It only takes me a short while to reach the gate where the bureaucratic hell the Empire is known for rears its ugly head. Having to show the guard four different proofs of identification and his hinting at having to "thoroughly search" me unless I made a generous donation to his gambling fund was the straw that broke the camel's back for me. Having grown tired of this blatant attempt at fleecing me, I stand to my full height while staring at him with my most intimidating glare. I let an annoyed scowl creep onto my face as he quickly changed his tune, hastily shuttling me out the gate, and gave a half-hearted apology with a claim of mistaken identity thrown in for good measure. Now free of the environment of being in town, I admired the vast open plains surrounding the city and headed towards the stables I had kept my horse at. After greeting the owner, who would've no doubt sold my horse had I not shown up today, I head inside.

I search for a moment, exploring the well-maintained building, until I find the corner my Harlow stays in. I feel a tinge of guilt looking at his stall. Although I kept him in good shape and fed, I've always regretted not being able to let him stay in better conditions. His stall bore the signs of week-old filth, but the worst was the water in his trough which had a green tint that I had to assume was mold. With a light stroke of his brown fur, I rest my head against him and feed him an apple I had prepared as a treat.

Going through the familiar motions, I place my saddle on him and guide him out of the stable. Having already paid beforehand, I don't even bother talking to the owner. After a final check of my gear, I mount Harlow and head off onto the road.

Typically for such a journey, I would've joined a caravan as a mercenary, but having the freedom to set my schedule has an allure I couldn't resist. Thankfully the Empire has been investing heavily into its infrastructure over the past few years and has even started boasting that all roads lead to Arten. Even if, I doubt they have honestly built paved roads leading to the Capital from every city, at least this one does.

With the slow trot, I ride Harlow, it takes a while before the crowds surrounding the city gates peter out. But the moment we are finally on the open road and far enough away from the relative safety of the city walls that a return trip would be tedious, I realize my mistake. In my excitement to finally move on, I never checked the time. Alone and with the light dwindling as the sun sets beneath the horizon, I weigh my pride against turning back and accepting my first venture might’ve been a mistake.

Despite logic telling me I should turn back or even settle for the night and set up camp, I ignore the doubts plaguing my mind and push on. The only thought in my mind is that the sooner I complete my mission, the sooner I can rest.

Hours pass by with me alone on the trail. The sparse trees that only dotted the landscape before had slowly coalesced into a sprawling forest that my path thankfully skirts around. With my guard raised to its max, I feel my mind return to the maxim taught during training. There will be no rest until the mission is complete. This single-minded determination keeps me up through the night. Harlow, no doubt upset at being worked so hard, fights me the whole way. Yet in my current state, I can't even process its discomfort as anything more than an obstacle to navigate so I can complete my orders.

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What snaps me out of my trance isn't exhaustion, hunger, or even a spark of compassion for my overworked steed. Instead, it's a scream. The piercing sound destroys the peaceful orchestra of noises I expected to hear from a forest at night.

Within moments a young woman with her clothes torn and arms flailing in my direction comes running out of the woods. Her sudden appearance immediately raises alarm bells in my mind, and instinctively my arm raises towards her as I feel the now familiar sensation of my mana shaped into the favorite of any battle mage worth his salt, Fireball. It is a spell that, regardless of your chosen specialization, you must learn. Being a 2nd rank spell, it has enough power to kill any unprotected human it comes in contact with. Ironically even with such devastating effectiveness, many ignorant youths think little of it simply because the most common application seen is to fire it into the air above the enemy. That changes when they see the devastation it can wreak from a unit firing several volleys.

Before this moment, I had never seen the damage a near-point-blank attack from this spell would cause. In all honesty, I wish I never had. The sheer force of the blast had knocked her back several feet. As her mangled body slammed into the ground, I felt unsure if I had heard her let out a final scream or if it was just the deafening roar of the impact. The description of the spell they had given us had been very accurate as far as I could tell. With her right arm blown off and severe burns across her body, she was dead, probably before she hit the ground.

My eyes dart around the surroundings, alert to any signs of other people, but after at least an hour passed, I realize that if anyone was nearby, they were probably scared off by the use of magic. With a deep breath, I force myself to acknowledge the young woman's corpse lying on the ground. Dismounting, I take slow and deliberate steps toward her before crouching down to inspect her body. It only takes me a moment to realize she wasn't a distraction sent by bandits. Her smooth brown hair and the remaining unburned skin point me towards thinking she was the daughter of either a wealthy merchant or the pampered child of some minor noble.

As I drag her lifeless body off the road and into the woods, I am not surprised by my lack of reaction. Reflecting on my familiar pattern reemerging, I feel a tinge of disgust for myself as I recognize the endless cycle I have fallen into. The zealous drive that pushes me to drag my own body until the brink of exhaustion, disregarding the "mistakes" I make along the way.

With a large swig from my canteen, I gaze between Harlow and the road. Watching as the sun crests the horizon and dawn finally breaks, I hear the familiar echo of logic whispering that I should rest. It callously points out that this wouldn't have happened had I not been so sleep-deprived and paranoid. Yet, with a low grunt, I brush my hands clean of the dirt and blood that had stained them and mount up before continuing my journey.