Chapter 4: Magic and conflict

Finding some courage, Morgan took a deep breath and looked behind; he saw nothing.

For a moment, he wondered if he had imagined the whole thing, until a thud on his left side made him rush to his feet.

The huntress stood there, looking at the lake. A backpack full of plants and bloody meat rested on the ground beside her.

She languidly turned to Morgan. Her gaze seemed to see through him and judge him. If she found him lacking or not, he wasn’t sure.

They were pretty eyes.

They were scary eyes, too.

Ignoring him, the huntress crouched by the lake and took out her gloves to wash her hands. Morgan could perfectly imagine them being delicate and unblemished once upon a time, but frankly, he preferred reality. While small, those were the roughened hands of someone who worked hard every day, and there was a certain beauty to it.

Finding himself staring a bit too much, he looked away, not sure of what to say, not wanting to break the awkward yet peaceful moment. Only then, he noticed the big deer had disappeared. 

Morgan was about to ask the huntress about the animal when she suddenly made a ball out of plants and threw it at him, almost hitting him in the face if he hadn't dodged. 

“You look like shit,” she said. He could only stare in shock; those couldn't possibly be the first words such an enigmatic person said to him. “Your face.” She vaguely gestured at him. Her voice was dry and unapologetic.

He frowned. His day had been bad enough; the last thing he needed was to be mocked by a stranger. "I lost a fight," he said, not feeling like explaining the whole story.

"Really? I'm quite sure that was the other guy." She took a bloodied knife out of nowhere and started washing it.

“You saw that? Wait…” Morgan couldn't remember having seen her around. But he did remember that weird piercing gaze that seemed to follow him since his first day at Bolden. "Were you spying on me?" Morgan wasn’t sure if he should feel upset or disturbed.

“Spying? That would imply I had any interest in what you were doing, which I don't." His worry lessened, but her words left him feeling a bit under the weather. "I was just doing my shopping and crossed with you a couple of times. That’s it. It was interesting, though." She stared at him, studying him once again, and said in an amused tone, "I don't think I've ever seen someone looking so miserable after a victory.”

Morgan almost wanted to be mad at her. But he didn’t want to vent his frustrations on someone just because they pointed out an uncomfortable truth. 

He was feeling terrible. Because even though he did his best, fighting with all his might, his only reward had been contempt. People like Morgan would never be accepted by the likes of Sol.

Morgan noticed a second ball of plants soaring towards him and slapped it away. 

The huntress made a disapproving noise. "I’m not asking you for details. So no need to get your face all scrunched like that," she said, ignoring what would be a glare if Morgan were not feeling so conflicted. "Like I said, I don't care. Whatever you do or stop doing is not my problem." She looked at him. "Or anyone else’s."

Morgan blinked, slowly considering her words. He and she; they were both right.

His efforts would never be appreciated by the captain, but Morgan shouldn't care about Sol’s opinion so heavily either. 

Was his dream so empty that just one man's dismissal could end it? Morgan would like to think not, that it was he himself who had the last word and nobody else. 

Only he could give up on his dream. So... Morgan would not do that even if everyone else did.

Would it be that bad? Or selfish? He just wanted to hold on to that dream for a bit longer and see where it took him. “Guess you are right,” he said with a frail smile, noticing the huntress was extending a hand to him, in an apparent gift offer.

What was she holding? More plants. 

He looked at her before tentatively reaching to grab them.

“Don’t throw them away. The salve will help with the bruises. Leave that sad expression for when you actually fail.” And with those words, she stood up and walked away.

He stared in stupefaction before yelling,  “thank you!” She was so far away, Morgan couldn’t be sure if she heard him or not. He felt a lot of regret when he realized they didn’t exchange names.

Still wary about showing his face around the town, he decided to take care of his bruises first. The salve was cold against his skin, but he felt some instant relief as he applied it.

Feeling exhausted, both physically and mentally, he lay on his back on the ground. The shadow of a nearby treetop sheltered him.

He would thank Naga and the others for letting him stay in the barracks and then leave by tomorrow morning.

Morgan knew what he wanted, or at least he thought he did. He was starting to have doubts about the true form of that goal. And while Bolden was a nice place, it didn't feel like he would find an answer here.

Returning to Linverd wasn’t an option either. His hometown would crush his dreams to dust and eat him alive; he just knew it. 

Morgan needed to find an answer on his own, somewhere else.

He sighed and closed his eyes. He would let the Morgan of the future take care of all that complicated stuff.

Morgan sat up with a start, a tree leaf having fallen right on his nose, making him sneeze.

The sky has darkened. "I should have known this would happen."

He disliked wasting the light of day, but at least now his body felt well-rested and with none of the pain or discomfort he had expected. The salve had made wonders. 

Morgan doubted he would be able to fall asleep again any time soon, but going back to the barracks was his best option for now.

It took Morgan a while to find the right path, almost believing himself lost, but he eventually made it back to the town. Such was his luck, though, that he almost crashed into Sol as the man rushed after Basthed.

"As I said, mayor, I'm just curious, for not saying worried," said Sol, not noticing as Morgan hid behind some boxes, wanting to avoid the older man for the rest of his stay.

Basthed stopped walking, letting Sol catch up to him. Unfortunately, that meant the two men were now blocking Morgan's path, so he was forced to wait. "And I said I can't do anything for you," said Basthed, harsh for the first time Morgan had seen.

"I just requested permission to enter the Ivory Tower."

"Which you have no right to," Basthed almost shouted in indignation, taking a moment to calm down. "The original tower was a sacred place where only magi could enter, and the one here isn’t any different."

“But there’s no magi left in Oman. It's just you.” By the way Basthed’s expression darkened, that was clearly the wrong thing to say. But Sol didn’t stop, "sorry, but the well-being of the country is more important than anyone’s sensibilities.”

“What are you talking about?”

Sol looked concerned. ”I managed to get some registers of the ruined Capital. The king at the time allowed the entry of many elves to Oris as a show of goodwill after his predecessor crushed them in the war. But if you ask me, they were allowed too much freedom. One of them even acquired a whole building where nobody else could enter. And nobody suspected this elf could be up to something bad, until it was too late. We know how that story ended. So don’t tell me I should just leave things be and repeat such a terrible mistake."

Basthed’s face was pale. "You think I'm using dark magic.”

That was a strange term. Dark magic.

They lived in a world where magic was rare; the elves were masters of magic but kept to themselves, goblins couldn't use it, and very few humans were born with that gift. So the concept of what could make magic dark was lost to Morgan.

”I don't know what you expect to find, but that building is just a memento to my family roots and a place for meditation. Nothing else."

"If it's so harmless. Then you have nothing to hide." Sol walked closer, putting his hand on Basthed's shoulder. "I don't believe you are doing anything bad, Mayor. But that's the King’s worry, so I'm forced to make sure everything’s fine even if I don't like it." Sol admitted. "If you could just be more forthcoming and let me inside-"

"You are lying," Sigmund said, making Sol flinch; his expression went from uncertain to angered. "You say your King ordered you to investigate me? That he suspects me of being a dark magic practitioner?” He stepped away. ”Elvran knows me well enough to understand the kind of person I am and why I'd NEVER do such a thing. Besides, Elvran is not the type of king to sit idly on his throne while his subjects do everything. If he suspected me, he would be here. So what's really your objective, captain?"

Sol's expression changed. All trace of emotion was gone. "It seems this is my fault for not investigating enough. You are right, this is on me. My apologies, Lord Sigmund Basthed." 

It was a sudden thing. As a glass cup falling to the ground. What was once a beautiful, fragile thing broke into a million pieces.

Peace was broken in an instant, as Sol took out a hidden dagger and stabbed it through the mayor’s stomach.

Morgan could only stare in disbelief at the absurdity happening in front of his eyes. Such a thing wasn't supposed to occur. Sol was a knight, someone dedicated to justice and goodness. And Basthed was a recognized hero, someone whose actions had been proven as fair. No logical conflict between such men should have ended in such a violent way.

And still, bloodshed was the conclusion.

Suddenly, a cloud of dust expanded from where Basthed stood, vast and thick enough to reach Morgan, not letting him see anything beyond some centimeters in front of him. It didn't feel like a natural event. Was it magic then?

Soon enough, somebody collided with Morgan. 

It was Basthed. "The guards' guest,” muttered the man, weakly holding onto Morgan. Sol yelled in anger, not too far from there, looking for his 'prey'. "Please. My daughter..." 

Morgan didn't need to hear anything else; Basthed's pleading expression was enough. Any fear or nervousness was overcome by his need to do something. Maybe the situation was nightmarish and illogical, but when Morgan reduced it to helping the man in front of him, everything else stopped being important.

He held onto the mayor, who was growing weaker, and they moved as fast as possible, keeping themselves away from anyone's gaze. 

A red light shot up into the sky from the place they had just left. It was clearly meant to be a signal of some kind, and he doubted it meant something good.

As they approached the mayor's mansion, the doors opened and soldiers started walking out. They were armed, but not just with swords. They had rifles, too. And they noticed Morgan and Basthed immediately. 

Before he could panic, Basthed grunted, "to the tower." Quickly, Morgan placed the man on his back and started running towards the other building, as various projectiles missed them by mere inches.

After what seemed like hours, but was just a few seconds, they reached the Ivory Tower and pretty much crashed against the door, not feeling it move at all. Morgan couldn't see a knob or keyhole to open it either. "Fuck, fuck, fuck..." Desperation made any property he had be kicked out of the window as he tried to find a way inside.

But then Basthed's languid hand touched the door, and what seemed an impenetrable wall a moment ago just moved.

Morgan didn't question it and entered the tower with Basthed, closing the door as a new series of projectiles impacted. He remained there, feeling people trying to push the door open. But the moment Basthed touched the door a second time, it just locked in place, and no efforts from either outside or inside could have opened that door again.

"How?" Morgan took a step away, keeping his eyes on the unmoving door, while the ruckus outside only seemed to increase.

"Magic," said Basthed, in what could have been a humorous tone had it been literally any other situation. "It's okay. It won't open for them... The chair, please."

Morgan blinked out of his daze and gently put the man down in a chair. Beside it stood a desk with parchment and ink, along with a couple of shelves full of books. There was also a ladder connecting to the floors above, where he could see even more bookshelves.

Now, in the relative calm, Morgan finally noticed the blood staining his clothes. For a horrifying moment, his brain almost tricked him into believing it was his own blood, until he remembered it was Basthed's.

That wasn’t precisely better.

Basthed examined his injury with a somber gaze.

"Can you heal it?" Morgan asked, in a small voice, trying to look at Basthed’s eyes and nowhere else. He feared the man would perish if he looked away for too long.

Basthed stared at him for a moment. "Yes," he nodded slowly, trying to sit straighter. "But I need your help." He weakly pointed at one of the shelves. "That book, the red one, pull it." Morgan did it. The moment he nervously tried to take the book, something kept it in place, and he heard a sort of mechanism behind him activate. 

A section of the floor had lifted, like a trapdoor, revealing a ladder going downwards.

"You have to go down. But first, take that." Basthed pointed at what looked like an ornate sword hanging from the wall. "A gift from Elvran. You’ll need it."

“Okay.” While feeling inadequate about touching such an item, Morgan still followed the man's orders.

He clumsily strapped the weapon to his belt and moved to the ladder, while Basthed followed him with his eyes. The bleeding didn’t seem to have stopped.

He needed to save the man’s daughter and bring him a healer quickly.

But the moment Morgan started going down the ladder, he felt some movement above. By the time he realized what was happening, it was too late. The entry he had used to go down had closed.

"Mayor Basthed?!" he yelled.

"Sorry, I lied," said Basthed. And Morgan flinched as a droplet of blood drained through the closed trapdoor and fell on his face. "I can't heal this. I lost most of my magic decades ago and already used all the party tricks I had left... Listen. The tunnel down there divides into two paths. The left one will take you to an underground chamber with enough rations to remain hidden for weeks. And the right path will take you into the mansion through a secret entrance... I can’t tell you what to do, but... Please save my daughter."

Basthed didn't speak anymore after that.

Morgan simply went down the remaining steps and found himself in the tunnel. A short walk later, just as he was told, the path bifurcated.

And he just stood there. Very aware of all the blood covering him. None of it was his own.

Morgan wanted to be a knight. A brave one. A savior. Something more than he was.

But now he could barely take a step.

The person Morgan had decided to protect, ignoring his own well-being, was left behind and likely died without Morgan being able to do anything to stop it. 

And now he was alone and was so terrified. 

The problem wasn't truly the blood, even if it would be easier to tell himself it was just that.

No. Blood was life, but also death.

And he was so scared of dying. 

Basthed probably felt that fear too, but he still preferred to be left alone up there if that gave his daughter a chance to be saved.

But dying alone. Wasn't that just the worst...?

He headbutted the wall as hard as he could.

It was definitely a bad idea, but it cleared his mind of his cowardice.

Sure. The fear was still there, wrapped around him like a cape, but he could now remember something important. Being a knight wasn't just about how you lived, but also about how you died. And if he could stop a little girl from feeling that fear and despair, maybe that was just enough.

And so, he made his decision.

She could hear people outside the room.

One of the guards had told her to hide under her bed while looking quite frightened, so she did. But the guard hadn't returned.

Cailin waited, trying to ignore the noise outside, just wishing her father were there. 

Why wasn't he there?

Suddenly, the door opened and someone walked in. It wasn't the guard.

Cailin remained still, trying not to be noticed. But as if already knowing she was there, the figure crouched to look under the bed, and his cruel eyes found her immediately.

"There you are." As the soldier extended an arm towards the frightened Cailin, someone else entered the room and pulled the man away.

It took a minute, but eventually the new person won the struggle. "Cailin?" he said, making her tremble in fear. He didn't try to get her out from under the bed, though.

She heard some movement that made her nervous, but when the person spoke again, he sounded utterly gentle, "sorry for scaring you. But we need to leave. Your father sent me to protect you, so I'll get you to safety. I swear it on my life."

Cailin felt the words were real. She had always been good at judging people. So she just knew this person was good, just like her father and the people in the town were.

She slowly moved out and was surprised. He looked young, but still so tall from her point of view that she could only see him as an adult. He was armed with a sword and had one of her blankets covering his upper body like a robe.

She looked at him funnily until he looked away. "My clothes got... dirty. I hope you don't mind if I use this for now."

She nodded, slowly. The person looked silly but... "Are you a knight?" It was the impression he gave her. He was also nicer than the knight who visited their town.

The person suddenly got flustered. "N-no. I'm just Morgan. But I won't stop you if you want to think of me that way."

"Are you a fake knight, then?" she asked innocently. A fake one that was kind was better than a real one that was mean.

"Not wrong, I guess." He extended his free hand, and she grabbed it.

They walked out of the room. "We just need to get to the kitchen, on the second floor, there's a cabinet there with a fake part in the back. We can escape through there."

As they advanced, she immediately noticed the guard that helped her before slumped on the ground nearby. She tried to approach, but the fake knight stopped her. "Don't." He blocked her view of the guard. "We can't help him." She sadly let herself be walked away, understanding the meaning of what the fake knight wasn't saying. Maybe if she had been a strong magus like her father, she could have stopped such a thing from happening? No, she shouldn't think that way. Her father would solve everything once she was safe. She had to trust him.

They crossed with more guards and servants on their way down. They couldn't help them either. She tried not to cry, but the fake knight didn't seem to mind her tears, awkwardly patting her head.

But when they finally reached the second floor, three soldiers appeared on the other side of the hallway, coming from downstairs.

They looked funny, like insects.

"Oh, what a coincidence? Guess this time no one will be here to protect your ass, huh?" said one that looked like a stick bug.

"Don't cuss in front of a child," said the fake knight, gently pushing her behind him, and muttered, "Cailin. Remember. The cabinet. A red one." She nodded. "NOW!"

She turned around and ran towards the kitchens, as the soldiers and the fake knight Morgan clashed.

Morgan's rescue mission hadn't been the kind of story you tell around a campfire.

His entrance through a kitchen cabinet hadn't been the most dignified thing ever. And it had been too late to help any of the people who guarded the castle. The soldiers from the capital had massacred them all and left the building, probably to help Sol take the city, or whatever was his final goal. Morgan only found a soldier left in the mansion, and after a messy but short fight, he knocked him out.

He hadn't used his sword yet, resting on his belt like a reminder that the whole thing wouldn't end well.

'Consider how this fight would have gone if you had used real weapons.'

He shook his head, trying not to think about that.

He found the mayor’s daughter, after all.

Morgan did it. And watching the mix of hope, sadness, and fear in Cailin’s eyes helped to strengthen his determination.

It wasn't a question about whether he could do this. He HAD to do this.

So when he crossed with those three bastards on the second floor, he knew he couldn't avoid a fight anymore.

He unsheathed his sword and instructed Cailin to escape. Such a nice sword, majestic but made to be light -it was made for Basthed, who wasn't a fighter after all.

It suddenly felt so heavy.

'Consider how this fight would have gone if you had used real weapons.'

"NOW!" He rushed to stop Big-Eyes as the soldier tried to run after Cailin.

Their attacks clashed, and this time, Morgan put all his strength behind it, overpowering him and making his sword fly away. Morgan followed with a kick to the chest that violently shoved Big-Eyes towards Beetle, who, in a show of absolute uncaringness, cut his comrade off his way with a powerful slash. 

Not slowed down, Beetle and Stick advanced towards Morgan at the same time, attacking from different directions and angles. In the tight space of the hallway, Morgan couldn't dodge well, and blocking the two of them seemed impossible, so he was forced to choose.

He chose Beetle.

The soldier's devastating attack was halted just as Stick rushed past them, slashing Morgan’s side.

He felt the pain, knowing he was bleeding without needing to look. He couldn't look at the mess his body was now, or he would lose all courage.

So Morgan stayed strong, sword locked with Beetle's as the heavier man tried and failed to overwhelm him. 

He also didn't need to look behind him to know Stick was too much of a bastard to just leave things to his companion.

So as Stick rushed back, prepared to pierce through his heart from behind, Morgan disengaged Beetle and let himself fall backwards, dodging Stick's attack and making him trip at the same time.

'Consider how this fight would have gone if you had used real weapons.'

With Morgan out of the way, Beetle accidentally sliced Stick’s shoulder, and Stick pierced through Beetle’s chest. They both fell on the ground beside Morgan, bleeding profusely.

He finally allowed himself to look at his own injury.

It was way worse than he had imagined.

Feeling like most of his strength had abandoned him, Morgan slowly stood up. He wondered if he could find another blanket to cover himself up before he met with Cailin again. He couldn't let her see him bleeding like this.

Thinking about it, Naga had kinda warned him about this sort of situation; maybe if he had learned to use ranged weapons, he wouldn't be this injured now. She was a nice one, that huntress too; Morgan hoped he would see them again.

He walked to the end of the hallway, where he lost his footing, rolling down the stairs before finally sprawling on the ground on the first floor. He looked at the ceiling, wondering if Cailin had found the secret entrance by now.

He was in a weird place right then, aware enough to know he should be screaming in pain, but instead, everything just felt cold and distant.

He recognized some soldiers approaching, asking questions he didn’t want or could answer, before dragging him outside. 

He was trying to rest. Couldn't they just leave him be?

Obviously not.

Sol -or maybe it was his imagination- stared down at him.

'CONSIDER HOW THIS FIGHT WOULD HAVE GONE IF YOU HAD USED REAL WEAPONS.'

"I still won," he muttered.

Sol frowned, looking like someone had pissed on his tea. Maybe the knight wasn't his imagination, after all.

The captain's armored boot violently kicked him in the face. Definitely not his imagination.

Some unknown time later, Morgan felt water embracing him. Apparently, they had decided to throw him into the nearby river.

He sank deeper onto it, and everything went dark as his consciousness started to vanish.

But between that infinite darkness, a light shone, warm and inviting.

And he saw antlers.