Kael found Ryan bound near the edge of his makeshift shelter, rope coiled tightly around the young man’s wrists and ankles. The adventurer’s eyes were ringed with exhaustion, but the moment Kael approached, Ryan’s gaze sparked with defiance. The echo of fear that had once colored his face was dim now, replaced by a sullen resolve.

“Your friends are here. An army waits beyond my walls—come to save their beloved Ryan, no doubt.”

Ryan’s brow furrowed, his lips parting as though to deny the claim. But then a smug grin flashed across his face. “So they are here,” he said, his voice cracking slightly. “Of course they’d come. They’d never leave me to die at the hands of a monster.”

Kael’s expression darkened at the word. “Monster. A monster who spared your life thus far. A monster who’s offering negotiation for your release.”

“They’d never negotiate with a monster. They’ll kill you.”

“I doubt you’d want them to charge in blindly, unless you hope for their deaths.”

Ryan tugged at his bonds, his jaw set. “They’ll come in force,” he promised.

Kael raised a hand, studying the ring of frost. Its faint blue sheen caught the meager light that filtered through the gray walls. Slowly, deliberately, he approached a nearby boulder—one he’d placed as a crude seat near his shelter—and pressed his palm against it. A thin layer of ice crackled into existence, creeping over the stone’s surface like a living frost.

Ryan’s eyes widened as Kael swung his sickle. The frozen boulder shattered with a resounding crack, the pieces raining onto the ground in shards of glittering ice.

“Does that look like I fear your friends?” Kael said quietly, turning back to Ryan. “You’ve seen what I can do. Their fate could be yours as well."

Ryan stared at the fragments of ice, his bravado slipping for an instant. “You’re just a monster. What do you gain from negotiating?”

Kael folded his arms, his sickle’s edge still glistening with the remnants of frost. “Your life, for one,” he said. “And mine. I prefer living to dying, as do most creatures.”

Ryan avoided Kael’s gaze, though a flicker of doubt flickered in his eyes. Finally, Kael spoke again, his tone shifting. “Who is the knight in heavy armor? The one leading them?”

Ryan’s expression changed at once, pride mingling with triumph. “That’s Terrance,” he said, a hint of a sneer in his voice. “The Grandmaster of the Sword School in Newvale. The greatest knight we’ve ever known.”

“Greatest, you say? And what great deeds has he done?”

Ryan paused, momentarily caught off guard, as though the question had no immediate answer. His mouth worked silently, searching his memory. “He… he stopped the imps,” he said at last, his tone defensive. “They were invading Newvale a while back, and he led the charge. Drove them out, saved the village.”

A spark of surprise flared in Kael’s eyes, though he kept his face carefully neutral. Imps… more than just the small, clever creatures bound to guide. An actual invasion of them seemed unthinkable, yet Ryan spoke it as truth.

“Do you think your little lights and your slimes will stand a chance against the Grandmaster who drove them out? He’s—”

“Enough,” Kael snapped, cutting him off. He ran a clawed hand through the air, as though slashing the words away. “What I see is a man who might be open to reason… if he’s truly as noble as you claim.”

Ryan spat on the ground, the defiance returning to his eyes. “You’ll see just how noble he is when he cuts your head from your shoulders.”

Kael didn’t reply. Instead, he turned away, the Ring Of Frost still cold against his hand. The memory of the ice-shattered boulder lingered, as did the image of Terrance, the knight in heavy armor. The greatest knight in Newvale.

A formidable foe indeed.

******

The dawn had yet to break, the sky holding only the faintest whispers of light. His soldiers kept a wary distance, their breaths caught as the wisp’s light traced new words in the smoky air.

Agreed.

Terrance stood at the forefront, parchment and quill in hand, his heavy armor gleaming dully. The faint hum of tension echoed through the camp, a hush that no one dared to break. He dipped his quill into ink, words forming with swift, bold strokes:

I wish to negotiate with the Master of the Square, not the messenger.

He lifted the parchment high, letting the wavering torchlight catch the words. Blue halted all motion, its glow reduced to a single steady pulse in the night. The stillness was eerie, and for a moment, neither side moved nor spoke. Then, with a sudden surge of light, the wisp shot away, disappearing into the darkness of the forest.

The soldiers exchanged nervous glances, hands tightening on weapons and shields. Even Terrance found his pulse quickening, the unknown pressing on him like a weight. A hush fell as a bright flash lit the treeline.

Emerging from the gloom came Kael, his gray robes draping over the broad, quivering bulk of a massive slime, with two smaller slimes supporting his feet like living stirrups. The soft squelch of their movements carried on the still air, and the orb’s faint illumination danced across Kael’s sickle, glinting in the half-light..

Terrance stood rooted. He had seen beasts and monstrous creatures in his years, but never had he witnessed a Master riding a slime as though it were a warhorse. The sight was equal parts absurd and foreboding. Yet he stood firm, his knightly bearing unshaken. Around him, whispers of alarm and fascination spread among the assembled troops.

Blue floated alongside Kael, its speed tempered to match the slimes’ sluggish pace. Slowly, steadily, they advanced toward the gray border. The procession halted at the border, the slime beneath him quivering with each subtle shift.

The gray wall loomed just beyond him, its magic still in waiting. There, at the threshold, he lifted a hand, motioning with two fingers as though sketching words in the air.

Blue darted forward, spinning bright letters into the dim air where Terrance and his soldiers could read them.

Hello, Terrance, Grandmaster of the Sword School.

Terrance swallowed, turning his gaze to the soldier at his side, who handed him a fresh slip of parchment. With careful strokes, he wrote:

Hello, Master of the Square.

Kael glanced to where Terrance stood, their gazes meeting across the boundary of the square. Then, with measured grace, Kael’s fingers moved again, beckoning the wisp with faint arcs. Blue responded, swirling letters into being:

We must be kindred spirits. I, the master of the square, and you, the master of the sword.

Terrance felt a ripple of conflicting emotions stir in his chest—admiration at the Master’s boldness, anger at the memory of Ryan’s plight, and a strange curiosity sparked by the intelligence behind these messages.

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For a moment, no one spoke. Soldiers behind Terrance tensed, anticipating treachery or trickery. The slimes at Kael’s feet shifted, their gelatinous bodies pulsing in the half-light.

At last, Terrance lifted his parchment and quill once more.

You will release Ryan unharmed?

Without hesitation, Kael snapped his clawed fingers. A moment later, Ryan appeared, borne on the wobbling backs of two small slimes. The adventurer’s arms remained tied, but otherwise he looked intact. A flicker of grudging relief crossed Terrance’s brow as Kael motioned with his hand, tracing in the air for the will-o’-wisp, Blue, to translate.

He is unharmed.

The glowing letters danced in the misty air.

A murmur of relief swept through Terrance’s assembled soldiers at the sight of Ryan alive and in one piece. Terrance exhaled slowly, grateful to see the young man breathing, even if he was still a captive. He dipped his quill and continued writing:

You truly want peace?

Kael’s robed figure atop the giant slime inclined slightly, as though the Master were reading every flick and curve of Terrance’s quill. Blue darted forward again, capturing Kael’s response in luminous script:

What are you offering?

Terrance fixed the quill between his fingers, his next words etched in bold strokes:

No more adventurers—

Kael’s reaction was swift. He made a subtle motion, and Blue’s glow traced:

Invaders.

His quill scratched across the parchment once more:

No one will be allowed to enter your square. In return, you do not harm the humans living near here.

Kael’s face remained unreadable beneath the hood, but Terrance felt the Master’s stare as surely as if it were a tangible weight. Kael’s hand moved almost lazily, and the wisp shaped his words:

What if one slips past your watch?

Terrance’s quill hovered, then continued:

Should anyone slip through, you may deal with them as you see fit.

He paused, casting a glance at his own army. Soldiers shifted uneasily, wary of letting intruders meet a grim fate. Yet Terrance knew this was the price of stopping the bloodshed.

We will station an outpost here, to ensure none pass.

For a moment, Kael fell silent, his gaze drifting over the lines of the assembled soldiers and their tents. Then he winked, an unexpected gesture that set a ripple of unease through Terrance’s men. Blue traced out Kael’s response with sharp, glowing letters.

If your camp remains at my doorstep, then you could invade at any time. No deal. Move your post twenty miles southwest. A fair distance. Squarely between here and Newvale.

Terrance stiffened. He knows of Newvale? The knight’s mind raced, wondering if it was Ryan who spoke too freely or if the Master had other means of knowledge. But either way, the truth of it stood like a stone between them. Kael had knowledge, perhaps more than they realized.

Grim lines set on Terrance’s face as he dipped the quill once more. He wrote.

So be it. We will move.

Across the gray barrier, the Master inclined his head in acknowledgment. Kael’s slimes shifted, a sign of restlessness or satisfaction—Terrance couldn’t tell which. Kael’s next words glowed in the gloom:

Then we have an accord. Your man is returned, your camp withdrawn. No harm on either side.

Terrance glanced at Ryan, battered but alive, then back to Kael. Though doubt gnawed at him, he found no better course than to accept. A fragile peace brokered with ink and will-o-wisp light was in place.

Kael snapped his claws, the sharp sound cutting through the early morning air. Two smaller slimes lurched forward, depositing Ryan unceremoniously on the ground at Kael’s feet. The adventurer landed with a grunt, his limbs still bound, his eyes darting from Kael’s gray-robed figure to Terrance’s armored silhouette looming beyond the gray wall.

With a fluid grace, Kael slid off Jello, the large slime wobbling in place like a living cushion. He crossed the short distance to Ryan, his sickle glinting in the faint light. In a single deft motion, he severed the bindings. “Go,” Kael said quietly, as though speaking to himself as much as to Ryan. “Return to your allies.”

Ryan hesitated, his gaze flicking between Terrance—visible just beyond the gray barrier—and Kael, who stood towering with the sickle at his side. At length, he took a cautious step toward the wall, his hand trembling as he felt the tension around him as real as the rope had been.

Then Kael’s orb shimmered. Reaching into it, Kael withdrew Ryan’s silver sword, its keen edge reflecting the dawn’s first rays. He let the blade clatter onto the forest floor. “A sign of good faith,” he said, his voice low.

Ryan’s eyes darted between Terrance’s unmoving form beyond the wall, the sword on the ground, and back to Terrance. The old knight gave a minuscule shake of his head, warning him wordlessly. But Ryan bent down anyway, fingers curling around the hilt of the sword. A flicker of rage or desperation crossed his face—perhaps both.

In a single heartbeat, Ryan seized the hilt. He lunged, the blade poised for a vicious thrust. “Impact Thrust!” he bellowed, the cry cutting through the stillness. The name of his technique cut the air like a battle cry. Kael’s eyes widened at the betrayal—he had been prepared for some treachery, but not so soon, not at the very threshold of peace.

Before Kael could react, a slime—one of the smaller ones—flung itself between them. The blade sank into its gelatinous body, slowing but not stopping as it slid through. Before Ryan could force the blade free, Kael snarled and seized the slime’s side. The Ring Of Frost flashed, and in an instant, icy rime covered the slime’s surface, freezing it solid around Ryan’s blade. The sword locked in place, immovable, a shimmering sculpture of slime and steel.

Terrance, watching from beyond, pounded a mailed fist against the gray wall, his voice muffled by the magic barrier. “Ryan, stand down!” he shouted, but his words were only heard on his side of the barrier.

Ryan tugged at his weapon, panic lighting his features when it refused to budge. Kael’s eyes flashed with anger as he swung his sickle in a wide arc, the blade singing through the air. Ryan ducked low at the last moment, the swing hissing above his head. Abandoning his trapped sword, he stumbled backward, bursting through the wall in a blind rush.

On the other side, Terrance braced himself. Ryan collided with him, the force sending the young man sprawling. Terrance stood solid as a fortress, unmoved by the impact. Ryan crumpled to the ground in a heap, breathless and defeated.

Inside the square, Kael exhaled a trembling breath. The frozen slime quivered in his grasp, the blade still lodged within. Kael lowered his sickle, a cold anger still burning in his eyes. The Master of the Square had offered a truce, a delicate ceasefire. Yet, he was rewarded with treachery.

Terrance stood at the threshold of the gray wall, his armored shoulders tense as he hauled Ryan up from where he’d fallen. Ryan’s face twisted with a mingled confusion and dawning horror.

“What in the name of all gods were you thinking?” Terrance demanded, his voice low, edged in fury. His polished gauntlet gripped Ryan’s arm with restrained force, as though he longed to shake some sense into the youth.

Ryan winced, scrambling to find his footing. “I—I was going to kill him,” he stammered, breath ragged. “He’s a monster, Master Terrance. He—he betrayed me before, killed my party—”

Terrance’s gaze, cold as steel, bore into Ryan’s eyes. “We just won a ceasefire, boy,” he growled. “A parley. You could have unraveled the fragile peace in a single blow.”

Ryan’s face blanched as he grasped the weight of Terrance’s words. “I—I didn’t think—”

“No, you didn’t,” Terrance said, cutting him off. His tone carried the finality of a sentence passed. “And if your sword had met that Master’s flesh, do you think he’d have stopped at killing you? He’d march on Newvale itself if he wished, with impunity. Our truce would be in tatters.”

Ryan swallowed hard, his bravado melting into genuine fear. “I… I only wanted to avenge my friends. I didn’t know—”

A sudden motion drew Terrance’s gaze back to the wall. Kael had mounted the large slime once more, his gray robes shifting as he settled on the wobbling creature’s back. For a moment, the Master’s dark eyes rested on Terrance and Ryan, a flicker of disdain crossing his face. Then, with a languid gesture, Kael and his slimy steed sank into the depths of the forest, their forms vanishing like specters in the morning mist.

Silence fell, broken only by Ryan’s shuddering breath. Terrance exhaled slowly, releasing his grip on the young man’s arm. He felt the ghost of anger still simmering in his veins.

“Your recklessness could have spelled disaster for everyone,” Terrance said, his voice quieter now, though no less severe. He straightened, his armor plates clinking softly. “You’ve shown me how little you value reason. You will not darken the door of Sword School again.”

Ryan’s eyes widened, a fresh wave of panic seizing him. “You— you can’t—”

“I can,” Terrance replied coldly. “And I have. Go home, Ryan. And pray that the Master does not seek revenge for your stupidity.”

He turned on his heel, leaving Ryan to stand in the dawning light, his swordless hand curling into a fist. The tension in the air was thick enough to taste as Terrance strode back toward the tents and men who waited for his command.

“We’re moving the camp,” Terrance announced firmly, the words carrying over the ring of metal and the rustling of canvas. “Twenty miles southwest. We’ll keep a forward base there—an outpost to supply travelers and to guard against any invasion attempts from the square. Keep your swords sharp and your eyes open.”

Low murmurs spread among the troops, but no one questioned him. They had seen enough to know how close they’d come to war this day.

He raised his gaze to the sky, watching the sun climb higher, burning off the mist that shrouded the forest. The gray wall of the square stood as a silent sentinel in the distance, due to turn blue again soon. A ceasefire, but for how long?

“Pack up,” Terrance repeated, turning his back on the looming shape of the square. “We move by midday.”

And so, in quiet, somber efficiency, the soldiers began the labor of dismantling the camp. Tents came down, supplies were crated, and the clang of gear broke the silence. Somewhere out on the edges of the forest, the Master might be watching, secure in his precarious domain.

******