The air crackled with tension as Leonard stared down the white-hooded figure standing in front of him. Zeke's chain rattled ominously, the bladed ends glinting under the pale sunlight filtering through the dense forest. Nathan laid crumpled against a tree, groaning faintly but otherwise unmoving.
“I told you” Zeke sneered, his voice dripping with mockery “that this tower belongs to Kazzorak. You think you can just waltz into a magical tower that Kazzorak can explore, just like that? Know your place!”
Leonard clenched his fists, his heart pounding in his chest. He couldn't let this man walk away after what he’d done to Nathan. “I don’t care who you are or where you’re from,” Leonard growled. “You’re going to regret this.”
Zeke’s grin widened as the chain in his hand began to glow faintly, the runes along its length sparking to life. “Oh, I’d love to see you try.”
The fight was brutal from the start. Zeke's chains lashed out with blinding speed, forcing Leonard to dodge and deflect with his fists. His movements were clumsy compared to Zeke's precision, and each misstep left him vulnerable. A chain whipped around his leg, yanking him off balance and slamming him into the ground. The impact drove the air from his lungs, but Leonard gritted his teeth and forced himself back to his feet.
“You managed to dodge a little, not bad.” Zeke said, circling him like a predator. ”But you're still just a pup pretending to be a wolf."
Leonard charged forward, feinting to the right before slamming his fist into Zeke's side. The blow landed with a satisfying thud, forcing a grunt from Zeke. Leonard didn't let up, delivering a series of rapid strikes that pushed his opponent back.
As he stepped backwards, Zeke attached one of his chains to a tree, pulling himself up onto a sturdy branch as he looked down. He swung his chain in a wide arc from above, the blade grazing Leonard’s arm and leaving a shallow cut. Blood trickled down, but Leonard barely registered the pain as he slammed his fist into the ground. Icicles started forming underneath the branch, but Zeke saw them coming and dodged. The frost pierced the tree right where Zeke was just a second ago.
While jumping backwards, he launched another chain, while screaming “Shine bright, Imprisoned!” which caught Leonards arms and upper body entirely. Zeke landed, and pulled Leonard up toward the branch, making him slam into it and breaking the branch as well as the tip of the icicle that Leonard formed just a second ago. Splinters and frozen fragments went flying as Leonard let out a hurling scream of pain. He landed further ahead in the snow.
“You’re persistent, I’ll give you that,” Zeke said, advancing. “But persistence doesn’t mean much when you’re outmatched.”
Leonard struggled to his feet, his body screaming in protest. His breathing was ragged, his muscles burning, but he refused to back down. “You talk too much,” he spat, flying forward while throwing another punch. It connected with Zeke's jaw, snapping his head to the side.
Zeke snarled, his composure finally cracking. “Enough of this.” The chains lashed out again, wrapping around Leonard's torso and pinning his arms to his sides once again. Zeke yanked him forward, raising the blade of a free chain for a finishing strike.
Before the blade could descend, a sudden gust of wind roared through the clearing, sending leaves and snow spiraling into the air. Zeke stumbled, releasing his hold on Leonard as he turned toward the source. Hammond emerged from the trees, his expression grim.
“That’s enough,” Hammond said, his voice calm but laced with authority. “You’ve done well to survive this long, Leonard. Let me handle this.”
Zeke barely had time to react before Hammond moved. In a blur, the older man closed the distance between them, delivering a kick to Zeke's chest that sent him airborne. A second later, Hammond raised his hand, conjuring a powerful gust of wind that hurled Zeke far into the distance as he screamed “Begone!”
Nathan groaned as he stood up, his eyes fluttering open. Leonard limped over to help him to his feet, both of them battered but alive. Hammond glanced at them, his expression softening. “You two have been through the wringer, haven’t you? I’m glad you made it.”
The three of them turned toward the tower. Inside, they found little more than dust and cobwebs. A few broken shelves lined the walls, and a single table stood in the center, barren save for a piece of parchment. Hammond read it quickly before shaking his head.
“Nothing. The arcanist who lived here must’ve taken everything of value when he left.” He looked at the boys. “Honestly, I didn’t expect to find anything here. This was supposed to be a controlled exercise with the golem, but I’d say you got something much more valuable instead.”
Nathan raised an eyebrow. “And that is?”
“Experience,” Hammond said, clapping them on the shoulders. “That was just an explorer, powerful adventurers of Kazzorak on the lookout for Artifacts and other useful resources for their country - and as such far from the strongest they have. You got a taste of what’s out there, and it’s better you learn now than when it’s too late.”
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Far below the mountain, Zeke groaned as he pulled himself from the snowbank he had crashed into. His body ached from the impact, but his pride stung even more. Muttering a string of curses, he pulled out a glowing crystal and activated it.
The image of a massive, green creature appeared within the crystal, his face twisted in annoyance. “Zeke,” it growled. “What do you have to report?”
Zeke hesitated. “I… encountered resistance. Two younglings and a Spellbreaker. I wasn’t able to retrieve any artifacts, lord Apollyon.”
Apollyon’s expression darkened. “You fled.”
Zeke swallowed hard. “One of them was a master. I couldn’t—”
“Enough!” Apollyon snapped. “Your failure is unacceptable. Your father would be so ashamed if he were here. You’re demoted to footsoldier. Report to Azrael’s command. Perhaps an army as puny as hers can find some use for you.”
Zeke clenched his fists, his face burning with shame and anger. “Yes, sir,” he said through gritted teeth.
As the crystal dimmed, Zeke glared up at the mountain. “This isn’t over,” he muttered. “Not by a long shot.”
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The soft crunch of snow underfoot marked the passing days on the mountain. Two weeks had come and gone since the encounter with Zeke, and while Nathan and Leonard still bore faint reminders of the fight in their minds, their bodies had almost fully recovered.
Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.
Leonard examined the faint scar on his forearm as Hammond applied a fresh coat of shimmering ointment to Nathan’s bruised shoulder. The boy winced slightly but offered no complaints.
"Is this... Spellbreaking too?" Leonard asked, holding up a small jar of the thick greenish paste.
Hammond chuckled, shaking his head. "Not even close. This is just medicine—simple stuff, really. Snowpitcher plants grow all over the mountain. You just pluck a few leaves, crush them into mush, and spread it over the wound. Most injuries heal faster with it."
Nathan looked at the jar skeptically. "If it's so simple, why doesn't everyone use it?"
“Not everyone lives near Snowpitchers, and a Kazzorakian would never ask Bahronians for scientific help, now would they?” Hammond replied. “Now quit fussing. You’re fine, right?”
Nathan nodded, and Hammond stood, brushing snow from his hands. “Good. Because starting today, we’re taking back Principium.”
Both boys froze, Leonard holding the jar mid-air, and Nathan’s eyes widening.
"Wait, you mean... now?" Leonard asked.
Hammond folded his arms, his expression unusually serious. "Yes, now. I’ve given you time to recover, and you’ve had your first taste of combat. But I won’t force you into something you’re not ready for. So I’ll ask one last time—are you prepared to start a fight you can’t back out of?”
Leonard stood abruptly, his jaw set. “We’re in too deep to quit now. If we back out, no one else is going to fight for our home.”
Nathan hesitated, his gaze drifting to the cabin’s wooden floor. Then, with a deep breath, he looked up at Hammond and nodded. "We’re ready."
A satisfied grin spread across Hammond’s face. “Good. Because we’re not just going to free Principium—we’re starting a civil war against Kazzorak’s forces.”
Both boys blinked, momentarily stunned by the magnitude of Hammond’s statement.
“Civil war?” Nathan echoed.
“That’s right,” Hammond said, his voice low and deliberate. “And we’re going to need allies. Principium isn’t just a village—it’s where some of my old comrades are being held. Most importantly, Darmas and his group of magitech engineers. With them, we’ll have the resources and technology to rally the resistance properly. Freeing them is our first step.”
Leonard smirked, rolling his shoulders. “Guess that means we’re about to crash a party.”
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The prisoner tower loomed over the center of Principium, its dark stone contrasting the otherwise colorful and bright buildings of the village. Inside, Zeke stood in a dimly lit chamber, activating a blue crystal with magic. The faint image of a woman wearing a feathery headpiece flickered above it, her sharp features etched with a mixture of annoyance and impatience.
“Ah Zeke…I have been informed of your repositioning. You will defend this tower,” she ordered, her voice crisp and commanding. “The local guards will assist you, but it’s your responsibility to ensure none of the prisoners escape.”
Zeke scowled, gripping the crystal tighter. “You’re wasting my talents, Commander. I can do so much more than babysit a bunch of prisoners.”
Azrael’s gaze hardened. “Do you think I should’ve expelled you for your failure? Or perhaps dealt with you more... harshly? ”
The sharpness in her tone made Zeke flinch. He straightened, bowing his head slightly. “No, Commander. I’m grateful for your... mercy.”
Azrael’s lips curled into a cold smile. “Consider this a kindness: I have a hunch your opponents will return. And when they do, maybe even someone like you can redeem themself. ”
The faint flicker of ambition returned to Zeke’s eyes. His free hand rested on the bandages wrapped around his torso, a constant reminder of his previous defeat. “If they show up, I’ll deal with them.”
“Good. Make sure to keep an eye on the two guards at the front, they’re far from competent. I hope a prior adventurer like you can do better, even if he was demoted once,” Azrael replied sharply. “Because failure this time will leave no room for redemption. ”
The crystal dimmed as the connection severed, leaving Zeke alone in the chamber.
He turned toward the tower’s arched window, gazing out at the streets of Principium below.
The city was buzzing with activity, but it was far from the humble Baharonian village it once was. Zeke stood at the edge of the town square, letting his eyes wander over the bustling blacksmiths, their forges glowing in the early morning frost, and the rows of magitech workshops humming with life. The air smelled of iron and ash, and faint arcs of blue light sparked as engineers worked tirelessly on their creations.
It was a far cry from the primitive farming community it had been years ago. Now, under Kazzorak’s guidance, it had become a hub of progress—a testament to what Baharor could achieve when it embraced innovation.
“This is what Baharor was always meant to be,” Zeke muttered to himself, pride swelling in his chest. “Not a backwater wasteland, but a force of creation and power.”
He continued his climb of the tower, his boots marching on the darkened cobblestones. The imposing structure loomed high above the rest of the town, its blackened stone walls a stark contrast to the bright colors that made up most of the rooftops.
He reached the highest cell, a chamber lit dimly by a single magitech lantern. The room was sparse, its walls lined with thick iron bars and reinforced with glowing runes. Inside sat a hulking figure.
Darmas.
The man was as large and imposing as Zeke remembered. His burly frame was barely contained by his tattered tunic, and his long, unruly hair framed a face dominated by a thick beard. He sat with his back to the wall, arms folded over his chest, his expression unreadable.
“Well, if it isn’t the great Darmas,” Zeke sneered, leaning casually against the bars. “I heard you were brilliant, but I expected someone a little less… barbaric.”
Darmas didn’t look up. “And I expected someone with less bark and more bite,” he replied, his voice deep and laced with sarcasm.
Zeke’s grin faltered for a moment before he scoffed. “Cute. Too bad you won’t get to play the hero. This country should’ve listened to Kazzorak. Instead, you chose to resist, to cling to outdated traditions and weakness. And look where that got you—rotting in a cell.”
He turned his attention to the other prisoners in the chamber. Most were silent, their faces gaunt and resigned, but one figure caught his eye.
She sat in the corner, her head tilted slightly as if she were observing him without bothering to meet his gaze directly. Her dark hair framed her face in soft waves, contrasting with her sharp, piercing blue eyes that seemed to hold a quiet intensity. Her flowy, mage-like robes—worn and faded from her imprisonment—still carried an air of elegance, the gold accents on the fabric hinting at a once-proud status.
“And what about you?” Zeke asked, his tone shifting to something more mocking. “Sitting here like a ghost. Did you think you’d change the world too? Heard from the guards that you're a quippy one. Baharonians should never learn the ways of the Arcanist, you know that?”
The woman didn’t respond, her lips curving into a faint, knowing smile. "Wanna see how well Baharonians can use Artifacts, new guy?" she said snappily. A different, blond woman added: "It only took the last guard one week before he stopped talking to Leyra. You can't kill us, but we won't talk. Annoying, isn't it? We're unarmed, but you're powerless."
He shook his head and turned back to Darmas. “Like talking to a bunch of dreamers and children that can't have the toy they want. No amount of resistance will ever change the fact that Kazzorak is the future. The world belongs to progress, and you lot are just relics of the past.”
Darmas finally stirred, shifting his weight and fixing Zeke with a sharp, confident gaze. “Progress, huh?” He smirked. “If all this is Kazzorak's idea of progress, maybe the past wasn’t so bad.”
Zeke growled, his fist clenching around the bars. “Keep talking, scum. You all will crack eventually, and you will tell us all about those other resistance members and their locations.”
Darmas simply shrugged, leaning back against the wall. “If you say so.”
Zeke turned sharply, his coat flaring behind him as he descended the staircase. The tension in the cell lingered in the air, but Darmas’s faint smirk remained while the woman that was called Leyra by her peers sat in the corner as she watched Zeke’s retreat with her enigmatic smile. "I knew not saying anything would work well for this one, I ticked him off quite a bit" she said, keeping her smile on her face. "He did seem tenacious all things considered. I'll give him a month."