Chapter X

The energy was moving, there was no doubt about it; it felt strange, like being aware of the functioning of every muscle and every organ in the body, like understanding everything, and Vaf was accelerating down that path. In these two days, he kept going to the river, where the fish fluttered, and the water lilies covered the thin aquatic layer. Being able to move one's own energy was almost otherworldly.

Vaf still didn't know what he could do with the concentration of energy, so he also decided to practice with the sword.

"Your hips need to move more, your feet should be further apart," muttered the wretched man paralyzed on the floor because the kid had told him that he had to teach him or they would both die.

The sheathed logs became opponents to the boy's branch, exchanging blows, trying to be as agile as possible. The combat style of Meid (the warrior without hips) was somewhat distant from that of normal knights; it consisted of lethal and stealthy blows, strikes that would end matters in one hit.

--There's a concavity in the neck formed by the pectoral bone; that's an interesting area to attack, but due to your short stature, you should focus on your enemy's heels, and at most, their heart.

--And if I have a more complex exchange, where we are equals?

--That's not advisable; you should always seek something to your advantage. Fighting on equal terms is risky.

--Isn't that dishonorable?

--Dishonor is dying; you should always seek an advantage before a fight. Knights are ridiculous; they only promote those ideas to aggrandize themselves.

"Are you not eating tonight? Look, this is my mother's recipe book. The duck I caught today, I prepared it this way.

--I try to eat it, but my molars are completely broken.

--Wait, I'll cut it better.

Meid just watched as a child, whom he was supposed to kidnap, cut the breast of the duck. The last time he had felt such warmth was at a family table; in the knives of Mitras, they only served him potions, blows, and insults, supposedly to improve his physical and mental abilities. These thoughts, this weakness disguised as emotions, enraged him, and he threw the duck.

--Hey!"

Shouted the angry apprentice. Meid said nothing and, in his paralysis, lay on the ground to rest.

Vaf picked up the duck from the floor, covered the dish with corn leaves, and continued practicing. He had found an oak staff and used it as his main power channeler. In two nights, he had managed to create a layer of energy over his skin, and he had managed to control where he wanted to situate his energy, but there were some complications in undoing the power concentrations.

"What goes through this guy's mind?" It was strange, like he was two people, Vaf thought while placing a cloak on him for the cold. He tried to turn him to the right, and in that effort, a knife fell. The weapon was made of black steel with green crystal inlays. Our young tanner was impressed because he saw an eye moving and looking at him on the knife's handle until it lit up intensely green. Vaf was terrified and threw the knife into the bushes. "Turns out weapons are alive," he thought, as he had read about strange property weapons in his master's anthology. After so much practice, Vaf realized that the new dawn was upon him.

--Good day, this time it will be the same duck you threw away yesterday.

He didn't respond again, but he did serve himself the bird reduced to a stew.

--You know, my mother would have already hit you. She said that thrown food feeds demons, so my siblings and I never played with it.

This managed to move a fiber in the stranger who murmured:

--You're feeding a demon.

--I'm feeding someone who needs it.

He turned to lie down again, but just then, they both saw an arrow fly between them, pierce the duck in the boy's hands, and nest at the boy's feet. "Ahhhh," a scream scared all the surrounding birds, and two completely unpleasant figures emerged from the underbrush, Angsiss soldiers who had survived the sad night.

The crippled team and the kid were surrounded by three warriors ready to kill them; incredibly, Vaf withstood the first man's onslaught firmly, holding off the rusty sword blows, blocking attacks from the left until he tripped over the campfire. Another warrior grabbed him by the neck, and the third took his staff. The first one dropped the sword and began slapping the boy, who didn't shed a tear because the orb would have ended this fight; the blows had already reconfigured his face. "Damn rat, you did it, you killed my comrades, you and that bastard, I swear I'll find him too, and" the soldier's complaints were cut off when he felt an object embedded in his back. The three men felt the same, one in the head, another in the heart; each soldier received a precise knife throw. As suddenly as they had appeared, they left with the other 46.

The strange thing about this scene is that Meid had executed them all from a tree branch, looking exhausted, with a vein bulging like a muscle.

--Cry if you must, boy.

--Why are you doing this to me, why don't you keep teaching me, you just throw things at me and ignore me.

--You're right, now get up and grab that sword.

Despite the brutal beating on his face, the boy obeyed at once. "Balance the sword in your dominant hand and move with it," it was night, and a dying flame remained after the fight. Vaf reconfigured himself and moved around it. "The idea is not to lower the sword below the waist." They continued this exercise until Meid sat on a log. "Attack," Meid armed himself with two swords and blocked each of the boy's attacks. The rust flakes flew off from the force of the blows, the boy attempting from all angles, perhaps venting all his pent-up frustration. His attacks weren't smart, but they had a lot of life and strength behind them. Once again, dawn reached them. Vaf was disarmed in all his attempts.

By breakfast, Vaf was defeated, and now it was his turn to return the favor to the boy. He crawled for at least three hours to gather enough mushrooms for a mask to relieve the young man's inflammation. Despite applying the dampened paste to his face, Vaf didn't wake up, but somehow, we know he lives, suffering the exhaustion of having exerted himself too much. After relieving his companion, Meid started preparing the food. He thought the boy would like to wake up to some treat from that notebook he never let go of, but it wasn't precisely a list of ingredients. Instead, they were drawings that described the processes and ingredients used, with very good strokes. Meid reviewed the entire notebook and found some drawings of three children towards the end. He recognized Vaf by his naturally furrowed brow. The drawings were very prolific and with a perspective so well graphed that it could belong to a consecrated artist. After about four hours, Meid shook the boy to give him the food. This time he responded and was impressed to see everything done, but what impacted him most was feeling a damp, pulsating mass on his face.

--What is this?" He asked, believing it was a huge slug on his face.

--It's a mask of nuts and sleeping dew; it calms inflammation.

--It works, I even feel whiter.

--Finish eating quickly, we need to train.

--Again? I need to practice my magic too.

--Do you know how long it takes for wizards to form? 35 or 40 years. You can at least learn to defend yourself well in a couple of days.

--Did you follow the recipe for the blue mushrooms? My mother was out of this world.

--It's truly delicious, but she didn't write it. Who did?

--It was Reu, my younger sister. She drew incredibly well, haha. She used to tell me to pose in the sunsets with a pig that was our friend. Look, look on the last page.

He didn't ask where his family was because he knew the target was in Argen, and he also knew it was going to be devastated. Even though he didn't use his hands to massacre that town, he felt guilty. Indeed, on the final page, there was a beautiful sunset portrait, though Vaf was only a sketch. In his chest was a bluish-green orb.

--Hey, by the way, what is that dagger you have? It moves its eyes like a normal person.

A chill ran through his body, a fear so deep that even his feet served him for a few seconds, perhaps the seconds needed to run.

--Did that dagger see you?

--Of course, it even lit up, so I kept it because it was disgusting.

--Listen to me, do not unsheathe the weapon, under any circumstances, throw it as far away as you can, do not argue.

Vaf obeyed and took it to the river for the current to take care of it.

--Believe me, I only bought some time; they know you're here.

--¿Who?

--Listen, you must know the summit wizards are evil; they want to kidnap you, don't trust them.

--My master told me the same, but I don't quite understand why.

--They want your powers.

--Are you talking about that orb? I know, but how do you know all this? I thought you were a wounded soldier.

--I'm not. You will have to trust me because I can't tell you who I am. It won't affect you much to trust me because we will part ways very soon.

--Alright.

Silence came to life in the valley, and then Vaf said, "Shall we practice?" Vaf had discovered that concentrating magic in any part of his body gave him superior strength in that area. They exchanged blows all afternoon, during which he also received some recommendations about his movements: "The dynamism of the body is important; it's as if combat were a dance." Once again, the afternoon came to an end, and they felt exhausted but quite happy. Vaf believed he had found a brother, and Meid had spent the best days with a stranger who didn't compete with him but who, above all, cooked very well.

--I'll make the campfire, I need you to gather some logs and some dry leaves.

--Ha ha, better ask me to cut down some trees, we're very strong.

--You'll be capable soon enough, don't rush, boy. Until then, I'll cut the mushrooms.

--I'll see you later.

Meid checked his bag because he knew everything would end soon and that a pact with death must be fulfilled. And there it was, the specter leaf they had thrown into the river, watching him; his eyes began to twist, and then he heard the voice, a voice that terrified him and to which he had sworn loyalty.

--You are a traitor, and traitors are hung by their thumbs.

The knife began to boil, and the eyes exploded in a green, funeral-like flash that was seen throughout the valley. Amid dark thunder and green flames, a portal was revealed, the same fearsome vortex that lay in the foundations of Reden. Vaf saw this display of destruction from afar and ran as fast as he had on the other two occasions in his life. His friend was okay, he had to be okay, right? He arrived but felt a shock in his body, like when the body senses you are approaching fire and instinctively commands you to move away. But this time, the phenomenon was a man, a tall man in dark molten steel armor, full of sword cuts and spiraling ornaments, with a gargoyle gauntlet on his left hand.

Meid watched the same spectacle but only came back to himself when Death's hand, the general's hand, pierced his body from side to side. It was a furious attack, but Minjard's face only reflected peace.

--Where is the young Meid? You know that if you tell me, I will take care of your soul in our world.

--Far away, you damn bastard.

--Ha ha, we'll see.

Meid did not want to leave this world without leaving a mark, at least, and, spitting blood onto the pristine face of this being, filled with rage, he let the green flames devour the body of the wretched traitor.