It was a new day for Jeremy. The mana war was starting — and he was about to join.

He thought the world had already conceded to the invading mana — but now, things were stirring once more. Though the alien mana had taken over the air —the sea was fighting back, forming the ice to destroy the wizards who brought the otherworldly mana and everyone that got in the way. The newly-awakened earth was also pushing back, forming a rebel group in his small band of farmhands. Now, what would happen if infernal mana was added to the mix?

It was time to start building his mana spires. The mana forces were already at war — they shouldn’t notice the arrival of a neutral force. Of course, he couldn’t start building his spires without the necessary materials. There was also Cloudy and the strange minotaur that was trapped in a space between worlds.

He shook his head. Thoughts of world domination and gaining ultimate power were getting in the way of what was truly important — making money. There was no point in having the world trembling before him. Tribute was nice, but it felt unearned. He’d rather earn gold than take it — though taking from pesky enemies was fine too.

There were also the villagers. They had a week to work his golems — it was time to get some feedback.

After his morning rituals as well as an excellent breakfast, he made his way to the small village behind his home. He could hear the pounding of hammers after a dozen steps. There were wards in his home that kept certain sounds out, work sounds from the village were some of them. He could see one of his golems carrying supplies for the carpenters. They even dressed it like an apprentice.

The hammering died down as he got nearer, the workers stopping upon seeing them. They even managed to form some sort of line to greet him, even as the ones working on the roofs scrambled to get down.

He waved a hand dismissively, signaling for them to be at ease. The presence of his golem made him stop — but not to reprimand the workers.

“I see you’ve made use of the golem,” Jeremy smiled. “I hope it proved useful.”

“It has, milord,” answered Brand, the oldest of the carpenters. “While Rob isn’t suited for precision work, he’s still an extra pair of hands.”

“Tireless and uncomplaining, right?”

“Indeed, milord.”

“If I were to rent it out for a single gold a week, would you be interested?” Jeremy asked.

“I only earn 2 gold a week, milord,” Brand answered. “It’s a bit steep for me.”

“Can I rent it out as a miner?” a voice asked from behind the builders.

“Yes you can, Horst,” Jeremy acknowledged the town’s provisional leader. “You’ll be making a profit of 50 silvers a week — double that if you work them two shifts.”

His answer sent the crowd murmuring in excitement, as they discussed the possibilities of his golem workforce.

“Of course, I prefer my golems to be used to enhance productivity,” he warned. “I don’t want families lying idle, leeching off my golems and letting them do all the work. Farmers can open an extra field, Carpenters can work on their own projects and hire golems as menial labor, the town can get two or three of them to clean up the streets before dawn — then use them for other things as the day starts. The possibilities are only limited by your imagination.”

Horst looked thoughtful. “I’ll get two for the town. The council needs a few helpers, and we could always send the golems to the mines in case a villager can’t work due to injury or sickness.”

“Injury? Sickness?” Jeremy was outraged. “If any of you get injured — find me or Shelby’s golem. As for sickness, that shouldn’t be a problem. Jerms won’t win in my village!”

“Jerms, milord?”

“Invisible creatures that cause sickness.”

“Like spirits?”

“Worse! Much worse,” Jeremy rattled. “They’re small creatures, so small you can’t see them. They get inside your body — then they lay eggs or split apart and grow like blobs. If you have too much of them, you get sick — but I can deal with them.”

“But enough of jerms,” he insisted. “You say the town can find use for the golems?”

“Yes, milord. But can the payments come later?” Horst wondered. “The farmers could certainly use an extra hand — but they can only pay for the golems after harvest.”

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

You have a point there,” Jeremy nodded. “Anything else?”

“Do you have a golem that can do bookkeeping?” Horst laughed. “The town is short of scribes that can work with numbers. We don’t want to mess up the books and earn your ire.”

“That would be a bit complicated, but it can be arranged,” Jeremy assured him. He was always up for a challenge.

***

Cartwright stared at the man before him. He knew the Scourge had connections — certainly, with the duke — but he didn’t expect it went up so far. The man he was sharing a carriage with was Mason, the King’s royal advisor.

It was a lucky coincidence. The duke offered him a ride to the Corner Shop™, mentioning he would be sharing a ride with someone else. Little did he expect that it would be Mason.

“What do you know of the Scourge?” Mason asked him.

The question took Cartwright by surprise. Wasn’t he the Scourge backer? Why would he want to know more about him? Unless it was a ploy to see where he stood.

“The Scourge is difficult to judge,” Cartwright answered honestly. “He stopped a raging fire in the city by burning half the district, there were accounts of him rooting out a spy, but he also lined a major road with glass a few months ago.”

“Hmmm,” Mason seemed thoughtful. “What do you think of him personally?”

“He’s dangerous. Who walks to town with an active spell that kills things?” Cartwright shook his head. “When he’s focused on a task — he doesn’t care if it causes problems. He’s too… unpredictable.”

“Has anyone died in one of his forays to town?”

“Not that I know of. But a guardsman died when a noble cut off his head to test one of the Scourge’s Lifesavers™.”

“The Scourge didn’t raise the blade,” Mason countered. “And I heard his Lifesavers™ can save people from decapitation as long as the head is reattached in six seconds.”

“That’s true.” Cartwright acknowledged.

They rode in silence after their brief conversation. Cartwright wondered if he had somehow offended the man with his honest answers — but that didn’t seem to be the case. Mason was simply tired. He looked like a man in his twilight years — his hair white with age and his face marred with lines. Some said he was centuries old. A miracle, considering the man had no traces of mana.

The carriage began to slow down. He could hear the faint sounds of hammering in the distance as well as the voices of boys playing around. They stopped at the entrance to the shop and there it was — the portal to hell.

Mason immediately jumped down the carriage. Cartwright was sure the old man would crumple from the height, but he seemed to have gained a nimbleness in his steps.

He could see a few travelers milling around the fiery chasm — some of them even roasting meat using long sticks. It wasn’t right — even if the thing wasn’t a portal to hell.

The Scourge was walking with several villagers when they spotted him. It seemed timely that he was heading to his home when they arrived. He noticed them almost immediately, excusing himself from his companions before heading towards them.

“Master Mason and Magus Cartwright,” the Scourge bowed.

“So it’s master now?” Mason laughed. “You used to call me uncle.”

Cartwright’s jaw almost fell to the ground. How could it be? Was the Scourge related to the royal advisor? Was this the reason the duke always supported him?”

“Times have changed, Master Mason,” the Scourge remarked. “As have I.”

He couldn’t help but notice how the strange wizard glanced in his direction. It felt like he was signaling to Mason to be wary of his presence.

“This one won’t speak,” Mason gestured towards him. “He’s too rigid to spread rumors — and you could always silence him.”

“I don’t do that, Master Mason.”

“Really? I thought — ohh… you do your thing in the shadows.”

“What?!” the Scourge seemed indignant. “I’m a sunny person. I do everything out in the open. I even opened a shop to meet people.”

“Indeed you are, Jeremy” Mason laughed. “Now what is this fiery chasm? Is it some kind of portal to an elemental plane?”

“No,” the Scourge scratched his head. “It’s like one of those fiery mountains — except this one is flat.”

Cartwright raised an eyebrow. He read about the fiery mountains the Scourge mentioned in his mentor’s old archive. They were somehow linked to the power of the Guildhall Arcana itself! Why was the Scourge building one of his own?

“You look older, Uncle mason. I didn’t expect that.”

“As impossible as it sounds, I think I might be dying.”

“Do you want to?“

“I’m not really sure how I feel about that right now,” Mason answered. “But seeing you has brought a bit of strength to my old knees.”

“I will take my leave,” Cartwright remarked. The two of them seemed to know each other quite well and he didn’t want to keep listening in to their conversation.

He would have brought out his notebook, but it would be too conspicuous. The fiery chasm was no portal to hell — it was something far worse.

Nearing the thing, he could feel the mana in his body weaken and disperse — as if his body was flooded with a force that cut him off from the mana in the air. The Scourge had built a place of power — all to his own. His magic did not fluctuate when he neared the chasm — his nauseating life ward still functioning as usual without any apparent effects.

The wizard was carving a land of his own, where only his magic would work.

***

Polson loved his job. There was no need for complex instructions or delicate work — all he had to do was swing his pick or dig with his shovel. It was a tiring job — but an easy one. And it paid rather well. A gold and a half for a week’s worth was almost unheard of. Either the Scourge was truly generous — or he was a buffoon.

They weren’t even mining for gold or silver — metals that certainly made things worthwhile. Instead, they were mining mostly iron and copper, or tin in wolfram in the other chamber. The dwarf told them they would be mining something more valuable but that would be for later months. It seemed the Scourge had a need for what they were mining, though what it was he didn’t know.

His job was simple — but what he was looking at made things a little more complicated. Standing in front of Polson was a silver door. He had tried breaking it apart with his pick — but the thing was solid — and probably enchanted. He only realized it was a door when he cleared the area around it.

It glowed, even in complete darkness. It was giving off a light of its own and it seemed to pulse every few seconds, as if trying to speak or calling for something. Was this what they were looking for? All those hours spent mining for useless metals — just to search for this door? Why not just tell them they were looking for it?

Polson grabbed his pick and shovel. He was going to report his discovery. Hopefully, he gets a few extra gold for his luck and effort.