Paragon of Destruction

"Hunters are called that because they hunt mages," Snowcloud explained. "They specialize in a type of Body Refinement that grants them resistance to magic, and they use it to hunt and kill mages. Even Masters and Grandmasters fear them."

"Why do they hunt mages?" Arran asked. Although he was curious about the Body Refinement technique she mentioned, this did not seem like the right time to express his interest in it.

"Nobody knows," she replied. "They rarely appear in the borderlands, but when they do, they inevitably leave a trail of dead mages in their wake. After that, they simply disappear again."

"That’s it? They kill mages?" Arran frowned, unimpressed with the explanation. He had killed his fair share of mages already, and with the possible exception of Zehava, so had the others in their small group. Moreover, while Hunters’ powers seemed to resemble his own, Body Refinement and resistance to magic were hardly unique abilities.

"You don’t understand," Rockblaze said. "They slaughter mages like commoners." He emphasized the last word, an expression of disgust on his face as if the very idea was obscene.

"But mages kill each other, too," Arran said. "And quite often, at that."

"That’s different," Rockblaze said sharply. "A fight between mages is a fight between equals. But Hunters... what they do is butchery. There is no honor involved."

To Arran’s ears, the adept’s words sounded like nonsense. Even ignoring the ridiculous idea of honor in battle, none of the mages he had faced had shown any interest in honorably facing an equal.

Still, he held his tongue.

Irrational though Rockblaze’s ideas seemed to Arran, the conflict between them had only just been resolved, and rekindling it would serve no purpose. Even if he thought the adept was an idiot.

Instead, he asked, "Is that why your attacks use Essence indirectly?"

It seemed to be the right question, because at once, the adept’s expression turned excited. "Exactly! Using magic directly is easy, but it has far too many weaknesses. By manipulating objects you can—"

Rockblaze spent several minutes extolling the virtues of indirect magic attacks, and although Arran’s opinion of the man didn’t improve, he found himself listening intently. He had no plans of using the techniques himself — mostly because he lacked the required skill — but anything he learned might help him better protect himself.

The adept continued speaking for some time, but finally, Snowcloud interrupted him. "We should depart. There is a long journey ahead, and the region is still filled with enemies. The sooner we leave, the better."

Arran nodded. "We should. But there is something I have to do in the ruins, first — it will only take a moment."

Snowcloud gave him a meaningful look, then nodded. "Be quick about it."

It only took Arran a short time to find the void bag he had hidden within the city, and he smiled in satisfaction when he inspected its contents. The belongings of the Waning Moon novices they had slain on the road to the Eidaran Empire were still there, and from the looks of it, undisturbed.

When he returned to the others, he found them ready and waiting to leave.

Yet as they were about to depart, Zehava spoke up. "The poison you used on Rockblaze," she began, with a fearful look at Snowcloud, "did you use it on me, too?"

"Of course," Snowcloud replied flatly. "I’ll give you both the antidote when we’re back to safety, but not a moment before that."

"But what if something happens—"

"I control the poison," Snowcloud interrupted. "Unless I trigger it, you’re safe. But if I see any signs of betrayal..." She left the rest unspoken, but the message was clear: betrayal meant death.

Arran wondered whether Snowcloud was telling the truth, but only briefly. After spending a year with her, he knew her well enough to see that this was no bluff — she had actually poisoned the two.

In his mind, he complimented her decisiveness. It was not a side of herself she showed often, but when she did, it never failed to leave him impressed.

They quickly set off once more, albeit at a less frantic pace than before. With a long journey ahead and no more pursuers on their tail, an abundance of haste would not serve them well.

To Arran’s surprise, they encountered no more Iron Mountain mages on their way out of the Eidaran Empire, and Zehava explained that most of the search parties had been sent further to the north.

This eased their travels, but Arran had little time to enjoy the peaceful journey, because Rockblaze’s behavior underwent a radical shift after he learned that Arran was not a Hunter.

Where the adept had earlier treated Arran with barely veiled hostility, he now took it upon himself to instruct Arran in the intricacies of magic, and he did so in excruciating detail.

Arran vaguely suspected it was Rockblaze’s way of apologizing for the false accusation, but whatever the reason, it wasn’t long before he began to dread the Rockblaze’s lectures far more than he had ever feared the man’s power.

Still, as the weeks passed, Arran was forced to reluctantly admit that Rockblaze was an excellent — if unpleasant — teacher.

Not only did the adept’s knowledge far exceed Snowcloud’s, but he was also far more skilled in conveying it, and Arran learned a great deal from Rockblaze’s endless monologues. It wasn’t anywhere near enough to make up for years without proper instruction, but it allowed him to begin building a foundation he had previously lacked.

Better yet, as his understanding of magic improved, so did his understanding of the seal on his Destruction Realm. And while he was still far from opening it, he grew increasingly confident that with a few months of uninterrupted work, he would be able to break through.

After several weeks of travel, they reached the location that had held the Soaring Sun camp. They found it completely abandoned except for a family of goat farmers who had taken up residence in the castle Elder Naran once inhabited.

But while the camp had been abandoned months earlier, the army it held was large enough that its path was still clearly visible, new grass only now beginning to cover the deep trail of dirt that had been left by thousands of boots.

"You’re planning to follow them?" Zehava asked.

Snowcloud responded with a short nod. "If what you say is true and the three factions are at a stalemate in front of the border, then the Soaring Sun offers our best chance of crossing safely. Elder Naran will help us once he learns the situation."

"I left the Iron Mountain army months ago," Zehava replied in an uncertain voice. "I don’t know what has happened since then — for all I know, the battle could be long over. If we continue, we might find only enemies at the border."

"It’s possible," Snowcloud said, "but I doubt it. Neither the Soaring Sun nor the Waning Moon would dare attack the other with the Iron Mountain lying in wait." She sighed, then added, "And with armies this large, if a true battle erupts, there’s a good chance the factions’ Elders will get involved. If that happens, the destruction will be unimaginable."

As she spoke those last words, Arran saw concern in both the novices’ eyes, and even Rockblaze seemed uncomfortable.

But then, he felt as worried as they looked, if not more so. He had seen the aftermath of a battle between truly powerful mages in the ruins of Uvar, and the sight of it had been burned into his mind. If the Shadowflame Elders held even a fraction of that power, he wouldn’t want to be anywhere within a dozen miles when they battled.

The journey continued as smoothly as they could have hoped, but as the weeks passed, their worries about the dangers ahead steadily grew stronger. Against Shadowflame Elders the little bit of strength they had was completely useless, and they would have to rely on others to survive.

For mages who were used to relying on their own power, that was perhaps the most daunting realization of all: that they were heading toward a situation where they might as well be commoners.

But despite their worries, they continued onward, and with each passing day, they came closer to their destination. Then, one afternoon, Arran finally saw the border’s vast mountains in the distance.

They were still far enough that he could only barely make them out, but even seeing their blurry shapes rising up into the sky filled him with a sense of awe. They were larger than he remembered — unnaturally large, almost — and they formed an unbroken line from north to south, like a wall built to stop gods.

"We’re almost there," Snowcloud said softly. Sunken in thought as he was, Arran had not heard her approach.

He tried to think of something encouraging to say, but no words came. They were at the end of their journey, and before the week was over, they would either meet victory or death.

"I hope we make it," he finally said.

"So do I."

She reached out and took his hand, and for a time, they stood in silence, eyes fixed on the mountains ahead.