Three terrifying figures suddenly burst into the house, slaughtering the boys’ parents and elder brother in the most gruesome of ways.

  No matter how their victims begged for mercy, the intruders’ expressions remained unnervingly calm—like butchers dispatching livestock, not human beings.

  “These energies should last us for a while. Ah, I could drown in this feeling!” one of the dark sorcerers murmured, eyes half-closed in grotesque satisfaction.

  “There are two left—leave them to me,” hissed another, tossing aside the lifeless body of a young man. His shriveled lips twisted into a hungry smile as he reached for the terrified boys.

  Those skeletal fingers, dry and gnarled like dead branches, clamped tightly around their delicate necks. A faint shimmer of life-force began to drain from them.

  The boys felt their stength slipping away, dizziness blurring their vision, an unbearable weakness consuming them.

  Just as the dark mage began to relish the sensation, one of his companions suddenly shouted, “Knights are approaching!”

  Cursing under his breath, the mage tightened his grip, snapping the children’s necks before dashing out the door.

  Moments later, the three figures vanished into the shadows.

  A few minutes passed before a troop of iron-clad knights thundered by. A handful entered the house, glanced briefly at the corpses, and left without a word.

  Soon, silence returned. No one came to tend to the dead.

  Even knights—nobles themselves—would not deign to touch the bodies of commoners.

  Perhaps, if one of those soldiers happened to remember later, they might send a corpse collector… but by then, who would care?

  A sea of green stretched before them, dense vegetation reaching higher than a man’s head.

  “Is this really the place?” Glenn asked doubtfully.

  The old man crouched, studying the ground. “More or less,” he muttered vaguely.

  “Three silver coins aren’t enough for this,” Glenn remarked coolly.

  “Five,” the old man replied without hesitation.

  “You must be doing well for yourself,” Glenn said dryly.

  The old man ignored the jab, tossing him a small vial. “Spread this over your skin—it’ll mask your scent.”

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  The bottle was cold to the touch, its surface smooth and unfamiliar. When Glenn uncorked it, a sharp herbal aroma cleared his mind. Without question, he smeared the pale paste across his body.

  “Follow me,” the old man said, stepping into the thicket.

  Glenn summoned a thin layer of wolfbane fur over his skin and moved after him.

  Visibility was poor—barely an arm’s length ahead—yet the old man moved with uncanny certainty, navigating the foliage as though he could see through it.

  After half an hour, the trees suddenly opened up into a clearing. The old man raised his hand in silent warning, and Glenn froze.

  “There’s a magical trap ahead,” the old man whispered.

  “How can you tell?” Glenn scanned the clearing. Nothing looked unusual, yet a subtle tension prickled at him—the air was too still, too quiet.

  The old man’s eyes gleamed. Producing a small pouch, he took a handful of powder and crouched low, crawling forward like a lizard.

  Glenn couldn’t help admiring his agility; for a man his age, moving like that required remarkable strength and control.

  “Step where I step,” came the old man’s voice. Glenn followed carefully, placing each foot precisely in his guide’s tracks.

  From time to time, the old man scattered more powder, then pressed on.

  At last, when they reached the center of the clearing, Glenn’s curiosity overcame him.

  “How did you know there was a trap here? And what was that powder you used?”

  “Though the ground appears natural, its layout is deliberate,” the old man explained. “If you study it closely, you’ll see the vegetation and pools form runic shapes—a concealed magical array. It’s brilliantly done, nearly invisible to the untrained eye. No human or animal ever comes near.”

  “And the powder?” Glenn pressed.

  “A minor aid—it helps reveal the trigger points. But it’s useless without the proper experience.”

  Glenn nodded, impressed. “You seem to know an awful lot, old man.”

  “I should,” he replied evenly. “I was once a Doctor of Magical Studies at Sorthridron University in the Kingdom of Zerne.”

  Glenn blinked in shock. Sorthridron? That was Zerne’s most prestigious academy!

  “Then you must be—”

  “I’m not a mage,” the old man interrupted flatly.

  “You’re not?” Glenn’s confusion deepened.

  “Magic theory can be studied by anyone,” the old man continued, drawing out his rifle. “But to wield magic, one must be born a mage. People like me serve them—preparing potions, calculating spell matrices, refining chant formulas. Even legendary mages seek our expertise.”

  “So basically… a super assistant,” Glenn mused inwardly, then asked, “Besides cost, what else makes becoming a mage so difficult?”

  “Affinity,” said the old man. “One must possess at least sixty percent elemental compatibility. Anything less, and studying magic is a waste of time.”

  Glenn nodded thoughtfully.

  “Well, enough talk. We’ve been discovered,” the old man said suddenly, raising his gun.

  Glenn’s ears caught it too—the rhythmic pounding of feet through brush.

  Five figures in black robes burst from the shadows, their twisted faces set in malice. Dark energy shimmered around the sickle-like claws that extended from their hands.

  The foremost attacker lunged at the old man with a hiss, claws slicing the air.

  But the old man didn’t flinch. His rifle remained steady as he pulled the trigger.

  Bang!

  The bullet struck the creature square in the forehead. Its body convulsed, then crumpled lifelessly to the ground.

  The remaining four charged at once—only to see the old man rip open his shirt, revealing… a black hole embedded in his chest.

  Glenn’s eyes widened in disbelief as a storm of shadowy tendrils erupted from the void, shredding the attackers into bloody fragments.

  Then, just as swiftly, the tentacles vanished.

  The old man collapsed, clutching his chest, sweat pouring down his ashen face. His veins bulged, writhing beneath the skin in agony.

  “You could have let me handle them,” Glenn said quietly, frowning. “Why put yourself through that?”

  The power he had witnessed was clearly one that came with a terrible price—and those enemies were hardly worth it.