“Ever ran out of mana ? Not the funniest thing in the world, I tell you. It's like having a really really bad hangover, with all the customary nausea, headache and grogginess. On top of muscle cramps, shivering, fever, ringing ears and whatnot. Well it's bad enough to make you think about suicide sometimes. Of course you end up blacking out, especially if you're not used to the feeling. Good news ! These nice symptoms stay for a while even after you wake up ! No need to tell you why mana-drain is our favourite spell for the questioning of enemies mages...

-military intelligence magician”

* * *

Erin

Shit shit shit shit.

“Why are there so many !?”

Erin was running as fast as she could while supporting a faltering Azcheron. A handful of golems were chasing them. Needless to say, the stone giants were much faster than them. But Azcheron was dealing with them in any way he could.

He glanced back once again. Erin could hear the sound of crushed rocks. Another golem had been disposed of. She wasn't even that worried about the golems. Was she loosing her mind ? No, the threat was indeed here, but Azcheron would take care of it. Like always.

“Erin,” he said in an almost silent voice.

She kept running, not sure if she heard something because of the stomping noises.

“Erin, listen.” She turned her head and realized he was in a really bad state. Empty eyes and saliva running on his chin. “I'll have to burden you soon.”

“What do you mean ?” she asked, panicked.

A golem came from the side. Azcheron flickered his wrist, and a small chunk of the golem's leg disappeared in a tiny sphere of light. The stone giant crumbled on the sand and tried to crawl, no longer able to stand. It had been going on like that for a while. They had quickly used up all their explosives – most were given to Nathaniel and Baestar – so Azcheron had to use his magic early on to neutralize the golems. The amount of mana he used to make the golems fall was ridiculously small, but it was all he had left.

“I'll probably pass out once the adrenaline wears off,” he said, confirming that he was at his limit.

Erin looked behind them. There were still a couple of pursuers. She noticed, even farther in the distance, another group of golems. Probably chasing Oscar. Would he survive or end up being stomped to death, she couldn't know. But she honestly wouldn't be surprised if he managed to escape, even with his burns and broken bones. Rather, she'd almost find it strange if he didn't. That was to say how much of an opponent he was. What about Erin and Azcheron's escape then ?

I can do it. I'll save us. There's no way we're dying here. Not here, not now. We didn't beat the shit out of Oscar just to get stomped on by these dumb oversized puppets.

“Don't worry. Leave it to me.”

“Heh... That line is stylish.” He turned his head and shortly after, Erin could hear the golems getting crippled by the mana orbs. Then the stomping came to a stop. “I think I read it somewhere in a book ? Eh... Don't know which one...”

“Probably one of Anton's. Hey ! Didn't you say they all were cheesy and uninspired ?” Erin asked.

She casted her gaze on the stone remnants, barely moving. Nothing was really chasing them anymore, but they kept running nonetheless, just in case.

The Saint didn't answer. “Azcheron ?”

Then he suddenly collapsed. Erin managed to catch him before he fell and cracked his skull on some random rock. “Azcheron ! Wake up !” But he was unconscious, and didn't look like he would open his eyes anytime soon.

Is this what happen when you deplete all your mana ? Or is it because of the injuries ?

She examined his arm once again. It seemed worse than before. The burnt flesh was emitting a foul stench and now the wounds were dirtied with sand and dust. Pus everywhere. His whole body was drenched in blood and sweat. He had many small bruises and cuts everywhere. She didn't think too much about it before because they were busy fighting and escaping, but now it was obvious.

Be it from shock, blood loss or infection, he'd end up dying at this rate. After surviving Oscar and the golems, he'd die. In her arms.

Shit. Shit ! Why don't I know some magic !?

No time to lose, she had to act quickly. Without anything at hand to treat him, not even water – most of their belongings were strapped to the horse, who ran somewhere – there was only one thing to do. She gritted her teeth and carried Azcheron. She had to carry him. The weight and the distance didn't matter. Her being also injured and extenuated didn't matter.

She'd carry him until they arrived at the camp. There, they could at least clean him and dress his wounds. Perhaps Nathaniel or Baestar knew some healing magic, who knew ?

She could only hope. Hope was the last defence before despair. Walking on the white cold sand for hours, she could only cling to the tiniest hope if she wanted to ignore the pain, the fatigue and the fear.

You won't die, right ? Tell me you won't die...

You can't die here, after all. Because you have so many things to do. What will you do if you die before you find out about your clan !

You can't die, you'd be the laughing stock of all those nobles ! You can't die, not before you have that spar with Darius.You promised him. You can't die. Not after dragging me here. You can't leave me alone.

Look how much of a hassle this is ! So much sweat, it's getting into my eyes.

It's all blurry. It's all your fault, so please...

Don't leave me alone.

Don't die. I forbid you.

* * *

Nathaniel

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“Eh... Is it palace ? Or castle. No, I'm sure it's palace.” Nathaniel sighed. “Hah... If only I had my lexicon...”

He stood up and dusted off his clothes. “Well, it's the word for the king's house, no doubt,” he said to Isabella as if asking her opinion.

She shrugged. “I wouldn't know.”

Of course you wouldn't. You mercenaries are indifferent and uncaring people after all. Hah... What's a bit of glory and money when there are such astonishing things to discover ? He complained in his mind, staring at the carvings on the stone.

He went to sit next to Baestar. His group came back an hour ago, rather disappointed, though not empty-handed. It turned out the strange golem was made of something akin to obsidian. Once again, no magic was left in the rocks, so there was no way to know if it only owed its resilience to explosions to the materials.

Well, it didn't matter much to Nathaniel. He was interested in the western culture, not in geology or whatever. Though info on the strange golem could have casted some light on their origin and purpose.

“Aren't they taking too long” ? Baestar asked, pulling Nathaniel away from his thoughts.

“They should arrive any time now. We don't know what they may have found, so perhaps they are taking their time,” Caspar said from behind while scouting the horizon. Baestar had casted sight magic on him.

“True...”

They had to thank the Academy. Learning that vision spell was the norm for the scholars here : unsurprisingly, there had been too many cases of myopia and deteriorated sight among the Academy's employees, so some had no choice.

A lifetime of studying scrolls and grimoires by the candlelight will do that to you.

Though one could rightfully wonder if overusing this eye-straining spell would not bring worse consequences.

The group fell silent and Nathaniel went back to his scribblings once again.

Even after hours of studying, the only thing he managed to learn for now was that there was a mention of the king's palace. Or castle. Surely it was palace, but maybe both were the same in this language ?

This western language is a real pain, sometimes... I should have taken the Dragon tongue classes back then, instead... That old teacher, what's his name, with his moustache... He sure has a lot of students nowadays. Seems like everyone goes to him for lessons. Even that youngster Azcheron.

“Hey, someone's coming.”

Speak of the devil ? I wonder what took so long. I can already imagine Yorl's idiotic grin.

“Eh... Isn't there something strange ?”

Nathaniel got up and blurted out a small incantation, then gazed in the distance with his vision spell. True, the group seemed... thiner ? Smaller ? As if they had no horses. Why, though ? As the returnees approached, Nathaniel obtained his answer quickly thanks to his sight magic.

Something happened. Because out of the five that went there, only two came back. The group rode toward Erin as fast as they could once they understood that there was a problem.

As Nathaniel approached her, he was met with a frightening, alarming sight. Azcheron was unconscious and being carried. He had bloodcurdling injuries all over him, and his arm was in an especially bad shape. It was no arm at all, at this point.

The heck ! What happened ? And where are the others !?

But it was Erin herself that scared him the most. She looked like a ghost. Pale and weary, drenched in blood in sweat. Nathaniel noticed a large gash under her pierced breastplate.

Did she carry him in this state, all the way from there ?

Yet behind half-closed tired eyelids, her irises were burning with an eerie fire. Was it a will of steel, or simply madness ? Nathaniel could not fathom.

Of course they didn't stand here doing nothing like oafs, and helped the two wounded as soon as they dismounted. There was no time to lose. Answers could wait, but Azcheron wouldn't. He looked like he had already one foot in the grave. More like, he had already everything but a single hair in the grave.

How come he's still alive ? And what could have caused such a situation ?

Nathaniel and the others could guess that Yorl, Pat and Wilhelm were dead. Whatever managed to put Azcheron and Erin in this condition would surely be enough to kill any normal person.

Erin stared at Azcheron. “Treat him,” she said in a pained voice. “Then we have to leave this place quickly.”

Baestar complied and used magic to clean his wounds. Neither him not Nathaniel knew anything about healing arts, but the mercenaries could patch him up at the camp. At least well enough for him to survive the return trip to the fortress.

Erin's words echoed in Nathaniel's mind. He didn't need to know why they had to 'leave this place quickly'. The sight of these two was enough to convince him.

They spent the night here, Azcheron and Erin's wounds were summarily treated, and the group departed at first light.

* * *

The journey toward the east took a week. The mounts were heavily burdened. Not only did they lost four horses because of Oscar, so there wasn't enough of them for everyone, but they also had to carry the carved stones. Or else the expedition and the three deaths would have been all for naught.

Still, they advanced surprisingly fast despite all this. Azcheron hadn't awoken yet, but it was probably for the best. Nathaniel couldn't dare to imagine the pain one would feel because of such injuries. Though the young mage was in a critical state, they had no choice but to transport him by horse. It was dangerous, but always preferable to a certain death if they stayed in the desert, away from any medical care. The healers at the fortress would probably be able to stabilize him.

They are elite mages trained for healing people fighting dragons, after all. I don't know what they can do about his arm, but at least they should manage to save his life.

Of course, everyone must have had certain thoughts about the situation, and Nathaniel was no exception. There was the temptation to hold Azcheron and Erin responsible for the deaths of Pat, Yorl and Wilhelm. Nathaniel didn't particularly like Yorl, but he had to admit he respected the old man as a researcher, for his experience and dedication. The mercenaries however, they must have liked Pat and Wilhelm. Caspar and Rudolph didn't seem to care much about the whole thing, but Isabella and Jeffrey were clearly affected by the news. They were colleagues at least, comrades and friends at best. Naturally, there was tension, and Nathaniel was almost expecting someone to try to get on with it and slit Azcheron's throat or something.

But when Erin explained what had happened, things calmed down. Everyone knew of Oscar and his supposedly awful personality. The mere thought that the guy was lurking in the desert made Nathaniel shiver. He couldn't bring himself to blame only Azcheron for the loss of three people. Even if his decision to split up was careless, everyone agreed with him, and no one could have expected Oscar to just show up, and in the end they even fought him off. That was a feat. Oscar was a bastard and a murderer, yes, but he murdered heroes, not random bums.

They all understood, to some extent. They kept it to themselves, but surely some still felt anger and resentment. Yes, if they could stand up to Oscar and fend him off, then why didn't they do it before he killed their comrades ? If Azcheron was supposed to be a powerful mage capable of battling stone golems, why didn't he use his magic sooner ? Was he playing around again, as he did with the explosives and the golems ? If Erin was that skilled of a knight, why didn't she protect anyone ? She could cross a damn desert with fatigue and injuries just for that one guy, but she couldn't do anything against a lone enemy ? They probably thought things like that.

But showdown and drama would wait until they were safe, in the fortress. And there was still the possibility that Azcheron would die before that. Perhaps some of the mercenaries were hoping for it.

Understandable, Nathaniel thought, half trying to justify his own mixed feelings.

As they were climbing the slope leading into the mountains, Azcheron fell off Erin's horse. Something breaking could be heard as his body dropped on the hard ground. Nathaniel watched with unease as everyone, except Erin, just witnessed the scene without a single care in the world. Erin wordlessly dismounted, carried the unconscious Azcheron and struggled to put him back on her horse, only Rudolph bothered to eventually help her. She examined his body briefly before resuming riding.

All in the most painful, freezing silence. What was an awkward sight at first became truly oppressive. Nobody dared to look at Erin in the eye. Some of these people would probably never be able to work together again.

The group decided to return through the valley. It was the shortest route. And Erin insisted it was the least dangerous. Because the dragon sleeping here had already acknowledged them, she said. They owed it to Azcheron, she said. They should be glad he was still breathing because else there was no guarantee the dragon would let them pass, she said.

Regardless of the reason, she's right. Better the dragon you know that the dragon you don't. Is that the saying ? I'm not sure.

As they walked the ground covered in rocks and gravel, they tried to be as stealthy as they could. Just in case. They expected a roar or something, but nothing happened.

“Stop cowering. They'll let us pass,” Erin said in a cold voice.

How the heck would she know ? Nathaniel wanted to ask, but he already had his answer. Azcheron, somehow, was regarded by the dragons. What would have happened if, as Erin pointed out, he'd have died before they arrived ?

A quick glance around told him that everyone felt awkward. Deep down Nathaniel still had the worry that someone angry would act up once they were away from here and safe. Hopefully, time would dim the resentment, even if some scars would never fade from the minds gathered here.

Soon, the nervousness and uneasiness let place to relief. The western fortress came to sight as they exited the valley.