Sorcerers

The axe-wielding demon opened his mouth, then closed it. He could feel the shadow threads tightening around him; if he didn't answer, he really would lose his life!

“...Ask... Ask your questions.”

“What is your unit?”

“Seventh Legion, Third Patrol.”

“How many of you are there?”

“...The Third Patrol has a full complement of fifteen.”

“Where are the others?”

“...We split into two groups. One is escorting the cargo back to camp, and the other stayed behind to guard the captives.”

“Cargo?” Leopold's voice dropped slightly. “What cargo?”

The demon hesitated for a split second. Leopold's fingers twitched, and the shadow threads tightened. Feeling a bone-chilling squeeze around his wrist, the demon quickly changed his tune: “People... they're people we captured from the nearby villages. Those with talent are converted into demons. Those without are split up—some are sent to the mines, and some are sold to the sorcerers...”

Leopold's fingers paused slightly. “Sorcerers? What sorcerers?”

The demon swallowed hard, his voice dropping even lower. “...They come from the north, wearing black robes, and they can use magic. We don't know where they come from, only that they pay a high price.”

“What do they buy people for?”

“I don't know... I really don't know!” The demon's voice was bordering on tears. “We're only responsible for capturing people and delivering them. We don't care about anything else!”

Leopold stared at him for a few seconds. Once he was sure the demon had no room left to lie, he slowly loosened the shadow threads.

“Where is the camp?”

“To the southeast... Follow this stream down for about half a day's walk, and you'll find an abandoned quarry. The camp is set up there!”

Leopold withdrew his hand. He glanced at the dead demon on the ground, then looked at the remaining ones nearby.

“Where are the people you captured locked up?”

“Not all of them...” The axe-wielding demon's voice had lost all of its previous bravado. “Some have already been sent away. The rest are still in the camp, waiting for the next shipment.”

“When does the next shipment leave?”

“In three days! In three days, the sorcerers' people will come to collect them.”

Leopold took a step back and glanced toward the bushes. Understanding the cue, Blake walked out from behind the shrubbery, while Isabella also stood up, brushing some grass clippings from her hair.

When the remaining five demons saw two more people appear, the last shred of hope vanished from their faces.

“Wh-what do you want from us?”

Leopold didn't answer, merely tilting his head toward Blake. “Deal with them. Don't give them a chance to send word.”

Blake grinned, a thin layer of icy mist condensing in his palm. “Don't worry, I always keep things clean and tidy.”

Leopold nodded, walking toward the wooden shed with Isabella.

“There is no record of sorcerers in my inherited memories...” Isabella turned her head to look at Leopold.

“We've run into something unexpected. If I remember correctly, humans—as the Seventh Race—are unable to use magic, right?” Leopold frowned slightly.

“That is indeed the case. Oliver probably only can use magic because of his elven bloodline.” Isabella replied.

Leopold approached the wooden shed. He reached out and grabbed the lock. Several shadows seeped into the crevices of the lock cylinder, producing a soft click as the spring mechanism popped open.

Leopold pushed open the door of the shed. By the light filtering in from the entrance, he saw three people huddled in the corner—two middle-aged men and a boy who looked no older than thirteen.

All three had their hands bound with rough hemp ropes. Dried mud and blood stained their faces, their lips were chapped, and their eyes held nothing but numbness.

When the door opened, the two men instinctively shrank back into the corner, and only the boy looked up.

“...Who are you?”

“We're here to rescue you.” Leopold crouched down. Shadow condensed into sharp blades, severing the hemp ropes around their wrists in an instant.

The two middle-aged men froze for several seconds, as if they hadn't yet registered what had happened. They looked down at the chafed skin on their wrists, then looked up at Leopold.

“They're from the village! It's our people!” The two men wept with joy.

“I-I'm from Hexi Village,” the boy said, swallowing. His voice was dry and hoarse. “These two uncles are from Kanu Village... We've been held here for three days already.”

Leopold didn't rush to question them. He completely retracted his shadow first, then reached out to pull off the last bit of broken rope from the boy's wrist.

“Can you stand?”

The boy tried to push himself up from the ground, but his knees buckled as soon as he straightened them. The middle-aged man beside him quickly supported him.

“I'm fine... just hungry.” The boy shook his head and stood up straight.

Isabella walked in through the doorway, her gaze sweeping over the injuries on the three of them. “Is anyone seriously hurt?”

“My... my arm is dislocated.” One of the middle-aged men pointed to his left shoulder. “I twisted it when I was captured.”

Leopold stepped aside, and Isabella came forward from behind him. She crouched down in front of the two middle-aged men.

“Omnis macula, luce dissoluta.”

A soft white light emanated from Isabella's fingertips as she gently placed them on the middle-aged man's left shoulder. Under the influence of the Holy Light, the dislocated joint slid back into place without a sound.

“Ma-magic!” the other middle-aged man shrieked in terror. “They're sorcerers!”

Leopold frowned slightly. The terrified, shouting middle-aged man had already shrunk into the corner, pressing his back flat against the wooden boards, his eyes wide with fear.

The other man also froze, the joy of being rescued instantly turning back into wariness and dread.

“Wh-who on earth are you!” The voice of the man in the corner cracked. “You can use magic! You're just like those black-robed ones—”

“Wait a minute, look at their hair—it's not red. They're not sorcerers!” Of the three, the young boy was actually the first to regain his composure.

“We aren't sorcerers. We're just passing travelers who happen to know a bit of magic.” Leopold felt a headache coming on.

“Travelers?” The middle-aged man in the corner was still trembling. “How could travelers use this kind of light... This is clearly the sorcerers' trick!”

“Uncle, use your head,” the boy said, his voice still weak. “Would a sorcerer rescue us?”

The middle-aged man opened his mouth but found nothing to say.

The boy forced himself to stand up and bowed solemnly to Leopold and Isabella.

“My name is Karl. You must be esteemed guests from a higher race.”

Leopold looked at the boy, a trace of appreciation showing in his eyes. To be able to think calmly in such an environment, and to possess courage and insight far exceeding his age—he was likely a standout among his peers.

“Very well, Karl. Tell me, what exactly are these sorcerers?”

Karl stood up straight. Though his knees were still trembling slightly, he had clearly adapted to standing.

“As for the sorcerers, I only heard about them from the village elders.” Karl took a deep breath. “They are humans, but unlike ordinary humans, they can use magic...”

Leopold and Isabella exchanged a look, both seeing the same doubt in each other's eyes.

Humans can use magic?