《Swordsman For Hire》


 MAP OF XERATH

    MAP OF XERATH


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    - The world of Xerath. The continent is dominated by the Realms of the seven Archons, Giants ruling over humanity. Only a few outlying regions remain outside of direct control of the Giants, though they are forced to pay tribute to them. Humans are the most populous species of Xerath, followed by dwarfs and elves.

 PROLOGUE

    PROLOGUE


    Mark struggled to pry open his eyelids, but they seemed burdened, as though weighted by boulders. Frustration simmered within him as he made another attempt. Gradually, the world came into focus, the first sight greeting him was the rustic wooden ceiling above. It dawned on him that he was lying upon a sturdy wooden bed, under the attentive gaze of a weathered old man.


    ¡°Where am I?¡±


    The old man smiled. ¡°You don¡¯t remember, do you?¡±


    Mark shook his head. The old man was right. While he possessed some knowledge of the world, the only thing he actually remembered from his own life was his name ¨C Mark. Everything else eluded him. ¡°I¡­ I seem to be suffering from amnesia.¡±


    ¡°Perfect!¡± the elder exclaimed. ¡°The pill worked.¡±


    ¡°What pill?¡±


    The elder seemed unsure for a moment but decided to answer the question. ¡°You slayed the Elder Dragon and were rewarded by Archon Anthemios with the pill of forgetfulness. It erased all your memories.¡±


    ¡°Why in the hell would I do that?¡± Mark''s voice thundered as he sprang from the bed.


    ¡°I apologize, sir, but that I cannot reveal.¡± The elder sighed. ¡°You ordered me not to. What I can tell you is that you suffered a personal loss so great that you chose to forget your past rather than live a life of misery.¡±


    ¡°What am I supposed to do now?¡±


    ¡°You planned on retiring in this small village and living a simple life as an honest, hardworking peasant.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a lot to take in,¡± Mark admitted. He paused for a moment to consider everything the elder had told him. ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡±


    ¡°Jasper. I¡¯m the local herbalist. Years back, you stumbled into our village wounded, on some mission. I patched you up, and we clicked. We became good friends. You spoke of retiring here someday, but I didn''t think it''d be this soon. Nonetheless, I¡¯m glad you¡¯ve decided to join our community.¡±


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    ¡°I¡­ Look, I¡¯m sorry if I sound ungrateful or condescending, but I¡¯m just not sure I would like to spend the rest of my days as a peasant. How old am I?¡±


    ¡°Thirty-one years old,¡± Jasper answered.


    ¡°I¡¯m still too young to retire. Maybe the old me had gotten tired of adventure and wanted to live a simple life, but I certainly don¡¯t want to do so.¡±


    Jasper chuckled. ¡°You always had a fiery spirit. Truth be told, I expected this would happen. You are a born fighter, Sir Mark. I¡¯ve got your gear. You can leave whenever you want to.¡±


    Mark nodded. ¡°First need some water to wash myself ¨C and some food. I¡¯m hungry.¡±


    Jasper nodded, returning with a wooden box brimming with water. Mark leaned over, his gaze meeting his reflection shimmering on the surface. He observed a handsome figure staring back at him, with short wavy brown hair, a well-kept beard, and piercing blue eyes. He washed himself, savoring the refreshing embrace of the cool water. Jasper then brought him bread and olives. He wolfed them down hungrily. After sleeping for so many hours, he felt pretty famished. The food tasted delicious.


    ¡°Where¡¯s my gear?¡± Mark asked.


    Jasper headed outside of the room and returned a moment later with a gleaming chainmail armor that shimmered in the light, along with sturdy leather boots and a formidable long broadsword, its blade reflecting the room''s surroundings. Mark donned the armor and pulled on the boots. He gripped the sword tightly, feeling its weight in his hands. The sensation was familiar, almost comforting. Despite his memory loss, his muscles remembered how to wield the weapon with skill and precision.


    ¡°The old Mark is back,¡± the elder remarked. ¡°I simply request that you avoid trying to uncover your past. Trust me, as a friend, you don¡¯t want to remember the loss that drove you to amnesia.¡±


    Mark nodded. ¡°You have my word that I won¡¯t intentionally seek out information about my past. I am curious, I admit, but I understand that my old self wouldn¡¯t have undertaken such a drastic measure for no reason.¡±


    ¡°What do you plan on doing now, Sir Mark?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m a good fighter, aren¡¯t I? You did say I slew a dragon. I plan on working as a mercenary to make a living. The coins I earn will buy me food, wine, and shelter.¡±


    Jasper gave Mark a pouch of coins. ¡°Here are some golden coins. You planned on using them to buy some farmland but I guess now you can use them to cover your traveling expenses till you can find some job. You also have your loyal horse waiting for you. Let me take you to it.¡±


    Jasper and Mark stepped out of the house and strolled along the dusty village paths, lined with wooden houses topped with thatched roofs, until they arrived at the stable. Jasper gestured toward a majestic white horse. "That''s yours," he declared. Mark let out a whistle, and the horse, recognizing him, trotted over. With a swift movement, Mark saddled the horse with a jump.


    ¡°Thanks,¡± Mark said. ¡°One day, I plan on repaying your kindness in one way or another.¡±


    ¡°You needn¡¯t worry about that. Just stay safe.¡±


    Mark gave a nod and spurred his horse into a gallop, riding out of the village. His new life had just begun.

 CHAPTER 1 - FACING BANDITS

    CHAPTER 1


    FACING BANDITS


    Mark rode his white horse through the humble village. Wooden houses with thatched roofs lined the streets. The villagers appeared poor, wearing simple, dirty clothes. As he rode through, all eyes turned to him. His shining armor made him stand out. Reaching the local inn, a modest building, he dismounted his horse and tethered it outside before entering.


    The inn was small, with only half a dozen wooden tables and chairs. A handful of peasants sat around, enjoying their wine or cold beer. Their lively conversations and laughter filled the air until Mark stepped in. Instantly, the room fell silent. Mark walked up to the innkeeper, tossed him a coin, and requested a cup of beer. The innkeeper nodded, and moments later, Mark received his drink, which he promptly downed in a single gulp.


    "I''m on the hunt for work," Mark queried the innkeeper. "I''m a swordsman for hire. Any chance you know of someone in need of my skills?"


    The innkeeper paused, eyeing Mark to assess his capabilities. "As a matter of fact, we could use someone like you," he replied. "Times are tough. With Archon Anthemios'' armies busy battling Archon Innokentios, bandits roam freely, terrorizing villages like ours. A group of them has threatened to raze our homes if we don''t surrender everything we own by tomorrow morning. We''re simple folk, no match for well-armed bandits. But you... you look like you can handle yourself."


    Mark nodded firmly. "I''m asking for fifty gold coins."


    The innkeeper''s face paled. "That''s too steep! Sir, we''re just humble villagers; we don''t possess such wealth!"


    "Alright then," Mark conceded, "Thirty coins it is. But that''s my bottom line. I don''t work for free. I''m not running a charity."


    The innkeeper agreed with a nod. "Very well. Thirty coins it is, and all the beer you can drink."


    The day flew by as Mark kept ordering beer at the inn. He enjoyed some tasty chicken with bread. Though he noticed the peasants whispering and glancing at him, Mark paid them no mind. Deep down, he felt a twinge of worry about facing the bandits. Sure, his muscles remembered how to handle a sword, but with his memory gone, he couldn''t recall past battles. Still, he reckoned he could handle a bunch of petty bandits.


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    The following morning, Mark rose with the sun. Armed and ready, he positioned himself at the heart of the village, anticipating the bandits'' arrival. The villagers had retreated to their homes, fearing the impending clash. At last, the bandits emerged: rugged, menacing figures with unsightly faces, brandishing swords.


    "Who do you think you are?" one of them bellowed.


    "I''m here to protect the village," Mark responded calmly. "If you value your lives, I suggest you turn around and leave."


    "Hah! You think we''re scared of you?" another sneered. "We''re taking your head as a trophy and setting this whole village ablaze!"


    One of the bandits lunged at Mark, but he quickly blocked the attack with a swift upward stroke of his sword, resulting in a loud clang. Mark retaliated with a rapid, powerful slash. The bandit failed to defend himself against the assault. Mark''s blade sliced through his chest, causing him to scream in agony before crumpling to the ground, blood pooling around him. Another bandit rushed at Mark, but he dodged the incoming blade. With a swift kick to the groin, Mark sent the man howling in agony. Seizing the opportunity, he drove his blade deep into the bandit''s chest. As Mark withdrew his sword, now stained crimson with blood, the bandit crumpled to the ground.


    The remaining bandits exchanged fearful glances. Though hesitant to attack, their leader ¨C the one who had shouted at Mark ¨C stepped up. "If none of you cowards have the guts to take on this guy, I''ll do it myself!"


    He inched closer to Mark, cautious and deliberate. Mark surmised that this guy must be skilled in duels, seeing as he wasn''t rushing into attack. Finally, the bandit lunged with a downward slash, swift and forceful, but Mark managed to block it. Stepping back, the bandit and Mark locked eyes, a silent standoff. Then, the bandit struck again, this time horizontally, but Mark leaped, narrowly evading the blade. As he landed, Mark countered with a downward slash of his own, barely blocked by the bandit.


    ¡°Not bad¡­¡± Mark smiled.


    The bandit lunged once more, but Mark dodged to the side and stabbed his blade into the bandit''s thigh. The bandit crumpled to the ground, and Mark swiftly ended him with a deep thrust into his chest. Witnessing their leader lying lifeless in a puddle of blood, the remaining bandits fled in terror.


    The villagers poured out of their homes, cheering for Mark with beaming smiles. He had become their hero. The innkeeper approached him, handing over a pouch of golden coins. "Thirty coins," he said with a smile, "just as we agreed."


    Mark returned the smile. "Thanks. I''d love to stick around and celebrate, but I''ve got places to be." Such was the life of a wanderer ¨C always on the move, never staying put for long.

 CHAPTER 2 - SLAYING THE TROLL

    CHAPTER 2


    SLAYING THE TROLL


    Riding his white horse along the dirt road leading to the village, Mark pondered his journey. This was the third village he had visited since dealing with those pesky bandits. He hoped this one would finally offer him some work. As he continued, he noticed a middle-aged woman sobbing uncontrollably while an older man tried to comfort her.


    "Are you alright, miss?" Mark inquired.


    The woman remained silent, her tears flowing, but the old man spoke up. "It''s the troll! That cursed troll killed her husband and son."


    Mark dismounted and approached them. "Sounds like a job for a swordsman like me," he remarked. "Tell me more about this troll."


    "Maria''s husband and son were merchants," the old man explained. "Their travels were usually safe with hired mercenaries to fend off bandits. But this time, a troll blocked their return path. Vasil, Maria''s husband, refused to pay the toll the troll demanded. The beast slaughtered everyone except for one mercenary who fled here, gravely injured. He shared the news before passing away last night."


    "I can take care of that troll," Mark declared. "But I''m not doing it for free. I want sixty gold coins."


    The old man seemed ready to object, but the grieving woman spoke up before he could. "Deal. I''ll pay whatever you ask, as long as you bring me justice!"


    "Excellent," Mark nodded. "But first, I''ll need directions to find this beast."


    The old man then guided Mark on where to go to confront the troll. Mark rode his white horse, following the old man''s directions. He traveled along a dirt road flanked by woods on either side until he reached a wooden bridge spanning a small river. On the other side stood a monstrous troll, green-skinned with long ears and protruding teeth, wielding a massive wooden club.


    "Stop!" the troll bellowed. "Pay the toll to cross the bridge."


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    Mark dismounted. "Not happening." He dashed across the bridge, narrowly avoiding the troll''s swinging club. He knew one hit from that club would send him flying. Slashing at the troll''s feet with his sword, he watched as black blood gushed forth. Enraged, the troll screamed and pounded the ground, causing it to tremble.


    The troll swung his wooden club at Mark, but Mark dodged it with nimble movements. Driving his sword deep into the troll''s thigh, black blood gushed forth, and the troll howled in agony and rage. Mark swiftly withdrew his sword and leaped back, narrowly avoiding the troll''s incoming fist.


    Breathing a sigh of relief, Mark acknowledged that battling the troll was far more challenging than dealing with petty bandits. Yet, his muscle memory hinted at past encounters with trolls. Without dwelling further, Mark surged forward. Evading the troll''s club, he darted between its legs, emerging on the other side. Before the troll could react, Mark slashed and hacked at its thighs, sending green chunks of flesh flying through the air.


    The troll spun around, wildly pounding his club on the ground, causing the earth to tremble. Mark, breathless, narrowly dodged the frenzied strikes. He delivered another blow to the troll''s feet, causing the massive creature to kneel. Using his club to steady himself, the troll was vulnerable, and Mark seized the opportunity.


    With a swift slash, Mark carved into the troll''s chest, sending green flesh and black blood flying. The troll screamed in agony. Sensing its weakness, Mark drove his sword into its lungs, and the beast collapsed, the ground quaking beneath it as a pool of black blood formed. The stench of death filled the air.


    Exhaling deeply, Mark knew he had finally defeated the beast. It had been his toughest battle yet, but he emerged victorious. He stepped toward the lifeless troll and used his sword to sever its head, proof that he had indeed slain the beast. He then made his way to his white horse, mounted it, and galloped back to the village.


    He found Maria in the same spot where he had left her earlier. Though her tears had stopped, sadness lingered on her face as she found solace among the old man and some other villagers. Mark approached them confidently. "I''ve slain the beast," he announced, tossing the troll''s head to the ground. Maria and the others gasped in shock. "Now, about my payment," Mark stated firmly.


    "I promised you sixty golden coins," Maria replied. "I''ve had to sell nearly everything, but here they are." With that, she tossed him a pouch of coins, which Mark caught with ease. "Thank you," she added, her voice trembling. "You''ve brought justice for my husband and son. It eases my grief to know that the creature responsible for their deaths now lies dead."


    Mark made his way to the nearby inn, using his payment to purchase wine and chicken. He relished the savory taste of the chicken and the rich flavor of the local wine. After an hour of indulging in the feast, he climbed the stairs to his rented room. Tonight, he would sleep in a proper bed. However, come tomorrow, he would hit the road again. Such was the life of a wanderer, always on the move.

 CHAPTER 3 - THE SPIDER

    CHAPTER 3


    THE SPIDER


    Mark rode into the small village on his white horse, drawing the attention of the villagers with his gleaming chainmail armor. A middle-aged man with a mustache approached him. "Hello there, traveler," the man greeted. "I''m Alexis, the mayor of this village. I assume you''re a mercenary?"


    "What gave it away? My armor or my sword?" Mark chuckled. "Yep, that''s me. Got any work for me?"


    "Indeed we do," Alexis replied eagerly. "That''s why everyone''s so thrilled to see you. We were in dire straits until you arrived, like an answer to our prayers! We have a problem with a vile creature."


    Mark dismounted. "What kind of creature?"


    "A massive spider," Alexis explained. "We don''t know where it came from or why it''s targeting our village, but every night it prowls our streets, devouring anyone unlucky enough to be out after dark."


    "Well, that sounds like a problem I can solve," Mark declared. "But it won''t come cheap. I want sixty gold coins."


    The mayor sighed. "Alright, alright. We''ll all pitch in to pay you."


    Mark nodded and made his way to the local inn. He ordered wine and some of the area''s specialties to enjoy until nightfall. A woman with ample curves brought his orders to the wooden table, smiling warmly at him. Mark returned the smile. Acting on impulse, he pulled her close and kissed her. She responded in kind.


    "Sir," she said after a moment, "we can celebrate together once you''ve slain the beast."


    "We sure can," Mark replied with a grin. The woman returned to her duties as innkeeper, and Mark resumed indulging in the delicacies and wine. He had to admit, the life of a wanderer was quite enjoyable. He couldn''t fathom why his old self had wanted to retire in a simple village as a peasant.


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    Night fell, enveloping the village in darkness, with only the moon casting its glow above. Mark emerged from the inn, readying himself for the impending battle with the beast. The village streets lay deserted, the fearful villagers holed up in their homes, hiding from the spider.


    Suddenly, a sound broke the silence, signaling the creature''s approach. Mark gripped his sword tightly, preparing for combat.


    A monstrous spider emerged, looming over him with a deafening howl and menacing hisses. "That''s one ugly spider!" Mark exclaimed, sizing up his adversary. As the beast lunged at him with its numerous legs, Mark deftly dodged its strikes, moving with agility.


    Attempting to sever one of the spider''s legs with a powerful swing of his sword, Mark found his blade stuck in the creature''s tough flesh. It proved more resilient than anticipated, making the task difficult. With determination, Mark exerted great effort to free his blade before the spider could retaliate with its other legs, leaving his sword stained with black blood.


    The spider lunged at him, but Mark swiftly dodged its legs and thrust his sword into its face, piercing one of its eyes. The beast let out a deafening scream and pounded the ground with its feet, causing the earth to shake. As Mark tried to avoid one of its legs, he was struck and sent tumbling to the ground, his face meeting the dirt.


    Spitting out blood, Mark rose to his feet, readying his sword for another assault. With determination, he charged forward, crouching low and delivering a single powerful slash to the spider''s underbelly. It was a move ingrained in his muscle memory, despite his lack of memory due to amnesia. Intuitively, he knew the creature''s weak spot. A torrent of blood poured from the wound as the spider collapsed to the ground.


    To ensure its demise, Mark then leaped onto the creature and drove his sword into its head. As he withdrew his blade, it dripped with black blood. "I''ve slain the beast!" he bellowed triumphantly, prompting the villagers to emerge from their homes to witness the truth. Seeing Mark standing victorious atop the dead spider, they erupted into cheers and applause.


    Among those cheering was Alexis. He tossed a pouch of gold coins to Mark, who caught it effortlessly. "Just as we agreed," Alexis remarked with a satisfied smile. "Thank you for saving us from the beast."


    Mark exhaled deeply. "I could use some rest and a good bath now. Phew!"


    Returning to the inn, Mark ascended to his room and shed his clothes, the stench of the slain beast clinging to him. A knock sounded at the door. "I''m bringing the bathtub," a female voice announced. Mark recognized it as the innkeeper''s.


    "Come in!" Mark called out.


    The woman entered, her eyes widening at the sight of Mark''s nude form, clearly impressed by his physique. "If you don''t mind, sir, may I bathe you? I did promise we would celebrate together..."


    Mark grinned. "Indeed you did. Come closer."


    That night, Mark made love with the woman. However, as soon as the morning sun graced the sky, he departed from the village. Such was the life of a wanderer - always on the move.

 CHAPTER 4 - JIM THE BUTCHER

    CHAPTER 4


    JIM THE BUTCHER


    As Mark rode his white horse along the dirt road, he spotted a wooden board with a paper sign attached. Curious, he rode closer and read the message. It offered forty golden coins as a reward for anyone who could bring the head of Jim the Butcher. The note mentioned that the notorious killer was last seen in a village just north of there. Accompanying the letter was a sketch of Jim, a scruffy-looking young man. Mark grinned. This was a task suited for him.


    Mark made his way to the village to gather information about Jim. It was a typical farming village, much like the ones he had visited in the previous weeks. The villagers appeared impoverished ¨C they weren¡¯t the ones who had offered the bounty, but rather the local Baron. Mark dismounted his horse and headed towards the local inn. As he entered, the room fell silent and all eyes turned towards him. Mark approached the innkeeper and tossed him a coin. "I''ll have a cold beer and any information you have on Jim," he requested.


    The innkeeper brought him a cold beer and began to speak. "Here''s your beer. As for that Jim fella, he murdered a poor lad and stole his horse. Last we saw him, he was galloping north into the woods."


    "Into the woods, huh?" Mark pondered aloud. "He couldn''t have gone far then. The woods aren''t exactly ideal for galloping."


    Mark downed the beer in one swift gulp before stepping outside. He mounted his horse and rode north until he reached the forest''s edge. Knowing the dense woods weren''t ideal for galloping, he dismounted and proceeded on foot, leading his horse by its reins. Mark scanned the ground for any signs of footsteps or hoofprints, suspecting few had ventured into these woods. Spotting tracks, both human and animal, he followed them deeper into the forest.


    The forest was thick with vegetation, casting shadows that made it seem dark and mysterious even in broad daylight. Undeterred, Mark pressed on, following the tracks deeper into the woods. Nearly an hour later, he spotted a man resting on the forest floor beside a brown horse. The man''s face matched the drawing on the wooden board ¨C it was unmistakably Jim the Butcher.


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    Drawing his sword, Mark approached cautiously. Suddenly, Jim hurled three knives at him. Mark swiftly dodged the first knife and skillfully deflected the second with a swift motion of his blade, but the third knife grazed his cheek, drawing blood. Jim''s cunning was evident ¨C he had feigned rest to ambush Mark with surprising speed.


    "Not bad," Mark grudgingly admitted. He lunged at Jim, who scrambled to his feet and hurled more knives. Mark dodged with agility, closing in on Jim. Jim grabbed a wooden axe from the ground just in time to block Mark''s attack. Their weapons collided with a loud clang, the sound echoing through the forest.


    Jim swung his axe wildly at Mark, aiming to overpower him with sheer force. Mark struggled to block the relentless attacks, being forced backward until he fell onto the forest floor. As Jim aimed a downward slash at Mark''s face, he rolled to the right, narrowly escaping the axe. Rising to his feet, Mark retaliated by slicing off Jim''s hand. A scream echoed through the forest as the hand, still clutching the axe, tumbled to the ground, blood spurting from the wound. Defenseless, Jim begged for mercy, but Mark swiftly ended him with a decapitating blow.


    With Jim¡¯s severed head dangling from his belt as evidence, Mark emerged from the forest, leading his horse by the reins. Once beyond the woods, he spurred his horse forward on the dirt road leading to Baron Nikos''s castle. Upon reaching the castle gates, the guards halted him.


    "Is that a human head?" one guard exclaimed.


    "Yeah," Mark replied casually. "It''s Jim the Butcher''s head. I''m here to claim the bounty."


    The guards allowed Mark entry and escorted him to the main hall. It was rather unimpressive, just a spacious wooden room with a throne where Baron Nikos sat, looking bored.


    "You''ve brought the Butcher''s head?" Nikos inquired.


    "Sure did," Mark tossed the head at Nikos''s feet. "Now, where''s my reward?"


    Nikos murmured to one of his guards, who then tossed a pouch of golden coins to Mark.


    "If you have more bounties, I''m up for the task," Mark said.


    "We have no further need for your services at the moment," Nikos replied. "But perhaps you should consider joining the Archon''s military. He''s in a war against Archon Innokentios and could use skilled fighters like you."


    "Nah, I prefer working solo.¡±


    "Shame," Nikos said. "Archon Anthemios offers hefty pay for mercenaries."


    "Sounds like trouble brewing on the battlefield," Mark remarked.


    Nikos sighed. "Honestly, word has it that it''s been a brutal standstill. Three times the Archons'' armies clashed in the Estharian grasslands, and not once did either side come out on top. But with your talents, you could rake in some serious coin."


    ¡°Nah. Military life ain¡¯t for me. Since you have no work for me, I''ll be on my way."


    And so, Mark resumed his journey on the road. For a wanderer''s life is to always be on the move, always traveling.

 CHAPTER 5 - THE DESERTERS

    CHAPTER 5


    THE DESERTERS


    Mark urged his white horse forward along the dirt road, spotting smoke billowing from the village ahead. As he drew nearer, he encountered a grim sight: the road littered with the mutilated bodies of villagers. He let out an audible sigh and shook his head in dismay. Upon reaching the village, he found it reduced to ashes, its wooden structures reduced to rubble. Amidst the devastation, he noticed a lone boy sitting on the ground, his face as pale as ice.


    "Hey," he said. "Boy. What''s your name?"


    "Anton," the boy replied.


    "Anton, what happened here?"


    "They came. My dad called them deserters, said they had deserted the Archon¡¯s army and were on a rampage. They set everything on fire and killed everyone. Everyone." The boy¡¯s eyes became watery, and he began sobbing.


    Mark dismounted and approached the boy. He enveloped him in a hug. "Shh," he said, "don¡¯t be afraid. It¡¯s over now. The bad guys are gone."


    "My parents are dead," the boy continued to cry. "Why? They never harmed anyone. What did they do to deserve this?"


    "The world is a cruel place, kid. It is unfair and unjust. Sorry you had to learn this the hard way. You must steel your resolve and move forward. It¡¯s the only thing you can do."


    "I want vengeance!"


    Mark sighed. "Vengeance doesn¡¯t come for free, kid. Promise me you will stay alive and repay me the debt when you are older, and I will seek vengeance for you."


    The boy nodded. "I promise."


    "Good boy. Now tell me where the deserters went."


    The boy pointed north with a trembling finger.


    "Stay here," Mark said. "With any luck, I might be able to catch up with them. If I¡¯m not back by nightfall, leave this place."


    The boy nodded.


    Mark spurred his horse onward, determined to catch up with the deserters despite their head start. He wasn¡¯t accustomed to doing favors for free, but something about the boy''s plight had stirred him. There was a nagging feeling, a distant memory trying to claw its way to the surface, but his amnesia clouded it.


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    As he rode along the dirt road, bordered by trees and open fields, the scent of flowers filled the air. Hours passed until he spotted a group of over twenty soldiers on foot ahead, all clad in the insignia of Archon Anthemios. Considering the distance from the war front, Mark could discern that these were indeed the deserters he sought.


    "You!" Mark yelled as he dismounted his horse. "You raided that village?"


    "What if we did?" one of the deserters sneered, spitting on the ground.


    Mark drew his sword. "I''m going to take down every last one of you."


    A deserter lunged at Mark. He evaded the attack, thrusting his sword into the man''s side, skillfully finding a gap in the chainmail armor. Then, with a powerful swing, he bashed the handle of the sword against the man''s head, breaking his nose. Blood spurted, and the man crumpled to the ground.


    Five deserters charged at Mark all at once. He effortlessly deflected their attacks. It was clear these thugs hadn''t seen much action on the war front before deserting; their movements were clumsy. Mark swiftly drove his sword through the forehead of one man, then yanked it out and slammed the handle into the face of another. With his sword, he then parried the attacks of the remaining three men.


    With swift and accurate sword thrusts, he pierced through their chainmail armor, causing severe injuries. Despite more deserters charging at him, Mark deftly parried and countered like a seasoned swordsman. His movements were graceful and precise, resembling a dance. As he defeated more of them, the deserters became increasingly fearful, leading to sloppier attacks that were easier for Mark to counter.


    His sword glistened with blood, and he was sweating and panting, clearly worn out from the battle. Only one deserter was left standing. The man trembled with fear, his face pale. Mark advanced toward him with determination. With a powerful strike, he knocked the man''s blade from his grasp and swiftly slit his throat. Blood sprayed into the air, splattering Mark''s face as it flowed in the wind.


    Mark breathed a sigh of relief as he sheathed his sword and mounted his horse. Returning to the village, he found the boy waiting in the same spot. The boy''s face lit up with a wide smile when he saw Mark. "Hero!" he exclaimed. "Did you avenge my parents?"


    "I did," Mark replied. "Now hop onto the horse."


    The boy eagerly climbed onto the horse, and they galloped forward for hours until they reached the next village. Dismounting, they headed for the local inn. Mark approached the innkeeper, a bearded bald man. "What''s with the boy?" he asked.


    "Orphan," Mark replied. "Deserters slaughtered his family. I took care of them, but I don''t know what to do with him. Can you take him in?"


    The innkeeper hesitated, but Mark pressed on. "The boy can work here to pay for his stay. He seems capable. Besides, those deserters would have attacked your village next, so I did you a favor by stopping them."


    Looking at the boy''s pleading eyes, the innkeeper sighed. "Fine... He can stay. But he''ll have to work. No special treatment because he''s a kid."


    "Yes, sir!" the boy saluted.


    Mark ruffled the boy''s hair. "Kid, I didn''t avenge your parents for free. When you''re grown, I expect you to pay me back seventy golden coins."


    The boy nodded eagerly.


    "Now, I need a beer and some food!" Mark tossed a coin to the innkeeper.


    The innkeeper glanced at the boy. "You heard him. Go fetch beer and food. Your work starts now."


    "Yes, sir!" the boy hurried to the kitchen.


    Mark smiled, hoping the boy would find happiness in this new place. He wouldn''t stay to see, though. Soon, he would hit the road again. For that''s the life of a wanderer - always on the move.

 JOURNAL OF ANDRONICUS (PART I - THE AGE OF GIANTS)

    JOURNAL OF ANDRONICUS


    PART I - THE AGE OF GIANTS


    First came the Age of the Dragons. With talons of iron, they held dominion over the expanse of Xerath, and the children of men bowed as thralls beneath their sway. But lo, the wheel of fate turned, and three thousand years hence, the Giants strode forth. Towering as colossi, they wielded the art of magic, rallying the hearts of men to their cause. Thus was birthed the Uprising of the Giants, wherein seven titans, leading legions of mortals, pursued the dragons to the precipice of extinction - where only whispers of those magnificent beasts still linger in shadowed haunts.


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    With the twilight of the Uprising came the division of Xerath among the seven Giants, each ascending as Archons, sovereign over both land and humanity within their dominion. Thus burgeoned the seven realms, their foundations steeped in blood and honor. The Giants, cognizant of their limits, bestowed titles upon their loyal human kin, birthing duchies and baronies.


    For aeons, tranquility and prosperity graced the land. Yet, the serenity was but a fleeting dream. Archon Innokentios, in his wisdom or folly, unearthed an ancient relic, a remnant of the Dragon Emperor''s reign. This artifact threatened to upturn the delicate balance of power. Thus, the remaining Archons rallied against Innokentios, kindling the fires of war that had slumbered for an age.


    Is the Age of Giants waning? Could this herald a new epoch in the history of Xerath? Only time shall tell¡­

 CHAPTER 6 - THE WEREWOLF

    CHAPTER 6


    THE WEREWOLF


    Mark trotted into the small farming village on his trusty white horse. He had been on his way to the town of Ikronion, hoping to find some work. As he entered the village''s dusty road, he spotted a middle-aged woman sobbing inconsolably. A few others surrounded her, trying to offer comfort. "My little boy!" she cried. "My little Greg!"


    "I''m sorry to interrupt," Mark said, approaching them. "What happened to your son?"


    "He was slain by the beast!" the woman managed to say between sobs.


    "I''ve dealt with beasts before. Can you tell me more about it?" Mark inquired.


    The woman struggled to speak, overcome with emotion. One of the women beside her spoke up instead. "You should speak to Bob, the mayor. He knows all about the beast. His house is in the center of the village."


    Mark nodded. He made his way to the heart of the village, easily spotting the mayor''s house towering over the humble wooden dwellings. Dismounting from his horse, he knocked on the door. A moment later, a stout, bearded man swung it open. "Ah, a traveler," the man greeted. "Welcome. I''m Bob, the mayor. What brings you here?"


    "I saw a grieving mother, mourning her son. She mentioned something about the boy being killed by a beast. I''m a swordsman for hire and have dealt with such creatures before. For a fee of sixty gold coins, I can rid you of this menace."


    "Sixty coins? That''s steep!" Bob exclaimed.


    Mark sensed the reluctance wasn''t due to poverty but rather greed. "Very well, I''ll be on my way. Good luck with the beast."


    "W-wait. Alright, I agree to your terms," Bob relented.


    "Good. Now tell me about this creature."


    "We... we haven''t actually seen it. At night, we hear howling, like a wolf, from the nearby hill. Some young men went to investigate once, but we found them mutilated the next morning. This isn''t an ordinary wolf. I ordered everyone to stay indoors after dark, but poor Greg didn''t make it home in time yesterday. We found his body this morning."


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    "Well, whatever that beast may be, I''ll be putting an end to it."


    Mark departed from the mayor''s house and made his way to the local inn. There, he indulged in wine and pork, savoring the well-cooked meat. As night fell, with only the moon casting a dim light, Mark left the inn and ventured outdoors. The air was filled with a haunting howl, reminiscent of a wolf, echoing from the nearby hill. Sword in hand, he headed towards the source, prepared for whatever awaited him.


    He ascended the grassy hill and spotted a figure standing tall at the summit. Drawing nearer, the moonlight revealed the figure to be a werewolf - towering, muscular, and howling fiercely. Without hesitation, the werewolf lunged at Mark, striking him with formidable force and sending him tumbling to the ground. Mark''s sword slipped from his grip as the beast pinned him down, aiming to sink its teeth into his face. Unarmed, Mark delivered a powerful kick to the werewolf''s groin, causing it to howl in agony before retaliating with razor-sharp claws, leaving a gash on Mark''s cheek. Gritting his teeth against the pain, Mark landed a solid punch to the werewolf''s face, eliciting a gruesome reaction as the beast spat blood.


    Seizing the opportunity, Mark swiftly rose to his feet, retrieved his sword, and retreated a few steps, assuming a defensive stance. As the werewolf lunged towards him, he swiftly dodged to the side, narrowly avoiding its claws. With a swift stroke of his sword, he slashed at the beast''s back, sending chunks of flesh and blood into the air. The werewolf let out a howl of agony, its fury intensifying. Wheeling around, it struck at Mark with ferocious force, its claws tearing through his armor, shattering the rings of his chainmail and leaving his chest exposed. Blood trickled down his chest, and Mark cried out in pain.


    As the werewolf lunged with its sharp claws, Mark swiftly swung his sword, slicing off all the fingers in one clean sweep. The creature howled in agony as blood spurted out. Without hesitation, Mark drove his sword deep into the beast''s chest. Despite its attempts to retaliate, Mark kept twisting his blade, causing the werewolf to collapse onto the grassy ground, surrounded by its own blood. With a grim expression, Mark withdrew his sword from the creature''s chest, its blade dripping with blood.


    ¡°That was one hell of a fight¡­¡± Mark admitted.


    He swung his sword, aiming for the werewolf''s neck. It took a few tries, the creature''s tough skin making it difficult to sever its head. Eventually, he succeeded and carried the gruesome trophy back to the village. He knocked on the mayor''s door. Bob, dressed in a white nightgown, opened it, clearly surprised to see Mark return alive. Without a word, Mark tossed the werewolf''s head at his feet. "My reward," he demanded.


    Bob needed a moment and returned with a pouch of coins. "So it was a wolf," he remarked as he handed over the pouch.


    "A werewolf, to be precise. And a formidable one at that. No wonder it caused so much havoc. But now your village is safe."


    Mark headed to the inn, planning to spend the night there. The next morning, he had the local armorsmith repair the damage to his armor caused by the werewolf''s claws. With his gear restored, he mounted his horse and bid farewell to the village, setting off towards the town of Ikronion. Such is the life of a wanderer ¨C always moving, never staying in one place for long.

 CHAPTER 7 - SWORDSMAN CAI

    CHAPTER 7


    SWORDSMAN CAI


    Riding on his white horse, Mark arrived at the town of Ikronion. It was unlike the farming villages he''d seen before, surrounded by tall wooden walls and bustling with people. Hoping to find a well-paying job, he ventured further towards the town.


    As he approached the outskirts of Ikronion, he noticed a crowd gathering around two men. The first was a lanky lad, while the second, with long black hair, a fair face, and almond-shaped eyes, wore a flowing white gown. Both men gripped swords, preparing for combat.


    Mark dismounted and walked up to the crowd. "What''s happening?" he asked one of the onlookers.


    "Sh!" the person hushed him. "The fight is about to begin. This Wen Cai guy came all the way from Archon Hanying''s realm, boasting that his fighting skills surpass anyone from Archon Anthemios'' domain. Ha! What nerve.¡±


    The skinny guy rushed at Cai, who effortlessly dodged the attack and sliced at the man''s leg. A loud cry escaped the man. Cai stepped back, wearing a confident grin, anticipating the next move. Sure enough, the lad attacked again, and Cai skillfully blocked, kicking the man''s chest, sending him crashing to the ground. A sharp thud echoed as the man''s face met the dirt, breaking his nose. Blood oozed onto the grimy ground. Cai didn''t strike again but waited for the man to rise. Visibly furious, the man charged once more. Cai smoothly evaded, using the sword handle to smack the man''s head, making him tumble to the ground.


    Mark noticed Cai could have ended the fight thrice already, but he seemed content toying with his opponent.


    The man struggled to his feet, sweat streaming down his face, his broken nose still bleeding. Shaking, he swung his sword horizontally, but Cai swiftly kicked it from his grip. Then, with a powerful backkick, he sent the man''s tooth flying as he collapsed to the ground. "I''ve won," Cai declared, and coins rained into a cup on the ground from the crowd. "Any brave souls left to challenge me, or shall I move on?"


    At first, the crowd remained silent, fear evident in their faces. Then, Mark stepped forward. "So, if I beat you, I get the cash, right?" he inquired. "I''m not fighting for free."


    Cai grinned. "Indeed. But," he stressed the word, "only if you win. Fair''s fair, so I ask that you fight without armor, just like me."


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    Mark nodded, shedding his chainmail and stepping into the fray. He leveled his sword at Cai. "Alright, let''s get this show on the road."


    Mark and Cai stood motionless, each waiting for the other to make a move. After a few tense moments, Mark decided to take the initiative. He lunged at Cai, sword in hand, aiming for a strike. Cai swiftly countered, launching a horizontal attack. Mark leaped, dodging the blow, and retaliated with a downward slash. Cai deftly blocked the attack and stepped back. "Impressive moves," he conceded.


    Mark approached slowly with his sword, but Cai responded with swift kicks. Mark had to move quickly to dodge the kicks and then attempted a vertical downward strike with his sword. However, Cai blocked the attack with such force that Mark''s sword slipped from his grasp, flew through the air, and landed on the ground. Unarmed, Mark struggled to avoid Cai''s slashes. He attempted to retrieve his sword from the ground, but Cai charged at him. Mark tried to sidestep, but Cai''s sword grazed his chest, tearing through cloth and flesh, causing blood to trickle from his wound. Gritting his teeth, Mark took a step back.


    The crowd was captivated by the fight, cheering loudly. Cai wore a confident smile. "Come on," he taunted. "Don''t tell me you''re afraid?"


    Mark recognized that Cai was intentionally trying to provoke him, hoping to catch him off guard. However, Mark simply grinned, dismissing Cai''s words. He refused to let them affect his mindset. Suddenly, he leaped and rolled to the ground, swiftly retrieving his sword. Just in time, he parried a slash from Cai''s sword aimed at his face. Mark swiftly got back on his feet, taking a few steps backward.


    This time, Mark chose to wait patiently for Cai''s attack. After a tense moment, Cai struck with a powerful thrust, but Mark skillfully parried it. Cai responded with a flurry of slashes and thrusts, executing moves so fast that the crowd struggled to keep up. Mark deftly parried each strike.


    As Mark parried another of Cai''s slashes, he simultaneously kicked Cai''s chest, sending him crashing to the ground. Just as Cai attempted to rise, Mark kicked his hand, causing his sword to fall. Mark took a few steps back and tossed away his own sword. "To make this fight fair," he declared.


    Cai leaped forward, aiming a kick at Mark''s face, but Mark swiftly deflected it with his hand. Undeterred, Cai followed up with a backkick, but Mark seized his leg with one hand and used his elbow to snap it. A loud crunch echoed as Cai screamed in agony and collapsed to the ground. Despite his efforts to rise, his broken leg made it impossible to maintain proper balance.


    Cai approached him cautiously. Mark attempted punches, but Cai skillfully parried each blow with lightning-fast hand movements. Determined to end the fight, Mark delivered a swift kick to Cai''s other leg, sending him tumbling to the ground. Before Cai could regain his footing, Mark seized him by the hair and delivered a powerful punch to his face, shattering his nose and causing blood to spray, staining Mark''s face. With Cai unconscious on the ground, the crowd erupted into cheers.


    Grinning, Mark collected the coins from the cup on the ground, accepting additional coins from those who had bet against him. "That was quite a fight," he acknowledged. Retrieving his sword and donning his chainmail armor, he led his horse into Ikronion, ready to seek out his next job. Such is the life of a wanderer ¨C always in motion.

 CHAPTER 8 - DWARF BUSINESS

    CHAPTER 8


    DWARF BUSINESS


    Mark stepped into one of the bustling inns of Ikronion, finding it notably grander than those in the villages he''d frequented. The place exuded warmth and chatter, with people laughing and conversing. Approaching the innkeeper, a slender and alluring woman, she greeted him with a flirtatious smile. "Well, hello there, handsome," she purred. ¡°What can I do for you?¡±


    Mark grinned in response. "I can think of a few things," he teased, "but first, I''m curious if anyone''s in need of a skilled swordsman like myself. I''ve got quite the knack for dispatching foes."


    The innkeeper gestured toward a pair of dwarves seated at a nearby table. "Those two mentioned they''re on the hunt for a mercenary."


    "Much obliged," Mark said. "Now, if you''ll excuse me, I''ve got some convincing to do. But after that, we can have some fun." He winked and headed toward the dwarves. The first dwarf sported long, snowy hair and a wrinkled face, while the second, younger one had a brown mane. Clad in silk attire, they resembled merchants ¨C no surprise they sought a mercenary for protection, Mark figured.


    "Greetings," Mark began. "I heard you''re in need of a mercenary."


    "Indeed we are," the elder dwarf, Yarouth, affirmed. "I''m Yarouth, and this is my nephew, Bakgrim." He scrutinized Mark. "You seem capable enough. I''ve lived long enough to tell."


    "I am indeed quite capable. But my services don''t come cheap."


    "No need to worry about that. We''ve got plenty of coin, and there''ll be more after our mission," Yarouth assured, downing his beer. "Nephew, explain."


    Bakgrim spoke up. "In ancient times, dwarf clans constructed subterranean cities deep in the mountains of Kaznarlig. These cities were abandoned due to a plague and have been lost for centuries. We found an ancient map that supposedly leads to one such city through an abandoned human mine."


    "Apparently, the humans stumbled upon something that made them flee their mining," Yarouth added. "That''s why we need a tough mercenary to accompany us into the mine. We''ll pay you five hundred gold coins. What do you say?"


    After a moment''s thought, Mark agreed. "Deal."


    "Excellent. We leave tomorrow morning."


    Mark nodded, then spent the night indulging in wine and pork before retiring to his rented room with the innkeeper, making love to her. The next morning, with the sun just peeking over the horizon, he awaited outside the town walls atop his horse. The dwarves arrived shortly afterward, riding two sturdy brown horses while a mule tagged along, laden with supplies. "Let''s go," Yarouth declared.


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    Mark nodded, and they spurred their mounts forward, making their way toward the looming mountains of Kaznarlig. As the sun dipped below the horizon, they halted their journey and set up camp in the grassy expanse beside the dirt road. Yarouth and Bakgrim set up the camp, and everyone settled by the crackling fire.


    "So," Bakgrim began, "what''s your story?"


    "No story," Mark replied. "I''m just a wandering sword-for-hire, battling beasts and scoundrels, and savoring the marvels of the world."


    "What were you doing before that?" Bakgrim pressed.


    "I honestly can''t remember," Mark chuckled. "I suffer from amnesia."


    "And you don''t want to recover your memories?" Yarouth inquired.


    "Apparently, my old self decided to ditch the memories because of a loss so brutal I couldn''t bear it anymore. So, no, I don''t want to recover my memories."


    The dwarves lay on the ground, dozing off, while Mark kept watch. Suddenly, he caught the sound of footsteps. Five hefty men, armed with axes and swords, had encircled them.


    "What''s going on?" Yarouth queried, having roused from sleep.


    "We''re surrounded," Mark replied. "You and your nephew stay put. No need to worry about your backs while I deal with these bandits."


    Yarouth nodded.


    A towering bald man bellowed, "Hand over all your goods, and we might let you off easy."


    Mark drew his sword. "Not a chance."


    As one of the bandits rushed toward him, wielding an axe, Mark swiftly dodged the attack. With a quick move, he thrust his sword into the bandit''s back, the blade piercing through until it emerged from the other side. When he withdrew his sword, it was coated in blood. The bandit crumpled to the ground, his face twisted in agony, surrounded by a pool of his own blood.


    Two more bandits came at him, one swinging his blade horizontally and the other wielding an axe. Mark leaped to avoid the blade, then blocked the axe just before it hit his face. Stepping back, he braced himself as the axe-wielding bandit charged like a whirlwind. With a swift parry, Mark severed both of his hands in a single stroke. A kick to the chest sent the armless bandit crashing to the ground.


    The other bandit, brandishing his sword, let out a roar and lunged forward. Mark leaned back, narrowly dodging the blade, and delivered a swift kick to the groin. As the bandit groaned in pain, Mark swiftly brought his blade down in a vertical strike, cleaving the bandit in two from head to groin. The pieces of the man fell to the ground, blood pooling around them.


    The fourth man charged at Mark, thrusting his sword with speed. Mark deflected the strike with his own sword. Again, the man attacked, and again Mark parried. As the man slashed once more, Mark sidestepped and swiftly moved behind him. With a single fluid motion, he swung his blade, cleanly beheading the man. The head soared into the sky, leaving behind a trail of blood, before landing on the ground, eyes wide open. The body, now headless, crumpled to the ground.


    The final bandit, the bald man, trembled visibly as he gripped his two axes tightly. Despite his fear, he gathered his courage and lunged forward. Mark met him head-on, charging towards him. As he dashed, Mark leaned down, narrowly avoiding the swinging axes that grazed inches above his head, slicing a few strands of his hair. In a swift motion, Mark''s sword severed both of the bandit''s legs in a single stroke. Without his legs, the bandit crumpled to the ground, blood pooling around him.


    Bakgrim stared in awe. "I''ve never seen anyone wield a sword like that before," he admitted.


    His uncle nodded in agreement. "That was impressive swordplay," Yarouth said. "We made the right choice hiring you."


    Mark grinned. "Thanks," he replied.


    "But I''m curious about your past," Yarouth pressed on. "Someone as skilled as you must have been more than just a sword-for-hire. Perhaps a knight. It''s a shame about your amnesia."


    "I''ve said it before. I don''t want to dig into my past. Now, let''s get some rest because we''re hitting the road again tomorrow morning."


    True to his word, the next morning found them back on the move, heading towards the mountains of Kaznarlig. Such is the life of a wanderer ¨C always on the move.

 CHAPTER 9 - MINES OF KAZNARLIG

    CHAPTER 9


    MINES OF KAZNARLIG


    Mark took the lead, with Yarouth and Bakgrim following close behind, along with the mule carrying their supplies. The path up the mountain was treacherously steep and narrow. One wrong step could send them tumbling to certain doom. The biting cold gnawed at their bones, and snow fell relentlessly from the sky. The wind howled fiercely, whipping the snowflakes directly into their faces, obscuring their vision and making it even harder to navigate the precarious trail. Climbing the formidable mountain of Kaznarlig was not a task for the faint of heart.


    "How much farther to the mine?" Bakgrim shouted, his voice barely carrying over the fierce wind.


    "About an hour, I reckon!" Mark shouted back.


    "An hour? Blast!"


    "Remember the treasure waiting for us!" Yarouth encouraged his nephew. "The wealth of the ancient dwarves, all ours for the taking!"


    As they ascended, the path became steeper, the snow deeper. The trail was narrow, barely wide enough for their horses to pass. Bakgrim''s curses were drowned out by the wind. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, they reached the entrance to the mine. It was nestled deep within the heart of the mountain, hidden from sight by towering cliffs and rocky outcrops. They dismounted their horses and approached the entrance.


    Yarouth and Bakgrim lit torches, and together with Mark they ventured into the abandoned mine. The darkness enveloped them, with only their flickering torches to light the way. They pressed forward, deeper into the mine, the echoes of their footsteps reverberating off the walls. Strewn across the ground were remnants of past mining operations, rusted tools left behind from years of neglect.


    Suddenly, a loud roar echoed through the mine. ¡°Uh-oh!¡± Bakgrim exclaimed. ¡°That might be why the humans left this place!¡±


    ¡°Stay back!¡± Mark warned, drawing his sword.


    The ground trembled beneath their feet as heavy footsteps approached. Whatever was coming their way, it was enormous. Emerging from the darkness stood a beast, towering at ten feet tall. Its skin glowed red, with piercing yellow eyes, horns adorning its head, and massive teeth protruding from its mouth. Its muscular frame wielded a colossal hammer with ease.


    "Who dares disrupt my sleep?" the beast bellowed in a terrifying voice.


    "I do," Mark declared. "I don''t know what you are, but I suggest you step aside if you value your life."


    Without a word, the beast slammed its massive hammer into the ground, sending shockwaves through the earth. Mark feared the entire mine might collapse. Reacting quickly, he lunged forward and slashed at the beast''s feet, sending chunks of flesh and blood flying. Enraged, the beast attempted to strike Mark with its hammer, but Mark agilely dodged the blow.


    Mark thrust his sword into the beast''s thigh and twisted it. The beast instinctively swung its hammer at Mark, but he swiftly pulled back his blade, causing the hammer to strike its own thigh. Mark chuckled triumphantly. The beast stomped, causing the entire mine to tremble. With a powerful swing of its hand, it struck Mark, sending him tumbling to the ground. Mark''s face collided with the earth, and as he rose, he spat out blood. He vowed not to underestimate the beast again.


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    Mark lunged ahead, leaping high into the air and landing on the beast''s shoulder with the skill of an acrobat. Swiftly, he seized the horns atop its head, using them to propel himself even higher. With a decisive thrust, he plunged his sword deep into the beast''s skull, piercing its brain. The creature let out a chilling scream of agony before slumping to the ground.


    "That was something else," Bakgrim remarked.


    "Just another day in the life of a hired sword," Mark chuckled. "Now, let''s go claim your treasure."


    They pressed on into the depths of the mine, discovering an entrance that opened up into a wide tunnel. With Bakgrim and Yarouth''s torches lighting the way, they ventured deeper. Eventually, the tunnel led them to a vast underground city constructed from stone. The city sprawled with broad avenues and countless structures.


    "The ancient city!" Yarouth exclaimed with excitement, nearly bouncing with joy.


    They strolled down one of the wide avenues, with Yarouth leading the way. Their destination: the grandest building in the city, likely a palace. As they stepped inside, the floor was strewn with the bones of dwarves. "Looks like the plague took its toll," Yarouth remarked solemnly.


    "Look over there!" Bakgrim exclaimed, pointing to a room on their left. "Treasure!"


    The dwarves practically trembled with excitement, their eyes gleaming with greed. The room was a treasure trove, filled with golden artifacts, jewels, diamonds, and other valuable items. But what caught Mark''s eye was a longsword with a greenish hue on its blade. "What''s this?" he asked.


    Yarouth gasped. "I never thought we''d stumble upon a spirit sword!"


    "A spirit sword?" Mark echoed.


    "Yes, according to the ancient scrolls I''ve read, swords like this were enchanted weapons forged in dragonfire to banish ghosts and demons that normal swords couldn''t touch."


    Mark approached and picked it up. "This could come in handy," he mused, testing its weight in his hand.


    The ground shook as the sound of heavy footsteps echoed through the palace. Bakgrim dashed out of the room to investigate, only to let out a terrified scream moments later. "Monsters!" he cried.


    "Let''s get out of here!" Mark bellowed.


    "But what about the treasure?" Yarouth protested.


    "Would you rather have the treasure or your life?" Mark snapped back.


    Yarouth quickly scooped up a handful of jewelry and stuffed them into a golden cup before Mark grabbed him by the collar and dragged him toward the exit. Dozens of colossal crimson beasts, resembling the one Mark had slain earlier, thundered toward them. "I knew this had been too easy to be true," Mark muttered under his breath.


    They sprinted down the wide avenue, the monsters hot on their heels. Some wielded massive hammers and hurled them at the trio, narrowly missing their heads. Mark sweated and panted. His muscles burned with exertion, but he pushed himself forward, clutching Yarouth tightly while Bakgrim trailed close behind.


    Finally, they reached the tunnel leading back to the mine. In the darkness, they stumbled onward, their torches forgotten in the chaos. Somehow, they made it back to the mine entrance, relieved to find no monsters pursuing them through the tunnel. Emerging from the mine, they breathed a sigh of relief. Mark couldn''t help but smile as the cold wind and snowflakes greeted him. He never thought he''d be so grateful to be back in the chilly entrance of the mine.


    "I only managed to grab this cup and a few pieces of jewelry!" Yarouth protested. "We barely made any profit!"


    "What a missed opportunity!" Bakgrim agreed. "That room down there was overflowing with gold. We could have been swimming in riches. And that was just one room! Think of all the treasures still waiting to be found."


    "Be grateful we made it out alive," Mark reminded them. "And I still expect to be paid."


    "When I promised you the coin, I thought we''d be rolling in treasure!" Yarouth complained.


    "You''ve seen what I can do with a sword," Mark warned. "You don''t want to upset me. Plus, you need my help getting back to Ikronion."


    "How about this? You get three hundred coins instead of five hundred, and you can keep the spirit sword," Yarouth suggested.


    Mark agreed with a nod. "That sounds like a fair deal. That sword could come in handy for someone like me."


    And so, the three travelers set off on their long journey back to Ikronion. Mark was once again on the road, for such is the life of a wanderer ¨C always in motion.

 CHAPTER 10 - WEDDING GHOST

    CHAPTER 10


    WEDDING GHOST


    Mark raced on his white horse through the village, hoping that the given directions were accurate and the rumors true, so his journey wouldn''t be in vain. As he trotted along the dusty village road, he flagged down a middle-aged man. ¡°Excuse me, where can I find the village mayor?¡± he inquired.


    ¡°Right here,¡± the man replied with a grin. ¡°It¡¯s me, Billy. What brings you to our humble village?¡±


    Dismounting gracefully, Mark introduced himself. "I''m a swordsman for hire. I heard rumors about an angry spirit troubling the village."


    ¡°Indeed, we have such a problem,¡± Billy acknowledged. ¡°But what can a sword do against a ghost?¡±


    ¡°Mine can do plenty,¡± Mark retorted confidently. ¡°I possess a spirit sword capable of banishing such specters.¡±


    Though doubtful, the mayor saw no harm in giving it a try. ¡°Very well. I can offer you forty gold coins if you can rid us of this ghost.¡±


    ¡°Agreed. Now, tell me everything you know about this spirit.¡±


    ¡°A few days ago, a young couple got married. We''re a small, close-knit community, so we all celebrated the marriage with a grand feast. Suddenly, a ghostly woman appeared, uttering chilling words. We tried to drive her away with our pitchforks, but they passed right through her. She touched the newlyweds, draining them of their life. They fell dead, faces pale. Then, she disappeared.¡±


    ¡°And she hasn¡¯t returned since?¡±


    ¡°Not a sign of her.¡±


    ¡°Has this happened before?¡±


    The mayor nodded solemnly. "Once, fifteen years ago, during another wedding. But since then, she never showed up again, so we thought we were safe from that ghost."


    Mark pondered the situation. Remembering a volume on spirits he read on Ikronion, he deduced that the ghost might have been drawn by the marriage. ¡°Mayor, I have a plan. Find me a bride and prepare a feast. I¡¯m going to need a wedding.¡±


    The mayor, taken aback, hesitated before understanding. "Ah, I see. You want to draw the ghost. Alright, you can pretend to marry Anne, my niece. But I hope you know what you''re doing. I wouldn''t want to lose her."


    "You won''t. Trust me."


    Before long, the mayor spread the news throughout the village that Anne would marry the traveler. The women of the village busied themselves baking cookies and cakes, filling the air with their sweet aroma. Meanwhile, the men gathered wine and beers, setting up tables and chairs at the village center for the impending feast. The mayor''s nephews prepared a lamb for the occasion.


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    Mark met his bride-to-be, Anne, a slender blonde with a captivating smile and blue eyes. He greeted her warmly, saying, "I''m charmed."


    Anne blushed. "T-thank you."


    "You can relax," Mark reassured her. "I won''t eat you, unless you ask me to."


    Anne blushed even more, her cheeks turning rosy. "Y-yes." After a moment, she hesitantly asked, "Do you think the ghost will appear?"


    "I hope so, or else it would be a waste of everyone''s time."


    "Will you protect us from the ghost?"


    "I promise," Mark declared firmly. "I won''t let anything happen to you."


    Anne smiled. "I trust you. You seem capable."


    As the evening set in, the marriage ceremony began in the village center. Anne, clad in a flowing red bridal gown, walked gracefully with her bridesmaids. Mark, on the other hand, showed up in his sturdy armor, his swords hanging at his side.


    Anne and Mark stood hand in hand as Mayor Billy started the ceremony. "Before the watchful eyes of our blessed Archon, I pronounce you husband and w-"


    Suddenly, a ghostly figure appeared ¨C a translucent vision of a woman in a bridal gown, emitting spine-chilling screams. Mark swiftly drew his spirit sword, its green glow illuminating the air. "Be gone foul spirit!" he commanded.


    The ghost, once confident, cowered at the sight of the spirit sword, realizing its power to banish her from the mortal realm. "You!" she screeched. "You call me foul but you protect villains!"


    "Banish that ghost!" Billy yelled.


    "Let her speak," Mark ordered.


    ¡°Long ago, I was a hopeful bride-to-be, eagerly awaiting my wedding day. I was promised to a handsome man. But the day before our wedding, I found him with another woman in the hills. I was heartbroken and enraged. I confronted him, and in a fit of anger, he struck me with a rock, ending my life. Before I passed, I vowed to seek revenge. Since my own wedding was ruined, I swore to stop anyone else from marrying in this wretched village.¡±


    "You were hurt, and your anger is understandable. But you¡¯ve been harming innocent people instead of the true culprit ¨C your murderer. Killing innocents won''t right the wrongs done to you."


    "I swore to prevent any more marriages here," the ghost persisted, "so I can only target newlyweds. I can¡¯t harm the one who ended my life.¡±


    "I can," Mark declared. "But here''s the deal: if I take down the murderer, you''ve got to drop your grudge, depart from the living world, and head down to the underworld. If not, I''ll use my spirit sword to kick you out of this realm anyhow."


    ¡°The murderer is Billy.¡±


    "Don''t listen to this vile spirit!" Billy protested. "I''m innocent!"


    "Lucy, his betrothed, did vanish mysteriously before their wedding," a villager chimed in.


    "Yes," Billy interjected, "but she left with a stranger. She didn''t die. I swear!"


    Mark could see from the look on the mayor''s face that he wasn''t telling the truth. "Give me what''s owed if you want the ghost gone," he demanded.


    Billy tossed him a pouch of coins, which Mark snatched. ¡°Glad to see you''ve come around. Now, deal with that ghost, and I''ll throw in another bag of coins for you.¡±


    Instead of responding, Mark swiftly swung his blade, slicing off Billy''s head. The head soared through the air before landing on the ground with a thud. Billy''s body slumped to the ground, blood pooling around it. Witnessing this, the ghost grinned and vanished, fading from existence, her spirit finally finding peace.


    Mark glanced at Anne and spoke, "Apologies for the chaos and what happened to your uncle, but he deserved it."


    Without lingering for a reply, he strode off. Soon, he was atop his white horse, riding away from the village. Such is the life of a wanderer, always seeking the next horizon.

 JOURNAL OF ANDRONICUS (PART II - THE DWARVES)

    JOURNAL OF ANDRONICUS


    PART II - THE DWARVES


    The dwarfkind is the second most ancient race. Once lords of half the realm of Xerath, all changed with the advent of the Dragons. These winged overlords, enslaving men beneath their draconic yoke, usurped the entirety of the continent, compelling the dwarfs to seek refuge in the craggy bosom of the Kaznarlig Mountains. From these subterranean bastions, they conducted relentless forays upon human hamlets, amassing untold riches beyond mortal ken.


    When the Giants led the charge in the Uprising against draconic tyranny, the dwarfs glimpsed an opportunity to resurrect their ancient glory and mobilized their formidable legions. But fate played a cruel hand, and a plague swept through the dwarf clans. The majestic halls of Kaznarlig were deserted in haste, and the remnants of the dwarffolk sought sanctuary in the southern realm.


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    In the distant realm of Kerath, the remnants of dwarfkind took root anew, fragmented and diminished. The dwarf city-states now stand as mere echoes of their former glory. Bound by fealty to the Archons and acknowledging the Giants as their liege lords, the ancient race humbly bows to the dictates of fate. Where once they terrified Xerath, now they render annual tributes to the Archons. Yet, through the craftiness of dwarf merchants, fueled by avarice, the coffers of the dwarven kin remain brimming.

 CHAPTER 11 - CRANE SWORD SECT

    CHAPTER 11


    CRANE SWORD SECT


    Mark trotted along the dirt road on his white horse, whistling and taking sips from his flask of wine. It had been two weeks since his last gig ¨C getting rid of that pesky ghost ¨C and his coin purse was feeling lighter, but he didn''t mind. He relished the carefree moments, immersed in nature''s embrace. Suddenly, the rhythm of galloping hooves disrupted his tranquility. Turning to look, he spotted three horsemen trailing behind him. From their appearance, he could tell they were from Archon Hanying''s domain. One of them had a long white beard, showing his age, while the others were younger, with smooth-shaven faces and fair features. All three were clad in flowing white robes.


    As the trio halted their steeds upon seeing him and dismounted, Mark dismounted as well. "Have we crossed paths before?" he inquired, wondering if he had encountered them during his pre-amnesia days.


    "No," the elder responded. "But you''ve crossed blades with my disciple, Wen Cai."


    Mark paused, recollecting the encounter with the swordsman. They had clashed swords in Ikronion ¨C Wen Cai had left with a broken leg and a battered nose, while Mark had pocketed his earnings. "Ah, yes, I remember him. A skilled swordsman indeed. He did mention he was itching for a duel, right? He challenged me, and I emerged victorious, fair and square."


    "He did speak highly of your prowess in combat," the elder acknowledged.


    "Good to hear. No need for us to be at odds then. I bear no grudges."


    As Mark began to turn away, the elder interjected. "Do you think you can publicly humiliate my disciple and walk away unscathed? Do you know who I am?"


    "I can''t say that I do."


    "Hmph! I am Kang Zhong, leader of the Crane Sword Sect! I challenge you to a duel to defend my Sect''s honor!"


    "I''m not interested in your honor talk. I won''t fight you without compensation."


    "Very well. If you emerge victorious, I shall reward you with a hundred gold coins."


    "Now we''re talking..."


    Kang Zhong and his two disciples brandished their swords. ¡°Diamond formation!¡± the old man shouted, leading the trio to form a triangle with Zhong at the forefront. Mark drew his sword in response, bracing himself for the impending duel. The trio launched their attack simultaneously: Zhong charged forward with remarkable speed and aggression, while his two disciples flanked him. Mark struggled to parry Zhong¡¯s strike, the force nearly causing him to lose his grip on his sword.


    ¡°Phew!¡± Mark exhaled deeply.


    ¡°Twin cranes strike!¡± the elder commanded.


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    The two disciples lunged at Mark from opposite sides. He quickly bent down, narrowly avoiding the blades as they sliced through the air above him. Feeling the wind brush against his face, Mark took a few steps back before launching his counterattack. With a swift downward swing, he aimed a vertical strike at one of the disciples. The man braced to defend himself, but Mark quickly changed tactics, transitioning into a horizontal slash. The blade scraped the man¡¯s chest, drawing blood and leaving a gash. Mark then subdued him with a forceful backkick, opting not to deliver a fatal blow.


    The second disciple lunged at Mark, aiming his sword, but Mark swiftly dodged the attack. The disciple persisted with powerful slashes, but Mark skillfully deflected them. Suddenly, Zhong launched an attack from behind, attempting to decapitate Mark with a swift slash. Mark countered with a backkick, catching Zhong in the groin just as he was about to strike. Simultaneously, he parried another strike from the disciple.


    Mark delivered a fierce blow to the disciple, making his sword slip from his grasp. He then hammered the handle of his own sword into the man''s face. Blood and broken teeth spilled from his mouth as he crumpled to the ground, knocked out. Only Zhong remained on his feet, having shaken off the effects of Mark''s kick, and he leveled his sword at Mark.


    "I won''t underestimate you again," the elder declared. He focused his Qi energy onto his blade, making it crackle with invisible power. "I''ve trained for years in mastering Qi, and now I''ll use it to finish you off, you scoundrel!"


    With lightning speed, Zhong charged forward. Mark couldn''t block in time, and Zhong''s sword sliced across his chest, the Qi-infused blade shattering the links of his chainmail armor and grazing his skin, drawing blood. Zhong then struck downward. Mark managed to parry just in time, but the force of the blow knocked him to the ground. Before he could rise, Zhong attacked again, but Mark rolled aside, narrowly avoiding the blade which only managed to graze a few strands of his hair.


    Mark rose to his feet and sheathed his longsword. Instead, he drew his spirit sword, hoping it would prove effective against enchanted weapons as it was effective against ghosts. Zhong struck, and Mark swiftly parried the blow. This time, he managed to withstand the attack without faltering. He breathed a sigh of relief. The fight was now on equal terms once more.


    Mark launched into an aggressive assault, delivering a rapid series of slashes to put Zhong on the defensive. Though Zhong parried with ease, Mark had gained momentum, no longer forced onto the back foot. In a swift motion, Mark slashed downward while launching a kick toward Zhong¡¯s chest. While Zhong managed to parry the slash, he was struck by the force of the kick, stumbling backward. Seizing the opportunity, Mark leapt onto Zhong, forcing him to the ground.


    The two men grappled fiercely, rolling together and clashing swords. As the intensity of their struggle mounted, Mark gritted his teeth. Zhong, utilizing his mastery of Qi, increased the pressure, prompting Mark to take drastic action: he bit Zhong¡¯s hand. With a cry of pain, Zhong released his grip on his sword. Mark swiftly aimed his blade at Zhong¡¯s neck. ¡°Do you surrender?¡± he demanded.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Zhong muttered, conceding defeat.


    Both men rose to their feet. ¡°I expect my payment,¡± Mark asserted. ¡°I didn¡¯t fight for free.¡±


    ¡°Of course,¡± Zhong replied with a smile. Suddenly, he seized his sword and charged at Mark with astonishing speed. Mark narrowly evaded the attack, feeling the blade graze his cheek and draw blood.


    Before Zhong could react, Mark thrust his sword forward, piercing deep into the elder¡¯s thigh. Zhong dropped to his knees in pain as Mark withdrew his sword, its blade stained with blood. With a swift motion, Mark swung his blade again, but instead of dealing a fatal blow, he sheared off Zhong¡¯s beard.


    ¡°Now,¡± Mark demanded, ¡°will you give me the money?¡±


    Zhong opened his eyes and fumbled in his robes, producing a pouch of coins. ¡°As agreed. You are an honorable man,¡± Zhong acknowledged. ¡°I owe you for sparing me despite my deceit. If you ever find yourself in the Realm of Hanying, the Crane Sword Sect will offer you whatever aid you require.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll remember that,¡± Mark replied, accepting the pouch of coins.


    Mark climbed onto his reliable white horse and set off. Such is the life of a wanderer - always journeying onwards.

 CHAPTER 12 - AN OLD FRIEND

    CHAPTER 12


    AN OLD FRIEND


    Mark sat at a wooden table in one of Diplovasia''s bustling inns, surrounded by the lively hum of conversation. He savored every bite of the succulent pork and vegetables, relishing their flavors as they melted in his mouth. Suddenly, a man in his mid-thirties, donned in elegant green silk, approached and boldly took a seat opposite him. "Sir Mark!" he exclaimed, taking a seat opposite him. "It''s been too long."


    Mark released a breath. "Uh... You see, I have no idea who you are. A few months ago, I woke up without any recollection of my past life. I suffer from amnesia."


    The man''s laughter faded as he realized Mark was serious. "You are serious, aren¡¯t you?" he said, his demeanor shifting as he took in the gravity of the situation.


    Mark simply nodded before taking a sip of his wine.


    "I''m Theodore von Valensky," the man said. "We used to be friends, sort of. You once saved me from bandits, and that''s how we met. We hit it off and became pals." He paused. "Do you want my help to recover your memories? I''m wealthy and can afford the best doctors for you."


    "Nah," Mark waved his hand. "I''m not interested. My old self intentionally took a forgetfulness pill to erase everything."


    ¡°Why?¡±


    "Apparently, I faced a loss so crushing I couldn''t bear it, so I chose to wipe the slate clean."


    ¡°Yo-¡°


    ¡°Don¡¯t tell me. I don¡¯t want to know. Whatever led me to such a drastic measure must have been pretty bad. My old self slew a dragon to get that pill."


    ¡°I had no idea you went through such a personal loss. Whatever it was, you never mentioned it to me. We did have a while to correspond, to be fair.¡± Theodore signaled the innkeeper over and ordered a cup of wine. Then he continued, ¡°Aren¡¯t you even a bit curious about your past life? I mean, the other parts, not just your personal loss.¡±


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    ¡°I have to admit, sometimes I am curious, but no. You see, I¡¯ve got a chance few people get in life. A fresh start without being weighed down by the past. No roots or connections. I can live the life of a carefree wanderer, earning coin with my sword and using it to drink, eat, and sleep without any worries.¡±


    The innkeeper arrived with Theodore''s wine. He took a sip. "So... is that what you''ve been up to? Being a swordsman for hire?"


    Mark nodded and recounted his encounters with bandits and beasts, vividly describing each one. Theodore was clearly engrossed, listening intently while sipping his wine. ¡°Is this enough for you?¡± Theodore finally asked. ¡°As a knight of Archon Anthemios, you used to serve a higher purpose. Now you are simply moving from one village to the next, taking up minor quests for a bit of coin. Don¡¯t you have any deeper motivations?¡±


    ¡°Why should I?¡± Mark replied, pausing to take a bite of pork. ¡°I¡¯m not interested in some grand quest for some lord. I prefer the carefree life of a wanderer. I get to see all sorts of things and meet all kinds of people, enjoying myself with the coin I earn. What can I say? I¡¯m a simple man.¡±


    "Fair enough," Theodore replied. ¡°Actually, since you¡¯ve become a sword-for-hire, I do have a job for you. I¡¯m a man of great piety, not to boast, but I''ve been supporting the Holy Church with regular donations. I''ve been corresponding with an erudite monk named Koman from the domain of Archon Zva. He''s set on making a pilgrimage to an abandoned temple in Gaweroa after seeing visions of it in his dreams.  Unfortunately, his previous mercenary companions were ambushed by bandits, and only Koman managed to escape and make it here to Diplovasia. He sought my help in finding a skilled swordsman for the rest of his journey. That''s why I''m here ¨C seeking out a warrior for the task."


    "I see. Look, I know we were buddies, but I''m not doing this for nothing. I want a hundred gold coins."


    Theodore nodded in agreement. "That''s a reasonable deal. I''ll inform Koman. The journey starts bright and early tomorrow morning. Koman''s an early riser."


    "I''ll keep that in mind and try not to overdo it with the wine," Mark assured.


    Theodore rose from his seat, tossing a pouch of coins to Mark. "Here''s your payment for the journey. And Mark, stay safe, my friend. The road to Gaweroa is treacherous with bandits and monsters. Koman sought a skilled swordsman for a reason ¨C the ongoing war against Archon Innokentios means no one''s keeping the roads safe." Theodore paused, looking concerned. "He also believes he saw a vision predicting trouble at the temple."


    Mark laughed. "Visions, huh? You''re buying into that?"


    "I''m a man of faith," Theodore replied firmly.


    "Why''s Koman heading to the temple if he knows something bad''s gonna happen?"


    "He thinks the High God wants him to face this trial, testing his faith. He''s ready to endure any hardship."


    "Thank the High God, then. His pilgrimage means more coin for my wine and feasts."


    Theodore''s expression turned serious. "Don''t underestimate the danger, Mark. See you around, my friend."


    With that, Theodore left the inn, leaving Mark to enjoy his wine alone. He savored the moment, knowing he''d be off on the pilgrimage come morning. Such was the life of a wanderer ¨C always on the move.

 CHAPTER 13 - PILGRIMAGE

    CHAPTER 13


    PILGRIMAGE


    Mark stood on the outskirts of Diplovasia, waiting for Koman the monk to arrive. The morning sun beamed down, warming his face as he scanned the horizon. Suddenly, a figure on a brown horse came into view. Mark recognized him instantly as Koman, the monk ¨C a thin, bald man with a serene, austere expression and dark skin. Clad in flowing green robes of the Holy Church, Koman approached.


    "The monk, I presume?" Mark called out.


    Koman nodded in confirmation.


    "You''ve traveled far from Archon Zva''s domain for this pilgrimage to Gaweroa," Mark remarked.


    "It is the will of the High God," Koman replied. "He wishes to test my faith ¨C to see if I am willing to brave dangers to worship at the altar of the abandoned temple."


    "I see," Mark said.


    "I sense you''re not a believer?" Koman inquired.


    "Not exactly," Mark admitted. "I believe in what I can see."


    "Look around you," Koman gestured. "The grasslands, the flowers, the majestic sky ¨C all evidence of the High God''s existence."


    "I''m here to accompany you to the temple, not to hear sermons," Mark replied. "Let''s get going. We''ve got a long journey ahead."


    The two travelers rode along the dirt road, leaving Diplovasia behind them. The scenery changed as they journeyed onward ¨C vast grasslands stretched on one side, while green hills covered in dense woods rose on the other. They rode until darkness fell, then halted beside the road. Mark helped start a campfire, and they sat beside it, warming themselves as the chilly wind blew.


    Throughout the evening, Koman kept casting strange glances at Mark. He ignored it at first, but eventually curiosity got the better of him. "Why do you keep staring at me like that?" he asked.


    "I sense a touch of the divine in you," Koman replied.


    "Ah, trying to convert a godless swordsman, are you?" Mark joked.


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    Koman chuckled. "You see the trees when I talk about the forest."


    "Translation: I''m too dumb to get what you''re saying?" Mark grinned.


    "In a way, yes," Koman admitted. "I''m just curious why a man of violence, selling his sword for coin, has been touched by the divine. The ways of the High God are truly mysterious."


    "Alright, I''ll play along. How exactly have I been ''touched''?"


    Koman closed his eyes, shaking as if caught in a vivid dream or nightmare. Concerned, Mark approached him. "Are you alright, monk?" he asked.


    Opening his eyes, Koman smiled. "I can hardly believe it, yet it all makes sense."


    "What?" Mark pressed.


    "I''m feeling tired. We have a long journey ahead tomorrow," Koman deflected, lying down on the grass and closing his eyes, leaving Mark wondering what had just happened.


    The next morning, they pressed on along the dirt road. Suddenly, the air filled with roars as orcs ¨C green, muscular warriors brandishing swords ¨C emerged from the woods on the left side of the road, their eyes filled with murderous intent. "Let me handle this," Mark declared. He dismounted and drew his sword.


    With a battle cry, Mark charged at the orcs. He thrust his blade deep into the chest of one, piercing through to its back. As he withdrew his sword, it was coated in greenish blood. Another orc swung at him, but Mark parried the blow and delivered a powerful kick to its chest. In one swift motion, he severed its head, sending it soaring through the air before it thudded to the ground, the body collapsing in a pool of green blood.


    Two more orcs lunged at him. Mark swiftly deflected the first attack with a skillful maneuver of his blade, then intercepted the second orc''s strike by severing its hand. The creature howled in pain as Mark swiftly sliced its throat, greenish blood splattering across his face. Enraged by the demise of its companion, the first orc attacked with even greater ferocity. Mark blocked the assault and stepped back before swiftly moving downward. In one fluid motion, he severed both legs of the creature. As the legless orc collapsed to the ground, Mark delivered a final blow, thrusting his blade into its back and ending its life.


    Mark continued to battle the orcs, their green blood and flesh scattering through the air with each strike as he dispatched them one by one. Despite the sweat dripping down his face and the burning sensation in his muscles, he persisted, clenching his teeth in determination. Within moments, he had defeated more than a dozen orcs. Witnessing the relentless ferocity of the swordsman, the remaining orcs retreated back into the safety of the woods.


    Koman got off his horse and approached the fallen orcs, beginning to pray. "What are you doing?" Mark asked, surprised that the monk would pray for creatures that had just attacked them.


    "Please, let me finish," Koman replied firmly, continuing his prayer until he concluded with, "May you find peace in the embrace of the High God. Amen!" Noticing Mark''s confusion, Koman explained, "All beings are creations of the High God and deserve a proper farewell to guide their souls to the underworld. The High God has a purpose for everything."


    "Even for those orcs who harm others?" Mark challenged.


    "The woods are their home," Koman countered. "Are they truly the aggressors, or are we intruding on their territory?"


    Mark sighed, realizing they held different views. "Let''s move on. We still have a long journey ahead to Gaweroa."


    Mark and Koman hopped onto their horses and spurred them forward, riding swiftly towards the abandoned temple. For that is the wanderer''s path, always journeying onward.

 CHAPTER 14 - THE TEMPLE

    CHAPTER 14


    THE TEMPLE


    Mark and Koman finally arrived at the ancient temple of Gaweroa after days of traveling. The old stone building stood in ruins, a mere echo of its former grandeur. Where once vibrant flowers bloomed in the courtyard, now only wild grasses grew. Disheartened, Mark and Koman dismounted and stepped into the overgrown courtyard. The monk shook his head, mourning the temple''s lost beauty. "This place was once a marvel," he sighed. "I glimpsed its former glory in my visions."


    "Theodore mentioned your visions warned of danger here," Mark recalled. "But I see nothing, no one. It''s unsettlingly quiet..."


    "It''s the way of the world," Koman replied solemnly. "Once bustling with life, now reclaimed by nature''s grasp, left to decay in silence."


    "Don''t jump to conclusions," a ghostly voice echoed through the temple ruins. Mark scanned the surroundings, but no one was in sight. Suddenly, a chilling laughter filled the air.


    "Show yourself!" Mark demanded.


    A translucent figure materialized before them, an elderly man in flowing robes, his face marked by wrinkles and scars. "I am Jacobus, the former bishop of this temple," the ghost declared.


    Mark gripped his spirit sword, its green glow illuminating the scene. But instead of fear, the ghost laughed mockingly. "You think you can banish me?" he sneered.


    Koman stepped forward, interposing himself between Mark and the apparition. "There''s no need for violence," he urged. "I am Koman, a monk of the Holy Church. We are of the same faith. Let us find common ground."


    The ghost''s laughter subsided, replaced by a grim resolve. "But there is," he responded. "Do you know what happened here? Two hundred years ago, while Archon Anthemios'' forces were busy dealing with Duke Harrier''s revolt, heathen bandits ran amok in the countryside. They pillaged this temple, leaving no one alive. Our cries to the High God went unanswered. We were forsaken. That''s when I renounced our faith and vowed vengeance against the false God and all who worship Him."


    "Tough luck," Mark said, "because I''m about to send you packing to the underworld, vile spirit!"


    The ghost''s laughter echoed, sending shivers down Mark''s spine.


    Suddenly, the ground shook violently. From the crumbling temple emerged a massive gray monstrous creature with five heads, three arms ¨C two on the left and one on the right ¨C and five legs, each muscle bulging with strength. It wielded three stone columns as weapons.


    "Fuck!" Mark exclaimed, bracing himself for the impending battle.


    "That''s my loyal servant," the ghost declared. "He''s here to purge this temple of followers of the false god." With a sinister command, the ghost ordered the monster, "Attack!"


    The monster slammed one of the columns onto the ground, making the earth tremble. Mark narrowly dodged the attack, which could have easily been fatal. With all three arms, the monster struck again, pounding the ground with the columns. Mark lunged forward, narrowly avoiding the columns and feeling the rush of wind against his face. He plunged his sword deep into one of the monster''s five legs. The creature howled in agony, thrashing its legs and causing the ground to quake. It kicked Mark, sending him tumbling and losing grip of his sword.


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    As the monster struck again with its three arms and the columns crashed down, Mark barely escaped and retrieved his sword. Swiftly, he darted between the creature''s legs and emerged on the other side. Before the monster could react, Mark slashed at its legs with all his might. The beast cried out in pain. As it turned around and brought down its columns, Mark stepped back just in time to narrowly avoid them.


    The beast slammed its columns onto the ground once more. As one of the columns hit the earth, Mark leaped onto it. Balancing carefully, he sprinted along the column and scrambled up one of the monster''s three arms. Reaching its shoulder, he propelled himself into the air and landed on one of its five heads, driving his blade deep into its skull. The beast let out a deafening roar and stomped the ground in fury. "Damn it," Mark cursed. "Looks like I''ll have to pierce all its heads."


    As the beast stamped the ground, Mark struggled to keep his balance, nearly tumbling to the earth. Desperately, he thrust his sword into the creature''s flesh, using it as a makeshift anchor. Springing back onto the first head, he then jumped onto the second head and swiftly stabbed at the skull before leaping to the third head. With the beast shaking its heads furiously, Mark fought to stay upright. Managing to maintain his balance, he buried his blade into the skull of the third head. "Three down, two more to go," he muttered.


    Attempting to reach the fourth head, Mark found himself thwarted by the monster''s violent stomping and shaking. With a loud thud, he tumbled to the ground, rolling across the courtyard grass. Thankfully, he hadn''t suffered any broken bones, but his back was throbbing with pain, and he couldn''t help but let out a sharp cry.


    The beast looked rattled by the wounds Mark had given it. As it brought the columns down again, Mark dodged just in time and drove his blade into one of its three arms. With determination, he sliced downward through the tough flesh of the creature, severing the giant limb. It crashed to the ground with a loud thud, still clutching the stone column tightly.


    The beast angrily slammed the stone columns onto the ground with even more force and speed, forcing Mark to dart back and forth to avoid the attacks. His back still ached, and exhaustion weighed heavily on him. Despite panting and feeling his muscles straining, he pressed on, driven by sheer instinct to survive. Observing the monster''s attack pattern, Mark dashed forward, dodging the columns, and plunged his blade deep into one of its five legs. With a circular motion, he sliced through the flesh, severing the massive limb. Already weakened by Mark''s previous strikes, the beast lost its balance and crashed to the ground, causing the earth to tremble as if in the grip of a mighty earthquake.


    Seizing the opportunity, Mark leaped onto the fallen creature''s chest before it could rise again, repeatedly driving his blade deep into its body. The monster howled in agony until finally succumbing to its wounds. Stepping back from the massive corpse, Mark took a moment to catch his breath. "That was one tough fight."


    "Impossible!" cried the ghost of Jacobus. "You''ve slain my servant."


    "And now I''m sending you back to the underworld where you belong," Mark declared as he thrust his spirit sword into the apparition. The ghost screamed and vanished.


    "I told you, you''ve been touched by the divine," Koman said. "The High God knew only you could defeat this monster. He sent you to my path to help me finish my pilgrimage."


    "Yeah, yeah, whatever. Go do your praying or whatever you want to do."


    Ignoring Mark''s dismissal, Koman walked past the massive corpse of the beast and into the ruins of the temple, heading for the remains of the stone altar. Finding it, he fell to his knees and began chanting words of prayer. For nearly half an hour, he chanted, ending his prayer with the words, "Glory to our maker, the High God!" He then turned to Mark. "We can start our journey back," he said.


    "Back to Diplovasia, right? If you want me to escort you to Archon Zva¡¯s realm, that will cost extra."


    "Diplovasia is fine," Koman smiled. "Our paths diverge anyway. I''ll find another mercenary to take me from Diplovasia to my homeland."


    Mark and Koman hopped onto their horses and started their journey home. After all, that''s the way of the wanderer - always on the go.

 CHAPTER 15 - MYSTERY OF THE WOODS

    CHAPTER 15


    MYSTERY OF THE WOODS


    Mark dismounted in front of the village mayor''s manor, a grand wooden structure standing tall amidst the smaller homes of the villagers. He knocked on the door, and a middle-aged man answered. "Yes?" the mayor inquired. "Who might you be, traveler?"


    "I noticed a notice on the board about hiring someone to investigate the disappearance of woodcutters," Mark responded.


    The mayor scrutinized him. "You do seem capable, like you can handle yourself in a tough spot. Alright then. Over the past few months, woodcutters have been vanishing in the nearby woods. At first, we thought it might be wild animals, but after the fifth disappearance, we knew something was amiss."


    "Have you found any bodies?" Mark asked.


    The mayor shook his head. "No, despite search parties, we''ve found no trace of them. Traveler, our village relies on woodcutting for survival. It''s not just a few families affected ¨C if we can''t harvest wood safely, the entire village is at risk."


    Mark nodded. "The notice mentioned a reward of twenty gold coins. I''m asking for at least forty."


    "But ¨C"


    "I have the skills to solve this mystery and deal with any threat in the forest. You won''t find anyone better. As you said, the village''s survival is at stake."


    The mayor sighed. "Fine... forty coins it is."


    With a grin, Mark left the village behind and ventured into the nearby woods on foot. Thick foliage blocked much of the sunlight, casting a dark shadow over the forest. A mysterious fog only added to the eerie atmosphere, making navigation difficult. "No wonder those woodcutters went missing," he muttered. "This fog is making it tough to move around."


    As he pushed forward, he stumbled upon a small wooden hut. The mayor hadn''t mentioned anything about someone living in the woods. Strange, Mark thought. Why keep it a secret? It seemed unlikely they hadn''t discovered it, given the extensive search parties. Shaking his head, he continued toward the hut.


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    A woman emerged from the hut, captivating Mark with her enchanting smile and graceful figure. Her beauty was mesmerizing, and he felt drawn to her instantly. "Welcome, traveler," she greeted in a soothing, melodic voice, her gaze alluring. "You look weary. Care to rest in my hut?"


    Mark nodded eagerly and followed her inside. Inside the hut, Mark noticed a simple setup. On the wooden table lay several books and potions, catching his interest. He leaned in for a closer look, but the woman seized his arm and planted a kiss on his neck. "Do you enjoy that, traveler?" she whispered seductively. "We could do much more together."


    Though his body yearned for her, Mark couldn''t shake a nagging feeling that something was off.


    The woman picked up a potion. "If you drink this," she offered, "we could spend hours making love."


    "Thanks, but I''ll pass," Mark replied confidently, smirking.


    "Please?" she pleaded, her expression suddenly softening.


    Though tempted, Mark resisted. "I... I need to leave."


    Her demeanor shifted, and she scowled. "Fine. If that''s how you want it." With a wave of her arm, an invisible force struck Mark, sending him crashing out of the hut and onto the forest floor. He coughed up blood as he struggled to his feet, stunned by what had just happened.


    Emerging from the hut, the woman''s appearance had changed drastically. No longer youthful and alluring, she now resembled an old, grotesque hag. Mark was horrified.


    "I''ll use your life to restore my youth," she declared. Suddenly, everything clicked for Mark. He realized what had become of the missing woodcutters ¨C they had fallen victim to this wicked witch, their lives sacrificed to maintain her illusion of youth.


    Mark gripped his sword tightly and lunged ahead. The woman raised her arm, hurling fireballs at him. Swiftly dodging, Mark danced around the fiery onslaught, which instead engulfed nearby trees, filling the air with the scent of burning wood. With a decisive strike, he aimed his sword at the witch, but she conjured an invisible shield just in time to deflect the blow.


    Retreating a few steps, Mark sheathed his regular sword and drew his spirit sword, its glowing green hue illuminating the dim surroundings. He hoped it could breach the witch''s defenses. The witch unleashed an electrical surge, narrowly missing Mark, who watched as it crackled against a nearby tree.


    He charged forward but the witch let out a piercing scream, assaulting Mark''s ears with a painful intensity and causing him to momentarily halt his assault. Mark forced himself to press on, ignoring the painful noise. As the witch attempted to conjure another shield, Mark''s spirit sword sliced through it effortlessly. With a decisive swing, he cleaved the witch in two, leaving her two halves sprawled on the ground in a pool of blood.


    When the witch died, the fog lifted. Mark returned to the village and recounted the tale to the mayor, who was astonished as his search parties hadn''t come across any hut. Mark suspected the witch had the power to conceal her dwelling at will. Accepting a pouch of coins from the mayor, Mark mounted his white horse and rode off from the village ¨C for that is the wanderer''s life, forever seeking new horizons.

 JOURNAL OF ANDRONICUS (PART III - THE HOLY CHURCH)

    JOURNAL OF ANDRONICUS


    PART III - THE HOLY CHURCH


    In the history of Xerath, The Holy Church stands tall as the main religious institution. It all began three millennia past, in the era when the Giants, towering as demigods, guided the hearts of men in rebellion against the draconian dominion. They claimed triumph by the benevolence of the High God and an assembly of celestial deities. As the Giants ascended to the thrones of Archons, they enshrined this celestial creed as the official religion of their realms. The sacred liturgy of the Holy Church proclaims devotion to the High God, creator of the Universe, and to a pantheon of lesser Gods, among whom most loved is the radiant Goddess Irene, Goddess of Spring and Love ¨C the youngest progeny of the Almighty. Saints, mortal paragons of virtue and morality, find their place of honor within the pantheon.


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    Guiding this sacred congregation are the Seven Patriarchs, each representing one of the seven Giants-ruled realms. Together they form the Holy Synod, the august body that deliberates upon matters of faith. Throughout the land, a vast retinue of clergy, adorned with the sacred vestments of divine authority, spreads the gospel of the High God. They serve as both spiritual guides and earthly custodians under the auspices of Archons and local lords alike. Across the landscape, monasteries stand as bastions of devotion, where the faithful retreat into seclusion, chanting hymns and offering prayers to the High God, the lesser Gods, and the canonized Saints.


    It is through the inspiration of the High God that I author this journal and it is to the Holy Church that I devote my writings.

 CHAPTER 16 - THE DUKES SON

    CHAPTER 16


    THE DUKE''S SON


    As Mark rode along the dusty road atop his trusty white horse, a voice called out his name. He halted and glanced back to see a young man, barely twenty, riding a brown steed. The youth was lean, with a handsome boyish face that belied the fiery anger in his eyes. "Sir Mark!" he shouted, pulling up beside him and dismounting. Mark mirrored his actions.


    "Sir Mark, do you know who I am?" the young man questioned, anger burning in his eyes.


    "Can''t say that I do," Mark replied. "I do have a problem with self-induced amnesia..."


    "I''m Johannes, son of Duke Alexander the Third of Flamenstein," the young man declared, his voice heavy with bitterness.


    Mark furrowed his brow in thought. "That name does ring a bell..."


    "It should. You were the one who executed my father under orders from Archon Anthemios," Johannes spat, his words dripping with venom. "You snuck into our ducal palace and ended his life on false charges of treason against the Archon."


    Mark sighed deeply. "As I''ve mentioned already, I suffer from memory loss. I can''t recall if your father''s execution was justified or not. However, I bear no grudge against you and have no desire to engage in combat."


    "But I do!" Johannes roared, drawing his sword. "Prepare to defend yourself!"


    Johannes lunged at Mark, but Mark effortlessly dodged the attack. "Kid, you''re only going to hurt yourself," Mark sighed. Undeterred, Johannes slashed again, but Mark easily evaded his blows, further fueling Johannes'' frustration. With a horizontal swing of his sword, Johannes aimed for Mark, but Mark swiftly countered with a punch to his face, sending Johannes sprawling to the ground. Struggling to rise, Johannes spat blood.


    "It ain''t over yet!" Johannes screamed defiantly.


    "Kid," Mark said calmly, "you''re a novice. I could knock you out without even using my sword. Heck, I''d bet I could take you down blindfolded. Give up before you get hurt."


    Ignoring Mark''s warning, Johannes charged with a roar. Mark sidestepped the attack and shoved Johannes with his elbow, sending him crashing to the ground once more. As Johannes attempted to rise, Mark delivered a swift kick to his face, sending blood spraying into the air. "Give up," Mark urged.


    Johannes rose defiantly. "Never! I''ll never give up. I''ll either avenge my father or die trying!" With determination blazing in his eyes, he charged at Mark once more. This time, Mark drew his blade as well. He effortlessly parried Johannes'' strike and launched a counterattack, overwhelming the young man with a flurry of powerful blows. With a forceful downward slash, Mark''s sword struck Johannes'' so hard that it slipped from his grasp. Taking advantage of the opening, Mark delivered a series of blows to Johannes'' face with the pommel of his sword, breaking the young man''s nose and causing him to stagger back.


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    "You''re just a pampered noble playing hero," Mark rebuked sternly. "You''re no fighter. You''re only embarrassing yourself. Stop, or I won''t go easy on you."


    Tears welled in Johannes'' eyes as he wiped the blood from his broken nose, grabbed his sword from the ground, and launched another attack. Mark deftly parried the strike and countered with a slash of his own, grazing Johannes'' cheek and drawing blood. Though he could have easily ended the fight, Mark chose not to kill him.


    Johannes stepped back, letting out a defiant cry. "I won''t give up!"


    "You''re being foolish¡­"


    Johannes struck once more, but his attacks were clumsy and easy to parry. Mark toyed with him for a few minutes, allowing Johannes to slash and thrust only to be easily deflected. But eventually, Mark grew impatient and delivered a powerful blow that sent Johannes'' sword flying from his hands once again. Defenseless, Johannes was at Mark''s mercy. Instead of using his own sword, Mark kicked Johannes, sending him crashing to the ground with a loud thud.


    As Johannes struggled to rise, Mark picked up the fallen sword. "Nice blade," he commented. "Too bad you don''t know how to use it." With a mocking laugh, he tossed it to Johannes. The young man attempted to catch it, but it struck him on the head and sent him stumbling to the ground once more. "You can''t even hold onto your sword, yet you still want to challenge me? Pathetic."


    Despite his exhaustion, Johannes managed to stand again, his hands trembling as he gripped the sword. "I won''t give up. I will avenge my dad."


    Mark felt a pang of sympathy for the determined youth. He had hoped to dissuade him from pursuing vengeance by humiliating him repeatedly, but Johannes refused to yield. Mark couldn''t help but admire his fiery spirit. Sheathing his blade, he spoke calmly. "It''s over. You can''t defeat me. Go back, train for a few years, and then we can have a rematch. I promise."


    "No!"


    Once more, Johannes charged, only to be met with a punch from Mark that sent him tumbling to the ground. Undeterred, Johannes rose again and charged, only to be kicked back down by Mark. Rising once more, his eyes still filled with determination, Johannes declared, "I may die, but I won''t give up. We of the Vackerberg dynasty are not cowards. I won''t dishonor my father."


    "Kid, I''m getting tired of this. I don''t have all day to waste with you."


    As Johannes slashed at him, Mark swiftly punched him in the chest, halting his attack. The force of the blow left Johannes gasping for breath. Seizing him by the hair, Mark rained down punches on his face, one after another. "Are you giving up yet!?" Johannes stubbornly spat out a refusal, so Mark continued his assault. Johannes''s face was left bloodied and bruised, and fearing he might kill him, Mark ceased the barrage and instead flung him to the ground.


    Johannes struggled, but managed to get to his feet. He tried to grip his sword, but it slipped from his weakened grasp. Attempting to retrieve it from the ground, he found himself lacking the strength to do so. Collapsing onto the ground, too exhausted to move, he began to cry and sob uncontrollably. "I''m such a disappointment!" he screamed. "My father never really liked me," he admitted. "He always called me a weakling. He was right. I can''t even avenge his death. What kind of a man am I?"


    "An idiot," Mark harshly replied. "You knew you didn''t stand a chance against me, yet what did you do? Did you seek out a sword master to teach you proper swordsmanship, so that perhaps in the future you could challenge me on equal footing? No. Instead, you came after me with your inadequate skills, fully aware that I could easily defeat you. That''s not bravery; that''s stupidity. Despite being repeatedly bested, did you consider accepting defeat, improving your skills, and returning in the future to seek revenge? No, instead you recklessly threw away your life by foolishly attacking me again and again. You are indeed an idiot, through and through."


    Johannes nodded. "You''re right. I accept my defeat, but this isn''t the end. I''ll train hard and return to best you."


    Mark chuckled. "I''ll be waiting, but don''t hold your breath. It''s better than throwing away your life here, though. Good luck."


    With that, Mark mounted his horse and rode off, leaving a battered Johannes behind. Such is the life of a wanderer ¨C always on the move.

 CHAPTER 17 - THE WITCH OF THE HILLS

    CHAPTER 17


    THE WITCH OF THE HILLS


    Mark strode into Baron Randalf''s grand hall, a vast expanse of polished wood. Seated upon a wooden throne, the Baron, aged yet imposing, acknowledged him. "Sir Mark," he greeted. "Once a knight sworn to our Archon, now a hired blade. I¡¯ve heard many tales of your valor and skill."


    "And you''ve a task for me, I hear," Mark replied. "Is that so?"


    The Baron affirmed with a nod. "Indeed. A task of great worth. Four hundred gold coins, to be exact."


    Mark grinned. "Music to my ears. What''s the job?"


    "A vile sorceress named Vivian dwells in the hills above this castle. She''s defied my rule, slain my guards, and caused havoc. I need her dealt with."


    "I''ve experience in killing witches," Mark boasted.


    "Don''t underestimate her. She''s cunning and powerful. And don''t let her sway you against me," the Baron cautioned.


    "No worries. I''m a professional," Mark assured him.


    Mark departed from the Baron''s castle, setting out on his horse toward the rolling, grassy hills in search of the witch. As he rode on, he spotted the bodies of Baron''s soldiers, grimly impaled on wooden stakes as a chilling warning. "Hmm," Mark muttered, pressing on despite the unsettling sight.


    Ahead, he noticed a simple wooden house with a thatched roof, smoke billowing from its chimney. Around it, a humble courtyard bustled with chickens darting about. A woman stepped out of the house, her beauty captivating, with fiery red hair, pale skin, green eyes, and a slender frame. Clad in a long red dress, she calmly inquired, "Are you another one of the Baron''s lackeys?"


    "I''ve been hired to take you down," Mark replied, drawing his spirit sword, its green blade shimmering brightly.


    "Ah, a hired sword doing the Baron''s dirty work," she remarked coolly.


    Mark lunged at the woman, sword in hand. She swiftly summoned an invisible shield around herself. Despite this, Mark''s spirit sword sliced through it effortlessly. The woman dodged, narrowly avoiding the blade as it grazed above her face. Stepping back, she conjured fiery orbs in her hands and hurled them at Mark, who dodged and weaved to evade their searing heat, feeling the flames lick at his skin as he darted left and right.


    Mark charged once more, only to be struck by an invisible blast of energy, sending him tumbling to the ground with a resounding crash. As he rose, spitting blood, he cursed under his breath.


    "You''d be wise to retreat now," the witch cautioned.


    "No chance," Mark retorted, shaking his head. "I''m not one to abandon a lucrative contract."


    "Do you truly want to risk your life for that corrupt man?" she questioned.


    "Bold words coming from someone who''s caused chaos and slain soldiers," Mark countered.


    Vivian sighed. "Is that the story he fed you? The truth is, the Baron desires me, but I rejected him. In retaliation, he sent his soldiers to coerce me, and I had no choice but to defend myself. Now he''s hired you out of spite because I refuse to yield to his advances."


    Mark pondered her words, torn between believing her sincerity and the Baron''s warnings of deception. "Do you have any proof?" he inquired.


    "Only my word," she responded.


    Mark hesitated, unsure of what to believe. Suddenly, he felt a force pulling him towards Vivian, as if tethered by an invisible thread. The witch conjured a blazing ball of fire in her palm, its heat palpable against Mark''s skin as he struggled against the unseen force.


    Just as suddenly, the fire disappeared, and Mark was released. "As you can see," Vivian stated, "I could have ended you, but I chose not to. I have no desire for unnecessary bloodshed."


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    Mark breathed a sigh of relief. "For a moment, I feared I''d meet the same fate as those impaled soldiers..."


    "They left me with no other choice, I''m afraid," she admitted.


    "Well... I''d be happy to help with the Baron, but I don''t work for free."


    "If you take care of the Baron, I''ll give you a book of spells," Vivian responded. "It can protect you against witches like me. You wouldn''t want to be vulnerable to witches, as you were a moment ago, would you?"


    Mark pondered her offer. While his spirit sword was effective against sorcerers, having a book of spells for extra defense could be beneficial in his line of work. "Sounds good to me, but how am I supposed to take out the Baron? I''m just one man."


    "As you''ve seen, the Baron is low on manpower. He''s been sending his soldiers to fight for Archon Anthemios against Archon Innokentios. That''s why he had to hire a mercenary like you. You won''t have to deal with many guards."


    ¡°Still... this isn''t an easy task.¡±


    Vivian nodded. ¡°Give me your blade,¡± she said. ¡°Not the spirit sword, your regular one.¡±


    Mark hesitated but handed it over to the witch. She chanted some strange words, and the sword glowed brightly. She then returned it to him. ¡°Your blade can now cut through the toughest armor.¡±


    Mark swung the sword, feeling its new power. ¡°This will make my job easier.¡±


    Mark jumped onto his horse and rode back to Baron Randalf''s keep. As he approached, five guards in iron armor blocked his path, swords in hand. ¡°Stop!¡± one of them commanded. ¡°Where''s the proof you''ve killed the witch?¡±


    ¡°Plans have changed,¡± Mark replied, dismounting his horse. He drew his sword and swiftly slashed at the guard. His blade sliced through the armor like butter. Blood gushed from the wound, and the man collapsed lifeless on the ground.


    The other guards rushed at Mark, their swords flashing as they attacked. Mark blocked and parried their strikes, deflecting blow after blow. With one powerful thrust, his sword pierced through a guard¡¯s chest, the armor offering no resistance. As he pulled the blade free, it dripped with dark, crimson blood. With a quick, sweeping motion, he swung again and beheaded another guard, the head spinning through the air before landing with a sickening thud in a pool of blood.


    Another guard lunged at him, his blade inches from slashing Mark¡¯s face, but Mark jerked to the right just in time, escaping with only a scratch. Without missing a beat, he kicked the man hard in the groin, then drove his sword into the guard''s chest. As the guard slumped to the ground, bleeding out, another swung at Mark. He parried with a loud clang, the sound ringing out as their swords clashed again and again. With a swift move, Mark severed the guard¡¯s hands, and the man¡¯s agonized screams filled the air as his sword and severed hands hit the ground. Mark ended his suffering with a brutal thrust to the forehead, his blade driving straight through the skull and out the back. The guard dropped, dead, in a final, bloody heap.


    The remaining guards stared at Mark, their faces pale as ghosts, eyes wide with pure terror. Beads of sweat glistened on their brows, and their hands shook. ¡°Are you really ready to die for some corrupt, fat baron?¡± he asked, voice steady.


    One guard, gathering his last bit of courage, charged forward, axe raised high. Mark sidestepped left, dodging the swing, and brought his sword down in a powerful, ruthless slash from the guard¡¯s head to his waist, slicing him clean in two. The enchanted blade, thanks to Vivian¡¯s spell, cut through armor like paper. Blood pooled around the two halves as they slumped to the floor.


    The remaining guards, now horrified, dropped their weapons and scrambled away, leaving Mark free to stride into the main hall without resistance.


    The Baron was crouched behind his wooden throne, trembling.


    ¡°I can see you,¡± Mark chuckled. ¡°Come on out.¡±


    ¡°Why!?¡± the Baron shouted, stumbling to his feet. ¡°Why did you betray me? What did that witch offer you?¡±


    ¡°The truth,¡± Mark said simply. ¡°You¡¯re an asshole who couldn¡¯t handle rejection and tried to force her to be your wife.¡±


    Baron Randalf¡¯s face twisted with rage. ¡°So what?! I¡¯m the Baron! Everything in this barony is mine. If I want a woman, I¡¯ll take her. What¡¯s it to you, anyway? You¡¯re just a sword for hire, not some hero.¡±


    ¡°True,¡± Mark shrugged, ¡°but Vivian offered me a better deal. She spared my life and offered me a book of spells ¨C pretty useful for a mercenary like myself.¡±


    The Baron¡¯s eyes narrowed, calculating. ¡°I can offer an even better deal! How about a thousand gold coins? You don¡¯t even have to kill her. Just take the money and walk away.¡±


    Mark paused, considering the offer. The Baron¡¯s eyes brightened as Mark seemed to hesitate. ¡°Alright,¡± Mark said finally. ¡°Hand over the money.¡±


    The Baron quickly opened a chest by the throne and tossed Mark a pouch of coins. Mark caught it mid-air, then grinned. ¡°Thanks.¡±


    Before the Baron could speak another word, Mark lunged forward and slashed his sword across Randalf¡¯s chest. The Baron collapsed, choking, into a spreading pool of his own blood. Mark looked down at him, smirking. ¡°Moron.¡±


    Mark rode away from the Baron¡¯s keep and made his way back to Vivian¡¯s house in the green hills. When she saw him, she smiled warmly. ¡°Did you take care of the Baron?¡±


    ¡°Yep,¡± Mark replied, dismounting his horse and stepping into the courtyard. ¡°Problem¡¯s solved.¡±


    ¡°You really are my hero,¡± she said, a glint in her eye. ¡°And I haven¡¯t forgotten our deal. Come inside.¡±


    Mark followed her into the simple, cozy home. A desk stacked with scrolls and books sat to one side, while a bed was tucked against the far wall. Vivian picked up a book from the desk and held it out to him. ¡°Here¡¯s the spellbook I promised. But¡­ maybe you¡¯d like to take it after I thank you properly?¡±


    Mark grinned. ¡°I never turn down a thank-you.¡±


    Vivian set the book aside, wrapped her arms around him, and kissed him deeply as he fondled her. He led her to the bed, and they spent the rest of the day and the night making passionate love. When morning came, Mark saddled his horse, the spellbook tucked securely in his bag. With a final glance back at Vivian¡¯s door, he rode off once again, ready for the next adventure. Such is the life of a wanderer¡ªalways on the move.

 CHAPTER 18 - THE BEAST OF THE NIGHT

    CHAPTER 18


    THE BEAST OF THE NIGHT


    Mark rode into the quiet village, a place of small wooden houses with thatched roofs and dusty dirt roads. He guided his horse to the single inn ¨C a modest building, much smaller than the bustling inns in larger towns. After dismounting, he gave his horse a gentle pat. ¡°Good boy,¡± he murmured, then made his way inside.


    The inn was dimly lit, with seven people gathered around tables, drinking ale and speaking in loud, tense voices. Mark walked up to the counter and tossed a coin. ¡°A cup of wine, if you please,¡± he said.


    The innkeeper caught the coin smoothly and poured a cup of wine. ¡°Here you go,¡± he replied, looking visibly troubled. Mark took a gulp, watching the people in the room. Though they were loud, they seemed uneasy, far from the usual lively chatter. Sensing something was off, he turned back to the innkeeper. ¡°What¡¯s got everyone here in such a sour mood?¡±


    The innkeeper sighed. ¡°For the past week, a monster¡¯s been roaming the village at night. Anyone who steps outside after dark gets attacked. A dozen people are dead, even a child. We¡¯ve had to lock ourselves in our homes every night. And the Baron? He hasn¡¯t lifted a finger to help. All his soldiers are off fighting for Archon Anthemios, so there¡¯s no one here to defend us from that beast.¡±


    Mark raised an eyebrow. ¡°Has anyone actually seen this monster?¡±


    ¡°No¡­ whoever¡¯s seen it didn¡¯t live to tell about it. But we¡¯ve all heard the terrible howls.¡±


    Mark grinned. ¡°Lucky for you, I¡¯m a swordsman for hire. Got plenty of experience with beasts. For sixty gold coins, I can rid your village of this monster.¡±


    The innkeeper hesitated. ¡°Sixty coins¡­ it¡¯s a lot. But if everyone pitches in, we might be able to scrape it together.¡±


    ¡°Then you¡¯ve got yourself a deal,¡± Mark replied with a nod.


    Mark settled into a chair at a table, ordering another round of wine and a meal of rice and chicken. The innkeeper quickly brought the food and drink, and Mark eagerly devoured his meal, washing it down with the wine. He relaxed, enjoying himself until night fell. As the sun dipped below the horizon and the moon rose, Mark got up from his seat. By now, everyone except the innkeeper had hurried home, barricading themselves inside.


    The innkeeper, visibly nervous, stayed behind only because Mark was still inside. ¡°So¡­¡± he finally asked, ¡°you¡¯re really going out to face the beast?¡±


    Mark nodded. ¡°Stay here. No matter what you hear, don¡¯t open that door. I don¡¯t need any distractions.¡±


    ¡°You won¡¯t need to tell me twice,¡± the innkeeper replied, and as soon as Mark stepped outside, he heard the door slam shut and the heavy lock click behind him.


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    Mark began strolling down the empty dirt streets, waiting for the monster to show itself. Suddenly, a chilling howl pierced the silence. Mark drew his regular sword, bracing himself for what was coming. Next came the heavy thud of approaching footsteps ¨C not the footsteps of any human, but of something massive. ¡°Well, that¡¯s not a good sign¡­¡± Mark muttered to himself.


    Then, he saw it. The creature towered seven feet tall, a monstrous bulk of muscle and gray, leathery skin. It stood on two legs but had four thick arms, two on each side, each ending in seven long, razor-sharp claws. Its face was grotesquely deformed, with a single glaring eye set in the middle of its forehead and rows of jagged teeth jutting out from its mouth, catching the moonlight.


    The beast spotted Mark and let out a scream, a mixture of rage and hunger. Mark gripped his sword tightly, heart pounding. The battle was on.


    The beast swung at Mark with its two right arms, claws ready to tear him apart. Mark barely dodged, rolling to his right just in time. The creature charged again like a raging bull, but Mark sidestepped to the left, letting it barrel past him. With the beast¡¯s back turned, Mark leaped up and slashed down, cutting deep into its back. Grey chunks of flesh and greenish blood sprayed from the wound, and the beast let out a howl of pain.


    It spun around, swinging all four arms wildly, and Mark had to retreat a few steps to avoid getting hit. The creature lunged again, this time with both left arms. Mark rolled beneath its claws, dodging by a hair, and plunged his sword deep into its right leg. Greenish blood oozed from the wound as he pulled his blade free. Furious, the beast swiped at him with its right hands, but Mark jumped back, then swiftly sliced off all seven fingers from one of its hands. The monster stomped the ground, shaking the earth beneath them and causing Mark to stumble and fall.


    Seizing its chance, the beast lifted a massive foot to stomp him, but Mark rolled to the side, feeling the rush of wind as the foot missed him by inches. He sprang to his feet and slashed at the beast''s left foot, sending chunks of flesh and more green blood flying. As the creature howled in agony, Mark drove his sword into its groin, twisting the blade. The beast crashed down onto its knees, clawing at him with its left arms and one remaining right arm. Mark yanked his sword free and leapt back, narrowly avoiding the vicious swipe.


    Mark took a few steps back, creating some space between him and the beast. With a roar, he sprinted forward, leaping high into the air. The beast had risen back to its towering seven-foot height, but as Mark came down, he drove his sword straight into the creature''s only eye on its forehead. The beast screamed and thrashed, but Mark held on, gripping his sword as it lodged deep in the eye. Finally, he wrenched it free and landed gracefully on the ground. The beast, now blinded and trembling, was bleeding heavily from its eye wound.


    Without hesitation, Mark swung his sword, slicing off the creature''s last remaining right arm. The beast stomped furiously, shaking the ground, but this time Mark held his balance. He struck twice more, first chopping off the seven fingers from one of its left hands, then lopping off the entire second left hand, sending it flying through the air in a spray of blood.


    The beast dropped to its knees again, and Mark plunged his sword deep into its chest, twisting it hard. With one last pull, he withdrew his blade, and the creature collapsed to the ground in a pool of its own blood. Mark exhaled, relieved. It had been a brutal fight, and he¡¯d barely made it through.


    He made his way back to the inn and knocked on the door.


    ¡°Who is it?!¡± called the frightened innkeeper.


    ¡°The beast,¡± Mark joked with a chuckle.


    The innkeeper opened the door, eyes wide. ¡°You killed that foul creature?¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Mark replied. ¡°Now I¡¯m ready for my payment.¡±


    The innkeeper quickly fetched a pouch of sixty gold coins from behind the counter. ¡°Here you go,¡± he said, handing it over. ¡°You can stay the night here for free too.¡±


    Mark nodded, and the innkeeper showed him to his room. Early the next morning, as the first light of dawn broke, Mark mounted his horse and rode off, leaving the village behind. Such is the life of a wanderer ¨C always on the move.

 CHAPTER 19 - DAMSEL IN DISTRESS

    CHAPTER 19


    DAMSEL IN DISTRESS


    Mark galloped along the dirt road, woods on his right with towering trees and open grasslands stretching endlessly to his left. Suddenly, he heard a woman¡¯s scream up ahead. Without hesitation, he urged his horse faster and soon spotted the source of the cries.


    A group of rough-looking men stood on the grasslands, all in mismatched clothes, armed with swords and axes but wearing no armor. A young woman lay pinned to the ground, her white dress half-torn, her face bruised from the punch of the man holding her down. ¡°Shut up, you bitch!¡± he yelled, hitting her again as she cried and struggled.


    Mark jumped off his horse, drawing his regular sword. Normally, he didn¡¯t play the hero unless there was a coin in it, but there was no way he¡¯d leave this woman at the mercy of these thugs. ¡°Hey!¡± he shouted, his voice cutting through the scene. ¡°Let her go.¡±


    The bandits turned, startled. One of them, a brute with a double-edged axe, smirked. ¡°And what if we don¡¯t, tough guy?¡±


    Mark¡¯s face hardened. ¡°Then I¡¯ll kill every last one of you.¡±


    The man snorted, laughing. ¡°Yeah? You¡¯re funny, asshole. Now get lost before we decide to rape you too.¡±


    Mark stood his ground as the first thug charged, swinging his axe. Mark sidestepped, avoiding the blow, then countered with a single, clean slash. The thug¡¯s head flew through the air before landing with a thud in the grass, eyes wide in shock, as his headless body collapsed in a growing pool of blood.


    Two more bandits came at him with swords. Mark moved gracefully, ducking and weaving around their strikes. He thrust his sword straight into one of their chests. As that man crumpled, Mark quickly spun to block a swing from the second bandit. Their blades clanged twice, ringing out. Mark took advantage of an opening, kicking the man squarely in the groin. As the bandit doubled over, Mark seized the moment to slice him across the torso, cutting him cleanly in two. His remains dropped to the ground in a bloody heap.


    The last two bandits, watching in horror, let the young woman go. One shouted, ¡°Charge!¡± and they ran at Mark, one with a dagger and the other with a sword. Mark disarmed the first thug with a quick swing that took both his hands, then kicked him hard in the chest, sending him sprawling.


    The final bandit lunged, but Mark deflected his attack, then slashed his cheek, drawing blood. Before the thug could react, Mark drove his sword straight into his throat. The blade¡¯s tip emerged from the back of his neck, and with a wet choke, the bandit dropped to the grass, dead.


    "Are you alright?" Mark asked, glancing over at the young woman. Her white dress was torn and stained with grass, yet it still looked delicate. Her face, though bruised, was strikingly beautiful, with green eyes and dark brown hair.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± she murmured, still shaken. ¡°I¡­ I¡¯m alright now. Thanks for getting rid of those bandits.¡±


    ¡°What were you doing out here, anyway? It¡¯s hours from the nearest village.¡±


    She hesitated, and Mark was about to drop the question, not wanting to press her after what she¡¯d been through. But she finally spoke. ¡°I¡­ I was running away from home, actually.¡±


    ¡°Family troubles?¡± Mark asked gently. ¡°You don¡¯t have to tell me if you¡¯d rather not.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s fine,¡± she replied, forcing a small smile. ¡°Yes. Family issues.¡±


    Mark nodded. ¡°Want me to take you to the nearest village? I can cover a night or two at an inn, at least. I¡¯d stay longer, but¡­ well, I have to keep moving.¡±Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    ¡°That would be wonderful,¡± she said, her voice full of gratitude. ¡°Even a bit of help means a lot right now.¡±


    ¡°Alright then. Climb up,¡± Mark said.


    He mounted his horse, and she hopped up behind him, holding on as they rode off. ¡°What¡¯s your name? I¡¯m Mark.¡±


    ¡°Emmy,¡± she replied softly. Mark could sense her blush, but he let it pass without comment.


    A few hours later, as night settled in, they reached a small village ¨Ca simple place with a handful of wooden houses topped with thatched roofs. Mark guided his horse toward the only inn in sight, helped Emmy down, and they both stepped inside. The warm glow of lanterns lit up a room filled with half a dozen locals eating and drinking. Mark walked up to the counter.


    ¡°Two rooms, please,¡± he said, ¡°one for me and one for the lady.¡±


    The innkeeper, a plump, grizzled old man, looked them over. ¡°Normally that wouldn¡¯t be a problem ¨C hardly anyone comes through here. But today, a couple of merchants snagged three rooms. So, only got one left.¡±


    Mark glanced at Emmy. ¡°You stay here. I can keep going and find another inn a few hours down the road. Traveling at night¡¯s no problem for me.¡±


    ¡°No, please stay!¡± Emmy said quickly. ¡°We can share the room. It¡¯s the least I can do after you saved me.¡±


    ¡°If you insist¡­ but I¡¯ll be sleeping on the floor,¡± Mark replied with a small smile.


    ¡°Yeah, yeah, real gentleman,¡± the innkeeper muttered, tapping the counter impatiently. ¡°So, are you taking the room or not?¡±


    Mark nodded and tossed a few coins on the counter. He also slipped the innkeeper a bit more to bring some fresh clothes for Emmy. The innkeeper led them to a small, cozy room, and a few moments later, returned with a bundle of clothes.


    Mark handed them to Emmy. ¡°I¡¯ll step outside to give you a chance to change.¡±


    Emmy¡¯s cheeks flushed bright red as she looked up at him, seeming shy at first. But then, to his surprise, she whispered, ¡°No¡­ don¡¯t leave.¡± Her tone was softer, more inviting. Her face was also bright red, far redder than the average blushing person.


    Mark was taken aback, watching as her shyness gave way to an unexpected confidence. She let her torn dress slip to the floor, standing boldly naked before him. For a moment, Mark could only stare, finally managing a surprised, ¡°Wow.¡±


    Emmy stepped closer, wrapping her arms around him, and they kissed deeply, his hands running over her in all the right places. Mark, feeling the heat rise between them, took off his armor and shirt, leaving only his pants. Emmy kissed his muscled chest, sending a thrill through him as he kissed her neck, slowly moving downward to her breasts.


    But something felt off. Mark had more self-control than most and he noticed Emmy¡¯s skin turning ever redder, almost glowing. Something was wrong! He pushed her to the bed and took a few steps back. It was then that he noticed that her eyes were blazing with an eerie crimson light. She whispered, ¡°You want me,¡± and he realized with a jolt ¨C she was a succubus!


    Mark lunged for his sword, but Emmy sprang at him with unnatural speed. Her fingers transformed into razor-sharp claws like a tiger¡¯s, slashing as she closed in. He dodged left, barely escaping her swipe, but she tackled him, pinning him to the ground. Her left hand¡¯s claws tore into his shoulder while her right came close to his face. Desperate, he kneed her in the stomach, pushing her off just in time.


    Scrambling to his feet, Mark snatched up his sword and struck her hard with its pommel, knocking her out. ¡°Phew!¡± he breathed, quickly grabbing his bag and fishing out the spellbook that witch Vivian had given him. He remembered reading about succubi during his travels. With urgency, he recited a passage from the book, finishing with, ¡°Begone, vile spirit, from this woman¡¯s body!¡±


    A reddish, ghostly figure ¨C the true succubus ¨C rose from Emmy¡¯s mouth, fully formed with horns, her beautiful face twisted in rage. ¡°You think you can banish me, mortal?!¡±


    ¡°Yes, I do,¡± Mark replied, dropping his regular sword and quickly grabbing his spirit sword, its blade glowing a vibrant green. Just as the succubus lunged toward him, he plunged the spirit sword into her apparition, and she let out an unearthly shriek before vanishing into thin air.


    A few hours later, Emmy stirred awake, blinking in confusion. ¡°What¡­ what happened? I don¡¯t remember anything.¡±


    ¡°A succubus had taken control of your body,¡± Mark replied gently.


    Emmy¡¯s eyes went wide. ¡°A succubus? So that¡¯s what was happening during my blackouts? The people in my village thought I was possessed and almost killed me ¨C I barely escaped. I ended up on that road you found me, a plaything to those bandits¡­ but I thought it was all just superstitious nonsense because I never remembered any of it.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s over now,¡± Mark assured her. ¡°You¡¯re safe, and the foul spirit is gone.¡±


    Emmy hesitated, looking at him with gratitude. ¡°I don¡¯t know how to thank you. I could¡­ offer my body¡­¡±


    Mark shook his head with a gentle smile. ¡°You don¡¯t have to do that. I wouldn¡¯t feel right if you slept with me out of obligation.¡±


    She looked into his eyes, a playful smile lighting her face. ¡°But what if I wanted to, because I truly find you to be a heroic, dashing savior?¡±


    Mark laughed softly. ¡°Well, in that case, I wouldn¡¯t say no.¡±


    They shared a passionate night together, filling the room with moans of pleasure. By morning, Mark left her a pouch of coins to help her get back on her feet. Then he left the inn, mounted his horse, and rode off into the distance.


    For such is the life of a wanderer ¨C to always keep traveling.

 CHAPTER 20 - DUEL AT THE INN

    CHAPTER 20


    DUEL AT THE INN


    Mark rode forward, his horse trotting through an endless stretch of grassland. He was near the border between the lands of Archon Anthemios and Archon Innokentios. Bodies lay scattered across the field, ravens already picking at the dead. It was the grim aftermath of a skirmish. Most of the fallen soldiers wore the green armor of Anthemios¡¯ forces, with a few in the red of Innokentios¡¯ troops. Mark guessed that Anthemios¡¯ men had been ambushed. Despite all the bloodshed, with torn banners and bodies strewn everywhere, this was just a small clash in a much bigger, brutal war.


    Leaving the grim scene behind, Mark rode on, finally reaching a quiet village about an hour later. The place was nearly empty¡ªa few thatched-roof houses lined dirt streets that felt abandoned. He headed to the small inn, dismounted, and stepped inside. Only the innkeeper and two elderly customers were there.


    ¡°Got any wine?¡± he asked at the counter.


    ¡°You¡¯re in luck,¡± the innkeeper replied. ¡°We¡¯re just about out.¡± He poured Mark a cup, and Mark tossed him a coin before downing it in one go.


    ¡°This place feels like a ghost town,¡± Mark said, glancing around. ¡°Where is everyone?¡±


    ¡°Most of the men were conscripted to fight against Innokentios,¡± the innkeeper explained. ¡°All that¡¯s left are kids, women, and us old folks.¡±


    Mark leaned forward. ¡°Any work around here for a wandering swordsman?¡±


    The innkeeper¡¯s eyes lit up. ¡°Actually, yes. There¡¯s a troublemaker who¡¯s been causing havoc. He¡¯s been harassing women. He¡¯s young and good with a blade. None of us are in any shape to take him on, with all the young men gone and only us old folk remaining here, but maybe you could put an end to it?¡±


    ¡°Thirty gold coins,¡± Mark replied.


    ¡°Ten is the best we can do,¡± the innkeeper said, shaking his head. ¡°We¡¯re barely scraping by with this war going on.¡±


    ¡°Fifteen,¡± Mark said flatly. ¡°Or I¡¯m on my way, and you¡¯re on your own.¡±


    The innkeeper hesitated, muttering, ¡°Fine, you greedy bastard. Fifteen it is.¡±


    "So, where can I find this troublemaker?" Mark asked.


    "He usually shows up around now to drink," the innkeeper replied. "That''s why I said we''re almost out of wine. We didn''t have much to start with, thanks to the war cutting off supplies, and he¡¯s been guzzling cup after cup every night since he arrived a week ago."


    Mark nodded. "Got any food while I wait for him?"


    The innkeeper nodded and soon returned with a plate of olives, bread, and cheese.


    "No meat?" Mark asked, raising an eyebrow.


    "Can¡¯t afford it."


    Mark dug in anyway, savoring the salty taste of the local cheese. As he finished, a rough-looking man barged in, holding a young woman by the arm. He was tall and brawny, with a mess of short hair and a scruffy beard. His shirt and pants didn¡¯t match, and a sword hung at his hip. He looked to be in his mid-twenties, and the woman in his grasp was clearly uncomfortable, her face tense.This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.


    "Aw, come on, don¡¯t be so uptight,¡± the man sneered as he fondled her. ¡°With your husband off fighting, it¡¯s time to have some fun.¡±


    The woman didn¡¯t resist, but Mark could see the fear in her eyes ¨C she didn¡¯t think anyone would step in to help.


    "Let her go," Mark said calmly.


    The man shoved her aside, and she stumbled, hitting the wooden floor with a thud. He turned, sneering. "And who the hell are you, pal? Thought all the men your age around here got drafted."


    "Just a wanderer," Mark replied. "But I''ve been hired to take you down."


    The man chuckled darkly and drew his sword. "You¡¯re welcome to try."


    Mark unsheathed his own sword, steady and ready. It was time to settle this.


    The innkeeper ducked behind the counter, and the woman and two elderly customers rushed out of the inn.


    Mark and the thug locked eyes, each sizing up the other, waiting for the right moment. For a second, neither moved. Then, in a flash, the man swung his sword down in a fierce vertical slash. Mark raised his blade just in time, deflecting the strike with a loud clang. The man didn¡¯t let up, following with three more slashes, but each time, Mark¡¯s sword met his with a solid block.


    The man stepped back, eyeing Mark, who readied himself defensively. Suddenly, the thug leapt high and swung his blade down. Mark shifted to the left, but not before the sword nicked his shoulder, drawing blood. The man landed and immediately lunged, pressing his attack. Mark held him off with quick parries, but the man¡¯s strikes came faster and fiercer with every blow. This wasn¡¯t just some common thug ¨C he was skilled, strong, and fast. One strike hit so hard that Mark¡¯s grip slipped, and his sword flew from his hands.


    Seeing his chance, the man swung at the now-unarmed Mark, but Mark dodged back, weaving out of reach. In a flash, Mark grabbed a nearby wooden chair and hurled it at him. The man sliced it clean in half, but that was all Mark needed. He charged forward like a bull, slamming into the man and knocking him to the ground, sending his sword clattering across the floor.


    The two men tumbled across the floor in a fierce brawl. The thug clamped down on Mark¡¯s neck with a brutal bite, making him cry out, then drove a knee into his gut, shoving him back. Both scrambled to their feet, Mark¡¯s neck trickling with blood from the bite. The man swung a kick at Mark, but Mark dodged and countered with a hard punch, landing square on the thug¡¯s cheek and spraying spit and blood. Mark followed up with another punch, smashing the man¡¯s nose, but the thug retaliated with a swift kick to Mark¡¯s groin. Mark groaned, staggering back a few steps.


    Not missing a beat, the thug grabbed a wooden table and hurled it at Mark. Mark ducked just in time, letting it sail over him. He grabbed a chair and smashed it over the man¡¯s head, bruising his face. Grabbing quickly the man by the hair, Mark kneed him repeatedly, sending blood flying. But the thug struck Mark¡¯s sides with both fists, forcing him to let go. The thug took advantage, kicking Mark square in the chest and knocking him backward. Mark hit the floor but quickly jumped up, bracing himself in a defensive stance.


    ¡°You¡¯re one tough motherfucker,¡± the thug sneered, wiping a bit of blood from his mouth. ¡°But I¡¯m still gonna kick your ass.¡±


    Mark stayed silent.


    The thug charged at him, but Mark smoothly stepped to the side. As the man stumbled past, his back turned, Mark swung his fist into the thug¡¯s spine with full force. The thug cried out in pain, dropping to the floor. He tried to push himself up, but Mark delivered a powerful kick to his face, sending blood and a few teeth flying. The thug collapsed, knocked out cold.


    Mark picked up his sword from the floor and sheathed it, then walked over to the counter where the innkeeper had been hiding. The innkeeper slowly rose, wide-eyed. ¡°Is... is it over?¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Mark nodded. ¡°Now, about my payment.¡±


    ¡°Minus the damage you caused, I assume-¡± Before the innkeeper could finish, Mark had his sword out, its tip pressing against the man¡¯s throat.


    ¡°I don¡¯t get stiffed on a contract,¡± Mark said, eyes cold.


    ¡°B-but-¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll take twelve coins instead of fifteen. That¡¯s as low as I go. I¡¯m being generous here, seeing as times are tough and I left a bit of a mess. But I did handle your problem, and that thug was no lightweight. So count yourself lucky.¡±


    The innkeeper quickly handed over twelve coins. Mark pocketed them, strode out of the inn, mounted his horse, and rode off, leaving the village behind him. For that¡¯s the life of a wanderer ¨C always moving on.

 JOURNAL OF ATHANASIUS (PART I - THE GREAT WAR)

    JOURNAL OF ATHANASIUS


    PART I - THE GREAT WAR


    I, Athanasius, Treasurer of the Barony of Zlaria, undertake to continue the writings of the esteemed scholar Andronicus, who passed from this life seven months past, leaving his work unfinished. Though I lack his refined prose and poetic grace, I ask the reader¡¯s patience.


    The Age of Giants has been one of peace. For three thousand years, tranquility and prosperity reigned, as the Seven Archons governed the continent of Xerath. But this harmony was disrupted when Archon Innokentios unearthed an ancient artifact from the era of the Dragon Emperor¡ªan artifact with the power to upset the balance among the Archons and grant him dominion over the others. As Andronicus recorded in his journal, the remaining Archons formed a coalition to counter Innokentios.Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!


    It has now been a year and five months since the Great War began. Thus far, it is locked in stalemate. The cause lies with Duke Alexandros Karamitsios, whose mastery of strategy has led Archon Innokentios'' forces, though fewer in number, to repeated victories. However, these successes only serve to prolong the war, for Innokentios lacks the resources to press the advantage and remains on the defensive, with Alexandros winning battles on his own lands.


    Yet, should Archon Innokentios manage to unlock the powers of this mysterious artifact, the balance may shift. This potential drives the other Archons, despite their losses, to gather more men and resources for further bloody campaigns into Innokentios'' realm, hoping to defeat him before he can wield the artifact¡¯s power.


    The toll of this war has been heavy. Here in the Barony of Zlaria, I have witnessed the strain. With Dukes and Barons drawing soldiers to the fronts, our countryside is left vulnerable to bandits and roaming beasts. Taxes increase, and the suffering of the people deepens.


    May the High God grant us victory and peace against the wiles of Archon Innokentios.

 CHAPTER 21 - SHOWDOWN AT THE TAVERN

    CHAPTER 21


    SHOWDOWN AT THE TAVERN


    It had been a week since Mark crossed into the realm of Archon Innokentios. For him, borders between the Archons¡¯ lands were just lines on a map, and he had no problem riding into territory ruled by an enemy of his "own" Archon, Anthemios. Mark didn¡¯t care about the war; he was just following the road, making coin with his blade, and indulging in good food, drink, and female company wherever he found it.


    He rode on, his horse kicking up dirt on the winding road, with thick woods stretching out on both sides. His destination was the town of Mavrosia, where he hoped to find mercenary work. But Mavrosia was still two days away, and as the sun dipped below the horizon, he knew he¡¯d have to find somewhere to stay for the night.


    Luckily, he spotted a small settlement ¨C a handful of wooden houses with thatched roofs clustered along a single dirt path. The place was quiet and almost empty, save for an elderly, bald man hurriedly making his way home.


    ¡°Excuse me, sir,¡± Mark called out. ¡°Is there an inn here?¡±


    The man, visibly annoyed at being stopped, muttered, ¡°We don¡¯t get many strangers here. There¡¯s a tavern at the end of the road. The owner, Kleomenes, might have a spare room for you.¡±


    ¡°Thanks,¡± Mark said, though the old man was already scurrying off before he finished speaking.


    Mark rode to the edge of the village, dismounted, and stepped inside the tavern. It was bare, even by small village standards: just three tables, a couple of chairs, a wooden counter lined with a few dusty bottles, and a short, stocky man behind the bar ¨C likely Kleomenes.


    ¡°Hey,¡± Mark called out. ¡°You¡¯re Kleomenes, I take it?¡±


    The man nodded. ¡°That¡¯s me, the one and only.¡±


    Mark tossed a couple of coins onto the counter. ¡°A beer, and whatever food you¡¯ve got.¡±


    Kleomenes nodded and set a cold mug of beer in front of Mark, who downed it quickly. Soon after, he returned with a simple plate of chicken and bread. It wasn¡¯t much, but Mark dug in without complaint.


    ¡°What brings you here?¡± Kleomenes asked, watching him eat.


    ¡°Heading to Mavrosia,¡± Mark replied between bites. ¡°Needed a place for the night and was told you might have a spare room.¡±


    ¡°If you¡¯ve got the coin.¡±


    Mark tossed over more coins, which Kleomenes snatched up eagerly. ¡°By the way, don¡¯t suppose you have work for a swordsman, do you?¡±


    Kleomenes shook his head. ¡°Nope. This village has stayed clear of trouble. Even with the war, the local Baron hasn¡¯t conscripted anyone here, and we¡¯ve been lucky enough to dodge raids by enemy parties or bandits.¡±If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.


    Mark felt a pang of disappointment; he¡¯d hoped to earn back some of the money he¡¯d just spent. But luck wasn¡¯t with him tonight. Kleomenes led him to a small room in the back, barely big enough for a narrow wooden bed. It felt more like a closet than an actual room.


    ¡°That¡¯s your place,¡± Kleomenes said. ¡°Good night.¡± He shut the door behind him, leaving Mark alone in the dim little room.


    Mark stripped off his armor and boots, leaving just his undershirt and pants. He sat on the bed for a moment, letting himself relax, then reached into his bag and pulled out Vivian¡¯s spellbook. Lying back on the bed, he began reading. These spells had already saved him once, helping him banish a succubus. Now, he was studying a chant to counter the invisible ¡°pull¡± sorcerers could use to drag people. Just as he was getting into it, a loud crash echoed from the tavern¡¯s front room. Instantly alert, he grabbed his sword and stepped out.


    In the tavern, Kleomenes lay bruised and bloodied on the floor. Five men, wearing the red armor of Archon Innokentios¡¯ forces, were tearing the place apart. Mark guessed they were deserters looking to loot and cause trouble.


    They hadn¡¯t noticed him yet. He was only in his undershirt and pants, unarmored, while they were in chainmail. If he wanted a chance, he¡¯d have to use strategy ¨C he noted that they wore no helmets. He crept up behind one of the men. In one swift move, he sprang up, grabbed the man¡¯s neck, and drove his sword through his mouth, the blade piercing through the other side. With a slick sound, he withdrew the sword, and the man crumpled to the floor in a spreading pool of blood.


    The remaining four spun around, eyes wide. ¡°Who the fuck are you?¡± one of them yelled. ¡°Get this bastard!¡± another shouted, and they charged with swords drawn.


    Mark parried and dodged, blocking their blows with precision. He spotted an opening in one man¡¯s chainmail and drove his blade into it, sinking it deep into flesh. As the man staggered in pain, Mark whipped his sword in a clean arc, severing his head. The head hit the floor with a dull thud, while the body dropped heavily beside it.


    As he swung, Mark back-kicked another thug, his foot slamming into the man¡¯s chest and sending him crashing into a table. But before he could catch his breath, the last two deserters lunged at him, forcing him to parry their blades in quick succession.


    After deflecting a swing, Mark countered with a quick feint, pretending to strike the man¡¯s chest. As the deserter moved to block, Mark shifted his aim and drove his blade straight into the man¡¯s forehead, the tip bursting out the back of his skull. He yanked the blade free just in time to spin around and block an incoming slash from the other deserter. Their swords clanged loudly in the empty tavern.


    They exchanged blow after blow, Mark¡¯s attacks growing more relentless. With a fierce swing, he sliced off the man¡¯s right ear. The deserter let out a shriek, dropping his sword. Mark seized the opening and slashed his throat with one clean cut. The man choked, slumped, and hit the floor, dead.


    Mark turned to face the final deserter, the one he had kicked across the room. The man had scrambled back up and was now charging, sword in hand. Mark braced for the final clash.


    Their blades clashed again and again, each strike harder than the last. Mark feinted once more, then slashed his sword across the man¡¯s face, drawing blood. As the deserter screamed, Mark drove a powerful kick into his nose, breaking it and sending him crashing against the wooden wall. The man crumpled, unconscious.


    Kleomenes had gotten back on his feet. "Thank you for saving me," he said, shaking his head. "Those bastards! They wear our Archon''s armor. They are the very soldiers meant to protect us from enemies and bandits ¨C and yet, here they were, trying to rob me!"


    "This isn¡¯t the first time I¡¯ve seen soldiers desert and go wild," Mark said. "Some of them, instead of being disposable assets in this endless war, choose to desert and use their weapons for a little ¡®fun¡¯ of their own. It¡¯s human nature, sadly." He paused for a moment. "Anyway, I¡¯m heading back to get some rest. I¡¯ve got more road ahead tomorrow."


    Kleomenes nodded, and Mark returned to his room. He read a bit more of the spellbook until his eyes grew heavy, then drifted off to sleep.


    The next morning, he woke to find Kleomenes had prepared him a meal of chicken and a cold beer, a thank-you for saving his life. After eating and drinking, Mark mounted his horse and rode off. For that is the life of the wanderer ¨C always traveling.

 CHAPTER 22 - TOURNAMENT (PART I)

    CHAPTER 22


    TOURNAMENT (PART I)


    Mark finally reached Mavrosia, a bustling, walled town with tall wooden fortifications and watchtowers. Even from a distance, he could see smoke rising from countless chimneys, a sign of the many lives within. The Great War hadn¡¯t touched Mavrosia much ¨C taxes had gone up, sure, but the town was too vital to the region¡¯s economy for mass conscription. Someone had to fund the war effort, and Mavrosia, with its trade and commerce, was doing just that.


    As he rode up to one of the towering gates, he saw armed guards checking every traveler. Security was tight; the town had avoided the war¡¯s destruction, and they intended to keep it that way.


    ¡°Halt,¡± one of the guards said, eyeing him. ¡°State your business!¡±


    Mark flashed a friendly grin. ¡°Just a swordsman looking for work, no trouble here.¡±


    The guard raised an eyebrow. ¡°We could use more mercenaries in the army.¡±


    Mark shook his head. ¡°Not interested in the front lines. I work best alone ¨C contracts, bounties, that sort of thing. Not suited to marching orders.¡±


    The guard nodded, then exchanged glances with the other guards, who gave silent approvals. ¡°Alright, you can go in,¡± he said. ¡°Just keep your nose clean inside the walls. Outside, not our problem, but inside ¨C well, you¡¯ve been warned.¡±


    Mark gave a nod of thanks and rode through the gate. Inside, the town was alive with people. The air was thick with the scents of perfumes, cooking food, and the inevitable sweat of so many bodies. Voices filled the air, people chatting, shouting, laughing. He had to ride at a slow pace, weaving through the packed streets, soaking in the noise and energy of Mavrosia.


    Mark finally stopped at one of the town''s bigger inns. There was a stable right next to the building, so he tied up his horse and tossed a coin to the stable boy to keep an eye on it. Inside, the inn was bustling ¨C a massive room of wooden beams and countless tables packed with travelers eating, drinking, and chatting away. The staff was busy, with a dozen servers weaving through the crowd to keep up with orders. Above, three more floors held rooms for weary travelers.


    Mark made his way to the counter, joining a line of folks waiting for drinks and food. He tapped his fingers on the wood, waiting until someone from the staff noticed him. "Welcome to the Golden Donkey Inn! What¡¯ll it be, sir?"


    ¡°Wine, and...what¡¯s good to eat here?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ve got ham, beef, and rice with a fine sauce,¡± the man replied.


    ¡°That¡¯ll do,¡± Mark said, tossing over a couple of coins. With the crowd being what it was, he settled in, knowing it¡¯d take a while.


    When his meal finally arrived, he drank his wine, savoring each sip, and dug into the ham, enjoying its salty, hearty flavor. The beef and rice, with a sauce that had a spicy kick, were just as good. ¡°Great food,¡± he told the server. ¡°Quick question: is anyone here looking to hire a swordsman?¡±


    ¡°I am,¡± said a voice next to him. Mark turned to see a tall, middle-aged man with a slick mustache and a sly look in his eyes ¨C the kind of man you¡¯d know not to trust. ¡°Connor¡¯s my name,¡± the man added.


    The server had already moved on to other customers, so Mark focused on Connor. ¡°What kind of work are you offering?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m backing fighters for the local tournament tonight. It¡¯s a no-armor, anything-goes match to the death. People use whatever weapons they want. Bets are high, and the crowds love it. Only problem is, my guy¡¯s down with a fever. Can barely move. So here I am, scrambling to find someone who can hold his own. And you, my friend, look like you can.¡±Stolen novel; please report.


    Mark raised an eyebrow. ¡°How much does it pay? I don¡¯t usually do fighting tournaments ¨C my jobs are more about clearing out monsters and bandits. But if the money¡¯s right¡­¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s more than enough to make it worth your time,¡± Connor said smoothly.


    Mark thought it over, then nodded. A chance to make some real coin was hard to pass up. Connor quickly gave him directions to the tournament grounds and told him when to be there, then left him to enjoy his meal in peace.


    Night fell, and Mark arrived at the tournament grounds. The arena was a wide, circular space with rows of seats surrounding a dirt floor where the fights would unfold. Instead of his usual armor, Mark wore a plain black shirt and pants, as the rules required. He carried only his regular sword, leaving his spirit sword back in his room at the inn. The stands were packed with a buzzing crowd, eager for the night¡¯s show. Scanning the area, Mark finally spotted Connor, deep in conversation with a group of men.


    ¡°There he is ¨C my new champ!¡± Connor called out with a sly, wide grin.


    ¡°Gotta win first to be a champ,¡± Mark replied, keeping it cool.


    ¡°Oh, you will. I¡¯ve got a good eye for winners. Besides, if you lose, well ¨C you¡¯ll be dead, so I doubt it¡¯ll bother you much!¡± Connor let out a booming laugh, but Mark¡¯s face stayed unreadable. There was something shady about Connor. But, shady or not, coin was coin.


    ¡°When am I up?¡± Mark asked.


    ¡°Right now. You¡¯re opening the night against Gboyega. Tough guy, so don¡¯t underestimate him.¡±


    Mark nodded. Underestimating opponents wasn¡¯t his style ¨C it was the quickest way to end up dead.


    He walked into the ring and soon saw Gboyega enter from the other side. His opponent was a tall man with dark skin, long black hair, and a full beard, dressed in mismatched clothes and gripping two deadly, double-edged axes. A short, stocky referee stepped between them.


    ¡°You know the rules!¡± he shouted to the crowd, pausing for dramatic effect. ¡°THIS! IS! A! FIGHT! TO! THE! DEATH!!!¡± The crowd erupted in frantic cheering.


    The referee stepped back, leaving the two fighters to size each other up. Mark kept his guard up, preferring to let his opponent make the first move so he could study his technique. After a tense moment of stillness, Gboyega took a few steps back, then suddenly sprinted forward. Using his momentum, he leaped high, both axes raised, aiming a fierce overhead strike at Mark¡¯s head.


    Mark dodged to the side just in time, the axes crashing into the dirt where he¡¯d been standing. But Gboyega wasn¡¯t done; he instantly launched into a whirlwind of slashes and swings, coming at Mark with both axes. Mark blocked each blow with quick, graceful moves, but the relentless assault was forcing him backward. If he didn¡¯t break the momentum, he¡¯d be pinned against the wall with nowhere to go.


    When Gboyega¡¯s axes came down near his face, Mark seized the chance ¨C as he blocked the axes with his blade, at the same time he kicked his opponent in the groin. Gboyega grimaced, pausing for a brief moment, which was all Mark needed to slip out of reach and reset the distance between them. This guy was a tank, utterly relentless, Mark thought. Beating him wouldn¡¯t be easy.


    Mark fell back into a defensive stance, waiting for Gboyega to come at him again. And he did, charging with the force of a bull. Mark sidestepped just as Gboyega barreled past, exposing his back. Mark slashed across his opponent¡¯s back, drawing blood and a howl of pain. But Gboyega whirled around almost instantly, axes swinging in a deadly horizontal arc, aiming to slice Mark in half.


    Mark barely dodged, feeling the axes graze his shirt and draw a thin line of blood across his chest.


    Now it was Mark¡¯s turn to go on the offensive. He faked a strike at Gboyega¡¯s face, and when Gboyega raised his axes to block, Mark quickly pulled back and slashed across his chest instead, drawing blood. Gboyega retaliated with a wild swing of his axes, but Mark ducked and drove his sword hard into the man¡¯s groin. Gboyega let out a pained scream. Mark yanked his bloody blade free and followed up with a powerful kick to Gboyega¡¯s chest, knocking him backward into the dirt, his axes falling from his grasp. As Gboyega struggled to rise, Mark lunged, plunging his sword through his chest. The blade came out the other side. Mark withdrew it, and Gboyega collapsed in a growing pool of blood.


    The crowd erupted, cheering wildly, chanting Mark¡¯s name, clapping, and whistling in excitement. The referee re-entered the arena, grabbed Mark¡¯s hand, and raised it high. ¡°AND THE WINNER IS MARK!¡± he roared.


    Exhausted but victorious, Mark made his way off the arena floor. Connor rushed up to him, grinning like a kid. ¡°We did it, my man! What a performance! We¡¯ve made hundreds of coins!¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s just round one,¡± Mark replied.


    ¡°True enough. Go rest while the other matches go on. I¡¯ll call you when it¡¯s your turn again.¡±


    Mark left the arena and headed to a smaller building nearby where the tournament fighters could rest. Inside, he sank into a chair, his muscles aching. A server handed him water and a piece of bread. He gulped down the water like he hadn¡¯t had a drink in days and tore through the bread. That fight had been brutal, and it was only the first round. There were still more opponents to defeat if he wanted to claim the championship. But he¡¯d see it through ¨C giving up wasn¡¯t in his nature.

 CHAPTER 23 - TOURNAMENT (PART II)

    CHAPTER 23


    TOURNAMENT (PART II)


    Mark stepped onto the arena floor once again, facing his second opponent of the night. This time, it was Li Cheng, a tall, wiry man wrapped in a flowing blue silk robe, gripping a long wooden pole. The crowd¡¯s energy buzzed as the referee entered, standing between the two fighters and reciting his usual grim mantra about the duel being to the death. The crowd roared, and the referee darted out of the way, leaving Mark and Cheng to settle things.


    Cheng didn¡¯t waste a second. He lunged, his pole whistling through the air as it aimed straight for Mark¡¯s chest. Mark raised his sword just in time to parry, the clash sending a shock down his arm. But Cheng¡¯s pole was long, keeping Mark at a frustrating distance. Every time he tried to close the gap, Cheng¡¯s pole would sweep down or stab forward, forcing him back again. The crowd gasped with each blow, the relentless pace thrilling them.


    Mark changed tactics, darting to the side to throw off Cheng¡¯s rhythm. With a swift sidestep, he slipped past one of Cheng¡¯s jabs, swinging his sword in a quick arc. His blade slashed across Cheng¡¯s chest, leaving a crimson line in its wake. Cheng grunted, a flash of pain in his eyes, but he didn¡¯t back down. Instead, he tightened his grip on the pole, his expression hardening. He spun the pole in a sudden, vicious arc, and Mark barely ducked in time, feeling the pole skim his hair.


    Cheng struck again, this time ramming the pole hard into Mark¡¯s stomach. The impact sent a jolt through his core, forcing a gasp of pain from his lips as he staggered backward, clutching his side. Mark kept his stance, his eyes locked on Cheng. With a fierce roar, he lunged forward, evaded his opponent¡¯s pole, and his blade sliced across Cheng¡¯s face, drawing blood that trickled down his opponent¡¯s cheek. Cheng stumbled back.


    The two men stood still, locked in a tense stare, each waiting for the other to make a move. Suddenly, Cheng struck, swinging his pole with deadly force. Mark sidestepped to the left just in time, and before Cheng could react, Mark¡¯s blade sliced cleanly through both of Cheng¡¯s wrists. The severed hands fell to the dirt floor, still clutching the pole. Unarmed and bleeding, Cheng let out a scream of agony. Mark wasted no time ¨C he slashed his blade across Cheng''s throat in one swift motion. Blood sprayed from the wound as Cheng choked and collapsed onto the ground, lifeless.


    The referee returned to the arena and raised Mark¡¯s hand, declaring him the victor. The crowd went wild, chanting Mark¡¯s name over and over. But Mark barely reacted. This wasn¡¯t glory to him; it was just another job, a way to earn his pay.


    He left the arena and spotted Connor, who was grinning ear to ear. ¡°Another win! Well done!¡± Connor said, clapping him on the back. ¡°This qualifies you for the semi-finals.¡±


    Mark nodded. ¡°I¡¯m going to rest,¡± he replied, too drained to celebrate. Exhausted and covered in sweat, he headed to the nearby resting quarters for the fighters. Taking a seat, he gratefully accepted a cool glass of water from a server and downed it in one gulp, savoring the brief moment of relief.


    Twenty minutes later, Mark was back on the arena floor. His next opponent: Vrathas, a towering, muscular man with a shaved head and a massive sword in hand. The referee stepped out of the way, and the fight was on. Vrathas immediately unleashed a flurry of heavy slashes, which Mark parried skillfully. But each swing grew more powerful, each blow filled with raw strength instead of finesse. Mark¡¯s arms strained under the pressure, one hit nearly tearing his sword from his grip. When Vrathas swung again, Mark switched tactics ¨C he dodged to the left, avoiding the strike, then countered with a quick jab at Vrathas¡¯s side. Vrathas managed to turn just in time to block the attack.


    Mark stepped back, but Vrathas charged at him, swinging his sword wildly from side to side. One powerful swing knocked Mark¡¯s sword out of his hand, sending it clattering to the ground. Vrathas brought his sword down for a killing blow, but Mark rolled out of the way just in time, missing the deadly blade by inches.


    As Vrathas charged again, Mark grabbed a handful of dirt from the ground and threw it into Vrathas¡¯s eyes. Vrathas instinctively closed his eyes, giving Mark the chance he needed. He lunged for his sword, gripped it tightly, and in one swift motion, swung it at Vrathas¡¯s neck. The blade sliced cleanly through, and Vrathas¡¯s head tumbled to the dirt as his body crumpled, blood pooling around him.


    The referee strode over, raising Mark¡¯s hand high. ¡°THE WINNER IS MARK!¡± he shouted, and the crowd erupted in cheers, chanting Mark¡¯s name with pure excitement.Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!


    Mark stepped off the arena floor and spotted Connor waiting at the exit.


    Connor was grinning wide. "You''ve made it to the final match," he said, practically buzzing. "With that show, everyone¡¯s betting on you. The crowd can¡¯t get enough!"


    Mark sighed. "I¡¯m not in this for the glory. Just the coin."


    Connor¡¯s grin shifted into something sly. "You must be beat. Look, I¡¯ve got a little trick up my sleeve. A magic potion that gives insane stamina. If you drink it, you¡¯re bound to crush the next guy. Not only will you stay alive, but you¡¯ll rake in a whole load of cash."


    Mark frowned. "I don¡¯t know¡­ it wouldn¡¯t feel right. I¡¯ve got my own code, and using magic to get an edge crosses the line."


    "Suit yourself," Connor snapped, annoyed. "Just hope you can win without it."


    Mark left for the resting area nearby and sank into a chair, completely worn out. Vrathas had nearly taken him out back there. If he hadn¡¯t thrown that dirt in his eyes, he¡¯d probably be dead. And now he was up against someone even tougher in the finals. Drained and sweating, he stubbornly refused to consider Connor¡¯s potion. Tricks like the dirt throw? Fine. But magic potions? That went against everything he stood for.


    Just then, a server brought him a juice. "I didn¡¯t order this," Mark said, looking up.


    "Our treat," the server replied with a smile. "For making it to the finals."


    Parched, Mark gulped it down. It tasted strange, but it did the job. He sat back, hoping he¡¯d have enough in him for one more fight.


    Time flew by, and soon Mark was back on the arena floor, facing his final opponent: Harold. The man was towering, all muscle, even bulkier than Vrathas had been, and he wielded a massive hammer in both hands. The referee stepped between them. ¡°Now for the final battle of the night!¡± he roared. ¡°A! FIGHT! TO! THE! DEATH!¡±


    The referee darted out of the way, and Mark readied his sword, shifting into a defensive stance. But then, a sudden sharp pain gripped his stomach, and his head throbbed like it was being pounded by a drum. His vision blurred, and it was hard to focus. Exhaustion, maybe? Then, it hit him like a slap. That slimy snake Connor had done it. Since Mark wouldn¡¯t take the potion willingly, Connor must¡¯ve tricked him with the server¡¯s help. But wait ¨C wasn¡¯t the potion supposed to boost his stamina? Then Mark remembered Connor¡¯s smug words about everyone betting on him after his wins. What better way for Connor to cash in than to poison him and bet against him? The potion wasn¡¯t a booster; it was a trap.


    Mark barely had time to process this because Harold charged, swinging his hammer. The air whooshed as the heavy weapon came his way, and Mark just managed to sidestep. Under normal circumstances, he¡¯d have dodged easily, but now, with his head pounding and stomach in knots, every movement felt like a monumental effort. Another swing came down, and Mark blocked it with his sword, but the force nearly knocked the weapon from his grip, forcing him backward. Blocking this powerhouse¡¯s attacks was hard enough on a good day ¨C poisoned like this, it felt near impossible.


    Mark gritted his teeth. There was no way he¡¯d let himself die in this cursed arena. As Harold lunged at him, the hammer whistling through the air, Mark forced himself to sidestep, despite the gut-wrenching pain and the pounding in his head. He swung his sword at Harold¡¯s arm; on a good day, he might have taken it clean off. Today, he only managed a shallow cut, but it drew blood. Not perfect, but it was a start, he thought.


    Harold roared in rage and swung the hammer again. Mark ducked just in time, then drove his sword into Harold¡¯s left knee. The blade sank deep, and when he pulled it free, it dripped with blood. Harold, furious and howling, swung his hammer straight at Mark¡¯s face. Mark barely managed to jump back, the hammer missing by inches as he felt a rush of air graze his cheek.


    The headache was unbearable now, and the stomach pain was getting worse by the second. Mark clamped down on his teeth so hard it hurt, clutching his sword with all his strength, afraid that if he loosened his grip, the agony would make him drop it. Harold charged again, hammer raised, ready to crush him. Mark took a shaky breath. He wasn¡¯t going to die here ¨C no way, not in this pit! He would push through this! His hands shook, cold sweat ran down his face, his heart pounded wildly. His head throbbed, his focus blurred, but he held on, refusing to give in.


    As Harold charged, Mark mustered every ounce of strength he had left. He sidestepped left, then, before Harold could react, plunged his sword deep into Harold¡¯s side, the blade piercing clean through and poking out the other side. Mark pulled the sword free, slick with blood, and Harold dropped to his knees. Gritting his teeth through his own agony, Mark drove the blade straight into Harold¡¯s chest. When he pulled it back, Harold collapsed in a growing pool of blood.


    The referee stepped forward, raising Mark¡¯s hand. ¡°THIS YEAR¡¯S CHAMPION OF MAVROSIA IS MARK!¡± he announced. The crowd went wild, standing and shouting his name, whistling and cheering with all they had.


    But Mark barely noticed the applause ¨C his mind was set on Connor. Storming off the arena floor, he found the rat crying over his lost money. ¡°You poisoned me!¡± Mark snarled.


    ¡°I¨C¡±


    ¡°Hand over my winnings and throw in a hundred gold coins for compensation, or we settle this right now.¡±


    Connor knew better than to argue. He handed over a pouch of coins, but the second it was in Mark¡¯s hand, Mark drew his sword and slashed across Connor¡¯s throat in one swift motion. The weasel gurgled, crumpling to the ground, dead. The tournament guards kept their distance, well aware of what he¡¯d done to his opponents in the ring.


    With the pouch of coins in hand, Mark left the arena behind him, heading back to the inn for a well-deserved rest. Tomorrow, he¡¯d be back at it ¨C just another day in the life of a swordsman for hire.

 CHAPTER 24 - PRISONER OF WAR

    CHAPTER 24


    PRISONER OF WAR


    Mark sat at a table in the Golden Donkey Inn, downing cold beer and biting into slices of salty bacon. The chill of the beer and the rich taste of bacon hit the spot. Suddenly, a man approached. Mark took him in: average height, average build, not too slim or bulky. He had short brown hair and a full beard and was dressed like a merchant, not a fighter. The man sat across from Mark. ¡°Aren¡¯t you going to say hello?¡± he asked.


    Mark shrugged. ¡°I don¡¯t know who you are. Almost a year ago, I took a forgetfulness pill that erased my memory. I don¡¯t remember anything from my past.¡±


    The man chuckled, but as he realized Mark was serious, his expression turned to concern. ¡°Why would you do that?¡±


    ¡°Something terrible must¡¯ve happened¡ªsomething that made me want to forget everything.¡±


    ¡°Could it have been abou¡ª¡±


    Mark held up a hand. ¡°I don¡¯t want to know. My old self wouldn¡¯t have taken that pill without a good reason. Just to get that pill from Archon Anthemios, I had to slay an Elder Dragon. So whatever it was¡­ it must have been something I couldn¡¯t bear.¡±


    The man nodded slowly. ¡°I understand. My name¡¯s Karl. I¡¯m a merchant. We go way back. You saved once one of my caravans from bandits, and we became friends on the road.¡±


    ¡°Good to meet you again, Karl,¡± Mark said with a small smile. "Hey, Karl, any chance you''ve got work for a swordsman like me?"


    Karl grinned. "Funny you should ask¡ªI do, actually. I¡¯ve got a caravan bound for Kleria, a town about three weeks'' journey from Mavrosia. With the war going on, most soldiers are off at the front, so bandits are all over the countryside. I hired a couple of mercenaries to guard it, but they ditched me. I came to this inn hoping to find someone for the job. Lucky for me, I ran into you."


    Mark raised an eyebrow. ¡°Alright, but let¡¯s talk pay. Friends or not, I want a fair deal.¡±


    Karl chuckled. "How about two hundred gold coins, plus food and drink along the way?"


    Mark nodded. "Sounds good. I¡¯ll take it."


    A few hours later, the caravan rolled out of Mavrosia. It consisted of four horse-drawn carts loaded with pottery, a few mules packed with goods, and over ten people. The pottery, Karl had mentioned, was worth a lot of coins. Mark rode at the front on his horse, scanning the road ahead. Karl followed close behind on his own horse, while the rest of the group walked alongside the carts and led the mules. Most of the men carried swords or knives, but it was obvious they weren¡¯t fighters¡ªthey were merchants. That¡¯s why Karl had hired someone like Mark: a seasoned sword-for-hire who could handle real danger.


    The caravan followed the dusty dirt road, passing a handful of travelers heading into Mavrosia. The proximity to the town, with its armed garrison, kept the bandits at bay for now. But Mark knew the further they ventured into the countryside, the less safe things would be. By nightfall, the caravan pulled off the road to set up camp. Some of the men pitched tents, others got a fire going, and soon the smell of cooking filled the air.


    Mark and Karl sat by the fire, eating roasted rabbit. ¡°This is good,¡± Mark said, wiping his mouth. ¡°Your men can cook.¡±


    ¡°Part of the job,¡± Karl replied, chewing on a piece of rabbit. ¡°Caravaneers have to know their way around a fire. So,¡± he added, glancing at Mark, ¡°you used to be a knight in service to Archon Anthemios. Does being a wandering mercenary suit you? You know, you could always reclaim your old rank. With the war raging, I¡¯m sure the Archon would welcome you back with open arms.¡±


    Mark chuckled, shaking his head. ¡°Why would I throw myself into that mess? No thanks. I¡¯d rather roam free, earn my coin with my blade, and spend it on good food, strong drink, and pretty women.¡±


    Karl nodded. ¡°Fair enough. War¡¯s a nasty business. But you¡¯re not the same. The Mark I knew was loyal to the Archon to the core.¡±


    ¡°Well, I¡¯m not that Mark anymore, am I?¡± Mark said. ¡°Erasing my memories gave me a clean slate. I get to choose who I am now, without being tied down by whatever baggage my past self carried.¡±


    The next few days blurred together, a steady rhythm of traveling by day and setting up makeshift camps by night. Mark and Karl grew more comfortable in each other¡¯s company, swapping jokes and friendly banter. Mark could see why his old self had been friends with the merchant; Karl¡¯s humor and easygoing nature were a welcome distraction from the monotony of the journey.


    On the eighth day, the caravan rolled along a winding dirt road. By now, Mark had expected at least one run-in with bandits. But the road remained oddly quiet. Too quiet. While he was relieved the journey had been trouble-free so far, something about the calm gnawed at him. It felt unnatural, like the stillness before a storm.You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    Then, from the east, came the distant sound of hooves pounding against the earth. Not the scattered gallop of bandit raiders, but the thunderous rhythm of an army on the move. Mark¡¯s instincts flared. Moments later, dozens of armored horsemen came into view, their blue steel glinting in the sun as they charged toward the caravan.


    The caravan¡¯s men froze in fear. They hadn¡¯t even drawn their weapons, their hands trembling at the sight of the cavalry bearing down. Mark remained calm, scanning the approaching riders.


    He turned to Karl. ¡°Those aren¡¯t Innokentios¡¯ men,¡± he said, motioning to their blue armor. ¡°That¡¯s Hanying¡¯s army. How the hell did they push this far into Innokentios¡¯ territory? I thought the fighting was miles away from here.¡±


    Karl¡¯s face was tight, but his voice stayed level. ¡°I thought so too. But don¡¯t panic. Troops don¡¯t usually attack caravans. Even with a war on, Archons need trade routes open to keep their armies funded. Commerce fills their war chests.¡±


    Mark nodded, though his grip on his sword hilt tightened. Karl¡¯s logic made sense, but logic didn¡¯t always win the day in times of war. He could only hope the riders would recognize them as merchants and move along.


    One rider broke away from the formation and galloped toward the caravan. He was tall, his slanted eyes marking him as a soldier of Hanying. A thick mustache and full beard framed his face, giving him a rugged, commanding presence.


    ¡°I¡¯m Qin Yang, Captain under General Liao Cheng,¡± the man announced, his voice sharp and direct. ¡°State your business!¡±


    Mark decided to let Karl handle the talking. Negotiating wasn¡¯t his strong suit¡ªhe was a fighter, not a diplomat. His job was simple: protect the caravan.


    ¡°We¡¯re just merchants,¡± Karl said, his voice calm but firm. ¡°Carrying pottery and goods to Kleria. We don¡¯t serve Archon Innokentios, and we have no part in your conflict. Now, fine gentleman, if you¡¯d be so kind, can you let us go?¡± Silence ensued for a moment, and Karl reached into his coat and pulled out a pouch, giving it a gentle jingle. ¡°Perhaps we can reach a... mutual understanding?¡±


    Qin Yang spat on the ground, his expression hardening. ¡°General Liao¡¯s orders are clear¡ªno trade, no farms, no peace in Innokentios¡¯ lands. Everything burns. No mercy. Total war from now on.¡±


    Mark¡¯s grip tightened on his sword. He nudged his horse forward. ¡°I¡¯d advise you to reconsider. Let us pass.¡±


    The Captain laughed, a mocking edge to his tone. ¡°And what can you do, swordsman? I¡¯ve got fifty riders under my command. You¡¯re just one man.¡±


    Mark didn¡¯t answer. Instead, he unsheathed his sword in a fluid motion and spurred his horse into a charge. One of the Captain¡¯s horsemen rushed forward to intercept him, a lance poised to strike. The rider thrust the weapon, but Mark leaned just enough to let the lance sail past him. In the same instant, Mark¡¯s sword slashed upward. The blade pierced the man¡¯s forehead with precision, and with a swift withdrawal, the lifeless body toppled from the saddle, hitting the dirt in a crimson splash.


    Qin Yang chuckled. ¡°Impressive. Let¡¯s see if you can keep that up.¡± He motioned for two more horsemen to attack.


    The first came with a lance, but Mark sidestepped the charge and swung his blade low. The sword sliced clean through the legs of the man¡¯s horse, sending both rider and beast crashing to the ground. The fallen horse pinned the rider, and the sickening crunch of breaking bones filled the air as the man screamed in agony.


    The second rider closed in fast, his sword gleaming. Mark met him head-on. Their blades clashed with a deafening clang, then clashed again, neither giving an inch. On the third pass, Mark feinted a downward strike at the man¡¯s head. The rider raised his sword to block, but Mark abruptly shifted his attack. His blade darted upward, slicing clean through the man¡¯s wrist. The severed hand, still clutching the sword, flew through the air and hit the ground with a thud. The rider¡¯s scream echoed as blood gushed from the stump.


    Before the man could recover, Mark ended it. With a swift, decisive strike, he decapitated the rider. The severed head tumbled through the air, landing in the grass, while the lifeless body slumped from the saddle to the dirt below.


    Mark sat tall on his horse, his blade dripping red, staring down the remaining riders.


    "You¡¯ve got skill," Qin Yang admitted, his eyes gleaming with interest. "More than enough to catch my attention. Forget this pitiful caravan¡ªyou¡¯ll make a much better prize." He raised his hand, and over twenty riders moved into position, forming a tight circle around Mark. Lances and swords pointed his way, leaving no gaps. Escape wasn¡¯t an option. "Surrender now, and I might let you live."


    Mark¡¯s grip on his sword tightened as he scanned his situation. He¡¯d faced bandits and even fought monsters in the past, but this was different. These weren¡¯t ragtag thugs; they were disciplined soldiers, fully armored and skilled. And they had him completely surrounded¡ªno room to dodge or fight back effectively. With a deep sigh, he slid his sword back into its sheath and dismounted.


    "Alright," he said. "I surrender. But if I¡¯m your prize, you have no need for this ¡®pitiful caravan,¡¯ as you called it. Let them go."


    Qin Yang chuckled, his amusement clear. "Even in defeat, you bargain like we¡¯re equals. I like that! You¡¯re bold¡ªa rare breed. Fine, I¡¯ll honor your request. The caravan is free to leave."


    Karl started to protest. "Mark¡ª"


    "Go!" Mark barked.


    Karl hesitated, then gave a reluctant nod. He and the rest of the caravan began retreating, their carts creaking as they rolled away. Mark stayed behind, his gaze fixed on Qin Yang, who towered over him from his horse.


    "Throw your sword on the ground," Qin Yang ordered.


    Mark frowned. "It¡¯s already sheathed¡ª"


    Before he could finish, one of the riders jabbed him in the back with the blunt end of a lance. The force knocked him forward, sending him sprawling onto the grass. His armor absorbed the blow, but it still stung.


    "I said, do it!" Qin Yang snapped.


    Mark lay there for a moment, considering his options. He wasn¡¯t encircled anymore, but running on foot was pointless; the riders would catch him in seconds. And the caravan hadn¡¯t gotten far. If he resisted now, Qin Yang might go back on his word and attack them. With a grimace, Mark got to his feet, unsheathed his sword, and tossed it to the ground.


    Now unarmed, he glanced toward his horse, where his spirit sword was strapped to the saddle. One of Qin Yang¡¯s men already had the reins in hand, leading it away. Mark straightened his shoulders, locking eyes with the Captain, silently biding his time. He was now a prisoner of war¡­

 CHAPTER 25 - FIGHT FOR SURVIVAL

    CHAPTER 25


    FIGHT FOR SURVIVAL


    Mark knelt shirtless on the rough ground inside a dimly lit tent, his arms and legs bound with tight, unyielding knots. His captors had stripped him of his armor and even his undershirt, leaving him with just his pants. The coarse ropes dug into his skin, making his wrists and ankles throb. Outside the tent, two guards stood watch, ensuring he wouldn¡¯t try anything. He had no idea how long he¡¯d been stuck here¡ªtwo, maybe three hours? His stomach growled loudly, and his body ached from the strain.


    The flap of the tent was pulled open, and Captain Qin Yang strode in, three men trailing behind him. One of them carried a bucket sloshing with water. Without a word, Qin Yang gave a quick nod, and the man hurled the icy contents at Mark. The shock of the freezing water hit like a slap, jolting Mark fully awake. He clenched his teeth, suppressing a curse.


    ¡°Good,¡± Qin Yang said with a smug grin. ¡°I need you alert.¡±


    ¡°What can I do for you?¡± Mark replied, his voice thick with sarcasm.


    The grin vanished from Qin Yang¡¯s face. He stepped forward and struck Mark across the cheek with an open hand, the force leaving a stinging bruise. ¡°You will address me as Master,¡± he hissed.


    ¡°How about I call you an asshole instead?¡± Mark shot back, his smirk defiant.


    Qin Yang¡¯s knee slammed into Mark¡¯s stomach, knocking the air from his lungs. Mark let out a pained groan, doubling over. ¡°That¡¯s for being a smartass,¡± Qin Yang sneered. ¡°Let¡¯s see if you still have that mouth after your fight.¡±


    ¡°Fight?¡± Mark wheezed, glaring up at him.


    ¡°General Liao Cheng permits fights in the camp,¡± Qin Yang said. ¡°Keeps the men entertained between missions. You¡¯ll fight on my behalf.¡±


    ¡°And if I refuse?¡±


    ¡°Then you¡¯ll be of no use to me,¡± Qin Yang said with a shrug, his tone cold.


    ¡°And I¡¯ll die.¡±


    ¡°Sharp, aren¡¯t you?¡± Qin Yang chuckled, his laughter devoid of warmth. ¡°Let¡¯s hope you fight as cleverly as you talk.¡±


    One of the guards crouched down and untied Mark¡¯s wrists and ankles, while the other two stood nearby, their swords drawn and ready. Mark rubbed his sore wrists, but he wasn¡¯t stupid. Even if he somehow managed to escape this tent, there was no way he could outrun an entire camp swarming with hundreds¡ªmaybe even thousands¡ªof soldiers.


    ¡°Follow me,¡± Qin Yang ordered. Mark obeyed, trailing behind the Captain as they stepped out into the bustling camp. Tents stretched out in every direction, far more than he could count. The air buzzed with the noise of soldiers talking, laughing, and sharpening weapons. Qin Yang led him to an open space near the center of the camp. A large crowd of soldiers had already gathered, forming a tight ring around the makeshift arena where the fight was about to go down.


    A short man with a booming voice stood in the middle of the crowd, shouting over the noise. ¡°You know the rules, but I¡¯ll remind you anyway! No betting on fights¡ªthat¡¯s the General¡¯s orders. The winning officer, however, earns extra rations for his men. Enjoy yourselves, boys! In two days, we march to battle!¡±


    One of the officers, a smug-looking man with a thin mustache, stepped forward, his slimy grin making Mark¡¯s stomach churn. ¡°My champion is Xuan Peng!¡± he announced. ¡°The best of my men¡ªkilled dozens in battle and champion of the last two tournaments. Let¡¯s see if anyone can stand against him!¡±


    Qin Yang stepped up next. ¡°My champion is Mark, a captive who earned my respect during his capture. He¡¯ll fight for my honor.¡± Turning to Mark, he added in a low voice, ¡°This fight is without weapons¡ªGeneral¡¯s orders. He doesn¡¯t want skilled soldiers killing each other before the real battle. But since you¡¯re not one of my men, the ¡®no death¡¯ rule doesn¡¯t apply to you. If you lose and shame me, I¡¯ll kill you myself. Understood?¡±


    Mark gave a firm nod. He stepped into the circle, the eyes of the soldiers boring into him. Across from him, Xuan Peng emerged¡ªa hulking man with broad shoulders, a chiseled chest, and a solid six-pack. The guy looked like he¡¯d been carved out of stone. Shirtless and barefoot, just like Mark, he loomed over the crowd like a force of nature.


    Mark sized him up, his gut tightening. This was going to be one hell of a fight.


    Xuan Peng came at Mark with a flying kick, his foot aiming high. Mark managed to block it with his right arm, but the sheer power of the blow knocked him off his feet, sending him sprawling to the ground. Before he could fully recover, Xuan Peng landed gracefully and charged forward, his fist cocked and ready.Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.


    Mark scrambled up just in time, sidestepping the punch and delivering a solid blow to Xuan Peng''s ribs. The big man let out a sharp cry, the force of the hit making him pause for a moment.


    Xuan Peng shook it off quickly and unleashed a flurry of punches. Mark ducked and weaved, narrowly avoiding each one. Spotting an opening, Mark threw a left hook, his fist smashing into Xuan Peng¡¯s cheek. Blood and spit sprayed as the towering man staggered back, momentarily disoriented. Seizing the chance, Mark stepped back as well, putting some space between them.


    Xuan Peng spat on the ground, blood streaked in his saliva, his eyes blazing with fury. Like an enraged bull, he charged again, moving with surprising speed. He grabbed Mark around the waist and slammed him hard into the dirt. The impact knocked the wind out of Mark, who cried out as pain shot through his back.


    Not wasting a second, Xuan Peng raised his fist and aimed for Mark¡¯s face, ready to end the fight. But Mark rolled to the side just as the fist crashed into the ground, sending a spray of dirt flying.


    Mark scrambled to his feet, his instincts kicking in. With all his strength, he launched a kick straight into Xuan Peng¡¯s face. There was a sickening crunch as the giant¡¯s nose broke, blood spurting out like a burst pipe. Xuan Peng roared in pain, staggering back, and Mark followed up with a brutal knee to the groin.


    The crowd gasped as the massive fighter crumpled to his knees, clutching himself in agony. Without hesitation, Mark spun and delivered a powerful back kick to Xuan Peng¡¯s face, knocking him out cold. The big man fell to the dirt, motionless.


    The gathered soldiers erupted in boos, clearly unhappy that one of their own had been defeated by a mere captive. The only cheers came from Captain Qin Yang¡¯s men, who were hoping Mark would win them the extra rations the General had promised.


    Mark stepped out of the makeshift ring, sweat dripping down his face, his body aching from the brutal fight. One of Qin Yang¡¯s soldiers handed him a flask of water, which he downed in one go, savoring the cool relief.


    "Good," Qin Yang said with a cold smile. "You didn¡¯t shame me. Yet. Stay ready¡ªyou¡¯ll fight again."


    Before Mark could catch his breath, another officer stepped forward, his voice booming. ¡°Yi Guiying will fight on my behalf! There¡¯s no one better with kicks!¡±


    Qin Yang didn¡¯t hesitate. ¡°Challenge accepted!¡± He turned to Mark, his tone sharp. ¡°I don¡¯t care if you¡¯re tired or bleeding. Lose this fight, and I¡¯ll have your head on a spike.¡±


    Mark swallowed hard, stepping back into the ring, his body aching from the last fight. His new opponent, Yi Guiying, was a wiry, slender man¡ªnothing like the hulking Xuan Peng. But his agility was no joke.


    The fight began, and Yi Guiying launched a whirlwind of kicks, moving so fast Mark could barely keep up. He blocked the first two, but the third slammed into his stomach, knocking the wind out of him. Another kick smashed into his face, breaking his nose and sending blood spraying through the air. A sharp kick to the chest followed, sending Mark sprawling onto the dirt floor.


    Gasping, Mark pushed himself up just as Yi Guiying spun into a flying back kick. Mark barely sidestepped in time, feeling the rush of air as the kick narrowly missed his head. Yi Guiying landed smoothly and was back at it, throwing rapid-fire kicks that drove Mark back toward the edge of the ring.


    The soldiers crowded around shoved him forward, straight into another of Yi Guiying¡¯s attacks. Mark ducked at the last second, the kick grazing over his head.


    Desperate, Mark lunged forward, grappling Yi Guiying and throwing him to the ground. He pinned the man, but Yi Guiying responded with brutal knees to Mark¡¯s stomach, each one like a hammer to his gut. Mark knew he couldn¡¯t keep taking hits. In a moment of sheer desperation, he slammed his forehead into Yi Guiying¡¯s face. Pain exploded in his skull, but Yi Guiying cried out, momentarily stunned.


    Dizzy and barely able to see straight, Mark summoned his strength and hammered his fist into Yi Guiying¡¯s face, again and again, until his opponent went limp.


    Staggering to his feet, Mark¡¯s vision swam. Blood poured from his broken nose, and his body felt like it had been trampled by a herd of horses. The soldiers around the ring jeered, some even spitting at him, but a small group¡ªQin Yang¡¯s men¡ªcheered loudly.


    The world tilted around him, his legs wobbling like they might give out any second. Mark stood there, battered and bruised, but still standing, his sheer willpower holding him upright against the odds.


    ¡°Anyone else dare challenge my champion?¡± Qin Yang¡¯s voice thundered over the crowd. Silence followed, the soldiers avoiding his gaze.


    The short announcer stepped back into the center of the ring, raising his voice. ¡°The extra rations go to Captain Qin Yang¡¯s men! Rest up, everyone¡ªwe march into battle in two days!¡±


    Mark was practically dragged out of the ring by Qin Yang¡¯s men, his legs barely holding him up.


    ¡°You did well today,¡± Qin Yang said, his tone as icy as ever. ¡°You¡¯ve earned yourself another day to live.¡±


    Mark swayed, his head pounding, struggling to form a coherent response. ¡°Am I¡­ fighting for you in two days?¡±


    Qin Yang snorted. ¡°Not a chance. I wouldn¡¯t trust you with a blade in battle. You¡¯d run the first chance you got. No, you¡¯ll be tied to a leash behind my horse as we march. When we reach the field, I¡¯ll leave you bound at the camp behind the lines. So rest easy¡ªyou¡¯re not seeing any action soon.¡±


    Mark¡¯s lips twisted into a grimace. ¡°So, what are you going to do with me? Keep me for the next tournament?¡±


    ¡°Haven¡¯t decided yet,¡± Qin Yang said with a cruel smirk. ¡°Might sell you off when the campaign¡¯s over. Or maybe I¡¯ll keep you as my personal servant. Who knows? Decisions, decisions¡­¡± He chuckled. ¡°Enough talk. Back to your tent. Rest while you can. You¡¯ve earned it.¡±


    Two soldiers hauled Mark back to his tent. Once inside, they bound his hands and feet tightly with rough knots. Moments later, another soldier stomped in, tossing a chunk of bread onto the dirt floor.


    ¡°How am I supposed to eat that?¡± Mark asked, his voice hoarse.


    ¡°Like a dog,¡± the soldier sneered, and the others burst into laughter.


    Humiliation burned in Mark¡¯s chest, but he bit it back. Pride wouldn¡¯t keep him alive. Pride would get him killed. No, he needed to endure. For now. He crawled across the filthy floor, his bonds cutting into his skin, and picked up the bread with his teeth. Dirt mixed with the stale bread, making it taste like ash, but he forced it down. After the brutal fights, his body craved any fuel it could get.


    The soldiers jeered, calling him ¡°good dog¡± as they left, still laughing. Alone in the dim tent, Mark lay on the ground, his jaw clenched, his mind churning.


    They thought they¡¯d broken him. But Mark knew better. He would survive. He would fight another day. And when the time came, he would make every last one of them pay.

 JOURNAL OF ATHANASIUS (PART II - THE REALM OF ARCHON HANYING)

    JOURNAL OF ATHANASIUS


    PART II - THE REALM OF ARCHON HANYING


    The Realm of Archon Hanying is famed as the "Realm of a Hundred Cities." It is the most populous of the seven Realms of the Giants, home to millions of humans who live under the wise governance of Archon Hanying, regarded as the wisest of the Giants. His Palace and Court are vast, even by the grand standards of the other Archons. His government is the most efficient among them, supported by an immense bureaucracy tasked with collecting resources and manpower. Yet this same bureaucracy is rife with corruption, and the politics of Hanying''s court are perilous. Though wise, the Archon is also shrewd in political matters, readily casting aside those who fall from his favor.Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    A distinguishing feature of Archon Hanying''s Realm is the prominence of the Martial Arts Sects, which are devoted to the cultivation of Qi¡ªa form of magic. The warriors of these Sects are among the most formidable on the continent, capable of extraordinary feats. Archon Hanying allows these Sects considerable autonomy, exempting them from royal jurisdiction and military service in exchange for their aid in maintaining order and dispensing justice throughout his lands. Many swordsmen from these Sects have gained renown as defenders of the weak and champions of justice.

 CHAPTER 26 - THE GENERAL

    CHAPTER 26


    THE GENERAL


    The sun blazed mercilessly as the army trudged across the endless grassy field. At the head of the march, the cavalry galloped forward, their banners flapping in the hot wind. Tied to Captain Qin Yang¡¯s horse, Mark stumbled behind, forced to run to keep up. Sweat poured down his face, his chest heaving as exhaustion clawed at him. His legs burned with every step, and when he tripped over uneven ground, the horse dragged him mercilessly through the grass, pain shooting through his battered body.


    ¡°Keep up,¡± Qin Yang barked, his tone ice-cold. ¡°You earned my respect as the toughest son of a bitch I¡¯ve ever seen. That¡¯s why I kept you alive. But if you act like a whimpering bitch, I have no use for you.¡±


    Mark clenched his teeth, fury and pain blending into one. Gritting through the agony, he scrambled to his feet, forcing his legs to keep up with the galloping horse.


    ¡°Good,¡± Qin Yang said with a sharp laugh. ¡°That¡¯s more like it.¡±


    Mark didn¡¯t respond. He focused on putting one foot in front of the other, desperate to keep moving. He couldn¡¯t help but wonder how far they were from the battlefield. How much longer until this torment ended?


    Two grueling hours passed before the army came to a halt. Ahead, a sea of red-armored soldiers spread across the horizon¡ªthe forces of Archon Innokentios. The battlefield was set, with both armies numbering in the thousands.


    Qin Yang turned in his saddle to glare down at Mark. ¡°This is the end of the road for you.¡± He gestured for one of his men. ¡°Take him to the camp.¡±


    The soldier stepped forward, drawing his sword for added caution. Before untying the leash, he gave Mark a warning glare. ¡°Don¡¯t try anything stupid.¡±


    Mark silently followed as the soldier led him past the lines of troops to the rear, where servants were busily setting up tents. This was where supplies would be stored and where the command staff would remain while the fighting raged on.


    The soldier shoved Mark into one of the freshly pitched tents and threw him to the ground. ¡°Time to tie you up, dog,¡± he sneered, stepping closer.


    Despite the screaming protests of his exhausted body, Mark¡¯s survival instincts flared. Summoning every ounce of strength, he lunged at the soldier, slamming into him with all his weight. The man hit the ground hard, his sword clattering free. Before he could react, Mark grabbed the blade and, in one swift motion, slit his throat. The soldier let out a choked gasp, blood gushing from the wound as his body convulsed and went still.


    Breathing heavily, Mark stared at the lifeless form before him, the sword trembling in his grip. Pain wracked his body, but his mind was sharp now, focused. He had to make an escape.


    Mark darted out of the tent, moving fast. A servant spotted him, but before he could shout, Mark slashed across his chest with his sword, killing him instantly. He hated that it had to be like this¡ªhis white horse, gone. His armor, gone. His prized spirit sword, gone. The book of spells Vivian had given him, gone. But he had no choice. This was his one shot at freedom.


    Another servant screamed as soon as he saw Mark. Three guards charged toward him. He was shirtless, wearing only pants, while they were fully armored. The first guard swung down at him, and Mark met the blow with his own sword. The clash of metal rang out. Mark drove a knee into the guard''s groin, and when the man grunted in pain, Mark thrust his sword into his forehead.


    As he pulled the sword free, blood dripping from the blade, he barely had time to block a strike from the second guard. At the same time, the third guard¡¯s sword slashed across his back, drawing blood. Mark quickly backed off, trying to create some space between him and the attackers.


    The second guard lunged again, and Mark sidestepped, slamming his sword deep into the man¡¯s leg. The guard fell to the ground with a cry, and Mark wasted no time beheading him. He turned just in time to block a swing from the third guard. His body was aching, but his focus was razor-sharp. He was determined to survive.


    The third guard swung again, and Mark blocked the strike. The guard went for another blow, but this time Mark sliced through both his wrists, sending the hands¡ªand the sword¡ªcrashing to the ground. He then kicked the man to the ground, before sprinting away. But as he ran, ten more guards appeared in front of him. He quickly spun around, only to see five more behind him. There was no way out.


    Suddenly, a man stepped out from one of the tents. He was in his fifties but still had a handsome look about him. His skin was smooth, and his hazel eyes gleamed under his well-kept beard and mustache. He wore shining blue armor. ¡°What¡¯s all this noise about?¡± he demanded.This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.


    ¡°General!¡± the men greeted him. So, this was General Liao Cheng, Mark thought.


    ¡°A prisoner escaped,¡± one of the soldiers explained.


    ¡°A prisoner? And he killed how many guards?¡± the general asked, his voice sharp.


    ¡°Three,¡± came the reply.


    ¡°Actually, four,¡± Mark chimed in with a grin.


    ¡°Who is this man?¡± the general asked, clearly intrigued.


    One of the soldiers quickly filled him in on Mark¡¯s story¡ªhow he had been captured by Captain Qin Yang, how he fought in and won the tournament, how he was tied to Qin Yang¡¯s horse, and how he had managed to escape.


    ¡°What a man!¡± the general finally shouted. ¡°No wonder Captain Qin values him so much. Get him back to his tent, tie him up, and make sure he doesn¡¯t escape again. I¡¯ve got a battle to win, and I¡¯ll deal with him once it¡¯s over.¡±


    ¡°Yes, sir!¡± the soldiers responded in unison. They took Mark back to his tent, one of the guards dragging the dead soldier¡¯s body out of the tent. The others quickly tied Mark¡¯s hands and feet with tight knots, making sure he couldn¡¯t break free again. Then they left him alone.


    Mark sat there, waiting. He could hear the sounds of galloping hooves, screams, and the clash of swords¡ªthere was a battle raging outside, but he was stuck behind the lines in the camp, locked in a tent. He had nothing to do but wait. After what felt like an hour and a half, two soldiers entered the tent. They wore blue armor, the colors of Archon Hanying¡¯s forces, which meant General Liao Cheng¡¯s side had won.


    They took him into the general¡¯s spacious tent. His legs were untied, but his hands were still bound¡ªjust in case. Captain Qin Yang was there too.


    ¡°It¡¯s your lucky day,¡± Captain Qin said. ¡°The general bought you from me with the spoils we took from the enemy camp after we wiped out Archon Innokentios¡¯ forces.¡±


    ¡°So now I¡¯m your servant?¡± Mark said, looking at the general with a mix of indifference and irritation.


    Qin Yang punched him hard in the back, sending Mark crashing to his knees. ¡°Show some respect to the general!¡± he barked.


    ¡°It¡¯s alright,¡± Liao Cheng said with a calm, measured tone. ¡°I admire boldness in a man. Yes, you¡¯ll serve me from now on. Stay loyal, and you¡¯ll be treated fairly, with dignity and respect. As a gesture of goodwill, your horse and possessions will be returned to you. I hear you have a book of spells and a spirit sword¡ªrare items for any ordinary man. I considered keeping them, but I¡¯ve decided they¡¯ll be yours again. Earn my trust, and I¡¯ll keep my word.¡±


    Mark nodded slowly. ¡°Thank you. You¡¯re an honorable man.¡±


    Liao Cheng signaled to four guards. ¡°Take him back to his tent. He doesn¡¯t need to be tied, but I want him guarded at all times. Make sure he¡¯s fed well.¡±


    The guards led Mark back to his tent. Shortly after, one brought him a plate of rice and chicken along with fresh clothes. Grateful, Mark quickly changed and devoured the meal¡ªthe best food he¡¯d had since his capture. With his hunger sated and his body finally at rest, he allowed himself to drift off into sleep.


    The next morning, a guard shook Mark awake and escorted him back to Liao Cheng¡¯s tent.


    ¡°You should learn proper manners,¡± the general said with a faint smirk. ¡°It¡¯s customary for a servant to bow before his master.¡±


    Mark groaned but held his tongue.


    ¡°Regardless,¡± Liao Cheng continued, brushing the matter aside, ¡°I summoned you to let you know we¡¯re leaving.¡±


    ¡°The army¡¯s moving out?¡± Mark asked.


    ¡°No,¡± the general replied. ¡°Just us. A messenger arrived at dawn. I¡¯ve been summoned back to the court of Archon Hanying.¡±


    Mark raised an eyebrow. ¡°But you were victorious.¡±


    Liao Cheng nodded with a faint, sardonic smile. ¡°Too victorious. For over a year and a half, Duke Alexandros Karamitsios has brilliantly defended Archon Innokentios¡¯ lands against every other Archon¡¯s armies. I¡¯m the only one who¡¯s managed to break through his defenses, deal him defeats, and seize territory. Naturally, that¡¯s made me a bit of a legend back at court.¡±


    ¡°So, they¡¯re calling you back to celebrate?¡± Mark asked, skeptical.


    ¡°Nominally, yes,¡± Liao Cheng said with a grim chuckle. ¡°But the truth is far less flattering. My political enemies fear I¡¯ve grown too popular. They want me sidelined, even if it weakens our chances in the war. Archon Hanying is wise, but even he has been swayed by their scheming.¡±


    Mark frowned. ¡°This will only prolong the war.¡±


    Liao Cheng¡¯s expression hardened. ¡°Indeed, and that¡¯s bad. This war isn¡¯t just a contest of armies¡ªit¡¯s a race against time. We must defeat Innokentios before his mages and scholars unlock the powers of the Dragon Emperor¡¯s artifact. Removing me, the only general who¡¯s made progress against Innokentios, just buys him more time. And if he unlocks the artifact¡¯s powers¡­¡± He let the thought hang in the air. ¡°We¡¯re all doomed.¡±


    ¡°Who¡¯s behind this recall?¡±


    ¡°Chancellor Han Fen,¡± Liao Cheng said bitterly. ¡°He¡¯s never liked me. But he¡¯s a fool if he thinks politics will matter once Innokentios has the powers of the artifact in his hands.¡± He paused for a brief moment. ¡°Put on your armor. You¡¯ll ride your own horse. It¡¯s a fine animal¡ªbetter than any in my stables.¡±


    Mark raised an eyebrow. ¡°You¡¯re really going to risk putting me on horseback, fully armed and armored, and expect me not to try and escape?¡±


    Liao Cheng chuckled. ¡°I¡¯m no fool. We won¡¯t be traveling alone. There¡¯ll be forty horsemen riding with us and a hundred infantry soldiers and servants following behind. Even with your skills, I doubt you could outrun or outfight all that. Besides, you¡¯ll ride in the middle of the column, surrounded on all sides. Earn my trust, and maybe you¡¯ll earn a little more freedom.¡±


    Mark nodded, hiding his annoyance. At least he¡¯d get his belongings back¡ªhis armor, his book of spells, his spirit sword, his regular sword, and, most importantly, his trusted white horse. Serving this general wasn¡¯t ideal, but Liao Cheng seemed like a man of honor, far better than Qin Yang¡¯s cruelty.


    Escorted by guards, Mark returned to his tent. They helped him don his armor as he carefully checked his gear. Once ready, he stepped outside, his horse waiting for him. The familiar sight of the majestic white animal brought a fleeting moment of comfort.


    Mounting the horse, he rode to his assigned position in the column: the dead center, flanked on all sides by armored riders. The group began their march, the steady clatter of hooves and boots marking the start of their journey to the realm of Archon Hanying.

 CHAPTER 27 - CURSED MANOR

    CHAPTER 27


    CURSED MANOR


    A month and a half. That¡¯s how long it took for the entourage to leave the lands of Archon Innokentios and cross into Archon Hanying¡¯s territory. For Mark, the time passed in a blur. By day, he rode in the middle of the column, flanked by armored riders. By night, when the group set up camp, he either kept to himself or swapped tales with General Liao Cheng, recounting his past achievements before his capture.


    Finally, they reached Sinhung, a bustling border town where the entourage could rest before continuing to Zhongdao, the capital of Archon Hanying¡¯s realm. Liao Cheng, a few of his bodyguards, and Mark made their way to the town¡¯s largest inn, its warm glow and chatter welcoming after weeks of travel.


    Inside, they found a table and ordered wine and side dishes. As Mark sipped from his cup, he remarked, ¡°I¡¯ve noticed something. The countryside here is surprisingly peaceful. No sign of bandits. That¡¯s a big change from the lands of Archon Innokentios and Archon Anthemios, where they seemed to be everywhere.¡±


    Liao Cheng chuckled, swirling his wine. ¡°It all comes down to numbers. Our realm has more people than theirs. With the war dragging on, the other Archons have had to send nearly every able man to the front, leaving their lands unguarded. But Archon Hanying¡¯s population is larger. We can send plenty of soldiers to fight while still keeping enough behind to patrol the countryside and deal with bandits¡ªor worse, monsters.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d be out of work here,¡± Mark joked with a chuckle.


    He had to admit, being the General¡¯s servant wasn¡¯t nearly as bad as he¡¯d feared. Compared to his time under Captain Qin Yang, it was practically a vacation. Other than trailing after the General, all he really did was swap stories about his adventures. And now, here he was, sitting in a fine inn, sipping wine, and savoring tender, flavorful duck.


    Still, Mark hadn¡¯t resigned himself to servitude. If he weren¡¯t constantly surrounded by armored cavalry and guards, he¡¯d be gone in a heartbeat. He missed the freedom of wandering the land as a sword-for-hire, living on his own terms. But even he could admit his current situation wasn¡¯t the worst fate imaginable.


    After a few hours of rest, the entourage was back on the road. Nearly two months of travel passed, mostly uneventful, until they finally arrived at Zhongdao, the capital of Archon Hanying¡¯s realm. Even from miles away, the massive city walls dominated the landscape. They were towering rectangles of stone, fortified with watchtowers and enormous bronze gates that stood several meters tall and wide. Dozens of guards manned each gate, with many more stationed along the walls and towers.


    As they approached, Mark marveled at the sheer scale of the city. It sprawled far beyond any settlement he had ever seen, bustling with life even before they reached the gates. This was, without a doubt, the grandest city on the entire continent of Xerath.


    The soldiers stationed at one of the massive bronze gates snapped to attention as the entourage approached. They immediately recognized the banners carried by the cavalrymen¡ªthese were the forces of General Liao Cheng. As the entourage entered Zhongdao, Mark was hit by a whirlwind of sensations. The air was thick with an overwhelming mix of perfumes, sizzling street food, and the sweat of bustling crowds. The noise was just as chaotic¡ªvoices shouting, laughing, haggling, all blending with the clatter of hooves and the creak of cartwheels.


    The streets were packed with people, turning their progress into a slow and awkward crawl. General Liao Cheng, however, had the better deal. Seated comfortably in a wooden carrier near the head of the column, he avoided the chaos of the streets entirely.


    As they pressed forward, the General made a subtle hand signal through the small window of his carrier. One of the cavalrymen riding alongside him took the cue, relayed the order, and the entire entourage came to a halt. A cavalryman trotted back to Mark and said, ¡°The General wants you to move up beside his carrier.¡±


    Mark, who had been riding near the middle of the group, surrounded on all sides by cavalrymen, found the riders parting to let him through. He guided his horse forward until he was level with the General¡¯s carrier.


    Liao Cheng slid the curtain of his window aside. ¡°Most of my men and servants will head to my manor,¡± he said. ¡°I, along with a few of my trusted followers¡ªand you¡ªwill be going to the Imperial Palace.¡±


    Mark gave a simple nod.


    Most of the foot soldiers, all the servants, and a good portion of the cavalry peeled off down a side road to the right. The rest of the entourage, including Mark, continued straight ahead. Looming before them were towering walls, nearly as massive as the city¡¯s outer walls. These colossal barriers separated the Imperial Palace from the rest of Zhongdao, enclosing what looked like an entire city within a city.


    As they neared a bronze gate painted a deep red, Mark took in its sheer scale¡ªmeters tall and wide, with dozens of guards stationed along its perimeter. When the gate creaked open, it revealed a sight that made Mark¡¯s jaw tighten in awe. The palace beyond was colossal, dwarfing anything he had ever encountered. Its grandeur stretched both in width, like a city sprawled across the horizon, and in height, soaring far above the skyline.


    A vast plaza lay between the palace walls and the grand structure itself. On either side of the wide avenue, more than four thousand soldiers stood in formation, their polished blue armor glinting brilliantly under the sun. As the entourage passed through the plaza, the soldiers erupted into unified cheers: ¡°Hurrah! Hurrah! Long live the Great General!¡±


    The entourage came to a halt at the base of a grand staircase leading up to the palace. Liao Cheng stepped out of his carrier, and the cavalrymen dismounted. Mark slid off his horse as well, feeling the solid ground beneath his boots. The staircase before them was immense¡ªso long it took minutes to ascend, and so wide it could have fit an army marching side by side. The palace at the top was adorned with a hip-and-gable roof and gold-plated columns that gleamed like captured sunlight.


    At the entrance to the throne chamber stood a tall, elderly man with flowing white hair and a long beard. His sharp eyes reminded Mark of a hawk, and he carried himself with authority. Dressed in a regal purple silk robe, he held a fan decorated with intricate logographs. Liao Cheng bowed deeply before him, and the rest of the entourage dropped to their knees in reverence.


    Mark, however, simply inclined his head in a respectful bow. He still had his pride, and kneeling didn¡¯t sit well with him.


    ¡°Chancellor Han Fen,¡± Liao Cheng greeted warmly, though Mark knew this was all bullshit. ¡°It is a pleasure to see you again, my friend.¡± Mark recalled the General¡¯s countless complaints about Han Fen; the two men despised each other. But courtly appearances demanded civility.


    ¡°It is good to see you as well, great and victorious General,¡± the Chancellor replied, his voice smooth. ¡°Your triumphs over Archon Innokentios have brought great glory to Archon Hanying¡¯s realm. That is why you were summoned here¡ªto celebrate your victories and grant you well-earned rest.¡± His gaze shifted to Mark, his expression curling into one of open disdain. ¡°And who,¡± he said, voice dripping with contempt, ¡°is this foreigner? And why does he not kneel before me?¡±


    ¡°He is my servant,¡± Liao Cheng answered smoothly. ¡°I apologize for his behavior. He¡¯s a foreigner unfamiliar with proper court etiquette.¡±


    Mark remained silent, his face blank. He didn¡¯t regret his choice.


    ¡°You should come inside,¡± Han Fen said, gesturing to the General. ¡°His Imperial Majesty is waiting for you.¡±


    The throne room was enormous. Dozens of courtiers and servants stood in hushed reverence, their eyes fixed on the raised dais at the far end of the chamber. Atop the dais stood Archon Hanying, an awe-inspiring figure towering over nine meters tall. Draped in a flowing yellow robe adorned with intricate patterns, he wore a crown studded with enormous diamonds that shimmered under the hall¡¯s golden light. His beard, an impressive two meters long, hung like a silver curtain, complementing his graying hair. Compared to him, the human courtiers and servants appeared almost comically small.


    Liao Cheng knelt before the Archon, his followers and Chancellor Han Fen following suit. Mark hesitated for only a moment before dropping to his knees as well. Challenging a human Chancellor was one thing, but defying a Giant and an Archon? That was a whole different game¡ªone he wasn¡¯t willing to play.


    ¡°You may rise,¡± the Archon rumbled, his voice deep and resonant as thunder. He lifted a massive hand in a casual, yet commanding gesture. ¡°General Liao Cheng, my most loyal champion. Your victories have brought great glory and honor to my Imperial Majesty.¡±


    ¡°I live only to serve Your Majesty,¡± Liao Cheng replied, rising slowly from the polished marble floor.


    From the cluster of courtiers, a younger man¡ªlikely in his late thirties, Mark guessed¡ªstepped forward. In his hands, he held a ceremonial hu, a flat scepter-like object that symbolized his request to speak. He raised it with practiced deference.


    ¡°I grant you permission,¡± the Archon said, his voice like the rumble of distant mountains.


    The man bowed deeply. ¡°Your Imperial Majesty, since General Liao Cheng left the front to return here, our forces have suffered setbacks. Duke Alexandros Karamitsios has inflicted defeat after defeat on our armies. Our war with Archon Innokentios is not progressing as we had hoped. Perhaps the General could return to¡ª¡±


    ¡°Silence!¡± Han Fen bellowed, his face a livid shade of red. ¡°How dare you question the wisdom of His Imperial Majesty? Your insolence is intolerable!¡±


    The Archon raised his hand, and both men immediately fell silent. ¡°Your concern is noted and valid,¡± he said, his deep voice carrying a surprising gentleness. ¡°But I believe these setbacks are temporary. Good news will come in due time. For now, General Liao Cheng has earned his rest and the celebration of his achievements. Just as tools must not be overused lest they break, so too must we care for our people to ensure they do not falter.¡±The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    Mark stifled a snort of disbelief, keeping his head lowered to hide the flicker of amusement on his face. What a load of crap, he thought. He knew the real reason Liao Cheng had been called to court: Chancellor Han Fen had convinced the Archon that the General¡¯s growing popularity, fueled by his stunning military victories, was a threat that needed to be contained. This wasn¡¯t about rest¡ªit was about politics.


    ¡°General,¡± Hanying said. ¡°You are dismissed. As is this court.¡±


    A human servant, tall at two meters but dwarfed by the Giant, bellowed, ¡°The Imperial Court is dismissed!¡± His voice echoed through the grand throne room.


    The courtiers shuffled out, their silken robes rustling as they went. Liao Cheng, Mark, and a few guards exited along with them. As they reached the outer hall, the courtier who had spoken up earlier approached.


    ¡°Xuan Yimu,¡± Liao Cheng greeted him warmly. ¡°You¡¯ve got guts, speaking out like that. Thank you.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re like a mentor to me,¡± Xuan Yimu replied with a slight bow. ¡°Of course, I¡¯d stand up for you. Our families have been close for generations.¡± His gaze shifted to Mark, taking in his rugged appearance. ¡°Who¡¯s this foreigner? A servant?¡±


    Liao Cheng nodded, a faint smirk playing on his lips. ¡°This man faced bandits, monsters, witches, and even ghosts before my men captured him. I bought him from one of my subordinates after he tried to escape captivity by killing four guards. He survived being forced to run behind a horse for hours¡ªleashed, mind you¡ªand still had the strength to do this escape attempt. His stamina is unreal, and his swordsmanship is extraordinary.¡±


    ¡°Ghosts?¡± Xuan Yimu asked, his eyebrows shooting up.


    ¡°Indeed. And he wields a spirit sword,¡± Liao Cheng added.


    ¡°A spirit sword?¡± Xuan Yimu¡¯s shock was palpable. ¡°A blade capable of banishing ghosts from our world?¡±


    Liao Cheng nodded again.


    Xuan Yimu¡¯s expression turned grave. ¡°I have a request, then. My family¡¯s manor is overrun with ghosts. It¡¯s gotten so bad we¡¯ve had to flee. Guards have cordoned off the area to keep the spirits contained, but thankfully, they haven¡¯t ventured into the city¡ªotherwise, my family would have been blamed. Imperial sorcerers sent by the Chancellor have tried to deal with them but... they didn¡¯t survive. Perhaps your swordsman can banish them?¡±


    ¡°I can handle it,¡± Mark said, his tone confident. ¡°For a price.¡±


    ¡°For free,¡± Liao Cheng corrected, shooting him a sharp look. ¡°But I will personally reward you if you succeed.¡±


    Mark nodded, biting back a retort. He hated being reminded of his status as a servant rather than an independent adventurer, but the promise of a reward from Liao Cheng was enough to temper his frustration¡ªat least for now.


    The next forty minutes flew by in a blur. Liao Cheng, Mark, Xuan Yimu, and the guards left the palace grounds, making their way to Xuan Yimu¡¯s manor. Mark, his glowing spirit sword sheathed at his side, followed closely. As they approached, the scene grew tense¡ªthe manor was sealed off from the city by dozens of guards standing in rigid formation.


    As the group neared, the captain of the guards stepped forward, raising a hand. ¡°Halt!¡± he barked.


    Xuan Yimu quickly interjected, pointing at Mark. ¡°It¡¯s alright. This man has the power to banish the ghosts.¡±


    The captain scoffed. ¡°The Imperial Sorcerers couldn¡¯t handle those spirits, and you expect this foreigner to succeed?¡±


    ¡°Do you dare question General Liao Cheng¡¯s judgment?¡± Xuan Yimu snapped.


    Only then did the captain notice Liao Cheng standing beside them, his imposing figure hard to miss. The captain¡¯s demeanor shifted instantly. He bowed low. ¡°Apologies, General. I meant no disrespect. The man may enter.¡±


    The guards parted, allowing Mark to pass through an arched gateway and into the manor¡¯s garden. The air smelled faintly of death, and the ground was strewn with the bodies of guards and sorcerers who had failed to contain the spirits. The garden¡¯s once-lovely peach blossoms and bonsai trees stood eerily quiet under the swirling forms of ghosts¡ªpale, translucent figures dressed like common peasants.


    ¡°Intruder!¡± one of the ghosts screamed, its voice piercing the air as it shot toward Mark like a gale.


    Mark drew his spirit sword, the blade¡¯s green glow casting an eerie light. With a swift thrust, the ghost let out a shriek before vanishing into thin air. ¡°Return to the underworld, spirits!¡± he commanded.


    ¡°Nooo!¡± another ghost wailed. ¡°We seek vengeance!¡±


    ¡°Vengeance for what?¡± Mark demanded, his sword raised defensively. He could handle the ghosts one at a time, but if they swarmed him, it could be over in moments.


    The ghosts hissed angrily, their voices like whispers on the wind. ¡°The masters of this manor used us to build it, only to slaughter us when it was finished. They sacrificed us to the High God, driven by the vision of a priest. We haunt this place to seek justice!¡±


    ¡°When was this?¡± Mark asked.


    ¡°Over a century ago!¡±


    ¡°Then why are you causing trouble now?¡±


    ¡°The fools broke the seal!¡± one ghost cried. ¡°The basement had been sealed by magic to keep us bound. But the current masters dismissed the warnings, broke the seal, and set us free. Now we roam this cursed manor!¡±


    Mark exhaled sharply, gripping his sword tighter. ¡°That changes things. Let me leave this manor and I can perhaps find a better solution to all this mess.¡±


    The spirits snarled in response, their forms growing more aggressive. They charged.


    Mark braced himself, thrusting his sword into the first ghost. It screamed and vanished in a puff of light. He rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding another spirit¡¯s icy grasp, and swung his sword again. Another ghost dissolved with a shriek, followed by a third.


    From behind, a fourth ghost lunged at him while a fifth blocked his front. Mark jumped high, twisting in midair to evade their attacks, and landed gracefully. He stepped back, his sword flashing as he swung it in a wide arc. The two spirits surged forward, but Mark¡¯s swift movements cut them down, their forms evaporating into nothingness.


    The remaining ghosts hesitated, their rage faltering into fear. They hovered at a distance, no longer attacking.


    Mark took the chance to back out of the manor, his glowing sword still ready. He stepped up to Xuan Yimu. ¡°Why did you break the seal on the basement?¡±


    Xuan Yimu hesitated, glancing at Liao Cheng. ¡°Did you banish the ghosts?¡±


    ¡°Answer my question,¡± Mark pressed.


    ¡°Watch your tone,¡± Liao Cheng cut in sharply. ¡°You¡¯re my servant, and Xuan Yimu is a trusted family friend. Speak with respect.¡±


    Mark¡¯s reply was cool, his words laced with sarcasm. ¡°Can you please answer my question?¡±


    Xuan Yimu stammered, his confidence faltering. ¡°I¡­I¡­ My parents and grandparents always said the basement was cursed, full of ghosts. But I thought it was just old superstition. Sure, I know ghosts haunt cursed places, but this is the imperial capital! How could our manor be one of those places? Looking back, I see how foolish I was.¡±


    Mark didn¡¯t let up. ¡°The ghosts told me they were the workers who built this manor. They said your family massacred them as a sacrifice to the High God because of a priest¡¯s vision.¡±


    Xuan Yimu¡¯s face paled. ¡°By the High God! I had no idea. I can¡¯t believe my family would do something so¡­ monstrous!¡±


    Liao Cheng folded his arms. ¡°Do you believe these ghosts, Mark?¡±


    Mark gave a small shrug. ¡°Ghosts don¡¯t usually lie. Most of the time, they¡¯re people who were wronged in life and cursed their killers. They haunt because they¡¯re stuck, not because they¡¯re deceitful. I could try to cut down every ghost in there with my spirit sword, but the place is swarming. I¡¯d be lucky to get out alive. Even the sword has limits. Or¡­¡± He paused, considering. ¡°We could try something else.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s that?¡± Xuan Yimu asked, his voice shaky.


    ¡°Not all ghosts are pure evil. Some can¡¯t move on until they get justice for what happened to them. If you go inside, show true remorse, and make things right, most of them will probably vanish on their own.¡±


    The captain of the guard, who had been quietly listening, burst out. ¡°Are you insane? You want Master Xuan to walk in there? Those ghosts will kill him!¡±


    Liao Cheng frowned. ¡°Mark, this is risky. But I vouched for you to Xuan, and I trust your judgment. Do you truly believe this will work?¡±


    Xuan Yimu¡¯s brow furrowed in thought, the weight of the situation pressing down on him. After a moment, he straightened his back and said, ¡°I¡¯ll do it. I¡¯m an honorable man. If my family wronged these people, it¡¯s my responsibility to face them¡ªnot yours, and not anyone else¡¯s. I can¡¯t ask others to risk their lives for the sins of my ancestors.¡±


    Mark stepped into the manor¡¯s garden, Xuan Yimu following close behind. The ghosts shrieked, their eerie wails echoing through the air as they surged forward, ready to attack. Mark raised his glowing spirit sword, and the apparitions hesitated, retreating slightly. ¡°Listen to what this man has to say!¡± Mark shouted.


    Xuan Yimu dropped to his knees, bowing his head. ¡°I never knew my ancestors committed such a horrible sin against you,¡± he began, his voice trembling. ¡°But ignorance doesn¡¯t erase my responsibility. I¡¯ve lived in luxury, benefitting from your labor, while you were killed and forced to haunt this place instead of finding peace in the underworld. Words alone aren¡¯t enough, even if I truly and deeply regret what happened.¡± Tears filled his eyes as he continued, ¡°So I vow to honor you. I¡¯ll build a grand tomb for your remains outside the city, and I¡¯ll compensate your descendants, if any remain. And if this isn¡¯t enough¡­¡± He paused, choking on his words. ¡°You can take my life in revenge for what my family did. But please, leave others out of this¡ªmy family, my guards, and Mark. That¡¯s all I ask.¡±


    Mark kept his sword steady, addressing the restless spirits. ¡°Take his offer. Let go of your hatred. It¡¯s the only way you¡¯ll finally find peace and move on to the underworld where you belong.¡±


    A ghost floated forward, its voice heavy with suspicion. ¡°Will you ensure he keeps his word?¡±


    ¡°I promise,¡± Mark said firmly. ¡°And if he doesn¡¯t, I¡¯ll kill him myself.¡±


    The ghost studied him for a moment, then nodded. Slowly, one by one, the spirits began to fade, their forms dissolving into the air until the garden was empty and silent.


    Xuan Yimu let out a deep breath of relief. ¡°Thank you. Without you, my manor would still be cursed.¡±


    Mark¡¯s expression remained serious. ¡°Don¡¯t forget your promise. I wasn¡¯t joking about holding you accountable, and I don¡¯t care if Liao Cheng considers me his servant. He can¡¯t control me if I don¡¯t let him.¡±


    Mark¡¯s tone was convincing, though deep down, he knew he was bluffing. Liao Cheng had the resources to keep him bound in service and control him. Still, his unwavering voice left no room for doubt.


    Xuan Yimu nodded solemnly. ¡°You have my word. I meant what I said. I¡¯ll do everything I can to atone for my family¡¯s sins.¡±


    As the two men exited the garden, the guards stared in shock. The captain stepped forward, his eyes wide. ¡°How are you still alive?¡±


    ¡°This manor is no longer haunted,¡± Xuan Yimu replied. ¡°All thanks to Mark.¡±


    ¡°I told you he¡¯s remarkable,¡± Liao Cheng said, smiling with pride. ¡°That¡¯s why he¡¯s my most valuable possession.¡±


    Mark clenched his jaw at the word possession, bitterness bubbling in his chest. A harsh reminder of his servitude. But he kept his face neutral.


    Liao Cheng said his goodbyes to Xuan Yimu, who departed with a bow. Mark followed behind the General, flanked by his personal guards, until they arrived at Liao Cheng¡¯s grand manor. Passing through an arched gateway, they entered a sprawling garden twice the size of Xuan Yimu¡¯s. Peach blossom trees lined the paths, their petals swaying gently in the breeze. Wooden pavilions dotted the landscape, and a small pond shimmered in the center. Surrounding it all were elegant wooden buildings that made up the manor.


    Liao Cheng led Mark to one of the smaller structures, a modest hut compared to the intricate, towering buildings nearby.


    ¡°These will be your quarters,¡± the General said, gesturing toward the door. ¡°You¡¯ll stay here, with guards posted outside at all times. I wish I could give you more freedom, but I can¡¯t trust you just yet. Earn my trust, and I might loosen the leash.¡± He gave a light chuckle before continuing. ¡°For now, hand over your belongings to the guards. We¡¯ll store them safely¡ªdon¡¯t want you bursting out, swords blazing.¡±


    Mark sighed but complied. He handed over his two swords¡ªthe regular one and the spirit sword¡ªhis spellbook, and his chainmail armor. Left in only his undershirt and pants, he stood quietly as the guards secured his items.


    ¡°Good,¡± Liao Cheng said with a satisfied nod. ¡°A servant will bring your dinner when it¡¯s ready. If you want to walk in the garden, you¡¯ll need permission, and guards will stay with you the whole time. Understand?¡±


    Mark nodded again, suppressing the frustration building inside him. After months of traveling with Liao Cheng¡ªsharing stories of his exploits and now banishing the ghosts at Xuan Yimu¡¯s manor¡ªhe had hoped to earn the General¡¯s trust. Instead, his skills seemed to make Liao Cheng more determined to keep him close, treating him like a prized captive.


    Still, Mark kept his thoughts to himself and stepped into the hut. The room was small but tidy. A wooden desk with a chair stood in one corner, while a comfortable bed occupied the other. Mark sank onto the bed, letting out a long breath as he stretched out. At least he could finally rest.

 CHAPTER 28 - THE GENERALS DAUGHTER

    CHAPTER 27


    THE GENERAL''S DAUGHTER


    Mark strolled through the lush garden of General Liao Cheng¡¯s manor, his every step shadowed by ten armored guards armed with swords and axes. He couldn¡¯t help but smirk to himself, knowing Liao Cheng had stacked the deck. Anything less, and Mark could have easily slipped away. The thought of escaping had crossed his mind more than once, but he knew better. Without his weapons or armor and dressed in nothing but a flowing white gown, the odds were far from in his favor.


    The sweet scent of flowers filled the air, mingling with the cheerful melody of birds chirping from the trees. The peach blossoms danced in the breeze, their petals swirling like a delicate pink snowfall. Mark¡¯s gaze followed the path to the pond at the center of the garden, where lily pads floated lazily on the water¡¯s surface.


    As he neared, a soft, sorrowful tune reached his ears. The music came from a zither being played in one of the wooden pavilions nearby. Its haunting beauty tugged at him, soothing yet steeped in melancholy. It seemed to carry the emotions of someone pouring their heart into every note.


    ¡°Who¡¯s playing that?¡± Mark asked one of the guards, Shi Xinyi.


    ¡°Lady Guanyu, the General¡¯s daughter,¡± Shi Xinyi replied with a hint of reverence.


    Curiosity sparked, Mark quickened his pace, eager to see the musician behind such captivating music. The guards, caught off guard by his sudden movement, scrambled to keep up. ¡°Hey, stop!¡± Shi Xinyi called after him, but Mark didn¡¯t slow down until he reached the pavilion.


    ¡°It¡¯s alright,¡± a gentle voice said from within. ¡°The foreigner doesn¡¯t bother me.¡±


    Mark turned to see the source of the voice and was momentarily struck speechless. Lady Guanyu was breathtaking, unlike anyone he¡¯d seen in his travels. Her brunette hair cascaded like silk, framing her hazel eyes that seemed to hold an ocean of unspoken thoughts. Her small nose and rosy cheeks gave her an innocent charm, while her deep red lips and snow-pale skin made her look like she had stepped out of a painting or been sculpted from marble.


    Even her perfume, a delicate rose scent, added to the aura of elegance and allure that surrounded her.


    ¡°Foreigner,¡± Guanyu said, her voice smooth and melodic. ¡°My father has spoken much about you¡ªhow you¡¯re a master swordsman and a fearless warrior.¡±


    ¡°I know my way around a blade,¡± Mark replied, his tone flat and detached.


    Her fingers never faltered on the zither, though the melody shifted, growing sharper, more intense. ¡°I¡¯ve always wanted to learn swordsmanship,¡± she admitted. ¡°But my father forbids it. He says it¡¯s not fitting for a lady of the Imperial Court. Still, it¡¯s something I truly want.¡± She paused, letting the frustration in her music say what her voice wouldn¡¯t. ¡°Could you teach me?¡±


    Mark¡¯s gaze dropped to his empty hands. ¡°I serve your father, my Lady, and I¡¯m not allowed to carry weapons. Even if I wanted to¡­¡±


    ¡°My Lady!¡± Shi Xinyi interrupted sharply. ¡°General Liao has made it clear. You are not to learn swordsmanship, and the foreigner is strictly forbidden from handling his weapons. It is not possible, and I will not allow it.¡±


    Guanyu sighed, the tune she played softening but losing none of its sadness. ¡°I understand,¡± she said. Her voice was composed, but the notes pouring from her zither carried the frustration and longing she tried to conceal.


    ¡°Let¡¯s get you back to your quarters,¡± Shi Xinyi said to Mark.


    Mark nodded silently, following them back to the small room that had become his home. Once inside, he sank onto the bed with a heavy sigh. He hated the waiting. His life had always been about action and movement, but now he was stuck in this gilded cage. Days had passed since he¡¯d exorcised the ghosts from Xuan Yimu¡¯s manor, and the General had yet to give him a new task. Restless and annoyed, he lay back and stared at the ceiling, willing himself to relax.


    Night fell, and a servant brought a tray with roasted duck, rice, and wine. At least the food here was excellent. Mark savored the meal, letting the rich flavors and warmth of the wine soothe his unease.


    About twenty minutes later, the same servant returned to collect the dishes. Two others followed, carrying a wooden bathtub filled with steaming water. They placed it in the room and left without a word, though Mark knew the guards stationed outside weren¡¯t going anywhere.


    He undressed and slid into the tub, the heat melting away the tension in his muscles. The confinement grated on him¡ªhe missed the freedom of the road, the thrill of the unknown. But as much as he hated being Liao Cheng¡¯s servant, he had to admit that the General treated him well, at least materially.


    After soaking for fifteen minutes, Mark climbed out of the tub, drying himself with a towel. He knocked on the door to signal the guards, who promptly summoned the servants to remove the tub. Once alone, he dressed and sat on the bed, the wine and warm water lulling him into drowsiness.


    A few moments later, Mark drifted off to sleep.


    A sharp knock at the door startled Mark awake. He blinked groggily, unsure how long he¡¯d been asleep. Judging by the darkness outside the small window, it was still late at night.


    The door creaked open, and Pan Jiahao stepped inside. He was the night shift captain, responsible for the dozens of guards stationed around Mark¡¯s room. Shi Xinyi oversaw the day shift, as the General insisted on rotating fresh, alert guards in case Mark tried to escape.


    ¡°Foreigner,¡± Jiahao said curtly. He wasn¡¯t one for small talk, so his visit at this hour was strange. Was this some new order from the General? Jiahao hesitated, then cleared his throat. ¡°I¡¯m¡­ sensitive to Lady Guanyu,¡± he began awkwardly. Mark recognized it as a clumsy way of admitting he had a soft spot¡ªor perhaps a crush¡ªon the General¡¯s daughter.


    ¡°So I¡¯ve taken it upon myself to allow her request,¡± Jiahao continued, his tone conspiratorial. ¡°She wants you to secretly train her in swordsmanship. If you¡¯re willing. I¡¯ll let you carry your sword during the lessons. And, per her instructions, we won¡¯t be watching you. My men and I will stay here, and if anyone comes snooping, we¡¯ll say you¡¯re asleep. This stays between us. The General mustn¡¯t find out. As far as the world knows, neither you nor the Lady left your quarters tonight. My men are loyal to me and won¡¯t breathe a word of this.¡±


    Mark sat up, intrigued. He¡¯d get to see Guanyu again and finally break the monotony of his confinement. ¡°I¡¯ll do it,¡± he said without hesitation.


    Jiahao nodded, but his stern expression didn¡¯t soften. ¡°Good. But don¡¯t try anything foolish, like running off. I¡¯m taking a huge risk letting you roam freely in the garden with a sword and no supervision. If you escape, the punishment for me and my men will be severe. And more importantly¡ª¡± his voice tightened¡ª¡°Lady Guanyu will suffer the consequences too. You may not care about us, but think about her. She¡¯ll pay the price if you betray our trust.¡±If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    Mark nodded again, his thoughts swirling. The idea of escaping had crossed his mind, of course. This was his chance to regain his freedom, to leave servitude behind and resume his life as a wandering swordsman. But something held him back. He couldn¡¯t bring himself to risk Guanyu¡¯s safety.


    It was maddeningly irrational, he thought. Here he was, ignoring the perfect opportunity to escape, shackling himself to a choice that felt both reckless and na?ve. Yet he couldn¡¯t deny it. He wanted to see her again, to hear her voice, to teach her how to wield a blade.


    With a sigh, Mark pushed aside his doubts. He knew it wasn¡¯t the smart choice, but it was one he was determined to make.


    He took his sword and made his way to the garden¡¯s heart, where the calm pond reflected the moonlight and peach blossom trees swayed gently in the breeze. Lady Guanyu was already there, looking as breathtaking as ever. She held a sword in her hand, her posture poised yet eager.


    ¡°Foreigner,¡± she greeted with a slight bow¡ªnot as a servant but with the grace of an equal.


    ¡°You can call me Mark,¡± he replied.


    ¡°Mark,¡± she said softly, letting the name linger on her lips. ¡°Mark, teach me the art of the sword.¡±


    Mark stepped forward, swinging his blade in a series of smooth, controlled arcs. The sword hissed through the air with sharp whooshing sounds. ¡°Start with this,¡± he instructed.


    Guanyu mimicked him, but her stance was shaky, her grip too loose, and her slashes lacked any real force.


    ¡°Again,¡± Mark said firmly.


    She tried once more but made the same mistakes.


    ¡°Here, let me show you,¡± he offered, stepping closer. Standing behind her, he gently placed his hands over hers, guiding her movements. He adjusted her grip, positioned her feet, and helped her channel strength through her entire body.


    Guanyu¡¯s breath hitched as he leaned in, her cheeks flushing like the petals of the peach blossoms around them. Mark couldn¡¯t help but notice the delicate scent of her perfume and the warmth of her skin beneath his touch. He had been with bold women before, but this quiet moment felt far more intimate.


    After guiding her through the motions a few times, he stepped back. ¡°Now, attack me.¡±


    Guanyu hesitated. ¡°But¡ª¡±


    ¡°But what?¡± Mark raised an eyebrow.


    ¡°What if I hurt you by mistake?¡±


    Mark chuckled. ¡°I doubt that¡¯ll happen, but I admire your optimism.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t mock me!¡± she said with a laugh, her eyes sparkling, and for a moment, the tension between them softened.


    Taking a deep breath, Guanyu lunged forward, aiming her sword at him. Mark deflected the strike with ease, barely moving. She tried again, swinging at his head, but he blocked it just as smoothly. Undeterred, Guanyu spun on her heel, aiming for his side, but Mark parried once more.


    Finally, she charged, her blade slicing through the air with a satisfying whoosh. This time, she used her entire body to power the strike, just as Mark had taught her. The strength behind the attack was impressive, but Mark deflected it without breaking a sweat.


    ¡°You¡¯ve improved already,¡± he said, lowering his blade. ¡°For your first lesson, this is impressive. You¡¯ve learned how to use your body¡¯s strength, and that¡¯s no small feat. But remember¡ªstrength alone won¡¯t win battles. You need finesse and technique too.¡±


    Guanyu¡¯s eyes glimmered with determination. ¡°Then teach me finesse.¡±


    Mark smiled. ¡°One step at a time.¡±


    The lesson ended for the night, and Mark bowed slightly to Guanyu before making his way back to his room. Pan Jiahao let out a long breath of relief when he saw Mark return. Clearly, he¡¯d been nervous about an escape attempt. Mark flopped onto his bed, letting the tension ease from his body. His mind wandered back to the training session with Guanyu. There was something oddly fulfilling about it, even more than his old life as a wandering swordsman.


    Was he falling for her? No, he shook the thought away. He wasn¡¯t the type. During his travels, he¡¯d been with dozens of beautiful women, and love had never crossed his mind. He was a drifter, a playboy, always moving on. And yet... this felt different. He couldn¡¯t shake it. Eventually, his thoughts faded, and he drifted off to sleep.


    The next morning, it wasn¡¯t Pan Jiahao who woke him but Shi Xinyi, head of the day guards. Shi Xinyi, flanked by a dozen armed men, escorted Mark to the manor¡¯s main building. They entered a grand hall with a massive wooden table dominating the space. Seated on a mat at one end was General Liao Cheng, calmly sipping tea.


    ¡°Take a seat,¡± the General said, gesturing to the mat beside him.


    Mark settled down, and a servant brought him a steaming cup of tea. He sipped it carefully, enjoying the rich flavor despite its scalding heat.


    ¡°You must be getting restless,¡± Liao Cheng began. ¡°I¡¯ve arranged a task for you. Chancellor Han Fen is hosting a feast in my honor, but I suspect his real intent is to embarrass me. There will be sword fights, and he¡¯ll undoubtedly pit his champion against mine to humiliate me. Your job is to win and defend my honor.¡±


    Mark nodded. ¡°Sounds straightforward.¡±


    The General¡¯s eyes narrowed. ¡°Don¡¯t get overconfident. His champion is Mao Tao, a disciple of the Yijun Sword Sect. He¡¯s trained in Qi cultivation. That¡¯s why you should bring your spirit sword to the feast.¡±


    Mark smirked. ¡°I¡¯ve beaten Qi users before, like Elder Kang Zhong of the Crane Sword Sect. I¡¯ve even stood my ground against witches. Magic doesn¡¯t scare me.¡±


    Liao Cheng nodded, satisfied. ¡°Good. The feast is in three days. Prepare yourself.¡±


    That night, Mark returned to the garden, where Guanyu was already waiting for her second lesson. The moonlight bathed the peach blossoms in a soft glow, and the air carried a hint of their fragrance.


    Mark demonstrated a series of fluid sword moves, and Guanyu did her best to imitate him. Her form was improving, but he stepped in to correct her stance and refine her technique.


    ¡°Now,¡± he said, stepping back, ¡°attack me with what you¡¯ve learned.¡±


    Guanyu lunged at him, feinting a strike to his head before pulling back and redirecting her sword toward his chest. Mark easily read her move and blocked it, but he smiled. ¡°Good! You¡¯re learning to be unpredictable.¡±


    Guanyu retreated a few steps, her eyes narrowing as she plotted her next move. Before she could act, Mark dashed forward, striking her lightly in the chest with the pommel of his sword. The blow knocked her off balance, and she tumbled to the ground.


    ¡°Your opponent won¡¯t wait for you to plan,¡± Mark said, offering her his hand. ¡°You¡¯ve got to think and move at the same time.¡±


    Guanyu took his hand, determination lighting up her face as she stood. ¡°Let¡¯s try again!¡±


    Mark grinned. ¡°That¡¯s the spirit.¡±


    She nodded, gripping her sword tighter. ¡°Thank you for not treating me like some fragile flower, the way everyone else here does.¡±


    ¡°Why would I? You¡¯re no delicate flower¡ªyou¡¯re a warrior in the making.¡±


    Guanyu attacked with a sharp downward strike, but halfway through, she pulled back with impressive speed and shifted to a quick horizontal slash. Mark blocked it with ease, but she followed up immediately with another downward strike. He blocked that too, and then came a rapid flurry of thrusts and strikes, each one swift and powerful. Mark stopped every single one. Her moves were strong, fast, and unpredictable¡ªusing her whole body to generate power. Mark was genuinely impressed. For only her second lesson, she was picking up swordsmanship incredibly quickly. She was a natural. What a waste that her father hadn¡¯t let her start training earlier.


    ¡°Good,¡± Mark said, lowering his sword. ¡°You¡¯re learning fast.¡±


    Guanyu sighed, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. ¡°And yet I can¡¯t seem to get the upper hand.¡±


    Mark chuckled. ¡°Come on, it¡¯s your second lesson. You¡¯ve never practiced swordsmanship before. And, objectively speaking, you¡¯re up against someone who¡¯s beaten dozens of highly skilled swordsmen, including an Elder of a Martial Arts Sect. Of course you can¡¯t beat me yet. But honestly, you¡¯re doing better than I expected. You¡¯ve got talent.¡±


    A small smile crept across Guanyu¡¯s face. ¡°Thanks.¡±


    Mark nodded. ¡°With more practice, your strikes will get faster, stronger, and even harder to predict. Experience will make your movements smoother and more natural. It¡¯s all about time and effort.¡±


    Guanyu¡¯s expression softened. ¡°I really appreciate you taking the time to teach me. I know you¡¯re not here willingly. My father captured you during his campaign in Archon Innokentios¡¯ lands. You¡¯re usually under constant guard so you don¡¯t escape. Yet you haven¡¯t tried to run. You could have easily sprinted away tonight or even taken me hostage. But instead, you¡¯re teaching me. Why?¡±


    Mark hesitated. Normally, he¡¯d toss out a teasing or flirtatious remark¡ªit was second nature to him. He was a playboy who knew the right words to charm women into his bed and into having sex with him. But now, he seemed uncertain. ¡°I¡­ I guess I like you,¡± he finally said, his voice quieter than usual. ¡°You seem like a good person,¡± he added quickly, as if to make it clear he wasn¡¯t trying to flirt.


    Guanyu¡¯s cheeks flushed bright red, and she nodded, her voice barely a whisper. ¡°Thanks.¡±


    Mark cleared his throat and stepped back. ¡°Lesson¡¯s over for today. Time to rest. We¡¯ll pick this up tomorrow.¡±


    Before she could respond, he turned and walked off toward his quarters, leaving Guanyu flustered and alone in the moonlit garden.


    Back in his room, Pan Jiahao and the guards greeted him. Jiahao opened the door. ¡°Good night, foreigner,¡± he said.


    ¡°Night,¡± Mark replied before flopping onto his bed.


    He couldn¡¯t stop thinking about how adorable Guanyu looked when she blushed. That image lingered in his mind until sleep finally claimed him.

 CHAPTER 29 - DUEL AT THE FEAST

    CHAPTER 29


    DUEL AT THE FEAST


    Liao Cheng strode toward Chancellor Han Fen¡¯s grand manor, with Mark and a dozen guards and servants trailing behind him. They passed under a towering arched gate into a sprawling garden brimming with vibrant flowers and towering trees. The air was rich with the scent of blossoms, and servants dressed in fine robes stepped forward to greet them.


    ¡°Welcome, great General!¡± they said in unison, bowing deeply.


    Ahead, a grand wooden hall loomed. Guests were already gathering in a long line to enter, their silks and jewels glinting in the moonlight. But as soon as they spotted Liao Cheng, they stepped aside, clearing a path for him and his entourage.


    Inside, the hall was enormous, its walls lined with intricate carvings. Rows of lengthy wooden tables stretched across the room, laden with an incredible spread of dishes¡ªroast meats, steamed buns, exotic fruits, and jars of aromatic wine. The air buzzed with chatter and laughter.


    At the far end of the hall, Chancellor Han Fen rose from his seat as soon as he spotted Liao Cheng. He walked briskly to the entrance, his robes flowing behind him.


    ¡°Welcome, General,¡± he said with a wide smile. ¡°This feast is held in your honor, a celebration of your glorious victories over Archon Innokentios, which have brought great pride to Archon Hanying and his realm.¡±


    Liao Cheng gave a small bow. ¡°Chancellor, you are too kind.¡±


    ¡°Please, honorable General, take your seat,¡± Han Fen said, motioning with a wave of his hand.


    Two servants stepped forward and led Liao Cheng to the seat of honor at the head of the main table. The rest of his entourage was shown to a smaller table off to the side, near the lower-ranking officials and courtiers.


    As the men settled into their seats, Mark looked around, puzzled. No one had offered him a place to sit.


    ¡°Where am I supposed to sit?¡± he finally asked.


    A servant sneered at him. ¡°A foreign slave like you has no place at a table¡ªnot even with the guards or servants,¡± he spat. ¡°The Chancellor ordered that you remain standing. Food and drink are not for the likes of you.¡±


    Mark¡¯s fists clenched at his sides. If he¡¯d been alone, he would¡¯ve flattened the man with one punch. But Liao Cheng¡¯s words echoed in his mind. Before they¡¯d arrived, the General had warned him: The Chancellor will try to humiliate you. Don¡¯t give him the satisfaction. If you react, he¡¯ll use it as an excuse to disqualify you from the swordfight.


    So Mark swallowed his pride, took a deep breath, and stayed put, his face impassive. He¡¯d play their game¡ªfor now.


    Han Fen rose from his seat, and the hall instantly fell silent. All eyes turned to him as he lifted a cup of wine high in the air.


    ¡°General Liao Cheng,¡± he began, his voice ringing out, ¡°is a truly remarkable man. He has led our armies to triumph after triumph, turning the tide of war in our favor. Thanks to his wisdom and unmatched courage, we now stand on the brink of ultimate victory. I salute him and offer this toast in his honor!¡±


    The crowd erupted into cheers, raising their cups in unison before taking a drink.


    Mark, standing stiffly to the side, kept his face blank. He wasn¡¯t fooled. He knew this was all bullshit for the public. Han Fen despised Liao Cheng. The General¡¯s victories had made him too influential, and the Chancellor was clearly uneasy about it. That¡¯s why he had summoned Liao Cheng back to the capital. This so-called feast in his honor? Just an excuse to undermine him later.


    Liao Cheng, however, maintained his composure. Rising from his seat, he lifted his own cup. ¡°To Chancellor Han Fen,¡± he said, ¡°a wise leader whose guidance strengthens our realm and aids our Emperor in governing with wisdom.¡±


    He took a long drink, and the crowd followed. Han Fen clapped his hands, summoning the next round of entertainment.


    From the far side of the hall, two elderly men with flowing white beards stepped forward. One carried a zither, the other a bamboo flute. They began to play a gentle, enchanting melody that filled the room. Moments later, five stunning women in flowing silk robes appeared, moving gracefully onto the floor. Their dance was mesmerizing¡ªa blend of elegance and allure that drew cheers and applause from the guests.


    Mark leaned casually against a pillar, watching the dancers swirl and glide. If he was still a wandering swordsman, he¡¯d already be planning how to get them to his bed as soon as the performance ended. But tonight, he had other priorities. Still, the music and movement were a welcome distraction.


    As the minutes dragged on, though, his patience started to wear thin. Bored, he reached over to a nearby table and grabbed a jar of wine.


    ¡°That¡¯s not for you!¡± snapped a servant, his tone sharp. ¡°It¡¯s for the guests, not for a foreign slave.¡±


    By the time the servant finished his scolding, Mark had already downed most of the jar. He wiped his mouth, placed the jar back on the table, and gave the servant a mocking grin.


    ¡°Apologies,¡± he said, his voice dripping with insincerity. ¡°I¡¯m just a foreigner¡ªdidn¡¯t realize I was breaking your rules.¡±


    The servant muttered something under his breath, clearly furious, but didn¡¯t push the issue. Mark smirked, amused, and leaned back against the pillar.


    A few moments later, the Chancellor rose from his seat, his voice cutting through the hum of conversation. ¡°To entertain our esteemed guests tonight, we will have sword fights!¡± The announcement was met with loud cheers from the crowd. ¡°My champion will be Mao Tao, a disciple of the Yijun Sword Sect and a dear friend who once saved my life from assassins.¡± He turned to General Liao Cheng with a sly smile. ¡°General, as the guest of honor, it¡¯s only fitting that you name a champion to participate. Surely, a great military leader like you has someone worthy to fight in your honor.¡±


    Liao Cheng stood, calm and composed. ¡°My champion is Mark.¡±


    The room stirred with whispers as Mark straightened up from his spot against the pillar. Without hesitation, he walked to the main table, standing beside Liao Cheng.


    Han Fen¡¯s smile grew sharper. ¡°Are you certain you want a foreigner and a slave to fight for you?¡± His tone dripped with mock concern. Mark could see through the ploy¡ªHan Fen wanted Liao Cheng to pick someone else, someone who would inevitably lose to Mao Tao, tarnishing the General¡¯s reputation at this so-called celebration.


    But Liao Cheng was unshaken. ¡°Mark may be a foreigner, but he is a skilled warrior and a brave man. I have full confidence in him.¡±


    Han Fen nodded, his expression unreadable, but the tension in the room was palpable. It was then that Mao Tao entered the hall, all eyes turning to him. He was a striking figure, a man in his thirties with sharp features, dressed in an elegant blue silk robe. In one hand, he held a gleaming sword. Without a word, he strode out into the garden, where the moonlight bathed the open space.


    Mark followed him, stepping into the night. The garden, with its peach blossom trees and gently swaying pink petals, offered an ethereal backdrop for their duel. The two men faced each other.


    Mark unsheathed his spirit sword, the blade glowing with a faint green light. Mao Tao channeled his Qi into his weapon, the energy crackling with invisible power.


    Without warning, Mao Tao lunged, his movements blindingly fast, like a predator closing in on its prey. His sword sliced through the air with a sharp whoosh, aimed directly at Mark¡¯s chest. Mark raised his spirit sword just in time, the enchanted blade managing to withstand the force of Mao Tao¡¯s Qi-powered strike.


    But Mao Tao didn¡¯t relent. He launched a flurry of strikes, each one faster and more unpredictable than the last. One horizontal slash tore through Mark¡¯s silk robe, grazing his chest and drawing a thin line of blood. Another vertical strike narrowly missed, shredding the fabric further.


    Mark stepped back, catching his breath. His gown, already in tatters, hung uselessly from his shoulders. With a quick motion, he ripped off what was left, tossing it aside. Now shirtless, his muscular frame gleamed under the moonlight, the faint scratch on his chest standing out against his skin.


    He remembered a spell from the old spellbook witch Vivian had given him. The words echoed in his mind: ¡°Tempus moratus, motus tardus, vis iners!¡± Mark pointed a steady finger at Mao Tao and chanted them aloud. For a moment, it seemed like nothing happened. Mao Tao charged forward, but this time, his movements were no longer a blur of superhuman speed. His Qi was somehow restrained, forcing him to move like an ordinary man.Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    Even so, Mao Tao was quick¡ªdangerously quick. Mark barely blocked the first attack, and a second slash came at him almost immediately. He parried and stepped back, taking a defensive stance. Mao Tao mirrored him. The two men locked eyes, their breaths heavy, while the distant cheers of the guests filled the silence between them.


    Suddenly, Mark darted forward, slashing downward at Mao Tao with speed and precision. Mao Tao raised his blade to block, but mid-strike, Mark shifted his weight, stepping back and redirecting his sword in a horizontal arc. The blade cut across Mao Tao¡¯s chest, drawing blood. Bright red drops dripped from Mark¡¯s glowing spirit sword.


    With a growl of pain, Mao Tao launched into a furious counterattack. His slashes were strong and relentless, and Mark had to use all his skill to block them. The air filled with the sharp clang of colliding blades. As their swords clashed again, Mark suddenly drove his knee into Mao Tao¡¯s groin. Mao Tao gasped in pain, and Mark took the opportunity to slash at him. Mao Tao barely dodged, but not before Mark¡¯s sword sliced deep into his right shoulder, drawing more blood.


    Mark pressed his advantage and charged. Mao Tao, desperate, scooped up a handful of dirt from the ground and flung it into Mark¡¯s face. Mark instinctively shut his eyes, and in that moment, Mao Tao lunged forward, driving his blade deep into Mark¡¯s left shoulder.


    Mark let out a pained scream but didn¡¯t falter. With a powerful kick to Mao Tao¡¯s chest, he sent the man stumbling backward, though the blade remained lodged in his shoulder, piercing clean through to the other side. Gritting his teeth, Mark yanked the sword out of his flesh, blood pouring from the wound as he fought through the pain.


    To keep the fight fair, Mark hurled Mao Tao¡¯s blade back to him, the weapon clattering at his feet. Then, still bleeding and breathing hard, Mark raised his sword again and settled into a defensive stance, ready for whatever came next.


    Mao Tao snatched up his blade and lunged at Mark, swinging a horizontal slash at his face. Mark ducked just in time, the blade slicing through the air and taking a few strands of his hair with it. Before Mao Tao could follow up with a downward strike, Mark, still crouched, slammed his body into him with the force of a charging bull. Mao Tao hit the ground hard, and before he could react, Mark had his blade pressed firmly against the swordsman¡¯s neck.


    ¡°Do you surrender?¡± Mark demanded.


    The garden fell silent. The guests, many of whom had bet on Mao Tao''s victory, were stunned. They had expected the celebrated swordsman to easily defeat Liao Cheng¡¯s foreign champion. A win for Mao Tao would have embarrassed the General, casting doubt on his judgment. But instead, it was Chancellor Han Fen who stood humiliated. A servant¡ªan outsider¡ªhad defeated his trusted warrior. The Chancellor¡¯s face turned beet red, his fury barely contained as he glared daggers at Mao Tao.


    ¡°I... surrender,¡± Mao Tao said through gritted teeth, his pride crushed.


    Mark stood and turned his back, starting to walk toward the main hall. But before he could take more than a few steps, Mao Tao sprang to his feet and charged, his blade thrusting straight for Mark¡¯s back in a treacherous sneak attack.


    Mark¡¯s instincts, sharpened by countless battles, saved him. He spun around in the blink of an eye, his sword already in motion. His blade reached Mao Tao¡¯s neck before the assassin¡¯s sword could even graze his skin. In a single, fluid motion, Mark severed Mao Tao¡¯s head cleanly from his shoulders. The head flew through the air, trailing a spray of blood, before landing with a sickening thud on the grass. Mao Tao¡¯s lifeless body collapsed moments later, crumpling into a growing pool of crimson.


    The hall erupted in gasps and murmurs, but none were louder than the crash of Han Fen¡¯s wine cup shattering against the floor. He stood, his face twisted in outrage.


    ¡°Preposterous!¡± the Chancellor roared. ¡°This was swordplay, not a duel to the death! Guards! Take this foreign dog down!¡±


    A dozen guards stormed out of the hall, blades drawn, surrounding Mark in a tightening circle.


    General Liao Cheng rose from his seat, his expression cold but his anger unmistakable. ¡°Chancellor,¡± he said, his voice sharp, ¡°it was your man who broke his word and attempted a dishonorable sneak attack after surrendering. My servant acted in self-defense. This was a disgraceful act, and it offends me deeply. I ask you to release my man immediately. You claim this is a feast in my honor¡ªthen honor this reasonable request.¡±


    Han Fen¡¯s lips curled into a brief, sly smile before his face twisted into mock outrage. ¡°Yes, Mao Tao should not have struck again. But your servant could have blocked him instead of taking his life. I honor you, General, and your contributions to the Imperial Court, which is why I¡¯m not holding you accountable for your servant¡¯s actions. But do not question my authority over the likes of a foreign slave. You and I both serve His Imperial Majesty Archon Hanying. It is beneath you to press this matter further.¡±


    Mark¡¯s jaw tightened as he watched the exchange. He understood the Chancellor¡¯s game. This was another trap. If Liao Cheng defended him too strongly, he would appear unreasonable to the courtiers, many of whom admired the General but despised Mark as an upstart foreigner. If the General abandoned him, it would make him look weak and cowardly. Either way, Han Fen stood to gain.


    Mark cursed silently. He wished he hadn¡¯t taken Mao Tao¡¯s head¡ªhe had acted on instinct, but it had played right into the Chancellor¡¯s hands.


    Liao Cheng stood silent for a few moments, his gaze steady. Then he spoke, his voice firm but measured. ¡°You¡¯re being unreasonable, and anyone here can see that. I understand that many among you do not look kindly on my servant because he is a foreigner captured during my campaign, not a native son of our land. But he acted in self-defense against a cowardly attack that would have killed him. If we set aside our prejudices, surely it is clear who is truly at fault. Not the man who defended his life, but the one who tried to take it through dishonorable means.¡±


    He turned to Han Fen, his tone softening but still resolute. ¡°Your Excellency, you are a man of great wisdom and judgment. I know you grieve for your friend Mao Tao, and his loss is tragic. But surely you can see that grief and anger have clouded your reason. A wise man knows when passion misguides him. Killing my servant will not bring justice. He was the victim, not the aggressor. Still, for the sake of peace and your satisfaction, I am willing to punish him myself.¡±


    Liao Cheng rose from the table and strode toward Mark. The guards surrounding him exchanged uneasy glances but stepped aside when the Chancellor waved them off. Liao Cheng motioned for a servant. ¡°Bring me a whip,¡± he commanded. Moments later, the servant returned with one.


    ¡°Kneel!¡± Liao Cheng barked.


    Mark clenched his jaw, fury simmering beneath his calm exterior. He hated this. But defying Liao Cheng now would shame the man who had just defended him, and he would still face dozens of guards while injured. Reluctantly, Mark dropped to his knees.


    The first lash struck his bare back with a sharp crack. Mark gritted his teeth, refusing to cry out. Blood still seeped from his shoulder wound, and the sting of the whip only added to his pain. But he endured. Lash after lash, harder and harder, bruising his back with every strike.


    Liao Cheng paused, his eyes meeting Han Fen¡¯s, silently asking if this was enough. Han Fen offered a sly, mocking smile, as if daring him to do more.


    The whip came down again. And again. And again. Each strike harder than the last, until the lashes tore Mark¡¯s skin and blood ran down his back. But Mark remained stoic. His teeth clenched so tightly they ached, but his face showed nothing. No tears. No cries of pain. Only defiance.


    Han Fen¡¯s smirk faltered slightly. Mark¡¯s silent endurance robbed him of the satisfaction he sought. Liao Cheng, his hand tightening on the whip, glanced back at the Chancellor. This was a game of power, and both men knew it. But Mark wouldn¡¯t break. Even as the whip left his back raw and bleeding, his unyielding resolve was the only response he gave.


    The Chancellor gave Liao Cheng a small nod, signaling him to continue. Without hesitation, the General struck again, the whip cracking against Mark¡¯s back. Blood ran freely now, and the torn skin revealed the ferocity of the punishment. Liao Cheng swung harder, his strikes becoming even more brutal. Gasps rippled through the crowd.


    Even those who despised Mark for being a foreign slave flinched at the relentless cruelty. If the guards had killed him swiftly as Han Fen had originally intended, no one would have thought twice. A quick death would have seemed fair enough. If Mark had fought back and been subdued, that too would have made sense. But this? This slow, calculated brutality against a man who simply knelt and endured¡ªit made many grimace.


    The whip cracked again. More blood splattered. Liao Cheng struck once more, and again. Mark¡¯s back was a mess of raw flesh and blood, his shoulder wound from the fight with Mao Tao still bleeding. Yet, he remained silent, his teeth clenched tightly, his expression unyielding.


    Liao Cheng delivered another strike, each lash intended to show he was impartial and without mercy. But as the punishment dragged on, the mood shifted. Guests exchanged uneasy glances, some swallowing hard, others looking away altogether. Even Chancellor Han Fen¡¯s smug grin began to fade.


    Mark noticed. Through the haze of pain, he realized that Han Fen had trapped himself. The plan to humiliate Liao Cheng had backfired spectacularly. Instead of the General losing face, it was Han Fen who now appeared cruel and petty before the gathered guests. A flicker of satisfaction stirred within Mark despite the agony.


    Another strike. Blood splattered anew. Liao Cheng raised the whip for yet another blow, but before it landed, Han Fen lifted a hand to stop him. ¡°Enough,¡± the Chancellor said, his voice lacking its earlier confidence. ¡°I am satisfied. This misunderstanding is resolved. Let us not ruin this feast meant to honor you, General. Return, and let us celebrate.¡±


    Liao Cheng signaled to one of his personal servants. ¡°Take him back to my manor,¡± he ordered, gesturing toward Mark¡¯s battered form. ¡°See to it that he¡¯s cared for. I¡¯ll remain here.¡±


    As the servant helped Mark away, Liao Cheng returned to his seat at the table. He raised his cup of wine high. ¡°To Chancellor Han Fen,¡± he declared, ¡°for being a gracious host and forgiving my servant Mark.¡±


    Han Fen hesitated, clearly embarrassed, but raised his cup in return. ¡°To the great General, who remains my friend despite this unfortunate incident.¡±


    The guests lifted their cups and drank, but the mood was somber.


    Mark was escorted by the servant back to the General¡¯s manor. As they entered the garden and headed toward the small structure that served as Mark¡¯s temporary home, Guanyu spotted him. Her eyes widened in shock, and she gasped, nearly breaking into tears at the sight of him. Without hesitation, she ran to his side.


    ¡°What happened?¡± she demanded, her voice trembling.


    The servant quickly explained what had occurred, as Mark was too drained and in too much pain to speak.


    ¡°That bastard!¡± Guanyu spat, anger flaring in her eyes. ¡°Why did my father go through with the punishment? Mao Tao was the one at fault!¡±


    Mark, wincing through the pain, managed to speak in a faint, stuttering voice. ¡°Th-the General¡­ outplayed¡­ the Chancellor. H-he¡­ l-lost face.¡±


    Guanyu clenched her fists in frustration, but her concern for Mark took precedence. ¡°Bring the doctor now!¡± she barked at the servant, who immediately sprinted off. She turned back to Mark and slipped an arm under his to help him stay upright.


    ¡°You¡¯ll forgive me for not giving you a lesson tonight, won¡¯t you?¡± Mark said with a weak grin, trying to mask his agony with his usual charm.


    ¡°Don¡¯t joke around at a time like this,¡± Guanyu scolded, though her worry softened her tone.


    Moments later, the doctor arrived with more servants in tow. Together, they helped Mark into his room. The doctor carefully cleaned and dressed his wounds while the servants removed his bloodied silk gown and dressed him in fresh clothes. Once he was taken care of, they left him to rest.


    Mark lay down on the bed with a groan, every movement sending sharp pain through his back. Turning onto his stomach to avoid the agony of lying on his injured back, he tried his best to find some relief. Exhausted and aching, he closed his eyes, willing himself to sleep despite the lingering pain. And he managed to fall asleep.

 CHAPTER 30 - ASSASSINS

    CHAPTER 30


    ASSASSINS


    It was late at night, and the moon lit up the sky, surrounded by a sea of twinkling stars. Mark strolled through the garden, the cool breeze stirring the delicate pink blossoms of the peach trees. A week had passed since the feast, and his wounds had healed well. He was ready to resume Guanyu¡¯s training.


    As he approached, he saw her waiting for him, looking as radiant and spirited as ever. Truth be told, she was the biggest reason he hadn¡¯t tried to escape yet. ¡°Guanyu,¡± he greeted her with a grin. ¡°Have you kept up with your training this past week?¡±


    She nodded eagerly. ¡°I¡¯ve been practicing on my own, going over the moves you showed me.¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s put that to the test.¡±


    Without warning, Mark lunged at her, sword drawn. Guanyu barely managed to unsheath her blade before his weapon hovered at her neck.


    ¡°Lesson one for today,¡± Mark said with a sly smile. ¡°Always be ready for a fight. If you¡¯re not quick enough to draw, you¡¯ve already lost.¡±


    Guanyu groaned in frustration. ¡°That wasn¡¯t fair! I didn¡¯t know the lesson had started!¡±


    ¡°Combat isn¡¯t fair,¡± Mark replied, lowering his blade and stepping back to give her space. ¡°Do you think an enemy is going to send you an invitation before attacking? Now, come at me. Let¡¯s see what you¡¯ve got.¡±


    Guanyu didn¡¯t hesitate. She charged forward with a powerful slash, putting her whole body into the strike. Mark blocked it effortlessly but gave an approving nod. She followed up with a flurry of four more strikes, each faster and stronger than the last, but Mark deflected them all with precision.


    Suddenly, she switched tactics. She started a downward slash, but midway through, she pulled back and swung horizontally toward Mark¡¯s side.


    Mark saw the feint coming and blocked it with a loud clang of steel.


    ¡°Good!¡± he said, genuinely impressed. ¡°You¡¯re using deception like I taught you. But you¡¯ve got to be faster. Don¡¯t give your opponent time to react, or your trick will lose its edge.¡±


    Guanyu nodded, determination blazing in her eyes. ¡°I¡¯ll be faster next time.¡±


    Mark smirked. ¡°That¡¯s the spirit. Now, let¡¯s go again.¡±


    Guanyu charged forward, her sword meeting Mark''s with a sharp clang that echoed through the garden. Just as Mark was about to counter, a sound caught his ear. He raised a hand to signal Guanyu to stop. Spinning around, his eyes locked onto five masked assassins, clad in black and armed with deadly blades.


    ¡°Get back!¡± Mark barked at Guanyu, already launching himself toward the intruders.


    ¡°Not a chance!¡± Guanyu shot back, gripping her sword tightly. ¡°I¡¯ve been waiting to put my training to the test!¡±


    One assassin lunged at Mark, slashing viciously. Mark parried the blade and countered with a flurry of swift, powerful strikes. With a sharp kick to the groin, he sent the man stumbling. Seizing the opening, Mark thrust his sword forward, driving it deep into the assassin¡¯s chest until the blade burst through his back. Mark pulled his blood-soaked weapon free, and the man collapsed in a lifeless heap.


    Nearby, Guanyu squared off with another assassin. His strikes came fast and relentless, forcing her to focus on blocking rather than attacking. A powerful downward slash came dangerously close to taking her head, but she ducked just in time. The blade grazed her, slicing a few strands of her hair. Staying low, Guanyu struck upward, driving her sword into the man¡¯s groin. He howled in pain, staggering back. Wasting no time, she followed up with a slash across his chest, drawing a gush of blood. The assassin crumpled to the ground, unmoving.


    Meanwhile, two assassins rushed Mark at once. He deflected the first attack, then spun to block the second just in time. One of the men lunged again, forcing Mark to roll to the side to dodge. The assassins pressed their attack, coming at him together. Mark parried one blow and lashed out with a powerful kick, knocking the sword from the second assassin¡¯s hand. The unarmed man barely had time to react before Mark¡¯s blade slashed across his throat. A gurgling sound escaped him as blood poured from the wound, and he dropped to the ground, lifeless.


    The remaining assassin didn¡¯t let up. He swung at Mark again, but Mark was faster. Instead of blocking, he sliced cleanly through the man¡¯s wrist, severing his hand. The assassin¡¯s scream filled the air, but it was short-lived. Mark delivered a horizontal slash that cut clean through his torso, leaving his body in two bloody halves on the ground.Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.


    Mark turned toward the last assassin. He charged forward, his blade slicing through the night air. The assassin raised his sword to block, and the clash of steel rang out. Suddenly, Guanyu struck from behind, her sword cutting deep across the assassin¡¯s back. The man screamed in agony, but before he could react, Mark swung his blade in a swift, clean arc. The assassin¡¯s head flew into the air and landed with a sickening thud in a pool of blood, while his headless body crumpled beside it.


    ¡°You did well,¡± Mark said, nodding at Guanyu.


    Just then, a group of guards arrived, led by Pan Jiahao. ¡°What happened here?¡± Jiahao demanded, scanning the scene.


    Before Mark could answer, General Liao Cheng strode onto the scene with four servants and dozens more guards. ¡°What is all this commotion?¡±


    ¡°Assassins,¡± Mark replied bluntly. ¡°If we hadn¡¯t been awake, they might¡¯ve slipped past and killed you.¡±


    Liao Cheng¡¯s eyes narrowed. ¡°What were you doing up this late? And why are you holding a sword? Why is my daughter armed with a bloody weapon?¡± His glare shifted to Jiahao. ¡°And you¡ªweren¡¯t you supposed to keep Mark confined to his hut? Someone explain to me what the hell is going on!¡±


    Guanyu stepped forward, her voice trembling but firm. ¡°Blame me, Father. I convinced Jiahao to let Mark out at night and arm him so he could teach me swordsmanship. I know you don¡¯t approve, but I¡¯ve always dreamed of becoming a swordswoman. I¡ª¡±


    Her words were cut off by a sharp slap across her face. The force of Liao Cheng¡¯s blow sent her stumbling to the ground. ¡°You dare defy me?¡± he roared.


    He turned his wrath on Jiahao. ¡°I trusted you! Not only did you fail to keep the foreigner under guard, but you allowed him to move freely? To train my daughter in defiance of my orders? What if he had escaped? What if she had been hurt?¡±


    ¡°I-I-I¡­¡± Jiahao stammered, his face pale.


    ¡°You are relieved of your duties as head of the night guard!¡± Liao Cheng barked. ¡°And you¡¯ll face fifty lashes for your negligence. Take him away!¡±


    The guards quickly seized Jiahao, dragging him off as he stammered incoherent protests.


    Liao Cheng turned back to Mark, his eyes blazing with fury. ¡°And you¡ª¡±


    Mark cut him off. ¡°I could have escaped. I could¡¯ve taken your daughter hostage. But I didn¡¯t. I stayed and fought to protect your home. If anything, you should be thanking me. And the way you treat your daughter? It¡¯s disgraceful. She¡¯s talented, a natural swordswoman, yet you crush that talent instead of nurturing it. It¡¯s maddening!¡±


    ¡°Do you have children?¡± Liao Cheng snapped.


    ¡°No¡ª¡±


    ¡°Then shut the fuck up! You have no right to tell me how to raise my daughter!¡± Liao Cheng¡¯s voice was like thunder. ¡°If you weren¡¯t so valuable, I¡¯d have you executed for this. But from now on, you¡¯ll be under constant watch by men loyal only to me. I was considering rewarding you with more freedom after your actions at Han Fen¡¯s feast, but you¡¯ve ruined any chance of that!¡±


    Mark¡¯s eyes burned with defiance. ¡°I¡¯ve had enough of being treated like your servant. I was a knight of Archon Anthemios. I¡¯ve slain an Elder Dragon. You don¡¯t scare me. The only reason I stayed was because of your daughter. But maybe it¡¯s time I leave and return to my life as a wandering swordsman.¡±


    Liao Cheng laughed coldly. ¡°I¡¯d like to see you try.¡±


    He clapped his hands, and over twenty guards armed with swords and axes surrounded Mark in an instant.


    Mark swung his sword, gripping it tightly even as doubt gnawed at him. This was hopeless. Taking on over twenty well-trained, armored guards charging at him was pure suicide. He¡¯d faced tough odds before¡ªmonsters, bandits, witches¡ªbut this? This was on a whole other level. I did slay an Elder Dragon once, he reminded himself. Too bad I can¡¯t remember how.


    Guanyu rushed forward, throwing herself at her father¡¯s feet. Tears streamed down her face as she pleaded, ¡°Father, please don¡¯t punish him! It was my idea to have Mark train me. If someone deserves punishment, it¡¯s me!¡±


    Liao Cheng sneered, shoving her to the ground. ¡°Oh, don¡¯t worry, you¡¯ll get your punishment. From now on, you¡¯re grounded. As for Mark, he has two choices: throw down his sword and accept constant supervision, or get beaten senseless and then placed under guard. It¡¯s up to him.¡±


    Before Mark could respond, one of the guards lunged at him with an axe. Mark parried the blow, but the clang of steel barely faded before the rest of the guards surged forward. More than twenty blades and axes closed in, pressing against his silk robe from all directions. Mark froze, trapped, unable to move.


    Liao Cheng crossed his arms. ¡°I am not a cruel man. Surrender, and you can avoid a beating. Yes, you disobeyed me and trained my daughter against my direct orders, but I acknowledge your effort in killing those assassins. That¡¯s why I won¡¯t punish you further¡ªaside from putting you under stricter watch. This time, with men who aren¡¯t fools like Jiahao.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll throw down my sword¡ªbut only if you don¡¯t punish Lady Guanyu. She doesn¡¯t deserve this.¡±


    Liao Cheng raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a mocking grin. ¡°You think you¡¯re in a position to negotiate? With over a dozen blades at your throat?¡±


    ¡°You said it yourself¡ªI¡¯m too valuable to kill,¡± Mark said, a faint smirk creeping onto his face.


    ¡°True,¡± Liao Cheng admitted. ¡°But I could have my men beat you within an inch of your life. That might remind you of your place.¡±


    Mark chuckled. ¡°Do it.¡±


    ¡°You realize getting beaten won¡¯t change a thing for my daughter, right?¡± Liao Cheng asked, tilting his head.


    Mark shrugged, his smirk turning into a glare. ¡°At this point, it¡¯s not about her. I¡¯m just done being pushed around by an arrogant asshole.¡±


    Liao Cheng laughed. ¡°You remind me why you¡¯re such a valuable asset. Fine. Guanyu won¡¯t face further punishment. But understand this¡ªthere will be no more lessons for her. Not from you, not from anyone. Now, stand down.¡±


    Mark exhaled sharply, tossing his sword to the ground. The guards wasted no time, escorting him back to his hut. They shoved him inside and slammed the door shut.


    Mark let out a tired sigh as he collapsed onto the bed. His body ached, his mind swirled, but he didn¡¯t have the energy to dwell on any of it. Within half an hour, exhaustion claimed him, and he drifted off into a deep, dreamless sleep.

 JOURNAL OF ATHANASIUS (PART III - REGIONAL IDENTITIES)

    JOURNAL OF ATHANASIUS


    PART III - REGIONAL IDENTITIES


    The continent of Xerath is ruled by the seven Archons, Giants who overthrew the Dragons three thousand years ago and established their dominion over the land. For centuries beyond counting, the Archons maintained peace, cooperating to preserve a balance of power. Yet, despite their harmony, regional differences emerged in their realms as their human subjects developed distinct cultures over time.


    All humans speak variations of the Mother Tongue, as it is known, though these variations bear significant linguistic differences. This is evident in the naming of places and people, where toponyms and personal names vary greatly between realms. Due to the vast distances that hinder frequent long-distance contact, each realm has developed its own customs and traditions, even though all remain steadfast in their worship of the Holy Church. These differences in regional and cultural identity have bred distrust among humans of differing realms.Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.


    Some heretics, rebellious and without sense, claim that this division was deliberately imposed by the Archons to prevent humans from forming a unified identity and rising against the Giants. Such claims are, in my view, utter nonsense. They contradict history, reason, and my unwavering loyalty to Archon Anthemios. Nevertheless, as a diligent scholar, I record this theory for posterity.


    For nearly two years, war has raged between Archon Innokentios and the other Archons. Though their armies now fight as one, regional prejudices have weakened the coalition. Duke Alexandros Karamitsios, the most skilled general of Archon Innokentios, has deftly exploited these divisions, achieving victories on the battlefield despite being outnumbered by his foes.


    May the High God see fit to end this war and restore peace to the continent.

 CHAPTER 31 - EARNING FREEDOM

    CHAPTER 31


    EARNING FREEDOM


    Mark was led into the grand hall of Liao Cheng¡¯s manor, flanked by guards who had been shadowing him relentlessly for days. The constant supervision had been driving him up the wall, but there wasn¡¯t much he could do about it. As he stepped inside, he saw the General seated cross-legged on a mat, sipping green tea. Liao Cheng gestured for Mark to join him, and Mark reluctantly sat down.


    ¡°I had my men inspect the bodies of those assassins you dealt with the other night,¡± Liao Cheng began. ¡°One of them was confirmed as a member of the Assassin¡¯s Guild. After some digging, we discovered they were hired by men connected to Chancellor Han Fen. The evidence is unfortunately not strong enough to topple the bastard though.¡±


    Mark raised an eyebrow. ¡°I¡¯m guessing you didn¡¯t drag me in here just to share the news?¡±


    Liao Cheng smirked faintly. ¡°You¡¯ve got a chance to earn your freedom. While I¡¯d hate to part with such a valuable asset, taking out Han Fen would be worth it.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re asking me to assassinate the Chancellor?¡± Mark said, leaning forward slightly.


    ¡°Exactly,¡± Liao Cheng replied. ¡°I¡¯ll be hosting a feast in his honor¡ªan extension of courtesy after his own event. During the feast, you¡¯ll kill him. But here¡¯s the catch: it must look like the act of a rogue servant. The moment you strike, my men will be trying to take you down. If you escape, you¡¯ll have earned your freedom. If you fail¡­ well, that¡¯s your problem. I can¡¯t risk sparing you. Plausible deniability is key. It has to seem like I had nothing to do with it.¡±


    ¡°Even if you aren¡¯t blamed for the assassination itself, won¡¯t it look bad for you to have a servant go rogue like that?¡±


    Liao Cheng chuckled, taking another sip of tea. ¡°My military victories have earned me powerful allies in the Imperial Court. It¡¯s the reason Han Fen has been trying to eliminate me. They¡¯ll argue my case to the Archon. They¡¯ll make sure I¡¯m not held accountable for the actions of one unruly foreign servant. They will argue you were angry about the punishment you received over the death of Mao Tao, acted on your own, and that there wasn¡¯t much I could have done to stop you.¡±


    Mark sighed, rubbing his temples. ¡°You realize this will make me the most wanted man in the entire realm.¡±


    ¡°Exactly,¡± Liao Cheng said with a shrug. ¡°Which is why, if you survive, I¡¯d suggest leaving Archon Hanying¡¯s territory as fast as possible. Find some other land where your face isn¡¯t on every wanted poster.¡±


    Mark knew this was his one shot at freedom. The only thing that had kept him here was Guanyu, but he hadn¡¯t seen her since that night. So he made his decision. With a firm nod, he agreed. He would take the risk.


    The guards escorted him back to his room, and the days that followed flew by. Mark was given permission to train in the garden, sharpening his sword skills under the watchful eyes of a dozen guards. It was all part of the plan to prepare him for the feast.


    And then, the night arrived. The manor buzzed with activity. Guests in elegant silk gowns strolled through the lantern-lit garden, making their way to the grand hall, where long wooden tables were arranged and laden with food and drink.


    Mark waited in the shadows of the garden, wearing chainmail armor beneath his cloak. Both his swords¡ªhis trusted blade and the spirit sword¡ªrested in their sheaths at his side. Outside the manor gates, his white horse stood ready, saddled with his belongings. This should be simple enough, he thought, steeling himself.


    Then he saw him. Chancellor Han Fen, flanked by a dozen servants and guards, entered the garden.


    ¡°His Excellency the Chancellor has arrived!¡± a servant announced, their voice cutting through the evening air.


    Liao Cheng emerged from the hall, his steps deliberate and his face alight with feigned respect. ¡°Welcome, your Excellency,¡± he said, bowing slightly. ¡°It is a great honor to have you here. This feast is a humble token of gratitude for the magnificent one you hosted for me.¡±


    Han Fen inclined his head. ¡°Thank you for your generosity. I¡¯m sure tonight will be as delightful as my own gathering.¡±


    Servants guided Han Fen to the seat of honor at the head of the table. He sat down, and a servant poured him a cup of wine. Liao Cheng took the seat beside him and raised his own cup, his voice booming. ¡°To Chancellor Han Fen, a wise and sagacious minister of our esteemed Archon!¡±


    The hall echoed with the sound of raised cups and the polite hum of agreement. Everyone drank, including Han Fen, who smiled thinly as he sipped his wine.


    Mark stayed back in the garden, keeping out of sight. He watched, waited, and gripped the hilt of his sword. Soon, his moment would come.


    Minutes ticked by as the guests feasted, drank, and lost themselves in the music and dance. The hall was alive with the rhythm of drums and the fluid movements of dancers, holding everyone in rapt attention. Then came the sound of a sharp clap¡ªLiao Cheng¡¯s signal.The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    Mark stepped into the hall, all eyes turning to him as he walked to the space before the main table.


    ¡°My servant,¡± Liao Cheng announced, ¡°will demonstrate his swordsmanship for your enjoyment.¡±


    Han Fen sighed, clearly unimpressed.


    ¡°Think of it as his apology for the unfortunate death of Mao Tao,¡± Liao Cheng continued. ¡°He insisted on performing to entertain your Excellency.¡±


    The Chancellor gave a curt nod, waving his hand for Mark to proceed.


    Mark unsheathed his blade and began an elegant display, cutting through the air with swift, precise movements. The audience watched, mildly intrigued, as the blade danced in his hands. Han Fen leaned back in his chair, looking just entertained enough to keep watching.


    Then, in an instant, the air shifted. Mark lunged forward, closing the distance in the blink of an eye, and drove his sword straight into the Chancellor¡¯s chest. The blade sank deep before anyone could react. Mark pulled it free in one clean motion, and Han Fen¡¯s lifeless body slumped over the table, blood spilling onto the polished wood.


    The hall erupted in chaos. Guests screamed, stumbling back from their seats.


    ¡°Guards!¡± Liao Cheng roared, pointing at Mark. ¡°Kill this treacherous dog!¡±


    The guards drew their weapons and charged, their blades glinting under the lantern light. Mark turned and sprinted toward the garden, but two guards barred his path as the rest thundered after him from the hall.


    The first guard swung at him, and Mark¡¯s blade parried the attack. Then, but with one swift motion, Mark drove his blade through the first guard¡¯s forehead, killing him instantly. Blood sprayed as the body crumpled.


    The second guard swung at Mark but he parried his attack and landed a brutal kick on his groin, causing him to stumble back. As the man doubled over, Mark didn¡¯t hesitate¡ªhe slashed across the guard¡¯s face, dropping him in a heap.


    With the path clear for now, Mark took off again, running through the garden as the shouts of the pursuing guards closed in behind him.


    Mark sprinted through the garden, guards shouting and pounding the ground behind him. Suddenly, three guards appeared ahead, cutting him off. They had come sprinting from the side to block the exit. One of them, a burly man wielding an axe, swung it with a grunt. Mark twisted just in time, the axe blade tearing through his cloak with a loud rip.


    Wasting no time, Mark yanked off the cloak and hurled it into the man¡¯s face as he wound up for another strike. Blinded by the fabric, the guard staggered back. Before he could tear it away, Mark lunged forward and drove his sword deep into the man¡¯s chest.


    Mark wrenched the blade free as the other two guards rushed him with their swords. He ducked under their wild swings and rolled to his left, creating space. The guards spun around and charged again, but Mark vaulted into the air, landing smoothly behind them. Before they could react, he stabbed backward, his sword plunging through one of their backs, the tip bursting out of his chest. The guard groaned, collapsing in a heap as Mark pulled the blade free.


    The last guard turned, slashing his sword in a desperate arc. Mark spun just in time to parry, the clash of steel ringing through the garden. Sparks flew from the force of the strike. Mark knew he had seconds before the others caught up. The guard lunged, thrusting his blade at Mark¡¯s gut, but Mark sidestepped, narrowly avoiding the tip. In the same motion, he slashed his sword across the guard¡¯s neck. The man froze mid-motion as his head tumbled off his shoulders, both the head and body crumpling to the blood-soaked ground.


    No time to waste. Mark dashed toward the garden¡¯s exit, his breath ragged. He burst into the street, spotting his white horse waiting where he¡¯d left it. The thundering of boots echoed behind him. With a leap, Mark landed in the saddle just as the guards swarmed out of the garden.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go, boy!¡± he shouted, slapping the horse¡¯s flank. The animal bolted forward, hooves pounding the road as startled citizens leapt out of the way, tumbling onto the street corners.


    ¡°Stop him!¡± one guard yelled.


    An archer stepped into view, bow in hand. The first arrow hissed through the air, barely missing Mark as he ducked low, the shaft grazing his hair. Another arrow flew, whistling past his cheek and slicing a thin line across his skin, drawing blood. He grimaced but kept riding. A third arrow struck his back, the impact jarring him, but his chainmail armor held strong, deflecting the shot.


    With the wind whipping past him and shouts fading behind, Mark pushed his horse harder. His horse thundered through the crowded streets of Zhongdao, hooves pounding as people screamed and scattered. Some managed to dive out of the way just in time, while others weren¡¯t so lucky, knocked aside like rag dolls. Mark didn¡¯t slow down. He couldn¡¯t afford to care. Every second counted. By now, he was the most wanted man in the realm, and his only chance was to get out of the city¡ªfast.


    Ahead, the massive city gates loomed open. A dozen guards stood at the exit, unaware of who Mark was or what had happened. He still had the advantage.


    ¡°St¨C!¡± one of the guards started to shout. Mark spurred his horse forward, the beast barreling straight into the man and sending him flying, blood trailing through the air. The others scrambled in confusion as Mark charged through the gate, leaving chaos behind him.


    ¡°Get him!¡± came the shout, and two guards mounted their horses in a frenzy, racing after him.


    Mark galloped down the dirt road outside the city, dust billowing in his wake. The two guards were closing in, wielding swords, their armored bodies swaying in the saddle.


    Mark made a split-second decision. He yanked the reins and turned his horse sharply, charging straight toward his pursuers. One guard¡¯s face twisted in surprise. Before the man could react, Mark hurled his sword like a javelin. The blade flew true, striking the guard square in the forehead. Blood sprayed as the man toppled lifeless from his horse, crumpling onto the road.


    Mark galloped up to the body and ripped the sword free, slick with blood. Just in time. The second guard was already on him. Steel clashed as the man swung his sword in a furious arc, Mark parrying just in time. Sparks flew as their blades met, again and again.


    He couldn¡¯t drag this out. More guards would be coming soon. Mark urged his horse forward, ducking low to avoid another slash. He rode past the guard, forcing some distance between them, then turned sharply to face him again.


    With a deep breath, Mark kicked his horse into a sprint. As the two closed the gap, Mark did the unthinkable¡ªhe stood in the saddle. Balancing on the galloping horse, he propelled himself forward, launching his body through the air.


    He collided hard with the guard, tackling him off his horse. The two men hit the ground with a thud, rolling through the tall grass in a tangle of limbs. Mark scrambled on top of him, pinning the man down, and drove his fist into his face¡ªonce, twice¡ªbefore plunging his sword straight into the man¡¯s skull. The guard went still.


    Panting, Mark yanked the bloodied blade free and pushed himself to his feet. His horse had stopped nearby, waiting for him. He wasted no time, swinging himself back into the saddle.


    Spurring the horse on, Mark galloped away, the city of Zhongdao shrinking behind him. From now on, he was once again a wandering swordsman.

 CHAPTER 32 - FUGITIVE

    CHAPTER 32


    FUGITIVE


    Mark rode into a small, sleepy village just as the sun sank below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple. The day¡¯s light was fading fast, and the air was thick with the smell of burning wood from scattered chimneys. It had been nearly a month since his daring escape from Zhongdao, and he was still deep in the lands of Archon Hanying, where his name was at the top of every wanted list. He pressed southward, toward the domain of Archon Vlad, hoping to cross the border before his dwindling coins ran out. Once there, he could look for mercenary work without every sword in the realm aimed at his back.


    For now, though, survival came first. His horse¡¯s hooves clattered along the dirt road before stopping in front of the village¡¯s sole inn. It was a shabby, weathered building, the kind you¡¯d expect in a place home to just a few dozen souls. Mark dismounted, giving his weary horse a pat on the neck, and stepped inside.


    The inn¡¯s common room was small and dimly lit, with the low murmur of voices filling the air. At one table, a group of old farmers sipped wine and shared stories. At another, younger villagers laughed and cursed as they tossed dice. Mark headed to the counter, where a middle-aged man with a scruffy beard stood polishing a cup.


    ¡°I¡¯ll take some wine and a meal,¡± Mark said. ¡°Something cheap but decent.¡±


    The innkeeper nodded and disappeared into the back. Moments later, he returned with a plate of pork and rice and a cup of wine. Mark dug in, devouring the meal like a starving wolf and downing the wine in quick gulps. The food was plain, but after days on the road, it might as well have been a feast.


    His moment of peace didn¡¯t last long. The door to the inn swung open with a bang, and four men strode in. The leader was middle-aged with a thick, bristling mustache, while the other three were younger, their faces set with cocky determination. All of them wore long, flowing purple silk robes.


    ¡°Mark!¡± the mustached man barked, pointing a finger at him. ¡°The fugitive! We are from the Monkey Sword Sect, here to bring you to justice. Your crimes are unforgivable!¡±


    Mark looked up from his plate, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and let out a dry laugh. ¡°Justice? Spare me the righteous talk. You¡¯re here for the bounty, not some noble cause. Han Fen wasn¡¯t exactly a saint, you know. Hypocrites, the lot of you.¡±


    ¡°Silence, you scum!¡± one of the younger men snarled, his hand flying to his sword. ¡°The Monkey Sword Sect stands for justice and order. We¡¯re nothing like a mercenary dog like you!¡± The others drew their swords in unison, the steel glinting in the dim light. ¡°Prepare yourself, fugitive. You won¡¯t leave this village alive.¡±


    Mark smirked, slowly standing up and cracking his neck. ¡°You boys want a fight? Fine by me.¡±


    The villagers bolted from the inn, tripping over each other in their rush to escape the brewing fight. The three disciples charged at Mark together, their swords flashing as they aimed for him in unison. Mark rolled to his left, narrowly dodging their attacks. One of the disciples was quicker than the others, rushing at him again with his sword raised.


    Thinking fast, Mark grabbed a chair and hurled it at the charging disciple. The man sliced the chair clean in half with his sword, but by then Mark was already upon him. In one swift motion, Mark unsheathed his blade and slashed the man¡¯s left leg. Blood spattered the floor as the disciple let out a howl of pain, stumbling back to create space between them.


    Before Mark could press the advantage, the other two disciples lunged at him, their swords coming at him from different angles. With a sharp clang, Mark parried both blades with a precise flick of his own. The disciples kept up their relentless assault¡ªone slash missed his face by mere inches, grazing his forehead and drawing a thin line of blood. Another strike hit his chest, the force jolting him, but his chainmail absorbed the blow, leaving him sore but unscathed.


    As the third disciple joined the fray, Mark retreated, stepping back to gain some breathing room. Spotting a table nearby, he heaved it into the air and threw it at the three men. Two of them dove aside, but the third wasn¡¯t fast enough and took the full brunt of the table, crashing to the ground with a groan.


    Mark seized the moment. He darted forward, leaping high, and drove his blade downward into the fallen man¡¯s chest. The disciple let out a final gasp as the sword pierced through him. Mark wrenched his blood-soaked blade free and backed up just in time as the remaining two disciples came at him again.The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    One disciple sprinted at him recklessly. Mark sidestepped at the last second, letting the man barrel past him. In a fluid motion, Mark twisted his body and thrust his blade backward, sinking it deep into the disciple¡¯s back. The sword emerged from his chest, and the man crumpled to the ground in a spreading pool of blood.


    Only one disciple remained. He lunged at Mark, slashing for his face. Mark caught the strike with his sword, their blades ringing out as they clashed again and again. Mark feinted with a thrust toward the man¡¯s chest. Predictably, the disciple moved to block it, but Mark was already stepping back, shifting his aim downward. With a sharp thrust, his blade sank deep into the man¡¯s groin. The disciple screamed, his voice echoing through the shattered inn. Mark wasted no time, slashing the man¡¯s throat in one swift motion. Blood sprayed out, and the man collapsed to the floor, choking on his final breath.


    Now, only the middle-aged man remained. He calmly drew his sword, his expression cold and confident. "Unlike my disciples," he said, tapping the blade with his finger, "I¡¯ve mastered Qi cultivation."


    Mark said nothing. He sheathed his regular sword and drew his spirit sword instead. Its green glow bathed the room in an otherworldly light.


    For a moment, the two men stood still, their eyes locked, the tension thick enough to cut. Then, without warning, the man surged forward with blinding speed. Mark barely managed to sidestep as the man¡¯s sword crashed into the wooden counter. The impact was so powerful that the counter shattered into splinters, as if a battering ram had smashed through it.


    Mark muttered a spell from Vivian¡¯s grimoire under his breath. ¡°Tempus moratus, motus tardus, vis iners.¡± The air shimmered briefly, and when the man charged again, his movements had slowed to something closer to human speed. Even so, his strikes were fast, and the raw power of his Qi-enhanced sword was overwhelming.


    The man swung again, and Mark raised his spirit sword just in time to block. The force of the clash rattled his arms; a normal sword would have shattered instantly. Another strike followed¡ªa diagonal slash that sliced through Mark¡¯s chainmail, sending sparks flying and leaving a bleeding wound across his chest.


    The next attack was an upward swing. Mark parried it, but the sheer strength of the blow sent him stumbling backward, struggling to keep his footing. His chest burned, and blood dripped down his armor.


    Mark gritted his teeth. This was much harder than he had expected.


    The man came at Mark again, his sword slicing through the air. Mark rolled to the right, dodging the blade and letting the attacker stumble past. Without missing a beat, Mark surged forward and slashed his sword across the man¡¯s back. The blade bit deep, drawing blood and shredding the purple silk of his gown.


    The man spun around with a growl and swung his sword. Mark parried, but the sheer force of the blow sent him staggering backward. He quickly shifted direction, leaping to put space between them. His eyes landed on one of the abandoned tables, where farmers had been drinking before chaos broke loose. Mark grabbed a cup still full of wine.


    Just as the man charged again, Mark hurled the wine into his face. The man instinctively shut his eyes, and Mark took the opening. He lunged forward, driving his blade deep into the man¡¯s left shoulder.


    Before Mark could pull his sword free, the man let out a roar and kicked him hard in the chest. The impact sent Mark flying backward, crashing into a table and smashing it to pieces. Dazed but determined, Mark scrambled to his feet just as the man approached, his movements slower now, his face twisted in pain from the sword still embedded in his shoulder.


    Mark drew his regular sword, knowing full well it couldn¡¯t stand up to the Qi-infused blade in a direct clash. He had to be smart.


    The man gritted his teeth and advanced. Mark spotted a jagged shard of broken wood from the table nearby. Without hesitation, he grabbed it and hurled it like a spear. The man swung his blade to block the makeshift projectile. That was the moment Mark needed.


    As the man¡¯s sword deflected the wood, Mark lunged. His blade plunged deep into the man¡¯s chest, slipping between his ribs. The man¡¯s sword, in a downward motion, had nearly grazed Mark¡¯s neck, but Mark was faster. His strike landed first, the man gasping as blood bubbled from his lips.


    Mark yanked his sword free, and the man stumbled backward, struggling to stay upright. Without wasting a second, Mark closed the distance, grabbed the spirit sword still lodged in the man¡¯s shoulder, and pulled it out. Now armed with both blades, he moved swiftly.


    In a single, decisive motion, Mark slashed with both swords. The man¡¯s head flew from his shoulders, spinning through the air before landing with a sickening thud on the blood-soaked floor.


    Mark planted a boot against the lifeless body¡¯s chest and kicked it over. The corpse collapsed, adding to the growing pool of blood spreading across the ruined inn.


    The inn¡¯s middle-aged owner, who had been hiding in one of the rooms during the chaos, finally crept out. He took one look at the wreckage¡ªbroken tables, blood-soaked floors, and splintered wood everywhere¡ªand let out a loud, frustrated scream. ¡°Damn it! My inn is ruined!¡±


    Mark, calmly sheathing his swords, glanced around at the mess. ¡°So, uh¡­ can I still rent a room?¡± he asked. ¡°It¡¯s late, and I¡¯d rather not be on the road after dark.¡±


    The owner threw his arms in the air. ¡°Are you kidding me? Look at this place! It¡¯s a disaster!¡±


    Mark held up his hands apologetically. ¡°Hey, I get it. You have every right to be angry. But let¡¯s be real¡ªit was those Monkey-Sect-whatever guys who started all this. I just finished it. And look, I¡¯ll pay you for the room. Easy cash, right?¡±


    The man glared at him, sighed heavily, and eventually gave a defeated nod. ¡°Fine,¡± he muttered.


    Mark stayed the night in what remained of the inn. At dawn, he saddled his horse and rode out, heading south toward the lands of Archon Vlad. Such was the life of a wandering swordsman¡ªalways on the road.

 CHAPTER 33 - SNOW MONSTER

    CHAPTER 33


    SNOW MONSTER


    Mark¡¯s horse trotted toward a small, snow-dusted village. Two days had passed since he crossed the border from Archon Hanying¡¯s realm into Archon Vlad¡¯s lands. The dirt road beneath him was frozen and hard, the morning sky a brooding gray, thick with clouds. The village lay tucked against the edge of a massive forest to the east. Thatched rooftops sagged under heavy snow, while thin plumes of smoke curled lazily from the chimneys.


    As Mark rode into the village, the peasants stopped what they were doing to stare. Their hollow cheeks and threadbare clothes spoke of hard times. He understood their curiosity¡ªthis was the kind of place where a well-armed foreigner was a rare sight.


    A stocky, middle-aged man in a fur coat shuffled toward him, his ruddy face standing out among the gaunt villagers. ¡°Foreigner,¡± the man called. ¡°I¡¯m Pribislav, the mayor of this village. I see you¡¯re armored and armed.¡±


    Mark raised an eyebrow. ¡°I am. That a problem?¡±


    ¡°Not at all,¡± Pribislav said quickly. ¡°Actually, I was wondering¡ªare you by any chance a sword-for-hire?¡±


    Mark nodded. ¡°I am. But my services aren¡¯t cheap.¡±


    ¡°Good,¡± Pribislav said with a sigh of relief. ¡°We need help. There¡¯s a monster in the forest that¡¯s been killing our people. Hunting and woodcutting are the lifeblood of this village, but now no one dares go near the trees. A survivor once described the creature as massive, but he died from his wounds before giving us any details. All we know is it¡¯s killed dozens and left us desperate.¡±


    Mark¡¯s face remained impassive. ¡°Seventy gold coins.¡±


    Pribislav¡¯s jaw dropped. ¡°We don¡¯t have that kind of money!¡±


    ¡°Sixty, then. That¡¯s as low as I¡¯ll go.¡±


    The mayor cursed under his breath but reluctantly nodded. ¡°Fine.¡±


    ¡°Good. Now take me to your inn¡ªor whatever passes for one here. I want food and drink before I go monster-hunting.¡±


    Pribislav led Mark to a run-down building at the edge of the village. Dismounting his horse, Mark pushed through the creaky door into the dim interior. Inside, only two men sat quietly nursing drinks. The mustached bartender served him a steaming bowl of soup¡ªbeets, cabbage, carrots, onions, potatoes, and tomatoes¡ªand a mug of frothy beer.


    Mark drained the beer in a single gulp and dug into the soup. It was simple, earthy, and surprisingly good. When he finished, he stood, wiped his mouth, and strode outside. Mounting his horse, he gave a curt nod to Pribislav before galloping toward the dark, looming forest.


    The hunt was on.


    The forest was blanketed in snow, its towering trees and gray, overcast sky casting the place in an eerie gloom despite the early hour. As Mark rode cautiously through the frozen landscape, the first flakes of fresh snow began to fall, adding to the thick layer already covering the ground. The silence was broken only by the crunch of his horse¡¯s hooves, but then he saw it¡ªa sudden flash of white ahead.Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.


    Mark¡¯s eyes narrowed. He dismounted, unsheathing his sword, and moved forward cautiously. A low, menacing growl rumbled through the trees, setting his nerves on edge. Then, it appeared.


    The creature stood over three meters tall, its massive frame covered in thick white fur. Sharp claws extended from its powerful hands, and jagged teeth jutted from its snarling jaws. But its eyes were the most chilling¡ªfiery red, burning with rage. The beast threw back its head and howled, the sound echoing through the forest like a wolf¡¯s war cry.


    Mark gritted his teeth, raising his sword. ¡°Time to die, you ugly bastard!¡±


    The monster lunged, faster than its size suggested possible. Snow sprayed as it charged, its claws swiping for Mark¡¯s head. He ducked just in time, the beast¡¯s hand slamming into a tree behind him with enough force to shatter it into splinters. Still crouched, Mark drove his blade into the creature¡¯s leg.


    The monster¡¯s fur was thick and tough, but Mark¡¯s strike found its mark, piercing through to draw dark, viscous blood. The beast roared in pain and rage, lashing out with both claws. Mark yanked his sword free and leapt backward, avoiding the attack by a hair¡¯s breadth.


    Dark blood dripped from his blade as he prepared for the next assault. The creature came at him again, swiping with its left claw. Mark parried the strike, but the beast didn¡¯t relent. It followed with a ferocious double-handed attack.


    Mark dove to the left, narrowly avoiding the brunt of the blow, but not before the monster¡¯s claws raked across his chest. The razor-sharp talons sliced through his chainmail like paper, leaving a burning gash that quickly began to bleed.


    Mark stumbled back, his grip tightening on his sword. The beast growled, its fiery eyes locked on him, ready for more.


    The beast barreled toward him, its massive form kicking up snow like a storm. Mark sidestepped but lost his footing, crashing to the ground. Before he could scramble up, the creature loomed over him, its jagged teeth inches from his face. He could feel the sickening warmth of its breath, foul enough to churn his stomach. As its jaws closed in, Mark thrust his sword upward with all his strength, driving the blade deep into the beast¡¯s chest.


    The creature let out a deafening scream, its pain giving Mark the precious second he needed. He yanked the sword free, blood spraying onto the snow, and rolled to the side just as the beast lunged again. Scrambling to his feet, Mark¡¯s breath came in sharp, cold gasps.


    The beast turned, dark blood soaking its pristine white fur, its fiery eyes blazing with fury. Mark didn¡¯t wait. He leaped, landing squarely on its massive head, and drove his sword down with a ferocious yell. The blade plunged deep, piercing its brain.


    The monster collapsed with a final, guttural roar, its body crashing to the snowy ground. Mark, still perched on its head, was thrown off, rolling through the snow as the beast lay still in a spreading pool of dark blood. He pushed himself up, panting, and let out a relieved sigh.


    Without wasting time, he approached the carcass. Using his sword, he worked methodically, severing the beast¡¯s head. Blood seeped into the snow as he lifted the grotesque trophy and carried it back to his horse. After securing it to the saddle, Mark mounted and rode back to the village.


    Snow fell steadily as he entered, muffling the quiet streets. Only a few villagers braved the cold, and among them was Pribislav, standing near the square. Mark dismounted and tossed the beast¡¯s head at the mayor¡¯s feet.


    ¡°Fuck!¡± Pribislav shouted, jumping back. His eyes widened in shock and fear. ¡°What a monster!¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t kill it for fun,¡± Mark said, his tone cold. ¡°I want my reward.¡±


    The mayor nodded hastily, fumbling to hand Mark a pouch of coins. Mark tucked it away, mounted his horse, and rode to the village inn.


    The rest of the day passed in comfort. He feasted on hearty dishes, drank his fill of beer, and enjoyed the warmth of the fire. That night, he sank into a small but cozy bed, pulling thick blankets over himself as he drifted into a deep sleep.


    At dawn, Mark rose with the first light, saddled his horse, and left the village behind, ready to chase the next contract.

 CHAPTER 34 - THE CURSED BEAR

    CHAPTER 34


    THE CURSED BEAR


    Mark rode along the frozen dirt road, his horse''s hooves crunching against the icy surface. Each breath he exhaled puffed out in visible clouds in the biting cold. The wind howled through the barren landscape, carrying fresh snowflakes that blanketed everything around him. The sky loomed overhead in a dull, oppressive gray, the clouds thick and endless.


    In the distance, he spotted a small village nestled against the bleak horizon. Smoke curled lazily from the chimneys of thatched rooftops, promising warmth. Spurring his horse forward, Mark urged it into a faster gallop, eager to escape the bitter chill.


    When he reached the village, the streets were deserted, the biting cold driving everyone indoors. The only sound was the wind whistling through the narrow pathways. He guided his horse down the solitary road until he spotted a large wooden building with a stable beside it¡ªclearly an inn. Dismounting, he led his horse to the stable, tied it securely, and patted its neck before heading inside.


    The inn was modest but inviting. A few villagers sat around wooden tables, drinking beer and chatting quietly. A crackling fireplace at the far end cast a warm glow over the room, fighting off the chill that seeped through the walls.


    Mark approached the counter, where a striking woman stood. She couldn¡¯t have been older than her twenties, with long blonde hair, piercing blue eyes, and a dress that intentionally showcased her ample curves. Mark¡¯s gaze drifted for a moment before she caught him.


    ¡°Are you going to order something,¡± she teased with a smirk, ¡°or just keep staring at my boobs?¡±


    Mark didn¡¯t miss a beat. With a roguish grin, he replied, ¡°A beer and whatever food you¡¯ve got would be nice.¡±


    She chuckled, fetching a frothy mug and a steaming bowl of soup. Setting them down in front of him, she leaned on the counter and added with a wink, ¡°If anyone else stared like that, I¡¯d tell them to fuck off. But since you¡¯re easy on the eyes, I¡¯ll let you look. Or maybe do more.¡±


    Mark raised his mug, gulping down the beer with a smirk. ¡°Tempting offer. But first, I need to know if there¡¯s any work for someone like me. I¡¯m a sword-for-hire. You got any trouble in these parts?¡±


    The woman tilted her head thoughtfully. ¡°Some folks here claim they¡¯ve seen a bear near the village. Not just any bear, though¡ªone that stands and walks like a man. Bigger than any bear they¡¯ve ever seen. Could be they were just drunk, though.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡±


    ¡°Sobieslawa.¡±


    ¡°Sobieslawa, I ain¡¯t working for free. What¡¯s the offer?¡±


    ¡°Food and drinks on the house. Plus, we can sleep together.¡±


    Mark chuckled. ¡°I thought we were going to have fun anyway. Seems like you¡¯re double-dipping on the deal.¡±


    She laughed. ¡°You caught me. Fine, food and drinks are the payment. Take it or leave it¡ªI¡¯m not shelling out coin for what may turn out to be some drunken fantasy.¡±


    Mark shrugged and finished his beer. ¡°Not much of a bounty, but it¡¯ll save me some coin. Guess I¡¯ll take a look.¡±


    He left the inn, mounted his horse, and galloped out of the village, the cold wind biting his face as snowflakes drifted down. He rode in wide circles around the village, scanning the snowy landscape for any sign of the creature. At first, nothing seemed unusual¡ªjust a quiet, desolate winter scene.


    But as he headed north on his third sweep, something caught his eye. There it was. The creature stood upright like a man, its muscular frame covered in thick fur. Its chest looked eerily human, with defined muscles resembling six-pack abs. And it was huge¡ªfar larger than any bear Mark had ever seen.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.


    Sliding off his horse, Mark unsheathed his sword, gripping it tightly.


    ¡°Human,¡± the creature growled, its voice low and gravelly. ¡°I have a craving¡­ a craving I cannot hold back! Leave! Leave now!¡±


    Mark held his ground. ¡°I¡¯m not going anywhere. Don¡¯t know what you are¡ªbears don¡¯t talk¡ªbut whatever you are, you¡¯re going down.¡±


    The bear roared and charged, still on two legs, moving with frightening speed. Mark sidestepped just in time, letting the beast barrel past him. Before it could spin around, Mark slashed across its back, his blade cutting deep. Blood splattered the snow as the creature howled in pain and fury.


    It turned sharply and swiped at him with a massive clawed hand. Mark ducked, but not fast enough¡ªits claws raked across his cheek, leaving a stinging gash.


    The beast struck again, swinging its other hand in a brutal arc. Mark raised his sword to block the blow, the blade biting into the thick hide of its arm. Blood oozed from the wound, but the skin was tougher than anything he¡¯d faced before. Despite the force of his strike, Mark couldn¡¯t sever the limb.


    The bear roared again and lashed out with its other hand. Mark yanked his sword free and backpedaled, putting space between them.


    ¡°I¡­ I¡­ I¡­¡± the creature stammered, its voice rasping with a strange human tone. ¡°Metamorphosis!¡±


    Mark froze for a moment, the word striking a chord. He remembered seeing it in Vivian¡¯s spellbook. Witches could curse humans, turning them into monstrous, animal-like forms. These cursed beings would retain their human thoughts for only brief moments before succumbing to feral instincts.


    Mark quickly began chanting the counterspell from memory. ¡°Forma bestia, solvo te, reddo humanitas!¡±


    The beast roared and charged again, its eyes full of murderous rage. Mark tried to roll aside, but the creature was too fast. It slammed into him with crushing force, sending him flying onto the snowy ground.


    Before Mark could recover, the beast was on top of him, its teeth inches from his face, breath hot and foul. Its claws pinned him down, the sharp tips digging into his arms. Mark¡¯s blade was still in his hand, the point pressed against the creature¡¯s chest.


    He could stab it, but that might kill it before the spell had time to work.


    ¡°Stop!¡± Mark shouted, desperation in his voice. ¡°You¡¯re human! Fight the beast inside you! Control it!¡±


    The creature paused for a fleeting second, its eyes flickering with something that might have been recognition¡ªor hesitation.


    A sudden flash of blinding light made Mark shield his eyes. When the glow faded, he opened them to find a young man lying beneath him, completely naked. The man¡¯s hands¡ªwhere the bear¡¯s claws had been¡ªstill pinned Mark¡¯s arms. Mark¡¯s sword was poised against his chest.


    ¡°Careful,¡± Mark warned.


    The man quickly released Mark and scrambled to his feet, his face flushing red. Mark stood and slid his sword back into its sheath, brushing snow off his clothes. He chuckled. ¡°Well, you can¡¯t exactly walk around like that, can you?¡±


    ¡°I¡­ uh¡­¡± The man stammered, his blush deepening.


    Mark walked over to his horse, rummaged through his belongings, and pulled out a thick coat. He tossed it to the man, who caught it and hurriedly wrapped it around himself.


    ¡°Thanks,¡± the man said with a faint smile. ¡°My name¡¯s Sokolov.¡±


    ¡°Care to explain how you ended up cursed into a bear?¡± Mark asked.


    Sokolov sighed. ¡°Yeah¡­ I had a fling with a woman from the woods near my village. Her name was Triska. Turns out, she¡¯s a witch¡ªdoing gods know what kind of dark magic. When I broke things off, she cursed me.¡±


    ¡°Well, you owe me. I lifted your curse and spared you when I could¡¯ve just finished the job.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t have anything on me right now as you can see, but if you escort me back to my village, I can pay you there.¡±


    Mark nodded. ¡°How far is it?¡±


    ¡°About five days¡¯ journey,¡± Sokolov replied.


    ¡°Fair enough. First, let¡¯s stop at the village here. Your stay will be covered as part of my reward for dealing with the ¡®bear.¡¯ We¡¯ll set out in the morning.¡±


    Together, they headed back to the inn. Sobieslawa greeted them at the door with her usual warm smile. ¡°Who¡¯s your friend?¡± she asked.


    ¡°The bear,¡± Mark said, grinning as he launched into the story.


    ¡°You¡¯re bullshitting me,¡± Sobieslawa replied, crossing her arms in disbelief.


    ¡°Nope,¡± Mark said. He patted his sheathed sword. ¡°And I don¡¯t take kindly to people backing out of their end of a deal.¡±


    She laughed, shaking her head. ¡°Relax, I wouldn¡¯t cheat you out of your reward. Besides,¡± she added with a sly smile, ¡°that tough attitude just makes you even hotter.¡±


    ¡°Oh?¡±


    ¡°I like dangerous men,¡± she teased, winking.


    The day passed in a blur of food, drinks, and laughter. That night, as Mark settled into his room, having stripped off his armor and clothing, there was a knock at the door.


    ¡°Can I come in?¡± Sobieslawa¡¯s voice called softly.


    ¡°Come in,¡± Mark replied.


    The door opened, and her eyes widened as she saw him completely naked. She let out a small gasp. ¡°You¡¯re even more handsome¡ªand muscular¡ªthan I imagined.¡±


    Mark smiled, pulling her into his arms. Their lips met in a passionate kiss, his hands sliding down to grip her waist. He lifted her effortlessly, tossing her onto the bed. Clothes were quickly discarded, and their night was filled with fiery passion, Sobieslawa¡¯s moans echoing through the room.


    The next morning, Mark rode his white horse out of the village, with Sokolov seated behind him, clinging to the saddle. Together, they galloped toward Sokolov¡¯s village, where Sokolov promised to make good on his debt.


    And so, once again, Mark was back on the road¡ªthis time, with Sokolov by his side.

 CHAPTER 35 - HEARTBROKEN WITCH

    CHAPTER 35


    HEARTBROKEN WITCH


    Mark and Sokolov finally arrived at Sokolov¡¯s village. It was a tiny settlement, home to just a few dozen people. The air was crisp and biting cold, though the snow had stopped falling. The ground was still blanketed in white, crunching softly as they approached Sokolov¡¯s house¡ªa small wooden cabin with a thatched roof.


    Sokolov slid off the horse, followed by Mark.


    ¡°Well, I believe you owe me a reward,¡± Mark said.


    ¡°Of course,¡± Sokolov replied, darting into the house. A moment later, he returned holding a pouch of coins, which he tossed to Mark. Mark caught it effortlessly and gave the pouch a quick shake, hearing the satisfying jingle of gold.


    ¡°Thanks. Now¡ª¡±


    ¡°Wait,¡± Sokolov interrupted. ¡°Why don¡¯t you come to our inn? I¡¯ll buy you a drink. Plus, I¡¯ve got a proposition you might find interesting.¡±


    Mark smirked. ¡°I never say no to free drinks.¡±


    Sokolov led him to a modest building at the center of the village. Inside, the inn was simple but warm, with a handful of wooden tables and chairs scattered across the room. A group of older men sat nursing beers and chatting by the fire. When they spotted Sokolov, their faces lit up.


    ¡°Sokolov!¡± one of them exclaimed, standing up. ¡°Where the hell have you been, you rascal? We thought you were dead¡ªyou¡¯ve been gone for weeks!¡±


    Sokolov raised his hands. ¡°Triska. The woman from the forest. You guys were right¡ªshe was trouble. Turns out, she¡¯s a witch. When I broke things off with her, she cursed me into a bear! If it weren¡¯t for this warrior,¡± he gestured to Mark, ¡°I¡¯d still be stuck as a beast. He broke the curse and saved me.¡±


    The men exchanged stunned glances.


    ¡°Fuck,¡± one of them muttered. ¡°I always said something wasn¡¯t right about that woman. Living alone in the woods, keeping to herself. But a witch? And she turned you into a bear?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s true,¡± Mark said. ¡°I saw it myself.¡±


    ¡°You look like a man who¡¯s seen some wild things,¡± another man added, nodding. ¡°If you¡¯re backing up Sokolov¡¯s story, we believe you. Just confirms what we all suspected about that bitch.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s dangerous!¡± Sokolov said, slamming his fist on the table. ¡°She¡¯s a threat to this village. We need to act. I say we pool our funds and hire Mark to deal with her once and for all.¡±


    The men murmured in agreement. One of them stood. ¡°We¡¯re not rich, but if she really is a witch, we can¡¯t take any chances. Warrior, how much would you charge to get rid of her?¡±


    ¡°Fifty gold coins,¡± Mark said.


    The men exchanged looks and nodded. ¡°Alright,¡± one of them said. ¡°We¡¯ll scrape it together. You¡¯ve got yourself a deal.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll take some beer,¡± Mark said to Sokolov with a grin. ¡°You did promise me drinks to come here, remember?¡±


    Sokolov laughed and turned to the innkeeper. ¡°Beer for Mark! It¡¯s on me!¡±


    The innkeeper quickly brought over a frothy mug, and Mark wasted no time, downing it in one long gulp. He held up the empty mug and ordered another, which he finished just as quickly. Wiping his mouth, he stood and stretched. ¡°Alright,¡± he said, looking at Sokolov, ¡°the woman¡¯s in the forest, right?¡±


    ¡°To the east,¡± Sokolov replied, nodding.


    Mark nodded back, left the inn, and headed to his horse. He mounted up and rode east until the sprawling forest came into view. The trees were thick, their branches heavy with snow, and the path ahead was barely visible. Knowing the terrain would be tricky, Mark dismounted, grabbing his horse¡¯s reins in one hand while the other hovered near the hilt of his sword.


    The dense canopy blocked out most of the sunlight, casting the forest in an eerie gloom. The only sound was the crunch of snow beneath his boots and his horse¡¯s hooves. As he pressed on, he came across a frozen brook, its surface glinting faintly in the dim light. He stepped carefully across, his breath visible in the icy air.


    On the other side, nestled among the trees, stood a small wooden hut with a thatched roof. ¡°That¡¯s gotta be it,¡± Mark muttered to himself. Witches and forest huts¡ªan all-too-familiar combination. He figured it was the perfect hideout for someone practicing dark magic far from prying eyes.


    As he approached, the door creaked open, and a young woman stepped out. She was strikingly beautiful, with long dark hair, pale skin, and deep brown eyes. She wore a flowing dark cloak over a gown, her voice soft as she spoke. ¡°Traveler, what brings you to my home?¡±


    ¡°Sokolov sent me,¡± Mark said bluntly. ¡°To kill you.¡±


    Triska sighed deeply. ¡°Betrayal hurts,¡± she said quietly. ¡°Especially from someone you once loved with all your heart.¡±


    Mark smirked, resting a hand on his sword. ¡°You did turn him into a bear. Can¡¯t blame the guy for holding a grudge.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t know the full story,¡± Triska said, her voice trembling with emotion. ¡°I¡¯ve been shunned my entire life because of my gift¡ªmy magic. That¡¯s why I live alone out here. One day, I found Sokolov injured, mauled by some wild animal. I used my magic to heal him. I kept my powers a secret because I knew witches aren¡¯t accepted. We fell in love, became lovers, and for the first time, I thought I could share my true self with someone. But when I told him, he rejected me, called me evil, and left me. So, yes, I cursed him¡ªfor breaking my heart.¡±Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    Mark shrugged, his expression unbothered. ¡°Sad story, but you don¡¯t get to curse people just because they dump you.¡±


    Triska¡¯s eyes flashed with anger. ¡°Of course you wouldn¡¯t understand love! You¡¯re nothing but a hired thug. The only love you know is what you pay for in a brothel.¡±


    Mark chuckled, his grin cocky. ¡°I¡¯ll have you know most of the women I¡¯ve been with were free of charge. Can¡¯t blame them, though¡ªmy good looks do most of the work.¡±


    Triska raised her hand, and Mark suddenly felt an invisible force yanking him forward, as though he were tied to her by an unseen rope. His boots dragged against the snowy ground, the pull relentless. Then he remembered a chant from Vivian¡¯s spellbook¡ªsomething to break this kind of spell. Taking a deep breath, he shouted, "Vinculum magicus, rumpere, libertas mea!" He clenched his fists, fighting the pull with every ounce of his strength. Just as he was almost within Triska¡¯s reach, the spell snapped. He stumbled back a few steps, finally free, and put some distance between himself and the witch.


    Triska¡¯s eyes flashed with fury as she conjured a flaming orb in her palm and hurled it at him. Mark dove to the right, barely avoiding the searing fireball as it smashed into a tree, setting it ablaze. Smoke billowed upward as the flames crackled. Before he could catch his breath, she conjured another fiery orb and threw it. Mark ducked just in time, feeling the heat singe the tips of his hair as the orb sailed past and hit another tree, engulfing it in flames.


    ¡°You¡¯re going to burn the whole forest down,¡± Mark said with a smirk, brushing ash off his shoulder.


    Triska glared, her hand now glowing with a frosty blue light. She conjured an icy bolt and launched it at him. Mark sidestepped, narrowly avoiding the projectile, but a shard of icy magic grazed the side of his chainmail. The links froze instantly and shattered with a sharp crack. The rest of the bolt slammed into a tree, freezing it solid before the trunk shattered into a spray of icy splinters.


    ¡°Alright,¡± Mark muttered, glancing at the frozen wreckage. ¡°That¡¯s new.¡±


    Triska snarled, conjuring two icy bolts¡ªone in each hand. ¡°You think you can stand against me?¡± she roared. ¡°You heartless bastard! I¡¯ll destroy you, then I¡¯ll burn that cursed village to the ground! And when I¡¯m done, I¡¯ll tear out Sokolov¡¯s heart for breaking mine!¡±


    With a scream, she hurled both bolts at Mark. He rolled to his left, one bolt whipping past so close that the freezing magic numbed his cheek, leaving a painful sting. Ignoring the cold, Mark watched as Triska began summoning more icy projectiles. He knew he couldn¡¯t stay on the defensive.


    Mark sprinted toward her, zigzagging as she hurled bolts in rapid succession. Each one missed by inches, crashing into the ground or nearby trees with explosive force. As he closed the distance, he leapt into the air and brought his spirit sword down in a powerful slash.


    Triska raised her hand, summoning an invisible shield, but Mark¡¯s spirit sword glowed green as it sliced through her magic barrier like paper. He landed smoothly and lunged forward, thrusting his blade. Triska twisted to the side to avoid the strike, but the sword caught her gown, tearing it and grazing her side. A thin line of blood appeared, and Triska staggered back, clutching her wound, her eyes blazing with hatred.


    She quickly stepped back, conjuring an icy sword just in time to block Mark''s swing. Sparks flew as their blades met, and Mark blinked in surprise. He had expected the ice to shatter on impact, but this was no ordinary ice. It held firm, as strong as steel. Their swords clashed again, ringing out through the frozen forest.


    As Mark parried her next strike, Triska summoned a jagged shard of ice with her free hand and slashed it toward his side. The shard found the spot where the icy bolt had earlier broken through his chainmail, biting into bare skin. Before she could drive it deeper, Mark slammed his knee into her stomach. Triska gasped in pain, and Mark followed up with a hard kick to her chest, sending her sprawling backward into the snow.


    Her icy sword and shard tumbled from her grip, landing just out of reach. Gritting her teeth, she reached for the fallen sword, but Mark stomped his boot down on her hand, pinning it in place. Triska cried out in pain as he pressed down harder, the sound echoing in the stillness of the forest.


    Mark leveled the tip of his spirit sword at her throat. ¡°It¡¯s over.¡±


    ¡°Then do it!¡± Triska screamed, tears streaming down her face. ¡°Kill me! End it! Death would be a blessing compared to this miserable life. My parents hated me. They were scared of me. I had no friends. And the one man I thought loved me¡ªhe sent you to murder me! So go ahead, killer. Do your job. Finish it! Or what? Have I touched your cold heart with my sob story? Are you too soft to do it? If you spare me, I¡¯ll hunt you down. I¡¯ll kill you, Mark. I swear it!¡±


    Mark sighed, lowering his blade slightly. ¡°Gods, you¡¯re one crazy, angry bitch. But you don¡¯t deserve to die.¡±


    ¡°If you let me live, I¡¯ll burn that village to ashes and rip Sokolov¡¯s heart out!¡± Triska spat, her voice shaking with rage.


    ¡°Or you could stop fixating on that idiot who didn¡¯t accept you. Move on. Find someone who will.¡±


    Triska let out a bitter laugh. ¡°Find someone? Do you think that¡¯s so easy? My whole life, no one has ever accepted me. Why would that change now?¡±


    ¡°How far have you even gone in this world?¡±


    ¡°My home village. This forest. And that cursed village where Sokolov lives. That¡¯s it.¡±


    ¡°Exactly,¡± Mark said. ¡°Two tiny villages. You¡¯ve barely seen anything of the world. Sure, it won¡¯t be easy. But there are possibilities. Some sorcerers work in courts, serving Archons.¡±


    ¡°Those are the ones trained by official orders,¡± Triska snapped. ¡°Not rogue witches like me. And I¡¯m too old to join an official order.¡±


    ¡°Maybe. But staying here, wallowing in your misery, cursing everyone who wrongs you? That¡¯s no life either.¡±


    "Why do you care? Why not just kill me, take your money, and move on?"


    Mark chuckled, a lopsided grin on his face. "Guess I¡¯m a bit of a softie. Sure, I plan to get paid for taking care of the witch problem, but ''taking care of'' doesn¡¯t have to mean killing you, does it?"


    Triska hesitated. "I wouldn¡¯t even know where to start if I tried to build a new life. Maybe... maybe we could travel together?"


    "Together?"


    "Until I can figure things out."


    Mark sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "If we do this, you¡¯re pulling your own weight. I¡¯m a swordsman for hire. I take on jobs, and you¡¯ll help with them. I¡¯m not running a charity, and I don¡¯t do freeloaders."


    For the first time, Triska smiled. "It¡¯s a deal, partner."


    Mark chuckled, shaking his head. "Partner? You¡¯re more like my follower."


    Triska''s smile turned sly. "I insist on partner¡ªunless you¡¯d like me to turn you into a very cold statue of yourself."


    "Partner it is," Mark said with a grin.


    After Triska gathered her things, they left the forest, Mark leading his white horse by the reins. When they reached Sokolov¡¯s village, they stepped into the inn. The room fell silent as every man¡ªold and young, including Sokolov¡ªrose to their feet, their eyes burning with anger.


    "What¡¯s that evil bitch doing here?" Sokolov shouted. "She cursed me!"


    "Why isn¡¯t she dead?" another man growled.


    Mark glanced at Triska. She was avoiding Sokolov¡¯s gaze, her jaw tight with barely contained emotion. Anger and sadness swirled in her eyes, but she held back, and Mark silently admired her restraint.


    "I¡¯ve dealt with your problem," Mark said. "She¡¯s leaving with me. She won¡¯t bother you again. Now, my payment."


    "You expect payment after siding with her?" Sokolov barked.


    Mark¡¯s patience snapped. In one swift motion, he drew his sword and pressed its tip against Sokolov¡¯s chest. "I don¡¯t like people who try to cheat me. Pay up, or I¡¯ll end your miserable life right here."


    "You think you can take us all?" one of the younger men sneered.


    "Look at me, then look at yourselves. You¡¯re a bunch of farmers who¡¯ve never faced a real fight. I¡¯ve killed more people than you¡¯ve got cows. So, unless you¡¯re all feeling suicidal, don¡¯t push me."


    A pouch of coins sailed through the air, and Mark caught it with ease. He sheathed his sword and gave a nod. "Thanks for keeping your end of the deal. Goodbye."


    Mark and Triska walked out of the inn, mounted the horse, and galloped away from the village, leaving the angry mob behind. For that is the life of a wandering swordsman¡ªto always be on the road.

 JOURNAL OF ATHANASIUS (PART IV - MAGIC)

    JOURNAL OF ATHANASIUS


    PART IV - MAGIC


    The subject of magic and sorcerers is vast, and one could fill many volumes on it. However, for the sake of my readers, I shall endeavor to be concise. The Archons, mighty Giants, are masters of magic¡ªa power that, alongside the loyalty of humans, enabled them to overthrow the Dragon Emperor and drive the Dragons to near extinction three thousand years ago.


    Since that time, the Archons have employed sorcerers in their courts. Yet, understanding the dangers of magic¡ªand recalling that it was such power that allowed them to topple the Dragon Emperor¡ªthe wise and sagacious Archons have banned rogue sorcery. Only those trained from childhood in official orders are permitted to practice magic. These orders emphasize discipline and obedience to both the Archons and the Holy Church. The orders encourage sorcerers to bear children strong in magic, though such offspring are raised away from their parents to ensure their loyalty lies solely with the order. Occasionally, children born outside the orders are accepted, but this is rare, as the orders prefer those without familial ties.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    An exception exists in the realm of Archon Hanying, where the cultivation of Qi¡ªa unique form of magic¡ªby Martial Arts Sects is permitted. This practice is not found in any other realm. However, only Sects officially endorsed by the Imperial Court of Archon Hanying may engage in Qi cultivation. These Sects are granted privileges by the court in return for their assistance in maintaining order in the realm.


    In the rural areas of most Archon realms, children born with magical abilities are often viewed as cursed. Unable to control their powers, they are feared and shunned. The official orders rarely accept such children, and they are frequently regarded as rogue criminals to be dealt with for the safety of the community. The reputation of magic users is further tarnished by rogue sorcerers and witches who, unbound by the ethical constraints of the official orders, often terrorize innocent villagers in their pursuit of power.


    This will suffice for now, though I intend to add further notes on the subject in due course.

 CHAPTER 36 - ORC RAIDERS

    CHAPTER 36


    ORC RAIDERS


    The next few days flew by. By day, they galloped through the snowy landscapes, and by night, they camped on frozen grass, finding what comfort they could. Tonight was no different. Triska used her magic to conjure fiery orbs that melted the snow around them, creating a warm, glowing circle in the cold.


    Mark had caught a rabbit, skewered it on a stick, and was roasting it over the orbs. The meat turned a golden, roasty brown, the smell teasing their hunger. When it was ready, Mark carved it up with his knife, handing Triska a piece before biting into his own. For a meal on the road, it wasn¡¯t bad at all.


    ¡°Why did your parents hate you?¡± Mark asked, breaking the silence after a few bites. ¡°Sorry if that¡¯s too personal. I just can¡¯t imagine parents hating their own kid.¡±


    Triska sighed deeply. ¡°I was four or five¡ªI don¡¯t remember exactly. I set our stable on fire by accident. That¡¯s when I first discovered I could conjure fire orbs. That¡¯s when I learned I had magic.¡±


    ¡°You didn¡¯t have to learn a spell for that?¡± Mark interrupted.


    ¡°No. Some magic can be done instinctively by people with powers¡ªjust by focusing hard enough. The more complex stuff requires chants. And, of course, there are counter-chants like the ones you use. Those don¡¯t need magic to work, but they can still mess us magicians up.¡±


    Mark nodded, motioning for her to continue.


    Triska took a shaky breath. ¡°After the fire, my older brother almost died. My parents were terrified of me. They started treating me like I was cursed, like I was evil. They kept me isolated. Then one night, I overheard them talking. They¡¯d reached out to an official magical order, hoping to send me away, but the order rejected me. They usually don¡¯t take in people with family ties¡ªthey think we¡¯re liabilities. That¡¯s why they prefer people born into the order.¡± Her voice trembled. ¡°So¡­ the order suggested killing me¡ªthe order would send an executioner to do the deed. My parents agreed. To them, I wasn¡¯t their child anymore¡ªI was just a monster they had to get rid of.¡±


    ¡°Seeing you are still alive, I assume you found a way to escape?¡±


    Triska nodded slowly. ¡°But not before they caught me eavesdropping. I yelled at them, called them terrible parents. My mother grabbed a knife.¡± Her voice broke, and tears rolled down her cheeks.


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to tell me if it¡¯s too much,¡± Mark said softly, wiping her tears with his hand.


    ¡°No, I need to. Someone should know.¡± She took a shaky breath. ¡°They didn¡¯t see me as their daughter anymore, only a threat. In my panic and rage, I conjured fire orbs and hurled them at them. They screamed as the flames consumed them. The smell of burning flesh¡­¡± Her voice cracked, and she squeezed her eyes shut. ¡°I grabbed what I could and ran. Our house was on fire. I didn¡¯t stop running until I reached the woods. I survived there for weeks like a wild animal until a hunter found me. After what happened with my parents, I¡¯d learned I needed to hide my magic. I pretended to be a helpless orphan. He took me in, raised me for a few years. But then he died in a hunting accident when I was still a teenager. After that, I was alone again. I had the skills to survive by then, and that hut you found became my home.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry. Killing your own parents, losing the only person who cared for you¡ªthat¡¯s more than anyone should have to bear. No wonder you¡¯re angry. No wonder you¡¯re bitter. It¡¯s human.¡±


    Triska didn¡¯t reply for a moment, but her eyes met his, shimmering with both pain and gratitude. ¡°What about you? What¡¯s your story with your parents?¡±


    ¡°I¡­¡± Mark hesitated. It wasn¡¯t a question he¡¯d ever really thought about. It seemed simple, obvious even, yet somehow it had never crossed his mind. ¡°I don¡¯t remember. About a year and a half ago, I woke up with no memory in some village. An old man told me my name and that I¡¯d been a knight serving Archon Anthemios. I was rewarded with a pill of forgetfulness after slaying an Elder Dragon.¡±


    ¡°An Elder Dragon?!¡± Triska¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°I thought those were just myths! Not only did one exist, but you killed it?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, pretty badass, right?¡± Mark chuckled. ¡°Too bad I don¡¯t remember a damn thing about it.¡±


    ¡°But why take a pill to forget everything?¡±


    ¡°They said I suffered some kind of loss so devastating, I begged to erase my past life¡ªstart fresh.¡±


    ¡°A doomed love affair?¡±


    Mark shrugged. ¡°Maybe? Who knows?¡±


    Triska tilted her head, studying him. ¡°Have you ever¡­ fallen in love during your travels?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t want to brag about it, but I¡¯ve had sex with a lot of women.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not talking about sex, Mark. I mean love.¡±


    Mark¡¯s smirk faded, and his voice softened. ¡°There was this one woman,¡± he admitted, his thoughts drifting to Guanyu. ¡°I never told her how I really felt, though. There was something there, something real. But her father wouldn¡¯t even let me teach her swordsmanship, so romance was out of the question. He kept us apart. And considering I¡¯m a wanted man in Archon Hanying¡¯s realm while she¡¯s a lady of the Imperial Court¡­ yeah, it was never going to work. Maybe it¡¯s for the best. Maybe there¡¯s someone out there who¡¯s a better match for me.¡±


    Triska nodded. ¡°That¡¯s how I feel about Sokolov. I¡¯m still angry and hurt, but you¡¯re right. I can¡¯t let his rejection ruin my life forever.¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s get some sleep. We¡¯ve got an early start tomorrow.¡±


    They wrapped themselves in blankets, the cold night air softened by the magical warmth still lingering from Triska¡¯s orbs. The next morning, as the first rays of sunlight broke over the horizon, they rose and packed up camp. Mark secured their supplies onto his horse, and they mounted together. As he spurred the horse into a gallop, Triska clung tightly to him, the wind whipping past them as they rode into the new day.


    About an hour later, they arrived at a quiet, snow-covered village. It was bigger than the ones Mark had passed through before, maybe a hundred or so people living there. The houses were wooden, with thatched roofs and chimneys puffing trails of smoke into the cold air. Mark guided his horse slowly down the snowy dirt street, stopping in front of one of the larger buildings¡ªa tavern with a stable beside it.This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.


    He rode up to the stable, dismounted with Triska, and tied up the horse. Together, they stepped into the inn.


    Inside, the place was alive with noise, at least by village standards. People were smoking, drinking beer, eating hearty meals, and talking loudly. But their conversations weren¡¯t cheerful¡ªMark could hear the tension in their voices.


    He made his way to the counter, where a bald, middle-aged man was pouring drinks.


    ¡°Hey,¡± Mark said. ¡°Two beers.¡±


    The man set down two mugs, one for Mark and the other for Triska. ¡°Name¡¯s Boyan,¡± the man said. ¡°We don¡¯t get many strangers around here, what with the raids and all.¡±


    ¡°What raids?¡±


    ¡°Damn orcs,¡± Boyan spat. ¡°They¡¯ve been creeping around the outskirts, stealing livestock and scaring the hell out of everyone. They haven¡¯t hit the village yet, thank the Gods, but it feels like it¡¯s just a matter of time. That¡¯s why everyone¡¯s here today, eating and drinking like it¡¯s their last chance. And with Archon Vlad¡¯s soldiers busy fighting Innokentios, we¡¯ve got no one to protect us.¡±


    Mark took a swig of his beer. ¡°I¡¯m a swordsman for hire. And her¡±¡ªhe gestured to Triska, who was halfway through her drink¡ª¡°she¡¯s no slouch in a fight either. We can take care of your orc problem.¡±


    Boyan leaned forward. ¡°Are you serious? Don¡¯t get me wrong¡ªwe need help¡ªbut two people against a whole tribe of orcs? That¡¯s madness.¡±


    Mark smirked. ¡°I¡¯ve dealt with orcs before. Worse odds, too. Now, let¡¯s talk price. Two hundred coins.¡±


    Boyan let out a loud, exasperated groan. ¡°Two hundred?! That¡¯s a fortune!¡±


    ¡°Alright,¡± Mark said with a shrug, starting to turn away. ¡°Guess we¡¯ll be on our way, and you can handle the orcs yourselves.¡±


    ¡°Wait! Damn it. Fine! Fuck. We¡¯ll scrape it together somehow. But you¡¯d better be good for your word and take care of those green bastards!¡±


    Mark grinned, finishing his beer. He turned to Triska. ¡°Ready for some action, partner?¡±


    Triska set her mug down with a smile. ¡°Always.¡±


    With that, the two of them walked out of the inn, ready to face the orcs. They made their way to the north edge of the village. Suddenly, from the shadows of the nearby woods, a swarm of orcs burst out¡ªgreen-skinned, hulking brutes wielding swords and roaring battle cries. Mark drew his blade with a steely hiss, while Triska summoned glowing fire orbs in her hands.


    ¡°Time to kill some orcs,¡± Mark said, charging headlong into the fray.


    The first orc came at him with a vicious swing. Mark deflected the blow, his sword sparking against the crude steel. With a quick counterstrike, he severed both of the orc¡¯s wrists, leaving it howling in agony. One wide slash across its chest silenced it for good, and the creature crumpled to the ground.


    Two more orcs lunged at him. Mark deftly parried their attacks, landing a swift kick to the groin of one while warding off the other¡¯s blade. As the first stumbled back, doubled over in pain, Mark drove his sword straight through its chest, the blade piercing clean through and dripping with greenish blood. He yanked it free just in time to block another strike from the second orc.


    With a series of quick, powerful slashes, Mark drove the remaining orc back, forcing it to drop its weapon. Its sword clattered onto the snowy ground, and Mark wasted no time. A single swing of his blade sent the orc¡¯s head flying, its green blood staining the snow as the head rolled to a stop.


    Nearby, Triska was holding her own. She hurled two fire orbs at a pair of charging orcs, the flames engulfing them instantly. Their agonized screams filled the air, and the acrid stench of burning flesh reached Mark¡¯s nose. More orcs rushed toward her, but she summoned additional fire, immolating three more attackers.


    As another group of four closed in, Triska shifted tactics. This time, she conjured razor-sharp shards of ice, flinging them with precision. Two shards struck the chests of two orcs, a third embedded itself in the forehead of another, and the last pierced one unfortunate orc¡¯s eye.


    The half-blinded orc staggered, screaming in pain. Mark quickly ended its misery with a swift slash across its throat, the creature choking before collapsing lifeless into the snow.


    Another orc rushed at him, its sword slicing horizontally. Mark ducked just in time, feeling the blade graze the top of his hair. Still crouched, he thrust his sword deep into the orc¡¯s stomach. With a sharp pull, he freed his blade and turned to meet the next foe.


    This one carried a massive wooden club studded with crude spikes. The orc swung hard, and Mark barely dodged the first blow. The second strike caught him square in the chest, sending him sprawling backward into the snow. His chainmail had absorbed the brunt of the impact, but the force left him winded.


    The orc closed in for the kill, but Mark grabbed a handful of snow and hurled it into its face. The orc flinched, closing its eyes in irritation, and that moment was all Mark needed. Springing to his feet, he delivered a horizontal slash so clean it severed the orc at the waist. Its two halves fell apart, collapsing separately onto the bloodstained snow.


    More orcs stormed toward them, roaring in fury. Triska unleashed a flurry of icy shards, each one striking true¡ªforeheads, chests, shoulders, and eyes. Mark waded into the chaos with his sword, slashing and hacking relentlessly. Green flesh flew through the air, splattering his armor with the thick, sticky blood of his enemies. Arms and legs were severed, chests were skewered, and heads rolled onto the bloodstained ground.


    Within minutes, the battlefield was a graveyard of dismembered orc corpses. The surviving orcs, still a sizable group, hesitated. Faced with the overwhelming carnage, they turned tail and retreated into the woods, their battle cries replaced by fearful silence.


    Mark stood there, panting, sweat dripping down his face. ¡°Well¡­ that was something. Wow.¡±


    Triska smirked, brushing stray hair from her face. ¡°We definitely showed them. That felt good. I think I burned off a year¡¯s worth of frustration.¡±


    Mark chuckled. ¡°Glad your first mission was so invigorating, partner.¡±


    Back at the village, the two strode into the inn, their clothes and armor smeared with green blood. The villagers froze, stunned to see them alive. Mark approached the counter and slapped his hand on it. ¡°I need two rooms. One for me, one for the lady. Get us bathtubs, and someone to clean our gear. Oh, and my reward. Take what I owe you and hand over the rest.¡±


    Boyan stared at them, wide-eyed. ¡°You actually killed them? All of them?¡±


    Mark nodded. ¡°Most. The rest won¡¯t be back anytime soon after what they saw.¡±


    Still in shock, Boyan handed him a heavy pouch of coins and showed them to their rooms. ¡°Let¡¯s call it a night,¡± Mark said to Triska. ¡°See you tomorrow.¡±


    Mark entered his small room, as modest as one would expect in a village inn. He stripped off his blood-soaked armor and handed it to Boyan for cleaning. Dropping onto the bed, he relaxed for a while until Boyan returned with a wooden tub filled with steaming hot water.


    ¡°Here you go,¡± Boyan said, setting it down.


    ¡°Thanks,¡± Mark replied. Once alone, he shed his clothes and slipped into the tub, letting the heat soothe his sore, battle-weary muscles. He closed his eyes, enjoying the moment of peace.


    Just as he got out, the door swung open.


    ¡°Mark¡ª¡± Triska started, then froze. Her eyes widened, and her face turned bright red upon seeing Mark completely naked before her. ¡°Oh!¡± she gasped, clamping her hands over her eyes. ¡°I-I should¡¯ve knocked!¡±


    Mark grabbed a towel, entirely unfazed. ¡°What do you need?¡±


    ¡°I¡­ uh¡­ nothing! Never mind!¡± Triska stammered, spinning around and rushing out.


    Mark chuckled, shaking his head as he dried off. After calling Boyan to remove the tub, he collapsed onto the bed and drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep.


    The next morning, sunlight streamed into the stable as Mark saddled his horse. Triska joined him, her cheeks tinged with pink.


    ¡°Ready to hit the road?¡± Mark asked.


    Triska nodded, then hesitated. ¡°About last night¡­ I was going to ask about that book of spells you have. The one you got from Vivian. I think her knowledge could help me become stronger.¡±


    Mark gave her a nod. ¡°Sure. You can study it, but the book stays with me. It¡¯s come in handy before¡ªour duel proves that.¡±


    ¡°Thanks. And¡­ sorry for barging in.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry. I didn¡¯t mind it at all,¡± he grinned, making Triska blush even harder.


    He mounted his horse, and Triska climbed up behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist. With a nudge of the reins, they galloped out of the village. For that is the life of a wandering swordsman, to always be on the move.

 CHAPTER 37 - DEATH LORDS CONTRACT

    CHAPTER 37


    DEATH LORD''S CONTRACT


    Mark¡¯s white horse thundered across the endless snowy grasslands, its hooves kicking up frost with each gallop. Triska clung tightly to him as they raced forward, her arms wrapped around his waist.


    In the distance, a dark figure emerged, barely visible against the horizon. As they drew closer, it became clear¡ªit was a person, but their identity was impossible to tell. A long black cloak shrouded their body completely, revealing no skin or clothing underneath. A hood covered their head and a red demon mask with gleaming white teeth curved into a chilling smile. Two horns jutted from the mask, adding to the eerie appearance. The figure raised a gloved hand, motioning for them to stop.


    ¡°Mark,¡± the figure called in a deep, bone-chilling voice that resonated like a growl. ¡°At last, we meet.¡±


    Mark pulled the horse to a halt and dismounted. Triska slid off behind him, her eyes darting nervously toward the stranger.


    ¡°Who are you?¡± Mark asked, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword. His voice was steady, but he was clearly ready for a fight. ¡°And how do you know me?¡±


    The figure chuckled. ¡°You¡¯ve slain an Elder Dragon and the Chancellor of a realm. Word spreads quickly when you make waves like that.¡±


    Mark narrowed his eyes. ¡°And you are?¡±


    ¡°Call me the Death Lord,¡± the man replied. ¡°I have a business proposition for you.¡±


    ¡°What kind of proposition?¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s an artifact hidden in ruins to the west: a gemstone. It¡¯s heavily guarded by monsters. I need someone¡­ capable¡­ to retrieve it for me.¡±


    Mark smirked, unimpressed. ¡°Sounds like work. But before we get into that, what¡¯s your real name?¡±


    ¡°I go by many names. But Death Lord will do for now.¡±


    ¡°Right,¡± Mark said dryly, suppressing a laugh. ¡°Sounds really scary. Look, I don¡¯t usually turn down jobs, but you seem¡­ off. So, no thanks.¡±


    The Death Lord raised his hand, and suddenly Triska¡¯s body jerked forward, as though pulled by invisible strings.


    ¡°Mark!¡± she cried, her boots skidding across the snow.


    ¡°Vinculum magicus, rumpere, libertas mea!¡± Mark shouted, but his incantation fizzled out, useless. Triska kept sliding toward the Death Lord, her arms flailing as she struggled.


    Desperate, she summoned a ball of fire in her hand and hurled it at him. But with a flick of his wrist, the Death Lord conjured an invisible shield. The flames dispersed harmlessly against it. When she was close enough, he grabbed her by the throat with one gloved hand, lifting her off the ground.


    ¡°Let her go!¡± Mark roared, unsheathing his glowing spirit sword. Its green light pulsed with power as he charged forward, leaping high into the air for a downward strike.


    The Death Lord raised his other hand, and another invisible shield appeared. The blade struck the barrier with a loud crack and rebounded, sending Mark sprawling backward onto the snowy ground.


    ¡°Impossible!¡± Mark growled, scrambling to his feet. ¡°This sword cuts through any magic!¡±


    ¡°Not mine,¡± the Death Lord said. He tightened his grip on Triska¡¯s throat, her face contorting in pain. ¡°Now, shall we discuss the terms of our contract, or should I snap her pretty neck and move on?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re clearly stronger than both me and Triska. Why not just do the job yourself?¡±


    The Death Lord¡¯s grip on Triska¡¯s throat loosened slightly as he replied. ¡°I¡¯m a busy man, Mark. Too many tasks, not enough time. I delegate. And I need competent people like you to handle the things I can¡¯t.¡± He paused for a few seconds. ¡°Four hundred gold coins. That¡¯s your reward.¡±


    ¡°And what¡¯s to stop us from taking the job and then keeping the artifact, or just running off?¡±


    A cold chuckle rumbled from behind the Death Lord¡¯s mask. ¡°The artifact would be worthless in your hands. As for running off¡­¡± Before Mark could react, the Death Lord flicked his free hand. A small needle shot through the air, striking Mark in the neck.


    ¡°Ah! What the¡ª¡± Mark yanked the needle out, glaring. ¡°What did you just do to me?¡±


    ¡°A poison. You¡¯ve got three days to return here with the artifact. Without my antidote, you¡¯ll die. Don¡¯t bother trying to find a cure on your own¡ªyou¡¯ll waste what little time you have.¡±


    Mark ground his teeth. ¡°Fine,¡± he spat. ¡°I¡¯ll find your damn artifact.¡±


    Satisfied, the Death Lord tossed Triska to the snowy ground with a thud and turned to leave.


    But Triska wasn¡¯t done. Springing to her feet, she conjured two blazing fireballs and hurled them at his back without warning.


    The Death Lord didn¡¯t even flinch. Still walking, he raised a hand. The fireballs froze mid-air, turning to solid ice before shattering into thousands of glittering shards. Without breaking his stride or looking back, he lifted the shards with a casual flick of his hand, molding them into a gleaming ice sword.


    The sword shot forward, speeding toward Triska like an arrow.


    ¡°Look out!¡± Mark yelled, tackling her to the ground just in time. The icy blade soared over them but didn¡¯t stop there. As it passed overhead, it shattered into dozens of sharp fragments, each shard hovering menacingly above them, their pointed tips aimed straight down.


    Mark and Triska lay frozen, staring at the deadly shards as they hovered, trembling, inches from their skin.


    ¡°No more games,¡± the Death Lord said coldly. With a wave of his hand, the ice dissolved into water, splashing onto their faces. ¡°Do your job,¡± he ordered before vanishing into the snowy horizon.


    Mark and Triska climbed onto their horse and galloped west through the biting cold. Hours passed before they reached a tiny village of fewer than thirty people. The snow swirled, and the wind howled, making the streets eerily empty. They stopped in front of the largest building, a sturdy two-story wooden house with a thatched roof and smoke curling from its chimney. After dismounting, Mark knocked on the door.


    A rotund old man answered, peering out at them with curious eyes. ¡°Foreigners,¡± he said warmly. ¡°Welcome to our little village. I¡¯m Cedomir, the mayor. What brings you here?¡±


    ¡°Is there an inn or tavern where we can stay?¡± Mark asked, brushing snow off his armor.If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    Cedomir shook his head. ¡°No inns here, I¡¯m afraid. We don¡¯t see many visitors, and we¡¯re a small community. But we welcome outsiders. You can stay with me. There¡¯s an empty room upstairs¡ªmy wife passed last year, and my son left over a decade ago.¡±


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Mark said with a grateful smile.


    Cedomir stepped aside and motioned them in. ¡°I was just finishing dinner. Come, sit and eat.¡±


    He led them into a cozy dining room with a wooden table and a few mismatched chairs. Mark and Triska sat down as the old man ladled steaming hot soup into bowls and placed them on the table.


    Triska took a spoonful and her face lit up. ¡°This is amazing,¡± she said, nudging Mark. ¡°You have to try it.¡±


    Mark took a sip. The soup was salty, hot, and exactly what he needed after the long, freezing ride. ¡°It¡¯s delicious,¡± he said to Cedomir.


    The old man beamed. ¡°Good to know someone appreciates my cooking. Been a while since I¡¯ve had company.¡± He paused, his expression growing serious. ¡°So, what brings two armed strangers to our quiet little corner of the world?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re looking for some ruins nearby,¡± Triska replied. ¡°Do you know anything about them?¡±


    Cedomir¡¯s spoon froze mid-air. ¡°Ah, those ruins¡­¡± he muttered, setting the spoon down. ¡°They¡¯re just a few hours west of here, but no one in their right mind goes there. The place is cursed. Ghosts and monsters roam the grounds. Folks who¡¯ve tried exploring them¡ªwell, they never come back.¡± He sighed. ¡°I hoped that wasn¡¯t why you¡¯d come.¡±


    Mark gave a reassuring smile. ¡°Don¡¯t worry. We can take care of ourselves.¡±


    Cedomir shook his head sadly. ¡°I¡¯ve heard that before.¡±


    After they finished their meal, the mayor led them upstairs to a small room with a single bed. ¡°This used to be my son¡¯s room,¡± he explained. ¡°I suppose sharing a bed won¡¯t bother you¡ªyou look like a couple.¡±


    Triska¡¯s cheeks turned red. ¡°We¡¯re not¡ªuh¡­¡± she stammered.


    ¡°It¡¯ll do,¡± Mark interjected quickly.


    Cedomir chuckled, then nodded. ¡°Call me if you need anything,¡± he said before closing the door behind him.


    Mark and Triska exchanged a glance, the faint blush lingering on her face. The room was simple, but it was warm, and for now, it was enough.


    ¡°What do you think about the mission?¡± Triska asked, sitting on the edge of the bed.


    Mark unbuckled his armor, tossing it aside, and stood in his undershirt and pants. ¡°I don¡¯t trust him. Death Lord? Hiding his face? Crazy powerful sorcerer? Yeah, he screams trouble. But it¡¯s not like we¡¯ve got much of a choice.¡±


    ¡°His magic is incredible,¡± Triska said. ¡°Even the Grandmasters of the Orders would struggle against him. I can¡¯t help but wonder¡ªwhat¡¯s his story?¡±


    Mark shrugged, running a hand through his hair. ¡°Don¡¯t care. I just hope once we give him the artifact, he takes it and fucks off. The guy¡¯s bad news.¡±


    Triska stretched out on the single bed. ¡°So¡­ we¡¯re sharing this bed, huh?¡±


    Mark chuckled as he glanced over. ¡°You¡¯ve already seen me naked. Don¡¯t worry¡ªI¡¯m a gentleman. I¡¯ll take the floor.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to. We can sleep together.¡± She paused, cheeks flushing slightly, before adding quickly, ¡°I mean sleep, not fuck.¡±


    Mark laughed. ¡°Fine by me. Wouldn¡¯t do anything on this creaky old bed anyway. Don¡¯t want to wake up the old man.¡±


    Triska laughed too, her blush deepening. She sat up and crossed the room toward him, her eyes meeting his. ¡°We¡¯re both adults. Let¡¯s cut the pretense. I don¡¯t know if it¡¯s because I need a rebound after¡­ everything with Sokolov, or because you¡¯re so damn hot, but I¡¯m attracted to you. Don¡¯t tell me you haven¡¯t felt the tension between us.¡±


    Mark smiled. ¡°I felt it,¡± he admitted. ¡°I just didn¡¯t want to rush things. After what happened with Sokolov, I thought you might need time¡ª¡±


    ¡°Mark,¡± she interrupted, placing a hand on his chest. ¡°I can make my own decisions. I appreciate your concern, but I don¡¯t need protecting. I know what I want.¡±


    For a moment, the room fell silent. Then Mark stepped closer, pulling her into his arms and kissing her deeply. Triska melted into the kiss, her arms wrapping around him as his hand slid down to her firm ass. The heat between them grew as their lips stayed locked, passion overtaking them.


    Finally, Triska broke the kiss, her breathing heavy. ¡°That¡¯s enough for now,¡± she said. ¡°You were right¡ªwe don¡¯t want to wake the old man. And maybe¡­ taking it slow is a good idea.¡±


    Mark nodded. ¡°You¡¯re worth the wait.¡±


    They climbed into the small bed together, her head resting on his chest. As the warmth of their shared space pushed away the chill, Mark drifted off to sleep with Triska cuddled tightly against him.


    At dawn, as the first rays of sunlight painted the sky, Mark and Triska stirred awake. They mounted Mark¡¯s white horse and set off west, heading straight for the ruins. The chill in the air bit at their faces as they rode, the wind howling like a restless spirit. After hours of riding, the ruins came into view: crumbling marble columns and the shattered remains of an ancient temple, all cloaked in a thick blanket of snow.


    As they drew closer, the duo dismounted.


    ¡°Stay here,¡± Mark said, patting the horse''s neck. Together, he and Triska ventured into the eerie silence of the ruins.


    Suddenly, the ground rumbled beneath their feet. Two massive beasts burst forth from the snow, towering above them like nightmares come to life. They resembled giant praying mantises, their sharp forelegs glinting menacingly in the pale light. One of them swung a foreleg at a nearby column, sending the massive structure hurtling toward them.


    ¡°Down!¡± Triska shouted, shoving Mark to the ground just as the column soared overhead and shattered behind them with a deafening crash.


    Mark scrambled to his feet, drawing his sword. ¡°Let¡¯s take these bastards out!¡±


    Without hesitation, he charged the nearest monster. The beast slashed at him with its foreleg, but Mark ducked just in time, feeling the wind from the swing brush his head. He drove his sword into one of its hind legs, the blade slicing through the green, sinewy flesh. Dark blood oozed out as the mantis recoiled, thrashing wildly. Mark yanked his sword free and jumped back to dodge another deadly strike. Rolling to his left, he narrowly avoided a foreleg that could¡¯ve skewered him like a kebab.


    Meanwhile, Triska squared off against the second mantis. It lashed out, but an invisible energy shield shimmered into existence just before impact, stopping the foreleg cold. Triska gritted her teeth, sweat beading on her brow as the effort of maintaining the shield took its toll. She conjured an ice orb and hurled it at the beast, freezing one of its forelegs instantly. The leg shattered into a thousand icy shards, and the mantis screeched in agony.


    The wounded creature lunged again, swinging its remaining foreleg. Triska dove to the side, dodging the strike by inches. With a flick of her wrist, she conjured a fire orb and launched it at the mantis¡¯s flank. Flames engulfed the creature, the acrid smell of burning flesh filling the air.


    Mark, meanwhile, was wrestling with his own monster. As the mantis swiped at him again, he grabbed hold of its foreleg and scrambled up, using it like a ladder. Climbing onto the beast¡¯s back, he drove his sword deep into its flesh. The creature bucked and thrashed, trying to shake him off.


    ¡°Fuck!¡± Mark growled, gripping the hilt of his sword for dear life. He yanked the blade free and inched toward the monster¡¯s head, each step precarious as it twisted and writhed beneath him. Reaching its head, Mark plunged his sword straight into its skull, twisting the blade for good measure. ¡°Die, you fucking monster!¡±


    With a final, guttural screech, the mantis collapsed, its massive body hitting the ground with a thunderous crash. Mark tumbled off, landing with a loud thud. ¡°Ouch,¡± he muttered, groaning as he stood and yanked his bloodied sword from the creature¡¯s head.


    Triska, meanwhile, was still locked in battle. With a move of her hand, she lifted snow from the ground and shaped it into a swirling column. With a quick conjuring of ice magic, the snow solidified into a towering pillar of ice. Leaping onto the column, Triska faced the mantis head-on. She summoned two sharp ice shards and flung them into its glowing eyes. The monster screeched in blind fury, thrashing wildly.


    Without missing a beat, Triska conjured a fire bolt and hurled it at the creature¡¯s face. Flames erupted, consuming its head as it stumbled back, screeching in pain. Finally, the mantis collapsed, its fall shaking the earth beneath her feet.


    Triska hopped off the ice column, landing gracefully beside Mark. She smirked. ¡°Looks like you beat me to it.¡±


    ¡°Magic¡¯s flashy, but nothing beats a good old-fashioned sword,¡± Mark replied with a grin, resting his blade on his shoulder.


    They stood there for a moment, catching their breath as the wind carried away the scent of blood and burnt flesh.


    As Mark and Triska ventured further into the crumbling ruins of the ancient temple, they came across a sloping ramp that disappeared into the darkness below.


    ¡°Bet that¡¯s where the artifact is,¡± Mark said. ¡°But I¡¯m guessing there¡¯s more trouble waiting for us down there.¡±


    Triska shot him a playful wink. ¡°Nothing we can¡¯t handle.¡±


    Without another word, they started down the ramp. At the bottom, they were met with a massive stone door, smooth and featureless, with no handles or hinges in sight.


    ¡°Well, this is a problem¡­¡± Mark muttered, crossing his arms. ¡°Got any magic to blast it open or something?¡±


    Triska frowned, examining the door. ¡°I don¡¯t know. Maybe¡ª¡±


    Before she could finish, a deep, resonating sound filled the air. Mark had rested his hand on the door, and suddenly it flared with a blinding, golden light. Both he and Triska shielded their eyes as the strange hum grew louder. When the light faded and they cautiously opened their eyes, the stone door was gone.


    ¡°Well, that¡¯s convenient,¡± Mark quipped, flashing a lopsided grin.


    ¡°How the hell did that happen?¡± Triska asked, still staring at the empty doorway.


    ¡°Who cares?¡± Mark shrugged, stepping forward. ¡°Let¡¯s grab this fucking artifact already. I¡¯m on borrowed time here¡ªpoisoned, remember?¡±


    Triska rolled her eyes but followed him into the shadowy underground chamber, her steps echoing on the stone floor.

 CHAPTER 38 - CURSED RUINS

    CHAPTER 38


    CURSED RUINS


    The underground corridor was pitch black, swallowing every trace of light. Nothing was visible until Triska summoned a glowing orb of fire in her hand, its flickering light pushing back the darkness. The corridor, wide at first, narrowed as they moved deeper. The walls on either side were etched with eerie murals of humanoid figures, their twisted bodies looking as though their bones had been shattered and clumsily pieced back together over and over.


    They pressed forward. A dead end loomed ahead, forcing them to take a sharp left turn into another cramped hallway.


    ¡°How big is this place?¡± Triska asked, her voice echoing off the tight stone walls. ¡°Feels like we¡¯ve been walking forever.¡±


    Mark glanced at the strange murals as they passed. ¡°One thing¡¯s for sure¡ªthis temple isn¡¯t the Holy Church¡¯s work. None of this matches their theology. But who the hell could¡¯ve built something this massive underground?¡±


    Before Triska could reply, the corridor opened into a vast chamber. The air grew colder, swirling with pale, ghostly figures that glided through the darkness.


    ¡°Intruders!¡± one screeched, its voice a piercing wail.


    The ghosts surged toward them, their translucent forms glowing faintly in the firelight.


    ¡°Stay back!¡± Mark barked, unsheathing his spirit sword. The blade hummed with a green glow, pulsing like it was alive.


    He lunged at the nearest ghost, plunging his sword into its chest. The ghost erupted into a burst of light and vanished. Another one swiped at him with icy claws, but Mark sidestepped and cleaved it in half, sending it back to the underworld.


    A third ghost lunged from above, but Mark ducked just in time, driving his sword into its stomach. It dissolved with a hiss.


    Two more came at him from opposite sides. Mark leapt into the air, avoiding their grasp, and landed smoothly. With two swift slashes, both ghosts disappeared into nothingness.


    Only one ghost remained. Mark charged, thrusting his glowing blade straight into its heart. The final specter let out a shriek before fading into oblivion.


    Mark exhaled, wiping his brow. ¡°Let¡¯s move.¡±


    Triska gave a quick nod, and they pressed on, stepping carefully through the now-silent chamber. At the far end, they found another door leading into a shadowy, narrow corridor.


    They moved cautiously through the corridor when a low, menacing growl froze them in their tracks. Without warning, two creatures emerged from the shadows. They were humanoid in shape but grotesque¡ªunnaturally gray-skinned, hairless, naked, and crouching on all fours like feral beasts. Their long claws gleamed in the dim light as they charged at Mark.


    The narrow corridor left Mark little room to maneuver, but he quickly drew his sword. The first creature lunged, and with a swift, precise swing, Mark cleaved it clean in half at the waist. Its torso and legs hit the ground with a sickening thud, spilling sticky, dark blood.


    The second creature moved faster, slamming into Mark and pinning him to the floor. Its claws raked across his cheek as he struggled to keep it at bay with the hilt of his sword.


    ¡°Mark, hold on!¡± Triska shouted. She conjured an ice shard and hurled it with deadly accuracy. The shard struck the creature square in the forehead, and it collapsed lifelessly on top of Mark.


    ¡°Fucking monster!¡± Mark growled, shoving the heavy corpse off and scrambling to his feet. He glanced at Triska. ¡°Thanks. Let¡¯s keep moving.¡±


    They pressed forward, emerging into a large chamber¡ªand froze. Dozens of the same gray-skinned monstrosities filled the space, snarling and baring their claws.


    ¡°Oh, great,¡± Mark muttered, gripping his sword tighter. ¡°Here we go.¡±


    The horde charged. One leapt high, aiming to land on Mark. He rolled to the left just in time, evading the attack, and countered with a clean swipe of his blade, severing the creature¡¯s head. The head rolled across the floor with a heavy thud, followed by the lifeless body.


    Another beast lunged at him, claws outstretched. Mark met it with a quick slash, severing its hand at the wrist before finishing it with a brutal cut across the chest.


    Suddenly, three creatures attacked at once, coming at him from different directions. One clawed at his chainmail, tearing through a section and grazing the skin beneath. Mark spun, delivering a powerful back kick that sent the attacker sprawling. At the same time, he drove his sword through the chest of the second creature, the blade piercing clean through. With his free hand, he landed a crushing punch to the face of the third creature, shattering its nose in a spray of blood.


    Retrieving his sword from the second creature, Mark pivoted and slashed the third across the chest, dropping it instantly. He turned just in time to dodge a charging attack from the first creature, now back on its feet. Sidestepping gracefully, he delivered a final slash across its back, killing it.If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    Meanwhile, Triska faced her own onslaught. Four creatures rushed her at once, their claws gleaming dangerously. She raised her hands and conjured orbs of fire, launching them like missiles. The monsters were engulfed in flames, their screams echoing as the stench of burning flesh filled the air.


    But the fight wasn¡¯t over. Three more creatures emerged, one of them moving alarmingly fast. It leapt at Triska, claws poised to strike. She barely managed to conjure an invisible energy shield, and the creature slammed into it like hitting a brick wall, falling back dazed.


    Triska didn¡¯t waste a second. She summoned an ice bolt and hurled it, freezing the creature mid-motion. With a flick of her hand, she shattered it into a thousand glittering shards. Turning to the remaining two monsters, she raised the ice shards with a simple gesture and sent them hurtling like deadly projectiles. The shards pierced the creatures, leaving them crumpled in a dark, bloodied heap.


    ¡°That was intense,¡± Triska said, her breath heavy as she lowered her hands.


    Mark nodded, wiping blood from his cheek. ¡°Yeah. Let¡¯s hope that¡¯s the worst of it.¡±


    They moved cautiously through the chamber, their footsteps echoing off the stone walls, and entered another narrow corridor that seemed to stretch endlessly. Minutes passed, the silence pressing on them like a heavy weight.


    ¡°Just how big is this place?¡± Mark muttered.


    At last, the corridor opened into a small, dimly lit room. In its center stood a stone altar, and resting on top was a brilliant gemstone¡ªa radiant blue that shimmered like it was alive. Mark¡¯s eyes lit up as he stepped closer.


    ¡°This has to be it,¡± he said, reaching out. ¡°Let¡¯s grab this fucking thing and get the fuck out of here.¡±


    As his fingers closed around the gemstone, the room suddenly trembled violently. Dust cascaded from the ceiling, and a deep rumble filled the air.


    ¡°Uh¡­ I think that ain¡¯t good,¡± Mark said. ¡°Run!¡±


    The ground beneath them bucked as Mark and Triska turned and bolted back the way they had come. The walls seemed to close in around them, shaking so hard it was difficult to stay upright.


    When they re-entered the chamber where they¡¯d slain the monsters earlier, a fresh wave of them poured out from the shadows, their gray skin gleaming in the flickering light.


    ¡°Shit!¡± Mark growled.


    But there was no time to fight. The floor quaked beneath their feet, and massive chunks of the ceiling began crashing down, crushing several monsters in a spray of blood and rubble.


    ¡°Keep running!¡± Triska shouted, her voice barely audible over the chaos.


    They sprinted into the narrow corridor, their breath ragged and their legs burning with exertion. Mark¡¯s lungs felt like they were on fire, and his steps grew heavier with every stride. Behind them, the sound of claws scraping against stone grew louder¡ªthe monsters weren¡¯t giving up.


    A massive rock fragment broke free from the ceiling and plummeted straight toward them.


    ¡°Mark, watch out!¡± Triska cried.


    With a quick gesture, she conjured an invisible energy shield. The falling rock smashed into it, shattering into harmless debris, but the strain made her stumble. Mark grabbed her arm, pulling her forward.


    ¡°We can¡¯t stop!¡± he shouted, his voice hoarse.


    Another tremor shook the corridor, and this time, a colossal slab of stone crashed down behind them, blocking the path¡ªand cutting off the pursuing monsters.


    ¡°Thank fuck,¡± Mark muttered.


    They barreled into the first chamber, the air thick with dust and the sound of destruction roaring in their ears. The entire underground structure was collapsing around them, and the narrow pathways were disappearing in a storm of falling debris.


    ¡°Almost there!¡± Triska urged, her voice strained.


    They reached the sloping ramp they¡¯d descended earlier, the exit just ahead. With one final burst of energy, they scrambled upward, bursting into the freezing daylight just as the ground behind them caved in. A thunderous crash echoed from below, and a massive plume of dust rose into the sky.


    Mark dropped to his knees, bracing himself with his hands on his thighs, gulping in cold, fresh air. Triska collapsed onto the snow, letting it cool her flushed face as she lay sprawled out, gasping.


    ¡°That¡­¡± she wheezed, ¡°¡­that-that-that was insane.¡±


    Mark let out a strained chuckle, wiping sweat and dirt from his brow. ¡°No wonder that Death Lord bastard didn¡¯t wanna do the job himself.¡±


    They climbed onto Mark¡¯s horse and galloped toward the village, the snow crunching under the horse¡¯s hooves. As they approached the mayor¡¯s house, they dismounted, their breath visible in the chilly evening air. Mark knocked firmly on the wooden door, and moments later, Mayor Cedomir opened it. The old man¡¯s weathered face lit up with shock.


    ¡°You¡¯re alive!¡± Cedomir exclaimed, his eyes wide with disbelief. ¡°I never thought I¡¯d see you again.¡±


    Mark grinned. ¡°We¡¯re hard to kill. Mind if we crash here for the night?¡±


    ¡°Of course! Come in, come in,¡± Cedomir said, stepping aside to let them in.


    The warmth of the house was a welcome relief. They ate the same hearty soup Cedomir had made during their last visit, savoring its rich flavor. That night, Mark and Triska shared the small, cozy bed the mayor offered, wrapping themselves in each other¡¯s warmth beneath the thick blankets.


    At dawn, they bid Cedomir farewell and set off once more, the snow falling steadily as they rode into the endless white expanse of the grasslands. The wind howled like a wild beast, and the biting cold cut through their cloaks, but their destination was clear¡ªa lone figure waited for them on the horizon, draped in a dark cloak.


    As they drew closer, Mark recognized the ominous silhouette. It was the Death Lord.


    Mark and Triska dismounted, their boots crunching on the frozen ground. Mark approached the figure and tossed him the glowing gemstone. The Death Lord caught it effortlessly, his gloved fingers closing around it.


    ¡°You¡¯ve done well,¡± the Death Lord said, his deep, unnatural voice reverberating like a growl. ¡°You did not disappoint me, as I expected.¡± He reached into his cloak and tossed Mark a heavy pouch of coins, which jingled. ¡°The gold I promised. I always keep my word.¡± Then, with a flick of his wrist, he produced a small flask and handed it to Mark. ¡°Drink this.¡±


    Mark eyed the flask suspiciously. ¡°What is it?¡±


    ¡°The antidote.¡±


    Mark hesitated, still mistrusting the man. But with a glance at Triska and a deep breath, he uncorked the flask and downed its contents. The liquid was sharp and bitter, burning as it slid down his throat.


    ¡°So,¡± Mark asked, ¡°I¡¯m clean now?¡±


    The Death Lord gave a slight nod. He turned to leave, his dark cloak billowing behind him, but Mark wasn¡¯t done.


    ¡°What do you want with the gemstone?¡± Mark called after him. ¡°And what were those ruins? That wasn¡¯t a temple of the Holy Church.¡±


    The Death Lord paused but didn¡¯t turn around. ¡°It¡¯s an older place, built long before the Church. But that¡¯s not your concern. You¡¯ve done your job, been paid, and our business is finished. Should I need your services again, I¡¯ll find you.¡±


    Mark raised an eyebrow. ¡°There¡¯s gonna be a next time?¡±


    A low, chilling chuckle came from the Death Lord as he continued walking. ¡°Perhaps.¡±


    Without another word, he vanished into the snowy horizon, leaving Mark and Triska standing in silence.


    Mark turned back to Triska and gestured to the horse. ¡°Hop on,¡± he said as he himself mounted it.


    She climbed up and leaned in, pressing a kiss to his neck. Mark smiled.


    ¡°Let¡¯s hit the road,¡± he said, urging the horse forward.


    And so, they rode on, the snow stretching endlessly before them. For that is the life of a wandering swordsman¡ªto always be on the move.

 CHAPTER 39 - THE DISCIPLE RETURNS

    CHAPTER 39


    THE DISCIPLE RETURNS


    Mark urged the horse forward, its hooves pounding through the snow as they galloped at full speed. Triska clung tightly to his waist, her breath warm against his back. The snowy plains stretched endlessly, but up ahead, a small village came into view. Thin trails of smoke curled from chimneys atop thatched roofs.


    As they drew closer, a middle-aged farmer spotted them and froze in place for a heartbeat before screaming in sheer terror. Without looking back, he turned and bolted toward the village.


    ¡°What the fuck?¡± Mark muttered, spurring the horse faster. Within moments, they overtook the fleeing man, cutting him off.


    ¡°Hey!¡± Mark barked, pulling the reins to slow the horse. The man kept running, his arms flailing. ¡°Why the fuck are you afraid of us?¡±


    ¡°Bandits!¡± the man gasped, his face pale and drenched in sweat.


    Mark rolled his eyes and let out an exasperated sigh. ¡°I ain¡¯t a fucking bandit, you idiot.¡±


    The man stopped abruptly, hands on his knees as he caught his breath. ¡°Oh,¡± he panted, ¡°why didn¡¯t you say so sooner?¡±


    Triska raised an eyebrow. ¡°Maybe because you were too busy screaming and running?¡±


    The man straightened. ¡°Sorry. We¡¯ve been on edge. A gang of bandits has been harassing our village for months. We usually give them whatever they demand, but two days ago¡­ we told them to fuck off and killed their messenger.¡±


    Mark whistled low. ¡°Ballsy. So, what¡¯s the plan when they come back pissed off?¡±


    The man glanced around nervously. ¡°There¡¯s this swordswoman. She showed up about a week ago, and she¡¯s the reason we stood up to them. Said she¡¯d defend the village for free.¡±


    ¡°A swordswoman, huh?¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± the man said, nodding eagerly. ¡°A real badass. She gave us a demonstration with her blade¡ªquick as lightning, strong as an ox. She¡¯s staying at the inn.¡±


    Mark exchanged a look with Triska, who shrugged. ¡°Alright,¡± Mark said, swinging down from the horse. ¡°Lead the way. I want to meet this swordswoman.¡±


    The man nodded and started toward the village, glancing nervously over his shoulder at them as if still half-expecting trouble. He led Mark and Triska to a larger building near the heart of the village, its wooden sign creaking in the wind. Mark figured it had to be the inn. The man pushed open the door, motioning for them to enter. As soon as they stepped inside, Mark froze.


    There she was. Guanyu.


    Before he could say a word, Guanyu¡¯s face lit up with shock and joy. She rushed toward him and threw her arms around him, hugging him tightly. ¡°Mark!¡± she exclaimed, her voice trembling with emotion. ¡°I¡¯ve missed you so much.¡±


    Mark returned the embrace, though he was still stunned. ¡°Lady Guanyu,¡± he said, pulling back just enough to look at her. ¡°What in the hell are you doing here?¡±


    Guanyu stepped back. ¡°After you left the manor, I couldn¡¯t take it anymore. I was tired of being forbidden to practice swordsmanship, tired of being treated like some fragile flower in the Imperial Court. I was nothing but a canary in a gilded cage. I wanted more. I wanted freedom, my own destiny. So, I left. I escaped the manor and became a wandering swordswoman, putting to use everything you taught me. I crossed the border into Archon Vlad¡¯s lands so my father couldn¡¯t drag me back.¡±


    Mark sighed, shaking his head. ¡°My Lady, you know I always believed in your talent. You were born for the sword, but you¡¯re still inexperienced. Wandering alone, dealing with dangerous men like bandits¡ª¡±


    Guanyu raised her hand, cutting him off. Her voice was sharp now, her eyes fierce. ¡°You never treated me like some helpless damsel during training, so why start now? What¡¯s changed, Mark?¡±


    ¡°Training you like an equal is one thing. Letting you face a gang of murderous bandits alone when you¡¯re still finding your footing is something else entirely.¡±


    ¡°Why do you always have to act like this? I thought you¡¯d be proud of me!¡±


    ¡°I am proud of you. But I also care about you¡ªmore than you know. And that¡¯s why I don¡¯t want to see you get hurt.¡±


    Guanyu sighed deeply, her shoulders slumping. ¡°You sound just like my father.¡±


    Mark exhaled sharply, holding his hands up in surrender. ¡°Fine. I won¡¯t stand in your way. You¡¯re an adult, and it¡¯s your life to live. But at least let Triska and me help you with these bandits. You don¡¯t have to do this alone.¡±


    Guanyu¡¯s eyes darted to Triska, who was watching the exchange with a smirk. ¡°Who¡¯s she?¡± Guanyu asked.


    Triska stepped forward, casually brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. ¡°I¡¯m a witch,¡± she said with a playful grin. ¡°Terrifying, I know. Try not to faint.¡±


    Guanyu huffed but nodded. ¡°Fine. I suppose you both could be useful.¡± She turned to the owner of the inn. ¡°Bring food and beer for my guests. I¡¯ll cover it.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, my Lady,¡± Mark said, bowing his head slightly.


    The three of them settled at a sturdy wooden table as bowls of steaming hot soup and mugs of frothy beer were placed before them. Between sips of her drink, Guanyu launched into the full story of her escape from the manor¡ªhow she slipped past the guards under cover of night, how she wandered the lands, and how she had already tested her swordsmanship against thieves and scoundrels along the way.


    Mark listened intently. Triska, meanwhile, leaned back in her chair, sipping her beer with an amused smile.


    ¡°So,¡± Guanyu said, finishing her story with a triumphant smile, ¡°are you convinced now that I¡¯m not some fragile flower?¡±


    Mark smirked. ¡°You¡¯ve got guts, I¡¯ll give you that. But let¡¯s see how you handle yourself when the bandits come knocking.¡±


    ¡°You should rest after the journey,¡± Guanyu said. ¡°It¡¯s late, and I need you sharp when the bandits come. I¡¯ll be doing the same. Goodnight, Mark. It was nice seeing you again.¡±


    She stood, a little unsteady from the beers, and made her way to her room. Mark watched her go, then tossed a few coins to the innkeeper, who led him and Triska to their room. Once inside, Mark closed the door and slowly began removing his chainmail, the clinking metal breaking the quiet.


    ¡°So,¡± Triska said with a sly smile, leaning against the wall. ¡°That¡¯s the woman you were talking about, huh? The one you fell for, but her father got in the way. Cute story.¡±


    Mark chuckled as he set the armor down. ¡°Don¡¯t tell me you¡¯re jealous of her?¡±


    Triska shrugged. ¡°A little,¡± she admitted. ¡°You said you felt something between us, but that was when you thought Guanyu was out of reach. Now? Her father¡¯s not here to stop you. And judging by the way she looked at you, she wouldn¡¯t mind warming your bed tonight.¡±If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    ¡°True,¡± Mark said with a smirk. ¡°But I want you, not her.¡±


    ¡°What changed?¡± Triska asked, tilting her head. ¡°Didn¡¯t you say you had feelings for her?¡±


    ¡°I did. Just like you had feelings for Sokolov. If he came back and declared his love, would you run to him?¡±


    Triska hesitated, then shook her head firmly.


    ¡°Exactly. It was something from the past. I¡¯ll always care about Guanyu, but what I feel for you is different. It¡¯s real.¡±


    Triska¡¯s smile turned mischievous. ¡°Then prove it.¡±


    Mark didn¡¯t hesitate. He stepped forward, wrapped her in his arms, and kissed her deeply, passionately. When he finally pulled back, he grinned. ¡°Is that proof enough?¡±


    ¡°Not even close,¡± Triska teased, her voice dropping to a sultry whisper. She leaned in, licking his earlobe and murmuring, ¡°I want you to fuck me.¡±


    That was all Mark needed. He swept her off her feet and tossed her onto the bed, their laughter breaking the tension. Clothes hit the floor in a flurry, and Mark climbed on top of her. They moved together with raw energy, the old bed groaning beneath them as Triska¡¯s cries of pleasure filled the room.


    After two rounds of intense lovemaking, they lay tangled together on the bed, Triska cuddled against Mark¡¯s chest. Exhausted, Mark drifted off to sleep.


    Before dawn, Mark woke quietly. The faint glow of morning peeked through the shutters. Careful not to disturb Triska, who was still curled against him, he slipped out of bed, dressed, and headed downstairs.


    In the common room, he found Guanyu already awake, sipping a mug of beer. Her eyes met his as he approached, and he could tell something was off.


    ¡°Hey,¡± he greeted her. ¡°What are you doing up so early?¡±


    Guanyu glared at him, her cheeks flushed, whether from alcohol or anger, he wasn¡¯t sure. ¡°You slept with her, didn¡¯t you?¡± Mark opened his mouth, but she cut him off. ¡°Don¡¯t bother denying it. I heard her. Hell, everyone heard her. What a screamer! Or maybe you¡¯re just that good.¡±


    Mark scratched the back of his neck, his face flushing. ¡°I¡ª¡±


    ¡°You know we had something,¡± Guanyu interrupted, her voice wavering.


    Mark sighed. ¡°We did, yeah. And if things had gone differently back when I was at your father¡¯s manor, maybe we¡¯d be together now. But life didn¡¯t work out that way. I¡¯ve accepted it, and you should too. Guanyu, you¡¯re amazing, and you can do so much better than me.¡±


    Guanyu stood abruptly and leaned in, pressing her lips to his in a desperate kiss. For a moment, Mark responded instinctively, but then he gently pushed her back.


    ¡°No,¡± he said firmly. ¡°That¡¯s not right. And you¡¯ve had too much to drink.¡±


    ¡°Why her and not me?¡± Guanyu asked, her voice breaking.


    Mark¡¯s expression softened. ¡°I don¡¯t know. The heart wants what it wants. I never meant to hurt you, and I still care about you¡ªa lot. But it¡¯s different now. You¡¯ll always be special to me, but as my disciple, not as my lover.¡±


    Guanyu blinked back tears, then sighed. ¡°You¡¯re right. I¡¯m sorry for acting like this. I shouldn¡¯t have¡ª¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t apologize,¡± Mark said, his voice gentle as he reached out to caress her cheek. ¡°Just get some rest. You need to be ready when the bandits show up.¡±


    Guanyu nodded, her shoulders relaxing. ¡°Thank you, Mark.¡±


    Suddenly, a farmer burst into the inn, his eyes wide with terror. ¡°Bandits!¡± he shouted, his voice cracking. His face was pale as a ghost, and Mark smirked, thinking the poor guy might keel over from fright. ¡°Bandits!¡± the man screamed again, louder this time.


    Mark turned to Guanyu. ¡°Gear up. Time to see if you¡¯re ready to be a real swordswoman.¡±


    He sprinted upstairs. Triska was already awake, pulling her gown over her shoulders. Mark froze for a moment, his gaze drawn to her generous breasts.


    ¡°You can stare all you want after we deal with the bandits,¡± Triska teased, fastening her belt.


    Mark chuckled. ¡°I¡¯ll hold you to that.¡± He quickly strapped on his chainmail, Triska helping him tighten the straps. With his sword in hand, he headed back down.


    The three of them¡ªMark, Triska, and Guanyu¡ªrushed to the village outskirts, where a gang of bandits roared and charged through the snow, brandishing swords and axes. Clad in fur and reeking of sweat, they rushed forward like wild animals.


    Mark didn¡¯t hesitate. He launched himself at the nearest attacker. The bandit swung his blade in a wide arc, aiming for Mark¡¯s head, but Mark ducked and drove his sword straight into the man¡¯s chest. The bandit let out a guttural scream as blood sprayed onto the snow. Mark yanked the blade free just in time to deflect an oncoming axe. The clash of metal rang out as the bandit swung again, only for Mark to sidestep and knee him hard in the groin. As the man doubled over in pain, Mark slashed his throat, and he crumpled to the ground, blood pooling around him.


    Another bandit rushed at Mark, their swords clashing in a blur of strikes and parries. Mark pressed forward with relentless blows, forcing the man back. With a quick twist of his blade, he severed both of the bandit¡¯s hands at the wrists. The severed hands hit the ground, still gripping the sword. Mark delivered a swift kick to the man¡¯s chest, sending him sprawling as he screamed in agony.


    An axe-wielding bandit charged next. Mark scooped up a handful of snow and flung it into the man¡¯s face. Blinded, the bandit stumbled just as Mark lunged, driving his sword deep into his stomach. Another attacker came at him, and Mark dodged the first slash, countering with a low strike that took the bandit¡¯s legs clean off. The man hit the ground with a blood-curdling wail.


    Nearby, Guanyu faced her own fight. A bandit rained blows down on her, but she blocked them one by one, though her movements grew slower under the pressure. When she saw an opening, she kicked the man¡¯s shin, forcing him to retreat with a cry of pain. Seizing the chance, she went on the offensive, aiming a downward slash at his head. The bandit raised his sword to block, but Guanyu feinted mid-swing, shifting her attack into a deadly thrust. Her blade pierced his chest and emerged out the other side. She yanked it free as another bandit charged her.


    Guanyu leapt into the air, landing behind her charging foe. With a quick slash across his back, she sent him sprawling in pain. Another bandit, this one wielding an axe, roared as he sprinted toward her. Guanyu spun around and leapt again, this time bringing her sword down in a powerful vertical strike as she descended. Her blade split the bandit cleanly in half, his body falling into two gruesome pieces on either side of her. She stood amidst the carnage, her sword dripping blood, her breath steaming in the cold air.


    Triska was in the thick of the fight. With a flick of her wrists, she conjured blazing fire orbs and hurled them at two charging bandits. The flames engulfed them instantly. Their screams pierced the cold air as they thrashed wildly, trying in vain to extinguish the fire. They collapsed into the snow, smoke rising from their charred bodies, and the sickening smell of burning flesh filled the battlefield.


    Another bandit, armed with a wooden club, charged toward her, roaring like a beast. Triska raised her hands, summoning sharp ice shards, and flung them with precision. The shards struck his eyes, blood dripping as he screamed in blind agony. His club slipped from his grasp as he stumbled, lost and disoriented. Triska wasted no time; she conjured a final shard and hurled it straight into his chest, silencing him.


    Three more bandits rushed at her. Without hesitation, she summoned icy bolts and sent them flying. The bolts struck each man, freezing them solid in an instant. Their frozen forms shattered into countless shards, scattering like glittering glass across the snowy ground.


    Suddenly, a fourth bandit lunged at her from behind. She spun around just in time to conjure an invisible energy shield. His sword slammed into the barrier with a dull thud, as if striking solid stone. He swung again and again, each strike testing her strength. Sweat trickled down Triska''s brow as she poured her energy into maintaining the shield.


    Before the man could break through, a blade burst through his chest. He froze mid-swing, then crumpled to the ground in a pool of blood. Mark stood behind him, sword in hand.


    ¡°Thanks,¡± Triska said breathlessly.


    Mark gave her a quick nod, already turning toward the last bandit¡ªa hulking man wielding twin swords. This one was clearly the leader.


    Mark charged. Their blades collided with a sharp clang, sparks flying as they clashed. The bandit leader thrust with his second sword, the blade finding a gap in Mark¡¯s chainmail and plunging into his shoulder. Mark gritted his teeth against the pain and kicked the man hard in the stomach, forcing him backward.


    Even with the sword still lodged in his shoulder, Mark pressed the attack. He parried the leader¡¯s strikes, their swords ringing out in rapid succession. Then, with a swift, decisive swing, Mark¡¯s blade found its mark, severing the leader¡¯s head. The bloodied head soared through the air before landing with a thud on the snow. The leader¡¯s body collapsed, staining the ground red.


    ¡°Mark!¡± Guanyu shouted, running over. ¡°Are you okay?¡±


    Mark grimaced but managed a smirk. ¡°Just a scratch.¡± He yanked the sword from his shoulder and tossed it aside, blood dripping from the wound.


    Triska stepped forward, her hands already glowing with a soft light. ¡°Hold still,¡± she said gently. She placed her hands on his shoulder, murmuring an incantation. The wound began to close, the torn flesh knitting back together.


    ¡°Thanks,¡± Mark said, flexing his arm. ¡°Let¡¯s go tell the villagers it¡¯s over.¡±


    When they returned, the village erupted in cheers. The townsfolk surrounded them, clapping, whistling, and shouting their gratitude. Inside the inn, they were treated to hot food and mugs of frothy beer. Mark, Triska, and Guanyu sat together, basking in the warmth and relief of victory.


    After a while, Mark leaned back and looked at Guanyu. ¡°You did well out there. I¡¯m proud of you.¡±


    Guanyu beamed. ¡°Thank you. That means a lot.¡±


    ¡°So, what¡¯s next for you?¡± Mark asked.


    ¡°I¡¯ll keep wandering and fighting the bad guys,¡± Guanyu said with a grin.


    ¡°You¡¯ve got the skills for it,¡± Mark said. ¡°Just remember¡ªdon¡¯t take on more than you can handle.¡±


    Guanyu nodded. ¡°You take care too.¡±


    As they prepared to leave, the innkeeper approached. ¡°Is there anything else we can do for you?¡± he asked.


    Mark thought for a moment. ¡°We could use another horse.¡±


    The innkeeper smiled and led them outside. With a sharp whistle, he called over a sturdy brown horse from the stable. ¡°Take her,¡± he said. ¡°Consider it our thanks for saving the village.¡±


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Mark said, mounting his white horse as Triska climbed onto the brown one.


    With a final wave to the cheering villagers, they galloped off into the horizon. For that is the life of a wandering swordsman¡ªto always be on the move.

 CHAPTER 40 - ROGUE SORCERERS

    CHAPTER 40


    ROGUE SORCERERS


    Mark and Triska urged their horses onward, the rhythmic pounding of hooves breaking the silence of the snowy landscape. Ahead, a village came into view, marked by thin tendrils of smoke rising lazily from chimneys atop thatched roofs. As they entered, their horses'' steps crunching on the snow-covered dirt road, the streets appeared eerily empty. Only one figure stood outside¡ªa bald, elderly man bundled against the cold.


    ¡°Hey,¡± Mark called out. ¡°Is there an inn here, or¡ª¡±


    The old man interrupted him. ¡°You¡¯re a swordsman, aren¡¯t you? Name¡¯s Drahomir. No, there ain¡¯t no inn, but you can stay at my place. Got a spare bed¡ªused to be my son¡¯s before he was killed.¡±


    Mark¡¯s face softened. ¡°I¡¯m sorry to hear that. Thanks for the offer. And yeah, I¡¯m a swordsman. Do you need help with something?¡±


    Drahomir gave a slow nod.


    ¡°Just so you know, I don¡¯t work for free,¡± Mark added. ¡°I¡¯m not running a charity.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s fair,¡± Drahomir said. ¡°I¡¯ve saved up plenty of coin over the years. Meant to give it to my son one day, but he¡¯s gone now... like so many others. All because of those damned rogue sorcerers.¡±


    ¡°Rogue sorcerers?¡± Triska cut in, her eyebrow arching. ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    The old man sighed heavily, his breath visible in the cold air. ¡°It started a few weeks back. People began disappearing in the woods nearby¡ªmy son included. At first, we didn¡¯t know who or what was to blame. I even held out hope that he was just missing, not dead. Then a man stumbled back into the village, barely alive. Before he passed, he told us about a group of rogue mages hiding in the forest. They¡¯re the ones behind the killings.¡±


    Mark exchanged a glance with Triska, then looked back at Drahomir. ¡°We can deal with them,¡± he said firmly. ¡°For seventy gold coins.¡±


    The old man¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°Seventy? That¡¯s my whole fortune.¡±


    ¡°Revenge doesn¡¯t come cheap,¡± Mark replied.


    Drahomir hesitated, his shoulders sagging. Then, with a nod of resignation, he said, ¡°Fine. If it means avenging my son, it¡¯s worth every coin. You¡¯ve got a deal.¡±


    Mark and Triska rode hard until they reached the edge of the forest, its slopes dark and foreboding under the towering canopy of trees. Dismounting, they led their horses by the reins into the snowy underbrush. The sunlight barely pierced through the dense branches overhead, leaving the ground blanketed in shadows and silence. Each step was a careful one, their boots slipping slightly on the icy terrain.


    ¡°If we do find those sorcerers,¡± Triska began, breaking the quiet, ¡°we should at least hear them out. Get their side of the story.¡±


    Mark gave her a sideways glance. ¡°Feeling sorry for them, are you?¡±


    ¡°I just know how it is. Rogue sorcerers are treated like scum. People assume the worst without asking questions.¡±


    Mark shrugged. ¡°Fair point.¡±


    They trudged on through the cold, the forest seeming to grow darker and quieter. Suddenly, two figures emerged from the trees, their presence as sudden as it was menacing. One was a wiry young man with pale skin and a shabby, oversized robe. The other was older, his chiseled features and athletic build giving him an air of confidence.


    ¡°This is our forest,¡± the older one declared. ¡°Prepare to die!¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re not your enemies!¡± Triska stepped forward, her hands raised. ¡°I¡¯m a witch. I understand what you¡¯re going through.¡± To prove her point, she summoned a small flame in her hand, then let it fizzle out harmlessly.


    The older man narrowed his eyes. ¡°You¡¯re with one of the official orders, aren¡¯t you?¡±


    Triska smirked. ¡°Not even close. I¡¯m rogue¡ªjust like you.¡±


    The younger man, Andrzej, spoke up. ¡°Then you get it. From the moment we showed any magical ability, we were hunted, treated like freaks, like criminals. I had to abandon my family to avoid being executed. I¡¯ve spent my whole life running, hiding. Until Kosma found me.¡± He gestured to the older man.Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    Kosma crossed his arms. ¡°Everything he said is true. We¡¯ve had enough of running. This forest is ours now, our sanctuary. Our dominion.¡±


    ¡°And that gives you the right to slaughter villagers who come near?¡± Mark shot back, his hand instinctively resting on the hilt of his sword.


    Kosma scoffed. ¡°Villagers like those don¡¯t deserve sympathy. Their kind has tormented us, hunted us, executed us in public squares for their twisted sense of justice. They hate us just for existing. They¡¯re the real monsters. We¡¯re just defending ourselves from those bastards.¡±


    Triska exhaled slowly. ¡°He¡¯s not entirely wrong, Mark. You remember how the villagers once paid you to kill me?¡±


    ¡°You did curse a man into a bear,¡± Mark said flatly.


    ¡°They wanted me dead long before that,¡± Triska retorted. ¡°All because I was ¡®weird¡¯ and ¡®different.¡¯ They didn¡¯t even know I was a witch back then. People fear what they don¡¯t understand.¡±


    ¡°So what, we just let these two lunatics keep killing anyone who wanders into this forest?¡±


    ¡°Maybe we can convince the villagers to stay away,¡± Triska suggested.


    Mark shook his head. ¡°The village probably relies on this forest to survive. Avoiding it isn¡¯t an option.¡±


    Before Triska could respond, Kosma raised his hand and conjured a jagged shard of ice, hurling it straight at Mark with deadly precision.


    ¡°Watch out!¡± Triska yelled. She raised her hands, summoning an invisible shield just in time. The ice projectile shattered harmlessly against it.


    Mark unsheathed his spirit sword. ¡°So much for talking this out.¡±


    ¡°Why are you defending this bastard?¡± Andrzej snarled at Triska. ¡°You¡¯re really going to side with him against your own kind? We sorcerers should stick together!¡±


    ¡°Stop it, both of you!¡± Triska yelled, her voice ringing out, but no one listened.


    Kosma conjured a blazing firebolt and hurled it at Mark. Mark dodged just in time, the fiery blast slamming into a tree, setting it ablaze and filling the air with thick smoke. Kosma didn¡¯t stop. He launched more bolts, one after another, forcing Mark to weave and zig-zag across the snowy forest floor. A bolt zipped so close to his face that the heat made his cheek sting, even without contact.


    Closing the gap between them, Mark swung his glowing green spirit sword. Kosma countered with a burst of invisible energy, but the enchanted blade sliced through it like paper. Kosma narrowly dodged, Mark¡¯s sword grazing his robe.


    From behind, Andrzej joined the fray, summoning an ice bolt and launching it straight at Mark. But Triska jumped forward, throwing up a shimmering energy barrier. The ice bolt shattered harmlessly against it.


    ¡°Why are you helping him?¡± Andrzej¡¯s anger flared, his face twisting with rage. ¡°You bitch! Betraying your own kind? I¡¯ll make you regret it!¡±


    With a furious shout, he conjured a flurry of ice shards and hurled them at Triska. She raised her shield again, the shards scattering harmlessly in all directions. Her eyes narrowed, and she retaliated with a bolt of fire aimed at Andrzej. He threw up his own shield, deflecting the flames, then raised his hand skyward and chanted.


    A deafening crack split the air as a bolt of lightning struck down from the heavens, aimed at Triska. She managed to conjure a shield, but the lightning tore through it, exploding in front of her and blasting her backward. She tumbled through the snow, winded but alive.


    Meanwhile, Mark was relentless in his pursuit of Kosma. The sorcerer turned abruptly, his hand crackling with electricity. A surge of energy shot toward Mark, striking a tree and setting it ablaze. Kosma didn¡¯t let up, sweeping the deadly current toward Mark¡¯s position.


    Mark dove, rolled, and jumped to evade the sizzling arc of energy, but a sudden jolt caught him. His chainmail absorbed some of the shock, but pain jolted through his body, making his muscles spasm and his hair stand on end. Desperately, he rolled away from the crackling current, narrowly avoiding a fatal hit.


    As Kosma prepared to strike again, Mark seized his chance. He hurled his sword like a javelin. The glowing blade spun through the air before piercing Kosma¡¯s chest with a sickening crunch. The point of the sword burst through his back. Kosma froze, his face contorting in shock before he crumpled to the snowy ground. Blood seeped out, staining the white snow crimson.


    Mark yanked his blood-soaked sword from Kosma¡¯s chest, his heart pounding as he sprinted back toward Triska. She was still sprawled on the snowy ground, and he spotted Andrzej raising a blazing orb of fire, ready to hurl it at her.


    ¡°Nooo!¡± Mark roared, leaping with all his might. Just as Andrzej prepared to release the fiery attack, Mark came down with a powerful downward slash. His blade cleaved through Andrzej¡¯s head and torso in one clean, brutal arc, splitting him in two. The sorcerer¡¯s halves crumpled onto the snow, staining it deep red.


    Mark dropped to his knees beside Triska, pulling her into his arms. ¡°Are you okay?¡± he asked.


    Triska nodded. ¡°Too bad we couldn¡¯t reason with them. They didn¡¯t deserve this.¡±


    ¡°They didn¡¯t leave me much choice. It was them or us.¡±


    ¡°They attacked because the world failed them,¡± she murmured. ¡°I could¡¯ve been like them, Mark. If things had gone just a little differently, I¡¯d be lying dead in a forest like this one. You spared me once. They weren¡¯t as lucky.¡±


    Mark helped her to her feet, brushing the snow from her cloak. ¡°But you¡¯re not like them. Come on, let¡¯s move. It¡¯s freezing out here, and I¡¯m not in the mood for a lecture on fate.¡±


    They made their way back to the village, where Drahomir greeted them with a wide smile. ¡°Did you kill them?¡± he asked eagerly.


    Mark nodded.


    Drahomir tossed him a pouch of coins. ¡°Thank you, stranger. You¡¯ve done the work of the High God. Come to my home. You¡¯ll stay the night.¡±


    That evening, Drahomir and his wife served them steaming bowls of hearty vegetable soup, warming their chilled bodies. Later, they slept soundly in the small room offered to them. At dawn, Mark and Triska saddled their horses and rode away without looking back. For that¡¯s the way of the wandering swordsman ¨C to keep moving, never staying in one place for too long.

 JOURNAL OF ATHANASIUS (PART V - THE GREYS)

    JOURNAL OF ATHANASIUS


    PART V - THE GREYS


    The war between Archon Innokentios and the coalition of the other Archons has taken a dire and unforeseen turn. Nearly two years have passed since Archon Innokentios unearthed an ancient relic from the age of the Dragon Emperor. This artifact posed a grave threat to the balance of power that had endured among the Archons for three millennia. In response, the other Archons united to form a coalition against him.


    Their fears have now been realized.


    A sorcerer known only as the Death Lord has unlocked the power of the artifact. This relic, now activated, has summoned forth an army of humanoid figures whose twisted forms appear as if their bones have been broken and crudely reassembled countless times. These abominations, called "Greys," have turned the tide of the war. Where Archon Innokentios had previously been on the defensive, this monstrous army has given him a decisive advantage.You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.


    The Greys fight with an unnatural ferocity, and it is said that it takes one hundred human soldiers to bring down a single Grey. They possess inhuman stamina and strength, and injuries that would fell any ordinary being scarcely slow them. The armies of the coalition have suffered devastating losses, unable to match the power of these creatures.


    I beseech the High God to grant us a means to defeat the Greys, for if no such way is found, the entire continent of Xerath may soon fall under the dominion of Archon Innokentios. Yet, as it stands, the Greys seem unstoppable.