Eilif sat cross-legged in the small cave, a hiding spot he always fell back to whenever he needed to think. The cave also served as a meeting spot between the immortal man and his contacts. Most importantly, it was where he spoke with his master.

The person-sized spell crystals before him were arranged in a circle, their bluish glow accompanied by silhouettes. Eilif was focused on the one across from him, its shadowy figure shifting in its seat.

“This outcome was not one I expected,” the lead crystal muttered. Eilif was surprised to hear curiosity and slight annoyance in his voice instead of infuriating rage. Then again, his master was always a calm and orderly person. It would take a lot to earn his ire.

“Eli was never the most capable one,” another crystal muttered. Eilif could see the figure’s lone eye boredly examining the cave around. “It was inevitable that he would fall.”

“I agree,” a female voice sighed from Eilif’s left. “However, that young man certainly has my attention,” she giggled. The figure in the crystal had a dreamy look in her gaze, her eyes watching the ceiling with wonder.

“Holter?” another crystal displayed his disgust.

“No! The one who killed Eli,” the female voice expressed. “From what I’ve seen, he’s certainly something much more interesting than that boring blond man.”

“Seamus Halvorson,” the lead crystal said. “I had expected him to die long ago, back when Deimos raided Yorn’s keep.” The master turned to the nearest crystal, the one who had recently displayed his disgust. “You and Eli were supposed to make sure he was killed, along with any of his blood.”

“That was Eli’s job!” the crystal argued.

“It was both of your jobs,” the master reiterated. “This has complicated things even further.”

“To be fair,” the figure with one eye spoke up. “Holter has already complicated things, Halvorson or not. Where did he come from?”

“Holter is from another world. Earth, I believe it is called,” Eilif finally spoke up.

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“An Outlander,” his master confirmed. “One of us has already done some research into this… Draugr.”

Another crystal blinked at that, its glow brightening as the figure inside spoke.

“James Holter. Twenty-six years old. His home base is Yorktown. He is allied with a clan of monster hunting orcs. Also allied with the clans that hold stakes in Vindis, but that is mostly out of force rather than an actual alliance,” the figure listed everything about the Outlander, his voice echoing out in the cave as everyone watched on. “He has cryomancy in his left arm. Can cast up to four spells a day. He has a spirit inside him,” the figure turned to Eilif. “A Centurion named Faust Desimir, to be exact.”

Eilif felt his body go stiff at the name. That was one thing he did not know.

“Centurion? Like one from Cyrus’ Legion?” the female figure asked.

“How?” the one-eyed figure asked.

“From what I gathered, it was implanted into him by Dahlia Astera, a shaman in Yorktown. She did this to save his life and heal his wound. However, it also fractured the ley lines,” the figure explained.

“Faust Desimir…” Eilif ignored the report, his mind going to the name. It was foreign to him, but rather familiar in a way. His master seemed to notice this.

“This won’t impact your mission, will it?” he asked.

“No sir,” Eilif obediently answered. “It will not.”

“Good,” his master nodded. “When the new year passes, Eilif and Kira will embark to the south. They shall tie up whatever loose ends Eli and Sirius have caused.”

Kira giggled with delight. “Oh, how fun! Perhaps I shall be able to see him.”

Eilif ignored her, only focused on the lead crystal. “Yes, sir, I shall do my best.”

His master’s purple eyes burned with magical power, his gaze looking down on him. “You shall. This meeting is dismissed.” With that, the crystals all went dead, their blue glows dying down in an instant.

Eilif was now alone, his gaze on his blade. The weapon looked like a strange dagger, its handle more of a grip rather than a blade’s handle. Eilif picked it up, his thumb pressing against a certain area on the guard. The wide blade would split into three, opening up like a fan. The bounty hunter only focused on the sigil that appeared once the contraption functioned. It depicted two olive branches that were crossed beneath a single gladius.

It was the symbol of the long dead Legion, which had fallen centuries ago.