Deep into the night, amongst the marshy green fog on a hill beside the swamp, Alan stared at the fire. The others snored all around him, while the look in Ricktus’ eyes replayed endlessly in his head.

I didn’t mean to kill him.

He doesn’t respawn like minions do.

Where does he go, then? To his next reincarnation in another faraway realm? Or is it just… oblivion?

He made his tenth hole with Hishaya’s staff, mind drifting to wondering what thoughts activated Beige Saro.

“We have a long day again,” Lucius’ growl made Alan jump in place.

“Jesus. I thought you were a minion.”

“Perhaps being a mindless cog in Ojin’s machine would be easier.” He sat across from Alan, parting the fire so they could better see one another.

“I don’t think they’re mindless.” Alan recalled his first encounter in the Grey. “I don’t think anything in the interlocking realms are mindless, actually. Even the damn clouds in Strangey.”

Lucius’ hooted at that, twirling the flames with his finger.

Alan took a good look at the Stalker prince when he wasn’t paying attention. The living Black Saro armor, the blade at his belt. “You are doing Farante’s bidding for him these days, those souls you harvest in that blade.”

Lucius narrowed his eyes. “I cut my own path back to Cerrain. Once it is done, they can all fly free for all I care.”

“Aren’t you preventing reincarnation?” Alan tested the waters, recalling his conversation with Neesha about his slain wife who was ‘dragged under.’ Is this some horrible reverse karma?

Lucius shook his head. “I don’t pretend to be a Wizard, Alan.”

“Is that what the trait of curiosity limits us to?”

“Amongst power beyond our control, yes.” Lucius drew the blade and held it over the fire. “My Saro has evolved since I claimed this weapon. I can equip an army of Stalkers with their own battalion of steeds.”

“A war general with limitless power and an army that looks up at you. And still, he’d give it all up for a chance home.”

Lucius pressed the fire down to better inspect Alan. “Is that… doubt in your voice?”

Alan turned sharply away.

“When we sat in my cove on your very first day, we made an agreement,” Lucius reminded. “The path home, is the only way.”

Alan nodded.

“Do not forget yourself,” Lucius said sternly. “A means to an end. That’s all Strangey Town is, that’s all Ojin is.”

Or a means to forge a new beginning, Alan kept his thoughts to himself.

“You fought well today,” Lucius commended. “But I fear you would perish on your own.”

“Hey. I’ve gotten out of some pretty awful situations. Have a few powerful minions under my belt too.”

“It is true, I cannot deny it.” Lucius threw his hands up. “But you can only leave so much up to a negotiator’s wit.”

Alan frowned.

“You have all the tools for greatness, my friend. But none of the training. Here, get up.” Lucius hopped to his feet and paced away from the snoring group. “You still have strength in you, don’t you?”

Alan heeded the challenge. It’s not like sitting around moping was helping at all.

Lucius materialized his bag and began chucking out all different types of armor, disrupting the sandy ground, then with the snap of a finger, ignited a flame that he tossed atop a makeshift tiki-torch. “You run into battle with nothing but a dagger. How can you possibly expect to survive?”

“Are those…” Alan inspected the armor. That plate-mail was from Ricktus. “Are we just common looters, Lucius?”

“Spoils of war. It’s the same as items we take off slain minions.”

“But these were people.”

“Who attacked us. Meant to backstab us. If not for you.” Lucius spread his arms. “These are your spoils, Alan. Harvest them.”

Alan considered Lucius’ words, bending to inspect each piece. Plate-mail was too bulky for his style of fighting. Plus, they didn’t align at all with those frog visions of him. Actually, that in and of itself made him want to don the massive armor. But he digressed.

The next piece came from the assassin-type warrior, who was barely powerful enough to be remembered. But he had some cool gear. A leather hide armor with heavy rings stitched into it made him consider it.

“Not only resistant to the blows of steel-tip weapons, but against elemental Saro too,” Durger whispered.

“You can tell just by sight?”

“I am a smith.”

Alan considered falling into a trance to one-up his metal friend, but he was too exhausted for history this evening. So instead, he picked up the armor and claimed it as his own.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“A fine choice,” Lucius approved.

Hide of the Crow received.

Saro Resistance – White, Orange, Yellow.

+Bonus Resistance – mitigates knockback of blunt-force trauma.

“Now perhaps you will be better equipped to handle me.” Lucius drew his dark blade and stepped one foot back in ready stance.

“Lucius, right now, really?” Alan huffed.

“Unless you think that Red Saro instinct will carry you all the way through the crimson fog.” Lucius brandished his blade.

“I thought we were both getting the hell out of here before we even have to think about something like that.”

“It was a figure of speech! Yes, you are a Wizard of Saro adaptation. Yes, your reflexes are strikingly fast. But these are all whims. You are untrained, unexperienced in combat, and will surely fall as a result… as you almost did at the hands of Ricktus Tallwater.”

Alan felt that like a punch to the gut.

“Come. I have trained my entire first life to move like a wraith. To fight many with few.” Lucius flicked his sword to beckon him. “Land a blow and I will allow you to pick another piece of armor for yourself, from your own spoils.”

Alan drew his newly found staff, which evoked a laugh from Lucius.

“You turn a Wizard’s weapon into a warrior’s.”

A flash of Red Saro told Alan immediately how to wield it. Two hands equidistant, weight on the back leg for easy pivots. He’d seen it before, in old martial arts movies while his tired ass would be melded with the couch after a double at the store. Not anymore.

“Durger, how do I evoke Beige? I can’t seem to lock it in my pendant,” Alan whispered.

“Solitude and serenity, Alan. It can be evoked similar to beastly green. Think of nature-filled hikes, or times when you were content being alone.”

Alan flipped the staff into a better grip and measured Lucius’ slow-walking movements. He’s like a lion ready to pounce.

“When you’re done mumbling to your pet, heed my one rule. Strike me with mortal force. Said another way, do not hold back,” Lucius spoke angrily as his Black Saro armor clawed down his abdomen and around his face.

Alan did what Durger explained, automatically noticing a faint beige glow surround the staff. It would be a fun variation to test. But first, he activated his go-to. Red with a touch of clairvoyant Blue. Lucius smiled at the sight – that same devious look that he flashed at Alan moments after Ricktus fell.

“Show your Title.” Lucius materialized his overhead, which read ‘Nightstalker.’ Alan did the same, showing him that he still preferred ‘Low Merchant of Strangey Town’ for hand-to-hand combat.

“A fool gets too comfortable with his home Title, and he will never progress his battle ones,” Lucius growled.

“I’m trying to avoid succumbing to murderous intent, friend.” Alan clenched his fists harder around the staff.

“Don’t let guilt rule you, Alan Right. Or we will never get home.”

Alan grunted, watching Lucius slowly side-step like a hawk.

“Begin.” Lucius threw fiery charcoal at the ground to signify the start.

Alan charged first, careful for lava traps or budding weapons. He knew many of Lucius’ tricks at this point but had never tested his strength.

“Hra!” Alan used the length of the staff to his advantage, knowing Lucius would knock it away.

Clang!

Alan utilized the shifted momentum, swinging the staff in one wide rotation toward Lucius’ shoulder. He hit nothing but the dirt floor when Lucius faded into his shade mist for a fraction of a second only to appear directly behind Alan.

Oh no you don’t.

Alan dropkicked blindly behind him, only to be shoved forward by an immovable piece of metal he soon realized was that massive sword growing out of the lava-made ground. A trick.

But how? I saw him in my mind’s eye.

Alan rose from a somersault ready to strike, only to find a hilt uppercut his chin – knocking him onto his back.

“Ugh. Now I’m more tired,” Alan complained, letting his arms fall flat. His chin burned like he dipped it in fire. “How’d you do that?”

“Do what? I did a lot of things.”

“You counteracted my clairvoyance,” Alan said.

“Now you know not to take too much stake in frogs.”

Alan laughed and accepted Lucius’ hand pulling him up.

“You rely too much on Saro. That is a sure way for a warrior to lose himself.”

“But I’m not a warrior. I’m a Merchant.”

“You are both. Don’t be a fool.”

“I’m just delirious.” Alan held his head.

“Again. This time I will use no Saro, to show you what I mean.”

Alan scoffed. “Alright.” He flashed instinctive Red to get into perfect stance, then concentrated on times he endured nature alone. Beige Saro began to bloom around his staff – he could sense beads of sand ejecting from it in dizzying rotations.

“Begin!”

Fiery charcoal snapped at Alan’s feet. This time, though, he didn’t go for the first move. He took the moments he had to try and sway the sandy winds, picturing it like a boat rocking in water.

Interesting. Alan smirked as Lucius charged through the veil. A quick switch back to Red Saro allowed him to knock away three clean slices of Lucius’ blade, and a fourth that came spinning for an overhead strike.

Alan kicked Lucius’ stomach to separate them and swung lightning fast to catch Lucius’ cheek.

Wham!

Lucius whipped so hard that his back was facing Alan. A moment to take advantage. Yes. Alan swung the staff as hard as possible, hoping it would snap against Lucius’ back, but just as he was about to connect, Lucius dropped into a strong sweep kick that sent Alan airborne again for a half-second before crashing against the dirt.

“A simple feign.” Lucius wiped his hands clean. “Oldest trick in the book, and you’re blind to it.”

“I felt the staff connect,” Alan groaned.

“It did.” Lucius showed Alan his gauntlet palm. “Right here.”

“Ugh…”

“I’m trying to show you that you’re using Saro as a crutch, not a tool. I’ll knock you down a hundred times until you admit it.”

Alan accepted another hand back to his feet. “Say I accept it now. Then what?”

“Then I show you the value of assessing your opponent without the confines and expansions of magic.”

Lucius explained in great detail how he measured the exact moments clairvoyance was active on Alan and made sure to work against the most likely attack scenarios – because that’s what clairvoyance was, a trajectory of probability. At least, that’s how Lucius viewed it.

Then there were lessons on instinct – Red Saro. It was the most useful additive to combat, by far, but would never be enough for high-level fighters without knowing how to fight.

What’s more, Alan noticed Lucius switch Titles mid-combat. A practiced art that could be devastating if not mastered.

“Titles change the flow of mind and body,” Lucius explained. “It is a much more natural occurrence than Saro. But again, they are both tools, not crutches.”

They sparred all night, Lucius keeping to his disadvantage until Alan conjured enough power to whip a sandy tornado right into Lucius’ legs while swinging confusing Pink Saro at his face, which finally landed the Stalker on his back and the staff at his throat.

“Gotcha!”

“Congratulations. Now you can pick out your second piece of armor.”

The next day was full of travel. They journeyed outside the green fog without clearing it, and into the light blue. Alan felt energized because of an hour spent channeling Green Saro and had no idea how Lucius was stalking ahead of all of them full of energy.

Amid the banter of the group, Alan tried to find some time with Neesha, to see how she was holding up without the Answer Stone she desperately sought. He felt guilty that the detour turned out to be a full-on journey. But she assured him the endless voices came in waves, and the last few days had been manageably quiet.

He was grateful for Flint and Lucius for distracting him from the life he took. Their days were full of Strangey Town ridiculousness thanks to the Wizard, and his nights were all sparring.

It wasn’t until the ninth day of safe travel, that they finally glimpsed the strong mountain of the Pink, recalling having scaled its heights once. Massive, crystalized chains, foggy top, and all. And the incredible sight of the Merchant city wading in the Pink. The sight sent jitters through Alan’s nerves. Because soon… he would be going home.