After a full-course meal and a recall of events courtesy of the goggled youth, Ripley felt more at ease. However, a feeling of doubt still lingered within him. The dream he had, Lou had stated, was a vision, and from his tone, he couldn’t help but think there’s more to it than meets the eye. Could it be a future event, or a recollection of the past?

Also, Lou’s skill in the magical arts was simply outstanding, and it wasn’t just from casting a strong barrier instantly. From what Marlowe had told him, he had thrown all his vials of mana at the mercenary, but he quickly turned the tide by attuning his own mana signature at the aether cloud and he used it for his own spell.

Who was he, really? Why did he defect from the Blue Army? And how did he attain a high mastery in magic?

But as the three were trudging along the desert path, his train of thought was broken when he overheard a conversation between Lou the mercenary and Marlowe, who was acting as a crutch.

“So what were you guys taking about while I was away?” the boy in the overalls asked.

“Nothing much,” answered the mercenary. “It’s stuff you already know. I was gonna ask you about where you got your supply of mana potions. Those things are hard to come by.”

“Hmmhmm,” Marlowe puffed out his chest. “It’s a trade secret.”

“Sure you don’t want to tell me? Alright, lemme guess. Underground dealings with a cartel?”

“Nope,” the youth smugly challenged him.

“Extreme barter with a dealer?”

“Nope, try again.”

“You prostituted yourself?”

“Wha-?!” Marlowe’s smug aura was replaced with embarrassment. “What do you take me for?! I wouldn’t stoop so low!”

“With a body like yours, you could probably get a vial, probably more if you wore a dress. It’s amazing how some people trade weird things for other weird things these days.”

The flustered Marlowe threw a punch towards Lou, who easily caught it.

“Looks like I was right on the money, eh?”

“Not! Even! Close!” Marlowe threw a punch for every word uttered. But the mercenary had the upper hand.

“No need to be so touchy, little dude. I was just guessing.” Lou shrugged as he defended himself from Marlowe’s useless attacks.

“Ripley! Do something!”

“Marlowe cuts himself and extracts the mana from his blood,” the young smith offhandedly spoke, upon which he was tackled by a raging Marlowe.

“He does?” Lou wondered, then turned to the goggled youth to warn him. “But that’s dangerous, especially for someone as young as you. Not only are you wearing out your blood, you’re also wearing out your soul.”

“But how else can I earn my keep? It’s not like I can steal all the time.”

“Life in the desert’s harsh, but the people of Outpost can get by through trade,” Ripley explained. “We’ve had each other’s backs since we were young. Father even considered adopting Marlowe as a second son, but he turned it down.”

“Because smithing’s not my thing.” Marlowe added. “And freedom is much better.”

“Hear, hear,” Lou cheered.

“But,” Marlowe continued. “I really can’t thank Mr. Nightjar enough. That’s why I’ll help Ripley rescue him.”

“Thanks, Marlowe.” said the young smith. He felt reassured that Marlowe is by his side, and with the magic swordsman and the clockwork hammer, he felt that nothing can stop him. But only if the cloud of doubt in his mind would go away.

“So,” Marlowe asked. “How are we going to go about on this rescue mission of yours?”

“Allow me to answer that,” Lou turned to answer him. “First we look for clues where the Blue Army is headed and follow them there. If we can’t find anything, we head for the Capital.”

“We’re not hunting boar! And how exactly are we gonna go to the Capital, Mr. Mercenary? It’s well away from Outpost! The journey would take months on foot! You’d have to cross the desert basin, and then cross a mountain range!”

“It’s best you worry about that later. We’re here.”

They arrived at the spot where the Blue Army attacked. It was the smith’s house, but it was unrecognizable from before. One half was sliced off, exposing the interior, which looked unscathed.

The three hurried to the site, with Ripley heading further inside. His gaze darted back and forth as he examined every nook and cranny of his home. Pieces of wood and metalwork lay strewn across the floor, scratches and burns covered the walls, but strangely enough, his own room was left unharmed.

Ripley hurried inside and checked if his things were still in order, and sure enough, they were. He packed a set of clothes and a few books for the journey ahead, since living in a ruined house would only invite trouble.

When he headed outside, the other two who were doing their own time observing the wreckage greeted him and checked if he was having a sentimental moment inside, to which he simply said, “I’m fine now. I’ve already made up my mind.” This reassured Marlowe, his confidante.

“Hmm,” Lou examined the perimeter. “Alright, good news and bad news. Which one do you want to hear first?”

“Wait, you don’t want to hear about my story?” Ripley voiced his concern.

“It’s okay. Your friend already told me enough. Anyway, I think your father is alive and well. Though the place is rather noisy, I can still feel traces of his mana signature around this place.”

“How do you know this? And what do you mean by noisy?”

“It’s best if I show you. Project!”

As soon as he declared it, the air around him swirled.

Ghostly images littered the ruined house, like running ink on water. Trails of wispy blue ribboned all around them. Ripley saw the path of various creatures, as well as glowing prints on the ground emanating a faint blue light.

“What’s he doing?” asked Marlowe.

“It’s a projection spell,” Ripley explained. “Anything living leaves some sort of mana footprint on the aether, but it’s invisible to the naked eye. A projection spell makes those trails visible.”

“But that’s not all that it does, kid.” Lou added. “This is a more advanced projection spell that can show you what happened earlier, but you’d have to know how to read mana signatures.”

“It really feels like hunting a boar,” Marlowe remarked. “And I thought you said incantations are bad. Why did you shout ‘Project!’?”

“Because it’s cooler that way?”

Lou waved his arm, and the mana trails swirled once more, as if time rewound itself. The tumult only slowed down once he was close to the particular time frame of the incident.

“See that? That’s me taking out the sword. As you can see, there was no one around in the area.”

“Hmm, you really were telling the truth there,” remarked Marlowe.

“Can you go farther back?” Ripley requested.

“Sure thing, boss.” And Lou waved his arm once more, but the further they went back in time, the fainter the images glowed. “Ah, the signature’s almost gone, but the spell’s still got it.”

But just as Lou was about to get to where they were headed, a blinding blue haze covered the parade of ghostly lights.

“Argh,” Lou exclaimed and shut down the spell. “I was so close. No wonder there’s a lot of noise around this place.”

“Why? What happened back there?”

“Someone fired a mana missile around here. A really strong one. Not only can it act as a damaging projectile, it can also act as a smokescreen for scryers.”

“That must’ve been from the Behemoths,” Ripley surmised.

“I figured as much,” Lou clicked his tongue. “But it would be strange for them to waste a shot on a small shack as this. Not to mention that they should’ve hit it squarely to erase the evidence. Just who was your father, anyway?”

“Didn’t he already tell you?” Marlowe reminded him. “You’re holding a Nightjar sword, and there’s no other smith across the known lands with the name Nightjar. Well, other than your employer, who’s the son of the man who made that very sword you’re wielding.”

“Whoa, he’s that important? Granted, this sword really feels good to handle. Must’ve been a really cool guy. Anyways, where do we go from here, boss?”

Just as Lou was looking for affirmation from his employer, the young smith contemplated. After a while, he turned to the mercenary and asked:

“Can you cast the projection spell again? I just want to make sure I saw something right.”

Lou cast the spell again, this time without declaring anything, and the ghostly images returned. Ripley ordered him to go back to where they were before, and when they got to the blue haze, he suggested to slow down so he wouldn’t suffer the shock of the noise. The mercenary did, and the haze started to coalesce into a single spot before shooting out into the distance.

A little later, the mercenary stilled his hand to reveal a grizzly sight. In the projections, they could see a lone ghost struggling against a multitude of ghosts lunging at him.

“Father!” Ripley couldn’t help but cry out to the ghost in the projection.

The lone ghost was ultimately overpowered by the others. As two ghosts propped him up, one of them came forth and simply stared at him. After a while, the smith’s ghost limped, and he was carried away. The band of spirits formed a beeline and floated forth, and then the projectile that shot out returned and exploded in the same spot, scattering blue haze everywhere.

“So that’s why they abducted him,” Lou smiled for some reason. “He’s not just any smith. He worked for the Blue Army.”

“Well, duh! That’s what he told you!” said the goggled youth. “And while all that’s happening, Ripley’s running for his life.”

“But why would the Blue Army go so far just to get to this guy?”

“Here’s what I think: The Blue Army needs more weapons because for the first time in 20 years, they have begun their advance. They’re recruiting more soldiers for that. More soldiers means more weapons, more weapons means more smiths. That’s why they abducted Ripley’s dad.”

Upon hearing Marlowe’s reasonable hypothesis, Lou shook his head.

“That’s strange to me. If the Blue Army would search for more people, why didn’t they just stage their recruitment in the Capital? I mean, you have more people there than here. Not to mention all the smiths I know are all concentrated in one single district there.”

“Oh right, you did mention you worked for the Blue Army once.”

“Maybe it had something to do with my father’s way of making swords?” Ripley suggested.

“You mean all the magic he puts on this sword and stuff?” Lou unsheathed the sword from his back to have a close look at it.

“Yes. Do any of the smiths in the Capital do that?”

“Now that you mentioned it, they didn’t need to. The most they did with their swords was reinforce it with a strengthen spell, and that’s pretty much it. Nothing about putting security seals on it.”

Ripley nodded. He found it strange for his father to reinforce a magic seal on his swords. After all, they’re in a mountainous area with the nearest town being found on the edge of a desert basin, which meant customers are as rare as they come, and even if bandits were to come and ransack the place, they wouldn’t be able to pick a single blade thanks to the magic on them.

The mercenary stretched his back and continued.

“Well, we have a lead. Now we need something else, something with your father’s mana signature on it. I will need it to track his whereabouts.”

Ripley turned to his friend and said, “Marlowe, the box,” to which he replied, “Are you sure about this?”

“It’s fine,” said the young smith. “I think we’re close to finding where father is. And I think I know what he’s doing.”

The goggled youth dug under his overalls and took out a partly-charred box. It was the same box that contained the clockwork hammer Ripley used against Lou, which was currently hanging by his waist. Even when empty, he couldn’t part with the box. It’s part of his possessiveness. Not to mention it was becoming one of the few things that he treasured.

But when Ripley was about to hand the box over to Lou, a shadow darted forward and snatched it from the young smith’s outstretched hands before disappearing into the thickness of the conifer forest.

The three boys immediately left the scene and gave chase.