Blade was his brother? Soral froze, forced to think of a past he would rather forget. He wasn’t even sure who his biological parents were, but the fact that Blade was here meant that place hadn’t changed one bit. Griff. The name surfaced against his will, and Soral grimaced. Why would the Blacksmith, a man who clearly believed in magical supremacy, deal with a place that despised magic altogether? Unless he just stole children from the streets.

  "Reisu, whatever you have planned, do it," Soral growled.

  No matter how much he tried to pretend, just the thought of that horrible place sent his emotions into a frenzy, and he no longer cared whether the Blacksmith lived or died. Anyone even slightly associated with Griff deserved that fate worse than death that Reisu had mentioned.

  "Reisu? So you gave it a name," the Blacksmith mused, unbothered by the approaching phantom, "Go ahead, young phantom. Drain me of all my magic. I have ways to replenish it later."

  Was that really something he should say? Soral glanced at Reisu again with the distinct feeling that its plan was different from what the Blacksmith had anticipated. Whatever the plan was, Soral decided it was best to play along.

  "That won't happen if we destroy this place and remove all of your sources," Soral warned, his voice still carrying a harsher tone.

  “Quite the bold plan. As expected of someone playing the role of hero,” the Blacksmith laughed, as unconcerned as ever. So unconcerned that he didn’t spare a glance for Reisu who had closed the distance between them, “But a hero such as yourself could never bring yourself to snuff out the life of my captives. Yes, that’s right. I have plenty of magic donors stashed away for emergency situations.”

  Reisu suddenly expanded, like his cloaked form opened up to reveal a perfect void of nothingness inside. The Blacksmith noticed a moment too late before he dragged in and the cloak of dark mist and shadows closed around him. In the legends phantoms were known to consume magic and energy, but never material things, and definitely not an entire person. That must be exactly why the Blacksmith had let down his guard.

  “Aren’t you a phantom?” Soral asked a bit warily.

  “I am, but I am also the living manifestation of my host’s magic,” Reisu answered, “Because I have a tether and constant nourishment, I can do things no normal phantom could fathom. He is now trapped in a dimensional prison of my own creation.”

  “Blade can make dimensional prisons?” Soral questioned, “I thought he was meant to be a weapon.”

  “No, he cannot,” Reisu corrected, “However, I can learn magic by consuming the magic of others, and power the new magic I learned with the endless spring of magic my host provides.”

  Endless spring of magic? Soral recalled being referred to as that himself. Was it something that ran in the family? Should he tell Blade they were related? No. It was better to wait things out and see how it went. Besides, Soral would rather not have to explain how they could be family and why he would have no idea until now.

  “Just be careful not to consume too much or your endless spring will dry up,” Soral warned.

  “Don’t worry. I know my limits, and his,” Reisu promised, “If you really care about his safety, you won’t try to harm me either. The Blacksmith removed his magic capacity, so he will continue to generate magic until it becomes too much and destroys him. He and I need each other to survive. I need his magic, and he needs me to consume the excess.”

  Soral grimaced at the thought of being destroyed by his own magic. “Alright, I get it,” he told the phantom, “but you can’t appear in public. Do you have a place to hide or at least a way to not be seen?”

  “I am Blade’s magic, so there is always a place for me within him,” Reisu replied, “I have no interest in drawing the eyes of the foolish outside world either. This will be our little secret.”

  “What should I tell Blade, then?” Soral demanded, “That you drained the Blacksmith’s magic like an ordinary phantom and he went into hiding?”

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  “That will do,” Reisu agreed, “Good luck.”

  Without waiting for Soral’s reply or giving any guidance as to where Blade was, the phantom vanished. Luckily, the prisoners were fairly easy to find. Soral set to work on freeing all of them, taking each to wherever they desired to go through teleportation. The deeper he went, the more valuable the prisoner. At least, that was what Soral figured based on what the Blacksmith seemed to find valuable.

  After nearly emptying the entire compound, Soral was left with two cells left. If you could call them cells. They had proper doors, and behind the doors were luxurious rooms. The only reason they were prisons was because they were locked from the outside. Both were bound to be problematic and more time consuming than the others he had freed and safely taken home.

  Soral opened the first door and came face to face with a regal presence far beyond anyone he had ever met before. His clothing was high quality, even if it wasn’t the fanciest, and he wore a crown on his salt and pepper hair. An old man? And a royal at that. That explained why the Blacksmith had been able to get away with working so openly. Maybe he had better save him for last.

  “Leaving without even greeting me?” the man demanded as Soral turned to leave, “Even my conniving captor had the decency to do that much.”

  “I have no idea who you are,” Soral replied honestly, “All I am doing is cleaning up a mess. I will rescue you in a bit.”

  This caused the man to scowl. “In a bit? Just who is it that you would prioritise rescuing over the king of this land?”

  Soral couldn’t really tell him he had already rescued everyone else, so he decided to answer with a fragment of the truth again. “My brother.”

  This caused the king to sigh. “Very well, but don’t keep me waiting too long. My kingdom has been in the clutches of that lunatic for quite some time and I fear what he has done to it.”

  Fixing the kingdom was definitely a high priority, but since Soral could take him back in an instant, it wasn’t like it couldn’t wait an hour or two. “Here. Enjoy this feast while you wait. I shall return before you finish,” Soral announced, withdrawing whatever food he currently had stashed in his pocket. He always had food stashed away in the secret space he linked it with.

  The king watched in wonder as Soral filled his table with delicacy after delicacy. Cupcakes, of course, were the main part of his stash but he also had plenty of delicious snacks and even fully prepared meals. Soups, meats, casseroles, sandwiches, and even pies each steaming with heat as if they had just come out of the oven.

  He had no time to wait for the king to reply, so Soral slipped out the door, relocking it behind him. He felt a bit bad, but he couldn’t have royalty wandering into one of the many traps these hallways carried and getting himself injured or killed. Heroes definitely didn’t let royalty die. Unless they were corrupt tyrants. They killed those themselves. At least, that was what was described in the stories.

  The king safely secured, Soral returned to the other door and threw it open, only to have to instantly have to dodge an attack from its occupant.

  “I missed?” Blade asked, frowning, “You aren’t the Blacksmith. You are the one from earlier.”

  “Hi, Blade,” Soral greeted, “I came here to take you away from this place.”

  Blade drew back, instantly wary. “Has he sold me now? I may enjoy fighting, but I am no obedient tool.”

  “Nope. No selling. Actually, that phantom of yours just drained him of magic and I’m trashing the place,” Soral told him, “I promised Reisu that I would take you somewhere safe.”

  “Somewhere safe?” Blade grimaced, “I don’t like the sounds of that. I want to go somewhere I can fight freely.”

  “I think I can do both,” Soral replied with a smirk, “I happen to know a retired assassin who works for some mercenaries called the Alodan Warriors. I bet there could be endless fun and fighting if you stay with him.”

  Blade’s eyes gleamed. “Really? Oh, but that means I won’t get to fight with you.”

  “That can always happen later,” Soral assured, and reached out his hand.

  For a moment, Blade seemed tempted, but then he took a step back. “I… can’t. I am exactly what that man created me to be. A living weapon. A battle loving monster. If I leave this prison I am bound to hurt those around me.”

  It was an oddly sincere sentiment considering how he had been when they first met. Soral wasn’t sure if it was because of their similar past or the fact he now knew they were brothers, but he couldn’t bear to see that defeated look on his face.

  “Blade,” he called out, “You are right. You are a living weapon. However, there are perks to being a weapon that is alive. You can think and move for yourself. It is you who decides where your weapon is pointing. If you don’t want to hurt the innocent, then all you have to do is point it at the evil.”

  These words seemed to shock the boy. “Alright. I will go with you.”

  Perfect! That was one problem dealt with. Now all he needed was to convince Storm and leave Blade with him so he could fulfill his promise and come back for the king before he finished his impromptu supper. Easier said than done, but Storm supposedly had to listen to him. That should help.