A week had passed since Areth's meeting with Tiamat, the supreme dragon goddess of ambition and conquest.
During that time, he had finished the book she had given him several times, to the point that he had nearly memorized it. The book was only thirty pages long, after all. Yet reading it had not felt like reading an ordinary book. It had felt more like a will forcing knowledge directly into his mind.
Areth looked at the sphere of fire burning above his palm. Then, to put into practice what he had learned from the first chapter, he raised a finger and touched the flame while keeping it perfectly stable.
At once, the fire moved.
It slid over his index finger, then spread across his entire hand, and finally climbed all the way up his arm like a glove.
This was the first teaching of Tiamat's power, Worldburn.
Wear the fire.
Areth realized that, if he wished, he could wear the flames like clothing and use them both to attack and to defend.
The fire did not burn his flesh. On the contrary, when he felt it wrapped around him, it carried a strange warmth and weight. It was as though he were wearing a thick, invisible suit of armor.
The dark crimson flames covering his arm did not flicker like ordinary fire. Instead, they breathed like a living thing. They moved in rhythm with the blood flowing through his veins, and with every beat of his heart, they shone a little brighter.
Slowly, Areth opened and closed his hand.
The flames moved with him.
Thin, claw-like protrusions formed at the tips of his fingers. When he turned his palm over, the fire hardened, becoming a layer of scales that looked almost metallic.
A few seconds later, it returned to ordinary flame.
The book had been right.
Worldburn was not ordinary fire.
Though the power had been created to burn, destruction was not its only nature. The flames took shape according to the will of their wielder. They could become a weapon, armor, or even move like an extension of a living limb.
Areth looked toward the old training dummy standing at the edge of the courtyard.
He had been training for hours in the courtyard of this abandoned stone house outside the village.
Now he finally understood the power.
But there was another important detail he had noticed, one that was perhaps the true value of the book.
The books written by Tiamat did not merely teach him how to wield fire, one of her divine powers. Their true purpose was that, with every page he read, his control over the flames grew stronger, and with every flow of mana, the fire itself became more powerful.
In other words, the book was strengthening him.
He did not know exactly how, but somehow it was.
When Areth realized this, he created another small flame above his palm.
There was an obvious difference between the fire he had conjured on the first day and the one he held now.
A week ago, the flame had been unstable. It trembled, died out after only a few minutes, and even creating it had given him a headache.
Now it spun calmly above his hand.
It was denser. Heavier.
And when he focused on it, he saw more than mere fire.
At the center of the flame were thin black lines. Dark, vein-like streaks and between them moved a slow, deep red light.
Before, he had intended to use this fire spell only as a distraction, perhaps to wound someone if he was lucky. Now, he felt that with this fire, he could kill.
But for now, he had played with the flames long enough.
Areth left the ruins and walked toward the camp where his mercenaries had settled beside the dense forest.
They had traveled south for the mission recommended by the guild, and now they had made camp only a few kilometers from the local lord's castle.
When Areth reached the camp, he saw Rosavelle, who had already finished her preparations.
Lately, she had been taking on more and more responsibility within the company, and by now she was regarded as something like a second leader in the camp.
Rosavelle was giving orders to several soldiers.
"Feed the horses and prepare the best meat from the hunt for the journey. Hurry up, move!"
Her voice remained calm as she spoke, but it left no room for argument.
A few months ago, most of the mercenaries had seen her as nothing more than the beautiful slave who followed Areth around and warmed Lord Areth's bed, and to think so would not have been entirely unfair.
Of course, nothing truly intimate had ever happened between the two of them. Still, Rosavelle felt happier at Areth's side than she ever had before. But for anything deeper to happen, one of them would have to take the first step.
For now, there was a silence between them like the calm before a storm in an old western film. There was a spark between them, but neither of them had given it much thought yet, though their relationship carried the constant feeling that at any moment, everything could change.
Rosavelle had always been a quiet woman who rarely showed her emotions. Now, those same men obeyed her without a word. As Areth approached, Rosavelle noticed him.
The stern expression on her face softened immediately.
"You finally came back, Master. You went into the forest alone again. Is something wrong?"
"I needed to think."
After giving that short answer, Areth saw Rosavelle studying him for a few seconds. She could read the expression on his face. Her master had never been a man of many words, but today he seemed different. Beneath the cold calmness she was used to seeing in his eyes, there was something else.
He had learned something. And whatever it was, it had changed him.
Rosavelle turned toward the other mercenaries and waved a hand.
"Keep preparing. We're hitting the road soon."
Once the men had dispersed, Rosavelle quietly stepped closer to Areth.
"Were you studying that book again?"
Areth gave a slight nod.
"Yes."
"Is it working?"
This time, he thought for several seconds before answering.
"More than I expected."
Rosavelle frowned faintly.
Over the past few days, she had noticed small changes in Areth's behavior. Sometimes he would fall silent and stare into nothing. Sometimes he would toy with that dark crimson light that briefly appeared around his hand.
But she had not questioned him. Because she knew that look on her master's face. It was the expression he wore whenever a plan had already formed in his mind.
She herself had been training as well.
According to her master, she possessed great talent for magic, and because he had said so, she had taken the matter seriously and practiced every day.
The results had exceeded even her expectations.
In a short time, she had learned spells powerful enough to shatter an enormous boulder. The problem was control. The flow of mana and the raw power of her spells were excellent, but her control was terrible.
She could destroy the boulder, but she would also damage everything around it. For now, Rosavelle had decided not to use magic in battle until she could control her power.
At the same time, her Mindseer abilities were improving as well.
With only a little concentration, she could now create a painful headache inside another person's mind.
She was also becoming more skilled at reading thoughts with each passing day. Before, she had only been able to hear the thoughts of people nearby.
Now, as long as the surroundings were quiet and she had enough focus, she could even hear the thoughts of people farther away.
There were still limits. But with every passing day, those limits seemed easier to overcome. For now, she intended to keep improving whenever she had time, because her new goal was simple:
To become as strong as possible.
Rosavelle kept her eyes on Areth for a few moments longer. Then she lowered her voice.
"The lord's men came."
Areth raised an eyebrow slightly.
"What did they say?"
"We've been invited to the castle."
The answer did not change the expression on Areth's face, but his eyes narrowed slightly.
The local lord had allowed them to remain camped here for several days, yet he had neither sent word nor spoken openly about the mission.
That silence alone had been strange.
"What did they say?"
Rosavelle shook her head.
"The men didn't say. Only that the lord wishes to see you personally."
Areth thought for a few seconds.
"How many of us are going?" Rosavelle asked.
"Me, you, and five men."
Rosavelle nodded immediately.
"Understood..."
An hour later, the small group was following the old stone road leading toward the castle.
The red light of sunset filtered through the trees, and at last the ancient road emerged from the forest, revealing the castle standing atop the hill.
At first glance, it looked neither like the magnificent palace of a wealthy noble nor like a crumbling garrison abandoned on the frontier.
It was a medium-sized fortress, sturdy and practical.
The outer walls, built from thick gray stone, stood roughly three stories high. At regular intervals along the walls rose four watchtowers. The banners flying above them bore the image of a black wolf's head on a crimson field.
The fabric was not new, but it was clean and well kept. That told Areth that the lord was not a man obsessed with luxury, but he valued order. In front of the walls stretched a narrow yet deep moat.
The wooden bridge crossing it looked recently repaired. Some of the planks were lighter than the others. Guards armed with spears stood on either side of the gate, while archers watched from above the walls.
Areth narrowed his eyes slightly. There was money in this castle. But that money had not been wasted on marble statues, gold-trimmed halls, or needless luxury.
The walls were solid.
The guards were alert.
Even the chains and lifting mechanism beside the gate looked well maintained.
Either this lord was extraordinarily diligent... or he was truly afraid of something.
Rosavelle seemed to have noticed the same thing.
"This place is too prepared," she said quietly.
"Yes."
As they approached the gate, two guards stepped forward.
Both wore chainmail and heavy cloaks of dark green cloth. The older one had an old scar running from his nose to his chin.
The other was a broad-shouldered young man in his early twenties, though he looked uneasy. The scarred guard struck the butt of his spear against the ground.
"Stop. State your names."
"Areth," Areth replied calmly. "Leader of the mercenary company sent by the guild."
For a brief moment, the guard's gaze shifted to the men standing behind Areth, then to Rosavelle.
At last, he nodded.
"The lord is expecting you."