The Wizard

The door was clearly locked, yet with a mere push from the old man, it swung open.

"Are you a wizard?" Noah's mouth hung open as he peered around the room, which was cluttered beyond belief. Before he could take it all in, the old man spun on his heel, glaring at Noah ferociously.

Noah froze, unable to move even a finger.

"Who sent you to spy on my privacy?" the old man's voice slammed into Noah, making his head reel. His face drooped with age, his white beard voluminous, and his forehead deeply lined—bald except for the back of his head.

"I was just passing by," Noah stammered, trying to explain.

"Your soul is tainted and reeks of demonic essence," the old man scrutinized Noah, "Leave this boy at once, creature."

He knows about Gladius? How could he tell so quickly?

"No, that's not it," Noah shook his head vehemently, "Sir, I am a demon hunter!"

"Your soul bears strange shapes, marred with uneven colors, and I find it most distasteful," the old man expressed his disgust, "And to think you're a demon hunter, that doubles my aversion."

"I apologize, I shouldn't have loitered outside your room."

"You think an apology will make everything alright? It's not that simple." The old man's brows furrowed. "Stay put." He turned away and pulled something from his robe, placing it on a workbench.

Now, Noah could really take in the room. The disorder was maddening, with items strewn haphazardly. Shelves meant for books were overloaded with bottles, scribbled drafts, and chunks of ore. Corners were piled with things like lutes, puppets, and bones. Empty wine bottles, bowls with remnants of food, and clothes piled up. Several tables were buried under books, notes, and thick, self-bound parchments. Random nails were hammered into the walls, each one holding a differently styled hat.

The chaos was unbearable for Noah, who couldn't stand to be there another second. Gladius had tricked him; this was just a junk room, and he had no urge to sift for treasures among the mess.

"Who are you?" the old man bit into a chunk of bread, leaning against his workbench, smacking loudly in a way that was rather noisy.

"I'm Noah."

"From where, Noah?"

"Nowhere," Noah said, "A demon hunter doesn't disclose his origins."

The old man's brow creased.

"You must hail from somewhere."

"From a small village," Noah conceded, seeing the man's persistence, "I'm Noah Granier, from Belor."

"Your homeland will always welcome you; you can't turn your back on it," the old man said.

Really? If I return to Belor, there's not a single soul I know there. Noah sighed internally. Sold by his parents to traffickers, the villagers only watched, and his playmates were unremarkable children, never dreaming of leaving Belor.

"I know," he said, though only placating the man.

"I'm Draco, from Corpse Marsh."

Corpse Marsh was not far beyond the borders of Lormen, a vast expanse of wetlands with many names, home to wizards and the land of witchcraft. Most called it the White Marsh because of the endless sea of funeral flowers that grew over corpses, standing stark against the water whenever travelers passed. Corpse Marsh was what locals called their home—a more blunt truth.

"Pleased to meet you," Noah said politely.

"Pleased my foot, you're in trouble," Draco cursed.

Noah pondered for a moment.

"Mr. Draco, I could do some work for you to make up for my intrusion, for a price," he offered.

"Pay you?" Draco looked less than pleased, "You skulk around my tower and now you want me to pay you?"

"Because I'm desperately in need of money. If you're willing to pay, I'll do anything. A wizard like you must have plenty of tasks that need doing."

This made Draco chuckle.

"You? What can you do?"

"I know the hunter's spells, and I can handle a blade," Noah gestured to his weapon, "A demon hunter can do anything."

"Who taught you these spells?"

"Logan."

"Oh!" Draco's face lit with recognition, nodding, "Logan... Are you his apprentice? What a coincidence."

"You knew my master? That's great," Noah felt a ray of hope.

"Your master has been a thorn in my side for decades," Draco's demeanor darkened.

"Oh?"

Draco seemed to recall some disagreeable memory, stuffing the rest of the bread into his mouth and turning back to pour himself a drink.

"How is he now?" he asked over his shoulder, holding the cup.

"He died in battle," Noah said, the memory still stinging.

"Died? In battle with whom?"

"Blade demon," Noah sighed deeply.

"So he finally met his end?" Draco's voice held a tinge of sorrow, "For years he rampaged like a wild dragon or rabid dog, storming into every demon cultist's lair, leaving a trail of blood."

"I never heard about that." Noah was surprised; Logan rarely spoke of his past exploits.

"Of course, the amnesia took its toll on him, and he lost any desire to boast of his feats," Draco grumbled, "But I thought he was unkillable. The witches took care of him, offering him their finest potions to keep him alive through countless injuries. What a farce..."

The purple salve... was it truly a rare concoction? Noah was taken aback, resolving to preserve it and use it wisely.

Draco eyed Noah once more.

"Your soul still thrives, although impure and cursed by demons, it retains its vitality. Logan's soul was riddled with holes long ago."

"It might not stay that way," Noah said, "I've taken up my master's mantle, and I'll end up just like him."

"Following his path, maybe. Becoming like him? Impossible," Draco shook his head, "Logan wouldn't be caught dead saying 'sorry,' 'pleased to meet you,' 'sir,' or 'mister' at your age... He was crude, biting, and aggressive, thinking nothing in the world could best him. Adept in martial arts and versed in spells, handsome, envied by me to no end. By twenty, he had seen half the world, measured continents with his footsteps, wealthy beyond measure, adored by women. And there I was, in my hut, dreaming of the world outside. To this day, I'm not sure who lived right." He glanced around his scrappy chamber.

"You work for the Earl as a wizard?"

"A wizard, yes, I serve the Earl, explaining all sorts of things to him. Stars, omens, whether his woman will bear a boy or girl..." Draco's voice dripped with disdain, "All a waste of my talents."

"Your skills must be formidable," Noah said, trying to sound as polite as possible.

"Flattery isn't a good habit; it only makes me think less of you."

"Give me a job then. I get paid, you get results, and you won't think less of me," Noah was still fixated on the gold.

"Are you truly Logan's apprentice? Any proof of that?"

Noah produced Logan's magic rope from his bag.

"Take it, take it," Draco waved it off, "Just looking at it irks me. Now I know why you've been lurking around my tower."

"Why?" Because I was duped by a demon.

"Because you've inherited Logan's trait—curiosity."

"My master wasn't curious."

"After the amnesia, he wasn't himself anymore. You'll be the same, it'll change you. So guard your soul, don't let the demon stain it further; I can see the corruption is severe... Better be careful."

Is there a cure? No... it's not possible, Noah dismissed the thought. As long as Gladius resides in my soul, I can never return it to purity.

"I do have a task for you," Draco stroked his beard, "It's not a pleasant one, but if you've inherited Logan's courage, you should be willing to take risks."

"And the payment?"

"Compensation, of course," Draco opened a drawer.

Gladius howled with excitement inside Noah's mind.

Draco seemed to sense something and looked back, Noah glimpsing past the wizard's rough arm to see the drawer filled with gold, silver, and jewelry. In a corner, a glowing amber orb, the size of a palm and resembling glass, shone subtly.

"What are you looking at?" Draco closed the drawer, "Don't get any ideas."

"Nothing," Noah shook his head, "I noticed a big orb with a pretty color."

"Just a soul stone," Draco explained, "I'm not giving that to you, it's valuable."

"Gold and silver are good enough for me. What's the job?"

"The local temple has always been at odds with us..." Draco mused, "The current priest is a fanatical mongrel with deep-seated hostility towards us 'residents of Corpse Marsh,' I need to replace him."

"Replace the priest?" Noah didn't quite understand.

"What do you think the priests' attitude is towards us, the people of the Corpse Marsh?"

"Umm... not very fond?"

"Right, since they don't like us, I don't like them. If you're going to help me, help me off him, find proof of his blasphemy, figure out a way to force him out... anything that will take care of a clergyman, by any means necessary. If you eliminate him, I'll be very grateful," Draco narrowed his eyes.

"I'm not an assassin," Noah wiped his brow, "But I'll think of something."

"You can do it. I'm not a cruel man, I understand there will always be differences between factions, but his presence only exacerbates conflicts. For the peaceful coexistence of the majority, he has to move, preferably six feet under," Draco spoke menacingly.

"I'll need time."

"Hmm, I won't leave you to it alone; I'll keep an eye out for opportunities. I'll visit your temple in a while."

"I'm the master of the temple now."

"Ah, then you've got quite the cleaning to do, I imagine it'll take a while."

"What?" Noah was taken aback.

"Strange, no hunter stayed behind to guard the temple. So a gang of thieves just raided your temple, probably left nothing behind."