30th of Moon’s Twilight, first month of the year 984:

Hand 13 could but sigh as he looked at the information that had started to trickle in. Six outposts on four different baronies had already been destroyed and his influence had started to fall drastically in their county. And, while the Demon Noct was a true problem, another attacker, an undead one even, had creeped out of the underground a week ago from ‘Eclair knows where’ and had started to attack more of his facilities. If he didn’t know better, it would have appeared that the Empire had started to crack down on the ‘Hands’.

Caressing an ornamented glass cup, he started to toy with it, marvelling at its skilled craft. Reclining in his throne, almost a perfect copy of the one that Duchess Larra used, he sharply looked at one of his informants.

“Thumb 7, how is the plan going?” He probed.

The kneeling subordinate did not dare to look up. “While it has proven difficult forging both the Duchess missives and the Ashen replies, my, our, yours!... your mages have been astonishingly proficient in their task. No faults in that front.”

The sound of the throne’s wood creaking was enough to heat his next words. “Some of the new guard has already been infiltrated and even one of her new knights is an informant! I am completely sure the plan will go without a hinch!!”

“Make it so. Prove your competence.” Hand 13 maintained his poker face. He could not fault the pilling failures of his subordinate. He had been working blindfolded and oblivious to the location and source of the attacks, and yet he had managed to limit the economic damages and prevent important information from being leaked. He was sure that Thumb 7 had halved the destroyed outposts number by himself. Nonetheless, he had still failed, and he had to act as if he was angry. Loyalty within criminals was a feeble thing after all. Be too kind and get stabbed, be too stern and watch as your ship sinks as it empties itself.

“Y-yes!!” Not wanting to remain a second there, he quickly bolted to his feet, hailed, and left as silently as he could manage in his sprint.

“He is of quick retreat, ain’t he?” The shadows near a pillar of the room converged to form a tiefling, a half demon, dressed in black clothes and a mask.

“Less talk, mercenary. Tell me, are the Islands preparing for the invasion as scheduled? We have recruited enough support for the Duchess but the Empire may be able to sniff something. Bribes are, after all, only suggestions.”

“The talks with Larra have gone a bit awry. She is a fool, but we will make do.” The disrespect towards their nobility made Hand 13 flinch, not that the mercenary corrected their manners, “The preparations on the other hand….There’s nothing to prepare. No other force in this continent but us is allowed to have a navy. The troops will arrive on time. The only problem lies in you lot being able to secure the landing.” Baring a small dagger, they stabbed it into the table near Hand 13 just to mess with him. “After that, Karax favours us.”

Not flinching, he answered, “Karax is the God of the fools. War is not an ‘improvise as you go’ field, and that is why he lost his Godhood over War. But if you, unlawful apes, do not understand strategy, do not fret, we will make do.”

The tick in their face remained hidden. Not being pacifist, they counterattacked, “You are too upright, Hand. Shouldn’t we be friends? We play the same game.”

“Anything more?” The boredom was fully visible in his face.

Tsking, they didn’t dignify their ‘comrade’ with an answer and returned to the shadows, promptly fusing with them.

After a few seconds to calm himself, Hand 13 rose from his throne, grabbed a bottle, and filled his cup. He would say he hated shadow mages, the truth was that he feared them with all of his whole body. Today he wasn’t feeling deserving of the fake throne he had ordered to be built so long ago, as he had lacked the steel nerves he always boosted about. He sat in a nearby chair and started drinking. ‘Elenia, old enemy, do not let me die a dog's death. Fuck, I hate pirates.’.

…………………………..

The thrust of Soral’s rapier passed by, almost touching his check. Being too close for comfort, Noct tried to gain more space to wield his wooden longsword as Soral’s left hand dagger was too much of a danger to try to fight in close quarters. As he retreated, Soral’s pursuit and ceaseless strikes caused his careful retreat to transition into a reckless series of backsteps that weakened his stance, even if he managed to weather down the barrage of blows.

Trying to gain the initiative back, a diagonal slash caused Soral to disengage and retreat way too far from both of their reaches, as both his longsword and the rapier were tied in reach. Soral mouthed a curse, as she could have counterattacked with her dagger if she had dived in and not retreated, having fallen in the trap of overestimating her opponent. Still, she started to stalk Noct.

A few false dives to which Noct started to try to parry, tiredness getting the better of him. After failing to parry another feint, a beat from Soral mispositioned his longsword and housed her dagger near his chest, touching it and declaring the pupil the winned.

After a few moments of reigning his breathing in, Noct said, “Not bad. I doubted the rapier as your weapon of choice, and now I find myself a fool. It suits you a fair bit. Well fought.”

Soral nodded, looking as tired as Noct.

“You will join Samil in her training from now on.” Continued Noct. “You have learned the basics and your fighting style is nothing like mine. I cannot teach you more. Andras can and will.”

“Uh?”

Before Soral could digest the statement of Noct, he was already walking towards the castle. Soral, raising from the bench she had just sat in, inched her hand towards her back but stopped herself.

“Oaf.” She cursed, not knowing why she had minded so much his curtness. ‘He just has to ruin every brotherly thing he does, doesn’t he?” Dispelling her thoughts by resting the bucket of water on the bench. Looking back at his back, she saw how he tripped over a rock and almost fell, a pang of concern surprising her. “When has he been so tired as to trip over something?” Regretting now she hadn’t followed him, she stretched and went back to work. Not that she could stop worrying while submerged in administrative related documents.

The growing guilt from her expedition to the alchemist shop ten days ago was also weighing more and more in her mind. It had been easy to do as she had been both angry and the dozens of excuses she made were still holding up strong. The knowledge she thought she had, so sure about the true loyalties of the alchemist, who she bet on him warning her brother, was no longer helping him, as Noct had not taken action. She would not admit it, but she was growing restless.

His recent condition was not making it any easier neither.

…………………………….

Once Noct crossed the door of the castle he slumped against the wall. He was beyond exhaustion, almost falling unconscious here and there. ‘Damn you, Ulveck.’ Cursed Noct, as he lost grip on the wall and started to fall. Before he could gain momentum, a pair of hands stopped his initial inertia. With practised ease, those hands supported Noct and were able to move his left arm to rest upon the shoulders of the helper.

“It’s the third time this week, Lord Noct.”

“You aren’t supposed to keep count nor remind me, Mulia.” He grunted as the pressure in his injured flank mounted up, making the pain of the badly healed wound flare up.

“You aren’t supposed to drop from exhaustion either.” Cracks starting to show in her tranquil aura, she asked, “Shouldn’t you rest up for a change?”

“A militant work ethic runs in the household, so no.” Joked Noct, trying, and failing, to be able to stand on his own. “Jesting aside, I will be fine after half an hour of rest.”

Tired of his excuses, Mulia didn’t voice her misgivings and focused on not letting Noct fall.

“So, how are the new recruits?”

“They are doing fine. One went to the kitchen and you could say he is the new cook. The other two are helping a lot with the chores. With more people living here they have grown beyond what I could have managed alone. I got to say that the castle feels more alive.”

“Glad to hear.” Able now to stand on his feet, he softly disentangled himself from her and started to walk towards his room.

“Have a good day, Lord Noct.” Said Mulia, a visible lack of confidence in her tone was apparent.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

Noct waved a hand and entered his study.

Sitting in his chair, he let out a sigh. ‘Every outpost we destroy, another two are discovered. And now there’s no way back. We either purge the Hands from this county or they will turn into grave annoyances later. Now, what did Albestus want to discuss?’

After resting a few minutes, he rose again and joined the shadows of the room, phasing to the Druid’s Guild.

Not being able to transport himself all the way, he dropped out near the outer gates of the city. ‘It’s been a while since I felt this weak. Thought I would have a few more years before the stamina recovering spells stopped working.’ Sighing, he started to walk.

For the non mages, stamina spells are a form of revitalising the body of the target. Used sparingly, they hold no adverse effects and they act as if you had slept a week in a bed worthy of a king. The problem lies in their mechanism of action. By drastically empowering the metabolic speed of the body, they are able to, in a few hours, rejuvenate all body parts.

This process causes a heavy burden to the lifeforce of the body. In this case, the tissues that form the organs of the body. As it accelerates its metabolism, it also accelerates the degradation of said tissues, causing permanent but small damage down the road in it, as it decreases their durability. While the damage is but a bit, if used with common sense it carries no risk. If used recklessly, the damage pills up, the body ages, and disease starts to sprout out. You could say these types of spells are tradeoffs; you buy energy for your use in the ‘right now’ from your future self. You could argue that they do not create energy, they shyphon it.

In essence, the tiredness Noct was experiencing was his body starting to crack under the pressure. The reason it had holded up so far was the other poison that was killing him. Grey mana countered the effects of these spells, as it contaminated and ‘unkilled’ the lifeforce, not mattering the damage it wielded.

As of now, Noct could only walk to his destination.

……………….

Albestus opened the door to his study and greeted, “My Lord, I am grateful you have found the time to come to my aid.”

Sideyeing Sorak, who was sitting inside the study reading a book, Noct said, “No need for pleasantries. For what did you request my help?”

Albestus’ smile gave way to his business face, he beckoned him to join him in his desk, “I have been thinking and I arrived at a conclusion that may be so simple you have already discarded. I will give it a shoot nonetheless. Are you familiar with the two types of scrolls?”

Unconsciously frowning, he nodded, “The simple scroll and the open scroll.”

“Right.” Eyeing Sorak, who was sitting at the left side of the room from the perspective of Noct, Albestus decided to explain anyway, ”The simple scroll is a paper, papyrus or wax tablet, that has been bestowed with a spell, simple enough. They are, basically, a spell written in anything easily transportable. The catch is that its activation requires a pulse of mana to quickstart its mana feeding formulae, causing the problem of only mages being able to use it.” Picking his quill and starting to rotate it in its hand, he continued, “Open spells, on the other hand, are the same but have an additional process. They forcibly extract mana from the thing that touches its centre, forcibly activating the spell. This grants them the ability to be activated by anything that houses mana, and the problem of being activated by anything that has mana. A bird could activate it, even if it had a high risk of dying of mana exhaustion in the endeavour.”

Noct nodded again, waiting for the conclusion of Albestus’ monologue.

“Why am I bringing this up, you should be thinking. Well, the sudden increase in wood production has opened the possibility of a paper industry for the barony. And this could be followed by a scroll minting industry!” The rotations of his quill speed up and he inched forwards, “The Druids Guild has the manpower to meet the demand and, together with their value, could usher a new golden age upon the Ashen Household! I know a lot of my old colleagues who are searching for well paying jobs, the teachers of the Library have scouted a few people with potential for magic and, if all of this proved insufficient, we could just contract mages!”

“So, you want funding? You should talk with….”

“No!” Albestus rose from his chair and rushed to a nearby bookshelf, grabbing a few scrolls. “What I need is a quality check. No funding needed, we already have enough to start, I, we only need your yes.”

“Not mine.” Reminded Noct to Albestus, who responded with a wave of his hand. Nonetheless, it had picked his interest. And he could see they were high quality, even if the wood from what the paper had been made was not. Picking the first, he looked at the neat writing of an illusion spell and examined the ink with the diagnostic spell he used while enchanting and/or forging tools.

The most important part of a scroll was, after all, the ink of which it had been written. A low quality ink could fade, causing the spell to or not work or to misfire, being mortally dangerous with combat or phasing spells. ‘They have used black rock mixed with pine resin. Not bad, the proportion is spot on too. They added wax too to prevent water damage and possible wear from handling them.’ Now turning to the spells by muscle memory, not that he thought the Guild could have made a mistake with the spell itself, and he finished his exam. ‘I shouldn’t have bothered to check.’ Cursed in his mind.

Putting his hand in the middle, he felt a bit of his mana be extracted and the spell activated. A fifteen seconds recital of the introduction of the first book of Albestus, ‘Theoretical basis of barrier magic and its applications on filtering substances.’, played out loud in a male voice and the spell ended.

“Outstanding, like always.” Complimented Noct. As Albestus passed him a combat spell, a holy light flash in this case, he, sighing, repeated the process after being assailed with the insistence of Albestus. As he examined it, the sloppiness of his complete trust in Albestus capable Guild made him overlock a covertly hidden failure in the formulas detailing the direction of the flash, causing the casted spell to be directed towards the caster and not towards the intended target.

The base of spell casting was focused on those formulae after all. The core of the spell was the mathematics behind the proper evocation of the phenomenon one wanted to see; for a fireball spell you first wrote the instructions to force the mana to create that fireball, to manifest the spell in itself. Another part would be the existence, or not, of feeder formulae, which lure ambient mana to feed the spell, and simpler injection pathways for the caster’s mana to both activate the spell and/or feed it mana.

Third, you connect these instructions with pathways. And, lastly, you personalise the spell. The timing of the cast, if it's instantaneous, if it happens after a certain time, if it's casted when certain requirements are met, such as pressure, temperature, position of the moon. The magnitude of the spell, where it shall be generated, how high and the vectors of position, the dimensions of the spell, with the extra requirement for more mana as size grows, where it will be launched. And, roughly, the last steps would be the setting of the coordinates of the end position, the route it follows, if it does a parable or goes in a straight line, the range of the explosion, if it generates one, and a lot more of fine tuning.

In this case it was a simple flash spell, It would cast upon the target a blinding explosion of magic light that would damage corrupted creatures such as demons or undeads. And that it did, blinding Noct and making him scream and thrash around as he felt his eyeballs burn from the inside.

After all, one of the only symptoms and late stages of grey mana poisoning would be the corruption of the eyeballs, with the iris changing colours to an undead green, making them vulnerable to these types of spells. Even more when received at such a close distance.

“By the Gods.” The words of Albestus were enough to prevent him from falling on his ass, as they grounded him in reality and granted him a light to travel through the pain.

Covering his now bleeding eyes, which had recovered the brown colour, he cursed and, before he could verbally assault Albestus for this tasteless prank, the familiar sound of steel leaving its scabbard made his instincts kick into action.

Still blind, he turned to the sound and, at the same as he activated one of the armour plates of his left arm and quickly formed a gauntlet that protected his left hand, he casted an strengthening spell and grabbed by the tip the attacker’s sword before it could stab his flank.

The plan worked partially, as the sword burst into flames and ate into his gauntlet, piercing it altogether with the soft meat inside. Grabbing and holding the sword, thanks to the enchantment he had casted, he forced his vision to work again to try and counterattack the attacker.

Before his blurry vision stabilised, a shield bash hit him in the torso, disentangling the sword from his hand, leaving his forearm burning in blue fire and knocking him backwards. As his eyes catched Sorak’s blurry figure lunging against him, her sword closing in, his reflexes failed him, as his mind could not catch up with the disorienting situation.

Albestus could, and did. He casted a magic barrier that clashed against Sorak’s sword. The sword found itself stuck inside the barrier, after being able to partially pierce it. Not one to give up, Sorak tried to bash the wall that separated her from her duty with her shield, an action that caused dozens of cracks to appear in the spell, accompanying the gaping hole she had made in it.

“Sorak, cease!” Was all that Albestus could scream before his barrier broke and Sorak resumed her pursuit. Still, time had been brought, and the clank of swords could be heard, a collision Void won by a landslide, cutting Sorak’s sword in half. A kick to her shield brought more space, and a new barrier now surrounded Sorak.

A few seconds of breathing passed and Sorak demanded in cold words. “High Mage Albestus, dispel your barrier. I command you, as a High Paladin, to hunt the Necromancer.”

“I take no orders from you nor your order. He is your lord, for Olfa’s sake!”

“Do not dishonour the name of the God of Justice by using it to shield an heretic.” Unsheathing a short sword, she raised it and pointed to Noct. “You have proven its culpability, High Mage. It is now a matter of the Churches and the Imperial Inquisition. Stand aside or be branded as one too.”

“Fight me with that steel stick, see how it turns out for you.” Snarled Noct, angered beyond relief.

“Silence!” His words carried now a domination spell. As both of them had not upped their defences, they fell to its influence. Albestus quickly dispelled the holy fires casted upon Noct with an anti magic spell, only focused around his arm as to not dispel his own spell that had been casted upon Noct.

“Sheathe your weapons!” The compulsion was enough to force, with heavy opposition, its order.

“Throw them to me!” Albestus had to repeat this order a few times, as both were willful individuals. Once they did, he put them on top of his desk.

Seeing as how his spell wouldn’t hold out for more, he casted magic chains and they tied themselves around their hands and feet. Dispelling both the domination spell and the sweet that had built on his forehead. He breathed in and out, trying to reign his mind.

“This is betrayal of Imperial Law, High Mage Albestus. If you keep your current involvement you shall be tried as a traitor.”

Noct tried to say something but a fit of cough interrupted him before he could get more than a curse out.

Tired of Sorak’s words, Albestus silenced her words with another spell.

Looking at the pitiful image of his lord, he begged more than he asked. “What the Nethers have you done, Noct?”

……………..