Chapter 1: Spark in the Dark
14 June, Year 998 of Radiant Calendar
That day in the early summer was supposed to be The Day of Good Light, a national holiday and festive day for the Kingdom of Ardenia. The port city Merlesia, the central economy of the kingdom, was designed to be the stage where thousands of people danced, laughed, and sang in the streets.
But not anymore, for the people had had enough of the iron-fisted rules of the regency. They had risen up.
The city instead turned into a warzone. The city watch and royal guards clashed against furious protesters that formed an ill-prepared militia. The stone-paved streets were bloodied and littered with corpses. People were shot and murdered. Some of them were unarmed.
Asep had watched it all.
He was there when the riot broke out. He saw with his own eyes how the Royal Guards massacred the cityfolk without a trial. He saw how the people fought back, demanding the throne to understand their struggle.
But was it all true?
He doesn't know. What he knows is that this feels like conspiracy. He remembers the first half of the day and how people seemed cheerful and the city watch even participated in maintaining order for the festive.
But then, chaos erupted just like that in the second half of the day, right during the Princess of the kingdom delivering her speech.
The news of the chaos shook Rodinia far and wide, from Samifjord in the northwest to the Undying Empire in the south. Days later, the Avalon Knights Order of the Albion Empire came to the city and seized it under the pretext of "humanitarian aid" and to investigate the incident.
Of course, the regency saw this as a violation of sovereignty, demanding Albion to leave Ardenian soil. However, the diplomacy seemed to be thwarted as Albion accused the regency of practicing tyrannical rule that violates human rights, and even brought the issue to the international stage. The regency reacted to the threats by sending armies to Merlesia in order to take it back.
The Holy Empire of Rodinia, despite still being in the midst of recovering from the Second Radiant War, also voiced their concerns over the Kingdom, their former vassal. Not because they actually cared, but to find a reason to reclaim their lost territories in Ardenia.
Suddenly, the small Kingdom of Ardenia became the focal point of the world's politics in the blink of an eye, all because of what just happened that day in Merlesia.
War is coming, and he was trapped right in the middle of it.
___
"Regime change? That's the most American thing I've seen on this soil. By God...", Asep muttered, reading Merlesia Times, a local newspaper and printing press. After the riot, Asep followed the stream of refugees leaving Merlesia towards the countryside. He ended up in a small village near a wetland, working as a peat cutter.
And now, here he is, in a tavern. With a newspaper.
Four months in this unknown land have brought him to many places. Most of the time he was traveling from one place to another doing any work he saw. From porter, courier, construction labor, debt collector for a shady pawn shop, bouncer, to even becoming a lumberjack. All for a living and to understand this strange new world. And to make this journey even better, he learned the common tongue of the land, which to his surprise, is not that hard to understand if you're already familiar with English.
Now, he found himself in a tavern in a village somewhere on the Ardenian border with the Holy Empire. His shaved head had grown long enough to be styled with an undercut. His skin tanned even darker due to months of working under the sun of this world. His body got even more ripped due to the heavy physical work.
He wasn't sure what to do next. The war is coming, and a stream of refugees filled the roads where banditry also thrived to prey on them. Travel to another country seemed like a bad choice for now, considering the closest country was the region belonging to the Holy Empire. He knew nothing about the customs, and if he made a slight mistake, he could end up beheaded. He heard the Holy Empire is quite religiously zealous, and he's not even a believer of the Rodinian native religion. Well, he's basically just a 'rarely-practicing' Muslim; meaning that he's infrequently practicing his faith but not outright non-practicing and still holding the core beliefs of his faith.
He sighed.
For now, he decided to just stay in the village for a bit longer, until the situation died down.
Erja village is a small settlement of about 60 households located three days south of Merlesia, east of the Ardenian marshes and wetlands. Bordering a bog, this village is one of the main producers of peat around the region, which is used as traditional fuel across the kingdom. He got his job here as a peat-cutter, which involved using a large, sharp spade called a "sloy" to slice through the compacted peat. The work also involved stacking the cut peat blocks, known as "turf," to dry in the sun and wind before they could be used as fuel. Sometimes he was also tasked to do some farm work at the same time. The pay is good, and it also includes food and housing.
"Should I stop reading the newspaper?" Asep muttered. "... Nah, I need to know about what's happening in this region."
His thought stopped when he noticed three pairs of eyes directed at him. He could feel their gaze from across the room. From their appearances, they looked like some kind of bounty hunters; one with a sallet helmet, one with a green bandana on his head and a fierce grin on his face, and the last one had a mohawk haircut and covered half his face with a dark brown bandana.
*What do they want from me? Am I officially a criminal? Well, I am a criminal, but not in this world, though. I've done nothing to be considered criminal activity in this world. Unless you mean punching some rioters that wanted to kill me is considered a criminal act.* Asep frowned.
*No... that doesn't make sense even if I think logically.* He sighed.
He decided that he would finish his fried egg first before dealing with them. If they indeed wanted to find some trouble, he was more than ready to fight. And if that was the case, he also needed to find a way to make sure that the tavern was not ruined, and the villagers not get caught in the conflict. He didn't want to bring anyone into his mess.
After he finished with his meal, he stood up and walked out of the tavern. It was time to work.
There was no sign of the trio who were giving him a stare trying to stop him. He walked and took his sloy, carried it on his shoulder, and walked towards the bogs.
About fifteen minutes later, deep in the middle of the bog, he heard some footsteps coming from the distance.
*Seems like they're actually following me, huh? I wonder what they want. It's been a long time since I got into a brawl. Should I just play with them for a bit?* He thought, before a grin carved on his face.
"So, what do you want?" He said without averting his gaze from his work.
The three men finally revealed themselves. Two of them wielding spears while the other one was wielding a crossbow. The one with the sallet held a piece of paper, a wanted poster.
"I'm here to collect a bounty on your head, Borwe. I know you've been hiding in Erja village for the past month."
"... Hah? Borwe?" Asep turned his body around, facing them. "I'm sorry, pal. You got the wrong guy. My name is Asep and I'm merely a worker here. Probably that guy named Borwe is no longer in this village."
"Cut the crap, Borwe! You rogue sorcerers are really good at lying, aren't ya?" the one with the green bandana said.
Rogue sorcerer? Asep was dumbfounded. He was just common folk, what did he have to do with magic or whatever?
"Tell us, Stark." The guy with the mohawk haircut said. "The bounty said 'Dead or Alive', so it's alright to kill him, right?"
"Yeah. Bob... Karl, you ready?" Now, the guy named Stark was already in a stance with his spear pointed at Asep. They seemed to be serious about this, and Asep couldn't really do anything about it. Well, except one...
"Hmph... You guys seem to think I'm a sorcerer? Very well..." Asep said, dropping his sloy and raising a hand. Then, slowly, he curled his fingers into a fist. "Well... For starters... I cast *Fist*!"
___
"Urgh... Wait! I yield! I yield!"
The one named Stark raised a hand as a sign of surrendering, his face planted on the muddy ground with his arm locked neatly behind his back. The pain from his twisted joint was excruciating, making him grimace and grit his teeth. His spear lay broken a few feet away, snapped in half like a dry twig. Asep had disarmed him with a fluid motion that seemed almost inhumanly fast, the sound of the shaft splintering echoing across the soggy wetland. Bob, the crossbowman, was unconscious, knocked out cold after a solid kick to the temple sent him spiraling into the muck. Karl, the one with the green bandana, was in a similar state, slumped against a turf stack with a dazed look in his eyes, having been on the receiving end of a barrage of precise, debilitating strikes to his pressure points.
Well, though Asep ended up bare-chested due to his clothes being ruined.
"Hahh.. What a letdown. Still think I'm a sorcerer?" Asep grunted, pressing his knee harder into Stark's back. He wasn't even breaking a sweat. It felt like a light warm-up, a pathetic street brawl compared to the life-or-death struggles he'd endured back home. These... 'bounty hunters', or whatever they were, lacked any real sense of killing intent. Their movements were sloppy, telegraphed, and devoid of the desperate grit he was used to. It was more like they were performers in a play, going through the motions of a fight rather than truly trying to end his life.
"No... No, you're not!" Stark gasped, his voice muffled by the earth. "No sorcerer fights like that! You... you're a monster!"
"A monster? Nah, I just punched you a couple of times. You guys were the ones who pointed weapons at an innocent peat cutter." Asep released his hold and stood up, dusting the peat off his hands. He looked down at the defeated man, then at his two incapacitated companions. "Now, talk. Who is this Borwe guy? Show me the poster."
Stark, groaning, pushed himself up into a sitting position, clutching his throbbing shoulder. With a trembling hand, he reached into his leather satchel and pulled out a crumpled, slightly damp parchment. He offered it to Asep, avoiding eye contact. The drawing on it was a surprisingly detailed charcoal sketch. However, the depiction in the sketch barely showed any similarities to Asep; their jaws and the shape of their eyes. Aside from that, there was nothing similar about that man.
"Damn... You guys are dumb as fuck!" Asep exclaimed, a hint of genuine surprise in his tone. "Look at this guy! There's nothing similar about us, even the shape of his nose is bigger than mine. Let alone the skin tone. Are you guys blind?"
"Y-you get it wrong! This guy is a face-stealer, a dangerous sorcerer that could change his shape on a whim!" Karl, now recovered a bit, explained. "That's why we mistook you for him. I'm sorry."
Asep pinched the bridge of his nose, a wave of exhaustion washing over him. Face-stealer? Shape-shifter? He'd heard it was just a mere myth at best. However... *Hold on, if this guy is indeed in Erja, then... wouldn't it be kind of a dangerous situation for the villagers? What if...* His brows furrowed. His gaze then shifted toward the village. Was it possible that the real Borwe was still lurking there, perhaps disguised as one of the villagers? The thought sent a jolt of unease through him. He liked this village. The people were simple, honest folk who had offered him work and a roof over his head without asking too many questions. To think a dangerous individual might be lurking around in it...
"Well, I feel there's no other choice. How about this, I'll help you track this man down. As an apology for being rough, and your apology for mistaking me for him and ruining my shirt. And... I get a share of the bounty." Asep proposed an idea. He didn't do it for the money, but for the safety of the village. And also, he found a good excuse to not work today.
The three bounty hunters exchanged glances, a mixture of surprise and skepticism on their faces. Stark, still nursing his shoulder, looked Asep up and down. He'd seen what this strange man was capable of. Even if he wasn't the sorcerer they were hunting, his fighting prowess was undeniable. Having him on their side would be a significant advantage.
"Are you serious?" Stark asked, his voice laced with caution. "Why would you help us? Besides... you want a share of the bounty? You're not even a registered bounty hunter."
"Does it matter? I am strong, and you've seen it. Consider this a partnership. I just want to make sure this village is safe. And if you're not going with me on this, I'll beat you up until you decide to cancel your hunt for good." Asep's voice was calm, but his eyes held a glint of steel that left no room for argument.
Stark swallowed hard. He had no choice. This was not a negotiation. It was a threat.
"...Alright. You've got a deal."
___
The four of them walked back toward the village, now in a very awkward silence for some reason. Bob, with a sizable lump on his head, and Karl, still wincing with every step he took. Stark, the leader, was more composed, but Asep could still see the lingering fear in his eyes.
"So, where do we start?" Stark asked, breaking the silence. "This 'Borwe' could be anyone. A farmer, a shopkeep, even one of the elders."
"Hmm... Does this sorcerer have any pattern?" Asep inquired, his eyes scanning the seemingly peaceful village ahead. He was looking for anything out of the ordinary, any subtle disharmony in the fabric of daily life.
"Actually, his bounty noted he has this strange, coiling serpent tattoo on his left arm." Karl chimed in. "He's also a heavy drinker. I think we should start by investigating the tavern."
"Hmm... That's a good idea, Karl." Asep nodded. "Alright. I'll go to the tavern and see if I can find anyone suspicious. You guys... uh... just lay low for a bit. You've already created quite a commotion after all."
___
Asep strolled back into the tavern, his hands tucked casually into the pockets of his worn trousers. The interior was much the same as he'd left it—a collection of weathered wooden tables, the lingering scent of stale ale and smoked fish, and the low hum of conversation. The mid-day light streamed in through the grimy windows, illuminating dust motes dancing in the sunbeams. He took a seat at the bar, the same spot where he had eaten his breakfast earlier, and nodded to the burly, red-faced tavern keeper who was wiping down the counter with a damp rag.
"Back so soon, lad?" the tavern keeper, a man named Trival, grunted. "Thought you'd be out in the bogs until sundown."
"Change of plans," Asep replied, leaning his elbow on the polished wood. "Decided to take an early day. Just a mug of your cheapest ale, old man." His eyes casually scanned the room. It was sparsely populated at this hour. A few farmers were nursing their drinks in a corner, probably talking about crop yields and the unusually dry weather. A grizzled trapper sat alone by the hearth, meticulously cleaning his hunting knife. Nothing seemed out of place. No one seemed to be paying him any particular attention, which was exactly what he wanted.
*Heavy drinker, huh? And a tattoo…* Asep mused, his gaze drifting over the exposed arms of the patrons. The farmers wore simple, long-sleeved tunics, their arms covered. The trapper's forearms were visible, but they were a roadmap of old scars and weathered skin, no sign of any ink. Trival slid a wooden mug of frothy, dark ale in front of him. Asep took a long swig. It was bitter and watery, but it was wet. He wasn't here for the quality. He was observing. Watching. Waiting for a tell.
"So, Trival…" Asep began, setting his mug down with a soft thud. "Heard any interesting rumors lately? Anything… unusual happening around the village?" He kept his tone light, conversational, the kind of idle chatter one might expect from a bored laborer looking for a bit of gossip.
"Unusual? Can't say for sure. But... you know, a few days ago, there was this robed figure preaching about rebirth and destruction thing. I didn't get him, but one of our village elders, Gorbin, has been following him like crazy." Trival leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Been acting strange, that old coot. Buying up more booze than a sailor on shore leave. And he's been paying with these… shiny, new silver coins. Not the usual worn-down coppers you see around here."
*Gorbin? An elder?* That was a lead. A solid one. And the mention of new silver coins… that smelled of outside money. Bounty hunters wouldn't be the only ones interested in a rogue sorcerer with a price on his head. "Gorbin, eh?" Asep repeated, feigning mild curiosity. "Never a good sign when an old man starts preaching about the end of the world. Where does he live?"
"Just down the path, past the old mill," Trival grunted, gesturing with a thick thumb towards the tavern door. "The cottage with the thatched roof falling apart. Can't miss it. But I'd be careful if I were you, lad. Gorbin's always been eccentric, but this is different. He's got a wild look in his eyes these days."
Asep finished his ale in one go, slamming the empty mug back on the counter with a satisfying clack. He tossed a couple of copper coins next to it. "Thanks for the heads-up, old man. I'm just a curious soul, that's all. Maybe I'll just check on that 'preacher' he's talking about."
Leaving the tavern, Asep felt a knot of anticipation tighten in his gut. This was more complex than a simple case of mistaken identity. A sorcerer, a shady preacher, a village elder acting erratically… it was a tangled mess, and he was walking right into the middle of it. He found Stark and his crew hiding ungracefully behind a large haystack near the village entrance. Their attempts at stealth were comical; Bob was peeking out so obviously that a child could have spotted him.
"Alright, I got a lead," Asep said, not bothering to lower his voice. "The tavern keeper mentioned one of the village elders, a guy named Gorbin, has been acting weird. Apparently, he's been splurging on alcohol and following some robed preacher spouting nonsense. Lives in a run-down cottage past the old mill. Sounds like our best bet."
Stark's brow furrowed. "An elder? That's… risky. Accusing a village elder could turn the whole community against us."
"We're not accusing anyone yet. We're investigating," Asep corrected him. "You three will be my backup. I'll go in first and try to talk to him. If things go south, you guys come in. But try not to break anything this time, alright? Or anyone's nose." He gave Karl a pointed look, who had the decency to look slightly ashamed.
"Got it." Stark nodded, a newfound resolve in his eyes. He motioned for his crew to follow Asep's lead, this time trying to be a bit more discreet as they moved through the village. Asep led the way, his steps light and purposeful, his senses on high alert. The village of Erja, which had seemed like a peaceful backwater just an hour ago, now felt like a tinderbox, and he was about to get very close to the spark.
___
Gorbin's cottage was exactly as Trival had described it—a dilapidated structure sagging under the weight of its own neglect. The thatched roof was a mess of moss and gaping holes, and the wattle-and-daub walls were cracked and peeling, revealing the skeletal wooden frame beneath. The small garden out front was a riot of overgrown weeds and dying vegetables, a stark departure from the neatly tended plots of the other villagers. A rank, cloying odor hung about the place, a sour mix of cheap wine, unwashed bodies, and something else… something vaguely metallic and unsettling that made the hairs on Asep's arms stand up. He motioned for the bounty hunters to take positions, Stark and Karl flanking the single, grimy window while Bob took cover behind a crumbling stone wall with his crossbow at the ready.
Asep approached the flimsy wooden door, his knuckles hovering just above the splintered surface. He didn't bother knocking. The door was slightly ajar, swinging gently on a single rusted hinge. He gave it a gentle push and it creaked open, revealing the squalor within. The inside was even worse than the outside. The single room was a disaster zone of overturned furniture, scattered food scraps, and dozens upon dozens of empty wine bottles. In the center of the room, slumped in a rickety wooden chair, was an old man. His white hair was thin and matted, his face a web of deep-set wrinkles, and his eyes, though clouded and unfocused, held a disturbing, manic gleam. This had to be Gorbin. He was mumbling to himself, his words a nonsensical slur, clutching a half-empty bottle like a holy relic. But he wasn't alone.
Standing by the hearth, his back to the door, was another figure. This one was tall and draped in a deep purple, hooded robe, trimmed with intricate silver embroidery that seemed to absorb the dim light of the room. A silver masquerade-style mask, ornately carved with swirling patterns, concealed the upper half of his face. His gloved hands were steepled in front of him, and he seemed to be in the middle of a sermon, his voice a smooth, captivating baritone that cut through Gorbin's drunken mutterings. This was undoubtedly the preacher Trival had mentioned. And Asep had a very bad feeling he was also the man they were looking for.
"…and so, the shadow will fall, and the false sun will be extinguished," the robed man was saying, his voice resonating with an unnerving, zealous fervor. "Only then, in the true darkness, will our eyes be opened. Only then will we be reborn. You see this, don't you, my friend? You feel the truth of the coming eclipse."
"The eclipse… yes, the eclipse…" Gorbin slobbered, taking another swig from his bottle. "Rebirth… no more toil… no more pain…"
Asep took a silent step into the room, his weight shifting onto the balls of his feet. He let the door swing shut behind him with a soft click. The sound, though subtle, was enough to break the spell. The robed man's head snapped around, his masked gaze instantly locking onto Asep. There was no surprise in his posture, no sign of alarm. It was as if he had been expecting him all along.
*So this is him. 'Borwe'. He doesn't look like much of a face-stealer right now. More like a cheap cultist trying to scam a drunk old man.* Asep thought, his expression unreadable. *But that posture… he's not just some street preacher. He's trained. Confident. Dangerous.*
"Can I help you?" the robed man asked, his voice smooth as silk, yet carrying an undercurrent of menace. His head tilted slightly, an almost curious gesture. "You are not from this village. I would have remembered a face like yours. Are you, perhaps, another lost soul seeking enlightenment?"
Asep offered a wry, disarming smile. "Nah, not really into enlightenment. I'm more of a 'live fast, die young, leave a good-looking corpse' kind of guy. I'm just looking for a friend of mine. Goes by the name Borwe. Heard he might be around here. You seen him?" He kept his stance relaxed, his hands visible, letting the man believe he was just some clueless wanderer. Deception was a weapon, and he wielded it as skillfully as his fists.
The masked man let out a low, soft chuckle. It wasn't a sound of amusement, but of cold, reptilian satisfaction. "Borwe... an interesting name. A name for a shadow, perhaps. But names are fleeting things, are they not? Just labels we attach to these temporary vessels of flesh." He took a slow, deliberate step away from the hearth, his robes swirling around his ankles. "Tell me, friend… what business do you have with this… 'Borwe'?"
As he moved, the sleeve of his robe shifted, revealing a glimpse of his left forearm. And there it was. Coiling around his wrist, its ink a stark black against his pale skin, was the unmistakable image of a serpent.
*Bingo.*
"My business?" Asep's smile widened, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Oh, you know. Just a little chat. About a bounty. About a rogue sorcerer who likes to charm old men out of their savings and maybe... steal their faces." He flexed his fingers, the joints cracking like dry kindling. "And about how I'm going to take that bounty, 'dead or alive'. So, which one is it gonna be, pal? The easy way, or the hard way?"
The man, Borwe, simply stood there for a moment, the masked face unreadable. Then, he raised a gloved hand, and the red crystal dangling from his wrist began to pulse with a malevolent, crimson light. The temperature in the room plummeted, and the flickering flames in the hearth sputtered and died, plunging the cottage into a deeper gloom.
"There is no easy way," Borwe's voice was no longer smooth, but a harsh, grating whisper that seemed to emanate from the very shadows themselves. "There is only the path to oblivion. A path you have foolishly chosen to walk." With a flick of his wrist, a whip of searing, orange flame erupted from the crystal, lashing out towards Asep with the speed of a striking snake.
___
*BOOM!*
"What the heck!" Karl shouted, almost jumping in surprise.
The wall just a few feet from him exploded, sending a shower of splintered wood and chunks of plaster. He ducked instinctively, shielding his head with his arms as debris rained down around him. Through the newly formed hole, he could see the man with the sallet, Stark, staggering back, his armor singed and a look of disbelief etched on his face.
"He's the real deal! Get ready!" Stark yelled, his voice strained. He quickly regained his footing, leveling his spear towards the interior of the crumbling cottage.
"Let's go, Bob!" Karl said as he readied his spear.
____
Blazing inferno burned the old man's cottage as well as himself. Though Asep managed to jump out of the place before being caught.
From the burning cottage, the sorcerer just casually walked out of the flame without a single scratch, his robe not burned even slightly.
*Tch... This is bad,* Asep clicked his tongue. *He's on another level. I don't think I can deal with him alone.*
"Need some help? Stranger?" Stark asked, now standing next to Asep.
"Well, yeah. I guess. Two spears and a crossbow should be enough for a distraction, right?" Asep said, without averting his eyes from the sorcerer.
"Foolish non-believers, you should've just run. Your faith is nothing against the Eclipse." Borwe said, slowly raising his hand. "Those who don't believe in us shall be vanished. Into the dark, shall you return-"
*BANG!* A single bolt from Bob's crossbow flew toward the sorcerer's head, but it was easily deflected by a swirling vortex of flames that materialized in front of him. The bolt vaporized into ash before it could even get close.
"Tch. Useless." Bob muttered, reloading his crossbow.
"Karl! The usual formation. We need to take him down as fast as possible. Don't forget the Anti-mage rings!" Stark shouted.
"Okay!" Karl said before leaping, charging directly at the flame mage.
"Distraction... huh..." Asep muttered.
The sorcerer, Borwe, seemed unfazed by the sudden assault. His masked face tracked Karl's reckless charge with an unnerving stillness. With a flick of his wrist, another lash of fire erupted from the crystal, this time thicker and more aggressive than before. It snaked through the air, aiming to intercept Karl mid-stride. However, as the flame was about to hit him, a soft, shimmering blue light enveloped Karl's body, the fire dissipating harmlessly against the magical barrier.
"Anti-Mage rings?" Borwe tilted his head. "So you came prepared. How amusing. But such trinkets are mere toys against a true servant of the shadow."
He stomped his foot onto the ground, and a shockwave of thermal energy radiated outwards. The very soil beneath their feet began to glow and crack, emitting waves of intense heat. Asep stumbled back, feeling the sudden, searing warmth even through the thick leather of his boots. It was like standing on a hot stovetop. Stark and Karl, however, seemed less affected, their own magical rings likely providing them with some measure of protection.
"Shit... What should I-" Asep's eyes immediately caught a bucket of water nearby. Without hesitating, he quickly grabbed the bucket and splashed the water on his boots. "At least... It's better than nothing."
While Borwe was momentarily focused on the two spearmen, Asep analyzed the situation. He had never fought a sorcerer before, but he knew that sorcerers usually had weak constitutions. And since the two spearmen were good at close-range combat or even mid-range, he decided to use them as bait. Now, for the real question, how to get close to him was another matter. That, and he needed to find a weakness in his defense.
"Aim for the crystal!" Asep shouted to the bounty hunters. "That's probably his source of power!"
Stark and Karl exchanged a quick glance and nodded in unison. Karl feigned another direct charge, while Stark circled around, looking for an opening on Borwe's flank. The sorcerer, however, was no amateur. He seemed to possess an almost preternatural awareness of the battlefield, his head swiveling to keep both attackers in his sight. He unleashed a barrage of fireballs, forcing Karl to weave and dodge, his anti-mage ring glowing brightly with each deflected spell.
"You think you can overwhelm me with such simple tactics?" Borwe's voice dripped with contempt. "You are insects, buzzing annoyingly before you are inevitably crushed."
"Oh yeah? Seems like quite a hassle for you," Karl said as he tried to find a gap.
Meanwhile, Stark was already behind Borwe. With his spear already in position, he shouted as he unleashed his attack.
"Urraaaagh!"
His spear met a barrier of flame, but it pierced through, though it was only for a mere inch.
"It's not working!" Stark shouted.
"We need to create another distraction then!" Karl replied.
Suddenly, a wet boot came from nowhere and hit Borwe straight in the face.
*Smack!*
"Ow!" Borwe grunted in pain. He staggered back. His hand flew to his mask, a trickle of blood seeping from beneath the ornate silverwork. He had been so focused on the two magically-protected threats in front of him that he had completely disregarded the unarmed, seemingly powerless man who started this whole mess.
"Heh. Distraction, you said?" Asep smirked, now standing just a few feet away, completely barefoot. He had used the chaos of the fight to close the distance silently.
Borwe's head snapped back, his masked gaze burning with a furious, murderous rage. "You… you pest!" He raised his hand, the red crystal flaring with an intensity that dwarfed all of its previous displays. "I'll turn you into cinders!" A torrent of fire, a roaring inferno shaped like a beast's maw, erupted from the crystal, surging towards Asep.
But Asep was already in motion. Instead of retreating, he lunged forward, diving low and sliding across the scorched earth. The wave of fire roared over his head, so close he could feel the hairs on his scalp singe. As he slid, his hand shot out, grabbing a handful of loose dirt and pebbles. He came up right in front of the momentarily off-balance sorcerer. Before Borwe could react or unleash another spell, Asep flung the fistful of grit and gravel directly into his masked face.
"Gahh! You-!"
That was the moment needed for Bob to unleash another sharp shot. This time, it struck true, piercing through the sorcerer's left shoulder.
"Urgh..." Borwe stumbled back, clutching his bleeding shoulder. His concentration shattered. The intricate dance of fire he had woven around himself faltered, flickering like a dying candle. The oppressive heat that had been baking the air subsided.
This was the opening they needed.
Stark didn't waste a second. He surged forward, his spear now unhindered by a magical shield, a glint in his eyes. Without a word uttered, he thrust his spear right into Borwe's upper chest. Followed by Karl from behind, his spear piercing Borwe's stomach through his back.
"Khh... How could.... I...." Borwe's voice gurgled, blood frothing at his lips from behind the mask. His body went limp, held up only by the two spears impaling him. The red crystal on his wrist flickered one last time before its light died out completely, turning into a dull, lifeless piece of stone. His robed figure slumped to the ground as Stark and Karl withdrew their weapons, leaving behind a lifeless heap on the blood-soaked soil.
___
Silence descended upon the smoldering ruins of Gorbin's cottage, broken only by the crackle of the dying embers and the ragged, heavy breathing of the four men standing over the corpse. Dust and ash danced in the sunbeams that pierced through the hazy smoke, illuminating the grisly scene. Borwe lay on the ground, bathed in his own blood, his mask knocked askew by Asep's well-aimed boot, revealing the pale, unremarkable face of a man no older than thirty. His eyes, now wide and glassy, stared up at the uncaring sky. The legendary face-stealer, the rogue sorcerer with a kingdom-wide bounty, looked disappointingly… normal.
"Well… guess that is it. Thanks for the contribution, Asep. It seems like we made it." Stark was the first to speak, breaking the tense quietude. He leaned heavily on his spear, the tip stained crimson, a weary but satisfied expression on his face. He nudged Borwe's body with the butt of his weapon. Nothing. The man was well and truly dead.
"Heh… finally, it's over." Bob sighed, lowering his crossbow. His shot to the shoulder had been the critical turning point, a fact he was clearly proud of. "That was a good shot."
"Yeah… but a win is a win." Karl grunted, wiping a smear of soot and grime from his cheek with the back of his hand. "Though, I gotta say, without the stranger's… unconventional tactics, we would've been in deep trouble." He glanced at Asep, who was now nonchalantly putting his wet, muddy boot back on. There was a newfound respect in the spearman's eyes, a look that acknowledged Asep was much more than just some random peat-cutter.
Asep shrugged, finishing with his boot and standing up straight. "Hey, you gotta use what you have, right? And I had dirt and a shoe. Seemed like a fair trade for all that fire-breathing nonsense." He kicked lightly at the lifeless crystal on Borwe's wrist. It was cold now, just a piece of rock. "So, about that bounty… what's the plan? We have to drag this guy all the way to Merlesia? 'Cause that's gonna stink."
"Proof of kill. That's all we need," Stark explained, pulling an arming sword from a sheath at his hip. "His head. Standard procedure. Once we present it to the Guild, we get paid. And you," he pointed the tip of the blade at Asep, not in a threatening way, but as a matter of fact, "will get your share. As promised. One-fourth of the total sum. It's a hefty amount."
"Nice! With that, I can stockpile more smokes. I'm almost running out," Asep said with a bright smile.
As Stark got to work on the grim task of claiming their proof, Asep's gaze drifted back to the burned-out shell of the cottage. Gorbin, the old man, was nowhere to be seen. He'd surely perished in the inferno Borwe had unleashed. A jolt of something unpleasant, a bitter pang of guilt, shot through him. The old man had been a victim. Lured in by false promises, his home and life had become the stage for their violent confrontation. *'Damn it',* he thought, his earlier satisfaction souring. *'This whole thing… it's a mess. And an old man died because we were chasing this asshole.'*
But he could do nothing about that. For the old man, death was something better than to live in poverty, hoping for a better future where the future itself looked grim. *This Eclipse cult... they're poisoning the minds of the weak.*
"Alright, it's done," Stark announced, holding up a canvas sack, now heavy and dripping. "Let's get out of here before the other villagers start asking questions. We'll divide the pay once we reach the Guild."
"Alright. Let's go then, Loriana is half a day's trip. We'd better hurry if we want to arrive there before dusk," Bob said, as he slung his crossbow on his shoulder.
Asep nodded, but his eyes lingered on the smoking ruins for a moment longer. He had gotten involved just to protect this sleepy little village, but in the end, a part of it had been destroyed anyway, and a resident was dead. It was a hollow victory. War is coming, cults were preying on the desperate, and he was right in the middle of this whole mess.