The innkeeper soundlessly crept the long wooden corridor, stroking his bushy red beard. His stealth light cast ominous shadows on the rundown wooden walls, in tune with the candle flickering within the metal casing.

Even in the darkest hours before dawn, everything in the inn, from its dusty bar to the dozen or so rooms and the corridor he was now tiptoeing across, felt on the brink of collapse. However, it was too costly to transport enough wood for renovations. Instead, the innkeeper had been making only the minimum repairs throughout the years.

With the shortage of materials in the Black Lands, one could say that the current corridor was wasteful too. However, the innkeeper thought otherwise.

The corridor led to a practically isolated room; with enough distance to both the streets and other guests, some very thick -albeit old- wooden walls and a well-established single entrance, magicians would have little trouble rendering what happened inside a secret.

As a result, that room was frequently rented by anonymous dealers that came to negotiate with the numerous personas laying low in the chaos of the Black Lands. These people would always leave some good money behind, at least in the form of bribes for keeping his mouth shut. Furthermore, the innkeeper felt empowered by knowing that, in his rundown establishment, deals that affected the criminal underground of perhaps countries were made.

Of course, all of this had become possible only after master Skullsong brought some semblance of order to the town, making it one of the few places in the Black Lands where one wouldn't randomly brush against death.

The innkeeper had recently rented the room in question to a sickly old man and his grandson, who had agreed to the increased price for some quiet. Though they wouldn’t normally leave the usual bribes, the pair gave the innkeeper a strange feeling. True, they appeared as advertised: a sickly old man and a naive young'un looking for a magic healer and dressed in rags to avoid attention. But they had the familiar smell of undercover bounty hunters, who the innkeeper could rat on for some very sweet money. The problem was, the innkeeper didn't know who he should rat to.

They could be related to the reason master Skullsong has quarantined the town. he guessed. Then maybe I should tell one of the guard captains. But the south gate captain -what's his name- Rick? came looking on all new faces and found nothing...

The innkeeper was puzzled. The result of his confusion was him stealthily moving down the corridor to catch the pair unawares before the first rays of dawn woke them up. If he was luckily, he could even search their belongings in their sleep.

The innkeeper lightly pushed open the door to the isolated room, careful not to make a sound...

Gasp!

Before he knew what was happening, a hand was around his neck. The hand pressed on his throat, chocking away his cry of surprise. In his surprise, the innkeeper weakened his hold on the stealth light and it fell to the floor with a dull thud. The sound synchronized with his jumping heartbeat.

Instinctually, the innkeeper tried to scream and struggle free, but the hand emitted an incredible pressure that overpowered him completely. In an instant, its grip tightened threateningly around his windpipe, removing his last willingness to start a commotion.

That's martial aura! the innkeeper easily recognized the intimidating force coming from the hand. But it's too thick...

In his younger days, before Skullsong had become a master, the innkeeper had survived through his fair share of battles. On occasion, he had even ganged up with others to beat some overconfident disciple. But this was his first time feeling like a completely unmovable obstacle was pressuring his very existence.

"Move a muscle and you're dead." a silhouette in the dark, undoubtedly the owner of the hand, quietly threatened. "Close your eyes if you understand."

The innkeeper froze. He frantically tried to make heads or tails of the situation, despite being choked. If one stopped thinking, they would only die sooner, after all. The hand grabbing his neck felt smooth. Was it the supposed grandson? I knew they were trouble... he thought.

"..."

"Oh, right, eyes need muscles to close" the voice seemed to reconsider and took a strange tone. It shifted its weight and the motion slightly changed the direction the pressure chocked the innkeeper. However, it persisted in all its forcefulness.

"You can move the minimum necessary number of muscles, or those that you think minimum to the best of your abilit-"

"Son, you're actually voicing out your stupid thoughts." an aged voice commented. "Anyway, if you wanted extra privacy, you could have just told me."

The aged voice paused for a brief instant.

"Shalhaw rumor aranflew, (The spreading shadows hiding the night sky's music)

onu jeldor. (the moon welcomes as gifts.)"

The aged voice slowly spoke in a foreign language. It sounded commanding, slow and deliberate. Immediately, the innkeeper felt as if a soft mattress had covered the room and he could no longer hear his inn's familiar creaking sounds.

Was that an incantation? the innkeeper was vaguely aware that his legs were trembling.

"Oh, that's handy, even my aura trigger feels like it's missing something." The silhouette released the innkeeper's neck when he spoke, but the innkeeper had no more thoughts of trying to run. His legs wouldn't follow his command anyway.

"Can you conjure some proper light while you're at it?" the youthful voice asked.

Silently, a soft green light sprang into existence in the center of the room. It made the old bed and chair in the background cast eerie shadows on the rough wooden walls.

"Much better!" Johan's features came into sharp relief. He looked down to the innkeeper, who was sprawled onto the floor looking terrified.

"So, good fellow, you obviously know how to get things done around here..." Johan grinned, but the flickering green light cast an evil tinge on his face. "How much information does your well-being sell for?"

"... an-and that's all of those with power or connections I know of. For real! Good sirs! Ca-can I go now?" the innkeeper finished his rapid talking. Small rays of light pouring through the room's small dormer made him squint as he was seated on his chair. He wore a pale expression and nervous sweat covered his thin face, dripping onto his bushy red beard.

Without answering, Taliesin placed his hand on the innkeeper's forehead.

Dragged by the weight of its beard, the head fell forward into an enchanted sleep.

"It's amazing how stupid plans can work so well!" A hint of emotion was detectable in Taliesin’s aged voice. "Who knew you could just wait for a good source of information to come looking for trouble?"

"No joking, of course they do!" Johan protested. "Actually, the more complex the plan, the highest the chance to go wrong. Simplicity's best!" He absent-mindedly clenched the black katana strapped on his belt and revealed a self-satisfied smirk.

"..."

Ignoring Taliesin’s reaction -or lack thereof- Johan raised his hands to examine his own pale skin, which had lost its dark-colored disguise; the martial aura coursing through his body had expelled the foreign substance overnight.

"Actually, I don't like laying low. It's too much effort..." he complained.

"You're surprisingly good at it though." Taliesin recognized, his old voice wheezing a little. "Were you bullied when you were little?"

Johan smiled mysteriously but didn't reply.

"So, who will you target first? We need a very big commotion" Taliesin asked conversationally.

"You know, old man, I reeaally hate slavery and those that silently tolerate it..." Johan frowned this time.

"A couple of my martial sisters were once captured and sold off to some horrible place. My school's masters found them quickly enough, but they were never quite the same afterwards..."

Even if everyone in his school had perished in the end, Johan was still angry for that event. He could remember how the kind and gentle sisters that patiently explained things to him when he was little had turned to staring blankly in space and violently lashing out if anyone got too close.

"Yeah, yeah, but keep your killing intent in check for now, I can't escape as fast as you" Taliesin reminded. "You can do whatever you want once you find scum though, no complains here."

Johan glared at the old mage. However, in the end he dropped his shoulders and put on the dark hooded cloak he wore the previous day. He turned around and walked out from the door with a purposeful stride.

"Also, don't forget our appointment; Skullsong's mansion at dusk." Taliesin called after him. His old voice was quickly muffled away by his own incantation.

The sun had risen not long ago and the early morning light made the dust on the cobblestones all the more apparent. Somehow, the streets were even more empty compared to the previous day. But Johan payed little attention, for he was admiring the morning sky; the same sky he had greeted each day after taking up the sword.

'But, master, I'm too sleepy... Can' t I practice later like everyone else?'

'Stupid disciple, rise early and quickly learn the way of the sword. Cough! I only want to see what the Grandmaster will teach to someone of your talent before I go meet my ancestors.'

Johan smiled when he remembered the scholar-looking master cradling a long and thin blade on long-sleeved arms. Disease had claimed him young, but he had died with a very pleased smile. At the time, the young Johan had bawled his eyes out but, for some reason, the man's dying smile had become a heart-warming memory.

Johan stumbled on a particularly uneven cobblestone, which threw him out of his reverie and caused him to panic for a short moment; someone with his level of training was supposed to never lose their sense of balance.

Then he realized that he had been moving his martial aura opposite to his muscle movements. This caused each muscle to strain in many ways. Less trained disciples would have found it challenging to even stand without tearing those muscles. But, if not for the impedance in movement, Johan wouldn't have payed attention to the pain. In fact, his body had become so familiar with the sensation, it had long since reduced this kind of signal to at most a minor annoyance.

"Stupid habits" the corners of Johan's lips rose further as he complained to nobody in particular. He found it funny that recalling his first master's pale face had instinctively moved his body to a training mood. Still, he stopped the exercise, because he'd rather not have cramps during battle.

Returning to a somber expression, Johan resumed his purposeful striding, keeping close to some huts whose muddy walls were reinforced with chunks of black stone. After marching in the empty roads for a while, he eventually found the ruins of an extremely wide circular building, constructed of what appeared to be black marble. Recalling the innkeeper’s instructions, he swerved to a very narrow alleyway opening to the left, which circled towards the building's back.

Even early in the morning, the alleyway looked like a place that normal people should avoid. Tje crumbled marble walls on his right formed a solid barrier, but Johan felt like he was being watched. Still, he maintained his previous brisk pace while moving through the alternating shadows and bright rays of morning light.

At some point, a sweet metallic smell assailed his nostrils.

He moved forward with vigilance, until he came across the bodies of two men, lying face down in a pool of their own blood. Their more valuable belongings had -of course- been stripped clean, leaving only their blood-soaked clothes and broken bottles of alcohol clenched in their fists. Upon closer inspection, they seemed to have slit each other's throat with those bottles; clearly an escalated drunken brawl.

Life shouldn’t be that cheap... Johan complained in his mind. He hesitated for a couple of breaths, trying to decide whether he could afford the time to bury them. In the end, he decided against it and moved forward; the guards regularly patrolling the town would surely take care of this and the deed could wait, as he could spot no animals -not even insects- in the immediate vicinity. Johan only made his footsteps lighter to not disturb the eternal slumber of the dead; he had been carrying this superstition for as long as he could remember.

While Johan was quietly circling around the dried puddled blood, a door opened from the array of buildings to his left. A large man emerged with haste and run in front of Johan, blocking his path while flexing his bulging muscles threateningly.

"You there, leave something of value for my fallen brothers' memory." he commanded in an insincere way. His small eyes narrowed.

"These were obviously no brothers, much less yours" Johan calmly commented in a soft voice. When he moved towards the man, he could tell he was being watched more intently than before – perhaps by those curious in his abilities. But his intuition didn't flare up any warning and he ignored the sensation.

"So be it, then I'll force you to leave something" the man punched Johan's face as he approached. He placed all his weight behind the punch for extra force, revealing his lack of combat experience in being wary of counter-attacks. In a detached manner, Johan spotted a tattoo of a large rock in the inside of the man’s wrist.

"Aaaargh"

The man cried pitifully as his fist collided with the martial aura Johan gathered to defend. A cracking sound reverberated - like a wrist breaking against a wall. The man howled in pain and jumped back in confusion, nursing his hand. However, his bulk and confusion made his retreat too slow.

Johan accelerated the panicked man and passed by him without sparing another glance. His intuition kept silent warning and he had to agree that, despite being a thief, the man had at most tried to knock him unconscious. So, he left him be.

Shortly after, Johan arrived at a spot where the ruins of the circular marble building formed a single solid wall. As per the instructions of the innkeeper, he knocked three times with his knuckles and then once with his palm.

Immediately, a soft female voice answered.

"Please come again after master Skullsong's wrath passes. If you're here on account of the venerable Vizier, please take no offense as master Skullsong has declared that any business or movement is an act against him until he declares otherwise."

The voice was pleasant to hear, although Johan could tell there was a sense of resignation in its otherwise melodious tone.

"Lady, I'm not here to trade. I just want to talk to your boss" Johan simply said to the wall.

"Please come again at another time" the female voice replied in an exaggerated sing-song manner, as if reading a script she found pointless.

Johan sighed in resignation.

"Then please, lady, move some steps back to not get hurt."

Silence

Johan slowly unsheathed the black Katana strapped to the insides of his belt. The blade glimmered on the morning light, as he performed the motion unhurriedly, gathering his thoughts.

This time, let's try to rely more on force than aura, he thought. He put only a small amount of aura on the tip of the blade, but tried to avoid vengeful feelings as he tried to sharpen his aura. Sure enough, without the inspiration of savagery, it took him at least a dozen breaths to sharpen it enough. But he did pull it off.

Since there was no hurry yet, he preferred to do it this way, because the drain was minimal. Otherwise, he had trouble limiting the consumption of his aura, which made him exhausted too quickly.

Still, I haven't seen a more powerful technique yet. Truly worthy of a grandmaster Kenji's personal style! Johan prided, as he refined the thin aura to an even sharper line on the blade's already thin edge.

"Ok, lady, you must really move away, alright?" he warned once again.

He gave her another five breaths of time, just to be sure, before he confidently strode forward...

Slash-slash

Johan slashed vertically and then used the momentum to change to a horizontal slash. The aura-sharpened blade found a bit of resistance as it cut the smooth marble, but his disciple-level strength made the movement appear as if he had been shadow-practicing.

Johan immediately put the blade back, noticing the uneven cracks around the slices that shouldn't have appeared if he had performed the technique better. He made a mental note to work more on the power distribution next time.

Without wasting more time, Johan kicked at the intersection of his two slashes, putting both speed and strength.

CRUMBLE

The marble wall shattered inwards, producing the sound of debris crashing wood underneath.

Johan looked inside, but the narrow room was too dark compared to outside and his eyes needed a moment to adjust. Thus, he missed the thin line of white aiming for his neck.

Johan's intuition screamed a warning and he abruptly bend his body backwards in confusion. As he faced upwards, he felt the wind of a blade flying over his nose. From behind, he heard a clunk sound as he straightened his body again, this time assuming a very careful defensive pose.

A hooded female figure launched at him from the debris, wielding a second scimitar. She was considerably skilled, probably well-trained too, but the discrepancy in physical ability from being a disciple was not something that could be made up by any means in an one-on-one fight.

Johan covered his free hand with martial aura and grabbed the scimitar's blade. The woman's eyes widened in surprise inside her hood and he made use of the opening to yank the weapon out of her grip.

He expected the woman to flee once overpowered, but she proceeded to attack him with her bare hands, using chops and sword-like motions. Johan's expression turned to pity.

"Where's the mark?" he asked, as he skillfully blocked her blows with his palms. He used swirling motions so that the impact wouldn't hurt her.

"Left. Neck." her pleasant voice got distorted through gritted teeth. The attacks faltered for an instant, but then she started a frantic series of horizontal and vertical chops, like a corned animal. It would have appeared comical if each blow would not have been a near-lethal attack against an ordinary person.

As he continued blocking using only his better-trained reflexes, Johan gathered martial aura on his eyes and carefully examined her neck. Despite the hood, concealment didn't matter for observing the flow of her premature martial aura -the same aura that would bloom if she managed to become a disciple.

He soon found a spot that aura didn't flow through. As far as Johan knew, high-level enslavement spells -or formations, whatever the experts called them- didn't rely on a physical contraptions. Instead, they placed a mark that would send basic instinctual commands to the victim. Thus, to prevent the slave's aura from interfering, on of those commands would prevent aura from flowing through the 'marker'.

There! Faster than the untrained eye could see, Johan raised the black katana and pierced her neck at the correct spot while allowing a hint of savagery to influence his movements; there was no way an energy structure would remain intact against a space-severing technique. Sure enough, the woman stopped attacking immediately, something she probably wouldn't be capable of doing otherwise.

A spurt of blood erupted outwards as Johan withdrew the blade. But he had been very careful to avoid major arteries.

The woman slumped forward on her knees, clutching her neck. Her hood fell off, revealing her flawing blond hair that covered her face as her head tilted forward.

"Thank you" her voice had become hoarse with pain, but there was unmistakable gratitude there.

"Yeah, no problem" Johan replied. "Where's the branch head?"

"There's a trapdoor under the sofa. The rathead's in his business quarters looking distressed - serves him right!" she forcefully made herself stand as she spoke, her rather frail figure trembling slightly.

"I'm afraid it's difficult to escort you. Can you manage, lady?" Johan raised an eyebrow impressed by her effort. Her pale but determined face was reassuring on its own.

"Don't worry!" She started walking away and absent-mindedly used her hand in a shooing motion, trying to speak as little as possible.

Johan was a little doubtful, but the woman was strong enough to take care of herself against goons like the one he met earlier, even if injured. It felt a little heartless, but there was much to do. Therefore, he quickly moved towards the wrecked wall and peered inside the shaded room, waiting for his eyesight to adjust to the lower light levels; the sunlight coming from the directly opposite side was blocked by the smooth marble walls and he seemed to have destroyed the torches as he had broken down the marble entrance. Interestingly, it seemed the wall he had destroyed could sink downwards using a lever.

Johan briefly inspected the reception-like small room, until he found the sofa crashed under one of the four pieces of marble – each as thick as Johan's waist and as tall as half his height. Exerting some strength, Johan shoved them aside, until a wooden trapdoor was revealed. It looked identical to the one leading to Mayers' underground prison. He didn't have a key, but he simply stomped on the locking mechanism while covering his feet with martial aura and it easily broke.

Johan flung open the trapdoor, revealing carved wide stairs and the dump smell of earth.

Geez, how many underground installments are in this town? he wondered as he climbed down the couple dozen stairs.

At the end of the stairs lay a well-preserved tunnel-like corridor. Its rough stone walls were adorned with carved stands and rusted bronze figurines depicting military achievements.

Feels like a tomb. Johan shivered. Perhaps, once it served as a family crypt for whoever resided in the marble building above.

Making his footsteps lighter, Johan placed his hand on the scabbard of his black katana and moved forward. At the end of the corridor lay a poorly constructed mud wall and a simple wooden door. They were clearly recent constructions. As per usual, all materials were darker in color than Johan was used to.

Here, the smell of cheap wine permeated the air. And the sound of merrymaking came from beyond that wall. Johan gathered martial aura on his ears to scout a bit.

"Lang... hic... loong live master Skullsoooong! Felt ... hic ... made... good holiday..." a stuppored voice proclaimed, followed by the sounds of tumbling and something wooden falling on the floor.

"Ahaha, finally drunk?" laughter came afterwards.

"Hey, third competitor’s down! Vice-boss sure can hold her liquor!"

"Hyahyahya! Of course I do. Once you start getting the hang of moving aura, the changes are incredible! Long live master Skullsong and captain Nightcrusher's pointers! Here, everybody open another barrel, tell the boss it's on me!" a woman's voice rang out.

Clung "Hey, vice-boss don't lean on that guy so much! Here, my muscles are big but soft if you're looking for a pillow tonight." more laughter echoed out at that declaration.

"Ahaha, courting the vice-boss in the open! I'll try too!" a fragile voice excitedly chimed in.

"Hyahyahya! Stop ogling at me all the time! Just take it out on merchandise instead of bothering me too much, alright?"

"Ha, no can do, vice-boss. Boss said merchandise this time's important. Something about the Vizier of Lifidich wanting a buyout and all. And he won't let us on his personal slaves either."

"Hey... hic... boss's slaves are something else, alright." another drunk person interjected.

"Hyahyahya! Better than me then?"

"N-no, vice-boooosss believe me, you're the best! Vice-boss' majestic vantage of beating up people skimming due returns is forever etched in my mind." soberness seemed to be returning to that panicked voice.

"More like vice-boss' something else..." a small female voice jealously murmured, loud enough for everyone to hear and start laughing.

Craaash

The wooden door was torn down and Johan entered the spacious room. He placed his left hand on the scabbard while he examined the proceedings under his hood.

Three handfuls of people were sitting on the rough floor. They were tightly packed around a large square marble displaying two barrels of alcohol. Four more people lay wasted hugging their mugs and, in one case, another empty barrel. A dozen or more barrels of alcohol were also arrayed on the left wall.

Johan quickly counted the cloaks folded in the far-right corner of the room in neat piles of three. This is all of them.

Everyone paused mid-motion to stare at the newconer, some with their wooden mugs halfway to their lips, some filling those mugs in the barrels.

"Intruder!" a burly man pointed at Johan with a shaking finger. Leaving his cup to sink in the barrel, he charged forward baring his fist, followed by all conscious men.

"No, everyone, he's armed!"

The vice-boss was late in her warning. Johan dived amidst the half-drunken people and floored all of them with well-aimed punches to their stomachs within a half-dozen breaths.

In the meantime, the vice-boss and the only two other women in the room had scrambled towards the pile of cloaks. From there, they retrieved two daggers each. The vice-boss also grabbed a broadsword previous laying behind the cloaks.

"What the..." By the time the three women turned around, all the men were writhing in the ground clutching their stomachs. The vice-boss stared, her mouth forming a perfect o-shape. Johan glared at her.

"We.... surrender!" the vice-boss shouted. She theatrically moved her voluptuous body and dropped the broadsword she had been raising.

"Vice-boss!" "Why?" the other two women seemed surprised.

"Stupid, that's a disciple. A full-fledged one. I can feel the aura. Damn!" sweat flowed down the vice-boss's curved forehead, making her short brown hair stick to it.

The other two women dejectedly dropped their daggers too.

"Quickly welcome our esteemed guest!" the vice-boss instructed. The pressure seemed to have turned her round face purple. Nevertheless, she moved forward with swingy steps to bow in front of Johan. The other two women respectfully approached from behind.

Slap!

Without warning, Johan moved a single step forward and slapped her left cheek forcefully enough to make her head turn. Her eyes filled with tears and she involuntarily released the dagger she had been holding in the helm of her sleeves. It dropped to the floor with a clang sound.

"Vice-boss!" the men curling in the ground tried to unsteadily stand up, but Johan floored them again, this time punching their sides instead of the center of their stomachs.

"Better hide your killing intent next time, lady." Johan informed the vice-boss, who now had a hand firmly imprinted on her left cheek. She audibly gulped, not daring to speak.

"Give me one reason to not die." Johan calmly told the vice-boss.

"Or, rather, wait, first hear why you should die." he slowly said. "You've toyed with the freedom and dignity of people. Don't you even feel guilty? Uh? UH?" he became more and more agitated as he spoke, but in the end he managed to reign his bitter memories in. Still, killing intent spread from his countenance. Everyone in the room shivered involuntarily.

The vice-boss gulped again. Their life clearly hinged on her next words. Seconds passed as everyone fixed their eyes on her.

"S-sir disciple, there's no other way to survive for most of us!" in the end she could only state the truth to the hooded menace. That merciless killing intent terrified her.

"Hm...." Johan lifted his left hand from the scabbard to rub his chin, deep in thought. Unavoidable circumstances, huh? He hadn't experienced such desperation when destroying bandit groups before. Sometimes poverty was a good reason for better people to become devils. Still, something bothered him.

"But you treat dignity as something foregone, right?" he pressed on.

"Th-that's..." the vice-boss paled and stuttered. Damn, damn, damn! Where did this devil pop up from? Doesn't he know that everyone does that? she cursed in her head. As a last resort she tried to display her charms as vividly as possible while changing her posture, but they didn't even incite an extra glance.

"Sigh... I didn't want to rely on vagueness, but since you're so unhelpful..." Johan retracted his killing intent and the vice-boss stumbled forward, breathing hard as the oppressiveness vanished.

Before anyone could react, Johan drew his blade.

Stab! Stab! Stab!

Three small fountains of blood spurted as he stabbed three of the fallen men in the heart. They all groaned drunkenly once before they died. Warm dark blood oozed from the wounds for a bit, drenching their cheap clothes and falling from their unmoving bodies onto the rough marble floor.

"Whyyy! You devil..." the vice-boss became angry and was ready to charge. However, her body instinctively remembered the fear from before and she faltered. The same thing happened with the rest of the fallen men.

Stab! Stab! Stab!

Johan stabbed the sword arm of another two fallen men and one of the wasted ones. The latter didn't seem to feel anything, but the former two let out miserable howls and clutched the wounds. Their already dark-colored sleeves became soaked in thick dark blood, which dripped from their edges.

The vice-boss widened her eyes in shock! The ones who suffered or were killed were those who had been needlessly cruel to slaves or had beaten up a lot of people for no reason. She thanked the stars she at least hadn't sought fun with some very good-looking specimens before.

Stab!

"Aaaaaagh!"

Johan stood in front of the vice-boss and also pierced her sword arm. She let out a high-pitched cry and Johan also rotated the black katana, making a wide circular wound.

"Since you're almost at the disciple level, this will take you out of action for approximately the same time as the others." Johan grimly said. "If you can't help your depraved ways, at least respect others’ humanity." he continued.

"H-how?" the vice-boss clutched the gaping hole that bled profusely and asked.

"How do I decide who to punish?" Johan's grim expression turned into a half-sad smirk. "Intuition I guess?"