“Singing Blow!”
The blade seemed to be singing as it cut through the void of the night with lightning speed. At first, nothing happened, and then Arlun stomped on the ground. A nearby tree suddenly split in two with a crash and fell, startling the sleeping birds.
“That’s―”
“―amazing!” Ash clapped, coming closer.
Lari, caught up in the moment, accepted the pouch with a bow, carefully tucking it under his shirt. He didn’t have time to thank Arlun, though, because he swayed and closed his eyes like he was going to fall asleep right there.
“I think it’s time for you to go to bed, my first, and last student.”
“Yeah, you’re… You’re probably right.”
Lari, like some recently raised zombie, walked dejectedly to the hayloft, stumbling and holding his head. As soon as he opened the door, he collapsed face-first to the floor and fell asleep. Ash closed the door with a wave of his hand and turned to Arlun.
“That’s not all that’s in the scroll, is it?” he asked, staring at the blade, the tip of which was pointed in his direction.
“You’re right. There’s another skill there.”
Arlun circled slowly around Ash, forcing the latter to follow him away from the house. His eyes glittered with the clear intent of fighting to the death.
“Lari’s a good man.” Ash nodded, adjusting the grip on his staff. “He’ll manage to learn them.”
“I hope so.” Arlun chuckled.
Soon, they were far enough from the house. Thunder roared in the distance, and the Heavens split open. The grass shivered under the large raindrops driven by the north wind. Snakelike lightning flashed, illuminating the frozen world for a moment. Another loud thunder followed, as if the heavenly blacksmith had warmed up the bellows and slammed the hammer onto the anvil, starting to forge a blade that could kill a God.
“Sleeping Potions are an old, familiar trick,” Ash drawled, pulling the scarf off his head and removing the lens from his eye. “May I know why you’re doing this?”
“Coin.” Arlun shrugged.
Droplets slid off the steel blade, falling steadily to the ground, beating to a rhythm that resembled a funeral march. The skies seemed to announce the death of one of the fighters.
“Ten thousand wasn’t enough?” Ash asked, genuinely surprised.
“Does it look like I have that much?” Arlun smiled sadly again. “You see, when you’re a former slave, you don’t dream of coin, but of a crust of bread that isn’t too moldy. I spent all my earning to buy my freedom.”
Ash had heard of it. Any slaveholder from the Eastern kingdoms dreamed of owning a Ternite.
“I’m so sorry.”
“And it’s going to get even worse!” Arlun snapped, as if angry with himself. “I don’t want to do this anymore! I don’t want to sit in the middle of nowhere, waiting for another bounty hunter to come looking for me! For the first time in twenty-five years, I have a whole world waiting for me! Two years! It took me two years of being a hermit to forget that I no longer needed to ask for permission to go and take a piss!”
Ash wanted to tell him that he could’ve always done what he wanted, but he couldn’t.
“So, why do you need the coin then?”
“Not for me,” Arlun replied and nodded toward the house. “Forty thousand gold will be more than enough for Elanor to live comfortably for the rest of her life.”
“And you’re willing to risk your life for that? For the sake of coin?”
Ash had never understood the obsession over the twinkling metal. Yes, he could accept the stories of lovers who committed sins in the name of love; of scientists who committed crimes to finance their research; of marauding musicians who suffered outrages to feed themselves until their next performances in the cheap and smelly inns; but he never understood the meaning of coin.
Arlun smiled sadly. His black hair was plastered to his pale forehead, and muddy streams of water ran down the leather armor he had worn before training.
“If I kill you… She’ll live in prosperity and someday forget about her runaway husband… And if I die… Well, at least she’ll remember me as a hero who went up against a monster.”
He stared at the heterochromatic eyes but found no trace of emotion in them. It was as if he was looking at a statue or a suddenly animated portrait. He couldn’t afford to stay in the forest any longer. He did what he had come here for.
The man named Ar Lan died after having lived for only twenty years. Arlun had come a long way from being a twelve-year-old slave to being a thirty-two-year-old man, all for the sake of being able to live his own life. And Elanor… Well, first love didn’t last forever, but he couldn’t leave her with nothing. What he was about to do was an act below the dignity of any knight, even if it was fashioned from lashes and a metal collar.
“Is it really that nice?”
“Where?”
“At home.”
“I have no idea.” Arlun shrugged. “I was taken as a child. But I’ll definitely find my home.”
“I hope you will,” Ash said with a nod. He stared at the man in front of him, feeling a mix of pity, envy, and anger. Even though his eyes remained empty, his heart trembled like an autumn wind torn by gusts of wind.
Distant, but vivid memories flashed before his eyes.
Chapter 40
27th day of the month of Tamir, 311 A.D., Kingdom of Arabist, somewhere in the forest
“T he Art of Mok-Pu: Resonance!”
At that moment, Ash felt the worst pain of his life. It was as if he was being torn from the inside, but it wasn’t his body that was aching, but something else. Every time scenes of war flashed through his mind, he screamed like a wounded animal, trying to tear open his chest with his fingers and remove his heart.
He saw a mother covering her child be impaled on a staff, he couldn’t help but gag as he watched her bloodied hands hold onto it in the last attempt of saving herself. He remembered the screams of the poor villagers being burned alive in locked and boarded-up houses, and tried to rip his ears off. Blood sullied the grass, but the pain didn’t go away.
He was sinking deeper and deeper into his memories, feeling for himself all the evil that he had brought upon others with his hands and actions. The screams were like boiling oil being poured into his ears, and the bodies of the slain were like spears that tore through flesh without mercy.
Bending over, Ash vomited and scraped at this chest, his fingernails long broken and stuck deep into his clothes and flesh. Something hot and salty flowed down his cheeks and his clouded mind began to realize the meaning of things like lust, passion, desire, dream, envy, anger, honor, nobility, death, and something else, so far only glimmering on the border of his bleeding soul.
For the first time since he had been born, Ash screamed in pain that he had never experienced before.
“What did you do to me?!” he shouted, cursing the calm monk. A clear drop, akin to rain, fell on the grass. The young mage wiped his cheek and stared at his fingers in disbelief. “What is this?! What’s going on?!” he asked but didn’t get an answer. Unable to stand the horrors that had befallen him, he blacked out.
The monk bent down and passed his hand over the young man’s chest. All the wounds healed and all the blood returned into Ash’s body as if by magic. The monk shouldered the unconscious young man and headed east, back to Mountain Mok-Pu and his home, where, perhaps with the help of his brothers, he’d be able to save the soul of this poor child.
26th day of the month of Zund, 322 A.D., Age of the Drunken Monk, Forest of Shadows
Arlun leaped forward, leaving behind him a patch of ground still untouched by raindrops. His blade flashed with blue lightning and hit the staff engulfed in flames. The ground crackled, exploding under Ash’s feet and turning into a hole. The mage’s face lit up with a grin of anticipation. It had been a long time since he had been forced to take a fight seriously.
“Third Form: Unity!”
&n
bsp; Arlun loosened his grip for a moment when he saw Ash embody two forms at once. But even that split second of surprise was enough for the mage to send the swordsman flying into an oak tree some twelve feet away. The oak cracked at the base and fell to the side like a giant slain by a nimble dwarf. Spitting out blood, Arlun leaped to his feet and raised his sword. Ash, falling from an unthinkable height, slammed his staff right where steel met the guard. A dull crash drowned out the roar of thunder. This time, a crater formed under Arlun’s feet. He pushed the mage aside and used the Singing Blow. The steel sliced through the rain with a sound akin to that of a well-tuned lute. Ash had only enough time to hold his staff out in front of him before he was hit by the shockwave. Grass flew into the air behind him, and soon there was a terrifying crack. The ground trembled as if dozens of trees simultaneously collapsed, as if moved down by a gigantic ax.
Blood trickled down his arms and Arlun’s forearm was black with a terrible burn. Both of them were still holding back, however. One couldn’t risk the life of his beloved and the other, without realizing, was protecting his companions.
Trees flashed like torches, burning down in a matter of seconds. Steel kept hitting wood, sending sparks and splinters into the air. The strange sound the blade made as it cut through the air and rain made Ash dizzy, but he continued casting spells.
Throwing out his arm as if gripping a spear instead of a staff, he created a fire blade on the pommel, shrouded in a roaring, red light. Arlun took a half-step to the left and slashed with his blade as he turned.
Lightning flashed, striking between the steel and the mage’s unprotected back. Arlun, who thought that Mother Nature was on his side and that the rain and the fury of the sky would aid him, realized that the storm wasn’t helping only him, but Ash as well.
The mage raised his staff above his head, summoning a yellow dragon to descent from the sky. It roared and hit the ground where Arlun had been standing a moment earlier.
The swordsman, panting, watched as the black sky spewed dozens of lightning bolts, ready to destroy both him and everything else that stood in their path. In the heat of the moment, Ash had gone too far, having lost himself to magic.
“Blade Sphere!”
The lighting and the rain disappeared before they could even touch the ground. The storm was still raging up there, but the drops now crashed against steel rather than soil. Thousands of swords had shot out of the ground, appeared from the air, cut through the falling trees from the inside, and circled Arlun. This was the second skill mentioned in the scroll given to Lari. It could murder an entire army and bring down castles while at the same time avoiding civilians and their homes if its wielder so pleased.
Arlun assumed a low stance, holding the blade out in front of him. A hail of blades fell upon Ash who disappeared under the avalanche of littering steel. The swordsman breathed more evenly – like any creator, he naively considered his creation perfect.
Ash struck the ground with the staff and flames instantly engulfed the swords. The wood had lost its red glow, but the crimson veins on his skin showed that he had not yet removed the spell.
The swordsman’s eyes widened in fear. He wasn’t afraid for himself but for his wife.
“Creation!”
As the rain began to fall again and the walls of the log house shook with thunder, a howl cut through the sky. Hundreds of fiery wolves circled the mage. But no matter how deceptive this image looked, the paw prints left on the scorched grass assured the swordsman that their claws and fangs were as sharp as the real ones.
Ash hit the ground with his staff once again and the pack covered Arlun, who waved away the flames with his blade, causing the beasts to disappear. But no matter how many times they were hit, the wolves still found flesh. Arlun growled in pain as fangs and claws sliced through his skin, leaving behind burns instead of scars.
Realizing that Ash wouldn’t back down any time soon, the swordsman took a deep breath and removed the blade’s guard, making two swords appear in his hand. With one sweep, he turned himself into a whirlwind of steel and water, dispelling the beasts. He wanted to shout to Ash to calm down because he might end up wounding innocent people, but one look at the mage was enough to tell him that it was needless to worry.
Trees lay torn and burned; the ground was scarred with deep and long furrows, and grass covered with ash. The cabin, however, seemed to exist in a reality separate from this one. It was in that moment that Arlun realized that Ash was still holding back while occasionally reminding him that no matter how hard he tried, he’d never be able to defeat him.
The mage stared at the exhausted and bewildered swordsman. If it hadn’t been for the desire to protect the Stumps, he would’ve burned down this entire forest. This turned out not to be the battle he needed, one in which he’d have to unleash all of his power, but a simple fight against a desperate man wishing to find some meaning in his life. Having realized this, the smile disappeared off Ash’s face.
Arlun held his sword in front of him, having decided to unleash his most powerful technique. The two blades shone and merged into a gigantic one.
“Titan’s Blade!” he shouted and charged.
Long ago, using this very skill, he had cut through a fortress wall, proving to everyone his right to refuse to fight with one of the Master of the Order.
“First Form: Incarnation!” Ash said, hitting the ground with his staff.
A ball of fire shot out from the tip of the staff. Arlun had no time to be surprised that Ash had decided to counter his most powerful technique with a spell every novice mage knew, when the sphere suddenly changed color from orange to blue like a clear summer sky.
The blue flames swallowed the giant blade and then pierced through Arlun’s chest, devouring his heart. The swords fell to the ground with a silent thud, followed by the swordsman’s smoking body. An unpleasant stench filled the air.
Ash shook his head. The scarf wrapped itself around his ashen hair, and the lens once again hid the true color of his eye.
“You’re still afraid to go out in the open,” he said with a grin and spun on his heel, sensing a wave of bloodlust overcome him.
His heart skipped a beat.
He had expected to see the one person who he hated with all his heart, but no. Before he could stop his hand, the staff had gone through Elanor’s chest.
“M… Murderer…” she whispered with her final breath as a dagger slipped from her callused hand.
Catching her, Ash knelt down as he put her to the ground. An innocent woman, who had never so much as raised her voice on someone, had died by his hand.
“No,” he whispered, remembering Helmer’s words. “No, no… Oh, no… Sorry… Oh, I’m so sorry…”
He cradled her in his arms for a long time, whispering apologies and begging for forgiveness, but he got no answer. He remembered promising the abbot of the monastery that he’d never lay his hands on an innocent soul again, and the old man laughing in his face. The sage had said that Ash was cursed by the Gods for his misdeeds and that the blood of the innocent would forever stain his hands. Oh, if he had only known back then how right the abbot would turn out to be. Even now, standing on the most cursed and lifeless of lands on this planet, he still managed to bring misfortune with him.
For a long time, the young mage would rock the woman in his arms. He’d then wrap the two corpses in a white cloth, lay them side by side, and summon fire with a blow of his staff. After that, he’d wake up the mule, load the cart with his sleeping fellow adventurers, and go into the Forest, leaving the flames to swallow his sin.
The morning of the same day
When Mary awoke, the first thing she did was grab her sword. She remembered falling asleep in the hayloft, so it was no wonder that she was surprised when she realized that they were now back in the damn forest, among its damn purple grass and rotten trees.
The rest of the group awoke soon after. Just like Mary, they, too, reached for their weapons and jumped to their feet.
“Where―”
“I think we overstayed our welcome. The two probably wanted some privacy.” Ash spread his arms and shrugged. “So, they probably drove us to here and then hid their house with magic.”
The Stumps exchanged glances and then nodded in agreement, accepting the rather reasonable theory. Lari, remembering something, began to feverishly feel his pockets. Finding the pouch, he breathed a sigh of relief.
Ash watched with a genuine smile as Lari put the scroll away, treating it as if it were the most precious thing in the entire world. Then again, for him, it probably was. Well, perhaps the mage could teach them not only to have fun, but also to appreciate something other than gold, which brought with it more trouble than it was worth.
Mary sighed and put her sword away.
“Well, what can you do? Let’s eat and get going.”
The rest of the group, putting away their weapons, joined the mage by the campfire. Unfortunately, as it turned out, Ash couldn’t cook to save his life. While Mary tried to salvage the supplies he had ruined, Ash stood crouched behind the group, rubbing his head on which a bump would soon form, as a single tear escaped his eyes.
Mary, without sparing words and curses, got rid of the pot of porridge by emptying it on the mage’s head. Because of him, they had to continue their journey on an empty stomach.
Two days later
“There’s the exit!” Blackbeard exclaimed happily.
The party rushed toward the huge arch built of white stone with cries of joy and cheers. The distance between the two pillars was almost fifty feet, and their height was lost beyond the two hundred mark. Created in the period of the Ancient Kingdom, the archway, now wrapped in ivy, was the most easily recognizable exit from the cursed forest that could be found under the light of Irmaril.
Ash. The Legends of the Nameless World. Progression Gamelit Story Page 24