The camp reeked of smoke, sweat, and unwashed bodies. Around two dozen rough men lounged among the tents, sharpening blades or tending bubbling pots over scattered fires.

  Despite the grime, the camp was strangely orderly—bedrolls neatly rolled, supplies stacked with care.

  A lone man sat apart at the central fire.

  He was hunched over on a tree log, wrapped in a thick, fur-lined high collar that made his silhouette resemble a gargoyle. His skin was weathered by years outdoors, and every patch of exposed flesh was marked with ink.

  In his calloused hands, he held a Mana Crystal, chipping at it with a curved knife—each stroke sending out spurts of blue sparks.

  Before Helto could announce them, two shapes slipped from the shadows behind the man. Panthers—one black as pitch, the other white as ash—paced protectively around him, green eyes fixed on the newcomers. Each was nearly the size of a horse.

  Tension rippled through the camp. Even Helto stiffened, his hand drifting toward the saber at his belt.

  The beasts glowed blue in Lucon’s new vision. Mana Beasts—tamed Mana Beasts.

  It was the first time he had ever seen such a thing.

  His gaze lifted to their master.

  The man seemed utterly unfazed by the unease his beast companions caused, his expression blank until the panthers drew close. Then he smiled faintly, running his fingers through their fur as they passed.

  Lucon’s new sight saw more than the man himself. At his core churned a pool of cerulean light—a Mana Pool. This man, Skhav, was a mage.

  A wagon at the far edge of the camp caught his attention next, camouflaged beneath leaves and branches. It glowed with the same blue hue.

  “Skhav,” Helto said, his voice tight with forced calm. “Call off your pets.”

  Skhav finished his careful stroke with the knife, then tucked both the crystal and blade into his coat. He turned, light brown eyes matching his sun-worn skin, and nodded toward Lucon.

  “What’s this?” Skhav asked, his voice low and accented.

  Helto grimaced. “This is Young Lord Lucon Edelyn.” His shoulders tensed as the white panther drifted too close. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten what we’re here for.”

  “We?” Skhav frowned.

  “Damn barbarian,” Helto muttered under his breath—but Lucon caught it easily.

  And it wasn’t only hearing. He could feel the tension coiling through Helto’s muscles, the same tightness gripping the camp. The mage didn’t belong here—not truly.

  Lucon wanted nothing more than to surrender to the sensations around him, to let the strange new world flow through him unchecked. But there was a problem.

  Hilda was still clinging to his back like a knapsack.

  He couldn’t exactly have fun with her there.

  Without a word, Skhav drew two small, intricately carved Mana Crystal whistles from the cord around his neck. He lifted them to his lips and blew two short, dissonant notes.

  Lucon’s sight followed the Mana evaporating from the pool at the man’s core—glowing steam rising through his body, curling from his mouth into the whistles. They began to glow.

  The Mana within the panthers’ minds flared bright. They turned and padded back toward the fire, circling once before settling down—though their eyes stayed sharp, wary even of the bandits.

  So that’s how he controls them, Lucon thought with a appreciative nod.

  “Animals truly are better than people,” Skhav muttered, pushing himself to his feet. “Let’s get this done. Those Arisen soldiers have returned from the Wilderwood.”

  Mavor and Kaeson. The only threat they would be wary of. At least they were smart enough to know to fear them.

  Skhav turned abruptly and strode toward a large, weather-worn tent without another glance.

  Helto’s mouth pressed into a thin, frustrated line before he forced a strained, apologetic smile at Lucon.

  “Forgive him, milord. He hates humans.” His eyes hardened briefly. “But he has a way with beasts.” He jerked his chin toward the panthers. “Each of those cats is as strong as an Ember Arisen.”

  Lucon’s eyebrows lifted up, genuinely impressed. Each was as strong as Lieutenant Kaeson.

  Helto’s expression fell—clearly disappointed his words hadn’t unnerved him.

  Lucon wasn’t sure he remembered what fear felt like anymore. The world through his senses didn’t seem to think such an emotion was relevant.

  Helto held the tent flap open. “After you, milord.”

  Behind him, Hilda pressed closer, her small hand clutching the back of his tunic. Lucon followed her gaze toward the ring of bandits now watching them—eyes gleaming with open lust.

  “What a lovesick bunch you’ve got,” Lucon said with a grin.

  Helto chuckled softly.

  “Master, this is serious…” Hilda whispered, eyes filled with worry as she observed Lucon’s carefree expression.

  She stayed close behind, nearly stepping on his heel as they ducked together under the tent flap.

  Inside, the air was warmer. A simple table dominated the center, covered in maps of the barony pinned down by daggers, mugs, and scattered crystal shards. A lantern swung faintly overhead, casting shifting shadows that danced like a wary welcoming party.

  Helto sat first, posture stiff and upright—as though waiting for orders at any moment.

  Lucon dragged a chair over and sat down. Hilda hovered close behind his shoulder, refusing to leave his shadow.

  No sooner had he settled than Skhav spoke.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  “You will help us move our shipments across the barony.”

  Helto slapped a hand over his face. “By the Abyssal Pit, Skhav,” he groaned. “A little finesse. We talked about finesse.”

  Skhav exhaled. “This is why I hate people—too many words.”

  The two men exchanged an irritated glance.

  For a moment, Lucon simply stared.

  Then he clapped his hands together with a bright smile. “Oh, that makes things much better! And here I thought this was a kidnapping for ransom money.”

  “Does kidnapping pay well?” Skhav asked, genuinely curious.

  Helto glared a hole in the side of his head.

  “Sadly in my case, it does not,” Lucon shook his head in regret. Skhav visibly deflated. “The barony is not what it used to be. Now, my brother? He’s worth much more.”

  Hilda made a face behind him.

  Skhav brightened and murmured, “Perhaps we should get the brother instead…”

  Red flames erupted beside them as Helto unleashed his Aura.

  “That is not what we came here for,” he growled, shooting the tattooed mage an intense look before tapping the map—some silent reminder of their true goal.

  Skhav didn’t flinch. He simply tugged the cord from beneath his shirt, revealing the two Mana Crystal whistles.

  At the faint sound of purring outside, Helto froze. His Aura flickered, then vanished.

  Lucon chuckled. “Boys, boys. No need to squabble. This shipment business sounds promising.”

  He began arranging the scattered crystal shards on the map into a tiny caravan, pushing it to travel in a glowing run across the barony.

  “I can already see my part in this shipment venture,” he mused, stopping where the barony’s borders ended. “I just have to keep the inspectors off your backs.” He nodded thoughtfully. “And we’ll need licenses for this land and the two territories you’ll be moving through.”

  He dragged the crystal caravan across the map from one border to the next.

  Skhav exhaled tiredly and corrected the route to what the plan was supposed to be.

  Lucon’s grin became more genuine seeing the territories pointed out. He could guess which place they hailed from. Because he knew one thing.

  These men weren’t bandits.

  In witnessing the brief exchange, Helto’s brow furrowed with suspicion. “That’s enough showing the Young Lord things for now. Let’s decide terms.”

  “Shut up,” Skhav snorted.

  Helto bristled, but the faint sounds of the panthers outside kept him still.

  “I want half,” Lucon said casually.

  Hilda gripped the back of his chair, frowning.

  Skhav’s irritation showed immediately. “That would cut into my portion.”

  “Depends who’s paying.” Lucon nudged his makeshift caravan of crystal shards toward a city marked on the map. The flicker in their expressions told him he’d hit the mark. “If it’s a fiefdom, a city, or a guild—they’ll all pay differently.”

  Neither man spoke, but the world still whispered to Lucon. Their bodies told him plenty—the tension in their muscles, the faint hum of energy in their cores at the mention of a single word: guild.

  Lucon glanced down at the map. The city name read Teleris.

  They work for a guild in Teleris.

  “I’m not giving you half,” Skhav said flatly.

  “We can discuss that later, Skhav,” Helto muttered.

  Skhav glowered at the eyebrowless man. “I’m here for my own reasons, Helto.”

  “I’d like to see you blow those whistles at them,” Helto said darkly, voice low with threat. “Let’s see what happens when you’re the one who messes things up.”

  Lucon smiled faintly and reached back, moving Hilda’s hands from his chair to his shoulders. She huffed—clearly thinking the situation far too serious for such a thing as a massage—but began rubbing his shoulders anyway.

  Lucon sighed in contentment. “There should be plenty of money. The Mana Crystals in that wagon outside are worth enough to put smiles on all our faces.”

  Both men became still.

  “I saw a glow through the trees,” Lucon added with a shrug. Not much of a lie—though the way he’d seen that glow was certainly unique to him.

  Helto turned on Skhav, his glare murderous. “You were supposed to tell those idiots to cover the wagon properly!”

  Skhav huffed through his nose. “Then there’s no point in dancing around it. We might as well tell him the rest.” He fixed his tattooed gaze on Lucon. “The offer stands—your cooperation for wealth.”

  “He’s already gotten the rest!” Helto snapped, his voice rising. “You’ve been giving him everything since we sat down!”

  The two descended into a heated whisper-argument, words overlapping, each blaming the other.

  Lucon leaned back slightly.

  Not allies.

  Just…aligned for now.

  Someone else must have put them together.

  His gaze dropped once more to the city marked on the map—Teleris.

  “Mana Crystals here in the west have a higher grade than the other parts of the kingdom,” Lucon commented, getting their attention. His eyes drifted to Skhav. “But they’re nothing compared to what you can get from the Abandoned Verge.”

  He guided Hilda’s hands from his shoulders to his bicep, gesturing with his chin toward the tattoos etched across Skhav’s face. “Isn’t that where you’re from, friend? Why harvest here in the garden when the forest bears better fruit?”

  A mage who could tame Mana Beasts? Strange magic like that only came from a place like the Abandoned Verge. Lucon was certain.

  Skhav shook his head, his jaw tightening.

  His hand drifted to his neck—an absent gesture, but a telling one. The fur collar shifted, and Lucon caught a glimpse at something among the tattoos there.

  A brand.

  Jagged characters in barbarian script.

  Burned deep.

  Skhav noticed the glance and dropped his hand, the collar sliding neatly back into place. Then, without a word, he reached into his coat and withdrew a half-carved crystal the size of a plum, setting it on the table with a clack.

  Even without his enhanced sight, Lucon could tell its quality.

  Pure. Dense. Expensive.

  “In the Verge, such things are common,” Skhav said. “But the Mana Beasts there… they are unlike any others in the world, so it is hard to get. People here in the Heartlands would kill for what my homeland holds—to strengthen their mages, to fuel their nations’ power.” He leaned forward, eyes glinting with belief. “They call where I come from ‘abandoned’ by the gods. But are not Mana Crystals the gods’ own gift? Should a land so blessed be called the Abandoned Verge, simply because it borders the demon lands?”

  “I always wanted to see the Verge,” Lucon said lightly, probing for the truth behind the barbarian’s presence in the Heartlands. “If things go well here… perhaps one day you could show me.”

  Skhav’s face darkened.

  He tugged at his collar, pulling it higher until the brand vanished completely.

  “I can’t go back there,” he said.

  Outcast.

  Skhav blinked, confused by Lucon’s quiet, amused smile.

  “I think everything is in place,” Lucon finally said. He reclined, crossing one leg over the other and freeing Hilda from her massaging duties. “Naturally, we’ll need to go over the finer details. Draw up a contract. And I’m sure you’ll want to threaten me a little—just to make sure I don’t get cold feet or run to my father. Standard procedure, really.”

  Helto blinked, mouth agape. It was as if Lucon had plucked every thought straight from his head and spoken it aloud.

  Lucon steepled his fingers. “You’ll find me cooperative. No need to worry. I, like you said while we were drinking, am a man under a mountain of debt.” He exhaled wistfully. “Speaking of drinking… you and I, Helto, should drink until we come to an agreement.”

  Helto’s mouth twisted, his expression reluctant.

  “What I said in the tavern,” he admitted, “wasn’t the whole truth. I’m not much of a drinker. I like to stay aware.”

  His tone was cautious, guarded—the conversation was going far too smoothly with Lucon, and it clearly unnerved him.

  Lucon’s grin widened. “Disciplined. Like a soldier.”

  Helto paused, just a fraction too long. That was all the confirmation Lucon needed.

  Lucon laughed, a bright, easy sound. “A shame. Being fallen is so much more fun.”

  Helto gave a small, resigned shrug.

  Lucon leveled a playfully stern look at him. “Still, I’ll take that drink. Someone has to be celebrating the money we’re about to make.”

  Behind him, Hilda’s frown deepened, but she kept her tongue, choosing instead to glare in silent disapproval.

  Helto rose with a muttered curse, stepping toward the tent flap. He pulled it open and barked an order to one of the men outside.

  “Bring some liquor!” he called, then turned back, arching an eyebrow. “You don’t care what it is, as long as it gets you drunk, right?”

  Lucon flashed a lopsided grin. “Does a Banner Wave? Of course that’s all I care about!”

  Hilda stiffened.

  A known code.

  Banner Wave.

  While Helto’s back was turned, Lucon leaned slightly toward Skhav, voice low.

  “Your associates are quite stiff.”

  Skhav’s eyes flicked toward Helto’s back, and he exhaled through his nose.

  “I’ll be glad to be rid of them,” he muttered.

  The barbarian turned back—

  Lucon was gone.

  Only the maid remained, staring downward, uncertain and panicked.

  Skhav followed her gaze.

  There, coiled beneath the table, was Lucon. His fist rocketed upward, wreathed in golden light.

  [Rising Twister]

  The table exploded. Wood, maps, crystal shards, and the lantern erupted outward in a devastating vortex of splinters and holy light.