Chapter 18: How to Traumatize a Veteran Adventurer
We arrived home around 5:00 PM, before the sun set. I was already preparing my ears for another deafening lecture from my mother, but, to my surprise, the reception was peaceful. Since I had returned practically in one piece, without the smell of rat puree, without mud-stained pants, without singed clothes, and without cemetery soot, the mood didn't get heavy. My father smiled with satisfaction seeing me intact, and even my mother seemed genuinely relieved. With a wave of her hand and a clinical look, she declared that I would have a generous hour of rest in my quarters before resuming the torture of nighttime diplomacy and courtly posture classes.
As soon as I locked my room's door and threw myself on my back onto the soft mattress, I pulled my guild card from my pocket. There was a practical feature on it that I didn't usually use, but suddenly remembered: The card's runic panel displayed the status and exact time remaining for the tasks I had signed up for. The eradication mission of the renegade bandits glowed on the surface. There were exactly two days left before meeting with the extermination group and that Rank A adventurer.
The morning and afternoon of those two days passed in very different ways: In the morning, my mother gave me lessons upon lessons, making time drag on as if it would never end. In the afternoon, my mother released me to go to the adventurers' guild to do some missions, where I finally managed to distract myself. Time flew by meanwhile, seeming to be a thousandth of what it was in the morning.
Today is the day of that mission, the one I had been waiting for so much.
I adjusted my spells in my pocket, ensuring they were well settled. I found Elara at the door of my room, waiting for me while checking the fit of her daggers on her waist. I left the castle triumphant while she gave a smirk seeing my happiness.
The walk to the guild was quick and, as soon as I pushed the heavy oak doors, the morning noise of the tavern and the common smell of beer and leather hit me. But, almost at the same instant, something completely out of place in the middle of that raw aroma invaded my nostrils. A dense, strong, and terrifyingly familiar smell of lotus incense and ancient library dust.
My stomach dropped instantly. I knew that smell better than anyone. It was the aroma that preceded weeks of grueling physical exercises, endless lectures, and muscle aches.
I swallowed hard and slowly turned my face towards the furthest table, where Sophia was organizing the mission paperwork. There was the extermination group: five callous Rank C adventurers, sporting worn armor, heavy weapons, and suspicious looks. And, in the center of them, quietly drinking tea with his unshakable posture and impeccable clothes, was the source of that smell.
My triumphant smile melted from my face.
— Master Alistair?! What are you doing here?! — I stammered, paralyzed in the middle of the hall.
— Can't I? — he asked. — Did you think just because your mother dismissed me for a while you could be free like this? When I return I will have to correct this insolent attitude of yours. —
A chill ran down my spine, giving me goosebumps. — This time, I'm in trouble, I really screwed up, my nightmare took form!. —
— Who is this grumpy little old man, Lycon? Is he an acquaintance of yours? — asked Elara.
— Elara, if you say one more word, I will personally ask my parents to replace you! Just keep quiet, please! Don't speak! — I said, terrified of the presence in front of me.
— As insolent as... — Alistair began — is she my disciple's chaperone? Well, it doesn't matter. Sophia, what about the paperwork?! — he asked, slamming the palm of his hand on the table, almost breaking it.
— Just wait a little longer! — exclaimed Sophia — but I'm warning you, if you break anything in the guild, you're the one paying. —
— I won't break this... it's just that these tables lately are too fragile. Can't even withstand a light slap from me... —
The impact of Alistair's hand on the wood made the adventurers, who were sitting at the same table, jump. Until that moment, they seemed to just be watching the scene as if it were a weird play, but the revelation that I was the last member of the extermination mission broke their silence.
The first to open his mouth was a hooded scout who wouldn't stop tapping his fingers on the table in an anxious rhythm.
— Wait, hold on. "My parents"? "Replaced"? — he widened his eyes, pointing at me and then at Elara. — The sixth member of our tactical squad is a twelve-year-old lord who brought his nanny?! What's the tactic now, make the renegades die laughing? Or are we going to use him as bait for the bandit leader? Because, look, from what I know, their chainmail... —
— Give it a rest, Vane, you talk too much — cut in a woman next to him, who carried a longbow on her back and chewed on a piece of sweet root. She looked me up and down with an almost maternal instinct, but with the delicacy of a rhinoceros. — Can't you see the boy is about to drop dead backwards? His master over there almost cracked the table. Come here, kid, want a piece of jerky to calm your nerves? You're paler than a cemetery ghost. —
Before I could answer, a robust warrior, dressed in heavy and noisy plate armor, let out a disdainful snort. He crossed his thick arms, making the steel of his pauldrons creak.
— Jerky doesn't solve a lack of muscles, Sira. The kid isn't even tall enough to hold a real sword. What is he going to do against the renegades? Throw gold coins at them? — The warrior pointed his chin at my bag. — And those little bags there... if that's a mage's toy, I'm warning you now: fragile magic doesn't pierce iron shields, do you intend to tickle the beast until you kill it, boy? Steel solves everything, the rest is a trick. I just can't accept bringing a nanny and a senile old man along... did this turn into a daycare or a nursing home? —
Upon hearing the word "mage", another colossal man at the table, easily two meters tall with a gigantic axe resting on his shoulder, shuddered visibly. He turned the side of his face that had a horrible burn scar in my direction.
— As long as he doesn't blow us up, I don't care about age, Bram — muttered the big guy, his deep voice heavy with genuine trauma. — The last rich kid who tried to use magic near me didn't know how to control his own mana and fried half my face. If you're going to shoot fire, let me know so I can run the opposite way, kid. My good ear can't take another blast. —
It was then that the last member of the group, a man in threadbare clothes holding a worn copy of the Basic Compendium of Flows, puffed out his chest to try and look wise in front of Alistair and me.
— Rest easy, boys. As the senior mage of the team, I can supervise the... um... child's drawings — he said, casting what he thought was a professional look at my leather bag. — As long as he is taught to make very thin lines to maintain Harmonic Stability, we will be safe. You... you at least know how to draw the Dispersion Valves so you don't melt your own fingers, right, boy? —
— I am the one who will be the leader. — stated Alistair. — Or do you desire another lesson in good manners on your hides? —
A wave of killing intent spread through the room. The pressure was so oppressive that the squad's posture of superiority crumbled instantly. Bram, the warrior who seconds ago boasted that steel solved anything, cleared his throat, looked away, and began massaging an ugly purple bruise on his jaw.
Tormold swallowed hard and shrank his broad shoulders, suddenly seeming to want to hide behind his own weapon. Sira stopped chewing, let out a long sigh of defeat, and crossed her arms.
— No one is contesting your leadership, boss — muttered Vane, the talkative scout, who now spoke meekly while rubbing his own ribs over his tunic, as if they still hurt a lot. — The beating in the training courtyard made the hierarchy very clear to everyone. We were just... surprised by the child, that's all. —
Doran, the plebeian mage, seemed to finally notice Alistair's cutting gaze falling upon him and the open book in his hands. He paled so much he turned the color of wax, snapped the Compendium shut in a clumsy jerk, and hid it under his arm as if it were contraband.
Seeing a group of adult mercenaries, callous and armed to the teeth, cowering and traumatized by my teacher's brute force brought me a strange feeling of having lived this before.
— Welcome to my world, idiots — I thought, feeling a drop of genuine empathy for their bruised ribs. Apparently, Alistair didn't take it easy on the Guild's adventurers either.
But the mention of those flawed theories pulled me back to reality.
— Wait a minute... — I said, blinking in perplexity at the sweaty mage. — Did you just talk about thin lines and Dispersion Valves? By the gods, don't tell me you study from that trash, the Basic Compendium! —
Doran stopped shoving the book under his arm and blinked, completely incredulous. The shock of hearing a twelve-year-old child disdain the book that was the basis of all his livelihood brought the color back to his face, but now in a tone of offended indignation.
— Trash?! — Doran's voice squeaked, indignant. — Look here, brat, you might have the money to pay for the guild's potions, but don't you dare insult the Compendium! This book is the academic translation of the fundamentals of Harmonic Stability! Without the thin lines and the Dispersion Valves, raw nature mana bottlenecks in the circuit lines and destroys the caster from the inside out! —
He waved the Basic Compendium book, as if that attested to some authority.
— I didn't reach Rank C by wasting my mana! Half of a spell's entire essence must go to the Dispersion Valve to bleed off the thermal collapse! This is basic physics! It's the law of flows! I bet you can't even light a wick without burning your eyebrow! —
— I actually wanted to show you something, but here wouldn't be ideal. — I paused, sighing, stunned, trying to process the amount of incorrect information he said in such a short period. — Let's do this on the bandit mission. —
— There you will train strength, Lycon. — interrupted Alistair. — If you want to show some magic, show it now. —
— But... —
— No buts. Either you show it now or you don't show it. — after that, Alistair's withering glare directed specifically at me.
— AAAH — I screamed in my mind. — Okay. —
I drew my Magic Fire circle, since I can use it freely without causing any damage, and injected a little of my mana into it. A small puff of flames emerged from the circle, but it didn't burn anything, because the fuel for this flame was mana, and corrupted materials, since there were none there, it didn't burn anything.
Elara almost cut my finger again out of instinct, but held back upon seeing it was that specific circle.
— Great, you did your little parlor trick, now put it away. You are here to learn not to rely solely on sparks. — cut in Alistair, without even giving me a chance.
I put my circle away immediately. — I barely used anything that trash compendium says. As for why it didn't burn my hand: It's Holy Fire. It only burns corrupted matter and mana. My hand is neither. —
The silence that followed my technical explanation was broken by the sound of the crooked staff slipping from the plebeian mage's hands and hitting the guild's wooden floor. The man in threadbare clothes stared at my hands as if I had just made the entire building levitate.
— Holy... Holy Fire?! — his voice came out thin, in a mix of academic terror and pure disbelief, clutching his Compendium to his chest as if it would save him from the heresy he just witnessed. — But that... that requires hybridization! The book clearly states that fusing a base element without prayers of contrition results in immediate thermal collapse! You did that on a piece of leather?! Without intoning a single phoneme of acoustic stabilization?! —
Before the mage could have a stroke trying to understand arcane engineering, the plate-armored warrior let out a harsh laugh, slamming his steel gauntlet against his own breastplate with a dull thud that echoed across the table.
— See? The boss here is right. It's just a bourgeois parlor trick — mocked the warrior, shrugging and ignoring his mage colleague's despair. — If that spark doesn't burn a hand and doesn't melt steel, it's no good for taking down a bandit. Fire that doesn't burn is useless in real life. —
The brute with the colossal axe, however, let out a sigh so long it seemed to deflate the tension from his entire body. He slowly lowered the hand covering the burn scar on his own face.
— Fire that doesn't burn people... — murmured the big guy, sounding genuinely relieved. — They could have taught that to the idiot who fried my ear in the past. Not bad. At least I won't have to worry about accidentally becoming barbecue in your hands, kid. —
The hooded scout next to him, however, was not as relaxed. He leaned over the table, whispering loudly enough for the whole group to hear: — Are you guys crazy to think this is a small thing? Holy Fire is clergy magic! If the brat does that on a piece of leather without sweating, imagine the damage if he decides to shoot real fire in our direction? —
The archer, who until then had only watched the scene chewing her sweet root, finally took it out of her mouth and used the wet tip to point in my direction, with a grumpy aunt expression.
— Well, at least we already know he's not going to sit on the road and cry from fear in the middle of the night — she pointed out, with dry practicality. — But the tin-head there has a point. Bandits aren't "corrupted matter" or undead. They're dirty bastards, but they have normal flesh and bone like us. If we're going to ambush the renegades, that fancy little light of yours won't pierce anyone's belly. You're going to have to rely on your arm or do better than that out there. —
— I trained him to be able to handle any common person who dares to strike him. — interrupted Alistair. — If he loses to some little bandits of this caliber, he'll have to deal not with them, but with me. —
With hurried steps, Sophia finally returned with a paper. — Sorry for the delay! For you to confirm the departure, just sign this paper... Ah, Elara, Lycon, and Alistair don't need to sign. —
With the signatures hastily scribbled by the five veterans and the bureaucratic fees sorted out by Sophia, the squad finally left the Adventurers' Guild premises. The walk through the city streets was tense, dictated by Alistair's wide pace and rigid posture. While the monk cleared the way on the sidewalks, making commoners instinctively step back, the Rank C group marched right behind in obsequious silence. Doran seemed to still be processing the collapse of all his magical theory, holding his book much less firmly than before. Vane kept his mouth shut, clearly intimidated by Alistair's oppressive presence.
As soon as we crossed the great city gates and hit the main road, the agricultural landscape soon gave way to a vast, open, windswept plain. The tall vegetation of the farms was replaced by short grass and dry earth. As we approached the coordinates marked in the contract, the tracks of heavy wagons and marks of extinguished campfires became more frequent, clearly indicating that the renegades used that flat, exposed route to ambush and extort travelers without giving them anywhere to hide.
Right in the center of that desolate plain stood the renegades' hideout: a rudimentary but surprisingly structured fort, made of thick wooden logs stacked in a palisade shape, surrounded by makeshift watchtowers and grimy tents.
Sheltering behind a strategic undulation in the terrain a little further ahead, the team finally stopped to lay out the plan. Before any of us could open our mouths, Vane was already writhing with anxiety, pointing trembling fingers at the imposing wooden palisade in the distance.
— Look at the size of that! There are at least fifty armed thugs in there, watchtowers on both corners, and a single entrance blocked by wagons! — whispered the talkative scout, eyes wide as he looked at the group. — If we try to march straight across this open plain, they'll laugh in our faces before sinking a hundred arrows into each of us! What's going to be the genius move today, huh? Have Doran draw a line in the dirt or wait for the boss to punch the wood until the fort collapses on its own? —
— Good idea, but come with me. You need to see it in detail. — proclaimed Alistair.
— Wait, hold on! But that's crazy! — shouted the archer.
— It's not, and regardless, you will follow this and this is how it'll be. Or can you defeat me by any chance? —
As we prepared to march to the fort, Elara asked me — is your master always like this? —
— Yes. But he is exceptionally nice today. He's usually much worse. —
— Goodness... My condolences for having a master like that. —
I sketched a short, awkward laugh, which was interrupted as soon as my master looked at me. To me, it was simply funny, after so much time, to have someone else state the obvious. Who would have thought that one day I would have people to share my suffering with. They are my whip brothers.
The march across the open plain was, for the five guild veterans, the most terrifying walk they had ever taken in their lives. Without a single tree or rock big enough to serve as cover, we advanced in a straight line under the unforgiving sun, with the dry wind buzzing in our ears and the short grass crackling under our boots. On the front line, Alistair led the charge with relaxed hands and a posture as unshakable as if he were taking a morning stroll through our castle's gardens, while the Rank C group marched tensely right behind, sweating cold under their armor, with shields raised to eye level and the mage muttering hurried prayers.
It didn't even take ten minutes for the inevitable silhouette of our group to stand out in the flat immensity; the harsh voices in the wooden watchtowers erupted in warning shouts, and the sharp, grating sound of a horn tore through the air, stirring up a veritable anthill of armed bandits inside while the palisade gates began to open.
— Is that all you have, what level of intelligence does your captain or boss have?! Is he an ogre by any chance? — asked my master. — My disciple is better than you! —
That directly infringed on the bandits' ego. Their leader, a slightly larger man, equipped with plate armor that made him look like a knight, exclaimed — How does a senile old man want to lecture us?! You probably can't even stand up without your little cane, right. Who is doing this favor? —
After that, he directed his speech to the other bandits — Sentinels, focus on the adventurers. That one there must just be a nanny or someone to verify if the adventurers managed to finish, leave him in one piece, and last, so we can blackmail the guild to earn a lot of gold. Attack!!! —
Alistair, with a terrifying calm to hide how annoyed he was, proclaimed — You really have no measure in your words, do you? Besides offending me, you underestimate me. I guarantee your death will be especially painful. — A few pops came from his hands as he prepared for combat.
In an instant, Alistair was already right in the middle of the group, looking like an afterimage, making everyone there despair and try to attack him only to miss right after.
My master dodged the first strike from one of the bandits and kicked him in the head, sending him flying for dozens of meters before falling unconscious. "Moderating" his strength, he took the opportunity to punch another bandit in the stomach, making him vomit everything in his stomach, and delivered another kick to his stomach, sending him flying away. After that, he tripped the bandit next to him. As soon as the bandit fell, he delivered an axe kick, incapacitating him with pain.
He was defeating them one by one, using them against themselves. By that time, only two brutes were left protecting the leader and a mage.
— That was barely a warm-up — Said Alistair. — Now... Who will be next? — dusting off his suit.
The two brutes and the mage fled into the fort, leaving only their leader with Alistair.
Even seeing that he defeated fifteen of his henchmen without even sweating, he still thought he had a chance against him — A-A-A, you might have killed my henchmen, but you will never be able to kill me! —
The archers, desperate, shot 4 arrows directly in our direction.
— Stay behind me — said Bram, raising his shield to protect against the arrows.
Of those four arrows, 3 hit the shield. Only one of them managed to pierce it, but it got stuck halfway without hitting anyone. However, to my misfortune, one of the arrows headed my way and made a cut on my arm. Since I was distracted watching Alistair's fight, I didn't pay attention to the arrow. What saved me, however, was Elara, who had reflexes fast enough to parry the arrow from hitting my chest.
— Ouch! — I shouted — Now you're going to get it! —
I drew my new circle I had created, the Fireball circle, made precisely to explode wooden structures. I aimed specifically at the archer who shot the arrow at me.
— Die. —
A giant fireball emerged from my circle, heading directly for the tower. When it hit, everything was incinerated, including the archers, leaving only the stump of the building.
— Now to prevent anyone else from shooting at me, I'm going to destroy the other tower! — I made another fireball, of the same magnitude, and sent it to the other tower. Again, only the stump of the building remained, and the archers there were completely obliterated.
After a few seconds, I heard Alistair say — He managed to prove how pathetic you are. He beat you with magic tricks. In the old days, bandits were better. This last one was more like a goblin than an ogre. —
Elara turned to me, panting. — Are you okay, Lycon? —
— Yes, I am... But the cut hurts. —
— Let me get this straight... They shot at you, I managed by a miracle to parry the arrow, but it cut you, and because of that you decided to become the god of destruction? —
— Well... I guess so, I fear that if I don't exert myself, I'll be punished — I said, embarrassed and scratching my head.
— Well then, the building was meant to be destroyed anyway... But not their morale! Look at them! —
I slowly turned around to see the situation after I vaporized the two towers.
Bram slowly lowered his iron-rimmed shield, stunned, while the arrow stuck in his shield swayed pathetically. He looked at his own defense, then at Elara, who had parried a much faster projectile in mid-air, and swallowed hard. Suddenly, it became very clear to him that this woman was not a simple "nanny" bought with gold. Next to her absurd reflexes, his heavy plate armor seemed made of papier-mâché.
— "Steel solves everything"... — murmured Vane with wide eyes, repeating the phrase the warrior had said hours ago in the guild. — You said steel solved everything, Bram! The brat melted the wood, the steel, the arrows, and everything! What did we come to do on this mission?! Serve as an audience for the end of the world?! —
Sira loosened the bowstring and let it fall onto the dry earth. Her hands trembled slightly. She looked at the flaming stump where the enemy shooters had been vaporized and, slowly, took the sweet root out of her mouth. — I told us not to provoke the child... I said so. His escort swats away arrows like it's a game, his master breaks bones like they're twigs, and the brat erases people's existence when he gets a scratch. I should have agreed to marry that stinky farmer when I had the chance. —
But no one was in a state of existential collapse as profound as Doran. The plebeian mage had fallen to his knees on the dry earth. The precious Basic Compendium of Flows slipped from his arms and fell face-first into the dust, but he didn't even try to rescue it. His eyes were static, glazed on the smoking craters in the distance. — No prayers... No sacred chants of acoustic stabilization... — Doran babbled, hugging himself while rocking back and forth, completely catatonic. — Two explosions of that magnitude in the same instant and he didn't say a single word! There was no channeling time! There was no ritual! The raw mana should have burned the boy from the inside out! The book... The book lied to me my whole life... —
Tormod just turned his back to the fort, covered his good ear and his burned ear, and curled up behind a rock. He refused to look at the destruction or the flames in the distance. — Just let me know when the kid decides he's blown up enough things for today... — whined the man, trying to make himself as small as possible.
— Since you're done acting up, now it's my turn. — interrupted Alistair. Immediately after, he looked at the Leader, already traumatized, and said — Are you ready for battle? Attack me whenever you want, come on, goblin. — He waved his hand in a tone of disdain.
He tried to launch a desperate attack on my master, trying to pierce him at any cost. However, my mentor dodged the attack...
— Monotonous and predictable attack, just brute force, did you really have any kind of training? — said Alistair.
— Even I would dodge that — I thought as he kicked the renegade's leg, making him fall and drop his sword. In the same instant, Alistair grabbed his sword and drove it into the leader's legs and then his back, making him scream in pain, and incapacitating him.
That was when my master gave a very sadistic smile, and threw the henchman against the walls of the fort, ran up to him, and launched him by the leg into the air more than twenty meters high. After that, he grabbed one of the stakes from the fort and jumped toward the renegade leader. When he got there, he performed a spinning strike with the stake, knocking the henchman to the ground, and threw the stake at him, impaling him.
The dull thud of the leader's body being impaled by the wooden stake echoed across the plain. Vaporized towers with archers, bodies everywhere, some missing heads or with holes in different parts of their bodies, even one completely driven into the earth showing only blood and part of his body; the sight was more for a battlefield than a bandit hunt. For the five adventurers, the sight of that grotesque massacre excised any morale left in them. The shock was so great that they simply started to become delirious.
Bram looked at the pierced iron shield on the ground, then at the smoking crater, and finally at the impaled corpse. His jaw trembled so much his teeth chattered. He simply dropped his sword into the dust and began marching stiffly towards the fort, whimpering in a high-pitched voice that completely clashed with his heavy armor: — Screw the steel... how can monsters like this exist — he babbled, staring blankly ahead. — I'm going to open a forge. Blacksmiths don't see mages... No one impales a blacksmith. Blacksmiths have a long and peaceful life... —
Vane didn't even walk; he bolted. Being physically incapable of shutting his mouth even on the verge of a nervous breakdown, the scout bawled as he ran toward the gates, tripping over his own legs and gesturing wildly: — I'll tie up the bandits! I'll tie them up, I'll clean the fort, I'll do everything for you! — he screamed, his voice shrill with terror as he looked back. — Just, please, don't point that kid at me, and don't let the old man come near! —
Sira let her bow slip from her fingers. The sound of the wood hitting the dirt didn't make her blink. She covered her face with her hands, letting out a sound that was a mix of hysterical laughter and shortness of breath. — Lucky for those bastards inside that we're the ones going to arrest them... — she murmured, dragging her feet behind Bram, completely given over to the madness of the situation. — I should have married that farmer. The smell of manure is a thousand times safer than the smell of a vaporized tower and a bandit on a skewer. I didn't think the gates of hell were so close!! —
Tormod was the only one who tried to move in some way, sucking in his colossal gut and pinning his arms to his sides. He walked sideways, tracing a long arc through the field to distance himself dozens of meters from the center of the commotion, his eyes bugging out. — Excuse me... forgive the air I am breathing... — whispered the giant, taking tiny steps on the tips of his boots. — I am harmless. I promise I won't catch fire... Just please, pretend I am a tree and do not come near me. —
Doran, however, seemed to have finally snapped. He stumbled to his feet, grabbed his copy of the Basic Compendium by the edge of the cover with pure disgust, and started marching toward the renegades' base with a completely manic look. — Years... Years of my life reading these lies... — he growled, frothing with rage as he brandished the thick hardcover book like a club. — I'm going to find their mage inside. And I swear by the gods I'm going to beat that bastard with Harmonic Stability until he chokes on his Dispersion Valves! —
