Chapter 11

The journey passed uneventfully for a few days after the bandit attack, which was a relief. There were no sudden interruptions, no mysterious threats from the woods, and, most importantly, no need to summon lightning or pretend to care about the merchant's problems. The caravan trudged on toward Baran, each mile bringing us closer to whatever awaited.

Most of the caravan kept their distance from me now, and I couldn't be happier. Ghis' ridiculous tale about me being some deranged forest hermit had done its job beautifully. Turning people into rabbits? That was absurd enough on its own, but the part where I supposedly turned a man into a carrot and made the rabbit eat him was pure lunacy. Perhaps the normal reaction would've been to get offended, but I found myself appreciating the ingenuity. This meant less talking with strangers for myself.

It was hard not to feel unnerved by their new behavior. They had barely acknowledged me before but now froze whenever I passed as if I might turn them into vegetables in an instant. I’d caught a guard muttering something that sounded suspiciously like a prayer the other day. Did they think their thoughts were being heard or something?

I will admit it was amusing to watch the guards fumble around. They’d been so smug and dismissive before the bandit attack. Now, they avoided me like I carried the plague, except for the occasional fearful glance. Even the guard who’d laughed at me the first day couldn’t meet my eyes anymore. They seemed more afraid of me than they had been of the assassins. I didn’t blame them either. I would probably have felt the same way if someone had summoned lightning in front of me.

The only problem with this was that I was forced to spend more time with Laine, the insufferable thief. He had decided to attach himself to me like a particularly persistent tick. I had tried sitting in the wagon the day after the assassin's attack, but all the other travelers had exited immediately, including the old man who was missing a leg.

Feeling guilty for making the old and injured walk, I decided to sit up front with the driver of the wagon so they could all sit inside together. Ghis had stayed put in the wagon, following my advice. I’d rather he had a comfortable ride than be forced to sit with me.

Regret began to grow in me when Laine opened his mouth. Every day, he plopped down beside me on the wagon, steering the horses while launching into endless stories about his life. At first, I ignored him, but one tale finally caught my attention.

“...and that’s how I barely graduated from the Thieves’ Guild School,” Laine concluded with a dramatic sigh.

I raised an eyebrow. “Thieves’ Academy? That’s an actual thing?”

Laine grinned, happy to finally get a response from me. “Yeah, it's a whole academy in the Royal Capital, right in the slums. The Thieves' Guild set it up ages ago to train their recruits. Now, you can't steal in this kingdom without a degree from the academy.”

“Wait. Who doesn’t let you steal?”

He ignored my question and continued, “They take in orphans and train us in all the rogue arts. Lock-picking, sneaking, deception–you name it. They even have electives. I took ‘Advanced Street Smarts’ and ‘Con Artistry 101.’”

I stared at him, trying to process this. “And… you graduated?”

“Barely,” he admitted, scratching the back of his head. “I was always at the bottom of the class. I mean, I was pretty good at the written tests. But the practical exams were what constituted most of our grades, and I was terrible in those. It’s a wonder I was able to graduate at all. Most of my teachers called me hopeless. I was always good at the ‘Parkour’ subject, though. That was my one saving grace.”

“Wow,” I muttered. “You failed at being a thief. That’s… impressive, in a way.”

“I didn’t fail,” he said defensively. “I graduated. And I was deployed just like any graduate and given a task by the Thieves Guild. The only thing is, they sent me to a dead-end city like Spuria because I had a pretty low grade average. My job was to set up a branch. The only problem is I'm garbage at the practical portion, and it’s really hard to steal again in a small town when you’ve been caught a few times already.”

He whipped the horses before continuing, “No money, no opportunities, and I kept losing in the gambling den, too. That guy was definitely using some weighted dice.”

“You probably shouldn’t have gambled away whatever you had,” I said dryly.

Laine looked confused. “Yeah, maybe. But once I make my big score in Baran, I’ll be back on top! I’ve got a foolproof plan—”

“Stop,” I interrupted, holding up a hand. “If this were a story, this would be the part where we would find out it isn’t actually a foolproof plan, and the moment you explain it, it’ll fall apart. So don’t bother.”

Laine looked genuinely offended, but wisely kept quiet. I took the opportunity to confront him about something that had been bothering me for days.

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“I know you’ve been telling fake stories about me around the campfires,” I said. “And charging people to hear them.”

Laine grinned sheepishly. “It’s good marketing. You’re a hero! People want to hear about your exploits.”

“Yeah, except you’ve been making me sound like a lunatic,” I growled. “Especially that one about me having once married a scarecrow. And don’t get me started on those ridiculous nicknames. ‘Loony Lord’? Really?”

I was about to grab him in a chokehold and make him beg for mercy when one of the merchant’s guards shouted for the caravan to stop. I turned to see her ornate carriage tilted awkwardly, one wheel completely shattered. The guards scrambled to assess the damage while Jessica peered out from the window, her expression a mixture of annoyance and disdain.

“It’ll take at least an hour to fix,” one guard announced nervously as I approached the scene. I recognized him as the one I’d flung during the bandit attack. He avoided my gaze as he added, “It might’ve been damaged during the fight.”

I sighed and walked over to the carriage. It would delay the journey even more if they couldn't fix it quickly. And the chances of being attacked would rise as well. With a subtle gesture, I tried to use my magic to repair the wheel. Nothing happened. Shaking my head, I walked away to get some fresh air. I wanted to be alone for some time, and at least now, the perfect opportunity to do so has presented itself.

I was also getting tired of all the stares I had been getting from the entire caravan of late. They had been a strange mixture of awe and fear. One could hope that there wouldn’t be any stories being spread in Baran about an ugly magician who could call the weather to his aid.

I wandered down the road ahead of the caravan. The sun was setting, casting a warm golden glow over the forest. It was a welcome break from the chaos of the past few days.

I had been walking for a few minutes, enjoying the peace of the quiet forest, when I heard a rustling in the bushes. It was initially subtle, like the shifting of leaves caught in a breeze. But then the noise grew louder, rhythmic and deliberate, as if something large was making its way through the underbrush. Even the ground began to shake.

Before I could react, a massive boar burst out onto the path with a roar that made the trees shudder. It was twice the size of any wild boar I had seen; it was black, bristling fur, a mass of untamed fury. But what caught my attention was the ridiculous crown perched on its head—a broken, dented piece of metal that looked more like a child's attempt at a costume than anything regal. A tattered cape billowed behind it, as though trying to cling to some long-forgotten dignity.

“TREMBLE BEFORE THE KING BOAR!” it bellowed, its voice deep and booming. “PAY TRIBUTE, OR FACE MY WRATH!”

I blink, unsure if my hearing was deceiving me. A boar… claiming to be a king? I rubbed my eyes, half-expecting it to disappear into a puff of smoke like some bizarre fever dream. But no, the boar was very much real, glaring at me with eyes that burned with an unhinged fury.

The absurdity of the situation struck me instantly. The boar’s appearance was laughable, like some demented, over-the-top character from a storybook, but its snarling demands for tribute were entirely serious. I couldn’t help but let out a scoff, my patience quickly wearing thin.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I muttered, hands on my hips and taking in the ludicrous spectacle before me.

The boar’s eyes narrowed. “INSOLENT HUMAN! HOW DARE YOU MOCK ME?!”

“I’m not mocking you,” I said, pinching the bridge of my nose. “I’m just baffled. Also, this isn’t your road. You can’t just demand tribute from random travelers.”

The boar let out an enraged snort. “THIS IS MY TERRITORY! ALL WHO ENTER MUST PAY!”

I almost felt bad for it but couldn't help poking fun at him, "Sorry, your Majesty. But last I checked, real kings don't run around charging travelers for 'tribute'. That’s the tax collector’s job."

The boar’s nostrils flared, and it let out a roar that could’ve split the skies. "YOU WILL PAY FOR THIS TREASON WITH YOUR LIFE!" With a furious charge, it came at me headfirst, its tusks aiming straight for my chest.

I sidestepped easily, and the boar slammed into a tree, shaking its leaves loose. Undeterred, it got up and charged again. I dodged again. This cycle repeated itself several times, the boar growing angrier with each failed attempt.

“This is ridiculous,” I muttered. Realizing the caravan would eventually come this way, I decided to deal with the problem before it caused more trouble. Taunting the boar with insults about its 'shoddy crown', I lured it deeper into the forest.

The boar's relentless determination to skewer me with its tusks was impressive if nothing else. Its charge was predictable—the run-up stretched too long, and it barreled forward with eyes squeezed shut. Leading him away was like a slow, laborious chore, devoid of any real risk. Its unwavering, straight dashes made dodging too easy.

Our ridiculously long ‘battle’ finally took us to a cliff’s edge. With one last taunt, I stepped aside as the boar charged past me. It plunged off the cliff, its furious roars fading into the ravine below.

Breathing heavily, I peered over the edge. It was a long drop into a river far below. The King Boar was nowhere to be seen. Maybe he had drowned. It didn’t matter, as long as he was far away from the caravan.

I began to make my way back to the wagons. Nightfall was nearly upon us, but I wasn’t in a hurry; they wouldn’t have gone too far without me. They depend too much on my protection to leave me behind.

As I walked back toward the caravan, the forest felt unnervingly quiet. The usual chorus of crickets was absent, leaving a strange, almost oppressive silence in its place. The only noise was the rustling of leaves overhead, but it was distant, like the wind itself was holding its breath.

Then I heard a rustle in the bushes in front of me. For a second, I thought the boar was back. But the next instant, a man jumped out at me, screaming at the top of his lungs. Without thinking, I launched a kick wildly and hit the attacker in the groin.

The attacked fell to the ground with a thud, and his scream turned into an oddly familiar whimper. I looked down and saw that the man on the ground was in fact Ghis.

“Again?” he asked me with eyes full of tears. I could tell it took him a lot of effort to get that word out.

I gave him an apologetic look. "Anyone would have assumed you were an attacker, the way you came screaming out of the bushes. Why were you screaming like that anyway?"

He silently pointed into the dense bushes in the direction of the caravan.

I was confused until a scream cut through the silent night air, “ASSASSINS!”

I sighed and started running towards the caravan.