Sebas woke to a start, sweat on his brows.

The urges were strong today. Too strong.

He was tempted to use one of his master’s stones to cleanse his body of unclean mana — but he immediately dismissed the notion. Doing so would be akin to damming the flow of a river— he would be overwhelmed once the dam breaks.

It was similar to how people can get accustomed to constant droning pain but not sharp sudden ones. Sebas learned to ignore the urges or put them somewhere deep in his mind — but now they were rising to the surface.

Still 43 minutes before dawn. He could go for a quick run — if not for the eyes watching the Corner Shop™? Sebas expected them to disappear after a few days, but those lookouts were more resilient than he gave them credit.

He approached the window, staring outside for signs of Shelby. The snail proved to be an invaluable addition to their defenses. As far as he knew, she was always on the alert — seemingly never sleeping.

Leaving the shop for a few hours shouldn’t be a problem — though leaving on foot would be risky.

Sebas went about dressing himself. He didn’t forget to take a pouch of coins — just in case something catches his eye. It was time to go — and anywhere was fine.

He opened the door of his room and stepped through.

Bright light overwhelmed his senses for a moment. The capital was a little over a thousand miles away — and the sun had already breached the horizon. He appeared in a nondescript alley, with only a cat as witness.

Sebas smiled at the cat. It hissed in fear and ran off as if seeing a predator.

Good for you, cat. Good for you.

He pondered where to go and what to do. Visiting the Elswind house was tempting. His short stay there a week or so ago proved too short for his liking. However, a visit would not alleviate his cravings.

He started walking towards the city walls. Once he was outside, he could expend the mana in his body by running. It was a small relief — but it was enough to hold back the tide of dark thoughts.

There was a time he entertained the thought of killing someone to appease his cravings. Not an innocent, but someone who deserved it — like a murderer, bandit, or a cultist or two.

His master put a stop to it — albeit, unknowingly. Sebas saw his master struggle with the thought of killing people. He said he could feel the ecstasy of those within him every time he caused pain or took a life. The line between their ecstasy and his own emotions was a thin one — and he didn’t want to make the line murkier by willfully doing evil.

Sebas was humbled. Jeremy had a multitude — legions — of demons hammering his mind. All he had was an inner urge to become more powerful and hurt the ones that were weaker than him.

“Hey you there!” a man was pointing at him. “Yes, you!”

Sebas paused and stared at the man. “Me?”

“The city’s gathering loafers and lollygaggers and puttin ‘em to work in the quarries. Yer lot gets two silvers for ‘alf a day’s work.”

Two silvers for half a day’s work? The capital was rich!

“This quarry? Where is it?”

“To the south, an hour ride by cart,” the man answered. “The tools are already there and ye can jump in the cart for a free ride.”

“It’ll be faster if I ran.”

“Aye, eager to work, are ya?” the man laughed. “Ye won’t be getting any more silvers — but I appreciate the attitude.”

“I’ll be going then.”

“Just follow the road and the bits of stone,” the man advised. “Ye can’t miss it.”

Sebas waved at the man and ran.

He was running away from the thought of slapping the guy’s face a few times to let him know who was stronger. He was running away from the growing pride and accompanying disdain for ordinary people.

This was one reason he didn’t want to be away from his master. The demons in Jeremy’s soul made his own seem pitiful in comparison. He could feel the malevolence emanating from his master — and he knew those were just snippets of what his master withstood.

Sebas glowed as he drew the mana into his muscles, bones, and sinews — strengthening them as he ran.

He took a roundabout route. Taking the road would have too many eyes on him, and he would probably arrive in less than fifteen minutes.

There were already a few people in the quarry when he arrived. Even with his extended route, he still managed to arrive earlier than the workers riding on the cart.

The butler took a pickaxe and started working.

Lift and strike. Lift and strike.

The repetitive motions calmed him, giving him a point to center his raging emotions.

Lift and strike.

Sebas shrugged. The shop would have to open a little bit later. Today — or at least for half of it — he was a ledgeman.

***

Jeremy stared at the drops in front of him and frowned. He just tested one of them an hour ago on one of the apprentices that helped in making them, and they worked as well as his original recipe.

Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author's preferred platform and support their work!

Sure, the apprentice screamed when he stabbed him in the kidneys with a broken stool leg. One which he got after breaking the said stool over the apprentice’s head.

Well, he did volunteer. Probably because he was too enthusiastic.

The apprentice was now recovering from the assault. Not the injuries — because he had none — the healing drops clearly worked.

Jeremy was troubled because the over-eager apprentice combined his recipes, thinking they were part of the same one.

Now he had healing drops laced with War Cry™ — which he later found were marketed as Longswords™.

He promised the men of the vanguard healing drops once they had word that they were cleared for an assault on a rising spire. There was enough Lenny juice for all the men — but he didn’t have enough time to make each lozenge without help. His father suggested using apprentices — but that proved to be disastrous. Now, he was debating on whether to give the men the drops or not.

Jeremy stood and headed for the door. He would have to consult his father.

He opened the door to find a single apprentice standing outside. There was a look of guilt on her face — which was strange because she wasn’t the one who spoiled the recipe.

“You did great work!” Jeremy reassured her by pointing two fingers at her and giving her his sincerest smile — smile number 26. He was proud of his smiles. He spent close to a total of four days perfecting and memorizing them.

The woman was clearly disarmed. She hid her blush by turning away and running in the opposite direction.

Jeremy smiled at her running figure. He could always rely on number 26.

The walk to his father’s quarters was tedious. He had to take several flights of stairs as his room was four stories beneath his father’s. Of course, he was just an operative of the Blackstaff — the room assignments were tailored to his station.

He was gaining a bit of reputation in Evergreen. Apprentices were pointing and whispering as he passed — the same way the townsfolk of Bountiful did when he walked the city.

Jeremy paused. There was something there that he was missing.

He shrugged and continued walking.

He soon arrived at his father’s chambers. Two men guarded the door — one of them he recognized as one of his father’s old retainers.

“The Scourge here to see the Blackstaff!”

The two guards merely stared at him.

“Should I do it louder?” he asked, eliciting no response.

Jeremy took a deep breath, readying another declaration of his presence.

One of the guards slumped. “Just knock.”

The guard he recognized just smiled at him as he opened the door. “The Scourge is here to see you, milord.”

“Oh, the Scourge! Exactly who I was waiting for.”

Jeremy turned his head sideways to peek at the open door — waving at his father as he did so.

“Just enter,” the unfamiliar guard also turned his head sideways to meet his gaze.

“Sorry.”

Jeremy straightened up and proceeded to enter the room.

“Ehem!”

Jeremy shrieked as the guard blocked his path with a halberd.

“Your weapon.”

“You want to take my staff?” Jeremy asked, turning to his father for guidance. “Are you sure?”

“Let him take the staff, Jeremy,” his father waved dismissively. “Get over here.”

“Okay, then.” he shrugged, giving the guard his staff.

Jeremy turned and closed the doors, expecting to hear screams from the outside.

There were none.

“Come here, come here,” his father motioned.

Jeremy approached his father, taking a seat in front of his desk.

“Two of the apprentices loaned to you came to me with a complaint.” his father started. “What exactly did you do?”

“I was testing my healing drops.” he explained. “One of them volunteered, so I hit him over the head with a stool and then stabbed him in the kidneys when the leg broke off.”

“That’s it?”

“Yes.”

“And he was fine after that? No injuries whatsoever?”

“None at all.”

His father shook his head. Jeremy could read the disappointment in his movements.

“You should have stabbed him in the leg or broke an arm,” his father lectured. “How could you gauge the extent of healing if every injury was gone after the treatment?”

“That didn’t cross my mind,” Jeremy admitted. Oh, he had so much to learn from his father.

“Should we invite the apprentice back for more experiments?”

“I’ll go get a stool.”

“What? No!” his father seemed outraged. “We have swords here — and maces. Hmm... maces will probably be best.”

The two started to go around the room, looking for weapons when Jeremy remembered the purpose of his trip.

“Uhm, before that, father.” he pried the mace off his father’s hand. “There’s this problem with the drops.”

“Problems? What problems?” Amos sat behind his desk, the phantom of the eager father looking for weapons gone in an instant.

“The apprentice that came to you — he mixed the recipe of the healing drops with the War Cries™ that I was supposed to give you.”

“War cries™? Never heard of them.”

“You might know them as Longswords™.

Jeremy noted the look of shock in his father’s eyes.

“The apprentice mixed Longswords™ with your healing drops?” his father stood from his seat. “That’s great!”

“But father—“

“Son, I got to see those Longswords™ in action,” his father circled the desk to stand beside him, putting an arm on his shoulder. “There was a race — a naked race — and even the graybeards knocking on death’s door finished spectacularly!”

“You saw the race?”

“I wanted to join!” his father raised a fist. “But you know, your mother didn’t want a spectacle — even though I planned on wearing a mask.”

“So it’s fine?”

“Perfectly fine. Just make sure to save your father a few drops.”

Jeremy nodded. He was glad to hear his father’s perspective, as well as his surprising knowledge of the efficacy of the War Cry™/Longsword™.

“Now should we find that apprentice?”

Jeremy smiled as his father led him to the door.

Amos opened the door — and a guard came crashing in.

The guard fell to the ground as the door opened, still clutching Jeremy’s staff.

To the wizard’s horror — the man was smiling.

“Time to let go, Ferd,” his father pried the staff from the man’s hands. “Sorry about that. He’s one of Sacher’s former attendants.”

“Mom’s seamstress?”

“No — the healer I worked with, remember?”

Amos handed Jeremy the staff, shivering a bit as he did so.

“Oh, her.”

Jeremy felt the conversation droning on — his mind still on the guard’s smiling face.

There were people who enjoyed the touch of his staff!

He shook his head.

People were strange.