Spark in the Dark
14 June, Year 998 of the Radiant Calendar
That early summer day was supposed to be the Day of Good Light, a national holiday and a time of celebration for the Kingdom of Ardenia. Merlesia, the port city and economic hub of the kingdom, had been prepared as the stage where thousands of citizens would dance, laugh, and sing in the streets.
But no longer. The people had endured enough of the regency's iron-fisted rule. They had risen in revolt.
Instead of a festival, the city had turned into a warzone. The city watch and royal guards clashed with furious protesters who had formed an ill-prepared militia. The stone-paved streets were bloodied and littered with corpses. Citizens were shot and killed—many of them unarmed.
Asep had witnessed it all.
He had been there when the riot broke out. He saw firsthand how the Royal Guards massacred the townspeople without trial. He saw how the people fought back, demanding that the throne recognize their plight.
But was it all true?
He did not know. All he knew was that it felt like a conspiracy. He remembered the first half of the day, when the people had seemed cheerful and the city watch had even helped maintain order for the festival.
But then, chaos had erupted suddenly during the afternoon, just as the princess of the kingdom delivered her speech.
News of the chaos shook the lands far and wide, from Samifjord in the northwest to the Undying Empire in the south. Couple days later, the Avalon Knights of the Albion Empire arrived and seized the city under the pretext of providing "humanitarian aid" and investigating the incident.
Naturally, the regency saw this as a violation of sovereignty and demanded that Albion leave Ardenian soil. However, diplomacy quickly stalled as Albion accused the regency of tyrannical rule that violated basic rights, even bringing the issue before the international stage. The regency responded to the threats by marching armies toward Merlesia to reclaim it.
The Holy Empire of Rodinia, though still recovering from the Second Radiant War, also voiced concerns regarding the kingdom, its former vassal. This was not out of genuine care, but rather to find a pretext to reclaim lost territories in Ardenia. The Papacy in Avagnon also voiced their concern regarding this issue, because many of the Radiant believers killed in the riot.
Suddenly, the small Kingdom of Ardenia had become the focal point of global politics, all because of the events that transpired that day in Merlesia.
War was coming, and he was trapped right in the middle of it.
***
"Regime change? That's the most American bullcrap I've seen on this soil, by God... What is this? A US Foreign Policy?" Asep muttered, reading the Merlesia Times, a local newspaper.
Following the riot, Asep had joined the stream of refugees fleeing Merlesia for the countryside, eventually ending up in a small village near the wetlands to work as a peat cutter. And now, here he was, sitting in a tavern with a newspaper.
Four months in this unfamiliar land had taken him to many places. Most of his time had been spent traveling from one town to another, taking whatever work he could find. He had worked as a porter, a courier, a construction laborer, a debt collector for a shady pawnshop, a bouncer, and even a lumberjack. It was all to earn a living and understand this strange new world. To make things easier, he had learned the common tongue of the land, which, to his surprise, was not difficult to grasp for someone already familiar with English.
Currently, he was in a tavern in a village near the Ardenian border with the Holy Empire. His shaved head had grown out enough to be styled into an undercut. His skin had tanned even deeper from months of working under the foreign sun, and the heavy physical labor had left his physique leaner and more muscular.
He was unsure of his next move. War was on the horizon, and refugees clogged the roads where bandits thrived, preying on the vulnerable. Traveling to another country seemed unwise, considering the nearest border led directly into the territory of the Holy Empire's region where the Radiant Church gained much control. He knew nothing of their customs; a single mistake could cost him his head. He had heard this side of the Holy Empire was deeply zealous, and he was no believer in the native Rodinian religion. In truth, he was a rarely-practicing Muslim—or at least, he rarely observed the rituals, though he still held onto his core beliefs.
He sighed. For now, he decided to stay in the village until the political climate settled.
Erja was a small settlement of about sixty households located three days' travel south of Merlesia, just east of the Ardenian wetlands. Bordering a bog, the village was a primary producer of peat, which served as a traditional fuel throughout the kingdom. He had found work as a peat-cutter, using a large, sharp spade called a "sloy" to slice through the compacted earth. The job also required stacking the cut peat blocks, known as "turf," to dry in the wind and sun. Occasionally, he was tasked with farm work as well. The pay was decent, and it included food and lodging.
"Should I stop reading the paper?" Asep muttered to himself. "...No, I need to know what's happening around here. I'm monitoring the situation like always."
His train of thought was cut short when he noticed three pairs of eyes locked onto him from across the room. By their appearance, they seemed to be bounty hunters: one wore a sallet helmet, another sported a green bandana and a fierce grin, and the third had a mohawk, his lower face concealed by a dark brown cloth.
What do they want from me? Am I a wanted man? Asep frowned. Well, I was a criminal back home, but not in this world. I haven't done anything illegal here. Unless punching a few rioters who were trying to kill me counts as a crime.
No, even by local logic, that doesn't make sense. He sighed.
He decided to finish his fried egg before dealing with them. If they were looking for trouble, he was ready. However, he wanted to ensure the tavern wasn't wrecked and the villagers weren't caught in the crossfire. He had no desire to drag innocent bystanders into his mess.
Finishing his meal, he stood up and walked out. It was time to get to work.
The trio who had been staring at him made no move to stop him. He retrieved his sloy, slung it over his shoulder, and headed toward the bogs.
Fifteen minutes later, deep in the wetlands, the sound of approaching footsteps caught his attention.
So they followed me, he thought, a faint grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. I wonder what they want. It's been a while since my last real brawl. Maybe I should play along.
"So, what do you want?" he asked, not looking up from his work.
The three men stepped into the open. Two carried spears, while the third held a loaded crossbow. The leader in the sallet helmet clutched a crumpled wanted poster.
"We're here to collect the bounty on your head, Borwe," the leader said. "We know you've been hiding in Erja for the past month."
"...Huh? Borwe?" Asep turned around to face them. "Sorry, pal, but you've got the wrong guy. My name is Asep, and I'm just a laborer here. Whoever this Borwe is, he's probably long gone."
"Cut the crap, Borwe! You rogue sorcerers are clever liars, aren't you?" the man in the green bandana sneered.
A rogue sorcerer? Asep was dumbfounded. He was an ordinary guy; what did he have to do with magic?
"Tell us, Stark," the man with the mohawk said, glancing at the leader. "The poster says 'Dead or Alive,' so we can just kill him, right?"
"Yeah," Stark replied, raising his spear and pointing it at Asep. "Bob, Karl, get ready."
They were dead serious, leaving Asep with few options. Well, except one...
"Hmph. You think I'm a sorcerer? Very well," Asep said. He dropped his sloy, raised a hand, and slowly curled his fingers into a tight fist. "For starters... I cast Fist!"
***
"Urgh... Wait! I yield! I yield!"
Stark raised a hand in surrender, his face pressed into the wet mud while Asep held his arm locked firmly behind his back. The pain from his twisted joint was excruciating, making him grimace and grit his teeth. His spear lay broken a few feet away, snapped in half like a dry twig. Asep had disarmed him with a blindingly fast motion, the splintering of the wooden shaft echoing across the empty wetlands. Bob, the crossbowman, lay unconscious nearby, knocked out by a swift kick to the temple that had sent him face-first into the muck. Karl, the man in the green bandana, was in a similar state, slumped against a stack of dried turf. He stared dazed into space, having received a precise barrage of strikes to his pressure points.
The only downside was that Asep's shirt had been torn to shreds in the scuffle, leaving him bare-chested.
"What a letdown. Still think I'm a sorcerer?" Asep grunted, driving his knee slightly harder into Stark's back.
He wasn't even breaking a sweat; it felt like a light warm-up compared to the life-or-death struggles of his past. These self-proclaimed bounty hunters lacked any real killing intent as if they're not actually fighting to kill. Their movements were sloppy and easily telegraphed, and devoid of meaningful impact. It felt more like they were rehearsing a play rather than fighting for their lives.
"No! You're not!" Stark gasped, his voice muffled by the mud. "No sorcerer fights like that! You're a monster!"
"A monster? No, I just punched you a few times. You're the ones who threatened an innocent laborer." Asep released his grip and stood up, brushing the dirt from his hands. He looked down at the defeated leader. "Now, talk. Who is this Borwe guy? Let me see that poster."
Groaning, Stark pushed himself into a sitting position while cradling his aching shoulder. With a trembling hand, he reached into his leather satchel and pulled out the crumpled, damp parchment, handing it over while avoiding Asep's gaze. The drawing was a detailed charcoal sketch, but the face looked nothing like Asep. Their jaws, eyes, and facial structures were entirely different.
"Are you guys blind?" Asep muttered, genuinely exasperated. "Look at this drawing. We look nothing alike. His nose is twice the size of mine, and our skin tones aren't even close."
"You don't understand!" Karl croaked, slowly sitting up. "The target is a face-stealer—a rogue sorcerer who can change his appearance on a whim. That's why we suspected you. We're sorry."
Asep pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache coming on. A shape-shifter? He had assumed those were just myths. But if a rogue sorcerer really is hiding in Erja... His brow furrowed at that thought.
He looked back toward the settlement. If the real Borwe was lurking there disguised as a local, the village was in serious danger. The villagers were good, simple people who had given him shelter and honest work without asking intrusive questions. He couldn't let a threat like that linger.
"Fine, here's the deal," Asep said. "I'll help you track him down. It'll make up for me roughing you up, and you can make up for ruining my shirt. In exchange, I want a cut of the bounty."
He wasn't doing it just for the coin, but to ensure the safety of the village—and, admittedly, it was a good excuse to take the rest of the day off.
The three bounty hunters exchanged skeptical glances. Stark looked Asep up and down. While this stranger wasn't their mark, his combat skills were undeniable. Having him on their side would make the hunt much safer.
"Are you serious?" Stark asked warily. "Why help us? And you're not even a registered hunter—how do we split the guild pay?"
"Does that matter? You've seen what I can do," Asep replied. "Think of it as a temporary partnership. I want this village kept safe. If you don't agree, I'll just beat you all again until you decide to leave." His voice was calm, but his gaze left no room for negotiation.
Stark swallowed hard. It wasn't a negotiation; it was an ultimatum.
"...Alright. You've got a deal."
***
The four of them walked back toward the village in awkward silence. Bob nursed a growing lump on his head, while Karl winced with every step. Stark managed to keep his composure, but his eyes still held a lingering trace of caution.
"So, where do we start?" Stark asked, breaking the silence. "Borwe could be disguised as anyone—a farmer, a merchant, even one of the elders."
"Does this sorcerer have any particular habits or patterns?" Asep asked, scanning the quiet village ahead for anything out of place.
"The bounty mentions a distinctive serpent tattoo coiled around his left forearm," Karl chimed in. "He's also supposedly a heavy drinker. The local tavern is probably our best bet."
"That's a solid lead," Asep said. "I'll head back into the tavern alone to poke around. You three need to lay low. You stand out too much as it is."
***
Asep strolled back into the tavern with his hands tucked into his pockets.
The interior was much the same as he had left it: weathered wooden tables, the lingering scent of stale ale and smoked fish, and the low hum of conversation. Midday light filtered through the grimy windows, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. He sat at the bar—the same spot where he had eaten breakfast—and nodded to the burly, red-faced barkeep, Trival, who was wiping down the counter.
"Back so soon, lad?" Trival grunted. "Thought you'd be out in the bogs until dusk."
"Change of plans," Asep replied, leaning his elbow on the polished wood. "Decided to take an early day. Just a mug of your cheapest ale, old man."
His eyes casually scanned the room. It was sparsely populated at this hour. A few farmers were nursing their drinks in a corner, talking about crop yields, while a grizzled trapper sat alone by the hearth, meticulously cleaning his hunting knife. Nothing seemed out of place, and no one paid him much attention.
*Heavy drinker, and a serpent tattoo...* Asep mused, his gaze drifting over the exposed arms of the patrons. The farmers wore long-sleeved tunics, and though the trapper's forearms were visible, they were covered only in old scars. Trival slid a wooden mug of frothy, dark ale in front of him. Asep took a long swig. It was bitter and watery, but it would do.
"So, Trival..." Asep began, setting his mug down with a dull thud. "Heard any interesting rumors lately? Anything... unusual happening around the village?" He kept his tone light and conversational, mimicking idle gossip.
"Unusual? Can't say for sure. But... a few days ago, there was this robed figure preaching about rebirth and destruction. I didn't pay him much mind, but one of our village elders, Gorbin, has been following him like crazy." Trival leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "He's been acting strange, that old coot. Buying up more booze than a sailor on shore leave, and paying with these shiny, new silver coins instead of the usual worn-down coppers."
Gorbin? An elder? That was a solid lead. And the mention of new silver coins suggested outside funding.
"Gorbin, eh?" Asep repeated, feigning mild curiosity. "Never a good sign when an old man starts preaching about the end of the world. Where does he live?"
"Just down the path, past the old mill," Trival grunted, gesturing with a thick thumb toward the tavern door. "The cottage with the decaying thatched roof. Can't miss it. But I'd be careful, lad. Gorbin's always been eccentric, but this is different. He's got a wild look in his eyes these days."
Asep drained his ale, set the empty mug on the counter, and tossed down a few copper coins. "Thanks for the heads-up, old man. I'm just a curious soul, that's all. Maybe I'll go check on that preacher."
Leaving the tavern, Asep felt a knot of anticipation tighten in his gut. A sorcerer, a shady preacher, and a village elder acting erratically—it was a tangled mess, and he was walking right into the center of it.
He found Stark and his crew hiding ungracefully behind a large haystack near the village entrance. Their attempts at stealth were comical; Bob was peeking out so obviously that a child could have spotted him.
"Alright, I got a lead," Asep said, not bothering to lower his voice. "The barkeep mentioned one of the village elders, Gorbin, has been acting strangely. Apparently, he's been splurging on alcohol and following some robed preacher. He lives in a run-down cottage past the old mill. Sounds like our best bet."
Stark's brow furrowed. "An elder? That's... risky. Accusing a village elder could turn the whole community against us."
"We're not accusing anyone yet; we're just investigating," Asep corrected. "You three are my backup. I'll go in first to talk to him. If things go south, you move in. Just try not to break anything this time—or anyone's nose." He shot Karl a pointed look, and the man had the decency to look sheepish.
"Got it." Stark nodded, a newfound resolve in his eyes. He motioned for his crew to follow Asep's lead, trying to be more discreet as they moved through the village.
The village of Erja, which had seemed like a peaceful backwater just an hour prior, now felt like a tinderbox—and Asep was walking straight toward the spark.
***
Gorbin's cottage was exactly as Trival had described it—a dilapidated structure sagging under the weight of its own neglect. The thatched roof was a mess of moss and gaping holes, and the wattle-and-daub walls were cracked and peeling, revealing the skeletal wooden frame beneath. The small garden out front was a riot of overgrown weeds, different from the neatly tended plots of the other villagers. The sight of it made the hair on the back of Asep's neck stand up.
He motioned for the bounty hunters to take their positions. Stark and Karl flanked the single, grimy window while Bob took cover behind a crumbling stone wall with his crossbow at the ready.
Asep approached the flimsy wooden door, his knuckles hovering just above the splintered surface. He didn't bother knocking; the door was slightly ajar, swinging gently on a single rusted hinge. He gave it a gentle push, and it creaked open, revealing the squalor within.
The interior was even worse than the outside. The single room was a disaster zone of overturned furniture, scattered food scraps, and dozens of empty wine bottles. In the center of the room, slumped in a rickety wooden chair, was an old man. His white hair was thin and matted, his face a web of deep-set wrinkles, and his eyes, though clouded and unfocused, held a disturbing, manic gleam. This had to be Gorbin. He was mumbling to himself, clutching a half-empty bottle like a holy relic.
But he wasn't alone.
Standing by the hearth, his back to the door, was another figure. This one was tall and draped in a deep purple, hooded robe trimmed with intricate silver embroidery. A silver masquerade-style mask, ornately carved with swirling patterns, concealed the upper half of his face. His gloved hands were steepled in front of him, and he seemed to be in the middle of a sermon, his voice a smooth, captivating baritone that cut through Gorbin's drunken mutterings. This was undoubtedly the preacher. And Asep had a very bad feeling he was also the man they were hunting.
"...and so, the shadow will fall, and the false sun will be extinguished," the robed man was saying, his voice resonating with zealous fervor. "Only then, in the true darkness, will our eyes be opened. Only then will we be reborn. You see this, don't you, my friend? You feel the truth of the coming eclipse."
"The eclipse... yes, the eclipse..." Gorbin slobbered, taking another swig. "Rebirth... no more toil..."
Asep took a silent step into the room, his weight shifting onto the balls of his feet, and let the door swing shut behind him with a soft click. The subtle sound was enough to break the spell. The robed man's head snapped around, his masked gaze instantly locking onto Asep. There was no surprise in his posture, no sign of alarm. It was as if he had been expecting him all along.
So this is him. 'Borwe.'*Asep thought, his expression unreadable. He doesn't look like much of a face-stealer right now—more like a cheap cultist trying to scam a drunk old man. But that posture... he's trained. Confident. Dangerous.
"Can I help you?" the robed man asked, his voice smooth as silk yet carrying an undercurrent of menace. His head tilted slightly in an almost curious gesture. "You are not from this village. I would have remembered a face like yours. Are you, perhaps, another lost soul seeking enlightenment?"
Asep offered a wry, disarming smile. "Nah, not really into enlightenment. I'm more of a 'live fast, die young, leave a good-looking corpse' kind of guy. I'm just looking for a friend of mine. Goes by the name Borwe. Heard he might be around here. You seen him?" He kept his stance relaxed and his hands visible, letting the man believe he was just a clueless wanderer.
The masked man let out a low, soft chuckle. It was not a sound of amusement, but of cold, reptilian satisfaction. "Borwe... an interesting name. A name for a shadow, perhaps. But names are fleeting things, are they not? Just labels we attach to these temporary vessels of flesh." He took a slow, deliberate step away from the hearth. "Tell me, friend... what business do you have with this... 'Borwe'?"
As he moved, the sleeve of his robe shifted, revealing a glimpse of his left forearm. Coiling around his wrist, its ink a stark black against his pale skin, was the unmistakable image of a serpent.
Bingo.
"My business?" Asep's smile widened, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Oh, you know. Just a little chat. About a bounty. About a rogue sorcerer who likes to charm old men out of their savings and maybe... steal their faces." He flexed his fingers, the joints popping like dry kindling. "And about how I'm going to claim that bounty, dead or alive. So, which one is it gonna be, pal? The easy way, or the hard way?"
Borwe stood silently for a moment, his masked face unreadable. Then, he raised a gloved hand, and the red crystal dangling from his wrist began to pulse with a malevolent, crimson light. The temperature in the room plummeted, and the flickering flames in the hearth sputtered and died, plunging the cottage into darkness.
"There is no easy way," Borwe's voice was no longer smooth; it had become a harsh, grating whisper that seemed to emanate from the very shadows themselves. "There is only the path to oblivion. A path you have foolishly chosen to walk."
With a flick of his wrist, a whip of searing, orange flame erupted from the crystal, lashing toward Asep with the speed of a striking viper.
***
BOOM!
"What the hell!" Karl shouted, jumping in surprise.
The wall just a few feet away exploded, showering him in splintered wood and chunks of plaster. He ducked instinctively, shielding his head as debris rained down. Through the newly formed hole, he could see Stark staggering back, his armor singed and a look of disbelief etched on his face.
"He's the real deal! Get ready!" Stark yelled, quickly regaining his footing and leveling his spear toward the interior of the collapsing cottage.
"Let's go, Bob!" Karl urged, readying his spear.
***
A blazing inferno consumed the cottage, and the old man with it, though Asep managed to leap through the gap before the flames could catch him.
The sorcerer stepped calmly from the burning wreckage without a single scratch, his robes completely untouched by the flames.
Tch... This is bad, Asep thought, clicking his tongue. He's on another level. I don't think I can deal with him alone.
"Need some help, stranger?" Stark asked, stepping up beside him.
"Yeah, I do. Two spears and a crossbow should make a decent distraction, right?" Asep replied, his eyes locked on the sorcerer.
"Foolish non-believers, you should have run. Your faith is nothing against the Eclipse," Borwe said, slowly raising his hand. "Those who refuse to believe shall vanish. To the dark you shall return—"
THWACK! A bolt from Bob's crossbow flew toward the sorcerer's head, only to be deflected by a swirling vortex of flame. The projectile turned to ash before it could even get close.
"Tch. Useless," Bob muttered, quickly drawing back his crossbow string.
"Karl, standard formation! We need to bring him down fast. Don't forget the anti-mage rings!" Stark shouted.
"Right!" Karl shouted, charging directly at the pyromancer.
Distraction... huh... Asep muttered.
Borwe seemed unfazed by the assault. His masked face tracked Karl's charge with unnerving calm. With a flick of his wrist, another lash of fire erupted from the crystal, thicker and more violent than before. It snaked through the air to intercept Karl mid-stride. But just as the flames were about to impact, a shimmering blue light enveloped Karl, and the fire dissipated harmlessly against the barrier.
"Anti-mage rings?" Borwe tilted his head. "So you came prepared. How amusing. But such trinkets are mere toys to a true servant of the shadow."
He stomped his foot, sending a shockwave of thermal energy radiating outward. The soil beneath them began to glow and crack, emitting waves of intense heat. Asep stumbled back, feeling the searing warmth even through the thick soles of his boots. It felt like standing on a hot stovetop. Stark and Karl seemed less affected, their rings offering some protection.
"Damn it..." Asep's eyes darted around until they landed on a bucket of water. Without hesitating, he grabbed it and splashed the water over his boots. "At least this will buy me some time."
While Borwe focused on the two spearmen, Asep analyzed the battlefield. He had never fought a mage, but he knew they typically relied on distance and lacked physical durability. Since the spearmen could keep him occupied at mid-range, Asep decided to use them as bait. The real challenge was closing the distance and finding a gap in the sorcerer's defenses.
"Aim for the crystal!" Asep shouted. "That's his source of power!"
Stark and Karl exchanged a quick glance and nodded. Karl feigned another direct charge, while Stark circled around, looking for an opening on Borwe's flank. The sorcerer, however, was no amateur. He possessed an almost preternatural awareness of the battlefield, his head swiveling to keep both attackers in his sight as he unleashed a barrage of fireballs.
"You think you can overwhelm me with such simple tactics?" Borwe sneered. "You are insects, buzzing annoyingly before you are crushed."
"Oh yeah? Seems like we're giving you a hard time anyway," Karl spat, searching for an opening.
Stark, meanwhile, had slipped behind the sorcerer. With his spear poised, he let out a roar and lunged. "Haaah!"
The spearhead met a barrier of flame, piercing through by only a fraction of an inch.
"It's not working!" Stark shouted.
"We need to create another distraction then!" Karl replied.
Suddenly, a wet boot flew out of nowhere, striking Borwe squarely in the face with a wet smack.
"Gah!" Borwe stumbled back, a hand flying to his mask as a trickle of blood seeped from beneath the silverwork. He had been so focused on the magically shielded fighters that he had completely ignored the barefoot, weaponless man.
"Heh. You wanted a distraction?" Asep smirked, standing a few feet away, completely barefoot. He had used the chaos to close the distance.
Borwe's head snapped up, his masked gaze burning with murderous rage. "You... you pest! I'll turn you to cinders!"
The red crystal flared with a blinding intensity, and a torrent of roaring fire erupted from it, surging toward Asep.
But Asep was already moving. Instead of retreating, he lunged forward, diving low and sliding across the scorched earth. The wave of fire roared over his head, so close he could smell his own singed hair. As he slid, his hand shot out, grabbing a handful of loose dirt and pebbles. He came up right in front of the momentarily off-balance sorcerer. Before Borwe could react, Asep flung the fistful of grit directly into the eye-slits of the silver mask.
"Gahh! You—!"
The distraction gave Bob the perfect opening. He loosed another bolt, and this time, it struck true, piercing the sorcerer's shoulder.
"Urgh..." Borwe stumbled back, clutching his bleeding shoulder, his concentration shattered. The intricate dance of fire he had woven around himself faltered, flickering like a dying candle, and the heat baking the air began to fade.
This was their chance.
Stark didn't waste a second. He lunged forward, his spear easily bypassing the fading magical shield, and drove the tip deep into Borwe's chest. Karl followed immediately, driving his own spear through the sorcerer's back.
"How... could I..." Borwe gurgled, blood foaming behind his mask.
His body went limp, suspended only by the spears impaling him. The red crystal on his wrist flickered once before dying completely, turning into a dull, grey stone. When Stark and Karl withdrew their weapons, the robed figure slumped to the ground in a heap.
***
Silence descended upon the smoldering ruins of Gorbin's cottage, broken only by the crackle of the dying embers and the heavy breathing of the four men. Dust and ash danced in the sunbeams that pierced through the hazy smoke, illuminating the scene.
Borwe lay on the ground, his mask knocked askew by Asep's well-aimed boot, revealing the pale, unremarkable face of a young man. His eyes, now wide and glassy, stared up at the sky. The legendary face-stealer, the rogue sorcerer with a kingdom-wide bounty, looked disappointingly normal.
"Well... that's that. Thanks for the help, Asep. We actually made it," Stark said, breaking the silence. He leaned heavily on his spear, the tip stained crimson, and nudged Borwe's body with the butt of his weapon. The man was well and truly dead.
"Heh... finally over," Bob sighed, lowering his crossbow. "That was a good shot."
"Yeah, a win's a win," Karl grunted, wiping soot from his cheek. "Though, I gotta say, without the stranger's... unconventional tactics, we would've been in deep trouble." He glanced at Asep, who was casually pulling his wet, muddy boot back on, with newfound respect.
"You use what you have," Asep shrugged, pulling on his other boot. "I had dirt and a shoe. Seems like a fair trade for all that fire-breathing crap." He kicked the lifeless crystal on Borwe's wrist. "So, about that bounty... what's the plan? Do we have to drag him all the way to Merlesia? Because he's going to start smelling soon."
"We only need proof of the kill," Stark explained, drawing a short sword from his hip. "His head. Standard procedure. Once we present it to the Guild, we'll collect the reward. And you"—he pointed the tip of the blade toward Asep—"will get your share. One-quarter of the sum, as promised. It's a hefty payout."
"Nice. With that, I can restock my smokes. I'm almost out," Asep said with a grin.
While Stark attended to the grim task of claiming their proof, Asep's gaze drifted back to the burned-out shell of the cottage. Gorbin, the old man, was nowhere to be seen; he had perished in the inferno Borwe unleashed. A bitter pang of guilt shot through him. The old man had been a victim—lured in by false promises, his home and life destroyed.
Damn it, he thought, his earlier satisfaction souring. *This whole thing is a mess. An old man died because we were chasing this asshole.*
But there was nothing he could do. Perhaps, in this cruel world, death was a kinder fate than living in poverty under the shadow of a grim future. *This Eclipse cult is preying on the weak,* he thought.
"Alright, it's done," Stark announced, holding up a dripping canvas sack. "Let's get out of here before the other villagers start asking questions. We'll divide the pay once we reach the Guild."
"Loriana is half a day's travel from here. We should hurry if we want to make it before nightfall," Bob added, slinging his crossbow over his shoulder.
Asep nodded, though his eyes lingered on the smoldering ruins. He had gotten involved to protect this village, yet in the end, a home was destroyed and a resident was dead. It was a hollow victory. War was looming, cults were preying on the desperate, and he was trapped right in the middle of it.