The Wielder of Death Magic

Back in Arda, security increased. The monster problem perturbed peace on a daily basis. Nothing could be done about it. The kingdom was in full alert mode, guards were trained more rigorously. The mage’s academy had to work twice as hard, wands and staffs were handed out to people who didn’t have the ability to use magic. The newest addition to the weapon’s arsenal, wands that didn’t require the user to have mana. Autonomous – functioned just like a gun. The Ardanian’s take on a firearm, the best thing for their whole culture revolved around magic and myths.

The sight of Avon raised alert to some degree. Though that was quickly remedied, the spirit became quite popular. Prophecy and Avon, the two spirits from the queen and king. Songs, poems, and legends were told about their origin. Though baseless and made up fiction to entice many crowds, they were well crafted and entertaining.

“From afar rides the saviors on a chariot of gold given by the god. Their descent into our realm for the demon-king has wreaked havoc for too long. Wielder of sword and Wielder of magic, both rush to our king and queen’s side. Together united as one, by the power of love and compassion, the people are freed from the terror reigned; a testament to their loyalty.” A simplified example of the many tales being recounted.

Thanks to this, the usual uptight security was lifted. Shanna welcomed the spirit with open arms. She sought answers concerning her beloved husband. It came to a quick close when the fox-eared girl walked in. Her garments changed, the filth and dirt washed, to audience the queen in that previous state would have been an insult. Her face remained perplexed; the queen spoke no words. Her eyes teared, the fox knelt – both ladies cried. A long-awaited reunion that Avon didn’t witness. He headed back to Rosespire with haste.

“Master,” Achilles yelled once more, nothing changed. Despite the hours, Staxius remained crouched on the roof. “What is it?” he yelled; time was at a loop. “Avon’s here.” She fired back. It came as a surprise to see what the haunted house turned into. The eyes gleamed with happiness as he stumbled inside. Exhaustion had caught up, teleporting back and forth without rest – especially over a distance as vast as Arda and Rosespire, he gave way. At the sight of the bed, in a blink of an eye, the overzealous Avon slept.

“What a sight,” Staxius mumbled, the hyper Avon was out cold. “Here,” out of the blue, Undrar threw the books over the table. “and they are?” he didn’t look impressed. “Books about potions, scrolls and anything related to magical items. There is information about enchantments to one’s weapon, the stuff of that nature. I mean you wanted to open a shop about magical items, didn’t you?” she smiled. *Poof,* a hug, tight and comforting, long had it been. Staxius deeply cherished that dragon, the first ally to be made. “No need to be that excited,” she replied while patting his head. “Thank you Undrar, I deeply appreciate it,” a peaceful grin portraited itself. “No need to thank me, that’s what friends are here for. Forget that, not friend, but family,” she pulled out her tongue in jest.

.....

The tight embrace ended; Achilles felt left out. “Want a hug?” Staxius asked, “...” no reply. “If you want one, better earn it,” a flick to the forehead made her slightly angry. However, that weird humor slowly became familiar. “Seeing as we all are adults, I propose that we take a break and celebrate. Also, I just really want to have some alcohol.” The last night out had made the envy for booze even greater. “I don’t see why not,” Undrar didn’t object, “I do want to try some of this world’s alcohol.” Achilles was fired up. “What about Avon?” before the question was asked, Staxius recharged the spirit’s mana to capacity. “DID ANYONE SAY BOOZE,” Avon jumped, “Calm down,” a gentle chop to the head sufficed.

As planned, the party closed the shop and headed out. Only a few steps were needed, the bars and taverns rested behind said building, in the other street. From classy looking too plain old shacks, the streets crawled with drunkards. Hoodlums were more common sight than usual. A place was the royal guards refused to check; an area governed by the dark- guilds. Many who tried to disturb this little haven were returned in a coffin. The worse place to set-up a business, however, it didn’t bother Staxius.

A whole army could attack for all he cared; a single second was needed to slay them all. Bars, after bars, they hopped around. Drinks after drinks, everyone grew tipsy, and finally, when night broke in, they were fully drunk. Nothing much was said, the focus was solely on walking back to the hotel. Staxius decided to stay back and rest inside the shop. After a few steps, Avon grew tired and teleported the rest back to the hotel.

“P-please h-help u-us,” time now was midnight, the guild stood close before the messenger. He got a ride back thanks to some other returning adventurers. Sadly, none were present to welcome the tired man. Parched, and starved, the man fell steps away from the closed doors and slept.

Morning arrived faster than expected, Diane’s day began with said man. She provided food and drinks, he provided information, the quest given was accomplished.

“Gritt, basically a monster invincible to weapons?” she asked. “Yes,” he replied firmly, the eyes lit of a thousand flames. “You can rest easy, I’ll assign it to Tier five, is that alright?” she asked, the paperwork for filling out the request was nearly complete. “Whatever tier you assign, I don’t care, just make sure people are sent,” he placed a small piece of paper, “these are the reports from the other guilds there, a death count.” It reached in the dozen, “-I’m sure this is sufficient for actions to be taken seriously. I beg you, if people aren’t sent as soon as possible, my friends and family might die in the coming days,” the plea continued. “I’ve got it, calm down, the quest will be put up as a priority. Just take a breather.” She sighed, Melisa walked in, “you take over,” Diane rushed into the backroom.

[Kill Quest: Gritt] the task got written in bold red. It meant urgency, a code used in special cases when jobs that were of the utmost importance needed to be complete.

“Who do you think is going to take up the quest?” Melisa asked to which Diane replied with, “probably one of the top-tiers. There are good money and fame involved, not to mention this monster is possibly a boss-level one. Would not surprise me if Shark, heck, even Blade End’s main adventuring party were to set out,” the response fell on deaf ears, Melisa was lost in clouds. “Are you thinking about Kniq,” her daydream broke, “n-no.”

“Sign us up for the new quest,” many adventurers came forward, no restriction was given this time. From Porcelain up, everyone could participate. In the next few hours, parties from individual guilds, freelancers and others set off. The appearance of Gritt caused harm to the existence of Oxshield. Loud footsteps, vehicles, horses, one by one, they left.

“What’s all this commotion about,” half-asleep, Staxius walked over to check. The path taken by the warriors was right in front of the shop he bought. A weird coincidence but necessary. Using the main gate wasn’t optimal when sending any kind of troops of people out to fight. A detour that led outside. A change in luck, it meant that when people were to head out for quests, the ones who used the same path would notice Staxius’s shop. Potions and other stuff to buy, resupplying, perfect for what he planned.

The reason why people headed out at this hour was a bit out of the ordinary. From young teenagers to battle-hardened warriors, everyone came out. Familiar faces and not, everyone walked. No sign of the top guilds anywhere, just freelancers and new parties. It wasn’t until Avon came back to explain the situation. Achilles had a craving for the pastries the guild sold. Thus, this was the reason to how Kniq grew aware of the situation at the border. Avon asked about their game plan, Staxius only but replied with denial.

“If you want to go out and fight, be my guest. In a time like this, one must be smart,” Staxius explained to the rest of the party about his denial. They were teleported thanks to Avon.

“I’ll tell you a small story I heard once. Long ago, a river was reported to have a large deposit of gold. It became so common that people went from rags to riches overnight. Obviously, rumors spread like wildfire, a gold-rush ensued. However, a single man, devoid of the greed of getting gold had another idea. An idea that made him just as rich if not richer than the others. Rather than getting gold, he invested in iron and turned it into shovels and tools. What followed next was a work of genius, people rushed to buy his wares. Rather than following the flow, he thought it best to think another way – cunning at its finest.” Staxius ended, “-thus, rather than following these people to battle, I’d rather stay back and prepare supplies. Many of them will come back hurt and possibly mortally injured. You know full well that Claireville academy’s hospital won’t be able to handle that much pressure. Instead of scrolls, small affordable potions for the poor, just to not be unfair.” It convinced all.

“Still, if any of you want to go out and help others. I’d be happy to let you go.” Staxius wondered, “you know what, I’ve got a better idea.” A moment of inspiration. “Avon take both Achilles and Undrar to the border. Your teleportation skill will come in handy; I’ll stay back and prepare supplies. Using that, we could sell more stuff there rather than waiting for customers here.”

The plan was made, everyone set off to accomplish what needed to be done. Research began, Avon left. Hours after hours, Staxius studied, new sets of equipment were bought from a nearby shop. Making potions meant using alchemy. A field relatively new and foreign. This didn’t stop the quest for knowledge, experiment after experiment, he tried one after the other without fail.

“Do you think this plan is going to work?” In charge of driving, Avon spoke from within the car. “I think so, it was a good idea to think logically. People are rushing in for fame and glory, our objective is making money, we cannot let the others influence our actions.” Undrar replied. “I think that was the moral of the story he told us a few hours ago.” Achilles added. “Still, I want to face that monster, the one people call Gritt. Let’s see if the Gritt is bark or bite,” she ended, the car rushed forth into the unknown.

‘Alchemy, what an interesting subject,’ covered by liquid and burnt marks that regenerated. The apparatus told what was needed to be said. A firm grasp on the fundamentals was achieved in less than six hours, something that took more than two years for many students to accomplish. Never underestimate the level of intellect the man known as Staxius wielded. Anything occult was where he thrived, the mysteries of the unknown.