Kenelias ran through the dark forest, his augmented vision easily tracking the passing of his prey. The bridge of his nose was scrunched up in a frustrated grimace. They had lost a child—and with everyone on high alert, they were becoming harder to kidnap. This was unacceptable.

  Normally, he was more careful. But the constant crying and noise—he had had enough. He needed to get out of that light-forsaken mine and find a drink. And he had. A mistake that could cost him everything.

  Cursing aloud, he kept his attention on the trail, his mind racing. He needed to retrieve the child alive. If he didn’t, the consequences would be severe, not just for him, but for his master.

  Earlier that night, while he was at the bar, one of his men had burst in, wide-eyed and stammering, drawing far too much attention to himself. Enraged, Kenelias had dragged him into the alley and thrown him against the wall, his anger almost blinding him.

  “What did I say about keeping our presence low?” he had growled, his face inches from the man’s.

  “I’m sorry, Boss,” the man had whimpered, his face pale with fear. “But someone broke into the mines, took a child, and even killed Gorman.”

  The blood had drained from Kenelias’ face. Without wasting another word, he had rushed back to the mine and begun tracking the intruder.

  Drawing Aether into his body, he scanned the area as he moved, his vision picking up every small change that had occurred over the last few hours. A small stone pushed deeper into the ground where someone had stepped on it, a tiny branch bent and broken, a partial footprint leading away from the mine. Judging from the marks left behind, the man he was tracking had a couple of hours’ head start on him, and night had already fallen.

  Gritting his teeth, he picked up his pace, his purple cloak streaming behind him.

  Kenelias was a guard working for Tentor, one of the most feared merchants of the dark market—someone whose name was forbidden to be spoken. Months ago, they had been approached by the Smiling Lady, who had asked them to gather as many children as possible. Kenelias had opposed this decision—even argued with his master, but the amount of gold she offered was too enticing. And thus, his soul was tainted even more.

  Just a couple more years, he reminded himself, clenching his fists. Just a couple more years until my obligation to him is over. We gave our word—and our word is the only thing we have left.

  Breathing the night air deeply into his lungs, he exhaled, trying to release the tension and guilt from his body. After this last shipment, he had to convince his master to stop, the risk was not worth the reward. But would his master listen to him?

  Gods curse him.

  Following the small displacements of dirt and twigs, he followed the trail, realizing it was leading straight to the abandoned farmhouse nearby. His prey was skilled, but he didn’t take the time to cover his tracks.

  He doesn’t care if he’s followed, he realized. He doesn’t think we are a threat. I’m going to kill him for that!

  Slowing down as he reached the tree line separating the forest from the farmhouse, he took a moment to study the abandoned building, his senses searching for anything out of the ordinary.

  The broken farmhouse stood in the middle of a large clearing surrounded by tall uncut grass that was gently swaying in the moonlight, a path from his prey leading straight to the wooden building. The smell of blood was thick in the air.

  Gods, please keep the child alive.

  Creeping carefully forward, muscles ready to spring into action, Kenelias entered the building, his body freezing when he saw what was inside.

  There were signs of a one-sided assault everywhere he looked, oddly small arrows strewn around the area, blood and debris scattered around, and the child he was looking for crumpled on the floor.

  “Gods, reject you,” he cursed, staring at the dead child. Kidnapping children was one thing, but he had never killed them—never killed anyone like this. This was crossing a line.

  Spitting on the floor, he glanced at the child. “Chaos magic,” he muttered under his breath. He had seen something like it only once before. Judging by the scattered arrows, the Chaos user was ambushed by someone—no, two people, he corrected himself, spotting a standard arrow beside a small one.

  Smart. They attacked him when he couldn’t draw Aether.

  From the looks of it, the Chaos user had been wounded and fled, leaving a trail of blood.

  Making up his mind, Kenelias stepped out of the house, his eyes tracking the path through the tall grass, now trampled and stained with blood.

  If the archers haven’t finished him off, I will, he thought. It would be a small, meaningless apology to the child his team had kidnapped.

  Walking out of the farmhouse, he paused, noticing an unusual indent in the ground.

  What is that?

  Approaching the impression, he studied it, frowning. It was roughly three feet in diameter, with a slightly raised rim of disturbed dirt around it.

  Stepping into the shallow crater, he reached down and picked up a shattered arrow. Bringing it close, he examined the pieces carefully.

  The shaft was made from common wood, the tip a simple but well-crafted iron head—nothing unusual, the kind of arrow sold in any market.

  Just a normal arrow, he thought, tossing the pieces aside. Which means the bow is special, not the arrow. The bow must be enormous to do this to the ground. What kind of monster could draw a bow like that?

  Judging from the impact, he doubted even an Arcane Knight could.

  An Arcane Lord, maybe… This situation is worse than I thought.

  Following the drops of blood and footsteps, he made his way to the edge of the clearing, stopping as his battle senses started screaming. There were many people in front of him.

  “Who do I have the pleasure of meeting this fine night?” he loudly shouted, his voice carrying into the trees.

  There was a rustle of leaves and branches before a group of ten guards appeared, two of them gradually emitting Arcane Light.

  “I am called Reges of the Diamond Guard. Throw down your weapon and lie on the floor!” One of the warriors emitting Arcane Light yelled, his power-laced voice cutting through the still night.

  Kenelias frowned, irritation boiling beneath the surface. The inconvenience of the situation was making him feel reckless. He had to find the killer before the night ended—while the scum was still unable to draw Aether. Time was running out.

  “And why would I have to do that?” he demanded, his hand moving to rest on the hilt of his sword.

  “If you do not follow my instructions, we will be forced to take you by force,” the one called Reges replied, drawing his sword.

  Looking around, Kenelias grinned, drawing his sword as well. Ten guards were a lot, but nothing he couldn’t handle. If they were going to fight, he would not back down—he would end the fight in minutes.

  “I have other pressing matters to attend to, I don’t have time to play with the likes of you,” he hissed, rushing forth.

  Drawing as much power as he safely could into his body, he started to emit Arcane Light from the back of his shoulder, the light transforming into a small deer-like creature with small fangs appearing behind him.

  “Arcane Lord!” Reges yelled, seeing the animal materialize, his voice causing the eyes of the guards around him to harden with fear and determination, a mixture that Kenelias was not used to seeing.

  When most soldiers found out he was an Arcane Lord, they broke, running without even trying to fight.

  Watching as the guards fell into a defensive formation, he could not help but be impressed; they were trained expertly.

  Condensing Arcane Energy around his sword, he effortlessly stepped into the Stance of the Northern Steel—an offensive sword stance he had learned in the northern mountains in his youth.

  With a powerful downward strike, he unleashed the First Form: Cleaving Mountains!

  A deafening clash followed as Reges’ Aether-coated blade intercepted the blow, the night lighting up with a shower of sparks.

  As the sparks faded, a swallow-shaped manifestation of Arcane Light burst into life behind Reges, his power surging to match Kenelias'.

  The man was also an Arcane Lord!

  Kenelias’ stomach twisted. I might be in trouble, he thought, ducking under a vicious swing that a woman wielding twin short swords swung at him.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  Is this the man who shot that arrow?

  Turning his sword back on the woman, he attempted a counterattack, Third Form: Steel Snare!

  Flicking his sword upwards from an unexpected angle, he aimed for the back of her right calf, stopping abruptly to deflect a small arrow that seemed to come from nowhere.

  Backing off to regain his balance, he glanced towards the direction that the arrow had come from, recognizing the boy who had shot at him. It was the boy who was trying to tail him in town the other day.

  Eyes blazing with anger, he exchanged a dozen strikes with Reges, the afterimage of their swords creating a beautiful net of lights around them.

  Cursing as the twin-sworded woman expertly stepped into his blind spot and struck, he took in a deep breath of frustration, his teeth clenched together. Every time he thought he had the upper hand, the woman or the boy would attack him, forcing him to choose between fighting in an unfavorable position or backing off.

  Baring his teeth in agitation, he lunged to his side as another arrow whistled past, missing his neck by mere inches. Using the momentum of the lunge, he spun around and struck at Reges.

  Form two: Rivers Rage!

  Once again, his blade glanced off Reges’ sword.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Kenelias saw the guards slowly closing in, their spears extended to form a wall around him.

  They were trying to trap him!

  Jumping sideways, he rolled out of the tightening formation and sprang to his feet. Testing the guard’s nerves, he feinted a charge before blitzing in.

  As he attacked, the guards stepped back in perfect unison and thrust as one, always maintaining space.

  They were playing the long game—using their numbers to wear him down, little by little.

  As the fight continued, Kenelias’ composure started to crumble as the constant pressure of fighting a well-trained group pressed down on him, his movements becoming erratic. He had to do something, or he would lose!

  Deflecting another short arrow, he gambled on a risky stab, stepping forward in a sudden rush. He felt the tip of his sword bite into Reges’ shoulder—but there was a cost.

  Pain shot through him as his reckless move was immediately punished. The woman circling him struck without hesitation, her sword whistling through the air and cutting deep into his left arm.

  Rolling back to dodge her second sword, Kenelias was forced into a defensive fight, Reges and the woman not letting the opportunity go. As the two pressed him, the guards once again tried to trap him.

  Cursing loudly, he sprang backwards and fell into his most defensive stance—the Eight Defensive Paths, a technique that allowed the user to counterattack when attacked from any of the eight directions.

  Deflecting an arrow that seemed to materialize just inches from his face, he spun around, parried a thrust from the woman, and launched a counterattack.

  Sixth Path: Shadow’s kiss.

  As Kenelias’ sword shot forward from the shadows, the woman was forced to make a split-second decision—dodge the tip and leave herself vulnerable, or let it pierce her, exposing Kenelias’ back to Reges.

  Lips tightening in frustration, she slipped to her right, allowing Kenelias’ sword to harmlessly pass where her head had been just moments ago.

  Feeling an unexpected moment of triumph, Kenelias kicked out, his foot sneaking past her guard and landing on her hand.

  With a loud smack, his kick sent one of the woman’s swords spinning out, the weapon flying a short distance before burying itself into the ground.

  Twisting his body to skillfully block an attack from Reges, he used the opening he had created and broke free from the fight. Running into the woods, he fled. He did not want to, but he had no choice.

  Using darkness as cover, he ran, teeth clenched in anger. Maliri’s guards were stronger than he had anticipated—he did not expect them to know how to fight against an Arcane Lord, much less have one.

  The tactic of fighting in formation while allowing Reges and the woman to confront him could only be done after hours of intensive training. Adding the annoying small arrows, he knew they would eventually have been able to wear him down.

  Adrenaline still pumping through his body, he ran swiftly through the darkness, doubling back twice to obscure his tracks. Slowing down only after he was sure that he was not being followed, he let himself limit the amount of Aether he was drawing, the light radiating off his body slowly fading. Breathing quickly, he started to make his way back to the mines.

  With what had just happened, he knew they had to move the children tonight. It would only be a matter of time before they would track him down. And judging by the skill of the guards, he had until daylight.

  As he walked, he stopped, noticing a small old man standing in his way. The old man had his back turned to him.

  “Get out of the way!” Kenelias shouted, approaching the man. He did not like killing for no reason, but with what he had just experienced, he wanted to let his frustration out. He was not in a good mood.

  Hearing his voice, the old man turned, meeting Kenelias’ gaze. As the two stared at each other, Kenelias felt his body freeze, fear binding his body to where he stood. “You!” he managed to stammer, his vision slowly tunneling onto the old man.

  Kenelias did not know the man’s identity, but over twenty years ago, when he had just stepped into the world of an Arcane Knight, he had stumbled upon the old man.

  Mouth dry with nerves, he remembered the day as if it were just yesterday—the seared memory flashing across his mind.

  The day had been hot, the scorching sun bathing the land in an oppressive heat that seemed to set the whole world ablaze.

  Lifting his arm to shield his eyes, he exhaled the breath he had been holding, the air leaving through his cracked lips. Narrowing his eyes, he squinted at a rising cloud of dust in the distance, his quick mind calculating how long it would take for the Horse Lords of the Red Steel to catch up.

  “Thirty minutes, maybe less if they push their horses,” he said, his dry throat tightening slightly. “We can’t outrun them—their horses are like demons. What should we do?”

  Surrounding him stood nine other guards—men hired by a caravan of desperate families, their shared wish: to cross the Great Western Plains of Arioria and reach the promised land on the other side.

  Turning to his fellow guards, he was met with blank stares. The fear and panic radiating off them was so palpable that he had felt his skin crawl.

  “What do we do?! We run!” one of the guards had stammered, his head swinging back and forth, almost as if he was looking for a place to hide. “We should never have tried to cross the Great Plains! Now we’ll die for it! If we leave the caravan and run, we might still have a chance. As long as the Horse Lords are distracted by the caravan, they may forget about us!”

  “We can’t leave the caravan! There are women and children here!” Kenelias argued back, his sense of duty and honor binding him. “They paid us to protect them! We gave them our word!”

  “They can have all their rotten gold back!” the man shouted back, his loud voice carrying to every inch of the caravan. “We can’t spend our gold if we are on the Last Shore! We will die if we stay!”

  Hearing the usual hubbub from the caravan instantly quiet, Kenelias knew the families had heard. Their desperate faces turned as one to look at them.

  “Shut your mouth!” he growled, grabbing the man’s face and pushing him to the floor. “We stay and fight!”

  “You will stay and die! I will run and live!” the man screamed, crawling on all fours before running for his horse.

  Almost as if they were waiting for someone to take the first step, the rest of the guards broke, each of them running for their horse, leaving Kenelias the only guard left.

  From behind him, he heard someone ask, “What do we do?”

  Turning, he saw the caravan leader—a wiry man with skin like leather—and to stay strong. “Take the caravan and make for Green River and cross it. If you are lucky, only half of you will die during the crossing.”

  “Half!!”

  “Yes, half, but all of you will die if you stay here. I will try to buy you as much time as possible.”

  Ignoring the protest from the man, Kenelias ran to his horse and patted the animal before jumping on.

  “MOVE NOW!”

  Digging his heels into his horse’s flank, he charged toward the approaching Horse Lords.

  When he reached a small hill he had scouted that morning, he dismounted and scanned the land. The area wasn’t ideal, but it was the best he could manage in such a short time—there was no other option.

  Looking up to gauge the speed of the Horse Lords, his heart sank. They were already in eyesight. He had miscalculated the strength of their horses.

  “You’re brave. I’ll give you that. But you won’t even be able to slow them down. I doubt they would even stop to fight you.”

  Whipping around at the unexpected voice, he saw an old man behind him.

  “You don’t need to be so on guard,” the old man laughed, lifting a sword and pulling it out of its sheath. Testing the weight and balance of the weapon, he tapped it with his finger. “This blade is not balanced.”

  “Who are you?” Kenelias managed to gasp. What was going on?

  “You don’t have to worry about that,” the old man replied, looking down at the sheath in his hand before tossing it to the ground. “I’ll take care of the Horse Lords.”

  What happened next felt like a dream. The old man seemed to vanish before appearing in front of the Horse Lords, his sudden appearance causing the lead horse to stumble and fall.

  Hands covering his mouth in disbelief, Kenelias watched as the old man cut through the Horse Lords as if he were harvesting grain, each swing of his sword causing men and horse alike to fall to the ground.

  Body shaking in terror, Kenelias was ripped from his memory, his body trembling. In front of him was the same old man who had decimated the Horse Lords of the Red Steel like they were children.

  “How are you here?” he managed to stammer, his mind realizing the old man had not aged a day since he had seen him last.

  “You recognized me?” the old man asked quietly, though his voice seemed to thunder in Kenelias’ mind. “Did we meet in the past? You seem familiar. Ah! The brave boy in the Great Plains.”

  Feeling his knees hit the dirt, Kenelias gasped as his lungs seemed to have stopped working, an unseen force freezing them in place. Sweat dripping off him, he struggled to breathe, his hands clutching at his chest.

  “Why is someone of your caliber working for Tentor?” the old man asked from above him. “I remember how you were willing to sacrifice yourself for the weak. What changed since the last time we crossed paths?”

  Stepping closer to him, the old man tilted his head, the pressure that was keeping Kenelias’ lungs from working vanishing.

  Pure sweet air rushed into his lungs.

  “I owe him a debt—seven years of loyalty for saving my life.” Kenelias stammered, taking deep, ragged gulps of air. His mouth moved without his consent—the primal instinct to survive had taken over. He was no longer in control—he was ruled by fear.

  “Is that so?” the old man replied, sitting down on a log and resting his right foot on his left knee. Touching the side of his face with his left hand, he spoke calmly. “It is a sign of virtue to keep one's word—but one must wonder if their convictions are worth the stain on their soul.”

  As the words entered his mind, Kenelias felt something in his soul crack. The old man was right—his soul was rotten, and his conviction had caused him to ignore what was right for honor.

  Feeling as if everything he had been doing for the last five years had been for naught, he felt his vision darkening, tunneling madly, his broken mind desperately trying to cling on to the light as it vanished, leaving him in a death-like state.

  Unconcerned with the state he was in, the old man sat there patiently before continuing. “I heard rumors that the Writer is after Tentor. If that's true, he’ll find you two and make you wish you'd never been born. Breaking people is what he does out of enjoyment.”

  Barely understanding the words that bounced around his head, Kenelias realized that he was face down on the ground, the pressure and fear that his body was feeling had robbed him of his bodily function. He had not even realized that he had fallen forward, his face striking the ground with a soft thud.

  “I suggest you leave and don't look back,” the old man said, standing up and dusting his clothes off.

  As if the past few minutes were a nightmare, Kenelias felt the fear that held him captive vanish, leaving him on the ground with tears trickling down his face, turning the dirt beneath him to turn to mud.

  Staggering up to a kneeling position, he gasped for air, his body flinching as the old man looked down at him.

  “Thank you for letting me live,” he managed to whisper, not daring to look up.

  “Currently, I am going by Veston,” the old man said, turning around and walking away. “I run a blacksmith shop in town. It is best that I never see you again, it would be best for both of us.”

  Body still shaking from the ordeal he had just experienced, Kenelias silently knelt in the middle of the forest, his mind slowly turning.

  Even knowing about the sadistic reputation of the Writer, he had stayed with Tentor, but this was different. Veston’s calm suggestion was more of a command, one that was expected to be followed without question. He had to leave Tentor! There was no other choice.

  Mind blank to everything but the suggestion, Kenelias stood up, his legs moving on their own. Choosing a random direction, he started to run—his pace quickening with each step, carrying him farther from his former self. Drawing his full strength, he ran through the forest, fear giving him speed.