Corvus was accompanied by the Tiamat Guards, among whom were seasoned warriors who had traveled every corner of the continent in their youth as Rhazgord mercenaries, witnessing countless battles and surviving numerous skirmishes. Their route had been altered into a shortcut based on their recommendations. Thanks to this, they were now only a day’s journey from the Adler border and just two days from the Adler Kingdom’s capital, Rax. However, this shortcut had a major drawback: there were no towns or villages along the way. There wasn’t even an inn where they could rest, have a warm meal, or find shelter. Still, they had chosen this path to avoid wasting time.

  As the sun set, the group decided to set up camp at the base of symmetrical rock formations that looked almost identical to one another. A quick scan of their surroundings revealed that this spot was defensible. The Rhazgord warriors instinctively sprang into action. Swords became makeshift carpenter’s axes as trees were felled, the camp’s perimeter was marked, fires were lit, and tents were erected. The discipline they had honed on battlefields was reflected in their camp setup; their movements were precise and systematic. In no time, a well-hidden, skillfully organized camp had been established among the stones.

  Some warriors set off towards a river a few hundred meters away to refill their flasks. The river murmured softly as it flowed through the rocks, its silver-like surface reflecting the moonlight, adding to the night’s enchanting atmosphere. Meanwhile, others began preparing dinner. That day’s menu included a wild boar family whose tracks they had spotted earlier. With expertly wielded spears and arrows, their prey had been quickly subdued. The boar was skinned, its meat carefully cut, and it was placed over the fires to cook.

  By the time the full moon had risen into the sky, the warriors had begun to share their meal. The flickering flames cast shadows on their hardened features, and their silhouettes danced against the rocks. Some ate in silence, while others recounted their journey with faint smiles. However, no one fully relaxed. Though tired and hungry, they never compromised their discipline. Those who finished their meals promptly rotated with the sentries, ensuring that the camp’s security measures remained intact. This unwavering order and strict discipline stemmed from Baldrek’s firm leadership. His rigid commands ensured that the camp never fell into a state of vulnerability.

  Baldrek’s father was one of Rhazgord’s finest blacksmiths. He was also a close friend of Rhazgord’s great Sanguinar, Sakhaar. Despite these powerful connections, Corvus had failed in his attempts to recruit Baldrek into the Tiamat Guards. The elders of Tiamat had vehemently rejected this request, declaring that no one who did not carry Tiamat blood, no matter how skilled, could be part of the Guards. Moreover, Baldrek’s harsh temperament, his preference for direct combat, and his tall, muscular physique made him ill-suited for the shadowy operations of the Tiamat Guards’ covert unit.

  However, here—far from the rigid laws of Rhazgord—the situation was different. Corvus had entrusted the warriors’ discipline to his childhood friend, and Baldrek was fulfilling this duty impeccably. He maintained strict order, allowing no lapses in vigilance. The warriors, under his command, moved with flawless coordination, carrying out their duties despite exhaustion and hunger.

  Leaning against a massive rock behind him, Corvus narrated the details of the battle in Bahoz to the eager warriors listening around the fire. The flickering flames cast shadows on his face, making his words all the more captivating. But suddenly, his gaze drifted toward the narrow path extending into the forest. A strange feeling crept over him, sharpening his focus on that spot.

  Within seconds, first Zarqa, then Baldrek, and finally the most experienced warriors locked their eyes on the same point. Something was approaching. However, what stood out most was the powerful Lightstone energy radiating from the newcomers. It was so intense that every warrior in the camp could sense it. Corvus narrowed his eyes, his breathing subtly deepening. The tension in the air became as sharp as a blade.

  Commands were immediately issued. The sentries stationed at the camp’s outskirts withdrew toward the center, and the warriors gripped their swords. Only Corvus remained still. His hands were ready to reach for the hilts of his twin swords, but his eyes never left the path.

  Then, two figures emerged from the darkness of the forest. The first was an elderly man with a long white beard that reached his chest, frail yet sitting upright with an air of dignity. His long robe was simple but elegant, reflecting the wisdom accumulated over time. Beside him stood a young man dressed entirely in black, his face obscured by a large straw hat. One hand grasped the elderly man’s horse’s saddle, while the other rested near the hilt of a long sword hanging from his belt.

  Just as the pair appeared, the overwhelming Lightstone energy suddenly vanished. Yet, everyone in the camp knew that the immense power they had just sensed belonged to one of these two strangers. The warriors’ fingers tightened around their sword hilts, and a suffocating silence filled the air.

  The old man and his mysterious companion halted just ahead of the camp. With deliberate, careful movements, the elderly man dismounted and stretched slightly. Then, breaking the heavy silence, he spoke in a soft yet clear voice:

  “I apologize for disturbing you, young ones. But this old body of mine is in need of rest and some medicine. I require hot water to prepare it. May I borrow your fire?”

  Despite the warmth in his voice, the tension among the Rhazgord warriors did not ease. The energy they had felt moments ago was nothing short of formidable, rivaling even Rhazgord’s mightiest fighters. Baldrek’s keen eyes noticed the young man’s hand remaining close to his sword and instinctively chose to remain on high alert.

  However, Corvus had already loosened his grip on his weapons and stood up. He casually flicked his cloak over his shoulder, scrutinized the elderly man’s words, and then gestured toward the camp.

  “Of course. Be our guest.”

  With this invitation, the young man tied the horse to a nearby tree, while the old man walked slowly toward the fire. From within his robe, he pulled out a small flask and a metal cup. He dropped a few herbs into the water and placed the cup over the fire.

  After briefly glancing at the warriors around him, the old man focused on Corvus with a gentle smile and spoke:

  “I am Aspayages, young ones. And this young man beside me is Talvaz.”

  After a moment’s pause, he directed his gaze at Corvus and added, “Would you honor me with your name, young man?”

  Corvus studied the elderly man’s face. Though he appeared friendly, he could still be dangerous. Yet Corvus’ instincts told him that this man was more of a scholar than a warrior. His gaze briefly flicked to Talvaz. The young man remained standing, his hand never straying far from his sword.

  “Corvus.”

  Aspayages nodded slightly, then warmed his hands near the fire before settling into his seat. His eyes landed on Corvus’ crimson eyes.

  “Judging by your red eyes, I assume you’re a Tiamat?” he asked in a slightly lower tone. He clearly knew of Rhazgord and the Tiamat bloodline.

  Corvus made a subtle hand gesture, signaling his warriors to return to their places—except for Baldrek, who remained locked onto Talvaz, watching him from his blind spot.

  Corvus took a deep breath, locking eyes with Aspayages’ aged yet piercing gaze, and spoke:

  “You're right. I am the son of the Great Sanguinar Sakhaar.”

  A flicker of surprise crossed Aspayages’ face. He studied Corvus from head to toe, his eyes glimmering with recognition.

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  “You…” he murmured, as if recalling something.

  “You’re the one at the center of recent rumors.”

  Corvus nodded, his expression steady. His crimson eyes glowed faintly in the firelight.

  “I don’t know what the rumors say, but I’m sure they’re exaggerated.”

  Aspayages’ expression darkened slightly, his features tightening. His eyes, carrying the weight of years, gleamed with sharp resolve.

  “Many speak of you with praise, but some rumors are… unsettling,” he said, his voice carrying across the fire.

  “Rumors that whisper of you enslaving scholars.”

  The atmosphere grew heavy in an instant. Conversations died down, and the warriors around the fire unconsciously turned their attention toward the unfolding exchange. Corvus remained unfazed, stretching slightly as if to loosen his shoulders. The flickering fire cast shadows that sharpened the angles of his face.

  “The word ‘enslave’ seems a bit harsh,” he said, his voice relaxed but carrying an undertone of defiance.

  “Let’s say I hired them.”

  The old man narrowed his eyes, his gaze tightening like the rising smoke above the fire, filled with subtle suspicion.

  “That doesn’t change the fact that you tore them from their homes and took them to Rhazgord.”

  Corvus leaned slightly toward the fire with a faint smile. His crimson eyes glowed momentarily in the flickering light. His fingers tapped lightly on the hilt of the sword resting against his knee, as if weighing his next words. “You’re mistaken, old man. I didn’t tear them from their homes,” he said, his voice unexpectedly soft.

  “I razed their homes and their kingdoms to the ground.”

  His words spread over the camp like a cold wind. The fire’s glow cast flickering shadows across the faces around it.

  “Then I gave them a choice. They could either struggle to survive among the ashes or come to Rhazgord and live in security.”

  The old man’s face was cast in shadow, but his gaze did not waver. His fingers moved slowly toward the cup resting by the fire. As the herbs he added met the hot water, a sharp scent filled the air—bitter yet healing. He lifted the cup from the flames as if it hadn’t been boiling for minutes and took a sip of the steaming liquid. The tension on his face gradually eased, his furrowed brows relaxing as the medicine took effect.

  “Perhaps I misunderstood you,” he said at last, his voice calmer now.

  “I’d already heard that Rhazgordians do not take slaves.”

  Corvus leaned back as if relieved. He drummed his fingers lightly against the wood, then gestured to a few warriors, ordering them to bring food. Within minutes, two large plates piled high with steaming meat and bread were placed before the old man. Corvus turned to the young man standing silently nearby and gestured toward the food.

  “Your name is Tavaz, isn’t it?” he asked, his tone softer this time.

  “There’s no need to stand there so tensely. Sit down and eat before it gets cold.”

  Tavaz didn’t react immediately to Corvus, but the old man’s words compelled him to sit. His hunger was evident. He tore into his food hastily, as if he hadn’t eaten in days. But something about the way he ate caught Corvus’s attention. His movements were erratic—his fingers hesitated over the bread before grasping it properly, and he struggled to bring the spoon precisely to his lips while drinking his soup.

  Corvus narrowed his eyes slightly. A strange feeling stirred within him. His hand lingered on the hilt of his sword as he studied the young man closely. Finally, he asked slowly:

  “You're blind, aren't you?”

  Tavaz’s hands paused for a brief moment. Almost imperceptibly, he lowered his head but gave no answer, continuing to eat. At that moment, Aspayages placed a hand on the young man’s back. His face, lined with the weight of age and wisdom, was shadowed with sorrow.

  “Unfortunately, this young man was born blind,” he said, his voice steady yet carrying a faint tremor of sadness.

  As the dim firelight flickered across Tavaz’s face, Corvus noticed details he hadn’t seen before. The young man’s eyes held a vacant gaze; his movements bore the marks of habitual effort. Corvus took a deep breath, his eyes momentarily fixing on the campfire. The flames danced, casting shifting shadows around them, their crackling filling the silence. Then, he turned his gaze back to Tavaz.

  “He’s blind, yet he carries a sword.”

  Aspayages nodded with a look of quiet pride. His face bore an expression of deep trust in the young man.

  “He’s certainly better at wielding a sword than he is at eating.”

  Corvus studied the young man more carefully. A blind swordsman… It seemed unlikely. Yet there was something about Tavaz’s posture and body language that hinted at an unusual skill. Most people without sight would struggle to maintain such balance. And yet, Tavaz stood without hesitation, as if perceiving the world not through his eyes, but through some other sense.

  His curiosity growing, Corvus inclined his head slightly and turned to the old man.

  “And you?” he asked.

  “Are you any good with a sword?”

  Unlike the others, he had already sensed that the intense Lightstone energy emanated from this man. Yet, he lacked the deadly aura a warrior should possess. His instincts whispered that this old man was anything but ordinary. He waited expectantly for a response.

  The old man met Corvus’s intrigued gaze with a faint smile.

  “Ah, unfortunately, I lack talent in such matters.”

  At Corvus’s skeptical look, he chuckled softly. Fine wrinkles formed around his eyes, but his voice carried a liveliness unexpected for his age.

  “The Lightstone energy you just sensed might have led you to think otherwise,” he continued.

  “But Lightstone is not solely meant for killing, young man.”

  Corvus frowned slightly. He sensed he was about to hear something unusual.

  The old man lifted his head slightly, the pale moonlight partially illuminating his face. The firelight’s flickering reflections added depth, giving him an almost mystical presence.

  “Unlike you,” he added, his voice calm yet filled with unwavering certainty.

  “I do not use Lightstone to slay my enemies. I use it to heal my friends.”

  Corvus paused for a moment. He had heard whispers of such things before. It was known that Lightstone had healing properties, and that those with its energy healed faster than others. But someone who could channel their energy to heal others… That was the stuff of legends.

  Many believed it was impossible. After all, wielding Lightstone in such a way required extraordinary control and intuition. Only ancient stories and the tales of battlefield survivors spoke of such people. Yet now, one of those myths stood right before him.

  A strange synergy had formed between the old man and Corvus. They were sizing each other up, seeking the deeper meaning behind each word. Corvus felt that the man before him was no ordinary traveler, yet he couldn’t quite place him. Meanwhile, the old man’s eyes held a similar spark of curiosity. Corvus’s young age, coupled with his commanding presence and the natural weight he carried, must have intrigued him.

  As their conversation deepened, it expanded beyond just the nature of Lightstone. Corvus realized that the old man made no effort to hide his wisdom when speaking of wars, the rise and fall of kingdoms. The sharp observations woven into his words suggested he had witnessed much over the years. Baldrek and Tavaz listened silently, occasionally adding brief comments to the discussion.

  Before long, Corvus learned that the old man and his companions were also traveling toward Adler. He gave a slight nod and said, “Then we’re headed in the same direction.”

  “We can travel together.”

  The old man accepted the offer with a subtle smile.

  At dawn, the camp stirred to life. The warriors of Rhazgord donned their armor and prepared their horses. Corvus’s gaze fell upon Tavaz, noticing how his hands carefully felt his surroundings. Though he couldn’t see, his movements showed he had not completely lost his connection to the physical world.

  One of the warriors led an extra horse to him, holding out the reins. “We’ve got a horse for you too,” he said.

  Tavaz hesitated for a moment upon realizing the animal’s presence, then cautiously reached out to touch its neck. His fingers traced the muscular frame with an unreadable calm. He spent a few moments simply listening to the horse’s breathing before mounting it in a single smooth motion.

  As they set off, Corvus occasionally glanced at Tavaz. At first, the young man struggled to match the horse’s pace, but he quickly adjusted. His movements remained somewhat rigid, but he didn’t lose his balance or seem to strain to stay upright.

  Hours later, when they reached Adler’s border, the sky had turned a shade of burnished copper. On the horizon, the stone towers and outposts of Adler rose in silhouette. The watchtowers along the border were filled with soldiers observing the approaching group.