Part 1

The sun was up above us, directly hitting on our heads. The borderline painful warmth spreading from top and bottom towards our torso was becoming more and more bearable. Or rather, we were getting numb to it. The scenery never changed. In front of us was sand, dunes of sand, and tall hills of sand. Behind us was sand, dunes of sand, and tall hills of sand. On our right sand. On our left sand, sand, sand, sand, and even more sand. The stillness of it all was maddening, devoid of any change whatsoever. The only markers that defined our random route were the few spurs of reddish rock and bundles of purple cactus-like plants.

It had been three days already since we left the gate site. The food we brought with us from the labyrinth vanished thus the way to sustain ourselves came solely out of hunting. The desert, or at least that particular zone, was utterly devoid of what any sane human would consider meat. There were no such things as camels, elephants, or anything of the sort. For that matter, there were no animals at all, only vicious monsters. Cautious but vicious nonetheless. The scorpion kind mostly, both with one and two tails, three in one occasion, meaning that we were, if I had learned the lessons right, in the dead center of the desert.

Other monsters, though rare in numbers, were sandworms the size of a house, a sort of snail with a shell made of reddish stone and four spider-like legs, and a hybrid between a rat and a wolf covered in blackish bones and meat smelling like a rotten corpse. Of those, only the sandworms seemed edible but in my current state and being burned with defending my sister, hunting a beast of that size was akin to suicide. The only viable options were the scorpions who hid a sizable amount of somewhat edible meat under their carapace. The issue was tricking them into letting go of their cautiousness.

A bit of tasty human blood did the trick. Unfortunately, it was mine. We had discovered this by chance as an aftermath of a fight with the "bone rats"- a name that Julie chose for the rat-wolf kind of monsters- in which I received an injury from a claw. That injury on my calf created a small puddle of blood as I tended to it. The sand, of course, absorbed the blood but not before becoming a beacon for a hungry giant scorpion. The fight was lengthy and very much close to my demise because I tried to prevent any wasteful use of mana. Alas, the scorpion was too formidable of an opponent for me to solely rely on weapons, thus -conscious of the ill-foreboding feeling pervading me each time I used mana- magic came to be my only means to stay alive. It turned out that, while it was abnormally sturdy against metal, their exoskeleton was especially weak against magic. Whether my three wind scythes were finely placed or wind was their one weakness, the scorpion soon laid on the scorching sand as it gushed greenish blood out of its now-cut pincers. Quite the gruesome picture.

The same sequence was repeated on two more occasions whenever food became scarce. Unable to preserve it or carry around large quantities of it, we were forced to hunt when hungry. Meaning that my life was almost constantly on the line. Furthermore, the meat wasn't even good. The taste was simply awful, even sprinkled full of spices. It was soaked in blood no matter how much I tried to drain it, the consistency was chewy and, other than the blood, the taste was bland. And yet, beggars cannot be choosers so we stuck to it and filled our stocks with as much as possible, all neatly clad in cloth to minimize dirtying anything else in the backpacks.

It was only on the fourth day, lacking rest and wary from our ordeals, that we met someone else capable of speech.

We had first seen them from the distance, just tiny, dark shadows in the morning sun. Our paths seemed to inevitably cross, so I made no effort to steer away from them. May that be out of childish curiosity or tiredness-driven desperation, in a time that seemed to stretch indefinitely we met the group. A caravan of around twenty heads with seven hippopotamus-like creatures in tow, only... chunkier and with hexagon-shaped rocks creating a sort of thin coating over most of their skin. Those creatures had no saddle. Their sides were too large to ride as a horse but too thin to ride as an elephant. Instead, they were used to carry bags of all colors, shapes, and sizes.

[A band of merchants, if I ever saw one!] I told myself, giddy at the thought of trading and darkened with the prospect of interaction.

I had no knowledge of the culture of those men leading the hippos, and that scared me. In the five minutes from when I could distinguish the shape of the hippos to when I first came face to face with the supposed leader of those merchants, my hand never left the handle of my sword.

I had met others before, in this life, with skin darker than mine. The sailors who stopped by Migur for example, or the rare traveler who wished to visit foreign lands, but never before I had seen them in their homeland. They were short people- seeing as how the entire caravan was relatively shorter compared to the average human I knew from my lands- with the skin of a deep caramel color. Sun and sand scarred their faces with heavy wrinkles and their eyes were sunk deeper into their sockets, as if to protect themselves from the desert's winds. The majority of the males sported beards, either extremely long and bushy or just a bit longer than a stubble. Whitish, long cloths covered their bodies, a much more sophisticated toga it seemed, leaving open only their forearms, faces, and feet. Not even the top of their heads was spared. The same cloth that covered their bodies rose to create turbans on their heads.

Whereas we had difficulty crossing the sands, they moved swiftly, gliding almost through the desert. It was my mistake to believe none of them was armed or armored. It was only when we reached closer that I finally spotted the outline of sheaths and chest pieces under their clothes.

[An interesting trick] I noted.

The moment we came face to face was nerve-wracking. Their leader had stopped the caravan, gaining the advantage of stillness and high ground, as they ceased their movements on top of a hill. Two bows were pointed at me as soon as we reached the base of it. The leader shouted something in his native language, most likely something along the line of "What is your business?" but I could not be sure. I tried to reply in my own language, then in what little elvish I knew from the books, but neither seemed to have any effect except raising their suspicion. Thus, I resorted to the most primitive way of communication: gestures.

I made a slow motion of reaching into my bag, never taking my eyes off their bows. From it, I procured the little coin pouch and showed one of the silver circles to the leader, shaking the pouch for good measure. Then, I started to indicate them, me, the coins, and me again, which seem to finally spark understanding in the bearded man's eyes. He spoke briefly with the other members and the archers fastened their short bows back under their cloths. The leader's gesture for us to come closer came soon after.

It took us a conspicuous amount of time to explain our situation and them theirs. And an even greater amount to start bartering. Around two hours later we left the caravan lighter of all of our coins but having gained two waterskins, a liquid that I previously procured by extracting it from the cactus-like plants through the use of mana, and information on the closest settlement.

Apparently, my call was right.

The day we left the gate site, the only- if just minimal- marker was the top of a mountain that seemed to pierce the seemingly still clouds. It was distant, beyond any reason of doubt, but I figured that I could use that peak as a sort of "north star". Turns out I was right, if only just slightly off the right path.

The merchants explained that we were currently on the border between what's considered to be the central desert and the southern desert. Five days south was the coast, from then, one day east or seven west wouldn't have brought us to two of the three port cities of the south side of the continent. But, because we walked towards the mountains, northeast apparently, we were now closer to the third port city. The most flourishing city of the continent and its very heart of commerce, Blackwall. A city built on a peninsula on the southeast coast of the desert continent.

They told us how, in around four more days at that pace, we would reach one of the many columns littering the deserts. They explained how they used those columns as a sort of marker, creating an ever-changing road on the fickle sands of the desert. Inaccurate but useful, it served as a sort of lighthouse, leading from one to another in both directions.

The next five days passed uneventfully, exceptions made for the couple of scorpions we hunted for food and the few little rat-monsters brave enough to try and charge at us. Nothing but bothersome distractions. The real issues were my sister's growing tiredness and the looming sensation that, the more I used mana, the less I understood about my condition. Julie and I even stopped conversing, out of exhaustion surely, as opposed to when we first started this journey when Julie would torment me with incessant questions under the midday sun.

In silence, the day passed rapidly. I was starting to find walking on sand less tricky as my muscles and feet became accustomed to the fragile texture, Julie not so much. Hence our slow pace. I was too busy being immersed in my thoughts, sorting out truth from madness-driven fantasy and rearranging the bits of time and memories fragmented, to realize that, far in the distance, the blackish shape of a tall column came into view. Even with a hastened pace, it still took us two hours to reach its base.

More than three meters thick and ten tall, made out of black marble with reddish veins crossing it all over. The long time and the sandy winds had eroded the exterior, turning what was probably a very defined surface full of high reliefs into nothing but a smooth, dark cylinder in the middle of the desert. I breathed a sigh of relief. We were on the right way, the right path. We wouldn't be in the desert for long.

Alas, as I sat down on the large square base of the column, a shape appeared from behind a dune in the distance. I thought it nothing more than a trick of my mind, an illusion brought to life by tiredness and the setting sun. The bright sphere of lights had begun to sink behind the tallest dunes as it radiated the last hot rays before making room for the moon. A reddish hue, orange at times, tending to pink at others, dropped the sands in a crimson cloak, birthing elongated shadows in its wake. It was a comfortable kind of darkness, a mixture between day and night that brought me calmness of mind, relaxing me for the first time in days. As I breathed in that mood with relief, I scratched the itch of my mind related to the illusion of the shape I saw previously. It was a whim really, more like proving a point to myself than anything else. It was in horror that I realized that it was no illusion.

Something was coming. Something big and absurdly fast, gliding on the sand like...like a boat on water.

"Julie-" I began as I rose from my seat and fastened the straps of my backpack "- can you run?"

"W-What?" She asked surprised, a hint of worry in her voice.

"Run!" I replied as I took her by the hand and dragged her along my sprint.

I ran, without looking back, without caring for my sister's pleas, but no matter how hard I ran, the howling wind and the looming presence did not diminish. Rather, I felt them growing closer with every step. I was panting already after just two minutes. The days in the desert worsened my already perilous condition. I was nowhere fit enough to outrun something like that, certainly not with my sister in tow. Seeing as how my sister was also in a similar state, I stopped. If running wasn't an option, then all that was left for me was to fight. I took the spear in hand, believing that a longer reach would grant even the tiniest sliver of advantage, and castled the small hill I was on top of.

The dark shape was running towards us, sliding across the sand and picking up speed as it went. The setting sun behind it masking and blurring the finer details. I could not fathom what I was about to face. A sandworm, I thought, recalling the one I scouted from the distance on the first couple of days. No other beast I saw could rival the size of the sliding shape, but I would not dare limit my imagination to simply one enemy. I rapidly scrolled through the pages of monsters in my memory, searching for one that would match the size and habitat. A hippodon, one particularly huge fire serpent, a mother viper, and many more came to mind as my knuckles whitened around the shaft of my spear. Before I knew it, it was upon us.

Not even a hundred meters behind us and rapidly approaching, a colossal ship sailed across the sands. The torches and light sources upon it finally gave shape to the shadowy mass I had looked at before. A behemoth of a boat. Four masts rose high from the chunky galleon-like hull where red sails flapped freely in the wind. Upon the red background, golden symbols were drawn: a sun emitting three thin rays upon a jeweled, three-spiked crown. An intricate web of shrouds connected the masts to the sides of the deck. On deck, humanoid figures kept busying themselves with tasks of every sort as shouts and screams filled with excitement resounded loud. The hull was of black-painted wood and tall enough to fit from three to four decks in it. It was impossible to tell their number since only the deck under the main one had gunport-like windows. The keel was submerged in sand. On its pointy peak stood a figurehead: a sea serpent carved out of reddish wood. It coiled around the beak and bared its long, jiggered teeth to its enemies. Instead of eyes, the serpent had two spheres of dark red light, an ingenious trick created by hollowing the serpent's skull, placing some sort of light source inside, and creating the eyes with two gems. Costly, surely, but it achieved its purpose: giving off one hell of an eerie vibe.

It was too fast for us to outrun and it had clearly spotted us, thus hiding was pointless. Just from the sheer amount of shouts, it was clear that dozens of people were inhabiting that galleon and something told me a mage was among them, seeing as how the ship was sailing in literal sand. The hair on my body rose to attention, picking up a faint sensation, like a whisper in the wind, one that called for blood. I had no idea what it truly was or how could I feel that but I instinctively knew it was right. Battle was inevitable.

"Stay behind me-" I said to Julie as I fell into a low stance with the spear in both hands "- remember what I told you, no? If I tell you to run, you run, even if it means leaving me to die. Do you understand?"

"I-I don't want you to die!" She shouted as he desperately clawed at my shirt, fear and desperation blazing in her eyes.

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"Do. You. Understand?" I repeated coldly, making a wide gesture of pushing her away with the back of the spear.

I could almost smell the blood as Julie bit on her lip and took three steps back, giving enough space to maneuver freely while also staying within my action range.

[She's smart-] I noted to myself, unwillingly coking a slight smirk as I watched her [- father must've obsessed her with his lessons]

The wind became more potent the more the galleon approached us raising howls and sand with it. The moment the sun disappeared, hidden behind the mastodontic hull, the galleon stopped, not even twenty meters away from us, raising a wave of sand threatening to submerge us but not quite doing so. The shouts reached their peak and the sound finally became clear, yet I could still not make out the meaning behind their words.

Behind the now-forming cloud of sand, rope ladders were being thrown from every possible spot, and men fell with them. In dozens, they descended on the ground while others waited for their turn whilst shouting and pointing at us. Behind me, Julie's skin had paled to a deathly white and her teeth were chattering. I would not have blamed her if she had tried to escape against my command. How could I? Nonetheless she stood her ground. I silently thanked her for her trust.

Unconsciously, I began to move mana as soon as the first shadow of a man appeared at the foot of the ladders. Weapon raised over his head, a thick club or a morning star ready to swing, his steps heavy as he ran towards us, soon joined by four more shadows armed similarly. I could hear no clunking of metal, the sound the knights in armor made when walking through Alamara. I took solace in that.

The dust began to settle. Just slightly. The men's shadows took a more defined shape until I could almost distinguish the colors of their hair and beards. I dashed. An upward thrust with the wide side of the tip of the spear horizontal.

The metal sunk in its mark. Sand moved wildly as I settled on my steps and my vision cleared. The man in front of me came into view, defiance, and exuberance in his expression, as if the notion of a possible death didn't even come across his mind. My spear had met his throat, lodging itself through his undefended throat. His blackish beard, bleached by the sun, was now tinted in a deep crimson as more of the heartly liquid spewed over the weapon. He gurgled for just a second, the excess blood flowing out of his now-open mouth. His eyes met mine, never losing their defiance. Then his weapon fell from his hands.

Shouts, this time rageful ones, rose from behind the dead man. A bald man with light brown skin, a thick dark mustache, and blue tribal-like tattoos covering what was visible of his skin, spectated the scene and was now waving his short swords at me. Others were following, lead by his shouts. I had to be faster.

Taking a step forward and sideways, I started a spin. By the time I was side-by-side with the body, I had already completed half, my spear still lodged into the man's throat. The bald aggressor dashed towards me, both swords raised over his head in a similar fashion to his predecessor. Putting more strength into my hind leg I completed the spin, dragging the spear along with it as it cut through what remained of the first man's throat with ease.

The bald man took notice of my intentions but he was too late to dodge. Without stopping his stride, he attempted to parry my slash. Too slow. By the time he was able to lower his arms, the sharp of my spear had already gashed through most of his forearm, leaving it hanging by naught but a thread of skin and muscle. Unfortunately, it also got stuck in the bone, leaving half of it attached and permitting the bald man retaliation against the weapon. Now left with only his right arm, the man downed his sword on the wood of my spear, leaving me with just the jagged bottom of it.

Footsteps came from both the man's left and right. I couldn't back out so I dashed forward, stepping in close and personal to the wounded man. Like a feral beast, I pounced on him, grabbing his oversized shirt and dragging him down towards me. He staggered, confused, in pain, and taken by surprise, lost his balance long enough for me to pierce his neck from side to side with the stick I had in hand. It was a messy wound and an even messier death. With a swift movement, I took his sword from his remaining hand and kicked him onto the ground. The expression of pure fear, the fear of unavoidable death, and the pain disfiguring his face were crystalline to me, even among the dust, as I jumped away. A grim testament to my handiwork. His pained screams and deathly gurgles reached me but did not faze me, not then. I knew, deep down somewhere in my head, that I would hear those screams for the rest of my life, but right at that moment they sounded...right.

My heart beat faster and faster until I could hear it thumping in my throat. My very teeth, bones, and nails seemed to propagate the vibrations, sending my entire nerve system into some sort of high. The colors seemed more verdant, brighter. The sounds sharper. The scents even fouler than they already were. Another face appeared. I unsheathed the knife I had strapped on my thigh and dual-wielded my way toward the man holding a long saber.

Unlike his two predecessors, this one was far younger, not much older than I was. He had dark olive skin with dark brown hair tied in a low ponytail that fell over one shoulder. On one side of his face was a tattoo of a tribal crow in red ink while on the other was a long scar that went vertically from his forehead to his jaw. His expression was the epitome of fear. His eyes had drunk the entire scene the moment he had stepped close enough for it to become detailed. Two of his crewmates were laying on the ground, bloodied and motionless. One was still screaming his last breaths. I could tell by the look in his eyes: he understood he could be the next.

Unlike the two others, he did not sprint nor he raised his weapon over his head. Instead, he bided for time, waiting for his crewmates to join in the fight. The smartest choice, as it could lead to the worst possible outcome for me. I had to be fast and brutal. I knew already that they could have easily overwhelmed me with numbers, hence the need for brutality. I had to instill enough fear into them to make them believe that the sole notion of fighting against me was pointless. A colossal and, most likely, fatal bluff.

I dashed into the young man, aiming for his leg and throat simultaneously, respectively with the dagger and short sword. He stepped backward, clearly startled by my sudden dash, and momentarily lost his balance. I hopped on the opportunity and shifted my aim solely to his lower body. A mistake. The man was smart- certainly smarter than me it seemed. Him losing balance was but a feint. He wanted me to aim for his lower body. As my dagger was about to make contact with the leather of his pants and my sword aim was directed at his abdomen, his saber trusted forward, searching for my neck.

Whilst the man had the brains, he seemed to lack the brawns. With a sudden burst of mana that made my bones shiver in their muscly sheath, I threw my left arm upwards, intercepting the saber with my sword. The screech of metal against metal sounded loud and clear while the blade sinking into the man's thigh appeared silent if not for the sudden outburst of pain-filled screams. Careless of the pain, the young man bit his lip until blood dirtied his teeth and pushed his sword as forward as he could. Taking full advantage of his longer reach, he was able to cut into my shirt and draw a thin line of blood on my shoulder. The cocky smile disappeared as fast as it appeared as soon as I twisted the knife in his thigh in a very spiteful kind of vengeance. He had underestimated my willingness to suffer injuries.

The sound of steps reached my ears, followed by a rage-filled battle cry. I tried to turn my head but was swiftly punished for it. A headbutt fell heavily on my nose, filling it with the overly familiar scent of fresh blood. The young man wanted me stuck in place so, using his free hand, he grabbed the wrist holding the dagger, physically keeping me attached to him. I was only able to look behind me from the corner of an eye. The man rapidly approaching me, blurry and undetailed, had a scimitar over his head. The strike was ready to fall on my undefended back like a guillotine.

Another headbutt hit me, this time fully breaking my nose. I took advantage of the man's momentarily loss of balance. I pushed my shoulder forward, sinking his blade deeper into my flesh. An injury for a greater range of movement, a barter with my blood. His blade had now less weight on mine thus letting me free it from his guard. With a spin in place, I was able to face the incoming enemy. A burly man with a brutish expression and a scar crossing his lips. The now-free short sword traced ad arc, shining a silverfish half-moon across the dust. The burly man's dash was too strong for him to simply stop in place. He was, then, forced to dodge but was too heavy and slow on his reflexes to do so competently. A bloody cut opened across his naked torso as the tip of my blade traveled across it from side to opposite shoulder. The man recoiled from that just as I wanted.

In the meantime, the young man with his blade still stuck in my shoulder seemed to regain composure but was unable to react as he watched in horror the extent of his plans' failure. I was unwilling to give him a chance to retaliate. Painfully forcing mana through my right hand, I twisted the dagger whilst simultaneously stepping in closer shoulder first. The now vertical blade drew a cut on the young man's cheek, threatening to sink deeper toward the eye the more I pushed. He was forced to throw his head backward, losing the last remnants of balance. I skipped backward, taking full advantage of his weakening grip on my wrist to open a large gash on his thigh. The resulting scream was blood-freezing.

The next moment I was upon the burly man. He had swung his sword, aiming for a point around my waist, but, unlike the young man, he was all brawns and no brains. He did not predict my sudden backward dash and the following spin. The tip of his blade only met my thigh, just for a moment. A long line, light but burning, of red blood appeared on it. I ignored the pain stemming from my shoulder and thing and jumped at the man's chest. My sword sunk deep around his abdomen while the dagger repeatedly entered and exited his chest. Spurts of blood began dirtying my face and shirt and arms and legs. Suddenly, I was a bloody mess.

A choked breath was the last sound the burly man made before falling into my blades with his head on my injured soldier. Feeling his weight, I moved rapidly to move the body, not wanting to be burdened for the next fight, though something felt weird. I noticed only when the body slumped on the ground that silence- other than the injured young man's screams- had fallen over that battlefield and the dust had fully settled. Finally, the full extent of the enemies' numbers came into view.

More than fifty men, all with skin darkened by the sun and with light clothing, were staring at me. Some were below the ladders, forming a wide semicircle around me. Others were still on top of the galleon, pushing their heads over the wooden railing to look at the scene below.

[That's way too many!] I angrily shouted in my head as I took a stance facing the closer enemy.

I had no idea where the next attack would come from. No idea if it was just one attack. No idea if a spell was next. Rapidly, I shot my head behind me, drinking as fast as I could in the grim stage I left in my wake. It mattered little to me, what I was looking for was Julie. I breathed a sigh of relief as I saw her completely unharmed. Scared and shocked, but otherwise unharmed. Having made sure of that, I shifted my weight forward, preparing for a desperate dash to surprise the horde of opponents. Surprisingly, I was stopped by a string of words I understood perfectly.

"Stop right there!-" The voice shouted coming from behind the first row of men. It was a deep voice, somehow melodious and charismatic, with a strong accent to it. It reminded me of a thick Jamaican accent "- Don't ya think ya done enough?"

The owner of the voice appeared soon after in front of the crowd of desert pirates. An absolute unit of a man. Reaching up to two meters and with shoulders wider than any door. He wore some kind of elegant pirate-ish clothes. Dark brown leather heeled boots reached up halfway to his knees, and tucked into them was a pair of black reinforced leather. Strings of silky white and red cloth together with golden and silver embellishments gave a more refined edge to the otherwise plain trousers. Two terracotta-colored belts held a beautiful jeweled scabbard made of what seemed to be blackish wood. Draped around his waist, leaning more on the side devoid of the scabbard, was a wide silk adorned with threads of gold and liquid ruby to create the same design of the sails. Loosely tucked in his pants was a fine white, sleeveless shirt. Its V-neck cut went as deep as the man's sternum and intricate yet soft and volatile tribal-like designs in crimson threads brought forth a subtle level of elegance. Held together by a pin in the form of two crossing swords, a soft mantle in brownish silk wrapped tightly around the man's neck and fell behind his back down to his knees. Behind his neck, the mantle seemed to have excess cloth, enough to create a loose hood if necessary.

Littered with scars all over was the man's light brown skin. One particular scar seemed to generate from a point beyond his shoulder blades and all the way down to almost his wrist. Tattoos in golden ink of what seemed to be Celtic runes and tribal designs colored his lean body. Only a few parts of it were spared. Gold seemed to be of utmost importance to that man as it felt almost redundant seeing the various jeweled golden rings, thick golden armguards, golden earrings, and golden embellishment on his hair.

His features were sharp, if not a bit squarish around his jaw. A thin layer of well-trimmed beard covered his face and the upper side of his neck in an attempt to cover a nasty scar right below his chin. On his lower lip, he styled a thin golden ring piercing while, where his canines were supposed to be, four prosthetic golden fangs slipped out of his mouth in a wordless threat. His nose was crooked, most likely broken more than once, and his brows were pierced in the same fashion as his lips. His eyes were thin and sharp with predatory red irises while underneath them, the subtle shadow of eyebags spoke volumes of the weight of command. His black hair flowed down his face and neck in big, chunky locks adorned with all sorts of golden embellishments. Thick rings, golden thread braids, snakes, and other trinkets of the like. A red and white bandana stood underneath them, tied at the back of his head to cover his forehead.

I rose from my stance, never letting go of my weapons but making a clear act of not going against the man's words. A subtle threat in the air told me it wasn't wise to do so.

"Ahh!-" Sighed the man seemingly pleased as he clapped his hands once "- I see ya'ssa man of wise mind!"

"Who are you?" I asked, subtly screening the mass of men around me for any movement.

"Though courtesy is not ya virtue, it seems-" He replied laughing "- Ali Salhab Albaster, that's my name! What of ya's?"

"Raphael-" I replied sternly, attempting to make my name sound bigger and mightier than it was "- Raphael Bluescale"

"Ah, Mr. Raphael-" Ali Salhab replied, tapping on his chin with a finger, making a big act of thinking about my name "- Nava' heard your name before...No matter. Tell me, Mr. Raphael, what are ya doing in my territory?"

"Your territory?" I asked confused.

"Who else's then?-" He said laughing inciting, in turn, a laugh to spread to all the men around us "- Ya see, from there-" He continued, pointing to where the column supposedly was "- to there!-" Extending his other arm towards the opposite side "- All that's my kingdom!"

"Hard to picture a pirate in the desert, sailing a ship on sand, being a king... Should I be bowing?-" I replied in a very spiteful tone "- Your majesty?"

"Ya's playing with fire-" The king continued, this time with a less joking tone and a hint of anger in his voice "- Ya invade my land, kill three of my men and gravely injure one, then berate me? Ya must have a death wish to be so bold!"

"With all due respect,-" I began answering with a more dignified and respectful tone, yet never losing that spiteful look in my eyes as they never left the king's "-I had no intention of crossing into your kingdom and the only reason I killed your men was that they attacked us first. You'll understand, I'm sure. I had to protect my sister...On that note, let me correct you-" I said as I quickly let go of my dagger and shot my hand behind me palm-first.

"-Wind scythe!-" I shouted, channeling mana into my right arm, creating vivid strings of liquid pain that coursed through my veins all the way up to the back of my head.

The thin scythe of solid wind rapidly hit its target. A man trying to sneak his way to my sister, careless of what happened around her seemingly mesmerized by the scene or in mind-numbing shock. The man saw, and heard me, too late. His reflexes weren't sharp enough. The wind precisely severed his neck from his shoulders, sending the head rolling meters away and painting a small pond in red.

"- Four dead men and one injured"

"Ya's a mage" The king replied, a hint of worry stating his otherwise placid voice.

The men around us seemed to have caught wind of the seriousness of the situation and had now stopped their murmurs, cheers, and laughs in favor of taking a more battle-ready stance. The king and I gazed into each other's eyes for seconds that expanded indefinitely, searching for a hint of weakness or doubt in our expressions. Then, his focus seemed to shift. His eyes were now laying on my sister to which I responded with a subtle swish of my sword.

"Ya said ya didn't know this was my land-" The king pondered, shifting his weight from one foot to the other "- How so? What was ya doing here then?"

"A caravan of merchants pointed us to the columns-" I replied eager to correct the misunderstanding "- They said this was some sort of road that would lead u to Blackwall. We simply followed their directions to the closest column"

"Ya're not from 'round here, yes?"

"War lands, Raiden continent"

"The War lands!?-" The man asked expressing genuine surprise "- Not from Blackwall?"

"Never been there. Actually never been here at all. Blackwall was simply the closest city to us"

"...Seems you were fooled and we were hasty"

"...Looks so...Are you gonna let us leave?"

"Can't really do that, ya'll understand. Ya killed my men, if I were to let ya go willy-nilly, what respect would they have for me? And their death? I can't let them die pointlessly, ya see!" The king replied with a long, deep sigh.

"Then what? Are we gonna fight?-" I asked bearing my sword straight at the king's face "- 'Cause I'll do just fucking that! Until I've got blood pumping in my veins, I'll slit as many of your men's throats as I can!"

"Yes...-" The man replied with a glint of curiosity mixed with beastly bloodlust in his eyes "- I'm sure ya'd do just that. Ya's eyes tell me it's not the first time ya kill a man...but no. I was thinking more of a deal"

"A...deal?" I replied surprised, my sword faltering just slightly