Chapter 25: Fishing in Troubled Waters (Part 2)

  The robe had been given to him by Sandro. It was dirty and stinking—originally used as a mat for corpses—and Sandro had even made him work off the “debt” with half a year of labor.

  Ethan had thought Sandro was just talking nonsense and hadn’t taken it seriously. But he had never cared about what he wore, as long as it kept him warm. Though the robe was so filthy its original color was unrecognizable, he had worn it every day, never taking it off.

  Thank goodness he hadn’t. Now he realized he’d gotten a steal—paying only half a year of hard work for a robe like this.

  When he’d hurled the fireball at the vines around his waist earlier, he’d braced himself for injury. But when the fireball exploded, the robe had remained unscathed. Instantly, he understood why he’d survived that magical attack outside the forest.

  As the dragon spewed green flames, Ethan had tucked his hands and feet into the robe, curling into a tight ball. Just like before, outside the forest, he’d felt the destructive magical energy raging around him—yet he’d emerged unharmed. He’d only fallen from the tree-creature’s tall shoulders and been buried under the rising ash.

  Hearing the robed man’s hideous laughter, he lifted his head slightly from the ash. He watched the robed man walk toward the spring—and saw that the three leaves floating on the water were exactly what he’d been searching for.

  Leap out, grab the leaves, and run? Impossible. Before he could escape the empty, scorched clearing, a glowing orb would blow him apart. The only option left was to strike first.

  The robed man had already wiped out all the tree-creatures and elves that stood in his way. If Ethan charged out and killed him now, he would claim the “fish” in this troubled water. He could tell the robed man was drained from that last spell—this was his best chance to strike.

  His sword had been left on the meadow outside the forest. But Ethan spotted a unicorn’s horn on the ground. The green flames had reduced even the unicorn’s bones to ash, yet the horn remained unharmed. So he jumped out of the ash, grabbed the horn, and charged at the robed man.

  When the robed man saw Ethan leaping out of the ash, alive and unharmed, he was even more shocked than the cavalrymen had been when the corpses stood up. But his gaze quickly fell on Ethan’s robe—and he immediately understood what was happening.

  “Wait a minute…” he shouted.

  Ethan dared not wait. The robe could resist magical flames, and maybe other magic too—but it was still just a soft piece of cloth. It couldn’t stop blades or physical attacks. He’d seen how the robed man’s glowing orbs had blown apart massive tree-creatures; even a near-miss would be enough to tear him to shreds. He couldn’t let the robed man gather his magic for another attack.

  The robed man moved slowly, but he barely dodged Ethan’s first strike. The sharp horn grazed his cheek, from his mouth to his jaw, tearing off a strip of skin. No blood flowed—only gray teeth, bones, and a few dry, hay-like tendons were exposed beneath.

  Panic flickered in Ethan. He hadn’t pierced the robed man’s skull with that first blow. If the robed man still had any magic left, he’d have enough time to gather it now. Ethan charged at the robed man with a do-or-die fury, putting all his strength into the attack.

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  “Listen to me…” the robed man backed away. Even as he spoke, his teeth didn’t move—the sound came directly from his throat. He was panicking. The golden light in the spring was growing brighter by the second, and the elf maiden standing there looked like a work of art cast in gold. If he didn’t act soon, he’d be too late. The robed man forced his voice out of his throat: “I am—”

  His words cut off mid-sentence. The unicorn’s horn pierced his chest, exiting through his back, freezing all his movements and words.

  Yet Ethan’s face twisted into a look of disbelief.

  The horn had definitely penetrated the robed man’s body—piercing his pectoral muscle between the fourth and fifth ribs, slicing diagonally through his left lung, passing through his heart, grazing his right lung, and finally exiting through his back muscle. It was a fatal wound. But Ethan felt nothing he should have felt—no solid resistance of piercing flesh, no sense of tearing through tissue. It was as if he’d stabbed into an empty cage, with no force behind the strike. His hand brushed against something like twigs, dry grass, and even a glass container.

  Then Ethan felt the robed man’s emaciated hand gently touch his abdomen. He didn’t need to look down to see the light glowing from it.

  There was a deafening explosion. Ethan and chunks of scorched earth were thrown into the air; the robed man was also sent flying backward by the blast. A crater was blown into the ground where they’d stood.

  Blood gushed from Ethan’s mouth and nose, as if his body was eager to rid itself of it. It left a trail on the ground as he flew through the air. He could feel something else mixed in with the surging blood—probably his liver, spleen, and intestines.

  Even after taking such a direct hit, Sandro’s robe remained completely undamaged. But Ethan could feel that his abdominal organs were now a jumble, like a pot of chopped scraps. Even the muscles in his abdomen had been torn apart, mixing with the shattered organs inside.

  Ethan felt no pain, no fear—only death.

  He arced weakly through the air, trailing a spray of blood, and fell into the spring where the maiden stood, sending up a shower of water. One of the three floating leaves splashed out of the spring and onto the ground.

  The eclipse had ended completely. The sun shone unobstructed again, pouring its light down. The golden glow in the spring had become so bright it was almost blinding—as if there was another sun beneath the water. The elf maiden, who had stood motionless like a statue, suddenly opened her eyes and stared in panic at Ethan, who had fallen at her feet.

  The robed man climbed to his feet. He saw the leaf on the ground—its green so vivid against the blackened earth that it would make all living things bow in awe. He picked it up with his dry, lifeless fingers, which were trembling.

  He looked up. The golden light in the spring was still brilliant, but the once-serene scene was shattered. Ethan’s upper body was submerged in the water; his legs stuck out at a ridiculous angle over the spring’s rocky edge, like someone relaxing in a bath. Beside him, the maiden struggled to push Ethan out of the spring, her face filled with panic.

  A group of elves and tree-creatures appeared at the edge of the scorched clearing, rushing toward them. The robed man turned and fled, heading back the way he’d come.

  He clutched the leaf in his hand, his steps unsteady and clumsy—but his laughter was wild and triumphant, like a wolf that had finally devoured all a hundred sheep guarded by a shepherd dog.

  Even the water couldn’t muffle the robed man’s hideous voice. Submerged in the spring, Ethan listened, feeling that he had never failed so miserably in his life. It seemed this would also be his last failure. He hadn’t caught the “fish”—instead, he’d been “caught” and killed.

  I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die…

  This thought, which had once given him resolve and strength in adversity, now sounded like the delirium of a dying man. No matter how desperately he clung to life, he could feel it slipping away, bit by bit.

  Someone was pushing him hard, but he had no energy to care. His vision was filled with golden light. Spring water gushed into his mouth and nose, and it felt as if the light in the water was pouring into his body too. Surrounded and merged with this golden glow, his consciousness faded. He felt as if he was melting into that dazzling light.

  Dying in the sun…?

  That was his last thought.