The Wielder of Death Magic

Chapter 589: Empire’s Invasion [7]

Visitors aren’t rare in our little village; might I ask your name?”

“I’m Julius Haggard,” said he, “-looks like the war’s done its fair share of hurt around these parts.”

“Yeah, I suppose,” said the young man, “-I’m El, the nephew of the village leader. My jobs to see who comes in and comes out. I guess I failed,” the heaviness weight on his tongue, the slowed speech, the destitute demeanor, muffled cries, and coughs. Nothing felt right, “-can I pay my respects?” asked he kindly.

“Sure,” nodded the nephew, “-go on inside, they wouldn’t mind.”

“I appreciate it,” he reached the little room overlooking outside. Shoes off, he stepped inside with a cat-like silence, those watching over the bodies were open-minded and nodded as a way to say ‘-hi’. Portraits of the fallen rested atop chairs, the lady of the house secluded herself in the corner stained by the horrors.

Out to the north, before the forest, the old man stopped and stared. The wind whispered to a caress, the plants and trees seemed to recognize the man. “-The wind speaks of your exploits,” he said in an enigmatic fashion.

“Exploits?” paused he, “-I rather not call it so. The wind is but the watcher, what I’ve done and will do is evil than good. Those who died today were victims of the war, am I right?”

.....

“Might I ask how you know?” he turned after much effort, “-are you a seer?”

“Might I ask about the mentioned exploits?”

“Ha-ha, you’re a shrewd one, aren’t you, boy.”

“I’ll take the compliment,” nodded Igna. “-Village elder, if my exploits have been heard, would you consider aiding my search?”

“Exploits,” now atop a small meadow of similarly formed plants, “-the wind speaks of the conquest of the fort. The village of Apid’s stuck by famine. A few of my people were sent to provide food and supplies, they were sadly ransacked along the trade-road by bandits, ex-adventurers by what they recounted. Say,” the balding head perked up amidst the hue of flowers, “-might lending this old man some help. I need some Acalina plant, they look like this.”

“éclair, scan.”

“Alright.”

“Something like this?” the plants highlighted.

“Good, yes, gather as many as you can,” the collection resumed. “Where was I, ah yes, the situation at Apid. Oda village’s lucky, the nobles don’t want to impose too much on our little village. Adventurers come and go; some tell stories about the Empire’s holy invasion. I couldn’t care less, as long as my people are safe and sound, the world could very well go to hell.”

“About those bandits,” the smartphone reached out, “-Is this them?” a photo showed their faces.

“Yes, yes, they’re the ones who pillaged the supplies we sent. When was the photo taken?”

“Around a few days ago. My companion and I laid siege to the castle. Our quests forces us to travel from one end of the continent to the other. Discovering the province for what it is, tis more of a boon than the task.”

“What happened to the bandits?” he pulled a straw-made sack, “-are they still around?”

“No,” the head shook, “-we killed them.”

“I see,” the opening tightened, “-why though?”

“Why we killed them?” he paused, “-they were in the way, the villagers gave up on living, their children were taken away without a fight. Famines loomed and a crazed noble with a lust for unblossomed flowers ordered the kidnappings.”

“I get it,” sighed the old man, “-you killed for no good reason.”

“And?” the face emotionlessly returned, “-what of it. I’ll kill whoever stands in my way. Those without the will to fight aren’t worthy of survival. Even if they fight, the strong will always win. I refuse to be crushed by any higher power, I’ll stand at the top and cast a shadow of refuge for those dearest to me.”

“Not my place to judge,” the head lowered.

“Elder,” said he sternly, “-you have the spirit and eyes of a cold-blooded killer. The horns on thy head speak for itself. A demon-kin, participant in the war of Dorchester in the Era of Mages. There were rumors about a demon-kin who slaughtered countless mages with a simple stroke.”

“So,” he turned, the sack lowered, “-who are you?”

“I’m the son of Tempest Haggard, the exiled mage who once reign death atop many o’ folks. My home was destroyed, my family was torn. From I lived on the battlefield for a decade, killing parents and children alike.”

“I’ve heard of you,” said he, “-the rumored kid who developed a style of fighting considered merciless by even the strongest of foes. Is this where you’ve been hiding?”

“Should I answer that?” he smirked.

“Don’t get cocky,” the air changed, “-you killed and slaughtered the people of my village so many decades ago. I remember the village burning into the night, horses galloping and beheading anyone in sight, do you not repent thy actions?”

“Pause it,” he held out a hand, “-Old man Elm, fighting now doesn’t do us any good. You’ve killed a fair share of my people too.”

“I won’t accept it,” the head shook, “-those who indiscriminately kill are but murderers.”

“Preach it to someone else.” Two ethereal hands flung for his head. *Death-element: Magical Barrier,* a black circle materialized to momentarily stop the momentum. ‘He’s using some ancient arts...’ crimson to white, the mana-waves and impression of reality itself flowed before him, ‘-Origin’s sight,’ thought he. Vivid and clear, staring into those eyes was hypnotic in a way. ‘-I see why the old man was feared.’ Hands split into arrow-shaped projectiles. *foup, foup, foup,* ‘-that was close,’ the arrows landed beside. ‘Keep on dodging. I can’t close the distance – going all out will be foolish. It’s a test,’ he focused onto Elm’s inner self, ‘-else, he’d have unleashed the power of the Guardian by now.’ Left, right, up, the volley kept on firing insistently, dodging became increasingly hard, ‘-no matter how nimble I am,’ the edges clipped to draw blood, ‘-the endless barrage’s serving to waste my stamina.’ A puddle of gooey purple tentacle summoned to impair mobility further.

‘Damn it, I’m stuck,’ the arrows stopped.

“Are you done, boy?” he passed through the hovering arrows, “-you’re not him, are you?”

“Yeah,” he chuckled, “-I’m not Staxius Haggard,” the face slowly stared upward, “-my name’s Igna Haggard,” *Death-Element: Mana Cancellation,* the web of mana threads around Elm crumbled, the shackles shattered effortlessly, “-still, I know a lot about the war my uncle fought,” he smirked with hands on the elder’s shoulder, the irises flipped into a vibrant scarlet hue, “-the battle is over.”

“The rumors were true,” said he, “-the mage killer did exist, a boy who possessed the power to nullify any spell as well as greater swordsmanship. A true weapon of war.”

“You give too much credit,” said he, “-the Haggard’s turned to a new page. Old man, are you blind to the world outside?”

“Excuse you?” he squinted; the spells deactivated.

“Here’s a question, what’s the name of the Blood-King?”

“Staxius Haggard, is it not?”

“And?” he smiled, “-doesn’t that mean?”

“Oh,” he exhaled, “-I didn’t realize. The mage killer’s name is lost to me. Wait, are you royalty?”

“No, I’m not. The boy inside is, the exiled prince of Arda, Julius Haggard.”

“Wow,” he breathed, “-letting loose is quite the treat. Thank you, boy.”

“Call me Igna,” he smiled, the eyes returned to red and white, “-will you answer a few of my questions now?”

“No, not now,” hand on the sack, “-we ought to head back.”

Cloaked in a ritualistic cloth, the elder chanted and rang bells to awaken the spirits of the elements. The people stared in awe, prayers were said, respects paid. In a way, the means of speech the old man used was reminiscent and clear, those who saw the events would forever remember the horrors. Bodies were carried on makeshift caskets to be burnt at the northern side of the village.

“Here we gather to mourn and celebrate the death and rebirth of the people dearest to us. Honye and Ilna were always cheerful and ready to help if ever things went wrong. The village breathed safety when Ilna went hunting, the days of his immense generosity will never be forgotten. Flesh and body, soul, and spirit must return to the earth, it must return from whence it came, the spirits of fire shall carry them high onto the divine realm where Elysium wait. Let’s join in prayer to bid them a warm farewell,” a ceremonial bell rang to engulf the bodies in a warm and idyllic white flame.

Back to the empty house, multiple villagers came to bring their offerings. Warm words were exchanged and off they were. She had lost everything, the materialistic gains were naught, her pain reflected in an ever-melancholic expression. One by one, the yard cleared leaving Igna, Julius, and the elder behind.

“Lady Yonea,” said Julius in a soft manner, “-I’m sorry for your loss. May this little gift help for the future,” an envelop with Exa notes slid to reach her hands.

“I can’t,” she took a look, “-there’s no way I can accept such an amount.”

“My lady,” said Igna sharply, “-no matter what we do and say, we’re strangers and have no business in thine life. How about this,” the room fell into a pin drop silence, “-I promise to bring those responsible for such an absurd deed to thy doorstep in chains. Give me the word, and it shall be done.”

Her hands trembled to grab his closed fists, “-d-do y-you promise?” the white-colored iris suddenly pulsed. ‘-Her face, her soul, I can see and hear her thoughts... she’s going to kill herself. It’s the visage of someone who’s given up on life.’

Conflicted at the sight before him, a nudge from Julius returned the sense, “-yes, I promise they’ll suffer twice the pain inflicted. I, Igna Haggard of the Haggard dynasty, vow to exact revenge on thy behalf.”

“I, Julius Haggard of the Haggard dynasty, swear on my name and title to slay those who’d dare perturb such an idyllic landscape.”

“Thank you,” her head lowered till the floor, “-i-it t-t-truly h-h-helps.”

“Keep the money, my lady. Consider it our payment until the job is done,” said Igna, “-we’ll be back very soon.”

The stone paths were lit by old lanterns, “-the rite of passage,” said the elder, “-the lights are a path for the harbinger of death to follow, he who travels on a steed shall swoop onto the earth and carry the fallen to their rightful place. They also represent the stars, the light goddess Syhton died to conjure.” Dusk loomed over the horizon; the cousins paid no heed in the time lost as they helped around the village. A feast was soon erected at the center; people gathered to celebrate the fallen’s rebirth.

“Very different from how we celebrate it,” commented Julius.

“I know, they’re sad but keep a smile to ease the soul’s departure. I prefer this to the doom and gloom of the funerals back home. Attending those in flashy suits as a member of the familia is tedious.”

“I get it,” said Julius, “-the dark-guild and territorial disputes. How many agents have died in securing asylum in Alphia.”

“Igna, Julius,” called the elder, “-a job well done, we couldn’t have made this happen on our lonesome.”

“The pleasure’s ours,” said Julius, “-still, I’m very baffled by how strong they are.”

“Appearances my boy,” said he, “-appearances.”

“Elder, about lady Yonea, she had the look of someone who wanted to die.”

“How perceptive of you,” smiled Elm, “-she’s gone through a lot, that young lady. Ilna was her second husband, the first one died in a goblin assault not too long ago. Honye’s the child of the first husband.”

“Are you sure we should be hearing this?” frowned Julius.

“Yeah, it’s fine,” said he calmly, “-the whole village knows.”

A tall figure emerged out of the shadows hauling heavy objects, “-elder, I’m back.

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