A cacophony of noises interrupted Aren as he was giving Leilara and Galdren their wedding gift, while the entire academy body flew around them and laughed and circled a giant spinning ball of eyeballs that shone spotlights at him in constantly changing colors.

  He opened his eyes, furrowed his brows, looked around a bit, then closed them again, only for a loud crash from below to destroy any semblance of sleep he had left.

  Annoyed but somewhat rested, he slipped to the edge of the bed and planted his head in his hands, caressing his temples and molding his blond bed hair into a semblance of a hairstyle. Fortunately, the constant feeling of emptiness was gone, as his mana had recovered to nearly full capacity, but emotionally he still felt numb.

  A chatter of voices and laughter filled his ears from below, and a fast-paced tune reached his ears, played on what he thought was a flute. He stood up and walked to the single window in his room. Pushing the thick cloth cover aside, he saw the evening sun in the process of slipping behind the horizon. A beautiful luminescence lit the white walls of the city, giving the tinted band of orange an ethereal glow, as if it were fusing with the sun’s light.

  Aren thought to himself. It reminded him of the journeys Thommas took them on, simply for the sake of seeing something new. He hadn’t had much time for that since joining the academy.

  Sighing, he moved away from the window and reached for his wand, but then realized it was not there. He remembered the black band on his wrist and that his wand was still with his robe in his storage.

  Putting on the dark mantle manually, he opened the door to his room and let the noise wash over him. Taking his time walking to the dining hall, he was greeted by the sight of people dancing between the stone tables, singing and drinking merrily, and a man in a patched cloak playing an ornamented silver flute. The instrument was made of three connected pipes, each with its own windway. His fingers danced over the holes as he shifted between mouthpieces with practiced grace, producing a catchy, dynamic tune.

  He looked around the room and saw many travelers, merchants, and pilgrims, most of them sands’ people, sitting on the colorful cushions and enjoying a variety of drinks and food. In a corner, he found a group of four adventurers of mixed origin. Two of them, whose complexions suggested they came from the sands, were singing loudly, while the pale skin of the other two marked them as from the far northern part of the continent. A pale berserker clapped along to the song, while the other scribbled in her notebook with a smile on her face, her feet moving to the rhythm.

  He noticed the other one especially, drawn to the band on her wrist which was identical to his own. She had long braided dark hair adorned with leather bands and tied together with red strings. A necklace of polished bone lay on her pale skin. Unfittingly but understandably, she wore a simple blue dress made from local cloth woven with thin breathable fiber that clung to her form in a way that felt both practical and unassuming. He was sure that if Thomas were here she would be the first he bothered.

  Mostly out of curiosity, and because there were not many other empty seats, he walked over and observed that she was drawing and redrawing a wizardry formation, a pattern meant to cool the area around the user.

  He quickly recognized that she wanted the resulting area of effect to follow its caster, but she was attempting to do so by moving the center of the magic in a complex way, clearly struggling with verticality and triangular equations. He smiled, as it was a problem often posed to second year students.

  Aren asked, “May I join you?”

  She looked at him in surprise with large raven eyes, then waved her hand toward the empty seat before returning to her work.

  As he sat down, a cup of ale was promptly placed by Mag, who was moving with practiced grace between the rowdy people and gathering orders. Now that she was not hiding behind the bar, he saw the way her dress enveloped her body. The looks of many people in the inn wandered often to her in adoration.

  He took a sip then turned his head to his fellow mage. “Do you know the formation for summoning an object to you?”

  She looked up from her notebook and looked at him with a questioning look in her dark eyes.

  "If you do, look at the bottom part of it, where the direction of the pull is determined," Aren explained. He knew the formation was one of the most basic ones taught to apprentice mages across the continent. It was simple but contained many insights into sympathetic magic that were used in every advanced spell.

  She looked at him for a second before pulling another book from a backpack she had next to her chair and flipping through pages.

  He smiled as he took in the scenery of the inn and slowly emptied his cup. Then a sudden reverberation from a loud horn stopped his slow deliberations of the local alcohol and as the sound blasted for the third time all play and celebration ended.

  Mag spoke to the room, “Thank you, everyone, for today’s celebration of the sun. For our foreign guest, it is now a time of silence and deliberation, as the sun sleeps behind the horizon.”

  A lot of people thanked the woman and the innkeeper, who stood behind the bar, paid their bills, and left the tavern. Only those who were staying for the night remained and sat, continuing their conversation in much calmer tones.

  Aren accepted the situation as another religious dictate of the place he found himself in and finished his drink.

  Then the pale berserker decided to speak to him, “Are you a mage or a warrior?” Noting his armor and the band on his left wrist.

  “I’m a mage,” he stated. “Althought I ended up picking a thing or two while traveling as adventurer. My companions tended to like to spar a lot.”

  “I saw that your eyes don’t belong to someone who stands in the backline,” the man said.

  Aren looked into the tall, muscled man’s dark eyes for the first time and saw calm ferocity behind them. A brown leather band rested over his long dark hair, its length embroidered with white thread in an array of triangles and squares. Feathery accessories dangled from his earlobes, adding softness to his otherwise sharp jaw, while the rest of his clothes were of sands’ make, though showing more skin and chiseled muscle than sands’ people tended to reveal.

  “Well, I usually place myself where I’m most needed on the battlefield. Although lately I just tend to disintegrate everything before it gets close,” Aren chatted. “What brings you this far south?”

  "Adventure!" the man boomed. "When I heard stories of the land of endless yellow dust, unbearable heat, and monsters you can’t find in the north, I just had to challenge myself."

  “And I had to follow this stupid oaf of a brother,” the young mage woman added. She turned her notebook in his direction showing him the changes to her formation she made. “He would die of dehydration without me in the first week.”

  Aren took it and smiled as he saw that she had swapped from the standardized coordinates to attaching the spell to the user’s metaphysical core position. This would make the spell follow the user around until it ran out of energy.

  “That will work. Although there is one improvement you could make, which would necessitate adding a third circle. Do you know what will happen when you move this spell to the new area?”

  “It will cool the air in that new area,” she stated, reaching for the glass that had been sitting by her side for a while.

  “Yes. Isn’t it a waste to cool down the air again when you already have cold air inside the spell you leave behind?” Aren asked.

  She looked at him with understanding, then resignation. “I don’t have any air barrier spells. And spell books here are more likely to be found in a pyre than a shop.”

  “Give me your quill," Aren stretched out his hand.

  When she passed him the tool, he started drawing the formation efficiently. First, he drew a two-circle spell for an air filter that could stop gases based on their properties, sketching multiple combinations on the side that would allow for customizing the filter. Afterwards, he added a legend and an explanation of what the different parts of the spell did.

  Then, in a moment of inspiration, he turned the page and started drawing a formation for a barrier that was attached to the user's core and would not break until the user ran out of mana. He wrote a simple three circle formation, as well as more efficient four circle and five circle versions, and explained each part in detail. This would give the girl something to experiment with as she traveled the sands for the next few months. He added warnings that she should be careful with higher circle spells, as a mistake could use up all her mana in an instant and render her unconscious.

  He passed her the notebook and watched with some pleasure when she stared at him with wide eyes, “This! Those lines! It’s beautiful!”

  Aren looked a bit confused, “Beautiful?”

  “Yes!” she raised her voice cheerfully. “You must be a master mage!”

  “I’m proficient,” Aren shrugged. “Those should let you play around for a while.”

  Her three companions looked over the notebook and, after a moment, shrugged at each other before returning to their drinks.

  “It’s more than that,” she shouted. “I don’t think my mom ever drew such beautiful formations. It feels like it’s singing magic just from looking at it.”

  "Oh, is your mother your teacher?" Aren asked.

  "Yes. She went to Teolian Magic Academy two decades ago. She was born with strong emotive resonance within her core and was meant to be the next shaman in our village, but she wanted to learn more about magic. I plan to force my brother to stop by there for some time on our way back," the girl explained rapidly, her excitement evident.

  “She didn’t teach you about the fundamental formations?” Aren asked.

  "... Mom passed away when I was twelve, and with my elemental resonance it was never a focus," she said. "Everything I learned after that was from books she left behind or from what I managed to buy with my meager funds."

  "My condolences," Aren said, feeling a bit awkward now. "Are you from the northern peninsula?"

  "Ah, yes," the girl slowed down. "We are from the Borim tribe."

  "I hear the winter there lasts for three-fourths of a year. It must be quite a difference compared to here."

  “That it is. Although with this new spell it may be more bearable,” she grinned looking over the formations he drew.

  At that moment, Mag stopped next to him and placed a big bowl of mutton stew before him. It released a wonderful fragrance of spices from its red and yellow surface, with beautiful circles of oil and fat sprinkling the floating meat. Aren’s mouth unconsciously watered.

  One of the Ayru people at the table complained, “You told me there was nothing left!”

  "It was reserved for your friend here," the waitress said with a smile. "We would not be a good inn if we baited someone with mutton stew and then said there was nothing left when they finally graced our dining hall. Did you rest well?"

  "Thank you," Aren said, then added jokingly, "The rest was sufficient to restore my physical state to its optimal capacity. Although now it is reminded of its nutritional needs by this enticing smell."

  "Mages," she said and chuckled at his behavior. "Enjoy yourself then, mister..." She stopped for a second. "I do not think I ever got your name."

  "Apologies, I’m Aren," he said, reaching for the spoon that came with the bowl, and smiled as the wonderful taste spread through his mouth.

  "Enjoy yourself, Mister Aren," Mag said, to which Aren responded with a pleased nod.

  "Master Aren," the female mage said. "I am Mar’tei, ‘the sun that announces spring’. Thank you for your guidance."

  "I am Bar’tik, ‘the boar’s charge’," the male berserker announced.

  The sands’ warrior at the table said, "I am Wes, and this is my brother Lan. We are both swordsmen."

  Aren looked the two Ayru warriors over. They wore simple white clothing along with dark leather armor. Both of them had a similar hairstyle of short brown hair shaved on both sides. Wes was the larger of the two and carried a thick, curved saber-like blade. Lan’s skin was darker, and he had a lankier build with long arms, which reflected his choice of weaponry of two long saif blades.

  “Nice to meet you,” Aren said between bites, too hungry to worry about proper etiquette. “What brought the four of you to travel together?”

  “You can be straight with us, mage,” Wes said. “You are asking why two warriors of the sand travel with the cold-blooded, on top of one of them being a mage. We grew up near the northern border, we saw many adventurers, among them mages of great skill and power. Still, it was a coincidence of fate, a fire elemental attacked me and my brother on a lesser worm extermination quest. The two of them saved us.”

  “The cold wind Mar’tei summoned was truly spectacular,” Lan added. “I felt like my blood would freeze, and I wasn’t even its target!”

  “It was just glacial bora, a three-circle spell,” the female mage murmured, her head still in the notebook.

  “Don’t lessen your glory, sister!” Bar’tik said. “Both me and father are proud of your achievements, and mother spirit watches over you!”

  If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  “You don’t know a thing about magic, so what would you know,” the girl said, a rosy heat appearing on her pale cheeks.

  “I don’t, but I know that freezing a wyrm solid in a block of ice the size of an elephant is worth a tale or two,” the older brother said.

  Aren looked away from the food and at the girl. “You can cast four circle spells? You can’t be older than seventeen.”

  “I’m nineteen!” she said with practiced anger, then she turned to the side embarrassed. “Only a few elemental ones. I have elemental resonance.”

  “That’s still an achievement. You would easily reach postgraduate studies at the academy after a year or two,” he said, then finished the last of his food.

  “Tell her, tell her,” the berserker repeated. “She could use more confidence.”

  “Stop it!”

  “Well I can tell you that you would wipe the noses of many noble brats if you joined the academy,” Aren said.

  “Are you part of the academy?” she asked.

  “... I am a professor there,” he hesitated.

  “That’s amazing!” Mar’tei stood up in surprise. “You are more than a master mage!”

  Now that he could see her in full view, Aren noted that she was tall and well built, as was common for her people. He calculated that she must be half a head taller than he was.

  Her trio of companions looked confused at her, so she explained, “Professors of Vo’Teol Academy of Magic are not only the foremost experts of magical theory! All are required to be able to cast five circle spells at minimum. They also need to master two sorcerous resonances.”

  While Bar’tik reacted a little to that, meanwhile the two Ayru brothers looked even more confused. She sat down, exasperated.

  “Anyway, Professor Aren. You can’t be older than my brother here and you already are at such a height of magic.” She looked to her brother. “See, I’m nothing special.”

  “While I don’t mind being called professor, please don’t go all formal on me,” Aren said. “We are not in class and you are not a student yet.”

  “How old are you?” Lan asked.

  “I’m twenty five, twenty six in a few months,” Aren said. “But I was not joking about your potential, Mar’tei. If you polished your skill at the academy, you could become a great mage. I know a few adventurer mages who reached high magic, but their knowledge always falls behind.”

  She nodded to him, her eyes filled with great respect now. He felt like sighing as he thought about the academy, but he did his best to hide that from his face. He waved to Mag and asked for another beer.

  The conversation soon turned to their latest quest of slaying sand burrower monsters. Aren watched them, not adding much to the conversation. He felt a sense of sentimentality toward his own adventuring days, and that brought his thoughts toward Leilara again. Should he have started making moves back then? He ended up emptying another two beers before they asked him a question again.

  The Ayru swordsman Wes looked in his direction. “So what is such a great mage doing here? If you want the sun crystals, that is much further east, and I somehow doubt you are on sun pilgrimage.”

  “That is a complicated story, and I would need much stronger alcohol if I am to tell part of it,” he said. He wondered if he should make something up, but the ale here was stronger than he was used to, and already feeling a light shimmer in his head, he was already in the process of discarding parts of his restraint.

  “Haha. That I can support,” Bar’tik said, laughing. “Mag, two jugs of your fire water. I know my sister will not, but will you two join us?” he asked, looking at his two Ayru companions.

  “We can join for a glass or two of Arak,” Lan said. “Althought night isn’t a time for being too rowdy.

  Four cups with murky white fluid were soon placed on their table. Aren took the drink curiously. As he smelled it, a strong feeling of alcohol reached his nostrils together with a light fruity scent. He tilted the cup to try it, only for Bar’tik to stop him.

  “Let us smash our cups to ward off the evil spirits,” the berserker motioned.

  Aren shrugged and clanked his cup with measured force.

  “Zdravskel!” the berserker shouted, and two warriors joined him less enthusiastically. After noticing the confused expression on Aren’s face, he coughed. “It’s a cheer for our health and good fortune.”

  Aren repeated the word together with the warriors and tilted the cup. A sweet and mildly bitter taste enveloped his mouth, followed by a strong sense of burning. The spirits here were more powerful than he was used to as well.

  “So, what’s your tale?” the berserker asked.

  Aren looked at him, then emptied his cup. Then he ordered another and did the same. Finally, he spoke, “Well, I guess I had a bit of personal turmoil, after which I went a bit… frenzied.”

  He recounted a shortened version of his flight and the fight that followed, which brought him down to the ground. “I’m still not sure what those monsters were, but their immunity to magic lower than five circles was abnormal.” He finished emptying another cup. The buzz in his head was growing strong, and he couldn’t use magic to clear it. Yet part of him told him not to care, and he listened.

  “Sounds like a mighty beast! And you defeated one and tricked the rest. And that large one! What a sight that must have been,” the berserker spoke, a wild glint in his eyes. Then he turned to his sister. “When will you learn to fly?”

  “I’m not learning flight so we can commit suicide. Didn’t you hear? They are immune to all magic I can cast,” Mar’tei said.

  “That could be an issue…” the berserker said and turned thoughtful. “Hmm, I heard in Tevarin there are life force masters who can fly. I wonder if I can do something similar with my ancestral power.”

  “Or you can try to grow wings like Fla’rk and smash your head into a mountainside,” she chastised him.

  “We do not have any eagle ancestors though,” the berserker mumbled, actually considering the option.

  Lan burst out laughing. “So I’m drinking with a violator of the Silent Night. Mom would kill us!”

  “It was an accident, and I apologized… I think? The fine I had to pay was crazy!” Aren complained.

  “I understand,” Wes said serenely. “Mom would still kill us though.”

  They all enjoyed their drinks in a bit of silence until Lan spoke, “Ah, rejection, the rite of passage for any man.” He then took another sip and added, “We rage, we drink, we survive.”

  “What…?” Aren stopped. His hand stopped, and his thoughts stopped.

  “Sorry, too early?” The Ayru warrior continued throwing Aren off. “I know that stare from a mile away. I won’t ask you to talk about it.”

  “I…” Aren mumbled.

  “Lan!” Wes yelled. “What did I tell you last time? Sorry, this stupid brother of mine is too sharp, but his lack of tact is something I gave up fixing a long time ago.”

  “Oh, a woman rejected our mighty friend?” Bar’tik said. “What kind of woman would pass on…”

  The berserker didn’t get to finish, as Mar’tei slammed her elbow into his side with her whole body. Her brother grunted as she spoke, “Sorry about him! He is an idiot!”

  Aren looked at them, then at the ceiling, emptied another cup, and crashed his head into the table painfully. “Now even my adventuring juniors need to watch out for my feelings…”

  An uncomfortable silence arose at the table. Aren slammed both of his hands into the table and rose. A strong hum reverberated in his head as he stabilized himself. He may have drunk a little too much. “Let’s spar!”

  The table looked at him weirdly. “We are three warriors here, unless you want to bully our poor mage?” Wes said.

  “I will have you know that I traveled with two life force practitioners and Powers’ paladin, and sparring was their favorite pastime,” Aren said. “And I hate to lose!”

  The berserker smiled. “Wes, is there a disagreements’ arena here too?”

  “The Sunlit Arena, yes, there is,” the warrior answered. “But I don’t think we have a cause to go there. It’s for settling differences that can’t wait till sunrise.”

  “I can think of one or two,” Lan said. “If we mention we have a rowdy mage who wants a beating, they will welcome us with open arms. Leave talking to me.”

  “Is that a good idea?” Mar’tei said, but no one was listening to her at this point.

  “I’ll show you rowdy!” Aren said as the buzz in his head intensified. He felt unlike himself, but he let it go, as he could not understand himself since last night.

  Aren moved to pay Mag, who looked at him with concern. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? Maybe it would be better to just rest. I could draw you a bath.”

  “Thank you,” he smiled, the hum in his head railing him on. “But I feel like it.”

  The four men left the inn, Lan in the lead, the female mage following behind reluctantly.

  “Guys, can’t this wait till morning?” she tried again.

  “This is the best way for a man to move on!” her brother said, believing that explained everything.

  Mar’tei’s head hung in shame and exasperation as she followed the four men. The previous respect she felt waning slightly, she decided to blame the alcohol. Alcohol was always the reason for every stupid thing that happened in her tribe.

  Then Aren looked sharply to the left as they passed an alley and saw Bar’tik turn his head as well. Suddenly, the buzzing feeling of alcohol in his head left him as a familiar scent filled his nose. Years of experience as an adventurer compelled him to investigate.

  “Where are you going?” Wes asked but Aren didn’t respond.

  He entered the alleyway. If the streets were dark under the moonlight, the alley was like a deep cave to his eyes. Unable to use magic, he improvised. He fed mana to the relic wristband he wore, and a purple barrier appeared over his hand, and with a bit of will, it lit brightly. The color the holy tool produced depended on the user, but despite quite thorough experimentation on the side, he never figured out why.

  The purple light showed him what he smelled, and he heard Mar’tei gasp behind him. A pool of blood spilled from a man in guard armor, with white cloth over his shoulder. He ran over to the man and knew at first glance that the wound would be fatal if a specialized healer didn’t get to the man in the next few minutes. Even if he could cast magic, he didn’t know how to restore the man’s blood.

  He pressed on the man’s wound and shouted, “Get some help!”

  That threw the group out of stupor, and Lan ran off to look for help as the rest of the group walked up to him. Then the man opened his eyes and looked around, confused.

  “You will be okay,” Aren said. “Don’t move, help will get here soon.”

  Instead of listening, the man raised his bloody hand over Aren’s and said weakly, “Save her…”

  The man looked deeper into the alleyway, and Aren followed his gaze. When he focused, he could hear a faint whisper of some sort of commotion there. He looked at the man, then at Mar’tei. “Hold his wound firmly. Stem the blood flow. I will go check what’s there.”

  Mar’tei nodded and took over. Aren turned to run and heard Bar’tik and Wes following him. He glanced at them, a question in his eyes.

  “We are adventurers too!” the berserker said.

  “And you are a mage who cannot use magic,” the warrior added. “Unless you want to pay another fine.”

  “What? Even in this situation!?” Aren asked.

  “Our way of life is to live in accordance with the world’s nature, as all is under the sun,” the warrior said between steps. “I don’t claim to understand why. Ask a priest.”

  Aren scoffed and focused on the way ahead, the noise of metal clashing was getting stronger. Turning a corner he was forced to jump over a beheaded body of a guard, Wes nearly slipping on the blood as he followed.

  There they saw a group of black-clad men with short swords and bows pressuring a man in white cloth and armor, with blue cloth draped over his shoulder. The man was protecting something behind him, but the trio could only see a shadow of a figure there. Two bodies in similar armor lay next to him on the ground. Still, the guards did their job, as seven of the assailants lay dead. That still left over a dozen more.

  Aren didn’t hesitate as his mana hummed and flowed into his relic. He took a stabilizing step and, with a powerful twist of his hip, slammed a purple, barrier-clad fist into the head of one of the attackers closest to him. While the force of his punch was nothing compared to practiced warriors, he willed the rebounding force of the barrier to increase tenfold as it consumed the flood of mana he fed it.

  His victim fell to the ground, knocked out instantly. The distraction it caused let the lone defender kill another assailant with a flick of his wrist, cutting through a man’s torso, his blade glimmering with silvery-blue energy.

  The two warriors jumped from behind Aren. Bar’tik grew even taller and bigger as his claws morphed into bear claws, and boar tusks grew from his mouth. He charged at two archers. Tilting his upper body low, he threw his head upward, gouging one through with his tusks. Still holding the man on his tusks, he twisted and slammed a claw across another man’s chest, killing him instantly.

  Wes jumped at two of the enemies and slammed his large blade into the armored shoulder of one, an aura of wild green energy enveloping him as his muscles increased in size to ridiculous proportions, crushing bones despite failing to penetrate the armor. The other failed to react as a giant fist bashed him into a wall, where they stayed.

  “Who the fuck are you!?” shouted the only man whose face was uncovered. A long beard was visible in the purple glow. “You will die for your impudence!”

  The man took out throwing knives, and as they glowed with a sickly green color, he threw them at Aren. He summoned a barrier, but the blades didn’t deflect. Instead, they spread the glow and nearly cracked the shield before he managed to reinforce it. Only after exhausting their energy did they fall to the ground.

  Recognizing the technique, he shouted, “Be careful, it’s venomous prana!”

  Aren dove to the side as he used his barrier to deflect two more blades flying at him. Not waiting, he dashed forward. One of the attackers tried to cut him off, but without stopping, Aren summoned two barriers in front of his feet, tripping the man, and another that slammed into his throat as he fell on it.

  Continuing unbothered, two arrows panged off his shield as the fighting started in earnest. Bar’tik was forced to contest a man whose sword glowed with bright red light, while Wes dodged shots from a pair of archers, whose arrows left silvery trails in the air.

  Two attackers, surrounded by a yellow glow, stepped into his path, halting his advance. Just as he was considering what to do, the man with the venomous blades threw a dagger at Wes. This time, it flew much faster than before.

  Aren saw that his fellow adventurer was distracted and retreated a step as the assailants advanced on him. Seizing the moment, he summoned a barrier and blocked the deadly blade a hand’s length from its target. The knife thrower stared at him with visible rage in his deep emerald eyes.

  Aren met the gaze, challenge in his eyes, a smile tugging at his lips. He took a step to the left as a yellow quarterstaff slid alongside his barrier, another shield of purple energy stopping a blow from a second staff strike aimed at his ankles. Taking a step, he advanced into their guard as they tried to reflexively step back. Instead, they tripped on purple blocks of energy.

  Aren used the instincts of quarterstaff and spear users to maintain distance against them. He raised both of his fists, covering them in a cocoon of deep violet energy. The two men tried to roll away, but Aren pinned them with purple walls to their sides. Winding back with a yell, he slammed his opponents’ heads into the sandstone floor.

  Bar’tik stumbled as another thin gash was left on his fur-covered arms. His opponent stepped into his guard, the red blade raised high. Then he twisted his neck and caught the strike on his tusks. Two giant bear arms enveloped the man and pressed. Titanic strength and red glow fought, and then the man lost to the beast, a sick crunch echoing through the alleyway.

  Wes had trouble getting near the archers as they coordinated their attacks well. When he dodged one arrow, another was already nocked in the other archer’s hands. He decided he had to gamble. He charged, his thick sword raised like a shield. The movement must have surprised the archers, since an arrow deflected off his sword instead of sinking into his legs. With a roar and a push of his enhanced strength, he dashed across the remaining distance in a single step and slammed both archers to the ground with his blade.

  Then their forward momentum halted as the defending guard fell to one knee, a venomous dagger stuck in his knee. Aren cursed and jumped in front of the man, summoning a thick shield to block the followup attacks. His freshly recovered mana dwindled with each strike, expending more energy than necessary due to the relic’s inefficiency. Wes and Bar’tik moved to help, but another two warriors clad in black jumped out of nowhere, stopping them in their tracks.

  “We don’t have more time to waste!” the bearded man yelled. He then pulled out a deeply glowing crystal. It shimmered with power, and when the man crushed it, a six-circle formation appeared in the air. The man wound up a throw, and a sickly glowing dagger flew into the spell.

  “Fuck my luck…” Aren cursed, understanding the magic in an instant. With resignation, he pulled out his wand from his sub-space, the band on his arm glowing in alarm.

  The envenomed dagger multiplied twice, thrice, again and again, until all Aren could see were blades as he worked on his formation, a sense of calmness enveloping him that he often felt when working with magic.

  A thick yellow barrier that seemed to separate reality slammed into place, warping the air around it. The daggers began to fly toward their target. A torrent of blades met a shield, each spreading venom across its surface, yet instead of giving up, it consumed them, strengthening itself and glowing brighter. The flood of daggers turned into dust as their energy dispersed, slowly disappearing into nothing as the conjuring magic was spent.

  When the assault finally ended, Aren saw that the assassins were gone. He noted that Bar’tik and Wes were safe if confused as he turned toward the duo he had protected.

  The guard whose shoulder was adorned with blue cloth was a dignified man. He had a short, trimmed beard and black hair that had started to grey. His blue eyes watched Aren with suspicion. His silvery-blue energy focused on preventing the venomous prana from entering his system.

  Looking behind him, Aren saw a young woman. He stared as she raised herself from the ground. Her slender, almost fragile body rose from a crouch, her delicate curves showing the transition from youth to adolescence. Her dark honey skin had the pale luminescence of someone who spent too much time inside. Long chestnut hair flowed freely in two tails tied at the ends, some of her locks tucked neatly behind left ear, accompanied by a tiara made of gold and yellow crystals.

  She watched him with bright ashen eyes that sparked with curiosity and relief. Sweat rolled down her forehead onto her gently shaped nose, a subtle curve suggesting her still youthful charm. Her lips, even when closed, seemed ready to smile at a moment's notice.

  “Thank you,” she said, her voice elegant and grateful. She bowed in thanks and grabbed the edges of her long white shirt laced with golden embroidery that went over her knees, a pair of white pants showing from below. Her outfit allowed ease of movement while giving her an air of mystique, the embroidery shining in the moonlight that lit the alley. When she stood fully, he saw a firmness in her stance he couldn’t describe.

  The sound of footsteps in the distance pulled Aren from his daze. He felt like he had been staring at the young woman for a bit too long. He opened his mouth to speak, but as adrenaline left him and the alcohol swirled in his stomach from the rapid combat, he did the only thing he could. He turned to the side and vomited under someone’s window.

  From now on, you can probably expect a chapter once every three or four days.