Ostrik had made swift progress with his new command of the seas. With every flick of his scimitar, the waves propelled the damaged vessel further north with no further need for repair. Everyone on the ship obeyed Ostrik as if he’d been the captain the whole time. Dunarik maintained an elevated station as a predecessor and thus, Ostrik exempted him from labor. He sat by the edge of the ship and drank his voyage away. Kasar and Cryppe had half a mind of speaking to him. Vorza advised against it.

  The sailors preferred to stay away from Kasar himself, as if his previous blasphemy bore ill omens for the voyage. Ostrik seemed not to mind, but didn’t refute the sailors’ conclusion. Kasar figured the groom of a goddess was basking in his glory and power. Though, Kasar hated that Ostrik could claim marriage with a goddess he’s never met and be everyone else cheered. When Kasar stated a simple opinion due to reasonable circumstances (in his mind at least) suddenly it was an ill omen.

  Vorza told Kasar to keep his mouth shut for the rest of the voyage.

  Kasar hoped Vorza saw just how much he had matured because he didn’t bring up “ill omens” again.

  Soon enough, the Gilded Isles made its appearance in the distance. Atop the crow’s nest, a sailor cheered and waved his hat. “Land ahead!”

  The coast stretched far, laced with white shores before emerald jungles bristling in the salty breeze. Waves crashed on a ledge to the far west where the port city boundaries ended. A watchtower stood tall upon that cliffside overlooking the seas. The buildings bore the same earthen-ware tiles, but the architecture seemed sturdier. Cobbled stone bases paired with dark, wooden exteriors. Braziers hung from the beams jutting out of the corners. Atop the roofs, Kasar swore he spotted runners bounding ledge to ledge. Kasar could see they were children as they got closer. A dangerous game of cat and mouse.

  Astonishment rose in the young devil’s face when he saw how packed the docks were compared to the Warveilan port city. He gaped at the large vessels and small vessels, but enough to form an armada. The docks flew the same sigil on its banner. Cryppe had told him that the dock-owners were typical lords of crime, not nobility. Gold ruled these parts more than lineage or any system.The dock-owners commanded the trade and naval power, and with it their part of the Isles and surrounding seas.

  “The Gilded Isles,” said Kasar, grumbling. “Here we go again.”

  “I wonder what trouble we’ll get into this time,” said Vorza. He’d taken a toll in the last fight. Perhaps not in the Body, but rather his spirit. He kept mentioning how excited he was to see home again and take a break from the drifter life. Kasar decided he’d give him that space and take some respite himself. Once they recuperated, they’d head south into Mahar and explore the cultures there. Perhaps someone could help Kasar read and write further.

  From there, who knew where he would go. Perhaps Cryppe might even accompany them. He liked his presence and loved bantering with him about fighters, adventures, history, and even mundane stories about growing up.

  He had his own fair share of legends akin to Beregar Blackhand and Sipha Windrunner. The age of heroes had died in the Triscourge, but that didn’t stop skilled warriors to try and carve a place for themselves in history.

  Kasar had learned much from Cryppe and figured if the trio went across the world, soon enough Kasar would be able to decipher any language that came his way. His friend knew so many, afterall. And it felt so joyous to call him friend. Beregar and Sipha were true friends, but this was the first he’d met on the road. The first he wanted by his side, and the who wanted Kasar by his.

  Blackhand had a different road to follow and Kasar couldn’t stray him from it any more than he could stray the sun from rising. Cryppe was as much of a drifter as the two Devils. The excitement bubbled inside him the more he thought of it.

  The world was vast and Kasar felt determined to explore it all.

  For now, he would have to figure out a way to leave the Gilded Isles. Vorza seemed dour in that pursuit, but Kasar figured in a haven of odd jobs and scumbags, surely there was some work for two Devils and a Blade of Justice.

  As soon as he thought such a thing, he realized how foolish that mindset was. Kasar would not feel comfortable with any of these jobs. Some hit jobs here, or raid missions there. Perhaps some currency dispute and they’d tell Kasar to break someone’s knees. Kasar would eventually let slip his hard words, a fight would break out, and suddenly all ports would close for them.

  No wonder Vorza was so cynical. They may have stranded themselves here.

  Kasar did not want to kill anyone. Not again. The pits were different, and he killed to find their freedom from those that would take it. Now he had a choice. Choice was life.

  The ship made port, and Ostrik strode off with the swagger befitting royalty. A sneer on his face showing his dirty teeth, eyes glinting with mischief and malice, he waved his hat to Dunarik and bowed.

  “Thank you,” he said. “I now have a ship and crew.”

  Dunarik grumbled under his breath. Kasar heard it. “For now.” Kasar wondered what the captain was planning. A shared glance with Vorza showed that his mentor had heard it too. The old Devil shot Kasar a glare that meant “not our business.”

  Of course not. However, Kasar was never one to listen to orders. As Kasar pondered, he figured perhaps it would be best to let things travel their natural paths. Ostrik had led over 70 sailors to their deaths all for a wedding and power.

  He still did not believe the exact events. How could someone just jump in the water and come back as a married man? Perhaps Kasar would wait and see what happened for once. Much to Vorza’s relief, he was sure.

  Much like the port city in the Warveilan sub-continent, the one in the Gilded Isles bustled with the mad rush of an ant hill. Shouts and clangs of sailors and smithies. A wild stream of folks from all corners of the continent bustling to and fro. They seemed ruder here. Kasar quickly realized if he didn’t move for passersby, they’d barrel into him, and shoot him an evil glare.

  The condition of their clothes, however, were more akin to the tattered mess that the two devils wore. The clothes themselves were entirely different to the studded leather jerkin over a waistcoat. Instead of any serious armor, Kasar noted a preference of lighter tunics or vests. Wide brimmed hats with feathers spiking out. The Valk sailors of The Soldier’s Pride considered such fashion to be childish. Trench coats fluttered behind the striding dwellers of this chaotic city. Their boots clipped and clopped over cobbled stone that embed the streets they wander on.

  Kasar felt as if he now walked through a jungle of stone, wood, and earthen-ware. Smoke billowed from chimneys, and they blackened nearby walls. The poverty he saw here astonished him too. Beggars of all ages and origins starved on the streets. Kasar didn’t have any coin on him, he realized.

  He tossed one boy a piece of his rations. Vorza frowned at him. Suddenly, the three that wandered about the city had many followers behind them. Kasar had to let them know he barely had anymore for himself. Cryppe just looked sad, while Vorza almost bore a superior smirk, as if he’d wanted to say “I told you so.” Kasar bit down some rude retorts and continued to walk.

  He heard the name of the city in the whispers of the city-folk around him. Ogeth Pennue. It had the strangest pronunciation. Something regarding the natives of the land that figured out how to sail. They were the masters of the sea for a while, before turning into masters of trade as well. Now the Isles were so gilded, indeed due to their proficiency.

  The Pennue people resembled the majority of the people in the Akashtran Deserts where Kasar fought in the pits. Dark skinned, darker than Maharian oak. However, Kasar noticed that despite this being the land of the Pennue people, the hodge podge of ethnicities here represented a vast world he’d yet to explore.

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  “This feels like the center point of the world,” said Kasar as they passed through the city. He noticed Ostrik’s gang had split from their party, and the sailors from Ostrik’s. All had dispersed, and likely to never meet again in such a populated crowd. He didn’t miss them.

  Vorza gave his signature grunt. This one meant disagreement. “We aren’t. This just has the scum and villainy of the world.”

  “From every nation,” added Cryppe.

  “Good and bag eggs in every batch,” Vorza added with a scowl to some passing children.

  “Why here?” asked Kasar.

  “Due to trade and easiest access to the most ports,” said Cryppe. “In a way it could be seen as the center of the continent, despite being to its farthest east. However, only because ships are a far faster method to travel to any of the ports. The seas, as you can tell, make it more difficult.”

  “That’s where Vrodians come in,” said Vorza. “We mastered the art of sea travel.”

  “Pennue had their contributions as well,” mused Cryppe.

  “Sure, sure.” Vorza closed off discussion.

  “Anyways,” continued Cryppe. “Where the trade goes, so does the money. Thus, so do the criminal types. This is merchant oligarchy at the end of the day. Your culture does not matter. Your coin does.”

  “Keep your eyes out for thieves,” said Vorza. They would love to be kings.”

  The three decided to settle in a pub to relax. Sweat dribbled down their brows in the sweltering heat that washed over the isles. Distant thunderclouds boomed from the way the group had sailed. Trade ships continuously docked and undocked. Despite the later hours of the night, business boomed, and workers tirelessly worked to ship in and out goods.

  Kasar wondered what lay in those crates and barrels. Something unsavory, no doubt, but curiosity gnawed at his stomach. He knew what Vorza would say: mind silent, mouth silent. Well, Kasar liked to wonder, and he liked to poke. Part of him also enjoyed doing it because others explicitly told him not to.

  Cryppe brought over some drinks and food from the pub.

  “We don’t have money for that,” said Vorza.

  “I made money by swearing my sword to do their chores for the next three nights. I suggest you offer your backs as well.”

  “You swore your sword?” asked Kasar.

  “I gave it to them for safekeeping while I uphold my bargain.”

  Vorza’s jaw dropped. “You’re never seeing that sword again.”

  Cryppe gave him a smile. “We’ll see.”

  A scream erupted from the inner room. The patrons around them spun their heads to see what the noise was. From the door leading to the kitchen burst forth a man with his hand clenched around his wrist. His other hand steamed and behind him, Cryppe’s sword clattered to the floor.

  “You mage!” he cried. “You tricked it up!”

  Cryppe stood up and splayed his hands out. “I said I would work for my food and drink. I said you can hold onto my sword to uphold my end of the bargain. Did you try to steal it?”

  The man from the lodgings grumbled and eyed Cryppe with his narrowed eyes. His gaze shot down at his hand and he realized his flesh was unscathed.

  “Please don’t steal my things,” said Cryppe.

  The patrons guffawed and Cryppe sat back down to his meal with a chuckle.

  “You shouldn’t have done that,” said Vorza. “Now you’ll be the talk of the town.”

  “Maybe they’ll fear him,” said Kasar.

  “Or worse, maybe they’ll try to employ him.”

  The next morning, after some more arguing with the owner of the inn, Kasar and Vorza set off for a stroll to find some better paying work. Cryppe stayed behind to shoulder the labor by his own request.

  He had said “it’d be better for you two to scout for more information. I can handle some menial tasks.”

  The early morning air hung heavy with the sea and the stench of salt. The breeze carried the freshness of the rising sun, though, but Kasar could distinctly catch a hint of something else. Blood. Vorza noticed his student’s panic, but rested a hand on his shoulder.

  A grim look masked his face. “The world’s not too different from Warveil, lad. Nor too different from the deserts.”

  “What happened there?”

  “What happens everywhere, every night.” Vorza stepped in between Kasar, and the path they strode on. The stench of blood continued to prick Kasar’s hairs on his neck. “Are you going to get involved in every fight? In every single sign of danger?”

  Kasar didn’t respond right away. For once he was baffled. Of course, he wanted to say yes, but he could already see where Vorza was going with this.

  “Millions upon millions of lives are lost every year, and I bet you my saber you’ll be disgusted by how many of them are caused due to the malice of other hearts. The world’s learning to kill us off, but we somehow get ahead and do its job better. That never changes. Things just get faster. Are you going to throw yourself at malice every time?”

  “If I can-”

  “And if you can’t?”

  “Then I can’t.”

  “And if you can’t, but still try, what then?”

  “I’d have made a choice to help.”

  “You won’t live long.”

  “I’ll live true.”

  “See the world some more, then come back to me with that attitude.”

  “Come back to you?”

  Vorza faltered. “Lad, I … I am retiring.”

  “Retiring?” asked Kasar. “What does that…?

  “I’m done with the road. I am done with the Path. I will return to my homeland and find a quiet life there while I can.”

  “But we’re going to Vrodia for a rest. Are you not coming south with me after?”

  “You go onto Mahar on your own, lad. You have Cryppe by your side now. He seems to want to stick with you. I am old. I have seen much. Now I just want to see home.”

  Kasar felt his throat close up.

  “Oh, you act as if I will die. No, I will be happy at home. You will be happy there too, but… Well I know you: you’re a man of the road. Always have been, even as a pit fighter. The desert took me and kept me from the north, but it just gave you a place to develop your skills with me.”

  He clasped Kasar’s cheeks with both his hands. “You have made me a proud mentor, regardless of your rock headedness.”

  Kasar and Vorza shared a chuckle.

  “But after we get off these Isles, I will go north, and you will go west to Mahar. Learn to write and read, so we can try to send each other letters. When you get your fill of the mainlands, then venture up to see me. I’ll have a little homestead by then, hopefully. Perhaps I will buy a creek that freezes. We can learn to skate.”

  Another stifled laugh.

  Vorza let his hands rest. “Just need some money right now. That’s all. Money to get out of here.”

  Kasar didn’t have any words save for the realization that he wouldn’t see Vorza for months. Maybe years.

  “Is it because I throw myself into harm’s way?” asked Kasar finally.

  “Oh, lad, don’t change yourself. But learn, still. Always learn. Adapt. Don’t run your mouth. Be wise with your virtue.”

  “I’ll try to be more quiet.” Kasar couldn’t keep the desperation out of his voice.

  “Lad, it’s not you. Look at me. I’m old. I’m so tired.”

  Kasar’s head dropped.

  “We’ll exchange letters. Have Cryppe read them to you when mine comes in. They’ll be spaced apart. Couriers are good at finding folk. Vrodian ones especially. You’ll get them over time. I’ll get yours.”

  “I’ll visit some day.”

  “I know. Mahar first. Follow your path. Follow your heart. Then come visit once you’ve become a man in your own right.”

  “I will. I swear it.”

  “You just made the fates bend to your will with those words boy. You will make it. As stubborn as you are.”