Illume, the Eternal, halted his footsteps. His crimson robes fluttered one last time before their movement, too, came to still. His sapphire-blue eyes became fixed on yet another mountain range stretching to the horizon. Geography in the Wild Lands was impressive too, but this place had something ... more.

Here, the peaks weren't the tallest. And the canyons weren't the longest. Instead, the earth itself exuded a concentrated feeling, as if each boulder was squeezed out of something bigger.

Peculiar as always, Illume admitted.

He took to retracing the familiar solid outline formed by the mountains under the tall sun; their brown and green contrasting with the blue sky.

Mountains were meant to change throughout the ages. New ones would rise and old ones would gradually be ground to dust. However, these remained the same.

Only their residents changed with the passage of time. Sometimes large organizations would establish their headquarters on barren slides, sometimes a powerful being would make a scenic part their home and sometimes nature would take over and drown all remaining vestiges of civilization amidst its cedars and plane trees. But the shape of the mountains was the same as when he first saw them, countless ages ago.

Illume stopped to remember the way and eventually embarked on a dusty narrow path deviating from the one that led straight up north. This new path led to the innermost plateau of the range. A good friend of his -although he felt more like a much younger brother- had made the abundant nature his home for the last millennia.

Illume nonchalantly trekked through the increasingly thick but tranquil vegetation as the day went on. Eventually, he came to pass under trees tens of times his height. Despite his energy furiously combating the soul-devouring curse all the time, he didn't forget to enjoy the glimpses of sunlight majestically pouring through the thin leaves high above his head.

He hummed a very clear note.

If others were to hear it, it was a very pleasant sound - the perfect mix between sorrow and happiness, containing the wisdom of the world.

The note reverberated in the surroundings once and the enormous trees looked like they straightened their aged barks to present themselves better. One of the larger willows even rose some of its branches a few fingerbreadths with slow creaking sounds and made its narrow braids of vivid green leaves part from his way.

Illume watched its movement, fascinated. Maybe, hundreds of generations later, it would gain true consciousness and roam the world. With a smile, he moved closer and placed his hand on an interesting circular pattern on its bark, imprinting its shape in his memory.

"I'll remember you, little guy! If I'm still in being, let us meet again" he said affectionately.

The tree shuffled its leaves once more . It couldn't understand language, but Illume's mere thoughts were rules of the world and it instinctually responded.

Illume kept observing it for a while, but it remained still, its previous outburst of hazy intelligence returning to its eternal slumber.

Johan was walking down the largest road of the small town - wide enough for a dozen people to tread side by side. The leathers wrapped around his feet made soft thumb sounds on the thick uneven cobblestones.

He observed the few other people on the street. Judging from what was visible of their bulging muscles, most of them should be stronger than the average person. However, they chose to wear concealing clothing and carefully avoided each other. Even considering the impression he got the first day, the street felt a bit too empty and hostile.

Provoking the town’s master clearly affected the populace. Johan concluded. While visiting some -almost empty- inns, he had heard the gates were barred and none was allowed to leave or congregate in the streets.

For the time being, the careful demeanor of those few moving around was convenient. Coupled with the long gray cloak Taliesin bought from the shady innkeeper, nobody bothered Johan unless he spoke first. Johan pulled the hood closer to his face, convinced that there was little chance someone would recognize him for the target of master Skullsong’s pursuit.

The risk was not zero though, as he had refrained from killing a not-insignificant number of people. But he didn't particularly mind.

I refuse to become a butcher for the sake of convenience. I'll kill only when my conscience dictates so! he reaffirmed to himself. Although he could admit that his intuition hadn't been very reliable lately.

I won't take a human life unjustly, especially one too weak to protect itself and whose circumstances aren't clear. Against certain ones though... He clenched his fists tightly, remembering grandmaster Kenji falling from the sky with a hole through his body. Against certain ones, there will be no mercy! No matter the reason!

The problem was, he wasn't strong enough yet. So, he currently had another short-term goal; he would find the last surviving member of his school: grandmaster Kenji's descendant, who had left to travel several decades ago. Johan somehow felt obliged to share the pain with the only person in the world who would truly care.

Even if half as talented as in the rumors, should be a master by now. Johan tried to picture that person a bit.

Johan kept to his musings, partially to distract his mild yet annoying hunger while he searched for a place that would provide food other than sandworms. So far, he had met with little luck. He persisted though, since sandworm meat felt too disgusting to swallow.

Johan vaguely remembered seeing someone rounding up escaped chicken when he had first entered the town. In any case, this was the food the wardens hired by that Mayers slaver enjoyed. So it shouldn't be too rare of a commodity.

Luckily, Johan's hunger wasn't as bad as when he had finished recuperating in the cell. If it has been, his rumbling stomach would have announced his presence. Taliesin's magic had also helped somewhat in this.

Speaking of the old man, he had done a superb job in restoring Johan's body. Johan felt grateful to have found a partner to share this trial. True, he needed to temper himself in unfavorable situations, but this didn't mean he would idiotically refuse help when things seemed impossible.

"It's one thing to jump into the fray and another not to dodge" he mumbled to himself while eyeing another small building out of which a couple of hooded but clearly drunk men exited.

"Exactly!" agreed a voice behind him.

Johan stopped nonplused on his tracks. He hadn't been paying attention, but someone had approached him from behind? Why hadn't his stupid intuition called for danger?

He turned around slowly, ready to flee if necessary.

He came face-to-face with a clean-shaved man. Or rather, the other was a full head shorter than him, so Johan needed to look downwards on the tanned face a bit. The man wore the attire of the city guard and carried a large broadsword -although smaller than Nightcrusher's- on his broad shoulders. Martial aura gathered around his body, but its thickness indicated he had not been a disciple for long.

Of course, in certain isolated areas, the man would have been considered the top of the food chain. But, in a town where a master resided, he was just another guard captain at most.

The man studied Johan for a couple of breaths before exhaling.

"Ah, you're the chap from yesterday" he commented. "Keep at it! Grandfathers are precious family members ... if you get along well." he sounded sad, but kept himself from elaborating.

Johan got the feeling the man was still studying him carefully. However, he wasn't too worried. He had also been inspected yesterday by the same guard captain and his men.

"So? What brings you to these empty streets, where master Skullsong's wrath is ignored only by the bravest of crooks and drunkest of drunkards?" the man asked inquiringly.

"Ah, sir captain, I'm looking to buy some chicken..." Johan assumed a respectful mannerism, but reflexively said the first thing that came to mind.

"... for, for my grandpa!" he hastily added. "I heard chicken soup is very good for elders!" he tried to work more of the sob story about his supposedly ill grandfather in there. Just to stay in character.

The man's expression softened. "Poor lad. Chicken are expensive though and I don't think you can afford even a leg - given where you chose to stay... Here, treat's on me for wasting your time: tell the blacksmith in the next block to give you one from the south gate captain's provisions."

Without another word, the man nodded once, as if to himself, and walked away in a brisk pace. He headed towards a half-dozen other guards waiting in the distance, some of whom were limping as if they had leg cramps.

What was that for? Johan wondered. At least, he had found a place to acquire edible food. His stomach almost rumbled in anticipation, but he managed to keep it in check.

Good guy! he praised the guard captain. If everyone behaved this way, the world would be a better place...

"Crick, you fool! Why did you let the suspect get away? Didn't you see him searching through the inns?" the guard captain who usually wore a crooked smile asked in anger. He spat on the ground. Crick's men glared in anger, but could do nothing.

"Sharrup! I knew the guy! He was just looking for chicken, alright?" Crick replied defiantly. "Besides, he doesn't match the description. His skin's even a bit darker than ours; there's no way he's the westerner we're looking for. And I checked for the details of a disguise but there were none. Shouldn't you be visiting your stupid part-time assignment instead of nitpicking?"

"Damn, mister Mayers closed shop after the escape and is nowhere to be found. But there's word on the streets that there's a good reward for information on his escaped slaves when he returns. Also, my good brothers who were working there are missing. Dammit!" the guard captain wore an ugly expression and he spat on the ground again.

Oh, right, he just happened to be working there. Crick remembered. They had later found the decapitated corpses of a dozen guard captains previously working for Markus Mayers. But, for some unknown reason, captains Nightcrusher and Costella had insisted to keep that piece of information under wraps. Crick wouldn't question the decision of master Skullsong's disciples though.

Crick shrugged, partly in indifference to the other captain’s semi-fake feelings of concern and partly to clear his mind from the horrid scene of the headless corpses gathered together in one cell. Who could be so brutal? his hair almost stood on edge.

"So, found any escaped slaves?" Crick tried to change the subject, not knowing what kind of answer he expected.

"Of course!" the other captain's trademark crooked smile returned quickly. "Master Skullsong barring the gates and ordering searches and whatnot helped a lot. I got at least two dozen of them identified. Why, two even took shelter with your crazy blacksmith friend - hehe. I'll round up all of them the instant they step a foot outside the gate." the captain's smile became even more lopsided. "After master Skullsong finishes his business, then it's my turn to earn some silvers! Why, some of them are interesting enough to directly report about them to master Skullsong – hehe."

The blacksmith was a well-built old man, with a smooth face, a yellowish goatee and short white hair. He was hammering away in his dimly-lit workshop, oblivious to the fact that the rotten wooden door was left ajar.

Johan's intuition clearly warned that even touching that door could lead to its collapse.

Why does this damned intuition feel so accurate for useless things? Johan complained in his heart. Before learning to recognize ill intentions, he had first misjudged hundreds of lies as honesty during his travels, and here he was making confident judgment about all kinds of wooden surfaces on first sight. If reincarnation exists, I was definitely a craftsman previously. He thought about it for a moment.

Clang! Clang! ...

The elderly blacksmith did not pay attention to Johan, who entered while carefully avoiding the door. He kept hammering on a red-hot metal placed on his worn-down anvil. Sparks kept flying from the repeated impacts, landing on the coal-black apron covering his chest and torso.

Twenty or so breaths later, the blacksmith stopped and dropped his hammer to the ground. Using a tong, he retrieved the glowing metal and plunged into a barrel placed next to the anvil, filled to the brim with water. When the hot metal touched the water, a fizzling sound escaped and a strange thick-smelling smoke rose into the air. Johan concentrated some aura on his nose and discovered that for some reason it smelled like onions mixed with cinnamon.

"... make them cower first..." the blacksmith mumbled with a satisfied tone. He took out the strangely shaped piece of metal and placed it on a rack behind him, next to various swords, shields and armor.

After he did so, his gaze fell into Johan, who was watching.

His froze.

"A visitor." the blacksmith's tone was neither polite nor rude but mostly devoid of emotion.

Johan found it strange but did not inquire further. He assumed a fake hesitant mannerism, much different to his natural decisive tone.

"I... I was allowed to take a chicken from the south gate captain's provisions." he said.

"Oh, Crick send you? You also want to study these terrifying creatures?" the blacksmith became talkative.

Johan tilted his head to the side, trying to understand if he was being made fun of.

"Come, come! I'll show you the terror of these beasts! They're a scaled down versions of course, or I wouldn't be able to handle them. But I think I'm close to finding a fool-proof way!" he assumed a victorious pose by flexing his bulging arm muscles. A slight tinge of emotion lit his hazel eyes.

"Sir, ehm, I want to get a chicken to cook for my ill grandpa - not to see a frightening beast" Johan politely said.

The spark faded from the blacksmith's eyes. "Another non-believer. Too bad." his tone reverted to an apathetic one.

"I'll get you one of the terrors. Wait." he ordered, moving past Johan and into the street.

No comment, no question. Perhaps the epitome of weirdness.

Johan was left alone in the shady smithy, this time with a genuinely confused expression. Only the soft burning coals inside the anvil kept him company.