“My Lord, I’ve found another one,” said Tangino, the wind mage. He threw Damon on the ground in front of the future viscount. “Although he wasn’t any good, I’m sure he’s a dark mage. He’s probably the enemies scout and messenger.”

Dandalone looked at the sun elf. His yellow hair shone in the little light which passed through the forest’s ceiling. He looked back up to Tangino, one of his three personal bodyguards. “What’s in the bag?”

“I don’t know, probably camping material.”

“How can you say I don’t know?” said Caracalone, the earth mage and second guard to Dandalone. He ripped the bag out of Tangino’s hands and opened it without care. The guard scratched his head. “It’s just alchemy material.”

“He’s an alchemist? It’s probably a cover,” Tangino spoke aloud his thoughts.

“Probably,” said Caracalone, “but we can give this to the black mage and investigate the case.”

Tangino nodded, “let me see what’s inside.” He looked inside but since he didn’t know anything about alchemy, he couldn’t find out anything else. He nodded, closed the bag, and gave it back to Caracalone.

“Let’s go before anyone else strikes. I’ll have someone else question him later,” said Caracalone

Since the other carriages were broken during the fight, the surviving escorts walked next to the Dandalone’s carriage.

Inside, the two personal guards, the Viscount’s son, and his family sat on the carriage’s wooden bench. On the other hand, Damon’s limp body stayed laid flat on the floor.

The guards weren’t confident enough in the escorts to hand them their only intelligence source. Dark mages specialized in espionage and assassinations; even though they may be physically weak, they made it up with combat awareness.

The safest bet was to keep him under their feet, where they could see and easily restrain him. The elf’s dark magic couldn’t be any higher than level three, so he possessed no risk to two levels six mages.

Inside the carriage two kids looked inquisitively at the sun elf lying on the floor. They’d tied up his hands and strapped shut his eyes and mouth. They’d never seen an elf. His slender and tall body, his yellow skin, and long ears intrigued them. The little girl reached out to touch his silk-like hair, but their mother grabbed her daughters’ hands. “Don’t he’s dangerous?”

The girl pulled back her hand.

“Is he a part of the people who wanted to hurt us?” asked the little boy.

“Yes, but more specifically he’s the one who reports to the higher-ups,” said Dandalone. “When you get older and inherit the Viscounty from me, other people will want to hurt you. That’s why you can’t run outside freely. They might want to hurt you or hurt me.”

“Why do they want to hurt you?” asked the little girl.

Their mother looked away.

Dandalone looked into his daughter’s eyes, “because some people are bad and want to hurt people for no reasons. You remember when I talked about demons?” The daughter nodded, “Yes demons often control these people, and feast off the suffering and pain of others.”

The girl looked frightened and straightened her back against the coach seat. However, her curiosity wasn’t satisfied. “Where are all the elves? Are they all bad people?”

“I don’t know. They aren’t from this continent.”

“Where are they from?”

“The elvish continent.”

“Where is that?”

“To the north-east about a lifetime away if you use a boat.” Dandalone started to get tired of these questions. It reminded him of his little brother and his obsession with elves. The last thing he wanted was his daughter becoming like him. “No, I was wrong. Elves are horrible people. They eat children and go around hunting for them.” Perhaps he’d gone a bit too far, but oh well.

The girl hugged her mother and buried her face in her chest.

When the family descended the carriage Caracalone, the earth mage brought Damon to the dungeons. He handcuffed his hands and placed a cursed collar which prevents the use of magic. Caracalone left to report to his master.

“My Lord,” said Caracalone, “I’ve placed the elf in the dungeon and assigned an interrogator to the task.”

“Good,” said Dandalone, although I know it’s my brother, I have to find out exactly who he employed.”

The guard nodded, “I’m simply confused. Why would they send such a bad dark mage to assume this job?”

Tangino huffed. “They probably thought they could kill us, so they just sent someone for formalities.”

“It’s of no concern,” said Dandalone, “We’ll get information soon enough, and I’ve also sent the material to the black mage so it’s all good.”

#

A rush of cold water enveloped Damon. He opened his eyes only to see a straw covered mud floor. He tried to get up. However, his hands handcuffed and in front of him an old man in dingy clothes sat on a bench.

“Hi,” said the man when he noticed Damon’s gaze. “Can you tell me who’s your boss? It’ll be easier.”

It took Damon a few seconds to get back his bearings.

“I wasn’t part of them,” said Damon, I’m an alchemist in training. When I passed by the carriage, I stayed far away to see what was happening. I didn’t want to get involved.”

The man shook his head. He clasped his hands in between his legs. “I see.”

A piercing pain traversed his right index. He looked down and saw blood rise from his nail bed.

“Fuck! Go fuck yourself, I didn’t do shit.”

The man didn’t look up to Damon, nor did he pay any mind to his wails. “Yes, of course.” The man pulled out another nail.

Damon screamed. He couldn’t think of anything else. The pain was wired from his finger to his arm, and finally festered in his brain. And without moments notice a third nail, a fourth came off, and finally a fifth nail came off.

Damon then realized how dumb he’d been, “Useless Fucking Demon. I’m being tortured by the people you sent me to help. Get the fuck over here and kill them.”

“If you’re talking like that, you’re fine. I’ll tell the other sect member to go fetch you. But why don’t you break out? Wait, on second thought don’t do that, knock out the guy but don’t kill him and stay in the cell.”

It didn’t make sense. Didn’t people have magic in this world, how did they not have countermeasures? Perhaps they did but that didn’t matter. He’d try till he’d die. Damon launched a rock spear into the torturer’s chest. The man flew into the wall and slumped down. He seemed to whisper something, but Damon didn’t care. Even if he couldn’t kill him, the torturer would pay. An eye for an eye, that’s how it works.

Damon took the pliers, turned over the old man’s rough hands and pulled the first nail. The man screamed in pain. Next Damon tore off half of the second nail and drove the pliers into the exposed nail bed to grab the last part of the nail and tore it off. He kept doing this till all the man’s nails fell on the ground. Damon’s blood dripped from his fingertips onto the pliers. He raised both of his hands still in the wooden handcuffs and uncomfortably wiped down his forehead. He looked over the unconscious man and pushed away the other torture devices to the opposite corner of the room. He sat back down in his chair and cast a preservation spell on his fingers. Although he wasn’t sure how the spell functioned, it probably slowed the death of cells.

Five minutes later five men Dandalone, Caracalone, Tangino, a man in a priest’s clothes, and a middle-aged man in civilian clothes, probably the alchemist ran into the cellar.

“He really is a black mage,” said Tangino. He unlocked the cell and the priest entered. He gave a side-long glance to Damon and went to heal the torturer. Damon frowned; did he plan on healing the torturer scum before the victim?

Dandalone saw this and with a deep voice he called out to the priest, “Think twice before you regret it.”

The priest gritted his teeth, bite his pride and healed Damon. The conflict between black and holy mages ran deep.

“Take your apprentice and leave,” said Dandalone as he turned back, “you should also teach him that acting like a spy is ill-advised during fights.” The future viscount left the dungeon.

“Let’s go,” said the alchemist. Damon noticed his pejorative tone and wondered if this was his natural inclination or perhaps due to the troubles he caused. Anyhow, Damon knew this wasn’t going to be like the sweet trip he had with Emilia. Perhaps he shouldn’t have expected any different from an assassination job. No, he knew that he’d been sheltered, and he shouldn’t expect anything from anyone in this world. He wondered why he treated the whole ordeal like an extended vacation or a video game. The goal of this life wasn’t to level up, make a few living dead, and a few friends along the way. The goal in life was to survive and create a religion. He’d already signed a contract with a god who didn’t have a care in the world, with a demon who probably wanted his soul, and worked for a secret cult which did assassinations jobs and other black-market dealings. All of this and he still acted like he got transported into a game.

He looked at his new fingernails. Thankfully, these wounds weren’t as hard to heal as the gash he received from the bear, however, the next time he’d might lose his life. He needed to change.