“Creson was a giant among men,” spoke a voice laden with decades of authority and wisdom. “Your great grandfather united the kingdom and brought peace and security to its citizens.”

Cedric turned to face his unannounced guest. He was called Mason, having long relinquished his name as well as ties to anyone or anything other than the kingdom. The man stood before a portrait of his grandfather, perhaps wondering about the olden days when strife still swept the lands.

“It is so, Lord Mason,” he replied. “Grandfather’s achievements, tactics, and hardships are always the topics at Lansing when I was still a student.”

“A fine place. It was good that Creson made his sons train there, and their sons after that,” the man seemed to reminisce. “And please, Mason will do.”

Cedric smiled. He belonged to the third generation of the King Creson’s lineage that trained there — and his sons would be the fourth.

“You are looking well, Mason,” he commented. From the accounts that he had read, the man was older than their great grandfather — yet here he was, still walking about and keeping his wits. There were rumors that he was an elf or at least had elven blood. Cedric doubted it. The man’s features were far-removed from the fair folk, not to mention his build.

“I’m getting old it seems,” Mason shook his head. “I remember when the ice still covered the land, before the wizards came from across the sea. I walked the earth for thousands of years — watching elves and dragons die, wondering why I remained.”

The old man took a breath to compose himself. “I’m dying Cedric. Whatever it was that kept me in this world is gone. I found a single gray hair when I rode with your grandfather. Now, I have nothing but white on my head.”

Cedric pondered the man’s words as well as their implications. He knew Mason was ancient, though he assumed the man was two or three centuries old — not several millennia. Was he some kind of immortal who presided over the land? No —that was impossible. The man was unremarkable in every way. He was no fighter or wizard — some say he couldn’t even sense the presence of mana. He was no great inventor or philosopher. He could probably be the latter if he chose to be, given the time he walked the world. But now, he was dying?

“Why are you telling me this?” he asked. Court wizards vied for a chance to talk with him, but the man would always refuse, saying his counsel was only for the king.

“To prepare for the inevitable,” Mason replied, “and to find my replacement.”

Cedric frowned. He treasured his time away from the capital — away from the intrigues and scheming. Now, fate — or Mason — was drawing him back.

“I’m no immortal,” he said plainly, “nor do I have wisdom that matches your own.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Cedric.” The old man placed a hand on his shoulder. “Bountiful is a testament to your wisdom. The city is thriving and the people are content. Furthermore, you hold a genuine concern for the kingdom and its people.”

“Thriving you say? I’ve had to deal with spies, fires, cultists, and demons,” he sighed. “The city only stands as you see it because of the Blackstaff’s son!”

“And your cousin has the Blackstaff himself,” Mason reminded him.

Cedric nodded. It seemed like the Scourge’s presence was planned all along. His cousin, the Blackstaff, or Mason was looking out for him, providing him with both aegis and gladius in the form of Jeremy. Still, he did not relish a return to the capital.

“Am I to return to the capital? My cousin isn’t short of people willing to give him counsel — is there a pressing need for my presence?”

“Not so soon, Cedric,” Mason laughed. “I’m only preparing yourself for the eventuality of the call. It may come in two years, five, or even ten. Make sure you are ready to answer the call and play the role of royal advisor.”

“Maybe there are others like you,” Cedric proposed. Living in the capital was living the life of a prisoner. Yes, it was a gilded cage — but a cage, nonetheless. “The Sco— the Blackstaff’s son mentioned finding a handful of people like you.”

“They won’t be like me. Not when it comes to caring for the kingdom. It wasn’t my longevity or wisdom that made me the royal advisor, it was my concern for the kingdom and its citizens.”

Cedric grabbed a goblet of wine from his desk, chugging it in several gulps. He wanted to protest, he wanted to stay in Bountiful and meet his end in a decade or two, he wanted to flee the responsibility — but he couldn’t.

“I am not looking for a replacement, Cedric,” Mason smiled. “Once you hold the position, you can do as you see fit — beyond the bounds of what you believe I would do.” The old man seemed somber, as if he regretted a terrible mistake he had done in the past.

“I understand.”

“Now what was that about the Blackstaff’s son finding people like me?”

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***

The sound of footsteps echoed across the Great Forest of Dun. The runner had no care for stealth or safety, for there were no predators that could threaten him.

Reef took his job seriously, taking mental notes on where the forest beasts made their lairs as well as how fast they could pursue. He had a few untimely deaths. The first was a wolf pack — he got cornered and torn limb from limb. He assumed they ate him since he awoke in a marsh.

The next one was surprising. He had heard of a hydra in the forest but not one in the marsh. He tried approaching the beast to see its strength — but he could do little, given his nakedness. His next four deaths happened while trying to determine the hydra’s speed. It was fast — but no amount of urging or provocation could make it leave its den.

He encountered bears, wyverns, and giant serpents. The forest was home to a multitude of dangerous beasts — beasts he could draw with a draught that his employer gave him.

It was a strange draught. It drove beasts mad with lust and hunger for the potion. A single drop on his wrist made a pack of wolves chase him for two whole days — the chase only stopping once he was cornered.

Reef stopped in front of a barren tree. It was one of his drop spots. His numerous resurrections taught him to keep a stash or two to maintain his modesty and dignity when returning to town. He dug with his hands, quickly finding a shovel. The work was easier after that.

He retrieved a bag filled with clothing, shoes, a dagger, four more vials of the draught that drove the beasts mad, and a notebook. He was ready to return.

The small notebook was soon filled with locations and numbers — detailing where different beasts made their lair, their numbers, as well as their speed. Drawing most of them would require the efforts of several men working together. Each man would target different beasts and the speed of the beasts’ pursuit must be taken to account.

It was a dangerous task — for the other men involved. The only danger to him was the exposure of his secret, but he could easily acquire a new identity and settle somewhere else. An immortal mercenary would certainly fetch high prices, but then wizards would come in and captivity and experimentation would almost be assured.

He walked out of the forest, wondering how the Scourge would face the horde of beasts they would drive to his domain. His hands unconsciously went for the dagger on his side. It wasn’t the dagger the wizard stabbed him with — that one he kept somewhere safe. He wouldn’t risk losing the dagger every time he died and resurrected — that dagger had a special purpose.

Reef knew it was mostly symbolic. The dagger was nothing special — but it was the dagger the Scourge used to stab him. He took great pains in his first few awakenings to retrieve the dagger — sometimes spending months to track and find it. The day he would meet the Scourge again was coming, and the dagger would be ready.

“Coming through!” cried a voice from behind him.

Reef turned to an odd sight — a boy carrying a log atop a giant snail. He moved to the side of the road to let the two pass, seeing two more snails and their riders behind the first one. The snails were moving impossibly fast — for snails, that is.

“Wait!” he waved at the last one. The boy wasn’t carrying a log like the other two and he seemed a bit younger.

The last snail stopped at the behest of its rider. Reef could see the boy standing on a plank tied to the snail’s shell by several ropes.

“Yes, mister? Are you lost?”

The boy was wearing robes and exuded a bit of power. Reef could tell that there was no wariness in his eyes, as if talking to strangers was a usual thing. He was a bit young to be a wizard — perhaps an apprentice?

“I’ve scoured the forest, but I didn’t see giant snails,” he started. “Where did you find them?”

Reef was genuinely curious. The snails moved faster than horses — though they would certainly stand out. He could also feel a hint of earth magic in their passing.

“Giant snails? These ones?” the boy looked amused. “You should see Shelby.”

“Shelby?”

“The Scourge’s snail,” the boy smiled. “They’re not home right now, but they should be back in a day or two.”

The boy knew the Scourge. He had an inkling it was his shop he passed a few days ago. It was the closest one to the forest and his employer assured him they would be leading the beasts into the city. It was an opportune time to see his place and its defenses.

“I would like to meet this Shelby,” he smiled back. “By the way, I’m Reef.”

“Ilvec,” the boy offered a hand. “Nice to meet you.”

Reef shook the boy’s hand, a bit taken aback by the formality. There was something odd about the boy that he couldn’t figure out, something that made his skin crawl. His gaze swept the trees around him, searching for another pair of eyes. It felt like he was being watched by something that could see to the depths of his soul.

The boy hopped off the snail and signaled to the creature that it should follow the others. “It’s a short walk to the shop and Nim said I could use the exercise.”

“Nim?”

“My pet demon,” Ilvec proudly proclaimed. “He said the Scourge was the most powerful demon lord and we were all lucky to serve him.”

A demon lord? That was a stretch. Evil — he could believe. The Scourge was too young and too weak to be a demon lord — and he certainly wasn’t a demon. He was only human.

He shrugged off the boy’s words as the musings of a child — that was, until they reached the Corner Shop™ and he beheld the truth in his words.

***

Jeremy was happy to go home. The trip with Shelby and Rikki was quite fruitful if a bit dull. At least he learned a bit more on how ideas could infect entire populations. There was no curse, but a dream-eating serpent created the semblance of one. It was funny how nobody noticed that the marks of the curse were already there before the incident with the witch.

Poor witch. She was wasting her talents and efforts on a field that made little to no money — especially out there in the wild! She could be swindling nobles with the ghosts of their dead loved ones — instead she was hiding from the Guildhall and its mages for practicing the dark arts.

He felt a pulse of power from Shelby. The snail was intrigued or amused.

“Did something happen?”

The snail stayed silent, though he felt that she was laughing inside.

It took another hour to reach the Corner Shop™. It seemed livelier than before. The farmhands were out practicing with the apprentice mages and he could hear the constant hammering and sawing of the carpenters.

He jumped off Shelby, wishing to walk the rest of the way. Most of the farmhands waved at him — or more likely, Shelby. They seemed different — stronger it seemed. He could see some of them darting away, as if panicking over something.

It was then that he saw it — a gaping crevice a few steps from the gate filled with the violet flames of hellfire.

“Sebas! Warden! Why is there a gate to hell in my front lawn?!”