Illume, the Eternal, was relaxing.

The lava felt cozy, like spending time with family. He would have loved to bask there for a couple of centuries, but now was not the right time. Not to mention, despite the enchantments weaved throughout his clothes, they were no battle attire and would eventually melt away.

Illume swam through the mass of burning liquid stone. Since it was too dense to see through without expending energy to augment his senses, he trusted his sense of direction to find the spot he had entered from.

Sure enough, he soon felt an upward stream of pressure, which he followed until it weakened and reached a standstill against a rough surface.

This should be the coolded-off entrance.

Standing on the surface upside-down -not that gravity mattered within a liquid of this viscosity- Illume took a martial arts posture and punched between his feet.

He broke through the crust the same way he had come in and, after shaking off the bubbling lava before it solidified on him, was greeted by the sun's last rays disappearing from the horizon.

Reminiscing, he stared at the spot it had vanished, admiring the colors left behind.

Gradually, with seremonial solemnity, the moon rose.

Its pale glow brought a mystique air as it was reflected on the hot spring’s damp surface. The shadows it cast made nearby trees seem filled with profound mysteries.

“Oh, father, even your reflection is a blessing to the world" Illume whispered.

He settled his heart and continued onwards, following the mischievously twinkling eastern star.

Nothing disturbed him for a while.

Johan was a sorry sight.

The ribs cracked by the giant worms still hurt. And he was now bruised all over. He had not felt that thoroughly pummeled … since the time I sparred with that unarmed combat master?

At least his martial aura had protected his organs.

Johan gritted teeth and made to stand up, even as his three remaining captors distributed between themselves the dead thieves’ valuables – though this consistent mostly of the youngster frisking the dead bodies and dividing up the small copper coins and throwing knives he found.

“What do we do with the bodies?” The woman asked, alternating her gaze from the dead thieves to their leader and brutish man apprehensively.

“Leave them to the guards.” The man with the eye-patch grunted.

He also glanced once at the corpse of the brutish man, but turned his back with a flourish of his grey cloak, moving his face away from the moonlight.

“Come! We we’ll find another way.” He declared.

The night had settled in for good.

It was now beyond dangerous to expose one’s appearance beyond the trusted cloak-and-hood’s anonymity.

Yet, Reina had thrown caution to the wind as she dashed over the dusty cobblestones. Her running style was awkward, for she used one hand to hold an edge of her silk black dress high enough to prevent herself from tripping. With the other she carried a simple lantern that violently swayed from its handle.

Will I make it in time?

She turned at a narrow corner that would be hard to notice even at daylight and came across a dusty wooden door barring the entrance to a ruin.

Reina fumbled with the string hanging around her neck and raised an unassuming key out of her bosom. She put it into a particular gash in the door and turned it.

Click

She heard and felt a mechanism give way and she pushed the door open. She dashed inside, letting it close behind with a soft thud.

A luxurious hallway greeted her.

Heavy carpets and stylish furniture adorned its length. It was bright, with luminescent items handing from the ceiling; she knew each of those could buy her life several times over.

Perhaps if she were still that naïve lass ignorant to the power of represented by money, Reina would have been tempted to steal one…

But she was not and she diligently sprinted over to the end of the hallway.

At its end, there was another door, this time made of fine wood and embroidered with detailed gold-infused carvings.

“Halt!”

Too men barred her way.

They were disciples of the Broadsword school. Their namesake weapons hung from their waists, dangling only fingers away from the carpet. Their muscles were visible even under the town guard attire they wore.

“Oh, ma’am!”

Their stern expression gave way when they recognized her and they stood in attendance, clearly waiting orders. Silence fell in the hallway and this let her notice sounds of revelry coming from behind the door.

“Please inform Mr. Mayers: urgent matters need his attention.” Reina commanded.

Or else our business will be wiped out. She finished the sentence in her mind.

… Though he would probably worry more for his reputation than the money. She reflected.

“Yes, ma'am!” the two men saluted.

Tap-tap-tap

One of them knocked three times on the wood in a way that was too delicate for his build.

Soon, the door opened just enough for a healthy-looking man in his thirties to step out.

He looked displeased.

This was Reina’s boss. And at the same time someone of so high a status, it could be considered a great opportunity just to work for.

Better look smart.

“Mr. Mayers, sir” she placed a hand in front of her waist and bowed with a flourish – a gesture of respect she had learned in the Kemot kingdom .

“I'm sorry to disturb, but a mage is running rampant in our … establishment. None of the warriors can subdue him and he has killed many without signs of tiring. Could you please instruct how to proceed?”

Markus Mayers -that was her boss’s name- snorted softly. Without meaning to, Reina registered that his breath smelled like roses.

Focus! She steadied herself to not blush.

“All that recruitment effort was a waste after all... “ Markus Mayers started impatiently. ”Get some broadsword disciples to- no, wait!” He paused to weigh some option, his black eyes moving cleverly in their sockets.

“I’m coming personally.” He announced.

The night had settled in for good.

It was now beyond dangerous to expose one’s appearance beyond the trusted cloak-and-hood’s anonymity.

Yet, Reina had thrown caution to the wind as she dashed over the dusty cobblestones. Her running style was awkward, for she used one hand to hold an edge of her silk black dress high enough to prevent herself from tripping. With the other she carried a simple lantern that violently swayed from its handle.

Will I make it in time?

She turned at a narrow corner that would be hard to notice even at daylight and came across a dusty wooden door barring the entrance to a ruin.

Reina fumbled with the string hanging around her neck and raised an unassuming key out of her bosom. She put it into a particular gash in the door and turned it.

Click

She heard and felt a mechanism give way and she pushed the door open. She dashed inside, letting it close behind with a soft thud.

A luxurious hallway greeted her.

Heavy carpets and stylish furniture adorned its length. It was bright, with luminescent items handing from the ceiling; she knew each of those could buy her life several times over.

Perhaps if she were still that naïve lass ignorant to the power of represented by money, Reina would have been tempted to steal one…

But she was not and she diligently sprinted over to the end of the hallway.

At its end, there was another door, this time made of fine wood and embroidered with detailed gold-infused carvings.

“Halt!”

Too men barred her way.

They were disciples of the Broadsword school. Their namesake weapons hung from their waists, dangling only fingers away from the carpet. Their muscles were visible even under the town guard attire they wore.

“Oh, ma’am!”

Their stern expression gave way when they recognized her and they stood in attendance, clearly waiting orders. Silence fell in the hallway and this let her notice sounds of revelry coming from behind the door.

“Please inform Mr. Mayers: urgent matters need his attention.” Reina commanded.

Or else our business will be wiped out. She finished the sentence in her mind.

… Though he would probably worry more for his reputation than the money. She reflected.

“Yes, ma'am!” the two men saluted.

Tap-tap-tap

One of them knocked three times on the wood in a way that was too delicate for his build.

Soon, the door opened just enough for a healthy-looking man in his thirties to step out.

He looked displeased.

This was Reina’s boss. And at the same time someone of so high a status, it could be considered a great opportunity just to work for.

Better look smart.

“Mr. Mayers, sir” she placed a hand in front of her waist and bowed with a flourish – a gesture of respect she had learned in the Kemot kingdom .

“I'm sorry to disturb, but a mage is running rampant in our … establishment. None of the warriors can subdue him and he has killed many without signs of tiring. Could you please instruct how to proceed?”

Markus Mayers -that was her boss’s name- snorted softly. Without meaning to, Reina registered that his breath smelled like roses.

Focus! She steadied herself to not blush.

“All that recruitment effort was a waste after all... “ Markus Mayers started impatiently. ”Get some broadsword disciples to- no, wait!” He paused to weigh some option, his black eyes moving cleverly in their sockets.

“I’m coming personally.” He announced.

Berthar was angry.

He had demanded a fair price for a martial warrior, but the annoying woman kept haggling lower on accounts for the battered condition. He had tried freezing a couple of underlings to make a point, but they had ganged up on him with unexpected audacity.

He was now indiscriminately hurling packets of condensed magical energy at people rushing him left and right across the mud-and-stone-walled room, all the while cursing under his breath.

When hit, the cloacked underlings faithfully got on their feet and rushed him again.

A decade ago, none would have dared! Damn that traitor Skullsong!

They couldn’t approach close enough to tackle him, but he couldn’t finish them off either. Furthermore, he could not afford to stall for long: the smug woman had run out, surely to bring more trouble.

Probably not that blockhead Skullsong, though. The idiot was too dumb to administer a business and too proud to work for others.

Damn you Skullsong, how did you become a master?

Berthar swore so expressively, three burly fellows that were within arm’s rech faltered their advances.

Seizing the chance, he concentrated and compressed the magical energy he constantly kept around far more densely than before.

He then released part of his control and the energy rushed outward, causing a small explosion in its wake like.

Boom

The men were knocked away, their skin burned into angry blisters.

“Aaagh!”

However, Berthar could not afford to enjoy the fresh howls; his companions had been quickly apprehended at the beginning of the scuffle and with no fodder he could not gain enough time to fine-control energy for a spell. Instead, he needed to exploit rare openings like this one.

More people took the place of the fallen with determined looks.

He pushed them away yet again with packs of condensed energy. But they ignored their accumulating bruises and kept rushing forward.

He had no time to catch his breath.

Berthar hated fools not fearing pain. Sure, rushing let them keep their lives, but did they know it? Surely not!

Should I waste some of the good stuff?

He weighted his options. It was common sense that even a disciple could be defeated by a couple dozen people. Well, Berthar was not any old disciple, but it would still take a while and he could not afford to wait.

He cursed derisively.

If only he had a dozen, no, half a dozen breaths of respite, he would have been able to conjure a simple ward that would fend off some attacks. Thus protected, he could freeze the whole room and be done with trouble.

I should have prepared a ward beforehand. He regretted.

But how could he have foreseen that old and tried tricks wouldn’t work and he would be fighting for real?

Being younger or having both eyes wouldn’t hurt either…

“Halt!” a voice commanded.

It was only faintly discernible over the noise of men shouting, weapons clanging and magical energy colliding with flesh.

Yet Berthar’s attackers stopped their advances and stood in attention.

Nice, a big fish! Berthar rejoiced.

He could use a hostage right now.

The newcomer stepped over a frozen body blocking the rundown doorway and entered the building. He locked gaze with Berthar.

“My name is Markus. Markus Mayers.” He introduced himself pointedly. “Was it you that ravaged through my establishment?”

There was magical energy swirlding around the newcomer’s body, but Berthar did not reply. He was busy inscribing silver symbols of condensed magic into the air – writing with both hands to finish the ward sooner.

The newcomer opened his palm and a small part of the magical energy detached itself. It turned into a cackling flame and flew straight for Berthar.

Darn

Berthar was forced to let go of the ward’s incomplete structure. Without support from the energy it would harness upon completion, it harmlessly dispersed back into the air.

But Berthar had no time to curse. He hastily used some of the magical energy twirling around him to grab and condense the cold. He thus solidified a sheet of ice to block the flame’s path.

Less than a finger’s length away from his body.

The flame skidded against the ice and went out. Berthar let the ice fall into the ground as it melted.

He eyed the newcomer, measuring the amount of magical energy twirling around the latter…

That was some fast conjuring but that’s it, he judged. The difference in raw volume of energy at their disposal tilted the scales heavily in Berthar’s favor.

Can the kid even last ten rounds of spells?

“Well, since you brought us so much damage, how about we sell you to compensate? A disciple mage should fetch at least five gold coins, wouldn't they?” the so-called Markus Mayers continued his rant, as if his pathetic attack had not just been blocked.

Berthar laughed.

“You’re not my match, sonny. In my day, I killed dozens of newbies like you. I would still be doing it if no for that dratted Skullsong.” Trying to bluff, rookie? Fat chance!

“Insolent!” the annoying woman -easily recognizable in her black dress- barked. “Mr. Mayers comes from that Mayers family. He’s much more than you can imagine.”

Berthar turned to face her with a threatening expression. He was no martial warrior, but his killing intent was enough to make her fall silent.

“Well, well, well! A brat from the clan of historians then.” He addressed Markus.

“Besides that monster `auntie' of yours, I've heard the rest are useless, studying history and stuff. What worth is history in battle anyway?” he mocked. “Now, be a good boy and let me capture you instead.”

While talking, Berthar twitched his fingers to form one of the simpler magical symbols.

The glyph for repulsion.

Berthar poored magical energy into his fingertips and traced triangles into the air to create a trail of many smaller glyph instances. This trick would not even knock a normal person out, but it was quick and covered a much larger area than wildly flailing magical energy; he needed only push away the people surrounding him and lock the magician in combat while he had the chance; there was no way the small fry could even approach a magic duel.

Markus snorted. “You have some tricks, old man, but are ultimately ignorant. History is knowledge and knowledge is power” he declared.

The magical energy swirling around Markus moved with abnormal speed and collided with one of Berthar’s wrists. This caused the energy structure to fail a fraction of a breath after it had started guiding magical energy.

Wha- Damn!

BOOOM!

The gathered magical energy lost its structure and exploded outwards.

With only a moment’s notice, Berthar reflexively focused more energy around his hand and waved it to push the explosion away.

Hot!

“AAAAGH!” ”It hurts!”

Berthar sustained minor burns to his wristbone, but this was nowhere near what the people around him suffered; they fell to the ground, screaming in agony as large portions of their flesh was burned to charcoal.

“So, surrender or die?” Markus ignored the pained cries of his underlings and made a final proposal.

This Mayers brat has some skill Berthar acknowledged. Throwing his ward-making off with such uncanny precision was no simple feat; his opponent had understood what he was doing and has struck at the only part of Berthar’s body that could not afford to move.

And he used only a little energy to match my speed to boot.

However, impressive skill or not, this was just the kind of space Berthar needed. He could now focus on magic.

Berthar used a third of the magical energy still swirling around him and threw it towards Markus’s obnoxious face. He dexterously dragged more from the environment to start replenishing his reserves back up to the limits of his control.

Though there should be no need; even a third of the energy was beyond the other party’s means. But just in case…

Markus also threw energy to intercept the attack, though it looked diminutive in comparison.

The two masses of energy collided in mid-air…

BOOM

Another blinding explosion erupted between the two of them.

It made the ground tremble and Berthar raised a hand to shield against the wave of hot bright air. With shouts of alarm, people scrambled to get out of the way, retreating to the far corners of the room.

That’s why I want a student; two magicians multiply the destruction.

Berthar focused magic energy on his eye -a trick he had copied from a martial master- to look through the fast-dispersing explosion.

Sure enough, Markus’s energy had been obliterated into his own’s path.

Berthar’s triumph did not last long though. For his attack curved from its straight path and missed, punching a dent into a mud-covered wall next to Marku’s head, revealing stone underneath.

“The amount of commanded magic is not everything in a magic duel” smiled Markus. “My Mayers family has recorded the fighting methods of the genius; the one and only Qasiro Balthazar! I can just mess with your trajectory.” he boasted.

“Die!” Whatever the trick, Berthar had gained the initiative. He used magical energy under his control as a hook with which he grabbed and directed the cold in the room towards Markus.

Jump away, little twerp. There will be no way you can concentrate enough to conjure while you run.

Markus did not move. Instead, Berthar felt the cold under his control slip away.

“Typically, to affect temperature, mages either concentrate particles that move slowly or forcefully use magic to subdue their movement” Markus confidently analyzed, as if giving a lecture. “Clearly, you are using the first method, so all I have to do is again increase their movement” he explained.

“What does this have to do with coldness” Berthar growled.

Still, he was not worried. This degree of skill only meant he needed to engage in actual combat instead of going for the easy pickings.

Berthar felt a long-forgotten focus settle in, as his impatience subsided into an unthinking calm.

Meanwhile, Markus extended his two hands in parallel, covering his palms with enough magical energy to form what felt like two small mirrors.

What’t the kid doing?

By all accounts, Berthar should be attacking right now, yet intuition born from countless battles warned that there was something strange going on.

There.

Berthar finished solidifying a chunk of ice between them just as Markus turned his palms outwards.

To Berthar’s astonishment, two rays of light shot outwards, piercing right through his ice. One of the passed next to his head, whereas the other pierced his arm leaving a small yet excrutiatingly painful hole. Still, Berhar had experienced worse before and a single grunt gave enough enough outlet to the pain to prevent his concentration from wavering.

"You refracted them?" Markus exclaimed.

"Damn kid!" Berthar swore. The attack had broken his common sense that it was easier to defend than attack with magic.

But common sense is worth less than a rat's tail in battle.

[...]

Dizzy.

Perhaps it was time to use his trump card. If he escaped, he could still find a healer to tend to his wounds.

From his robes, he retrieved a small bottle with an array of strange patterns inscribed on its surface. He had acquired this treasure by chance, whilst traversing the Arctic in a master's entourage numerous winters ago.

He lifted the lid and immediately all warmth in the room was absorbed by the bottle.

Markus frowned in concentration, struggling to prevent the energy swirling around him from losing its cohsion.

As expected.

“Brat, why don’t you try your little trick again? Will it stop my coldness?” Berthar spat blood as he laughed. He directed the newfound coldness towards Markus, whose skin started turning blue from the cold.

He had won. And he had enough space and cold at his disposal to deal with the frightened underlings too.

Cold.

The feeling from deep inside his bones was unexpected and it took a full moment to process it.

So cold…

He hadn’t felt that way since the Arctic. What’s happening?

A familiar numbness spread through his organs, as if he was lost in the blizzard. Tremors shook him from the inside from his body’s vain attempts to keep warm.

How? Berthar forced magical energy inside his body to dispel whatever the cause with a raw difference in power. But to no avail.

Desperate, he tried to move his fingers to create the fire glyph. He wasn’t as proficient with it, but even an explosion upon failure would do. Yet he had grown stiff and failed to curve his index enough for the magic to assume a constant flow.

Maybe, if he were younger, he could have though of some clever way to move his enenergy and compensate. But he was not and his hardened mind refused to move.

Should I use Asvaryago’s Apocryphal?

His life flashed through his eywithin his mind. In a way, this was convenient, since it helped him remember the long days of studying the incantation – the only True Spell he had ever learned. But then the memory of his eye being ruined surfaced, depriving him of everything. He felt the deep-seated anger cloud his mind. Yet, even in pain of death he refused to let it go.

“C-curse you” he stammered with the last of his strength.

But how did I lose?

“Fool” was the last thing he heard. “I could affect your so-called coldness and was faster than you. Truly, those who don’t learn from the past are seeking death.”

Markus watched the spark of intelligence fade from his opponent’s only eye.

Of course, he could not have attacked faster than a specialist of cold magic. But the bottle the man with the eye-patch held had caused far greater temperature decrease near it, allowing Markus to more efficiently freeze his opponent than he himself was being frozen.

Markus approached the stiff corpse, wrestled the strange bottle from the immobile hands and slid its lid to close. Without talking or looking at his underlings, he tuned to leave.

As he stepped out of the threshold into the peaceful soundless darkness, he tried to calm his racing heartbeat and shake off the cold that had seeped deep into his bones.

He secretly admitted to himself that it had been … pretty close.