Illume, the Eternal, sighed in exasperation.

Before him, in the edges of a nameless grassy valley separating several forest-filled hills, lay the charred corpse of a drake, tens of times his size.

He had tried to converse, since it was not wise to scare it away with either his identity or the energy blocking the curse.

In response to his eloquence, the drake had roared and chomped with its long teeth.

It was too unexpected an action, too large a drake and too relaxed an Illume, which resulted in drooling draconic jaws closing on him and drawing a single drop of blood.

When the blood met the drake’s flesh, the beast instantaneously combusted, turning into a charred corpse before a single breath had passed.

Intelligence is too low for creatures under the master level, Illume observed.

If one were not confident of survival, would they be traversing the Wilderness alone, oh poor seedling of the Dragon clan?

Illume looked grimly at the charcoaled mass in front of him. He did not particularly mind killing, but deaths needless for the cycle of life did not sit well with him either.

Worse, if news of this carcas’s condition reached the wrong ears, it would not be that hard to link it to him. And he would prefer to keep his unexpected survival a secret.

Granted, this was the Wilderness, but exploratory expeditions were still mounted once every century or so. And carcasses of magical beasts tended to remain for far longer than that and were easy to find from the remnants of magical energy.

Illume got a headache and an urge to hit himself for forgetting that he was basically on the run.

In retrospect, he had also been too prideful in not fleeing. But it couldn't be helped; it was a habit from not having met a stronger foe for a long time.

A flattering mirror is demise disguised, he reminded himself.

Illume focused again at the physically large problem at hand.

A magical formation could completely dispose of the corpse. But with a bit of luck and careful observation it would be possible for someone to deduct his personal quirks from the residuals of structured energy.

Illume knew he was being paranoid, but did not feel like taking risks. Hadn't his enemies sprung up the most elaborate of traps, using a plan that spanned millennia, just for a chance to entangle him with the curse? Surely, they would be on the lookout for his survival.

Eventually, a stream of copious white smoke coiling in the sky caught his attention.

Hmm... this should indicate a hot spring. And under hot springs there is lava.

His sapphire eyes narrowed while he thought it through. Lava could melt mostly anything; even remnants of magic would not last long in such temperatures.

Sure, it would require a bit of strength and time to dig that far into the earth’s crust, but no trace of his identity would remain behind.

Illume easily lifted the drake’s carcass over his head and made for the rising smoke. Of course, it was so large that this was the same as dragging it, unavoidably leaving a distinguishable trail of destruction in the local vegetation.

Still, even a charred corpse of the mighty dragon race would not leave flesh or scales behind – no matter how damaged. Thus, Illume did not mind; all was well as long as the drake’s condition could not be deduced afterwards.

Johan found it hard to play the role of a captive.

The brutish man was being rough, kicking him at frequent intervals for made up reasons, and he wanted nothing more than to lash out. However, he had managed to resist the urge, pretending to indignantly bear it.

In retrospect, he was indignantly bearing being manhandled pretending to indignantly bear being manhandled... Agh!

It was a shame he couldn't be directly indignant - his killing intent alone might paralyze the brutish man.

On the other hand, neither the woman nor the youngster felt particularly despicable. The youngster almost appeared apologetic and the woman even gave him a cup of cold tea when they took a short break.

Delicious!

He could see why she kept gulping down copious amounts of the stuff.

The man with the eye patch seemed vicious though.

The shimmering air constantly twirling around him marked him as a mage of some power. Johan could tell that much, despite his limited magical perception. After all, magical energy was not like martial aura; it came from the world and was difficult to hide into one’s body.

The group traveled towards the evening sun, opposite to the receding sounds of the river Johan never got to see.

Wherever he looked, the land remained black in color - even the worn-out path they were treading on and the mountains in the distance.

Similarly, the scarce vegetation, as well as the occasional rattlesnake or jackal they saw from a distance, were considerably darker in color than the counterparts Johan was used to seeing.

Even normal gray looks vibrant here, Johan realized, looking at the cloak worn by the man with the eye-patch.

Then he thought of Gustav, the white goose, who so splendidly contrasted with this environment.

What a strange creature! He concluded.

“Hoi! Hoi! Travelers! Busy aren't ya?” a playful voice interrupted Johan’s thoughts.

A large man approached them and stopped to stand in the middle of the road.

His clothes matched the surroundings to an incredible degree.

In fact, if the sun had sunk lower in the horizon, it would have been difficult to spot him from the current distance of a dozen or so strides.

The man's head and face were covered in brown cloth and an enormous broadsword hung from his back. His unyielding presense and quantity of martial aura let Johan know this was a disciple.

“Who... Who are you?” the woman stammered.

She looked pale. Following her gaze, Johan saw it was fixed a fair distance behind the man, where the decapitated corpses of -judging from their blood-stained clothes- two merchants and, maybe, five armed escorts lay on the dusty trail.

Joha’s mood dampened; in this cruel reality, death was far too common for his liking.

“Hey, missy! Interested in little old me? Nobody famous. Although, I guess, the Beheader is a popular rural myth around here. What say you?”

“Enough of this!” the man with the eye patch grunted in annoyance. “We must make it to the town before dusk. So leave while breathing.”

“Now, now, old master. Learned old mater. You would be making a great injustice to little me, wouldn't you? I mean not to brag, but I'm a senior apprentice in the Broadsword school. I even learned from master Skullsong, you know? Amazing aren't I? So, I have a small, tiny, pitiful really, request to make, ok?” the man's subservient tone was mockery on its own right.

“I only require a small fee to stop wasting the esteemed master's time. Just a tiny fee! Right? Anyone could afford it! How about ten solid gold coins per head not severed? Tell you what! Methinks we’ve met before, so let's make it five coins per head, right?”

The youngster chocked audibly with a strange expression.

“Grah, my head 'urts fer listening. Die!” the brutish man roared.

He released Johan's rope and charged the Beheader.

Johan took the opportunity to get out of the way. There was little he could do while “bound” and was not inclined to help anyway.

Let’s see how this unfolds…

The brutish man swung his sword at the Beheader in a crude maneuver, aiming straight for the neck.

However, the other raised a gloved hand and blocked the sword’s edge with his palm. Johan noticed that the glove was hardened through martial aura.

“Oho! What have we here? A fighter? So skilled! But you misjudged my little bit of strength. Disciples are a bit tough, y' know? I mean, we’re a little fast and strong and can even use martial aura for things, right? Such a shame... It's only ten -no, five- gold coins too! In this case, your head should make up for little me's emotional distress, right?”

With a lazy yet fast movement the Beheader drew his imposing broadsword and brought it down towards the brutish man's head.

Bang!

A ball of condensed magical energy -so concentrated it was visible as a white swirling mass to the naked eye- hit the Beheader’s blade mid-motion, making him take a step back to stabilize his center of gravity.

“Get back here, fool!” the man with the eye-patch grunted.

The brutish-looking man retreated, but the Beheader gave no chase. He took to eyeing the man with eye-patch.

“Oho! A mage? I'll make quick work of you, y' know.” he proclaimed.

Gone was the playfulness and lightheartedness from before. He was now a killing machine sizing up its enemy.

Even before his sentence was finished, the Beheader jumped forward, causing the woman, the youngster and the brutish man to flinch.

However, the man with the eye-patch snorted and raised his hands to conjure a thin wall of ice in the Beheader’s way.

With a swing of the broadsword the wall was crushed, but this gave the rest of the party an opening to maneuver. With surpring teamwork, they surrounded the Beheader and attacked him from different sides.

The brutish man and the youngster targeted the head and stomach, while the woman used a scimitar to sweep his feet.

The Beheader faltered for an instant and he distributed martial aura all over his body to defend against their attacks. The weapons bounced off, but the party redoubled their efforts.

“Flies” the Beheader grunted and flailed his broadsword in a lazy attempt to simultaneously decapitate all three of them.

After all, a disciple was still a disciple. Dozens of trained martial warriors would struggle to keep one at bay! Therefore, there was no way for three normal people, no matter how well-trained, to survive an encounter.

That’s it, they’re dead…

Johan’s thoughts jumped to an overdrive. Can I beat him without a weapon? Should I run? No … I need to find grandmaster’s katana…

But the broadsword’s movement was not as fast as Johan had expected.

For frost abruptly encased the Beheader’s joints, making him falter.

The other three took the opportunity to jump out of the swing’s path and attack again.

What the? Johan turned around.

The air eratically shimmered and refracted around the man with the eye-patch, with an intensity far beyond what regular mages could achieve. His true power and skill were finally on display.

So the other side has a disciple too!

“Damn your heads, right?” the Beheader exclaimed and released defensive aura to guard again.

He smashed his sword with the flat side towards the little one, but the mage’s interference made his moves sluggish and the woman tackled the boy out of harm’s way.

Only a puff of dark dust was raised when his sword hit the ground.

The bulky man took advantage of this non-ideal position to stab his back.

With no time to turn around, the Beheader deployed martial aura to bounce away the offending sword. He would have normally dodged the unprincipled attack, but the mage’s spell was interfering with his range and speed of movement.

Gah! The cold!

More rounds of attack and dodging took place.

The woman was proving a pain to deal with: she was targeting areas that were difficult to distribute aura to when attacking. And this prevented him from creating explosive bursts of power.

But the the Beheader’s main problem was the frost locking his joints, spreading through his body and down to his bones. He could not shake the feeling he knew this tactic from somewhere and that he wouldn’t be lasting long against it.

“Learned masters? Can this little one go a merry way? Methinks we have already met before, right? We could have been friends and not remember, no? Hey, hey, stop attacking I say! No, no, I don't mean it as a command, a suggestion only, right?” he plead while blocking two sword strikes with the flat of his broadsword and jumping to the side to avoid the woman's attack on his back.

He still had his trump card - a powerful move that could easily triumph even against overwhelming odds. However, he would rather not resort to it… “it will run your lifespan dry” master Skullsong had explained with a scary smirk.

But, just then, the Beheader pieced it together; the cold-based magic, the delay-based tactic, the single eye full of spite.

“Nooooo!” he let a furious roar and violently swung his broadsword in a circle, scattering the attackers for a moment.

He stared at the man with the eye patch and his fear solidified into fact.

Frantic, he jumped towards the little one – the weakest of his enemies. However the cold had lowered his mobility enough for the boy to maintain the distance and deliver a counter-blow.

The Beheader caught the strike with his free hand, not even needing to use martial aura against the amateurish technique. He yanked the blade free from its owner’s grip and swang his sword to decapitate the tender head. But -damn the cold- he had grown slow and the other two took the chance to stab his back, forcing him to move martial aura there to defend.

When his concentration wavered, the boy crouched out of his swing’s way and -despite a face pale from fright- retrieved the fallen sword before coming back for more.

No disciple could keep up with this situation – not with these reduced reflexes.

Damn the cold!

The Beheader needed to take one opponent out first to disrupt their teamwork. But deep down he knew that this same teamwork was too good...

Parrying another round of attacks with his weapon’s flat side, he tried to break the ice solidifying on his shoulder with his free hand.

It gave way with a crunching sound, but it reformed almost immediately.

Perhaps start with the woman?

She was most annoying when supporting the others, but he reasoned the others wouldn’t be so accurate in supporting her.

With a cry, the Beheader threw off two sword strikes and used the opening to put martial aura on his leg muscles. He jumped towards her… only to realize his stiff knees couldn’t bend that well.

Cold!

He forced the attack anyway, thrusting his broadsword forward. But she read him and moved under his extended arm. She hacked at his chest, forcing him to spread martial aura all over his torso.

He felt foolish -like an overdurable version of his once young sluggish self- and the feeling of powerlessness drove him insane.

He tried to hug the woman in a deathly grapple, but she rolled on the ground away from his reach. He yet again stopped to defend against attacks from behind.

Struggling to turn around, the Beheader saw the man with the eye-patch baring his teeth. The cruelty of that smile made him shiver.

C-cold!

He would rather die than get captured by that sadist. He had witnessed his `fun' before and -even he- had felt pity for the victim! Unfortunately, his opponents - damn that woman!- were too well-coordinated.

Chunks of ice had solidified for good on the Beheader’s ankles, shoulders and wrists. They made his movements slow beyond recognition – perhaps it was only the martial aura that kept him moving at all.

He… He could not even escape...

“AAAARGH!”

Howling, the Beheader activated it; a master-level technique, adapted for disciples by his master Skullsong.

The Beheader's martial aura exploded outwards, covering his broadsword in a soft iridescent glow.

The broadsword's movement was slow as he raised it above his head, but it did not matter; this technique restricted its surroundings and few things could interfere. It was over…

And so, Johan watched as the Beheader, unobstructed, used all his might to crush his own head to a pulp.

Everyone stared, as the headless corpse fell to the ground with a small fountain of blood gushing out from what remained of the thick neck.

"... Shame..." the man with the eyepatch mumbled.

Another breath passed in which only the spurts blood and the youngster's heavy panting could be heard.

“So much for that. Search him and get a move on, all of you." the man with the eyepatch grunted.