Nikolai had no plan.

  No—perhaps it was more accurate to say he couldn’t come up with one, because he knew next to nothing about the situation. He had been kidnapped, forced to heal what could easily be described as sex slaves, and now he had killed two of his kidnappers in cold blood.

  In the room with him were Igri and David, who had helped him with the aforementioned killing, and four others—four women in various states of shock, fear, and pain. One of them was almost completely unresponsive, and David had to carry her on his shoulder as they left.

  Nikolai and Igri crept down the dark hallway. A few rooms along, they found a small storeroom that also served as a makeshift armory. Nikolai had discovered his stolen items there—the ring and wand were casually tossed onto a table, jumbled among other belongings.

  Once re-equipped, he grabbed a sheathed shortsword from a rack. The blade had a few rust spots, but to his untrained eye, it looked serviceable. He also found a pair of fingerless leather gloves, some boots that fit him, and food.

  He hadn’t realized how starving he was until then. His mind, still numbed by Soothe, told him to eat something. Raw turnip wasn’t exactly exciting, but it was something.

  Once that was done, Igri led him farther down the dark hallway until they reached a stairway. It looked solid, though Nikolai worried about squeaking steps. As it turned out, he had nothing to fear.

  At the top of the stairs, he heard voices and reached out to the shadows around him. They responded, shifting to envelop Igri and himself. Her eyes went wide as they gently coiled around her skinny frame.

  Nikolai peeked over the lip of the stairs. They were in what appeared to be a kitchen—a large, dark room currently empty. The voices came from the next room, where four men sat around a round table.

  One of them was shouting angrily. “You fucking cheat! I should cut your fingers off, you inbred cunt!”

  Another man—the one being accused—smiled smugly. “Come now, Harry, you know I wouldn’t do that to you. We’re all friends here.”

  Harry clearly disagreed. “I am not your friend, Garry. Maybe hand over the coin you stole, and I might reconsider that!”

  Nikolai ducked back down, sitting on the steps as the argument continued. There were four of them, and he had struggled fighting just one at a time. Even if they were weaker, as David had claimed—and that was a big if—four were still four.

  Could he use their arguing to his advantage? Could he…?

  A thought struck him—an idea he wasn’t sure would work, but if it did… Soothe numbed the mind, pushing emotion into the background to allow calm and clarity. But that was with light affinity magic. What would its dark counterpart do?

  Despite his numbed state, Nikolai grinned. It was a risk—he had no idea what would happen, if anything. But what choice did he have? Fighting them head-on was suicide, especially with his low mana reserves.

  He had recovered some mana, but nowhere near enough to heal himself fully. He leaned close to Igri, who stiffened as he whispered in her ear, “I’m going to try something. Stay quiet and out of sight.”

  She nodded, and Nikolai crept back up the stairs, lying flat so that only his head and the hand holding his wand were visible. “Visible” was a strong word; hidden by shadows, they would have to be looking directly at him to spot him.

  He aimed carefully at the man called Harry and began channeling his mana. The rune resisted the dark affinity at first, but after a brief struggle, it yielded. Nikolai’s heart pounded as he ensured the alignment was correct, then whispered the spell beneath his breath.

  It wasn’t strictly necessary, but Moulin had explained that speaking the words helped focus the mind under stress—and this certainly qualified.

  A dark streak zipped across the floor and struck Harry in the calf. One of the others frowned and glanced under the table, having noticed something. Nikolai held his breath, releasing it only when the man shrugged and looked away.

  He waited. Then Harry suddenly jumped to his feet, flipping the table with a roar. Everyone began shouting, but none louder than Harry. The spell had worked—he was in a murderous rage.

  Knife in hand, Harry lunged at Garry. The man barely had time to react before Harry began stabbing him repeatedly. Nikolai watched in horrified fascination. This was what he had hoped for… yet seeing it unfold made him sick.

  Soothe still dulled his emotions, but more and more leaked through. He wasn’t sure if it was the spell’s limitation or simply that the sheer emotional strain of the day overwhelmed it. He had no illusions—when the spell broke, he would be a bawling mess.

  The two other men—one of whom Nikolai recognized as the one he’d healed earlier—drew weapons and attacked Harry. The scene was chaotic, violent, and brutally fast. Harry seemed impervious to pain, striking wildly until, less than a minute later, it was over.

  The two survivors stood over Harry’s mangled corpse, both badly wounded. Nikolai decided it was time to act.

  Wand in hand, he cast Curse of Torment on one man. The added agony dropped him to the floor screaming. The other—Nikolai’s former patient—spun in surprise, completely unaware of Nikolai’s location.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  Still cloaked in swirling shadows, Nikolai stepped into the room like a wraith. The man’s eyes went wide with terror. As their gazes met, Nikolai used the last of his mana to cast Mind Wipe. He felt the mental tether snap into place.

  He took three steps and drove the blade into the man’s chest. Then he crouched and began draining his essence before it could dissipate. As he absorbed it, the energy rapidly converted into mana, filling him with a euphoric rush.

  Igri appeared beside him and, with grim determination, stabbed the screaming man several times until he fell silent.

  Nikolai turned to her. “We need to get everyone out. Now.”

  Igri hesitated. “What about the others upstairs?”

  “Go get David. Have everyone gather in the kitchen. I’ll heal the woman he’s carrying enough for her to move while you two fetch the rest.” Nikolai’s voice was calm and flat.

  Igri nodded twice, then ran off.

  Five minutes later, everyone was gathered in the kitchen. Nikolai had spent most of his replenished mana healing the woman. One of those brought down from upstairs had taken a single look into the other room and promptly vomited—hence why the door was now closed. It did nothing to hide the stench of death, though. Nikolai was shocked by how awful it smelled; that part never came up in fantasy movies.

  Once everyone was ready, they left the brothel.

  It was night outside. Nikolai had David and Igri lead the way. They were in some kind of slum—tall buildings, but many decrepit. The air wasn’t pleasant, but compared to the brothel, it felt like a fresh mountain breeze.

  He had no idea where they were in the city—or if they were even still in the same city. David assured him they were, though Nikolai had no way to know for certain.

  They were wary of more trouble and moved quickly but carefully.

  Luckily, the worst they encountered were a few vagrants catcalling the scantily dressed women—until a blood-covered Nikolai glared at them, shadows swirling around him. That shut them up.

  They arrived at the steps of the hospitarium just as the first rays of light crossed the horizon. Nikolai sighed in relief.

  He was the first through the large doors, followed by Igri and the others.

  The large greeting room—also serving as a waiting area—was quiet in the early hours, though a few patients were already there. As people noticed the bloodied group, the room fell silent.

  A child, perhaps five years old, took one look at Nikolai and started crying. The pale-faced mother clutched the child tightly, staring at Nikolai in fear.

  One of the nurses, who had been taking notes, recovered from her shock and took a few hesitant steps toward him before stopping.

  He wasn’t sure what she saw in his eyes, but whatever it was made her flinch.

  Nikolai tried to smile but couldn’t manage it. Instead, he said quietly, “I need you to call Lazgrim. These people need treatment.”

  She hesitated, then gestured to another nurse, who ran off as if chased. Seconds later, Lazgrim burst through the door, already shouting. “What in the bloody hells is going on!? I will not—Nikolai?”

  Lazgrim took in the scene instantly—Nikolai’s blood-covered robes, the sword still slick with dried gore. Nikolai hadn’t even realized he was still holding it.

  Lazgrim rushed over. “Lad, what happened to you? I told Simi and her team to go looking for you!”

  Nikolai raised a hand to stop further questions. He could feel the Soothe spell unraveling, and he was barely holding himself together. His voice was strained. “I need to be alone, Lazgrim. Please—take care of them.”

  Lazgrim saw the strain in his face and reached for him. Nikolai stepped back. “No… I’m fine.” His voice trembled. “Please, just take care of them.”

  He stepped past Lazgrim. Igri tried to follow, but when he turned to her, his eyes were filled with raw turmoil. He shook his head once and walked away.

  He went straight to his room and locked the door behind him. Then he sat in the corner, arms wrapped around his knees, and buried his face.

  The spell broke. His whole body trembled violently as tears streamed down his filthy face. Every emotion he’d suppressed hit him at once—fear, anger, horror, relief—until it overwhelmed him completely.

  He had killed people. Manipulated a man into killing his friend and forced others to finish the job. Bile rose in his throat, and he vomited. But the emotional onslaught didn’t relent. His vision narrowed until his mind finally shut down.

  Nikolai never even felt himself roll over.

  Lazgrim was there when he woke. Nikolai was still in his bloodied robe, still trembling.

  The old dwarf looked deeply worried. “Lad, let me help you.”

  Nikolai shook his head. “No Soothe spell. Please. I… I just need time, I think.”

  Lazgrim sighed. “How many times did you cast it on yourself?”

  “Three… no, four, I think,” Nikolai rasped.

  “Good gods, lad. You’ll drive yourself mad doing that. Come—let me help. If I don’t do something, your mind might break from the strain.”

  Nikolai tried to fend him off, but the dwarf was strong, and Nikolai was in no state to resist. He felt the spell take hold. It didn’t erase everything or numb him entirely as his own spell had, but it eased the crushing weight. His breathing steadied, and the trembling eased slightly.

  The emotions still tore at him, but they were bearable now.

  “How’s that?” Lazgrim asked softly.

  Nikolai slowly sat up. With Lazgrim’s help, he stood. “I… fuck. It’s still horrible.”

  Lazgrim nodded. “It’ll take time, lad. I heard what you did from the people you saved. It might not help right now, but listen to me—you did what you had to. You saved them, and those bastards had it coming, you hear?”

  Nikolai took a shuddering breath. “I’ve never killed anyone before, Lazgrim. What I did… it felt justified. I was angry—so angry—and desperate. I didn’t see any other option. I know that rationally, so why does it hurt so much?”

  Lazgrim put a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Killing is unnatural for most, lad. Only a madman takes pleasure in it. Feeling disgusted doesn’t make your actions wrong—it makes you human. Don’t mistake remorse for shame.”

  Nikolai nodded weakly, done talking. Lazgrim helped him to the baths, where two nurses assisted him. Clean and dressed in fresh robes, he was brought back to a room that had been tidied in the meantime.

  The next day or so passed in a blur. His dreams were dark and feverish, and he was certain he’d had a high fever at one point. Lazgrim was there every time he woke—he even thought he saw Simi once.

  Eventually, things began to ease. Time healed all wounds, or so they said. He hadn’t miraculously come to terms with what he’d done, but his reasoning had won out, for now.

  He had done terrible things, yes—but for the right reasons. Regretting them would mean regretting saving those people. So, logically speaking, he had done what he had to. That was enough—for the time being.

  More importantly, he had won.