I spied the actions of a dirty-looking man, wearing nothing but rags. He could certainly pass of a wild man that has never seen the light of civilization. The man was currently trying and failing, to hide in a treetop that watched over the dirt road his gang has apparently claimed. I subtly nudged my disciple to get her attention, “In the large maple on the left side.”

She looked over cautiously and readied her wand for a quick attack. She waited until we were in range before launching a magic-laden projectile at the man. Confident in his poor hiding ability, he failed to react before his chest was pierced. With a slightly amusing gurgling sound, the lookout swayed on his branch until finally losing balance and tumbling onto the earth below. I patted my student’s shoulder in approval, a small tear of pride coming to my eye. Every teacher feels happiness when their student uses their teachings.

I ushered the horses to increase their pace. I was excited to examine my student's work. It did not take long before I was dragging the foul-smelling corpse out of the trees and throwing it into the cart. I brushed aside the dirty cloth and waived my student over. She showed an expression of hesitancy before finally caving in. Brushing aside his tattered jacket, I began to examine the wound. It was a good shot, hitting center mass, but just shy of the heart.

The spell expanded splendidly after an inch of penetration, liquidating all obstacles it came across before punching a hole the size of a fist out the back. My only criticism is that she may have put a bit too much magic into that shot. Though she barrows from outside forces, she can only manipulate so much before tiring. I patted my student’s shoulder once again; it took me a century before I could do something like that. Of course, magic didn’t exist half that time but that’s neither here nor there.

POV shift---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Strangely, as I examined the corpse of the man I just killed heartlessly, I could not bring myself to calm the rapidity of my heart. Yes, I have killed before, but this was my first time ever inspecting the brutality of my own work. I glanced over at the large, cloaked figure of my teacher as he rummaged around the guts of the bandit. His form showed no hesitation or empathy, but the cold calculating aura of a gravedigger. I gagged a little as sour acidic bile ascended my throat.

This past week or so I have seen many bodies, most gruesome. I could see their gruesomely twisted forms every time I dared to get a wink of sleep. But I now find that child’s play compared to staring into the lifeless eyes of a man you just snuffed the life out of. This man could have had children, a wife, a father and a mother waiting for him back home, but now those who depended on this man will never see him again. Faintly, across the side of his head, I could make out old scars. Where they from a bar fight? Maybe from a life and death battle? Or maybe from an accident? I will never know.

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I investigated my victim’s face, yellowed and gaunt from years of malnutrition. He must have lived a hard life so far, wrought with disease and hunger. Thanks to the ongoing war he was probably forced into thuggery. I could no longer bear these thoughts and forced away my gaze, only looking back when a soft rustling brought my attention back to my teacher. He was shoving the man into a burlap sack. I gagged again as I saw the corpse's intestines swing freely from the gaping hole in its back. I could no longer take it and turned to empty the contents of my stomach.

I twirled my wand absentmindedly as the carriage rocked and jumped across the poorly maintained dirt road. I couldn’t help but sweat slightly as the sun bared down on my back. After spending weeks in that freezing forest, my teacher called home, this moderate weather almost felt hot. Talking about locations, I have zero idea where I even am, I have never heard of the kingdoms called Kelmot nor Helaska. Which is strange, from the battlefield I had witnessed, these two kingdoms were sizable to say the least. I should know their names; mother was always a stickler for politics. She made sure to hammer the name of every kingdom into my small ten-year-old brain.

Sudden movement behind me activated instincts I didn’t know I had. I dropped down in front of my seat and used it as cover as I readied my wand. After a second of waiting, I noticed that teacher was looking at me with what I swore was amusement. My cheeks began to redden, and I coughed silently into my hand before getting up. In the back of the carriage was a writhing brown sack. My hands shook and cold sweat made my grip on the wand loosen. Muffled cries emanated from the bag, sounding almost like a man without lungs. I gulped down the mounting saliva and brought my wand forward to attack.

What felt like hours passed before the entity in the bag could finally writhe out. Instant relief almost caused me to drop then and there. It was not the man I just killed, but a… one-armed youth? Before my eyes could register the bizarreness of my situation a firm whack on my head informed me of my teacher’s displeasure. Pretty colors drifted through my vision as the stress and fear of the situation along with the sudden hit sent me into a daze. Instinctively my arms went up to protectively cover my head.

Almost sulking I got back into my seat and tenderly rubbed the swollen bump on my head. I guess I deserved it, one of the main things the old man tried to drill into me was environmental awareness.