From the sides, Johan had watched the duel between Markus Mayers and the man with the eye-patch while detained by two gigantic fellows.

Or, rather, he pretended to be detained. No, actually, he was detained, only he could break free anyt- focus! He commanded himself.

Thanks to his well-honed perception and intuition, Johan got a deep understanding of the duel between the two magicians, something that normally wouldn’t be possible for his limited sensitivity for magic.

He was impressed with the one surnamed Mayers, especially that terrifying light-beam attack. If an attack moving at the friggin' speed of light was launched at him out of the blue, Johan doubted he could survive. He decided to be doubly-vigilant of even the smallest moves during combat from now on. Although his intuition should warn him of impending danger, it wouldn't harm to be extra careful.

Also, the one surnamed Mayers seemed to have a great deal of comprehension towards techniques. And he was proficient at putting that knowledge in use too! Moreover, he had obviously not displayed his abilities to the fullest.

And there's an entire clan of such freaks! Johan shivered.

The secretary quickly sprang into action.

“You people, quickly start tidying up the place. We can’t have Mr. Mayers’ business be disrupted. Anyone who needs medical treatment, go and treat yourselves. You three, ransack the corpse of the trouble maker and alert the town guards to dispose of it. Then come and put those backpacks in the storage room” she commanded.

“Yes, madam!” was the unanimous reply.

“Ma’am, what should we do with these people?” the ones detaining Johan, the woman and the youngster asked.

“Put them up for sale of course! Didn’t Mr. Mayers already say so? Now, go!” the secretary responded.

Johan would normally protest inside his head; the one surnamed Mayers only said to capture the man with the eye-patch, whom he proceeded to kill.

But Johan conveniently let it slide, since it suited his plans to wreak havoc. After all, he needed to see where they kept the slaves and, more importantly, recuperate a bit. The magical thrashing the now-dead man with the eye-patch had given him had left his body in a weakened state.

“Ma’am!” the thugs saluted in unison.

They escorted Johan, whose hands were still detained with handcuffs behind his back, as well as his two remaining previous captors – now his fellow captives – further inside the ruined building.

The building had been ravaged by time. However, it was humongous and many rooms remained in use.

They eventually reached a barren hall-room, whose roof had long caved in. It looked more like a plantless courtyard now.

In the middle of the room's stone floor, there was a trapdoor barred by heavy locks.

One of the two people detaining Johan entered one of the numerous doors aligned on the walls and returned with the appropriate key. Johan silently committed that door to memory.

Once unlocked, the trapdoor easily slid open, revealing a steep stone staircase.

“Enter” the one who opened the trapdoor commanded.

“Wh-what are you doing to us!” the youngster stammered. He was a mess, with his bandaged wrist and frightened appearance.

“Ha-hah! Look, first going to sell ah slave but no longer boastful after becoming one.” jeered one of their new captors.

“Well, it’s normal. I know I would not remain calm either” replied a middle-aged one. “You are going to be sold in the town north of us in a couple of weeks” he somewhat kindly explained to the prisoners.

“Stop ditherin'- the ma'am will scold us” the third one brought the dialog to a halt.

The thugs escorted them down the trapdoor, inside a wet underground dungeon.

In the walls, lots of cells were asymmetrically dug out, most filled with five to six people. Large, well-preserved doors of perpendicular iron bars locked each cell.

Six martial disciples acted as wardens, randomly patrolling the area. Johan could tell they were weaker than the Beheader or the female disciple guarding the gate. But having disciples work as wardens was still impressive.

The people bringing them in saluted to the disciples. To ordinary people, including thugs that had some degree of martial training, even the weakest disciples were simply terrifying.

Upon entering the dungeon, Johan, the woman and the youngster were handcuffed with handcuffs similar to Johan’s previous ones, but which separated the hands by flexible chains that allowed a certain degree of freedom. They were then put together in an empty cell.

“You are a strange one” the middle-aged captor remarked.

He had noticed that Johan had not uttered a single word since the beginning, like a spectator watching a play. Johan smiled at him, but said nothing. The man nodded once, locked the cell door and left with his companions, while the patrolling disciples watched with disinterested gazes.

Ignoring everything his two former captors, Johan laid in a corner of their cell, on top of some straws. He wanted to aid all the prisoners in this dungeon towards freedom.

But first, he needed to let his wounded body rest. As he closed his eyes, he trusted the martial aura coursing through his bloodstream to quickly restore him to tip-top shape.

Illume, the Eternal, felt a stab of annoyance in his chest.

At first, he had not recognized the feeling and had tried very hard to recall what it resembled. He finally got it.

That was physical pain!

Indeed, millennia had passed since anything last caused him similar discomfort.

Ah, little Meghan who challenged me that time was remarkable, he recalled.

His current discomfort came from the only scar on his otherwise unblemished body; a slightly whiter area right above the heart. He had gained that scar during a time of great peril, hovering on the border between life and unwilling death. Even he, the Eternal, nearly had had his existence devoured in a straight-up battle!

Illume was still dejected remembering that time. A single moment of luck in his favor had turned the battle from hopeless defeat to glorious victory, leaving behind a false legend of invincibility and this unfading scar, a testament to his incompetence.

Well... he did save the world, but his list of accomplishments stopped there.

Afterwards came a long list of people he had failed.

Illume shook his head to dispel the negative thoughts. He had always done his best and there was nothing to cause regret or self-loathing. But losing something important was not so easy to forget.

Everything will eventually come to an end. I tried to delay that end as much as possible and I should not feel guilty of the result he reconciled with himself.

Another throb of pain rudely interrupted his thoughts. However, after its long absence, he welcomed the sensation – a reminder that he was still alive and part of the world.

After those two initial throbs of pain, in the following days a new one came each evening, persisting for a dozen or so breaths of time.

Illume could not explain it – maybe the curse had something to do with this? He focused his attention deep inside his soul, where the torrent of his internal energy battled furiously against the unrelenting curse, getting devoured with the exact same rate it endlessly came into existence. No, whenever he felt the pain, things changed slightly; a trickle of energy was left behind in each of those cycles.

Normally, Illume would ignore such an inconsequential amount of pure energy. But now, he had a use for it; we could gradually store the excess. Who knows? Maybe one day he would have stored enough to dispel the curse in one feel swoop.

However, Illume was also confused. Replenishing one’s martial aura or magical energy depended completely on the body's capabilities and he had long before reached his peak. Why was there an excess?

Since he could not explain it, Illume decided to leave this strange phenomenon aside, idly speculating only to entertain himself. He kept moving forward.

The youngster quietly sobbed in a corner of the cell.

He had been frequently doing so during his week of confinement. His one-eyed protector had died. And then he was beaten and thrown into this cold, damp prison to be sold as a slave. Nobody, not even captives in the nearby cells, cared for him. And his wrist hurt!

The woman was just sitting there with a stony expression; the meals were horrible and privacy non-existent and that was getting to her.

Not to mention nobody thought of offering even a gulp of tea - the woman would not withhold tea even from her worst enemies!

It’s all that idiot one-eye’s fault! she was seething. The guildmaster herself had recommended this job. How could it have ended like this?

The woman looked scathingly towards Johan, who had been sleeping for the whole week.

How can he sleep for so long? It’s virtually impossible! Don’t people die after three days without water? Has he attainted martial aura?

At any end, the woman was jealous. She had tried to get a good rest herself, but anxiety tormented her with nightmares. Not to mention that being underground distorted her sense of time.

Maybe he’s in comma since the beating he took, she guessed.

At that point, Johan’s black eyes snapped open, startling her.

After a week’s slumber, his wounds and exhaustion seemed to have faded. He slowly sat up, feeling incredibly thirsty.

The woman, who had been paying real attention to Johan maybe for the first time, noticed something.

Such fluid movements! He should be a strong martial warrior, maybe worthy of one day training under a master. Then, having attained some martial aura isn’t out of the question. She thought about Johan’s nameplate and guessed that he should probably have received some amount of guidance.

However, seeing that Johan remained unmoving, she returned to brooding over her own fate.

If I am lucky, I may be able to work my freedom within ten years. She tried to find a sliver of hope. Indeed, in certain places, slaves had basic rights and wages and could thus purchase themselves after approximately ten years of work.

The woman was reasonably confident in her tracking skills and her ability could prove useful to explorers or military personnel. She preferred not to think about the worst-case scenario.

Meanwhile, Johan just sat there, carefully observing the surroundings. He needed all the clues he could gather if he were to instigate a successful jailbreak without innocents dying. He sated his thirst from a bowl of water left near the straws, only to realize how hungry he was. But he didn’t let it distract his thoughts.

He thusly spent some hours analyzing everything, even the wardens’ patterns of walk and speech. Johan was confident that, given enough time, he would be able to formulate a perfect plan to let everyone escape without interference.

After all, the disciples acting as wardens looked slightly inexperienced. Still, one versus six were not good odds without a weapon, even if he estimated that his abilities considerably exceeded theirs.

Johan was so immersed in his planning, he even forgot his hunger.

Not much further away, but in a completely different setting, Markus Mayers was in a good mood. He was sitting on his velvet armchair, cozily sipping high-class tea and reading his favorite book: The Rise and Fall of the Soul-Devourer. Sunlight from a breezy window illuminated the luxurious room, filled with antiques.

This was an extravagant way of living in an impoverished area, but none would know, because everything was hidden well. A spell even obscured the window from the outside.

Markus liked his comfort, but also needed to stay low for a while. This slaving business was just a means for making a bit of pocket money in the meantime.

Markus always found the tale of the Soul-Devourer’s appearance awe-inspiring.

It covered the morning sky, like the blackness of a starless night. Ordinary people were in panic and masters ordered their inheriting disciples to hide. The legendary Daoen led a regiment of grandmasters against It, but they could only offer their souls as nourishment. None could look at It without fear driving them mad, but all could feel every inch of that darkness bearing upon the world. The mighty calamity then descended on the Tower of the Sun, and in a quarter of a day, it lay in ruins.

When he was younger, aunt Meghan had once found him late in the off-limits section of the great library, reading this tale with lavish interest. She had warned it was likely an exaggeration; at that time, a solar eclipse had occurred and religious wars were not uncommon, their records usually containing more symbolism than truth.

Of course, despite her kind tone, Markus was also forced to take care of a nonsense person -as he liked to call them- for a year as punishment.

Although Markus revered aunt Meghan, like everyone else in the family, he had not found the explanation entirely convincing. How else could the religion of the Sun, which had stood tall for millennia, abruptly disappear from all happenings in recorded history?

Markus wore a fanatic smile as he read the book he had painstakingly nicked, playing with the bottle he had acquired from the man with the eye-patch. He now thought he had a very good idea about it.