response to our peaceful embassy. Tomorrow, our kingdom will declare a state of war... I want you to lead one of our legions.”

It was at that moment that Ash finally realized what the world “surprise” meant. To be a general of a legion was the highest honor any soldier could get. But he was no soldier, just a simple hermit. He didn’t even own an epaulet, let alone something of a higher rank.

“Wars are won here,” the king said and tapped the young man’s forehead. “And they are lost here,” he said, touching Ash’s heart. “I want you to make Arabist’s heart tremble with terror. I want their wives and children to cry in horror. I want to hear them pray to the Gods for their husbands and sons to return home. I want them to be too scared to even poke their noses out of their homes. I want you to sow as much fear and horror into their hearts as possible.”

Ash dropped to his knee. Placing the staff next to him, he bowed his head and held his breath.

“As you wish, my Lord.”

“As of tomorrow, a new legion will be added to my army — the Seventh Legion. You will be given command over prisoners of the kingdom, everyone from petty thieves to serial killers. You will not be given assistance from the state, no subsidies, coin, rations nor ammunition. The only thing that you will be given will be weapons issued by the Royal Inspectors. Do you realize that you might be marching to your death?”

“If that is the Lord’s will, so be it. If you wish Arabist burned to the ground, just say the word. If you want me to drown your enemies in blood, all you need is ask, my Lord.”

Garangan smiled, knowing that Ash would obey his every command as the boy knew no other way to live. He was like a leaf blown off a branch, following the wind wherever it carried it.

“Rise, Baronet Nameless. You are now the general of the Seventh Legion. From now, you’re the worst nightmare of our enemies.”

Ash rose and took a step forth so that Garangan could put a medallion around his neck, adorned with the etching of a laughing demon devouring a screaming child— the coat of arms of the new legion.

“Your Majesty,” said a voice behind the young mage.

A man in his thirties bowed to the king and his subjects. He was dressed very poorly, but his mannerism betrayed aristocratic upbringing.

“Ah, Racker, just in time. This is Ash. Ash, this is Baron Racker, your future lieutenant and second in command. He had once been a baron, but his county was removed from the maps due to its involvement in bribes and perjury. I gave him and his people a chance to atone for their sins, and they sent their eldest son to serve you.”

“When do we start?” Ash asked.

“Immediately, my friend, immediately! War waits for no man!”

“As the Lord wishes.” Ash bowed and turned to Racker.

Their eyes met and the two nodded in unison. In some way, they were very similar to one another. Probably in the fact that neither would so much as blink an eye if they saw someone suffering in front of them.

Bowing one last time, the two left the room. The guards followed quickly, carrying with them the corpse of the unfortunate swordsman.

“My Lord,” Arthur said when they were left alone, taking off his hat with a shaky hand. “You woke up the slumbering lion.”

Garangan replied nothing, just flashed a predatory grin, akin that to a wolf prepared for a good hunt.

To the last drop of his or the enemy’s blood.

“You misunderstand, Arthur, it was Arabist who woke him up. And now it’s time for them to pay the price.”

31st day of Tamir, 322 A.D., somewhere on the eastern border of the Middle Kingdom

“Ash! Ash! A-a-ash!”

The young mage finally snapped out of his thoughts and smiled awkwardly at Alice who was anxiously tugging at his sleeve.

“Look,” she said, “there’s the outpost of the Arabist Kingdom. Our journey begins there. Have you ever been to Arabist?”

Ash remembered the screams of the dying, the cries of mothers being hacked to pieces as they shielded their children with their bodies, pleading to spare them at least. He remembered Racker’s laughter as he burned down the local temple packed with civilians. He remembered his soldiers, who, covered in blood and gore, looted, murdered, and raped. He felt the wind and heat on his skin.

Even now he felt his heart beat to the drums of the Foul Legion.

“No.” He smiled at Alice. “Never been there.”