“Listen, Jeremy — I’m taking you to the citadel not as my son but as one of my agents.”

Jeremy nodded. That was exactly as he wanted.

The two of them arrived through one of Sebas’ doors. Not exactly at Evergreen — but close enough for them to walk.

“Train with the men, see what it’s like on the field, and learn what you can in your short stay.”

“The spires —“

“You can study the spires as much as you can when we find some,” Amos sighed. “A few of the King’s mages have already tried their hands at it — with little success.”

Jeremy smiled. The King’s mages didn’t have the access to otherworldly knowledge as he did — though his contacts were keeping mum about the spires, waiting for him to make a deal or offer something in trade.

He would have to make the trip himself if he wanted to learn more. It was sad that Sebas wasn’t there. His butler’s ideas were often novel — he would certainly figure out how and why the spires worked or at least find ways to harness their power.

“Wait, father — you mentioned training with the men?”

“Well, you have a glaive,” Amos gestured at his staff. “You might as well learn to use it.”

“It’s technically a scythe.”

“Bah, just learn to fight like a soldier,” his father chuckled. “It’ll help you bond with them — make you appear more like one of them.”

Jeremy shrugged. Appearing normal was enticing, and at least he would be training in a safe environment. Spells outside and staves inside — it seemed possible.

They quickly neared the Citadel’s entrance. He was expecting massive gates of iron — instead, he saw plain wooden ones that weren’t exactly imposing.

His father followed his gaze and noted the disappointment on his face.

“Evergreen doesn’t protect itself from the kingdom,” he explained. “The real gates are on the other side.”

The gates opened wide as they neared. Every soldier probably knew what his father looked like. They were flooded with welcoming greetings as they entered — forcing his father to pause.

“I said I would come back with reinforcements,” he proclaimed. “This is the Scourge — one of my most valued agents.”

Jeremy could only wave at the small crowd of soldiers welcoming them — some of them noting how his attire made him look like Death.

“Just make sure he goes in front of us not behind us!”

Cheerful laughter followed the comment.

“Of course, he goes in front,” his father clasps his shoulders. “Come, Scourge — it’s time to meet the men that form the spearhead.”

Cheering followed their departure from the gates. Jeremy could only wonder why it was so important that he was up front. Still, his welcome was surprising. None of the soldiers seemed to mind his life ward, and even the townspeople didn’t seem to take much notice.

“Remember, son — you chose to be Death,” his father smiled. “Death should come at the front of our men — not behind them.”

***

Citadel food was the same as always.

Cicero stared at his spoonful of gruel — thinking how he would give half his pay for a proper meal of venison.

The door to the mess hall opened, followed by a booming voice.

“So you lots are out here dining while the battle rages on outside!”

He turned towards the familiar voice — the Blackstaff was back!

The soldiers didn’t need to stand at attention. The Blackstaff didn’t have a rank after all — but most of them did.

Cicero found himself standing with them — his hands shaking from excitement and relief.

“Sir, you’re back,” he muttered as he approached his former commander.

“Aye, Cis,” the Blackstaff replied. “This is the Scourge — or is it just Scourge? I’m confused.”

“Scourge is fine,” his companion answered. “Nobody calls you ‘the Blackstaff’ to your face — so the article isn’t needed.”

The two seemed close. The young man was obviously a mage. Black robes were not uncommon — but the glowing scythe made him stand out.

Cicero wanted to ask where the rest of the reinforcements were, eyeing the Scourge as he did so.

He stopped. The man in front of him was no normal soldier or mage. Instead of the usual bloodthirst — there was a palpable aura of death around him.

How could someone so young have such a strong aura? Just how many has he killed?

“Scourge is one of my most valued agents. I want him training with the men to toughen up — perhaps some training with the spear or glaive.”

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

Cicero watched as the scythe blade straightened, forming a glaive. It seemed like both the Blackstaff and the Scourge were surprised that it did so — but he probably just misread them. A sentient weapon that did things on its own was dangerous. He didn’t think the Blackstaff’s most valued agent would bring one to the front line.

“We’ll group him in with the few trainees we have — maybe have him spar with a few veterans.”

“Good, good,” the Blackstaff laughed. “Don’t hold back just because he’s one of mine. This one can certainly take it.”

Cicero frowned. The Scourge was likely a powerful mage — why would he want him training with soldiers? He would have his men go easy on the kid. Then again, he wondered if he could take it, as the Blackstaff said.

***

Jeremy dodged to the left as a whizzing staff struck to where he was standing. He continued to a roll as the enemy staff swept towards him.

He expected a bit of training — just not one so soon.

Staff work was not his specialty. He didn’t need to spar with his opponents, preferring to finish them off at a good distance.

Jeremy was in a quandary. Just taking the beating — would make his father lose face. No, he would have to make a passable impression.

He steeled himself, taking in one of the minotaur-like demons in his consciousness. It was thinner than the usual minotaur — with goat horns instead of a bull’s. The most important thing was that it used a spear.

It wasn’t a possession. He was more likely violating the creature — delving into its memories and taking what he wanted. It wouldn’t make him an expert spearman, but he would learn a thing or two about using the weapon.

Jeremy changed his grip on his staff while changing his footing — it was time to go on the offensive.

The spear on his hands seemed to dance, flicking and striking in a myriad of directions with the slightest guidance.

It was exhausting. He felt the joints in his hands and arms turning in ways he was unaccustomed to — and his father forbade him from using mana while training.

His feet could barely keep up with his hands. It was a miracle he stayed on his feet. Keeping his balance before didn’t seem too important — but now, every strike made him adjust or risk falling to the ground.

The flurry of attacks worked.

One of his strikes hit the soldier on the arm, while the next one landed solidly on his- chest.

The man fell to the ground winded.

Jeremy could see himself pouncing — dealing a rain of blows on the downed man to finish him off. It was one of the downsides of tapping into demonic consciousness, but he was used to it. They were more like suggestions than actual urges — and he easily dismissed them for their absurdity and lack of imagination.

He remembered the demons marveling at his Painful Staff of Pain’s healing function — particularly on how it was tied to its barbed end. Demons couldn’t imagine using healing in such ways — thinking it was limited to goodly beings.

Jeremy heard a few claps, but he noticed the frown on Captain Cicero’s face. Did he fight too well and show up a veteran or maybe strike too hard? What could he have done wrong?

“You fight like a demon,” Cicero said as he picked up a staff from the racks. “That’s not a good thing.”

The captain approached him to strike and he responded with his own.

They traded blows. Mostly it was him attacking while his opponent defended. He should be winning, but there was doubt in the back of his mind.

It dawned on him. His blows weren’t landing.

A precise counter made his staff fly wide. Not too wide — but wide enough to give the captain a chance to counterattack.

The captain was a spearman. His strikes were mostly thrusts — but his spear retracted as fast as it struck. Jeremy tried his best to dodge or block — but the demon’s memories had little to do with defense.

Defeat was unavoidable.

One of the captain’s strikes hit his thigh, unbalancing him. The next attack struck his shoulder, and the final one aimed for his head.

The third strike never connected, but Jeremy fell nonetheless.

“Demons don’t die when you kill them,” the captain started, “they just get sent back to their own plane.”

Cicero pulled him up, though the clap on his shoulder confused Jeremy. Was it a congratulation or a rebuke?

“Your technique is fearless — all offense and no defense,” the captain lectured. “It might do well against an untrained soldier, or maybe even a few veterans —“

A groan in the background cut the captain’s words.

“It’s no fault of yours, Magnus — the kid is the Blackstaff’s agent, after all,” he turned back to Jeremy. “A skilled fighter will see your weakness and end up killing you or die along with you.”

Jeremy forced a smile. It seemed like there were no easy shortcuts. At least he had the killing part of the lesson figured — now he just needed to focus on the not dying part.

***

Min stared at the builders working on the future home of her kids. It wasn’t anything grand — more like a barn where they can put multiple beds.

The Scourge left for somewhere — exiled of sorts if she was to believe the stories from the city. Her kids were left without a mentor. Sebas said he could fill in for the meantime, but he was still preparing proper plans.

He was surprisingly meticulous to her surprise. Everything in the shop was organized and documented. Every transaction had a record, and every penny was going in and getting spent was counted to the copper.

The kids picked up a lot in their two days with their teacher. Jeremy taught them to be confident and strong in facing their fears — even if she didn’t agree with his methods.

Fire. Why did it have to be fire?

Granted, the Scourge didn’t teach them actual spells — but he allowed them to sense the mana in the air and in their bodies.

Sebas said what the children were doing was merely channeling mana and giving it form. He said the wands Jeremy gave them prevented them from using ambient mana, so there was no risk of big fires or explosions. They were fueling the magic with the energy from their bodies — which is probably why they were hungrier and slept earlier.

Fire was supposedly the easiest magic since heat involved moving particles instead of summoning them. What in the world were particles — and what did it have to do with fire?

She asked Sebas for a few pails and other containers to fill with water. She had a few lying around where the children practiced and slept. Fire and fields were not a good combination. She remembered the few frowns on the farmhands when Jinea managed to create her first spark.

Her days became a lot busier. She didn’t have to constantly ask nobles for funding — but now she was in charge of would-be wizards instead of mere younglings.

Aside from her kids, she worried about Sebas. He seemed troubled with his master’s exile.

She offered to help with the shop — but Sebas declined. She told her to just worry about her kids for now, and that she could help out once they’ve settled and the barn was finished.

He was a good man.

Min once brought him food during lunch and was surprised he only ate breakfast and dinner. He said it was the custom where he and his master came from — but he would certainly appreciate tea.

That she could do.

Tea was a bit too noble-y for her — but she was willing to make changes for the butler.