Mjrsd

  Chapter LXVIII

  The old man sits in front of him, pcing a bottle on the table. Slightly behind him stands a young woman. A well-muscled woman in contrast to the apparent frailty of the old man. Yet, the rexed and energetic demeanor of the man makes him slightly hesitant to make too many judgments.

  “Nissa, sit down. Instead of making people uncomfortable,” the old man orders casually. His voice is strangely strong for his frail body.

  The young woman promptly obeys without saying anything. She pulls up a stool and sits beside the old man, as she does, he speaks again.

  “Nissa here told me that you know an interesting story. So, I thought we could talk a little while having a drink,” the old man says, gesturing toward the bottle he pced on the table.

  “Well, my friend, I know plenty of stories,” he replies, not minding much—after all, conversations like these are quite common in bars like this. Usually, they are just bored travelers with money who want to hear something interesting.

  “Yes, yes, I believe that...” the man begins with a broad smile. “The story that caught my attention is recent. And it involves a young necromancer.”

  He isn’t surprised since this story has been quite popur. Especially after what is assumed to be a necromancer hideout was discovered in Dantar. This story, in particur, has earned him many drinks.

  So, he doesn’t worry much as he reaches out and grabs the bottle to fill his gss. “Then I already know the story you want to hear.”

  “Well then, if my friend...” The way the old man stretches the word "friend" signals that he probably wants a name.

  “Valter,” Valter concedes, pcing the bottle back on the table after filling his gss.

  “Well then, if my friend Valter doesn’t mind retelling this story,” the old man decres, grabbing the bottle and a gss.

  For a moment, Valter hesitates due to the ck of introductions. But considering that this story can’t be that important. And taking into account how many times he has already told it, he decides to proceed.

  “But of course,” he replies, taking a sip of the wine the old man provided. He is surprised, as the quality of the wine is far superior to what is usually served here. It must have cost a good amount of coin.

  Studying these two strangers again, Valter sees nothing that immediately indicates wealth. Their clothes are of good quality but not excessive, like those preferred by nobles or wealthy merchants. He also sees no jewelry or valuable weapons. They simply look like ordinary people. This leaves him intrigued.

  Instead of drawing it out, he decides to tell the story in a condensed manner, betting that their interest isn’t as innocent as it seems.

  “Well, this story isn’t very complex. I was one of the guards of a caravan heading here, to Freehope,” he begins while the old man sips his wine. The young woman, on the other hand, sits very upright, listening intently.

  “When we were just two or three days away from arriving, we made camp at night, as usual. That’s when we were attacked...” Here, he pauses briefly to build suspense. The old man continues drinking leisurely as if he has already heard this story before—perhaps told differently but essentially the same. The young woman, however, looks very attentive, as if she were in a lesson.

  Valter doesn’t let himself get distracted. “A group of bandits had spotted us. Taking advantage of the cover of the night, they surrounded us while the caravan members rexed around the campfire. Then, they unched their attack.”

  Their ck of reaction tells him that this part of the story isn’t what they are most interested in. So, he decides to skip ahead.

  “The surprise attack caught the caravan in a bad position. Even so, the guards and some passengers managed to put up a valiant defense. For a moment, everything was on a knife’s edge, but we held our ground,” Valter continues, trying to add as much excitement as possible. But they remain indifferent.

  Confirming what truly interests them. “During the initial attack, some people were injured. Among them was a poor old man named Torvir. He was, by far, the one in the worst condition—an arrow in his chest.”

  As if predicting what would come next—not that it was difficult—the young woman leans in slightly, and the old man gives him a keen look.

  “And just when our defense could have colpsed under a renewed assault, Torvir died. But, as you may already know, that wasn’t the end. Torvir, bathed in a pale light, rose again. No longer among the living, but as one of the undead.”

  As expected, they show no reaction.

  This disappoints him slightly, as this is usually the point where people express shock and horror. But considering how things are going, he isn’t surprised.

  “Beside him stood a young man who had recently joined the caravan. With a motion of near disdain, he commanded Torvir to attack. And that’s exactly what he did.”

  Valter pauses for suspense, more out of habit than expecting a reaction. And his audience does not disappoint.

  “The bandits, who had been held back by the bravery of the living, were now devastated by the terror of the undead. When they realized Torvir’s true nature, they fled to save their lives and souls—chased only by the very man they had made a victim.”

  To his satisfaction, the old man shows a slight smile, indicating some appreciation for the story.

  He takes the opportunity to drink another sip while waiting for the usual question at this point.

  “And the necromancer?” asks the young woman.

  “Ah, yes!” he begins. “The young necromancer. When the good people of the caravan realized what had happened, they gathered to face this new threat among them.”

  Both nod approvingly. After all, what kind of people would allow something as dangerous as a necromancer to remain among them? There was no way to predict who might be the next victim of his powers.

  “With courage and determination, the people confronted this dangerous necromancer, who had only revealed himself to save himself from the bandits. At first, they questioned him, and he tried to deny the truth. But in the end, when the people turned against him, he used his dark magic to escape...”

  “What magic exactly?” the old man asks while refilling his gss.

  Valter hesitates slightly, unsure of what to say. In the end, he decides to tell the truth. “Well... a fire spell.”

  To his surprise, this is what finally provokes a reaction. The young woman looks at him intensely, and the old man pauses so abruptly that he spills some wine.

  Once again, these two prove to be unusual. Normally, people expect to hear about raising more dead or creating a bone barrier—something more in line with necromancy.

  “A powerful fireball?” the old man asks, pcing the bottle down while the young woman shifts her gaze between Valter and him.

  “Well! No, he just set a branch on fire...” Valter replies, knowing this is a disappointing answer. He tries to expin. “You see, Arisa, the captain of the guard, learned a spell that allows her sword to be covered in fmes. She usually shows it off to entertain people during travels. That’s the spell he used.”

  They exchange serious looks before the old man speaks again. “Tell us more about this young man. Nero, isn’t it?”

  “What a strange question,” Valter thinks before responding. “Nero? What Nero? I’ve never heard of any Nero. The boy was—or at least seemed like—a simple peasant. Dark hair, poor clothing. If I recall correctly, his name started with a D or maybe a T.”

  “How is it that you don’t know the name of this necromancer?” the young woman asks him, seeming strangely suspicious.

  “The boy was only with us for a week or so. Normally, that’s more than enough time for us to remember names well. But there are always some more quiet people, the ones who don’t participate much in conversations. This boy was like that…” Valter tries to expin, though even he has to admit that the situation is strange.

  “It was only after all the commotion that people realized no one had actually remembered his name. Some said it was one thing, while others cimed it was something else.” A real mess, he had to confess.

  “Describe that pale light you saw in more detail,” the old man asks him, moving the conversation forward—unfortunately, with a rather uncomfortable question.

  “Well…” he begins, scratching his head in embarrassment. “I don’t know…” he admits.

  “What do you mean, you don’t know? I was assured you were part of this caravan,” the young woman decres, starting to rise, irritated.

  “Yes, yes…” excims Valter, motioning for her to sit down calmly. “I was part of the caravan. As I said, I was one of the guards. I was patrolling the perimeter and was the first to detect the attack. I even managed to raise the arm.”

  He can’t help but remember—the desperation as he ran to the campfire to warn them. The sound of someone running behind him was in his ears. The relief when he realized he had arrived in time to shout, “Bandits!” for everyone to hear.

  Unfortunately, that was all he had been able to do. After giving the warning, whoever had been chasing him caught up and struck him from behind, leaving him bleeding out on the ground.

  “But then, I was taken down and left for dead,” he expins. “After that, most of what I know comes from the conversations in the caravan while we were coming here.”

  “How did you survive if they thought you were dead?” Nissa asks him, still suspicious.

  “Aves… the leader of the caravan, fortunately, always carries some potions—just for safety. They had to give me two, and even then, I had to stay in Freehope to recover,” he answers, relieved that he is finally recovering. He’s even considering joining another caravan.

  “A smart man, that leader,” the old man comments.

  “A good man—others wouldn’t even waste a potion on a guard,” Valter jumps to Aves’ defense.

  “In my experience, it’s usually both. By using the potion, he ensures his team stays together and united—something that is often difficult. At the same time, it almost guarantees that recruiting new people will be easier because of the security they all enjoy,” the man expins, looking at him seriously. “Foolish greedy men tend to be betrayed sooner or ter on the road.”

  Valter simply nods in agreement with the old man.

  “I’m sorry, Master Seran, it seems the information isn’t as reliable as I expected,” the young woman decres, standing up and giving the old man a military salute.

  Valter, on the other hand, feels his mouth go dry upon hearing that name. Seran—as in Seran ‘The Rock.’ He looks at the old man, who begins to stand up, smiling.

  “Nissa, Nissa… you’ve already said too much.”

  Meanwhile, Valter can only think about the mess in front of him. Seran! Arisa is going to skin him alive when she finds out he’s been telling this story to someone like Seran. Especially with her conviction that the boy saved them.

  Or, as she put it, at the very least, he saved Valter, because without his intervention, they never would have reached Valter in time to save him.

  As the two of them begin to leave, Valter tries to salvage the situation—at least for the sake of his own conscience.

  “Lord Seran, I think I should warn you that the story might be a bit exaggerated.”

  The old man, who no longer seems so frail, lets out a small ugh, saying, “Yes, they usually are.”

  “What I mean is that there may not have been any necromancer at all,” Valter tries to expin.

  “I wasn’t the one who started the stories. And I admit I let myself get carried away a little. But most people agree that if the boy used any magic, it wasn’t necromancy.”

  “How so?” the young woman asks him.

  “As everyone knows, necromancy destroys the bodies of its victims, right?” he tries to crify. “After the fight, we found Torvir’s body—intact.”

  “I’m sorry, Master, I should have investigated better before calling you…” the young woman begins to apologize.

  But Seran remains serious, staring intently at Valter as if seeing something no one else can.

  “Expin yourself,” he commands.

  Valter doesn’t quite know what to do with this order and asks, “What does my Lord wish to know?”

  “Intact?” the old and powerful mage replies.

  “Well! ‘Intact’ is a bit of an exaggeration, really. The poor fellow had been hit by arrows, stabbed with knives and swords, and we think he was even struck by an axe. When we found him, he was even missing an arm!” As Valter speaks, The Rock slowly sits back down at the table.

  “But when we found him, what remained was a human body. Not some strange dark puddle on the ground, like what is said to be left of the undead created by necromancy.” He finishes speaking, looking at the old man’s thoughtful face.

  “Well, that really clears things up. So this has nothing to do with necromancers,” Nissa says, bringing some relief to Valter with her agreement.

  “Silence, girl!” Seran says without raising his voice. But something in her reaction makes Valter suspect she would have preferred a sp to the face.

  “But, Master, if he’s telling the truth, it’s impossible for a necromancer to be involved. Everyone knows…” Nissa tries to argue.

  But Seran doesn’t let her continue. “Nissa, you are one of my best disciples. But if you’re going to say that something is impossible just because everyone agrees that it is…” here he pauses for a moment, shaking his head before concluding, “...then I have failed you as a teacher of magic.”

  “Master…” she begins, her expression almost panicked.

  Seran, however, turns back to Valter and asks, “What made people think and insist it was necromancy?”

  Valter takes a sip from his cup, just thinking about what’s happening. One of the most powerful mages is asking him questions about necromancers—questions he’s not really qualified to answer.

  “Lord Seran, I already told you I didn’t witness the…” Valter begins, trying to free himself from this mess.

  “Yes, but they spoke to you. What did they say?” Seran presses calmly but makes it clear he wants an answer.

  “Honestly?” Valter asks, receiving a confirming nod from the old man. “The best answer anyone gave me was…”

  The other two listen intently.

  “…that I had to be there.”

  What Valter would consider a poor answer makes the mage nod in agreement with his words. Even muttering briefly, “Yes, yes, of course.”

  The girl, in turn, looks as confused as Valter feels.

  “But, master, the body…” she tries again.

  “Girl, what do you know about necromancy?” her master asks sharply.

  This puts her on the defensive, even seeming a little offended. “Of course, very little. Necromancers are rare…” she begins.

  “Rare, rare,” Seran comments as he listens. “Well, true necromancers are extremely rare.”

  “But if I were to go to your family’s nds and ask your father for someone who practices it, he’d probably be able to point me to two or three,” Seran says. This reveals that Nissa is no ordinary girl, further confirming that the man before him is indeed Seran the Rock. After all, only the nobility could have one of their children as a disciple of such a powerful mage.

  “My family!? Master, I assure you, my family would never…” the girl begins, seeming genuinely shocked by what she just heard.

  “Nissa, my dear…” the old man interrupts her gently. “You really need to stop being so naive.”

  The girl opens her mouth to speak, but the old man continues.

  “Do you know when a necromancer is at their most powerful?” Seran’s voice is firm but kind.

  The girl hesitates momentarily before answering, “When they have many bodies.”

  “And so?” the mage prompts.

  “At the end of a battle,” Valter responds, having heard many stories.

  “Exactly!” Seran replies, never taking his eyes off Nissa.

  “So, if you really believe that the most powerful nations and families don’t have access to people who practice some form of necromancy—and thus miss out on an advantage that could change the tide of battle—then you’re being childish,” Seran tells her.

  This puts Valter in an awkward position. After all, he doubts he should be hearing this.

  Not that it’s a big surprise. Valter is a caravan guard. He has worked with plenty of soldiers. And at night, sitting around a campfire with nothing else to do, people tell stories. He’s heard many rumors like these before. But it’s different when someone like the Rock is the one saying it.

  “Necromancy isn’t that powerful,” the girl responds, almost defiantly.

  “It’s quite powerful on a battlefield full of corpses…” the old man begins, sounding somewhat amused. “But they fall just like any other mage,” he finishes, looking satisfied at Nissa’s expression.

  This makes Valter swallow hard.

  Seran the Rock is known for exactly this: using his magic to cut through battlefields and take the fight directly to enemy mages. While defeating them with his fists. He is anything but a defenseless mage. How many of them had been necromancers? Valter wonders.

  “But doesn’t this knowledge confirm that it couldn’t have been a necromancer?” the girl questions again.

  “I don’t know much about necromancy—I never liked the art. But I do know, that there are spells that leave bodies intact,” Seran states, once again making Valter uncomfortable. Being certain, that he shouldn’t be hearing this.

  Nissa’s eyes widen in shock. “But isn’t that the main limitation of necromancy?” she excims.

  Valter watches a smile form on Seran’s face before he responds to his pupil. “Yes, the need for fresh bodies greatly limits necromancy. But to use such a spell, that doesn’t matter much. You would already have to be a tremendously powerful necromancer to even be capable of casting it.”

  Nissa becomes serious again before concluding, “Then it’s impossible for this Nero to be that mage. He is too young!”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t say that. Being able to use such a necromantic spell wouldn’t take much longer than it takes to master ‘Drake’s Fmes,’” Seran’s response silences Nissa completely. Though Valter doesn’t quite understand what they’re talking about.

  But he decides to chime in with one more piece of information. “Most people agree that he looked shocked when he cast magic.”

  “Oh, really? Which magic?” the mage asks, turning to look at him.

  “Any magic,” Valter replies.

  The mage simply nods while deep in thought.

  “I’m becoming more and more convinced that this necromancer and this Nero I fought with, are the same person. Strangely capable, competent, and experienced, yet at the same time naive, arrogant, and inexperienced. Confusing, isn’t it?” the mage comments.

  “How is that possible?” Nissa asks.

  “Considering necromancy, the answer is quite concerning. And it convinces me that I should have killed the boy when I had the chance.”

  With that, Seran stands up, tosses a gold coin onto the table, and starts leaving.

  "Where did you pick up this necromancer?" inquires in a serious tone, the old mage.

  Knowing that other people in this city can verify this information, Valter decides, with some remorse, to tell the truth.

  "A small trading vilge a week's travel southeast from Freehope."

  "Come Nissa we must learn more about this boy." commands the Rock.

  Left behind, Valter looks around in confusion, thinking, "How am I going to expin this to Arisa?"