There was no telling how long he knelt there for, but Alistar eventually noticed that several people were entering into the plaza from South Street. Eight men were approaching him with swords drawn, their faces white as parchment as they looked around at the state of the city. From the southern gate to the plaza’s entrance lay a trail of devastation only seen during wartimes, the most eerie aspect being the complete absence of civilians. Dangling from their necks were silver necklaces that sported the holy oval of the Lucian Faith, two of them lagging behind the others to draw said symbol into the air while uttering quiet prayers.

“Boy,” said the man at the head of the small group, after hurrying over with frantic steps as soon as he saw Tramon’s lifeless body. “What happened here?” Like the others, he was dressed in hard leather armour beneath a thick white cloak.

The moment Alistar laid eyes on the ovals hanging from their necks, he recalled all the trauma he’d suffered today, and all of the lives that had been lost due to the actions of the holy delegation.

The man froze in place when he saw the hatred in Alistar’s gaze—a golden gaze with traces of steely silver—and immediately threw up his guard. Seeing his wariness, his companions closed in on Alistar with their swords at the ready.

“What is it?” asked one of them, who raised an eyebrow at his accomplice. “Did you spot the demon?”

“The boy’s hostile for some reason.”

“Hey, you,” said a third swordsman in an urgent, condescending tone. “What happened here? It was a demon, right? Where is it?”

Alistar gently placed Tramon’s body on the ground and then stood up without a word. Striding a few dozen paces away, he gently pried Tramon’s sword from the grip of his severed hand, picking up the arm as carefully as he could before he returned to his master’s body and placed it at his side.

“Put down the sword, son,” said a fourth speaker, the shortest swordsman in the group. “Now that we’re here, the demon won’t hurt you.”

When Alistar finally spoke up, his voice was that of a stranger. “Demon? Who’s the real demon here?”

Sensing something amiss, the men instinctually readied themselves for a fight.

No longer in his right mind, Alistar flooded his body with swordsman’s aura and let out an enraged scream, though something strange happened in that moment that he had no way of explaining. The air around him began to heat at a rapid rate, a significant amount of his energies returning to him as he became blinded by rage, sadness, fear, and a profound sense of loneliness.

“Could it be that…this boy is the demon?”

Similar to what had happened to his master, Alistar’s right arm fell to the ground after it was cleanly severed by a skillful strike from the closest man, who didn’t hesitate to attack him when he sensed the strange aura that was seeping out of his body.

Several blades pierced his torso, but Alistar’s vision abruptly went black as his body was burned away by a tremendous amount of unearthly heat.

***

Sneaking through what few alleyways were still intact, Corrie Scuff chose this moment to rush toward the plaza as quickly as he could manage. It had been a few minutes since the chaotic sounds of battle had ceased, leaving the city relatively quiet now that the majority of survivors had long since fled into the surrounding countryside.

Before entering the city through the western gate—which was still on fire in several places despite the fact that there was nothing to fuel the flames—he had been alarmed to see that the delegation was now making its way toward the city, with at least fifty riders having already drawn close to the southern gates.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

Wary of these so-called holy men, Corrie had been quick to activate the masking effects of his treasured dagger, which consumed a substantial amount of his inner energies with every passing moment. After relying on it during the earlier ambush, he could only keep it activated for another handful of minutes at most. He normally wouldn’t risk expending so much of his limited energies, but he was fully aware of whom his enemies were and he was reluctant to be discovered by any that might seek to harm him.

He doubted that he would find Alistar in the devastated town, which was hardly recognizable at this point. He also lacked the magical awareness to differentiate between the many lingering auras that were slowly dissipating at various places within the city. Even so, he continued on.

After running around for a few minutes, another pillar of fire soared up into the sky like a beacon in the night, which prompted him to slow to a stop despite the time limit on his invisibility. With such destructive spellwork at his disposal, there was a very strong chance that the demon would inadvertently kill him with a wayward blast, so it was imperative that he proceed with as much caution as possible.

Corrie entered the plaza a short while after, only once he’d confirmed that the demon was nowhere in sight. It must have been here quite recently, he figured, for there were two large swaths of flaming pavement near the plaza’s centre. Approaching this area, he abruptly froze as he drew within a few dozen paces of the smaller of the two.

Within the flames resided a pair of familiar auras, including one that he was able to recognize as soon as it came within range of his perceptions.

Glancing around, he spotted a few barrels outside of the only building in the area that was still standing and then rushed over with subconscious steps. Covering his mouth so as not to inhale any of the smoke that was spilling forth from the opening where the building’s front wall had collapsed, he kicked over two of the barrels and then cast a quick spell to lift the liquid into the air before he returned to the burning pavement with the water in tow. Directing it so that it hovered a couple of paces above the swaying flames, he allowed it to fall all at once and managed to douse most of the fire. Shielding his face from a rush of hissing steam, he stared down at the sodden ground as a grave suspicion was confirmed in his mind.

Although he sensed several auras within the immediate area, not a single body was in sight, burned or otherwise. Even so, Corrie knew immediately that Alistar had died here. Tramon too, he realized after a few more moments of focus, along with several strangers.

It must have just happened.

Staring blankly at the soot-covered pavement, he had no time to mourn the loss of his closest friend, for several shouts off in the distance drew his attention to a handful of horsemen that were entering the town from its southern entrance. These should be warriors of the delegation, soldiers assigned to guard the high-ranking clergymen that had undertaken the long-winded journey from Providence Region to the most desolate and far-removed county of the empire.

Knowing that there was no purpose in him lingering in the area, Corrie rushed off in the direction he’d originally come from while struggling to hold back his tears.

***

Alistar was prodded awake by gentle hands, his headache having returned with a vengeance. Blinking his eyes open in a sluggish manner, he immediately sensed that he was surrounded by dozens of people.

“He’s awake!”

“Inform the bishop!”

“Search the rubble for more survivors!”

Someone helped him up, though he tactfully shut his eyes before he could make eye contact with anyone and pretended to lose consciousness once more.

“Can you hear me?” came a man’s voice, accompanied by a strong wave of garlicky breath. After a moment’s pause, he said, “Someone fetch a healer!”

Nearby, he heard people muttering about the fact that he was the only survivor that had been found thus far. Others openly wondered where the demon had gone, and all of them hoped that Alistar could shed some light on what had happened once he regained his focus.

These are…the church’s people? Heart pounding from unease, he lay there quietly while trying to piece together how the situation had come to pass. He’d left the wilderness and hurried back into town, only to find that his master had been engaged in a violent battle against the demon. Recalling what had happened afterward, he grew deeply disturbed. I’m not dead?

Soon enough he was enveloped by a comfortable feeling, a mending spell cast by someone who’d just rushed over.

“Well?” came the voice of the garlic-breathed man.

“He’s fine,” said the healer, a woman of unknown age. “More than fine, actually. Are you sure he’s unconscious?”

“Fine, my arse. Look at where we found him! It was clearly on fire at some point.”

“Maybe he tripped and fell there after the fact?”