Illume, the eternal, turned his head towards the sound of rustling leaves. Because his energy was fully committed to keeping himself alive, he had to rely on his physical senses. Therefore, it wasn't strange not to detect a presence beforehand.

He moved towards the sound very leisurely, not caring whether friend or foe. Even without energy, he feared absolutely noone in a direct confrontation in this era.

"Lord Illume!" an excited and pleasant female voice called before he could see the other party.

Illume froze in his tracks. He had thought that voice had been lost in the passage of time.

A delicate woman wearing a long green dress was leaning on the bark of a short but well-shaped plane tree. She had a slightly bashful demeanor and bowed deeply and elegantly. The motion made her long black hair cover her exquisite features and eyes.

"It's been a very long time, my lord!" Her body language indicated she was happy -almost content- to see him.

Daoen...

The woman itched forward, as if to embrace him, but Illume stared past her.

"If you don't stop right now, little demon, you'll only be left with regret" his voice became so soft it was menacing. For a moment, it seemed as if time had stopped. Then the surroundings creaked; a sound like a heavy weight pressing against the every tree and rock. The temperature started rising rapidly, as if to incinerate everything on Illume's next comment of displeasure.

It was not a voluntary action, but rather the world mimicking his emotions.

The woman's figure shimmered and faded away, but from where Illume's gaze was concentrated, a new woman appeared out of thin air.

This one's features were sharp and tempting and her firm deep purple clothing highlighted her alluring figure. A pair of short black wings on her back flapped once to help readjust her crimson hair.

"Lord Illume!" the woman bowed in a manner similar to the illusion, but when she rose her head, a mischievous smile played on her thin scarlet lips. "I finally got to draw a strong reaction out of you."

Illume sighed almost melancholically and the tension seemed to lift.

Children love to prank after all....

A cooling breeze drifted into the canopy, caused by the abrupt changes in air temperature.

"Congratulations on merging both types of magic, little demon! You could even fool me ." Illume commented.

The woman beamed, which made her even more alluring. If one didn't know better, she would have appeared seductive, but Illume knew she was just being proud. However, she seemed to think of something and she puffed her cheeks. "Only for instant, though." she pouted.

"How did you find the sound of her voice?" Illume asked slowly.

The woman's smile became even more naughty and her wings flapped once, their black shape brushing slightly against some low-hanging branches. "I'll show you later; I think you'll like what I found!"

She paused for a second and almost turned sober. A wide leaf landed on top of her scarlet hair, but she didn't take notice. It quickly became transparent and vanished into nothing.

"Actually, lord, you'll have to stay a while, 'cause my emperor could now afford to rise a level and's been closed-door training for a while. It should be at least another full moon before he comes out. I've been very ... lonely... waiting for him." She sighed overdramatically.

"... Is that so? That is an important crossroad." Illume agreed. "I'll wait for him."

"Hmm, lord Illume, I just remembered! You were good at the game called chess, right? The one invented by those weirdos cooped up in the Clockwork Tower?"

Illume nodded, keeping to himself a comment about how this little demon calling others weird was too much.

"I've been practicing! Won't you keep me company for a couple hundred matches first? You wouldn't turn down a woman's request, right?" she almost tried to strike up an inviting pose but stopped herself midway and straightened up her waist as if nothing had happened.

"Damn, human customs are too rigid! Why do we even bother?" she complained with a soft voice under her breath.

"..."

Illume did not reply. The little demon always liked to play around.

How does that guy put up with her? he admired.

Crick was enjoying the hot wind whistling through the battlements. His solid black guard uniform fluttered a bit while he scanned the horizon.

The west wind was always hot and brought dust from the Great Desert. However, in his mind, he imagined the same wind blowing through the dew of the Flower country. He fancied it carried with it a sweet smell.

The Black Lands lay unmoving before his eyes, their blackness only slightly disturbed by a glowing yellow outline of sand dunes far away to his right, behind which the sun had started to sink.

A heavy hairy hand fell onto his shoulder.

"Whad's de gate capt'n thingin'?" a gruff voice asked. It belonged to a giant of a man with large cracked lips and an eyepatch over his left eye. The man's unkempt facial hair were beginning to grey and thin, revealing numerous scars that shouldn't have been visible a couple of decades ago.

"Captain Beor." Crick acknowledged the other man. Beor appeared like a stereotypical musclehead, but Crick liked talking to him.

"Even if it's my homeland, this is a forsaken land." Crick answered bitterly. His gaze got lost to the unending blackness stretching south. "It's empty and dark like the night. And I fear its bleakness has entered people's hearts for good. It's either oppress or be oppressed here..." he continued in a philosophical mood.

"Dat's not true." grunted Beor. "We also hab a nice sky" he gestured upwards, to the cloudless blue above. "An' after Skulsog made to master, less hab missi'g li'bs an' eyes." Subconsiously, he raised a gigantic hand to touch his eyepatch.

Crick could only imagine the chaos before master Skullsong took full control of the town. At least now killing unrelated people was forbidden. And even slaves could only come from conflicts outside the walls.

"You know Beor, when I was little, I was sold in a land far-far away. There, they had endless plains of flowers. Imagine a mix of colors blending to the horizon! And the people didn't have to live in constant fear." he appeared very reminiscing.

"Dat's bery amazin'" Beor agreed. "Bud in de Barr'n Peak dey gib many people to de beast ta eat. And dey don't even hab sandwor's ta eat fer fun!"

"How can you compare our current situation to something even worse." Crick gestured in a circular motion. "I'm saying it's unfair to many here."

"An' to many dere." Beor pointed east, towards the interior of the Black Lands, where the Barren Peak was located. He stoically shrugged his gigantic shoulders.

Crick did not entirely agree, but couldn't marshal a better argument at the moment, so he let the topic fade.

"Speaking of which, Beor. What the hell do you find in that sandworm meat? It's simply disgusting! Wouldn't you rather eat chicken with your wine instead?" Crick remembered something he had always wanted to ask.

"Bah, forein' tastes! Id's juice and id's crisp and id's soft. Afta' a decade more, you'd like it." Beor assured him.

Crick opened his mouth to refute, but a small cloud of dust coming from the desert's direction caught his eye.

"Beor, there, can you see who's coming?" he pointed towards the cloud.

The giant man looked towards the direction he was pointing.

"Gud eye, gade capt'n! I'd not notic'd" he commented, as he squinted. He frowned and gradually, the deep brown color of his eye lightened a bit.

Crick knew Beor was focusing martial aura on his eye. It was a valuable skill, but he just couldn't get the hang of such fine control. It was amazing that someone like Beor, who relied fully on brute force when fighting, could do something so precise.

That's the skill of someone who could go toe-to-toe with master Skullsong before becoming a master, he admired.

Beor took a good look and then his eye turned to normal. Noticing Crick staring at him, he chuckled.

"Dat's me weak point. Cost'lla would 'ave been instant. You'll be stronger dan me before ya get s' old."

Captain Costella had also told Crick he had talent. But interacting with the wounded captain Nightcrusher for a day had been a sever blow to his confidence. He wasn't too disheartened, but Beor's words sounded mere lipservice.

"What did you find?" he asked.

"Smugg'ers. Halb-dozen dozens. Hab two disciples. 'Bout as stong as me" Beor replied. This meant they were about two or three times stronger than Crick.

"Ok, then there's no need to ask for reinforcements. If we setup a good ambush, we'll make up for the difference, if they pull anything off" he decided. Being a weakling leading other weaklings half his life, Crick had picked up some very useful tricks for groups fighting. It was no accident he was assigned as the gate captain instead of more combat-efficient people, such as Beor.

Cok!

The blacksmith returned carrying a living chicken. He was holding it steadily by the neck and legs, ignoring its fluttering wings and ruckus-raising clucks.

The blacksmith proceeded to avoid touching his workshop's door and with large strides passed by Johan, who was lazily strolling around examing the various weapons hanging from the wall. They were all of excellent quality and it was a wonder how nobody came to steal from here. But he reasoned that nobody would be crazy enough to bring trouble to someone even remotely associated with Skullsong.

"Little demon, I'll make you spill secrets" the blacksmith murmured viciously to the chicken.

Johan stared at the old man. Or rather, he stared at the old man's killing intent. How was it possible for someone -a non-disciple to boot- to emit such killing intent towards a chicken? Was it a special chicken-criminal who murdered people for fun?

Ignoring Johan, the blacksmith took a dagger from the rack behind the anvil and, holding the chicken upside down, viciously slashed its wing tendons. The chicken clucked loudly with pain and redoubled its efforts to get away. However, it obviously couldn't move its wings anymore and its feet were still firmly grabbed.

The blacksmith kept holding it upside down while he watched carefully. After it quieted down a bit, he grabbed the strangely-shaped item he had been previously forging and brought it close to the chicken's head. The chicken shied away in discomfort.

The blacksmith's expression seemed satisfied and he used the item to pummel the chicken's head a couple of times, producing dull noises. He repeated this until the chicken could barely move from the daze.

Hey, hey, isn't this too much? It's one thing to kill animals, but intentionally making them suffer? Johan was appalled.

"Eeer... mister, how about I kill the chicken for you?" Johan offered.

Only now did the blacksmith seem to remember Johan was there. He slowly raised his head, as if walking out of a trance. A small smirk was playing on his smooth face and aged eyes, but it gradually faded away and he returned to his previous apathetic expression. All the killing intent pouring out suddenly vanished.

This guy's definitely crazy! Johan thought.

The old man slowly looked down at the chicken he was holding upside down.

"Got carried away a bit." he admitted, straightening his apron with his free hand.

A bit? That was a bit? If the chicken was a human, I'd fight you to the death on its behalf right now! Johan protested inside his head, but said nothing.

The blacksmith grabbed the knife again and, with a quick motion, beheaded the poor animal. He left it on the anvil, before placing back the strangely-shaped object he had previously crafted and started washing the knife.

Johan was expecting to see the headless carcass at least stagger for some breaths, moved by its dying instincts, like all animals. However, this chicken's body did not even tremble.

Is this old man a legend on vanquishing chicken? Johan wondered.

Meanwhile, the old blacksmith had finished washing the knife and energetically took out a clean cloth. He wrapped it around the chicken's body and tied tmit in a neat bundle, which he wordlessly extended to Johan.

"Th-thanks." At least a quarter of Johan's trembling voice was real. He had been seriously creeped out.

The blacksmith stared at him, very seriously.

"Listen well. Never feel pity for a chicken." he instructed, an expression of unspeakable grief fleeting through his otherwise emotionless expression. "They're worse than demons."