The camp they made that night was simple but secure. Three tents arranged in their familiar triangle, the horses tied nearby with enough slack to graze on the roadside grass. The night passed without incident, the sounds of the forest a gentle backdrop to their rest.
Rian woke first, as dawn painted the sky in shades of pink and gold. The mark on his neck tingled slightly—a constant reminder of the crystal, the voice, the sword. He touched it absently as he emerged from his tent.
Morning, Hiron called out, already rolling up his bedding. Sleep well?
Better than expected, Rian admitted.
Nova was the last to emerge, her red hair sticking up at odd angles before she smoothed it down with her hands. Let's get moving. The sooner we reach your village, the sooner we get answers.
They broke camp efficiently and were back on the road as the sun climbed higher. The second day of travel began much like the first had ended—clear skies, decent roads, and the gradually changing landscape as they moved deeper into Iron Root state.
The terrain here was rockier, with more elevation changes. In the distance, mountain peaks rose against the horizon, their tops still capped with snow despite the season.
Around midday, as they were navigating a particularly bumpy section of road, Hiron pulled the cart to a stop.
I've been thinking, he said, turning to face his companions. We could move faster.
Nova raised an eyebrow. The horses are already moving at a good pace. Push them too hard and they'll collapse before we get there.
Not the horses, Hiron said with a grin. My devil.
He hopped down from the driver's seat and walked a few paces ahead of the cart. Closing his eyes, he pressed both palms together and began to channel his energy. The air around him shimmered slightly.
Come forth, Swift!
A summoning circle appeared on the ground, glowing with soft white light. From it emerged a horse—but not like any normal horse. This one was sleek and elegant, its coat a shimmering silver that seemed to shift colors in the light. Its mane and tail flowed like water, and its eyes held an intelligence far beyond any natural animal.
A horse devil, Nova said, her tone flat. You bonded with a horse devil.
Swift is amazing! Hiron protested, stroking the creature's neck. He's fast, tireless, and loyal.
Nova crossed her arms. A person can only have one summoned devil bonded to them at a time. You chose a horse. A horse devil is useless in actual combat, Hiron.
Hiron's face flushed. He's not useless! Swift can outrun almost any other devil. Speed is a tactical advantage!
Against what? Nova shot back. Other people running away? When we face actual threats, what's your plan? Gallop in circles until the enemy gets dizzy?
Rian could see this escalating quickly. Hey, he interjected, stepping between them. Swift can help us now. That's what matters. We can argue about combat effectiveness later when we're not trying to reach a village that hasn't seen visitors in two months.
Hiron looked grateful for the support. Exactly. Swift can pull the cart alongside the regular horses. We'll make better time.
Fine, Nova said, though her expression made it clear she wasn't conceding the argument, just postponing it.
Swift was indeed fast. With the devil horse helping pull, their pace nearly doubled. The cart bounced and rattled over the increasingly rough road, but they were covering distance at an impressive rate.
The mountains grew closer throughout the afternoon. By early evening, they could see that the peaks weren't just nearby—they surrounded their destination. Four massive mountains formed a natural barrier, their slopes steep and forbidding.
How do people get in and out? Rian asked, studying the geography.
There's a pass, Hiron said, pointing ahead. The road leads right to it. A tunnel through the mountain. It's the only way to reach the village by cart.
As they drew closer, the tunnel entrance came into view. It was an impressive feat of engineering—a wide opening carved through solid rock, tall enough for loaded carts and reinforced with wooden support beams. Lanterns hung at intervals, their light disappearing into the darkness of the passage.
The road leading to the tunnel was empty. No other travelers, no merchants, no one.
That's weird, Hiron muttered, slowing the cart. Usually there are at least a few people around the tunnel entrance. Guards, toll collectors, something.
Maybe they're inside? Rian suggested, though he felt uneasy.
As they approached the tunnel entrance, figures emerged from the shadows. Three men, dressed in simple civilian clothes—farmers or laborers by the look of them. They smiled and waved in greeting.
Hello there! one called out, his voice friendly. Travelers? Haven't seen new faces in a while!
Hiron relaxed slightly. Yes, we're heading to the village. Is the tunnel safe to pass?
Oh, absolutely, the man assured them, walking closer. Safe as can be. Here, let us help you with your horses. You must be tired from the journey.
Something felt wrong. Rian couldn't put his finger on it, but these men moved with a coordination that seemed too practiced, too deliberate. Their smiles didn't quite reach their eyes.
That's alright, Nova said, her hand moving subtly toward her side. We can manage—
One of the men pulled a small clay sphere from his pocket and threw it at the ground near the cart. It shattered, releasing a thick cloud of yellowish gas that billowed up around them.
Trap! Rian tried to shout, but his words came out slurred. His vision swam. The world tilted.
He saw Nova try to summon her flames, but her hands wouldn't cooperate. Hiron slumped forward in his seat. Swift let out a distressed whinny and then collapsed, vanishing back to wherever summoned devils went when released.
Rian's last thought before darkness took him was that they'd been stupid. So incredibly stupid.
Consciousness returned slowly, accompanied by the worst headache Rian had ever experienced. His mouth tasted like copper and ash. Every muscle in his body ached.
He opened his eyes to dim light and realized he was staring at iron bars.
A cage. They were in a cage.
Nova? Hiron? His voice came out as a croak.
Here, Nova responded from somewhere to his left. Hiron's still out.
Rian pushed himself into a sitting position, his head spinning. They were in a large cell—maybe three meters square—with thick iron bars on all sides. The floor was packed dirt, and the air smelled of rust, sweat, and despair.
Other cages surrounded them, most empty, but a few contained huddled figures who didn't look up or acknowledge their presence.
Where are we? Rian asked, though he suspected he knew the answer.
Prison. Nova's voice was cold, controlled fury. Underground, by the feel of it. Those weren't civilians. They were guards in disguise.
Hiron groaned and stirred. His eyes fluttered open. What... what happened?
We got captured, Nova said bluntly. Like amateurs.
My devil— Hiron started.
The gas made Swift disappear, probably broke your concentration. Nova was examining the bars of their cage, running her hands along the joints. These are well-made. Professional.
Can you burn through them? Rian asked.
Nova glanced around, checking to see if any guards were nearby. The corridor outside their cage was empty, lit by flickering torches mounted on stone walls.
Yes, she said simply.
She held her hand against one of the bars. Violet fire erupted, concentrated and intense. The metal began to glow, first red, then orange, then white-hot. The smell of burning iron filled the air.
It took several minutes, but eventually the bar weakened enough that Nova could kick it free. Then another. Then a third, creating an opening just large enough for them to squeeze through.
They emerged into a corridor lined with more cages. At the far end, stone stairs led upward. No guards in sight—they'd gotten lucky with the timing.
We need to get out of here, Hiron whispered. Now, while we can.
They moved quickly but quietly, taking the stairs up. The prison appeared to be built into a cellar or basement of some larger structure. They reached a heavy wooden door at the top of the stairs. Rian pressed his ear against it, listening.
Voices. Footsteps. Guards were on the other side.
We need weapons, Nova said. Or we're going to have trouble.
As if on cue, they heard the approach of boots on stone—someone coming down the stairs from another entrance. Two guards appeared, dressed in leather armor with a strange symbol emblazoned on their chests—a stylized metal ingot.
The guards' eyes widened in shock. You— one started to shout.
Rian didn't think. He reached for a weaopn. The blade materialized in his hand,it was a bew one,heavier, that shining blue blade,sharper. He lunged forward, using the flat of the blade to slam into the first guard's neck. The man dead.
Nova was on the second guard instantly, fire engulfing her fists. She struck with precise,one fire ball throw, on the jaw. The guard collapsed,with burns.
Hiron stood there,looking at his unconscious foes.
They drugged and imprisoned us, Nova countered. That's not law enforcement. That's kidnapping.
They stripped the guards of their weapons—two short swords and a dagger—and any useful equipment. Hiron took one of the swords. Nova took the dagger, clearly more comfortable with her fire than blades.
The door at the top of the stairs led to a storage area—crates and barrels stacked haphazardly, probably supplies for the prison. Beyond that, they found an exit—not the main entrance, but a small side door that led outside.
They emerged into late afternoon sunlight, behind the prison building, within the fenced perimeter of what appeared to be a larger compound.
Where are we? Hiron asked, looking around.
Still trapped, Nova said grimly. Look.
She pointed to the fence—tall, wooden, but sturdy. Beyond it, they could see village buildings. But something was wrong. The streets were nearly empty. The few people they could see all wore the same symbol on their clothing—that metal ingot mark.
And then they saw them. Three people, their hands bound in iron shackles, being led down a street by two guards carrying whips. The prisoners stumbled along, their clothes torn and dirty, their faces gaunt with exhaustion.
One of the guards cracked his whip, and one of the prisoners cried out, moving faster.
This isn't a village, Rian said quietly. It's a prison camp.
The guild, Nova said, her eyes narrowing. This has to be guild-controlled. That symbol—it's a guild marker. But I've never seen that particular one before.
We need to hide, Hiron said urgently. If they realize we've escaped—
There. Rian pointed to a low structure built against the prison fence—a storage shed or storeroom, partially underground by the look of it. The door was closed but didn't appear to be locked.
They moved quickly, keeping low, and slipped inside. The storeroom was dark, cramped, and filled with tools and equipment—mining equipment, Rian realized with growing dread. Pickaxes, ore carts, support beams.
They're mining something, he said. That's what this is. They're using prisoners as labor.
We need to wait until dark, Nova said, settling into a corner. Moving around now is suicide. Once night falls, we'll have a better chance of finding Erwin and figuring out what the hell is happening here.
Agreed, Hiron said, though his voice shook slightly.The village had been turned into this nightmare.
They settled in to wait. The hours crawled by. Through gaps in the walls, they watched the sun track across the sky, painting the mountains in shades of orange and red before finally sinking below the peaks.
Darkness fell over the village like a curtain.
Moving through the village at night was surreal. The streets were lit by occasional torches, but most of the buildings were dark. They saw guards patrolling in pairs, always wearing that metal ingot symbol, always armed.
The civilian population seemed to have vanished—either locked in their homes or simply gone.
Where would Erwin's house be? Nova whispered as they crouched in the shadow of a building.
The forge district, Hiron said. In any village, the smith works near the edge of town because of the noise and smoke. We need to head west.
They moved carefully, using every shadow, every alley. Rian's hand never left the place where his sword could manifest. His neck tingled where the mark lay hidden beneath his collar.
After twenty minutes of careful navigation, they found it—a forge, its chimney cold and dark. The attached house was small but well-built. Through a window, they could see a faint light—a single candle, perhaps.
That's it, Hiron said with certainty. That's a weaponsmith's home.
They approached the door. Rian reached for the handle—
A voice cut through the night, cold and commanding. Well, well. What do we have here?
They spun around. A man stood in the street behind them, perhaps ten meters away. He was tall and broad-shouldered, wearing armor that seemed to flow and flex with his movements—smooth iron, expertly crafted. His face was hard, scarred, and his eyes held the kind of confidence that came from knowing you were the most dangerous thing in the area.
On his chest, larger and more ornate than any they'd seen, was the metal ingot symbol.
Escaped prisoners, the man continued, his hand resting casually on the sword at his hip. I must say, I'm impressed. No one's broken out of those cages in over a month. You children are either very skilled or very lucky.
Who are you? Nova demanded, fire already beginning to dance across her palms.
Commander Gorgon Viel, the man said with a slight bow. And you are trespassing on guild property. I'm afraid I can't let you leave.
Rian didn't wait for more talking. He pulled the sword into existence, its blue blade erupting from nothing. We're not going back in those cages.
Gorgon's eyes widened slightly at the sight of the sword, a flicker of genuine surprise crossing his features. Interesting. Very interesting. But still— he drew his own blade, a wicked-looking curved sword, —insufficient.
Hiron closed his eyes and summoned Swift. The horse devil appeared in a flash of light, stomping nervously at the sight of the armed man.
A horse? Gorgon laughed. You brought a horse to a sword fight?
Nova stepped forward, her entire body now wreathed in violet flames. We brought a fire user.
The commander's smile faded. Now that is more concerning.
He pressed his own palm to the ground. A summoning circle appeared, massive and complex, etched with patterns that spoke of high-level binding. From it rose a creature that made Swift look like a housecat.
A tiger. But not any tiger.
It was easily twice the size of a normal tiger, its muscles rippling beneath fur that crackled and sparked with electricity. Blue lightning danced across its body, arcing between its whiskers and claws. Its eyes glowed with electric blue light, and when it roared, the sound was accompanied by a thunderclap that rattled windows.It was a B level devil.
Storm Fang, Gorgon said, resting a hand on the creature's massive head. Say hello to our guests.
The battle was about to begin—three inexperienced adventurers against a guild commander and his lightning devil.
Then, the door behind them opened.
A man stumbled out—thin, exhausted, with dark circles under his eyes so pronounced they looked like bruises. His clothes were torn and stained, barely more than rags. But most striking was his left arm—or rather, the lack of it. His arm ended just below the shoulder, the stump wrapped in dirty bandages.
In his remaining hand, he held a weapon. A flail—crude but functional, made from scavenged metal pieces welded and bound together. The chain was rough, the spiked head uneven, but it was clearly made by someone who understood weapons.
The man's eyes, despite his apparent exhaustion, burned with something that had been missing until just this moment.
Hope.
He saw the three young people—children, really—standing against an armed commander and his devil. He saw them not running, not surrendering, but fighting.
And Erwin Brook, master weaponsmith of Iron Root state, made a decision.
He stepped forward, raising his makeshift flail, and joined the battle.