A new dawn had arrived and eight of the nine had already woken up and were busy eating their fair share of breakfast. Only Dartelo was still sound asleep in his bed. The town of Perry was covered in a hazy mist, which made it difficult to see more than a few meters ahead of oneself.

This was quite normal, since Perry was positioned at the very edge of the Iorissian Kingdom's domain. The weather in the north-east of the kingdom was monotonous - rain, rain and every once in a while, even more rain! If the forests and plains were not filled with numerous precious beasts, most people would not bother to eke out a living. Or rather, they would not be able to tolerate living in such a hostile region.

The northeast border was in contact with three other countries.

In the center was the Holy Pietra Empire which had once spanned over most of the north. While it would take somebody weeks to cross the Holy Pietra Empire even nowadays, at its peak, a person would have to travel for years to cross the empire from one end to the other. Were it not for the numerous ancient fighting techniques and powerful magicians the Empire had as its foundation, it would have been swept up by the sands of time centuries ago.

To the west of the Empire was the Southern Reaches – a vast and empty wasteland. Legends speak of a mighty country once existing within the Southern Reaches. Although its name was no longer known, numerous adventurers would willingly brave the treacherous deserts that spanned the region, hoping to find a lost artifact. Yet although most of this part of Estoch was barren, it was not entirely devoid of human life. Bards would often sing about the illusive city-state of Dorman, which was supposedly shrouded by powerful magics. Only those that were worthy would find this fabled wonderland, or so the bards sang.

To the east of Pietra was the Dominion of Voranda. Out of all of the countries that bordered the Kingdom of Ior in the northeast, this was the one kingdom that even the Kingdom of Ior would not covet. The reason as to why was actually very simple. The Dominion of Voranda was not a mighty or especially big kingdom, on the contrary, one could travel around all of it within a single month. The problem was that this was known as the Cursed Kingdom. Voranda had been annexed half a dozen times in its modern history, yet every time the same fate would await its conquerors - a slow and painful death, following which Voranda would be reborn. The odd thing was that there was never a pattern to it - one kingdom took it over and its crops were plagued for decades, another's monarchy had toppled because of a peasants' revolt, a third had held onto it for over a century. But even that sprawling behemoth of a kingdom was not spared of the so-called curse – its monarchs would be unable to produce heirs, and despite the crown changing lineages several times, none of them had been able to father a child. In the end, most countries had decided against invading Voranda. Some, like the Kingdom of Ior, outright refused to even trade with it.

All of this was important due to three reasons.

First of all, the Iorissian Kingdom did not have powerful techniques. Second of all, Iorissian nobles would often give citizenship to foreigners that would share their knowledge. And, last but not least, Siem was a war orphan that had escaped from Voranda. All of this, unbeknownst to Dartelo, would lead to a stroke of luck that would be considered fortuitous by some and disastrous by many.

Lord Alfors was sitting in the same chair he had sat in the night before, but this time opposite him was none other than Siem. The two had finished their breakfast, comprised of a mix of eggs and something that resembled bacon, without uttering a single word.

"Siem, give me your honest assessment of the boy." the Lord asked, as he wiped his mouth with a napkin.

The average-looking man leaned against his chair, hands on his knees, and looked curiously at the noble. A faint smile could be seen on Siem's face, illuminated through the dusty windows.

"A pup, but not necessarily a bad one. Good body, agile with a bit of strength and he managed himself well enough during the chase. Not the brightest I've ever seen, but not dimwitted either."

Lord Alfors stilled after hearing what one of his best guards had said. It had been more than he had heard him say within the past week. 'I'd almost forgotten he could actually talk so much!'

"Would you consider teaching him something besides the language then?" he asked, his hands cupped on the table in front of him.

Siem seemed to think it through for a bit, his left foot tapping for a short while, before he answered, "If Lord Alfors thinks he is worthy, I can teach him a few of the basics. Whether he can actually master them at all is up to him. I gather the pup won't be just a servant then?"

"No, I am afraid we are well past the peaceful times when I could consider allowing my servants to be defenseless little calves. Wake the boy up and train him for the rest of the day. Let us see if he has a talent for your arts." Lord Alfors said, as he came to his feet.

Siem had also stood up and saluted, in a manner quite different to that of the other guards, as the bespectacled man left the table. With his right hand's ring and pinky fingers extended, he had touched his left arm's biceps. This was the typical Vorandan salute, although most people never recognized it as such and thought of it as a personal eccentricity of his. After all, he looked like the most average man they had ever seen and spoke Iorissian better than most of the kingdom's citizens did.

Siem slowly made his way up and soon he was in front of Dartelo's bed, quietly looking at the sleeping teenager. Dartelo was snoring away like most fifteen-year-old boys, happily grinning at the imaginary scenes he was probably encountering in his dreams.

The Vorandan warrior crouched next to the bed, his mouth a few centimeters away from Dartelo's face, before loudly yelling, "Wake up you damn pup. Time for training!"

Dartelo shrieked as he jumped up from his bed, and in a dazed confusion even managed to slam his face in the adjacent wall. Holding onto his nose, that felt as if it was broken, the lad looked up at his language "master" with a mixture of pain and fear. He had never heard Siem raise his voice before, not even when they had been riding for their lives.

"Training, master? Do you not mean studying?" he asked.

"New orders by our lord. Get dressed, unless you want everyone else to see." Siem said monotonously, waving his hand in the teenager's direction.

At this point, Dartelo suddenly remembered that he was stark naked. The bed linens had felt like hot lava to him the previous night, so he had decided to sleep without clothes on, as he often would back at the farm. A blush quickly blooming on his face, Dartelo turned and hastily put on the dark-green clothes he had received. They were still a bit dirty, but he had not had the time to clean them properly.

Siem made his way to the small courtyard behind The Wounder Warrior, Dartelo in tow. The stone walls around the two were not particularly high, but they looked very sturdy, as if they had predated the tavern itself.

The Vorandan warrior turned around, his hands resting behind his back.

"What I am about to teach you, you are forbidden from ever sharing with anybody else. Is that understood?"

"Y-Y-Yes, master Siem!"

"Good. We shall start with the most basic of basics. Within all of us there a certain power that can push us to be. This is what I shall be teaching you of." Siem said, standing so still it looked as if he was petrified. His brown eyes started shifting their colors until they became a light shade of amber.

"What is it?"

"Godspeed."