Marc was comfortably lying inside the cabin, with his comfort magic active, enveloping the room in an ideal coolness. He was drinking a large mug of cold beer while chewing strips of salted dried venison that he had hunted that very morning. His magic allowed him to speed up the meat drying process to just a few hours—one of the few tangible benefits of his power. It was his precious day off.
A week had passed since they returned from their small trip, and old Silas had shown him no mercy. He had demanded Marc make up the lost days, justifying that he hadn't trained during the journey. This meant working double what he normally did. Marc felt death hovering over him on several occasions, but Silas didn't waver and demanded a new level of effort. Furthermore, the old man had issued a warning: the level of required effort would be even greater during the final six months of his training.
The training was already hellish. Now it's almost impossible to bear. I think all that magical power affected the old man's head and he no longer feels compassion, Marc thought.
After the morning hunt, Marc decided he would spend the rest of the day prostrated, doing absolutely nothing else.
I won't read today. That was too much work for the whole week. It's also good to rest when your body and mind ask for it. Silas in my world definitely would have been classified as a labor exploiter.
Marc's rest was interrupted by some light, dry noises coming from his small vegetable garden. The cabin's tranquility was broken. He approached the window to check, but at first glance, he couldn't make out anything unusual. The forest seemed silent. But suddenly, Silas appeared right next to the window, as if he had materialized there. He was holding an apple in his hand, causing Marc to startle and drop the dried meat onto the floor.
"These apples are very juicy," Silas said, taking an audible bite of the fruit.
Son of a bitch. He scared me. What does he want now?
Silas headed to the door, entering the cabin. "I have an apple tree outside my hut, but the apples aren't as good as the ones here for some reason."
"What are you doing here, old man? It's my day off; don't come here to bother me," Marc hissed unpleasantly, picking up the strips of meat from the floor.
"Relax, I didn't come to give you work, although you should be reading, but I'll let it slide for today because I know you've exerted yourself in your training these last few days," Silas said, sitting on Marc's bench.
The old man is actually taking pity on me, and he even complimented my effort. He seems more relaxed than usual. It's like on his days off, he has a different attitude from the grumpy, heartless monster he normally is.
"If you wanted an apple, you could have just grabbed one and left," Marc said with a huff, throwing the strips of dried meat in the trash. "You ruined my rest and my snack."
"Don't worry, I'll leave right away; I just came to bring you this," Silas said, revealing a peculiarly shaped sword hilt from inside his robe: it only had the handle, without any blade.
"What is that supposed to be? Why are you bringing me a broken sword?" Marc asked, his face reflecting annoyance and disbelief.
The old man's jokes are getting weirder. Seriously, he only came here to bother me with this?
"It's not broken. It's a sword that must be imbued with magic to materialize its blade. The shape the blade takes depends on the magic used," Silas replied, handing the strangely light hilt to Marc.
"A magic sword?" Marc said, genuinely surprised.
"Not exactly, but I suppose you could call it that," Silas said. "Why don't we go outside so you can try it?"
Marc felt an intense curiosity about such an object—how a blade would appear out of nowhere with magic—but his suspicions about Silas's motives persisted.
"I appreciate the gesture, but why didn't you wait until tomorrow to give it to me? Why the rush?" Marc questioned.
"It seemed like a good time for you to try it," Silas said, getting up and calmly heading towards the cabin exit.
Marc didn't want to play Silas's game. He knew that this sudden "test" or "gift" would result in some kind of unexpected training, and this was his day off. But his curiosity got the better of him. The intrigue outweighed his laziness: he really wanted to know how that enigmatic magic sword worked. He walked out of the cabin, following Silas.
"Alright, you win. I'll try it, but only because I'm curious. How am I supposed to make it work?" Marc said, raising the bare hilt in the air.
"You have to imbue it with your magic. Concentrate like you do in meditations, create a mental image, think of the type of magic you want to invoke, and feel the magic flow through your body and out from your palms into the sword. The artifact will do the rest and take shape."
Sounds easy, Marc thought. And it was; his power to manipulate magic had grown exponentially in the preceding months. He quickly invoked Fire Magic, and the artifact reacted just as fast.
From the hilt, a blade began to form: it was of sharp black rock, crisscrossed by bright orange veins that pulsed like molten lava, similar to magma from a volcano. A searing heat emanated from that blade. Marc gripped the Magma Sword, feeling the resonance of his own power in the weapon's weight.
"This sword reacts to the imagination or desire of its wielder, to put it in conventional words. When you imbued it with Fire Magic, your mind unconsciously conceived what a weapon of that element would look like, and the artifact shaped it. Listen closely, Marc: Its blade could become even stronger than Adamantite if the power of your mind conceives it that way," Silas explained, his voice charged with a meaning that went beyond mere metal.
This shit is really cool. I always thought using a sword was a waste of time with my power. But this sword is incredible, and besides, it works with magic... I like it, Marc thought, as a genuine smile of satisfaction spread across his face.
Marc brandished the Magma Sword with both hands, drawn by its weight and the pulsating lava. As he did so, an eruption of large, roaring flames burst from the blade, licking the air with infernal heat. The flames nearly reached the wooden façade of the cabin. Marc stepped back, astonished. He hadn't expected such a level of raw power from that artifact.
"Why didn't you give it to me before, when we went to the goblin camp?" Marc imagined the scene, savoring what it would have been like to have the sword then, thinking that perhaps he wouldn't even have had to resort to the stake magic.
"The purpose of the test was for you to learn to use the resources available to you. To learn to be cautious and to know when to attack, even with a simple sword, without having to resort to magic. If you had had this sword, you most likely would have attacked head-on, destroying everything in your path," Silas replied with the didactic coldness that characterized him. "It would have been much easier, but not instructive. And you still lack swordsmanship skill."
"And why are you giving it to me now?" Marc asked with disbelief.
"Because I wanted you to use it practically against a complicated opponent, so you would understand its power and learn to control it better," Silas said.
"Opponent? Do you want me to fight some other creature like the goblins?" Marc asked in surprise.
"Not exactly. But, why don't you try the artifact with some other magic? Time is running out," Silas said, hiding information from Marc once again.
What does he mean, time is running out? Does he have somewhere to go? Always with half the information. He can never be clear.
Marc didn't give the old man's cryptic remark much thought. He was used to it. Instead of arguing, he invoked Ice Magic, which caused the blade to instantly transform: the black rock dissolved, turning into a sharp ice pick, white as an iceberg, from which a frigid vapor emanated because of how cold the blade was.
Marc didn't waste time and swung the blade. A cloud of white frost emanated from it, turning everything it touched to ice. The grass was white where the cloud passed, and the wind turned cold as the white layer spread.
Wow, it really is too powerful. Maybe the old man is right that I would have gone straight at the goblins if I'd had this sword with me.
When the cloud of frost dissipated, it revealed an strange figure to Marc's eyes, standing motionless in front of the line of trees at the base of the forest. It was a person completely dressed in black, with their face covered, which reminded Marc of the attire of the ninjas from his world. They wore a belt carrying several throwing knives and other weapons typical of a stealthy assassin. Marc, at first, thought maybe his eyes were deceiving him due to the speed of the encounter, but the dark silhouette was real.
"What the hell?!"
"Who are you? And what do you want?" Marc shouted at the stranger, quickly changing his defensive stance, gripping the ice sword. Any movement from that stranger, he thought, and I won't hesitate to use my area magic.
"Don't worry, demon. The fact that you can see me head-on is because I wanted it that way. If I hadn't wanted it, you would never have noticed my presence," the stranger replied with serenity and a cutting coldness in their voice.
He's very confident. It's true I hadn't noticed his presence, but he's very far away. If he had gotten closer, I probably would have noticed and he'd already be dead. Then he remembered how Silas had surprised him a few minutes ago, causing him to jump. Well, I think so. Either way, this guy is dangerous, my intuition tells me that.
"Then why are you showing yourself to me?" Marc asked.
"Because I want to ask you a question first. A few days ago, on the western edge of this forest, a goblin village was massacred by someone capable of using powerful magic. I had never witnessed a similar scene. The type of magic used is unknown even to me," the stranger said, making a deliberate pause before continuing.
"I was hired two weeks ago. Those goblins killed a family who owned a herbalist shop; they were far south in the forest searching for some medicinal plants that are said to only grow in this region. Something truly stupid, if you ask me; this forest is full of dangerous creatures. The herbalist's sister was the one who paid me to come and investigate. Of course, now I have to go back and tell her that her brother and his family were killed by those creatures..."
"And what does that have to do with me?" Marc said, raising his voice with authority and interrupting the dark figure's story. He wasn't going to reveal to the stranger that he was the one who killed the goblins.
"I'm getting to that point. Please, don't get impatient," the stranger replied calmly, maintaining the same coldness, and resumed their story. "Anyway, I followed the family's trail until I found a fight scene; apparently, they had tried to defend themselves from the goblins, failing miserably, of course. The trail of blood and their dragged bodies led me to the goblin village. I was ready to eliminate them, but to my surprise, someone else had already done it. So I decided to follow the trail of the person who carried out that massacre, and it led me here."
"After several days, he was able to find the trail?" Marc asked Silas in a low voice, still gripping the Ice Sword, not lowering his guard.
"Assassins have a different perception than others; they are trained for it. They could follow a trail even if it snowed and rained; the most experienced ones could follow a track up to several weeks later. But it's not like we tried to hide ours," Silas replied, with the monotonous voice of a professor.
"First, I ran into the temple on the way here," the assassin continued. "The priest next to you told me that in this direction I could find the person responsible for killing those goblins. Though I'm surprised he arrived before me, when I left him behind at the temple."
Marc's gaze, full of anger and betrayal, met Silas's, who seemed to be calmly enjoying his apple.
"What the hell is he talking about?! You told him I was the one who killed the goblins and then sent him over here?" Marc was furious, his voice trembling, and the icy vapor from his sword intensified.
"I can be faster than I look for my age. But it's not like I wanted to interfere in your affairs. I didn't tell the demon about you or what we talked about," Silas told the assassin, without deigning to answer Marc.
"What is your relationship with this demon, priest?" the assassin asked.
"Well, you see, this demon is a very devout and fervent follower of the God Amir, as hard as that may be to believe. He has gone to the temple several times, regretting his stupidity, his laziness, and his bad temper. I only come around occasionally to steal a few apples from the orchard; they really are juicy. But we don't have any relationship, or anything in common, apart from religion," Silas said, maintaining a kind face and a serious tone towards the assassin. But Marc knew that inside, he must have been laughing heartily at his own jokes. He was enjoying the lie.
"What the hell are you saying! That guy is very dangerous, stop playing games, old man," Marc said, while anger consumed him internally. The icy energy of his ice sword crackled, threatening to explode, and the intensity of the shine in his eyes increased, looking like two lanterns shining in the darkness.
"I understand, priest. I find it somewhat suspicious that you are here after having conversed with you, but I will let it go out of respect. You shouldn't get involved in this matter," the assassin warned.
"I wasn't planning to. The truth is, I admit I was a little curious about what was going to happen, but I'm not going to interfere, obviously. A weak old man like me couldn't do anything anyway," Silas said, walking calmly away from Marc.
Silas let out one last phrase, directed only at his disciple: "Don't forget your training and use the sword."
That damned old man is a complete son of a bitch. I swear I'll have my sweet revenge someday, Marc thought, focusing all his accumulated fury towards the opponent in front of him.
"Normally I would have thanked the person who found them for saving me the trouble. But it turns out you are a demon, and one with very powerful magic, I could almost say on par with the Demon King's army generals, if not even greater. I can't let it pass. You worry me more than any other creature in this forest. You are dangerous and you are in human territory, far from where you belong. Besides, you carry a very powerful weapon, capable of causing great harm if you decided to attack a human town. So tell me, what are your intentions being here, demon?"
"I have no intention of harming humans; I'm just living quietly in this cabin, bothering no one, with no hidden motives," Marc replied confidently.
"That's hard to believe when you're brandishing such a weapon, and a week ago you eliminated an entire goblin village. To be honest, the truth is I can't trust a single word you say, much less being the monster that you are. I only restrained myself from attacking when I saw you because you were with the priest. But your death was always inevitable," the assassin said with absolute coldness.
Very well, I won't spare this imbecile's life. He comes to my home wanting to kill me because he considers me a monster... I suppose that's what I did with the goblins, but this is no time for moral judgments. I will put an end to his life.
Marc positioned himself in attack mode, determined to swing the sword against the assassin. He leaned his body with the intention of using Wind Magic to propel himself and finish off his opponent with one strike. Seeing this, the assassin moved from their spot with a speed that even Marc struggled to follow with his eyes. They used the cabin to disappear from Marc's field of vision. This took him completely by surprise.
The assassin jumped from the cabin roof, trying to surprise him from above, but Marc had also instinctively read the movement. He took a step back and swung the ice sword into the air, intending to freeze the assassin with the frost. With great precision, the assassin dodged the attack with a movement that almost seemed like they had vanished into thin air.
Marc felt a sharp pang of pain in his right ribs. A knife was stuck there. He hadn't realized the exact moment the assassin had thrown it. In a matter of moments, he felt another identical pang in his back. Marc was being overwhelmed by that man's speed and invisibility.
He instantly activated the defensive barrier magic, causing another knife, which was on its way to embed itself in his left ribs, to crash into the translucent protection and bounce off with a metallic clink. This gave Marc just enough time to react. He caught sight of the assassin, who was running behind him, just outside the radius where he had seen them moments ago.
"That's cheating," the assassin said, their cold voice reflecting not surprise, but a subtle reproach.
Marc swung his sword again toward the assassin's direction, tracing an arc of icy frost. But, once more, he failed to hit his opponent. The knives stuck in his back and ribs caused him a stinging pain, making him lose his firm grip on the sword, and it almost flew out of his hands.
Quickly, he grabbed the knife from his ribs with his right hand and pulled it out with a dry motion. Raising his hand over his head, he used Wind Magic to create a small, controlled gust that helped extract the knife stuck in his back. It hurt, but he couldn't afford to lose concentration. Losing sight of his opponent, even for an instant, could mean death.
The assassin threw two smoke bombs at Marc that crashed against his barrier, but raised a dense gray cloud that completely blocked his vision in all directions. Marc used Wind Magic, invoking a gust that dispersed the grayish cloud. However, this had caused him to lose sight of the assassin. He searched desperately everywhere, but couldn't spot them anywhere.
Just then, he felt a presence and a buzzing coming from above him. Once again, the assassin was up high, trying to attack him from the air. This time, the assassin didn't throw the knife but launched themselves directly at Marc with it. Marc barely managed to use the ice sword to block the main strike.
But, quickly and skillfully, the assassin used their other hand to attack Marc's neck. Marc didn't manage to dodge completely, and it caused a cut that was very nearly fatal.
But Marc reacted quickly: he instinctively invoked Fire Magic from his left hand, and the flames managed to burn part of the assassin's face.
The assassin let out a pained, sizzling cry as they retreated swiftly. The impact of the fire forced the assassin to uncover their face. The assassin's appearance was surprisingly young, no more than twenty years old. Marc was surprised. Being so young, they were an assassin with lethal precision, who seemed to have killed countless times already. They must have started in that trade at a very young age. Marc realized: if it hadn't been for his intense training in the previous months, he would already be dead.
The assassin covered part of their face with a hand, where Marc's magic had caused a painful burn.
"My knives contain poison. You should already be dead or severely weakened. You are a monster," the assassin said, while pain disfigured their face.
Good luck with that. Amir made me immune to poison. And now I'm more grateful than ever, Marc thought with bitter relief.
"But that doesn't matter, you're a difficult prey, but that won't change the fact that I will end up killing you," the assassin continued, their expression changing to anger, while their eyes now showed a glacial determination.
Marc, maintaining a calm acquired through pain, invoked healing magic on his body, completely closing and healing his wounds. It was a way to show his opponent how powerful and instantaneous his magic was. An expression of utter disbelief and astonishment was drawn on the assassin's burned face.
"You must understand that the only reason I've been at a disadvantage is because I forced myself to use the sword, as part of my master's training. But I won't lose against you using my magical power. Surrender and leave now, and you won't have to die," Marc said with coldness.
The assassin hesitated, and terror flashed across their face for a moment. But the expression quickly changed back to that icy defiance.
"I won't surrender. I never have. And we are not allowed to. It is our honor as assassins. You finish the job or you end up dead, but there is no retreat," the young assassin retorted.
"Very well, it's your choice. I had no intention of killing you when I first saw you; it has never been my intention to kill humans; you are the one who started this fight... but now I will put an end to it," Marc said, with a fearsome look as his eyes glowed with intensity.
Marc changed the magic imbued in the artifact, returning to the Magma Sword. A visible, vibrant, and hot aura enveloped Marc: he had invoked enhancement magic on his body, just as Silas had taught him. He lunged at the assassin with the intention of ending things quickly. He began swinging the sword faster and with greater precision than before. He now seemed like a completely different combatant, as if he had years of experience in handling the blade.
The assassin desperately tried to dodge, but Marc's new speed was too much. Flames reached him several times, burning various parts of his body. The assassin could no longer move; the pain caused by the flames and Marc's constant siege had been overwhelming. Tears began to stream from the young man's eyes. He knew this was his end. He resigned himself and lowered his head.
Marc thrust the sword blade through the assassin's chest. Searing flames originating from the sword's magma spread across the assassin's entire body, completely engulfing them and incinerating them almost instantly. Their body was reduced to ashes.
Marc stopped the magic imbued in the artifact, and the blade contracted, disappearing with a slight residual hiss and leaving just a simple sword hilt again. He stood in silence while contemplating the smoking ashes that remained of the assassin.
I did it again. My magical power really is fearsome, worthy of the demon I now am. Strangely, this time I'm calmer than the last time when I killed the goblins. I'm starting to get used to killing.
"Well done. It was tough at first, but you managed it easily in the end. You made good, balanced use of both magic and the sword," Silas's voice was heard saying from behind him.
Marc was really not in the mood to listen to Silas's teachings at that moment. "Why didn't you just stop him when he got to the temple? It wouldn't have cost you anything to finish him off."
"Because it was an opportunity for you to put your acquired knowledge into practice. This assassin was much more skillful and dangerous than the goblins," Silas replied with his usual didactic tone.
"Does everything have to be a test with you?" Marc said, calm, but his voice reflected a deep sadness and exhaustion.
Silas noticed the tone of Marc's voice. "A single assassin will be the least of your worries when you embark on your journey. You will constantly encounter people like him. Your demon appearance will bring you many problems, not just in human territory. Many will want to kill you simply for having horns, without even giving you the benefit of the doubt. It's sad, but it's the reality. You were bound to kill a human for the first time at some point. It's better that it happens here, when you can process everything with more calm."
"It's late, and I feel exhausted. I think it's time for you to go. I need to rest. Tomorrow will be another tiring day of training," Marc said, avoiding answering Silas's harsh words.
"You can take tomorrow off. It's an exchange for making you fight today," Silas said, trying to be considerate of Marc.
"No, I prefer to resume my training tomorrow; I'll be up early," Marc said, walking towards the cabin, without another word to Silas.
"I understand. I think that's the sign for me to leave now," Silas said, invoking teleportation magic that instantly took him to his hut.
That combat truly exhausted me physically and mentally. I almost died when that assassin's knife cut my neck; I was mere millimeters from death. I must improve, and not get too complacent. I have a destiny that is tied to a hundred years from this moment, but even so, I could still die if I'm not cautious and don't become more powerful. Starting tomorrow, no more complaints; I must train with everything I have.
For the rest of the day, instead of giving in to the rest his exhausted body deserved, Marc grabbed a heavy tome and sat down at the table. He started reading, underlining and taking meticulous notes of the most relevant information and what he believed would help him in the future. His mind, though tired, refused to shut down, seeking knowledge as another form of defense and preparation for what was to come next. His determination to live an adventure and have the best life he could shone with greater intensity. He was completely resolute.