Heading directly south, they no longer had stops to make until they reached the Sun’s River, all the cities in the north having been visited, most before he had joined.

  As the days got longer, Aren felt grateful for all the training he had done, no longer feeling as bothered by the increasingly oppressive sun. Better than that, when he tried his enhancing magic as a test, his final physical strength increased by an average of three percent, an outstanding increase despite using the same spell formulas.

  The excitement of the result led him to ask Marie if he could make a proper training ground at each of their stops. With her approval, he recreated the training ground he had seen in Balthen using earth shaping. Then he proceeded to throw out his shoulder, trying to push himself further than he should. Still, he had saved the structure in his memory for faster setup at each stop.

  Otherwise, the days proved peaceful, the camp begrudgingly leaving him alone, largely because he was often seen with Crina and Marie. After he pulled Crina from the tent that day, Marie agreed the camp was safe, at least within its bounds. Still, outside of Mar’tei and occasionally Bar’tik, few would converse normally with the young woman. Most glorified her as a religious figure, unable to treat her like a person.

  He continued helping the younger northern mage with her magic. Now that she had gained mnemonic sorcery, reaching the next step of her mental vault didn’t take much time. The event was much less spectacular, but nonetheless it improved her technique by leaps and bounds. Right now, Mar’tei was focusing her efforts on filling the new space she had gained with formations that would allow her to progress her magic further.

  His own research… stagnated. After multiple days of trying to understand what had happened, he settled on a runic formation that would prevent his spell from causing another backlash. Then, anticipating another vision of the black-clad man, he started his spell, only for nothing to show on his viewing plane. It was as if the whole memory was gone; not only that, the entire time period he was looking for had vanished.

  The result stupefied him. He didn’t know if it was his own spell that was at fault or something else. It was almost as if the world had decided to forget or possibly block him from accessing that vision, but he could not assume either, as he lacked proof and only further research could provide it.

  So for now, he decided to perfect his time and geographical reference formations. They would prove useful in time and he decided to be satisfied with that. It was not as if that was the only event he was interested in. There were other events of magical significance he could study.

  Today, he was helping Rati with her sword prana. While he was not an expert, he had researched the topic at length. In any case, it was often a frame of mind that produced results when using that particular type of energy. He could certainly offer an ear to bounce ideas against.

  “I’m not saying it won’t work,” Aren said, scratching his cheek. “It all depends on whether you can believe that your blade is longer than it is.”

  “That’s…” Rati said, watching her blade glisten in the sun, its silver sheen reflecting off the long, curved edge.

  “Until now you have been focusing on making your blade impossibly sharp and durable,” Aren said. “That worked well because those properties are easily understandable. In a way your elite education is working against you. Learning what is physically possible can often prevent prana users from doing what someone less learned could achieve.”

  “I know that,” Rati huffed.

  “Then we need to frame what you want to achieve in a way that your mind can believe in,” Aren said. “Can you harden your energy? Sometimes prana users cannot manifest their energy the same way as chi practitioners.”

  “I can, although it is weaker than my blade, it serves as occasional defense or surprise attack. I can make it sharp, but not as much as my blade,” Rati answered, still contemplating her sword.

  “Maybe then, you could lengthen your sword with it, fill it with your sword intent, and give it the same properties as your sword,” Aren proposed. “Energy is not fully physical and it already carries the strength of your sword. If you use that as a base, you may see some positive effect.”

  Rati stared at him and, after a moment, nodded. “I will try.”

  The protector took a stance and closed her eyes. Instead of covering it with energy, it became shinier, and with his senses, he felt that the energy not only enhanced the metal but also filled the minuscule gaps in its structure. Then the blade expanded, first by a few fingers’ width, but soon it doubled in length. Aren could feel that it was pure energy, but to his senses, it looked the same as a normal sword.

  “It feels a little heavier, but not as much as it should,” Rati said.

  “Well that may be for the best, if you made it ten meters long that could be a few dozen times heavier, while you may be strong enough to wield that, it would slow you down, not mentioning lever physics would make it very difficult to stop.”

  Rati nodded, then turned around to find a target. Aren looked around, found a stone pillar he had made for the training ground, and pointed to it. She stepped towards it and stopped well outside her normal reach.

  Her right foot planted deep for stability, she raised her left, and her body movement flowed like water. Her hips twisted like a ripple, following her shoulders, elbow, and hand. Her red hair formed a wave as her energy blade passed through the stone pillar without the slightest suggestion that it had struck anything, stopping a hair’s width beyond the other side.

  Then she shortened her sword a little and poked the pillar. Where there had been no seam, the stone suddenly separated, and the top part tilted, crashing with a loud sound to the ground. She smiled at the result and appreciated her blade as she tried different lengths.

  A sudden clapping sound interrupted her appreciation. Crina congratulated the protector, “Amazing!”

  “Luminous One, I didn’t realize you were observing,” Rati said, and quickly fell to one knee.

  “Well, I wanted to observe everyone’s efforts,” Crina answered sheepishly. “You don’t need to kneel every time you see me. That gets in the way of what everyone is doing.”

  “While I endorse showing respect to the Luminous One, there is nothing wrong with limiting it to a bow,” Marie informed the woman.

  Rati nodded respectfully and rose, “Do you require something of me, Holy Exemplar?”

  Aren did not listen further. Something had brushed against the very edge of his wards, and the second his attention shifted to the sensation, it disappeared. Normally he would not be concerned, but it felt like the presence had fled instead of simply leaving his area of detection.

  “I sensed something, will be right back,” Aren said, and with a wave of his wand, he teleported.

  At the spot, nearly everything looked normal, but by heightening his senses with magic, he noticed a slight impression in the sand. Delicate enough that, if not for its uniformity, he would have ignored it.

  Still sensing the vast swathes of land around him, he discovered nothing. Only sand and a small monster nest that he ignored, as they could barely be considered a threat to any settlement.

  Being thorough, he decided to cast a few more spells, and his magic highlighted a singular needle-sized spot in his mind’s vision. Walking over, he took out a small pair of metal tweezers from his storage. Picking up the object, he saw it was a single strand of hair, black and, despite clearly being depleted, once housed a spectacular amount of life energy within its structure.

  Nodding to himself, he stood and took one more quick look around. Confirming once again that whatever had been here had retreated faster than he had managed to arrive. He teleported back.

  In the time it took him to investigate, the camp was placed on high alert. Two warriors next to him nearly jumped for their weapons upon his return. He raised his hands in a placating gesture, and in the meantime, Marie strode up to him, covered head to toe in golden glow, clearly demanding an explanation.

  “Found this,” Aren said, raising the single black hair.

  “Hair?” Marie asked, her eyes glowing golden as they widened.

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  “Fur,” Aren deduced. “Most likely from our beastkin friend.”

  “Or their ally,” Marie sighed.

  “Possibly, but if they had more seventh-stage warriors, they wouldn’t need to be so careful,” Aren said.

  “Are you sure of that? I admit the remnant echo of life is powerful, but it’s difficult to tell the stage accurately just from that,” Marie reasoned.

  Aren nodded. “They sensed my attention the second I detected them. That is only possible at seventh stage. If they could have sensed my wards, they would have never entered them.”

  “And there is no one else nearby?” Marie continued.

  “Yes,” Aren nodded. “Although I admit it’s strange. They clearly have some methods to use their pseudo-magic. Why they didn’t even attempt to map out my wards, I don’t understand. They may have succeeded without me detecting them.”

  “We lack information to ascertain that. It could be they sent the beastkin to watch from afar and never expected your wards to have such a wide range,” Marie concluded.

  “That’s possible,” Aren admitted.

  “I will tell the warriors to return to normal operations,” Marie said. “Crina is in her tent, stay with her for now.”

  The archmage agreed and stepped toward the center tent. Crina greeted him with a smile, and he told her what he had discovered. In the end, it only confirmed that they would have to stay alert, ready for the assassins’ next move.

  Aren had modified his wards. On top of all his previous detection methods, he added a new spell, an altered detection spell that focused its range in a single direction, forming a thin, pie-slice-shaped arc that spun rapidly around him. It expanded his effective area tenfold, though it put a heavy strain on his mind.

  He couldn’t keep it active constantly and would have to drop it in combat. Still, now that they stood at the edge of the canyon dividing the continent’s north and south, he made sure the spell remained up at all times.

  He didn’t like that they had to cross at this particular spot. True, it was the closest bridge and the most efficient route if they lacked magic or divine powers. The canyon was vast, so wide that its far edge blurred into the horizon, but they could make it.

  Of course, if the assassins struck while they were midway, they’d be at a disadvantage. Yet the same risk applied if the attackers tried to destroy the bridge with them on it. With both options equally perilous, Aren came to expect they would choose the path that relied least on magic and adhered more to tradition.

  Looking over the edge of the bridge, he understood why they called the canyon Sun’s River despite there being no water. The sheer amount of golden energy emanating from the ground was staggering to his senses, and he had to filter it out while still ensuring nothing attacked from below. Even if anything mundane that came into contact with the energy would be evaporated, it didn’t mean there were no methods to survive down there, as the pings of more than a few long creatures burrowing beneath proved.

  The bridge itself was a curious construction, built from white metal supports, an alloy known to easily endure high temperatures, and large stone tiles laid across, with carved fences for security. He saw more than a few of the warriors and the four adventurers admiring the sight.

  Crina also took the chance to look out of the tent, and he sat next to her on the front seat of the sledge, which released a scratching sound as it crossed the rough stone tiles. Marie was also on the lookout, ready in her golden visage for any surprise attacks.

  The next minutes stretched impossibly long as they urged their skalith to cross as fast as possible. The initial amazement turned to a tense lookout, even for the most religious of warriors.

  Then, at the halfway mark, energy surged from beneath next to the bridge. Half of the warriors reached for their weapons as a pillar of light erupted beside them. A few engulfed themselves in their life aura, ready for attack from any side. Crina instinctively gripped Aren’s clothes, while he continued to scan the surroundings carefully.

  “That’s a natural light geyser,” Marie said loudly enough for everyone.

  “That was pretty interesting, actually,” Aren said. “Even after millennia, it’s still unstable.”

  “It is the spot where the Sun defeated the Darkness. A beam of light graced the land from the sky, so powerful it marked this continent for eternity,” Marie said.

  “I heard that from the many prayers you say,” Aren said with a grimace. The fact that he was unable to use his spell to research the past in this area put him in a bad mood. He was quite sure it was due to his own mistake in some way. He just didn’t know what the mistake was.

  The passage continued after the surprise light show, everyone maintaining a high alert. Their desire to cross to the other side increased, but they kept their pace steady until the last moment. Even when everyone’s mounts’ scaly feet touched the shifting sands, no one relaxed.

  Slowing down to march speed as planned, they continued their passage for another two hours until Marie ordered a stop for the day. Aren decided to keep his hands busy while his mind focused on the new scanning magic. Cutting vegetables with a sharp knife as they fell into a deep pot, he did promise to not use more magic than strictly necessary.

  “That was anticlimactic,” Marie said as she sat next to him, perusing a book he had given her, practicing the formations she had newly memorized, summoning and dismissing them over and over again.

  “Well, at least no one got hurt,” Crina said with a smile. “I will welcome heart-popping tension over someone dying.”

  “If your heart pops…” Aren started an ill-timed joke but did not finish.

  The knife fell into the pot as Aren felt two presences brush the edge of his wards. His eyes widened, his wand moved on its own, and he vanished.

  A young boy stumbled across the sand as his older sister tugged him along, urging them to run as fast as they could. Both were gasping for breath, yet neither stopped. Their feet stung and ached, but the taller sibling pressed on, trying to push the boy to move faster.

  The younger sibling was crying, his face streaked with blood that wasn’t his own and with tears. Then, from behind, a sudden eruption of sand threw them both off their feet. The older sister scrambled to her feet and reached for her brother, but his legs refused to cooperate, feeling like two painful noodles of flesh.

  From the hole in the sand, a giant scarlet four-legged lizard lumbered out. Twenty golden eyes watched the small humans with the curiosity of a cat playing with mice. Its wide-open mouth showed rows upon rows of sharp teeth, a display of a predator asserting its superiority.

  Seeing that its prey was out of energy, it contentedly inhaled a lungful of air, expanding its chest to a boulder-sized balloon. The sister watched in horror and stumbled as she tried to get in front of her brother, falling on top of him. Both cried out in pain, and the girl tried to get up but stopped as her arm refused to work. It was pointless…

  The beast’s eyes shone with a glint, and power built in its throat. Its cry was ready to cook both of the little creatures alive, after which it would sleep. Then, just before it opened its mouth, it vanished. There was no sound, no explosion, no effect. One second the creature was there, the next, it felt immense pressure as it was squeezed into a small cube in ever-stretching darkness.

  Aren softly landed on the sand, appearing just slightly above it. He looked at the two ragged children, and his throat tightened as he expanded his senses in the direction they had come from. He stepped toward them, the sister placing herself defensively in front of her brother. She couldn’t be more than fifteen.

  “It’s okay,” Aren said. “You did a great job running into my detection range. I will transport you to people who can help.”

  He took a step toward them, but the older sister yelled, “Don’t come closer! We won’t sell our souls!”

  He saw the mistrust in their eyes, especially when they noticed the wand in his hand. With a resigned sigh, he formed a quick spell and teleported himself and the two teens directly in front of Marie.

  “Take care of them,” he said, and, not waiting for a response, teleported again. There was no one or nothing near the camp anyway.

  From the spot where he had found the children, he detected the village a short distance away. Short for him, yet grueling for the children, who must have run endlessly.

  With another hop, he was in the ruined village. A quick scan revealed no survivors, only four more of the beasts, capable of tearing apart a fourth-stage warrior. He did not end them quickly this time.

  Each of the beasts’ limbs was impaled on stone spikes, and a sudden cry of pain filled his ears like a twisted symphony. Then he did what they had done, with simple heat sorcery, he slowly raised the temperature in their bodies, bypassing their natural defenses with ease.

  One beast, spotting the offending mage, opened its mouth, but he burned through its throat and lungs in an instant. It collapsed in agony, and he smiled as it died first. The others writhed for a dozen more seconds, struggling to free themselves, but it was useless.

  After storing the four monster carcasses, he scanned the village with his magic. Every building had been destroyed, and the only thing of value he found was a coffer of commonly held coins in the ruins of the largest, oldest house.

  He ran a quick mental calculation, comparing the number of empty beds with the far-too-warm bodies he could identify. The numbers roughly matched, even accounting for beds that we made for more than one person and the small children.

  He was certain no one else had escaped. To be thorough, he cast another spell over the sand. The only footprints leading away from the village belonged to the siblings he had saved.

  Aren decided to return to the camp. He sensed that the two children were being tended by the priests in a nearby tent, the younger boy lay unconscious from exhaustion, while the older sister looked around, confused, worried, and uncertain.

  Marie looked at him with a stoic gaze that he couldn’t read. “What happened?”

  “Five boil-screamers,” Aren said. “One of them herded the twins for fun, it must have been young. I guess it accidentally led them to me.”

  Marie studied him for a moment, then nodded. “You could have given more warning.”

  “I reacted at the last moment,” Aren said. “They entered my extended wards just as it was done playing. I went to the village… only a few of the walls still stand. The only thing of value I found was a small box with some coins.”

  “I see,” she nodded. Despite her stoic face, her fists tightened.

  “Poor children,” Crina said.

  “What will happen to them?” Aren asked.

  “We can think about that later,” Marie said, looking at him but saying no more.

  “Aren, are you okay?” Crina asked, stepping closer and touching his arm.

  “Yes, barely winded,” Aren said, trying to smile reassuringly.

  Crina reached her hand up, touching his face, wiping away his tears.

  “What?” Aren said, noticing the wetness. He touched his own face to confirm it. He was surprised how wet his skin felt, he should have been used to it. It was not the first time he had seen a scene like this. By this point, all he usually felt was numb regret.

  A deep sense of sadness overtook him, a hearable shimmer in his mind that sang with regret and pain. He tried to contain it, but it slipped through his mental and mana exercises like a sieve. His legs gave out, and he sank to his knees, shaking uncontrollably. It was as bad as the first time he had encountered something like this, worse.

  Crina embraced him instantly. This was not how it was supposed to be. His mind was stronger than this. A warm hand fell on his head, and for the first time in over a decade, he cried, staining a younger woman’s robe with his silent tears.