Sword masters all across the land, no matter what type and skill, instilled one critical lesson into their pupils: never, never draw your sword without a good reason. And yet, here, in this idyllic land, a sword was drawn, its hilt gleaming, and its blade swung— not for protection, not for revenge, not even against an enemy; no, its target was a stalk of wheat. And the hand that held it was not some troublemaking student, but the strongest.

       Cas held up some of the stalk for inspection. "Oh? Wheat? How rich. They grew rye in my days."

       Delilah looked at him curiously. "How long have you lived there? At the edge of the world?"

       "The exact length slips my mind," he said, tapping his forehead, "but it must amount to some four hundred years."

       Delilah's eyes widened. "A-and you are human!?"

       He looked at her with annoyed eyes. "I age well."

       "But, you—"

       He sighed. "I do not wish to speak of it. But I assure you, I am human. I... I had parents..." He looked wishfully into the sky. "We should continue on," he said, throwing the wheat away.

       Delilah looked over to the side; a sea of golden stalks swayed with the gentle wind, gleaming under the setting sun. The plains extended to the right as far as the eye can see; to the left, a dense forest, almost a border between the untamed wild and the cultivated lands of farmers. The fresh airs of spring wafted around, purifying both the lands and the people that inhabit it. Small traces of cloud floated around, scattered among the fringes of the heavens.

       It was strange to think that just a few days’ travel behind them lay the barren wastes that existed as one neared the edge the world. Here, there was food and there was life.

       Cas looked back, his hands behind his head. "So, what do you know of these Devils you seek to murder?"

       She put a finger to her lip. "They are Angels who rebelled against God and were thrown to the World."

       "And who are they, exactly?"

       "Belphegor, Satan, Beelzebub, Leviathan, Asmodeus, Mammon, and... and..." The name left her mind.

       "—Lucifer," he finished. "You cannot even remember the names of those you wish to kill?"

       She blushed. "Sorry. We Druids are not given much education on these matters."

       "That has been bothering me..."

       "What?" she asked, tilting her head.

       "Why a Druid is asking me to kill the Devils. Do you even believe in their existence?"

       She smiled and shook her head. "The world is not kind. We Druids must bend; bend and survive as the world develops, lest we all perish. We cannot ignore the Mentiri after... after the fall."

       "Mentiri?"

       "That is what the Angels and their God call themselves."

       "Really, now. Speaking of the Angels, where are they in such dire times?"

       She shook her head. "We don't know. I do not expect them to help us heathens, but all nations have been afflicted, and yet they do nothing."

       He didn't say anything for a while, before changing the topic.

       "Where do you hail from, Delilah—"

       "I cannot possible call you so informal a name if you do not reciprocate!" she interjected. "Please, call me Del."

       "Del, then. Where do you hail?"

       "Inan—"

       "Yes, yes. Where the hell is that?"

       "In the Great Forest, to the north."

       His sword appeared in his hand. "You recognize this?"

       She nodded. "The tribes, this is their weapon—"

       He suddenly began to laugh. He let go of his sword, and it disappeared with the winds.

       "What is it?"

       He smiled a wild, carnal smile. "We have company."

       At once, she heard rustling from the left. Dark figures stalked out of the forest, in the way despairing animals attempt their final go at life. They staggered forwards, their faces emancipated and ragged. Dirt, mixed with dried, crusted blood, streaked across their cheeks. Two groups moved out, surrounding the two. One of the ones in front of them walked towards them. He faced Cas.

       "Give us your food, your money, and your women, and we shall let you live."

       Cas didn't reply. He began to hunch over, laughing. The men, not quite at full mental capacity, thought he was crying. Some of them chuckled. Del quickly walked over to mediate.

       "We have some money and a bit of bread. We can give it to you."

       At the mention of her twenty coppers as "some money", Cas swung his head around, unable to control his glee.

       "What the hell are you laughing at?" the man grumbled. They realized that the youth was filled not with despair, but mirth, and were growing very, very angry.

       "Oh, I apologize, he can be a bit... odd" Del explained. "Please, just leave us alone."

       The man ignored her, staggering towards Cas. "I asked you what the hell you were laughing at, boy. Answer me."

       Cas ignored him.

       The man, veins visible on his forehead, reached over to grab Cas' hair, yanking a knife from his belt. But before his hand could quite reach, a golden blur shined, and the man's body fell limp against the ground, his head lying a few feet away, the area coated by a fountain of blood.

       Cas stood a step ahead from where he was, a steel blade hilted with gold in his hands. He was patting his chest. "You... you actually... thought you could... steal... from me!" he stammered, his speech interrupted by fits of laughter. "I have not been so amused in, in, I can't even remember!" he said, wiping the tears from his eyes.

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       The rest of the men recoiled, their minds shaken.

       "Where did that sword come from?"

       "So fast!"

       One of them drew a sword, screaming, "It's one boy, just kill him!"

       He rushed at Cas, as a hopeless, hungry sound retched out from his throat; an honest sound; a sound that, for a few moments, filled the empty plains; a sound that was at once silenced by a silver blade.

       Cas stood, his head held haughtily in the air. "If you seek death, you shall find death. I suggest you all flee."

       The remaining men followed his advice, as feet stepped on feet, legs tangled with legs, and bodies smashed against bodies, all in an attempt to live for another day, another hour, another minute, another second.

       The men having fled, Cas sighed, and knelt next to one of the corpses. He cut off the dead man's chest piece with a few swift slices.

       "What are you doing?" Del asked, curious.

       He smiled. "To the winner go the spoils. There is a certain irony in stealing from robbers, is there not?"

       "Are you really—?" she began, shocked.

       He shook his head. "Merely a jest. There is something interesting here, however." He held up the main piece of the man's armor, rubbing it with his hand. As the dirt was swept away, a golden insignia appeared, imprinted on the red steel. "These men were Imperial Guards of a sort."

       "Imperial Guards, robbing travelers on the road? Whatever could compel him to do that?"

       "This," he said, nudging the man's tunic off his torso, revealing flesh that more resembled the hills of the West than the plains here. Taut skin, held tightly against the man's ribs, sloped violently between bones. "He was starving to death."

       Del covered her mouth. "How could that happen?"

       Cas smirked. "We've found him."

       "Found what?"

       He stared at her, his eyes holding an ever so small hint of madness. "Your Devil." He turned, facing the road as it extended towards the next city. His smile grew, and he held his sword forward. "Beelzebub, Lord of the Flies, Prince of Gluttony. This could only be his work."

       "Then these men's mind were controlled by his magic?" she asked, looking at them with more sympathy.

       Cas shook his head. "No, what compelled these men was not magic, but the inner, carnal desires of all man. And that is precisely why the seven are so strong. He merely gives them a push. Their own minds do the rest. They have naught to blame but themselves." He began to walk down the road. "Come, things shall become interesting."

       Del looked down at the two corpses. "No, I have something to do."

       "Huh?" Cas asked, looking behind. He saw Del on her knees, using her hands to dig on the side of the road. "You cannot possibly be digging graves, could you?"

       "So what if I am."

       He covered his face his hand. "There is definitely something wrong with you. Just know that I shall not help."

       "I don't need your help."

       He sat down and watched her dig. Bored, he began to play with some grass with his left hand while propping his head up with his right. He watched the sun edge downwards. He watched clouds drift overhead. Finally, he watched Del's figure, struggling to unearth enough space to fit two men.

       Cas sighed. "Fine. I shall help you."

       She turned to face him, a grateful smile on her face. "Thank you."

       "Do not get the wrong idea, girl—I am not doing it for you, you are simply taking too long."

       "Of course."

       At his command, dozens of swords popped into reality, moving on their own. Though the swords were not particularly efficient, being made for killing and not shoveling, the sheer number of them meant that the job was completed in good time. Del gently dragged a corpse in while Cas kicked one in. The swords then went to work reburying them.

       Cas patted his hands together, though he did no actual work with them. "The job is done. Shall we go?"

       Del shook her head and dropped to her knees. "I have not completed my purpose."

       "Which is?"

       She ignored him and began to pray, speaking in the ancient languages that men created eons ago, before the Angels and their God arrived. The winds began to gather, and a soft, strange green glow seemed to emanated throughout the land. With a sudden abruptness, great oaks grew out from the graves, their branches strong and their leaves green.

       Cas stared at them, his eyes widening. "You—!"

       She smiled at him with tired eyes. "I said I was the Chief Druid of the Great Forests."

       She began to look up and Cas followed. There, at the very top of the trees, fireflies began their dance, floating farther and farther away into the sky until they disappeared into the night sky, as if becoming one with stars. Of all the constellations man were so fond of, tonight, the brightest was undoubtedly the warrior, its great arms beating and drumming in respect for the fallen.