"Markhiss."

The two had been walking through the woods for only a few minutes when the man in black uttered that one word.

Crap, he's talking. Is that it? What is Markhiss? A name? A place? How am I supposed to respond to just a single word?

Jiran bit his lower lip, his thoughts raced trying to come up with a response that wouldn't get him killed.

I don't have enough information. My ignorance is probably already obvious so delaying any longer would be bad. Lying is not an option here.

"My apologies sir, I'm not familiar with that name."

Jiran didn't realize he had been struck until he was halfway to the tree that smashed into his head and back.

Stars exploded in his brain.

Pushing through the pain, he watched in horror as the devil walked in his direction. The visage of the man in black grew hazy as his head pulsed in agony, darkness descended from the edges of his vision until all he could see was the man.

In a desperate attempt to keep himself from passing out, Jiran pushed mana into his head. With a wobbly mental image of his cells repairing and re-growing.

His vision cleared just as the man reached him.

Jiran’s hair was gripped roughly and his head was forced to look up at the man now squatting above him.

"That's my name and if you ever call me sir again, it will be the last sound you ever make.

"Since you didn't know my name, you're not from an important house. Yet you're all alone out here in your fancy clothes. That's very mysterious.

“I hate mysteries."

Jiran had no trouble focusing on the man's words. Pain has a way of bringing the mind into the present. Between his throbbing skull, bruised back, and several broken ribs, he would likely never forget Markhiss's words no matter how hard he tried.

"This only goes two ways kid, either you're useful to me, or you're dead."

Markhiss slowly pulled out a knife and brought it closer to Jiran’s throat.

"What's it going to be? Are you going to be useful?"

He would have nodded if his head hadn't been held at an awkward angle by a vice-like grip with enough power to crush his skull instantly.

"Yes Markhiss, I'll be useful." Jiran hated the sound of his own voice at that moment. Weak, pathetic, terrified.

"Good, good, that's great. I'm glad you can be so reasonable." He spoke slowly, enunciating each word as if they were daggers he was sliding into Jiran’s body.

Markhiss re-sheathed his knife, never breaking eye contact with Jiran. The smile that spread across his face was the mirror image of a doting grandmother.

Jiran had never felt so creeped out in either of his lives.

He's insane, he's going to kill me.

"You must have a name, do tell?" He spoke in the sweetest voice, dripping with kindness and care. However, the black eyes that gazed down at Jiran were as emotionless as ever.

"Jiran, my name is Jiran."

"No surname? Well that's another surprise, isn't it? You are just one mystery after another aren't you, Jiran?"

With a sigh as fake as his smile, Markhiss continued.

"I suppose I should apologize for hitting you then. You were just trying to be polite after all.

"Nobles use words like sir, and my lord, to worm their way into your graces so they can stab you all the easier.

"Come along, soon-to-be useful Jiran, we've got work to do." Markhiss's last words were spoken in a sing-song rhythm that sent shivers down his spine.

Jiran tried to push mana into his ribs and back to heal his injuries but the mana wouldn't respond. He watched the retreating back of the insane man, instinctively knowing that if he didn't move soon, he would never move again.

Tears fell from his eyes as he pushed through the immense pain of moving and stood on shaky legs. He tried to take a breath to calm himself but it felt like it railroad spikes were lodged inside his lungs.

Panic took hold with an iron grip, unable to do anything else, he took one stumbling step after another, chasing the very man that would likely kill him.

Markhiss set a nearly unbearable pace for the injured Jiran. Luckily only a few minutes later they arrived at the corpse of a beast.

An orange saber-tooth tiger with goat horns and an extra set of legs.

Jiran watched as Markhiss used quick, smooth motions to tie a rope around one of its back legs. He then threw the rope over a thick tree limb and hoisted the beast into the air with one arm.

With a gentle tap of his foot, soil and rock exploded into the air. When the dust settled, there was a two-meter hole under the beast.

Holding the rope with one hand, as if there wasn't a two-ton beast dangling from the other end, Markhiss swiped his other hand through the air. The smooth chop didn't look dangerous in the least, as if he was a conductor making a single hand motion to his orchestra.

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Yet the beast's head fell from its body all the same. Jiran gulped, while blood gushed out, filling the hole below.

This guy is crazy powerful, no, he's crazy and powerful. What have I gotten myself into now? Those damned monkeys, I should have just ignored them. No, that wouldn't have changed anything, the bandits probably would have just found me anyways.

I just need to stay alive long enough for Samris or Lenton to find me. I'm sure they'll track down my cave in no time. I left an obvious trail.

It’s just a few more days until the moon is up and they come looking for me, just a few more days, I can do this.

With a glimmer of hope in his heart, Jiran reached out to his mana once more and It finally responded to his call.

With a relief so strong his lower lip trembled, he pushed a huge chunk of his mana into his chest. He could feel the healing energies go to work instantly. A bone was pushed out of his lung and tissue was re-knit.

I wonder if Markhiss killed all of the monkeys, everything back there happened way too fast.

How the heck did that fatty even sneak up on me? I really need to figure out some shapings for detection and stealth.

I got pretty angry too, I've never hurt anyone like that before. I don't feel too bad though, they attacked me. If you point a spear at a child's head, you're probably not a good person.

Would I point a spear at a child's head if Markhiss told me to? No, I'd rather die than turn out like that.

Even so, I hope they're not dead, my attack should have just knocked them out. Markhiss left them there, if a beast finds them and kills them before they wake up, that would be on my head.

How are you supposed to think straight in such a stressful situation? No, I shouldn’t doubt

myself. I did the right thing. How was I supposed to know that a monster like this was nearby?

He wasn't given enough time to ponder his mistakes further as Markhiss kicked the huge orange beast with enough force to send it across the clearing. It landed with a sickening thud at Jiran’s feet.

With a neutral face once more, Markhiss motioned to the beast at Jiran’s feet while looking him directly in the eyes.

"C'mon Jiran. Let's go serve some breakfast." Markhiss then turned and walked away through the forest without looking back.

Jiran understood the need to quickly follow. But his feet wouldn't move. They were stuck to the ground like a tree with its roots burrowed deep.

Pick up your feet Jiran, you need to move right now. move, move, move, MOVE!

With a spark of will and mana, Jiran burned his hand, the pain releasing him from his stasis.

Using desperation as fuel, he pumped mana through his entire body and hefted the monster onto his shoulder. The weight nearly buckled his legs. If not for the intense boulder training, he would have failed to even hold the beast in the air, let alone walk with it.

The still leaking neck of the tiger pumped a trail of blood behind Jiran as he struggled to catch up.

If not for the occasional Densoon wave to recharge his mana, Jiran would have run dry long before they made it to the camp.

A tingle ran across his skin alerting him to some kind of barrier. It felt similar to when the wards were activated in Samris's study.

Crap.

A few feet later he felt another barrier.

Double crap.

As he walked forward through the second barrier the scenery in front of him changed dramatically. What had been a lush forest, suddenly transformed into a six-meter wall.

The barricade was made of trees, reinforced with metal bands spaced every two meters. Before them was a gate just large enough for a cart to wheel through.

Two nervous looking men stood on either side of the gate. Sweat ran down their brows, backs ramrod straight. They looked ahead, not saying a word at Markhiss's and Jiran's arrival.

Their equipment was dirty and damaged, although still in better shape than the three goons. They exuded a sense of experience and danger despite their obvious fear of Markhiss.

Stepping past the wall, Jiran was greeted by a jumble of tents and small fire pits. Only a few men and women were about at this hour. First Father had begun his rise so Jiran assumed the camp would soon be bustling.

The camp appeared to host around a hundred people.

Is life in the Empire so hard that this many people would choose to live a life of banditry? They are clearly living hard lives. Why not just work in a village or town? At least they would be clean and well-fed.

Markhiss led him to a wood table stained such a dark red it appeared black. A quick nod from the psychopath was all the prompting Jiran needed to relieve himself of the cumbersome burden.

He slumped to the ground in relief after depositing the corpse.

That was so much harder than my normal morning workouts with Samris. If I survive this, I definitely need to be pushing myself harder.

Markhiss didn't look his way before walking off toward the biggest tent. Two men in perfectly maintained equipment fell into formation behind him. They were a stark contrast to the otherwise filthy men and women in the camp.

Jiran didn't see where they came from. They had just appeared behind their leader and followed him into the tent.

The way they move, those two must be Tier four. Just how many powerful people are in this camp?

His stress ratcheted higher and higher. He couldn't keep his mind from conjuring images of the worst coming to pass.

Unsure of what to do and completely exhausted, he continued to sit where he was. He hadn't felt this drained since he was injured and completely devoid of mana.

Each Densoon wave was a blessing. Every tiny bit of extra mana could be the difference between life and death.

That bastard had me carry that beast all the way here alone to drain all of my mana. He wants me to feel helpless. Well, congratulations on a job well done.

I have to believe Samris can find me behind these wards and that he's strong enough to beat Markhiss. I need to keep my head down and stay alive. I can’t give up hope.

With that trail of blood all the way here, Samris and Lenton should have no trouble finding the camp at least.

Worries and fears plagued Jiran's mind as he waited for Markhiss to return. He wasn't about to go poking around and get himself killed out of curiosity.

Almost an hour passed as he waited. Eventually, two women showed up and began butchering the beast.

Jiran made sure he wasn't in their way. They didn't speak or look at him. Feeling awkward at their behavior, he didn't offer to help.

The women appeared much like Boots and Fatty, filthy, like they lived in a pit of mud and excrement. They were hungry, tired, and despondent. They moved with wooden, choppy motions, as if uncomfortable in their own skin.

Maybe these people are just like me, captured and forced to work.

Jiran had thirty percent of his mana back by the time one of the well-equipped bandits appeared before him. The man wasn't large, but Jiran couldn't find a single gram of excess fat on him. He looked like a bowstring pulled taught, ready to explode into action.

"Follow," was all he said before walking toward the center of the camp.