"Hawnflew rumoror, li arn. (Hidden music become shadow, oh flowery constellation.)"

The law-enforcing elder slowly chanted. It took him a dozen or so breaths to finish. “Not that good, but should suffice.” he murmured within his bulging cheeks.

Markus gulped down. Despite his post-recuperation headache persisting, he recognized a couple of words from a larger incantation meant to stop eavesdroppers. However, the elder had made changes on the spot to shorten it. This could only mean that chanting a bit was more laborious to him than discovering a new magical structure in the language of Shalaenor.

What a genius. Markus was envious. Power was just power; with the resources of the family, if he trained for long enough, he would reach unimaginable levels too. But some things were only possible by those having the talent.

The elder’s small brown eyes focused intelligently on Markus.

“So, little Markus encountered that shape of the Fragmented One. Was it the reason you had to flee?” he resumed their conversation.

His question jolted Markus out of his reverie. Before he could reply though, the elder’s brows knitted together as he thought of something.

“But it was weakened and nature doesn’t work properly in the Black Lands.” The elder paused for a breath, after which he suddenly slapped his thigh. Or rather, he tried to but hit his underbelly, which was the farthest place his short hands could reach.

“So that’s why first niece couldn’t find it as much as she searched the Wilderness – it had gone where nobody could suspect. As expected of the Fragmented One’s wisdom; it could read us perfectly.”

The elder ruminated a bit. As he did, he produced another muffin and started munching on it. His spherical form shifted from side to side and Markus realized that the elder's bulge not falling off the simple chair was probably due to a good sense of balance.

“So -munch- what happened?” the elder once again resumed his jovial tone.

Markus thought he was getting a second headache on top of the existing one. He quickly got his wits together again.

“It’s like this; I had no problem with the shape.” he said confidently. ”I used numbers as a tactic to capture it and meant to return in a while.”

The elder nodded approvingly. “You did ­-munch? That was good thinking. A heads-on confrontation means nothing against that … thing. In full power, it can even match auntie.” His belly shuddered once.

”But, given its condition, numbers are indeed a good approach ­-gulp. Surely you secured it with the Lonsdaleite you got from Lifidich?”

“Uncle sure is well-informed.” Markus carefully replied. “I even cooperated with a master to give me disciples to guard it, disguising the whole process as a slave business.” He omitted the fact that he had also been meaning to make some good pocket change with the affair.

“Continue.” the elder pressed on, gesturing in a semi-circle with his short fingers.

“But then, a strange swordsman popped up from nowhere!” Markus fumed. “Only a disciple, but managed to free the Shape – I don’t know how.” He grumbled. He hated when things didn’t go according to plan.

“So, the Shape run away?” the elder pressed.

“Ah, no. I mentioned the reward to the town’s master.” Markus informed. ”Given his temperament he’ll put a lockdown for a couple days to devise a scheme. By the time I used the escape rune, the swordsman was also badly hurt and I don’t think the Shape can break through the gates on its own. So I guess they’re still-”

Markus’s head cleared a bit by hearing his own voice and he suddenly realized something.

“Um, uncle, how many days was I out of it?”

The elder’s plump face broke into a huge victory smile.

“Only two.” he replied. “You’re not too late in reporting.”

“He’bs heare!” a guard shouted. His thick accent reverberated in the narrow alleyway.

Thud

Johan’s aura-covered punch landed within the man’s hood. His knuckles transmitted the disturbing feeling of bones breaking and the man collapsed on the spot.

It was fortunate Johan had regulated his strength – even without martial aura, a disciple’s body was nothing to scoff at.

Despite his success in knocking yet another person unconscious, Johan was displeased. He had not noticed the guy quickly enough and had given him the time to shout.

What’s this stupid intuition doing?

Johan turned and fled the scene, moving further down the narrow alleyway. The muddy tall backsides of habitable buildings had no openings, filling it with a cool dry shadow. As he run, he focused on mentally recapping his current status.

After first incapacitating the slavers, he had left them to the mercy of the people in the cages. He had gone on to visit a couple similar places which he had left in identical situation. He hadn’t granted any quick deaths, but the captives wouldn’t dare linger until the slavers regained consciousness simply to vent before killing them. The slavers may not deserve such effortless passing -Johan’s blood still burned in anger from the sights he had witnessed- but unnecessary pain went against his beliefs.

Some mercy on death can’t hurt anybody, he thought. It was definitely not simply because he was more experienced in knocking people out instead of subduing them...

Notably, each group of slavers had a couple of guards blocking the entrance of their encampments.

So, Skullsong is sheltering these vermin. Johan detested those who sheltered scumbags. He vowed that in their next encounter he would at least give the master a good scare.

As he continued wrecking one detestable slave business to the next, Johan’s activities ended up alerting the town guards. After a while, teams had been organized for his capture. Although they hadn’t met with much success, they had somehow managed to procure a description of him, which made almost every guard he met recognize him.

As Johan continued running in what he hoped was the correct direction to his next target, he heard at least half a dozen pairs of footsteps turning in the same alleyway far behind him.

“He’s there! Get him to the dead end!” someone shouted. Immediately afterwards, the footsteps turned into running sounds.

Johan did not even turn to watch and continued speeding forward, effortlessly leaving the sounds of pursuit behind.

Soon enough, a muddy wall blocked the middle of the road. Johan kicked it with full strength, but only a dull sound reverberated. He nodded to himself when he realized that the wall should be several times thicker than normal.

This should be the back of that so-called Linai merchant shop. The next slavery is supposedly to the right. Johan hoped he remembered correctly the mental map he had formed while listening to the innkeeper.

While he was thinking, running sounds came again into hearing distance.

“Stop resisting! You’ve nowhere to go!”

Johan glanced at the group of hooded guards that neatly arrayed themselves as they approached and proceeded to ignore them.

Aren’t they too much like hoodlums themselves? He chuckled.

Johan gathered as much martial aura on his legs as he could within a half-dozen breaths and jumped upwards, parallel to the solid mud wall barring his way. For further propulsion, he distributed strength from his toes to his knees.

His jump made him rise more than four times his height aboveground, almost matching the top of the muddy wall. He stretched out a hand and grabbed its edge.

Dumph

Carried by momentum, his katana's sheath moved together with his belt to hit his nose when his upward motion slowed. The impact made him smart with pain and he could feel tears reflexively forming at the corner of his eyes. Johan raised his free hand to rub his nose spiking with pain … and forgot that he had formed an axis by grabbing the roof’s edge.

Slam

Johan’s body slammed into the dark mud wall, making several outer crumbs fall off. Despite being winded, he kept his grip firm while he dangled from the roof. Damn my stu-

His intuition did not let him finish cursing before flaring up in danger. Forcing himself to focus, Johan felt the air shift behind him.

Without pausing to think, Johan deployed martial aura in his finger’s muscles and used them to propel his body upwards. Within the next fraction of a breath he had scrambled on the dusty roof, watching a couple of knives embed themselves to where his body had just been. They shaved another layer of dry mud, which scattered to pieces as it fell.

Forgetting his mishap, Johan looked down at the guards with interest. Some glared back, while others appeared apprehensive. A couple tried to mimic his jump, but without aura the most well-trained amongst them could cover less than half the height.

“Get back here, coward” someone shouted when she noticed Johan's head sticking out.

Whoosh

Johan tilted his neck, letting another knife fly past him and onto the roof.

“So long!” Johan waved at the helpless guards once and proceeded to run to the other side of the roof. Just in case it collapsed under his weight, he avoided moving too far from its edges.

This building was higher than its neighboring ones and he got a panoramic view of the unassuming neighborhood; muddy walls mingling with the occasional stone or marble ruin. In a big city this would have been a slum. However, here the quality of living had little to do with the environment and was more dependent on who and how many one’s neighbors where.

While he examined as far as his eyes could reach, Johan detachedly re-affirmed how empty the streets appeared from above.

Skullsong is the absolute ruler here. If he declares a quarantine, nobody moves. He once again realized that masters were a different class on their own, be it their prowess or it’s resulting influence.

Johan’s gaze focused on the sturdy stone walls in the distance, as well as the well-erected circular building looking like a small tower protruding from the middle of the town – master Skullsong’s mansion.

How different! He noticed the much superior architecture as he ran.

Within a couple of breaths, Johan had reached the other side of the roof. A body-long gap separated it from the next building, a couple of armlengths lower. There, a number of crates where arrayed – most of them open and filled with what looked like sandworm meat. Some of it had become dry under the glaring sun.

Are they trying to preserve it? He guessed.

Johan jumped over the gap to reach that lower roof. His goal lay inside that very building.

As he soared in mid-air though, he caught a small glint of light projected on one of the crates. The unexpected phenomenon made him burst his martial aura outwards in alarm.

Whoosh

With incredible speed and precision, a small object flew towards his abdomen. It collided with his martial aura and powerlessly fell to the gap between the two buildings. Johan didn’t take a good look, but it seemed like a dart.

What's my intuition doing?

He searched for the source and spotted a small blowpipe protruding from between the crates.

There!

While maintaining the outward burst of martial aura, Johan landed on the lower roof and rolled towards said crates. Two more darts flew from the blowpipe. But this time he was prepared and successfully avoided them with a tilt of his waist that heavily changed his roll’s path. The darts may have been fast, but so was he.

While he was distracted with his front, a short woman jumped from behind one of the crates on his left and smashed a thick metal club towards Johan’s rolling body. Incredibly, she had managed to avoid making a sound altogether.

However Johan just smiled. While maintaining his circular motion, he grabbed the black katana and used its hilt to hit her shins moments before the club collided with his arched spine.

“Aaargh” the woman shouted in anguish as the blow broke her bones and toppled her body towards two crates. She crashed into them with considerable force, but her long cloak awkwardly muffled her cry as it fluttered over her face.

“Calculate better next time” Johan instructed.

Being close enough to the blowpipe, he jumped forward from the mid-motion crouch. He infused his leg’s muscles with martial aura and kicked the crates with as much force as they could handle without breaking.

BOOM

The impact was similar to a small explosion and the crates were sent flying. Once again Johan admired his own ability to calculate the durability of wood - he had skillfully avoided making a hole.

“Damn, monsteeer!” a lanky-looking man holding the previously protruding blowpipe was blown upwards together with the partially dismantled crates. He cursed as he traveled in the air alongside them, his arms and legs flailing in all direction. Then, together with the with and the wiggly meat spilling everywhere, he fell off the building’s edge.

“Oops” Johan had not really meant to trajectorize the man – kicking the crates was just a handy distraction in his mind.

Crash

Johan winced in sympathy. Since he had no particular enmity with the man -save from the minor fact that he had just ambushed him- he sincerely hoped the ample amounts of disgusting meat had cushioned the fall a little.

“Well, that’s that.” Johan wouldn’t be overly polite in combat.

His thoughts moved on, deliberating how to take care of business in the quickest way possible – after all he wanted to finish at least this and another two large enough slaveries before it became a free-for-all between him and the strongest of the town’s guards.