Chương 11: Chapter III Verse III — The Boiling Executions & Reunion of the Magic Casters

Caeso peered cautiously from the stable. He saw the boy—the leader—kill Lar with calm efficiency, ignoring his pleas for mercy. An explosion then erupted to Caeso's left, and his face went pale. Not another one… and he slipped back into the shadows.

"Did you hear that?" Decius whispered, his voice broken.

"Yeah," Caeso said, his own voice hollow.

"And I saw the leader kill Lar. It was a boy."

"How? Lar was the best of us!"

"I don't know. He used Lar's own halberd against him." Just then, a sharp, commanding voice cut through the air.

"Answer me!"

"Is that him?" Decius whispered, eyes wide. Caeso nodded. They heard more shouts—Gaius and Lucilla, pleading.

"We have to help them!" Decius said, grabbing his sword. Caeso's hand shot out, gripping his friend's shoulder.

"No. We need a plan. We'll end up like Lar if we just rush in."

"But they need us!"

"I know. But they're still alive. I don't think he means to harm them. Not yet." He locked eyes with his friend.

"We follow him from the shadows. We wait for the right moment, and we strike when he's vulnerable." Decius hesitated, then nodded, his shoulders slumping.

"Alright. Your way." They slipped out of the stable, moving from one shadow to the next. They saw the boy walk casually toward the center of the camp, leaving Marcus' still, unbloodied form on the ground. They crept behind a tent, the heat from the burning wall pressing against their backs. As they rounded the corner, they froze. The corpses of their friends, Oppius and Opiter, lay in the firelight.

The first one was recognizable only by the distinctive red plume on his helmet while the other still clutched his sword in a death grip. Decius clamped a hand over his mouth, bile rising in his throat. Caeso's jaw tightened as he averted his gaze, quickly moving towards the back of the tent before turning towards Decius.

"Hey, come here." Decius followed. After they lifted the tarp and entered it, they knelt on either side of the entrance, eyes locked on the assassin's leader.

"Listen," Caeso whispered, his eyes blazing with a new, cold fury.

"We move in silence. We strike from behind. I will go first, and you follow. No hesitation." Decius swallowed hard and nodded, gripping his sword. They peeked from the edge of the tent. And there he was. The boy. Standing in the open, casually eating pork soup directly from the pot. Caeso's expression hardened.

"Ready?"

"Yeah," Decius breathed, his fear now mixed with a grim resolve.

"Let's end this." They emerged from the tent, blades poised, advancing on silent feet. They were ten paces away. Five. He hadn't noticed.

"Eh?" The boy paused, glancing over his shoulder.

"You want some pork soup too?" He swallowed.

"Here! Have some!" Before they could react, he plunged his hand into the pot, shaped the boiling soup into a shimmering ball, and hurled it. It struck Decius squarely, the boiling liquid splashing across his youthful face. He shrieked as the scalding liquid hit him, collapsing and clawing at his skin in panic. Caeso's blood ran cold. His knuckles were white on his sword's hilt.

"Well?" the boy asked, holding the ladle loosely.

"Aren't you going to avenge him?" He sipped from the ladle. A guttural war cry ripped from Caeso's throat. He lunged. Galan didn't even move from the pot. He simply lifted the ladle and deflected the sword just enough to break its line. Thrown off balance, Caeso staggered past him. In that instant, Galan stepped in, hoisted the tall guard off the ground, and plunged his gray-haired head directly into the pot of boiling soup. Caeso flailed as the boiling liquid overwhelmed him.

He pushed himself out, writhing on the ground. Galan watched for a while, his face a mix of pity and amusement, before picking up Caeso's fallen sword and ending the fight. Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

"Six." He turned to Decius, who was stumbling blindly, his face a ruined mess.

"No! Please! Have mercy!" Galan's mindcast delved into the man's memories, uncovering a history of deceiving innocents into slavery.

"You didn't show any mercy to those you bought and sold," he said, his voice cold.

"I'll never do it again! I swear!" Galan smiled, a dismissive tilt of his head.

"Nah." He ended him with a single strike.

"Seven."

"How could you do something like this?!" Lucilla cried out from across the camp, witnessing it all.

"They traded people—you already know that." Galan said casually, dropping the sword.

"They already decided their fate." He walked back to the pot and closed it. Just then, another blast rang through the camp. Gaius grabbed Lucilla's hand.

"Come on! We have to see them!"

"See who?"

"Our teachers! Let's go!" His heart pounded as he pulled Lucilla along, the fear of what might have happened to Noctavia and Marybelle gnawing at his sanity. Yet, he forced himself to keep moving, focusing instead on the ground beneath his feet. Each step became a steady rhythm, anchoring his turbulent mind. ───────────── ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ───────────── A while ago, at the tent of the two sorceresses, Marybelle watched in horror as Flavia's spell reduced a guard to a charred skeleton.

A few feet away, another guard screamed, dragging himself into a tent. A towering, wolf-like creature followed him inside. Her knees trembled, and she gripped her staff, fighting the urge to collapse. Flavia spoke beside her, her voice a steady, encouraging whisper.

"It's okay. There's still time. Just focus. Don't hesitate." Clinging to the elf's words, Marybelle closed her eyes. She pictured the terrifying wolf-man consumed by flames, and a small, hesitant spark flickered to life in the incantation circle ahead of her.

"Keep channeling," Flavia urged. After a while, Tiberius emerged from the tent, his gruesome work finished.

"Now, release!" Flavia shouted, simultaneously sending a mental warning.

"Look out, Tiberius!" Marybelle unleashed the spell. The fireball blasted from her staff, the recoil sending her sprawling. He turned and raised his axe just in time, catching the spell in a scorching billow of flame. His fur sizzled, and he roared in rage.

"Flavia! What was the meaning of that?!"

"Well," Flavia shrugged, pointing an index finger at the dazed Marybelle.

"It was her spell."

"What…?" Marybelle replied. Enraged, Tiberius charged toward the fallen sorceress, his axe raised high.

"No! Don't!" Gaius screamed, sprinting from across the camp. Marybelle shielded her face with her staff, a terrified cry escaping her lips. The axe swung down, hitting the dirt beside her with a soft thud.

"Missed…?" she whispered, opening her eyes.

"What the..." Tiberius stared at his axe, stunned.

"Hey! Stop fighting!" Galan's voice cut through the chaos, sharp and commanding. With a subtle flick of his mindcast, he had deceived Tiberius' senses, which caused him to see Marybelle a few feet to the right of where she actually was.

"She tried to burn me!" Tiberius roared, pointing his axe at the trembling sorceress.

"Let it go," Galan said calmly, crossing his arms.

"Her mind is unstable. Just look at her." Marybelle sat drenched in sweat, her eyes wide and blank as she clutched her staff. Gaius arrived, kneeling beside her with a worried expression.

"Marybelle? Are you alright?" But she didn't respond.

"She'll recover, but not quickly," Galan said, approaching them.

"We should let her mind unravel itself." He glanced at Lucilla, who was shaking nearby.

"Oh, I'm impressed you're still standing, Lucilla." She was still staring at the ground, shaking in shock.

"Galan, where's Noctavia?" Gaius asked urgently.

"Behind the tent. She's still alive." Galan said with an upward nod. Gaius bolted. Galan, meanwhile, continued his silent count as Aelia's neurotoxin claimed its final victims.

"Eleven. Just two more." He turned to Lucilla.

"Get to the back entrance with the others. I'll handle Gaius." Meanwhile, behind the tent, Gaius found Noctavia, a dagger in her chest and a crossbow bolt through her palm. He reached for the dagger, but Galan's voice stopped him.

"Don't. Let me do it." Galan then knelt beside her, his voice calm. He gripped the dagger and channeled his lifecast through the blade. As he slowly pulled it free, the wound healed around it, leaving no scar. He repeated the process with the bolt in her hand, sealing the flesh with a touch. With a final snap of his fingers, his mindcast jolted her awake.

"Gaius...?" Noctavia's eyes fluttered open. Gaius collapsed into her, his arms gripping her body. He clung to her as if his own life depended on the steady rhythm of her heart.

"I thought I lost you," he choked out, pulling her into a desperate embrace. She held him tight.

"I'm still here. I'm not going anywhere." After a long moment, she met Galan's gaze and bowed her head.

"Thank you for sparing us."

"You're welcome," Galan shrugged.

"That's the least that you deserve for taking such good care of Gaius."

"What will you do to us now?" Gaius asked, pulling away.

"How about you help me stop children like you from living a hellish life?"

"Gaius, don't," Noctavia warned.

"This isn't for you." But a new, hard anger was coursing through Gaius, burning away any trace of his fear.

"No. Something has to be done. People like my father shouldn't be allowed to walk freely after ruining so many lives." Noctavia saw the unbridled determination in his eyes. She looked down, knowing that arguing would be pointless.

"Very well." She looked up.

"But… promise me you won't lose yourself to this."

"I won't. But they can't keep getting away with it." His eyes snapped to Galan.

"Wait... Where's Lucilla?"

"Hold on." Galan closed his eyes as he used his mindcast. A moment later, they opened.

"They're approaching your father."

"We have to get to her!" Gaius scrambled to his feet.

"No," Galan said sternly.

"You take her and Marybelle outside the outpost. Keep them safe. I'll protect Lucilla, I promise." Gaius hesitated, then nodded.

"Alright. I'll keep them safe."

"Good," Galan said, already turning and walking away.

"I'll keep you informed through my mindcast." He sprinted toward the back entrance—his cloak vanishing into his divine vault mid-stride. Once clear of the camp, his presence changed—subtle, but immediate. His expression hardened, and his movements grew quieter, more precise. He launched himself into the forest, a silent figure moving through the night.