REACHING FOR MISTY PEAKS

Marshall and Wyn slipped out of Chara town's safe zone, heading towards the Eastern Mountains to investigate the cavern from Marshall's memories.

They crept through the forest paths separating the town from the rocky trails. The mountain peaks loomed in the distance, shrouded in mist.

Aside from the humidity there was a cloud of bargaining stepping on Wyn's heels. "Just listen to me this time!" 

"Absolutely not," Wyn set his foot down, rejecting the disciple's plan for the third time.

"The officials have nothing on you, but if they catch us together, we're both going down!" Marshall insisted, nudging the snow deity in attempts to convince him.

"The officials might be slow-witted at times, but they are not that dense. I am certain they are well aware I broke you out of the basement prison. Both of us vanished from the tower at the same time," Wyn responded, his tone as smooth as ice.

"But it can't be proven that you helped me escape unless we are seen together," the disciple rubbed his face, muttering. "Damn it..."

"Would you stop cursing? If you have nothing good to say, do not speak," Wyn chopped his words.

Marshall scoffed, then turned his face away. His brows knitted together as he stared at the trees, stopping in his tracks. Wyn halted as well, looking at him in question.

The forest was unnaturally silent, not a single leaf rustled.

The stillness was suffocating, making Marshall aware of every breath he took. The snow deity caught onto the strangeness as well, both of them mutely glancing around.

A creature crashed out of the bushes. It bolted towards them at incredible speed, hooves pounding on the ground.

"You're still here?!" Marshall exclaimed as the goat-legged demon seized him with a wicked grin.

Just as fast as the goat-legged demon had jumped out of the bushes, Cheimon had left its sheath, glinting in the moonlight. 

Sharp nails dug into Marshall's shoulder as he was lifted up. He bit his tongue, holding back the curses with great effort.

The demon took a step back with the disciple, then huffed at Wyn, "Do not chase."

As it spoke, Marshall couldn't help but recoil from its foul breath. His face must've twisted into horrible grimace because Cheimon bolted through the air and a snowy cloud swallowed the three of them like smoke.

The blade pierced through the snowstorm, narrowly missing the demon's neck. The goat-legged demon puffed out an irritated scoff and barged into the bushes with the disciple in its grasp.

Marshall was scratched left and right by sharp branches, choking on leaves slamming into his face over and over. 

When they exited the forest, the demon surveyed his disheveled appearance and rasped, "Apologies." 

Another waft of the rotten flesh breath made Marshall's eyes tear up. He didn't want to think about what the demon had eaten for dinner. 

The moment Wyn caught up, he swung at the beast's leg. Cheimon sliced through its thigh, causing the demon to howl in pain.

It turned on its hooves and sent a kick at the snow deity with full force. Wyn barely avoided the attack, stumbling back as a hoof had grazed him.

Marshall summoned an arrow with great effort. He gritted his teeth an struck down with everything he had. However, it seemed the attempt had been unsuccessful because the beast stared at him with a stupefied look. 

It wasn't enough. His spiritual energy wasn't strong enough. 

Wyn lunged forward, and Cheimon forcefully slashed down while the demon was confused. The hairy arm holding Marshall hit the ground with an thud along with the disciple.

With Marshall safely out of the demon's grasp, the frosty blade didn't show any sign of holding back. After a series of precise swings, the goat-legged beast dropped to the ground with an dying howl.

Marshall stared at the demon's dissipating body, his knees wobbly as he stood up. 

"I wouldn't want to be your enemy," he mumbled, trying to steady his breathing. What was this... feeling of uselessness he felt? 

Wyn surveyed the disciple's state before throwing out a scolding remark. "Can you stop getting hurt? You are not immortal."

"Well, I can't exactly control it," Marshall defended himself, letting out a dry chuckle. "But, hey, at least I will have a good story to tell later!" 

Wyn let out a long sigh and pulled out a handkerchief to wipe the black blood down his blade. "You truly are insane. Do you feel no fear at all?"

Marshall nudged the snow deity light-heartedly. "I'm still alive, what do I have to fear?"

Wyn sheathed Cheimon, muttering something about 'no regard for personal well-being'.

As they resumed moving, Marshall glanced back at the demon's ashes with a sigh.

"I kind of feel sorry for it. Unlike us, demons have no choice but to obey their orders."

Wyn raised his brow. "That is not entirely true. Demons of higher intelligence develop their own ambitions and attempt to gain power within the Stygian Regions. However, it results in them getting banished."

"Banished? That doesn't sound too horrible. I would have expected the Stygian Overlord to mercilessly kill anyone who tries to cross him," Marshall mused.

"For demons, banishment is much worse than death. A castaway demon cannot survive outside the Stygian Regions on its own unless it finds a way to feed off the misery of humans."

The snow deity continued, "Lord Chioni takes in banished demons. The current demon working for him attempted to cause an uproar against the Overlord by spreading his own agenda. His tongue was ripped out and he was thrown out of the Stygian Regions."

Marshall raised an eyebrow. "Why does Lord Chioni take in banished demons?"

The sound of heavy footsteps and clattering of armor reached their ears, cutting their conversation short.

"Officials, again?" Marshall whispered, caught off guard. He huffed, stumbling left and right, unable to pick a direction. 

Wyn grabbed the disciple's hand, leading him to a nearby area of uncut grass. It reached the height of two meters, yarrows and bushes of red asters surrounding it.

They dove in, lying down between the flowers. Marshall felt his body sagging into the soft ground. The thick grass was like a cushioned hug from the earth.

The distant sound of the officials' marching echoing. They were drawing near, heading towards the mountains. 

A small white clover sat near Marshall's nose, threatening to induce a sneeze. Having noticed the frown on his face, Wyn took no chances. He pinched the other's nose and plucked the flower with his other hand, tossing it aside.

The movement caused a subtle stir in the grass. 

"Who is there? Show yourself!" one of the officials barked, his voice cutting through the tense silence like a whip.

Marshall and Wyn exchanged wide-eyed glances, their breaths held as they engaged in a mute conversation of 'Do not move a single muscle,' and 'I know, I'm not stupid!'