[Accretion Wheel.]
Isha knew that Castra did not have to speak out the name of the spell, but she did it for her benefit, to let her know the name of the spell she was about to use.
Motes of golden light sparked to life around the perimeter of the bandits encircling Castra in the centre. Like fireflies drawn together, they shimmered and swirled, solidifying into thousands of burning grains of sand.
The formation of particles began to spin, a vortex of luminous gold spiralling inward, Castra as its heart. The spiralling speed was astonishing, the motes converging into a razor-sharp disc that hummed with pure energy.
Isha watched as the disc passed through each bandit. It lasted only a heartbeat before winking out of existence.
For a horrifying moment, there was silence—had the spell failed? This spell had consumed an immense amount of Mana, it could not have failed. So what had happened?
The bandits themselves seemed equally bewildered. They looked around, wide-eyed and confused, their expression shifting from terror to that of relief which did not last long.
A crescendo of screams tore through their ranks as crimson erupted from their midsections. The disc had left its gift—a line that severed each bandit in half. Their upper halves crumpled to the ground, thudding next to their still-standing feet.
The stench of blood and viscera filled the air, the area around Castra forming a small pool of red that was slowly being absorbed by the earth. Death and violence were no stranger to Isha—she had witnessed its like countless times before. And this wasn't the most brutal display of violence she'd ever seen, but it was certainly the fastest. Castra had taken countless lives in an instant.
Castra stood amidst the carnage, hands on hips, her expression impassive.
Isha stared at Castra, watching her move to crouch beside the body of a fallen bandit. "At least now I know she is not a fool with overconfidence."
"What is she doing?"
Castra was lifting the head of one of the dead bandits, leaning close to the forehead, eyes narrowing. She was not going to kiss it, was she? No, don't be ridiculous, Isha.
Castra straightened abruptly, dropping the first bandit's head. She moved on to the next body, then another, her brow furrowing with each inspection.
A cold knot tightened in Isha's stomach. Something is wrong, Isha thought. It wasn't just the carnage surrounding them, it was the urgency with which Castra was examining the bodies.
She hesitated for a second, but navigated the slick ground, trying and failing to not step on blood and human remains. As she drew closer to Castra, the thick miasma of blood made her gag. "Did you find something?"
Castra gave a curt nod, her frown deepening further. "A disturbing thing," she said, gesturing towards the bandit's lifeless head. "See that? Do you recognise that symbol?"
Isha squinted, leaning in to get a better look. A mark marred the bandit's pale forehead, a symbol she knew all too well—a raven's wing, pierced by seven sharp swords. Her breath caught in her throat.
"Demonsworn…" she whispered, scanning all of the dead with her eyes. "All of them?"
The Mark of the Demonsworn, a black sigil that only appeared upon death, was a brand of those who had pledged their loyalty to the forces of demons, betraying the Empire in the process.
"Not all of them," Castra said gravely. "But more than a few."
There were established protocols for identifying Demonsworn, and the Empire was notoriously strict about keeping such individuals in check. Isha straightened, the implication filling her with dread. "How did a team of Demonsworn get this far South without being noticed?"
Castra shrugged. "I don't know. But one thing is certain. I must send a missive to the Imperial City. And fast. All the more reason for us to reach the town as soon as possible and contact the Mage Guild and the Adventurer's Guild. If the imperial forces can't respond fast enough, they'll know what to do."
Isha couldn't shake the image of the black symbol branded on the bandits' foreheads. It felt like a dark omen, her mind conjuring the worst possible scenario.
"What if a demon has managed to cross our borders?" Isha blurted out. "Aren't we all in danger?"
Castra sighed heavily. "We are always in danger, Isha, as long as the war with the demons continues, there's always a chance one might slip through our defences. Indeed, many demons have managed to cross our border, more than we would like to admit. It has happened many times before, but it is mostly kept a secret. To prevent panic and riots."
Isha understood, people did strange things when they were afraid, doing more harm than good. "But surely… surely they wouldn't get this far south, would they?"
Castra shook her head. "Ideally, no. Demons cannot use spatial magic unaided, as we mages do. Reaching this far south with such limitations would be nigh impossible with all the eyes watching for them. But any demons or demon spawn that can make this far with such disadvantage are beyond our capabilities."
"Even yours?"
Castra chuckled. "I may seem like a decent Mage in this part of the empire but I'm far from it. You and I are nowhere near equipped to handle such demons. So don't worry about them, child. There are others, much more powerful, who will deal with them. Our only job is to make sure those individuals know of the threat."
Castra turned, gazing at the remains of the bandits. "Now," she said, with a grimace, "let me gather those heads."
Isha recoiled, had her Master just said that? "Collect… collect the heads?"
Castra gave her a withering glance. "Of course. They must have bounties on them? How else am I to prove their deaths?"
Isha's stomach lurched. "But… but they're heads! Castra, do you seriously expect us to travel with those… those things staring at us? That's morbid!"
Castra hushed her down, waving her hand. "Relax, child. I'm not planning on carrying them around like trophies—I'm not mad. I have a bag of holding."
The image of a magical bag containing a collection of severed heads did little to ease Isha's discomfort. "I still don't like it."
Castra glared before letting out a sigh. "Neither do I. But money doesn't grow on trees, Isha. Some of us don't have the luxury of a noble family to fund our dreams. Some of us have to do dirty work for it."
The words hit Isha like a physical blow—a slap to her stupid pride.
"I don't mean to be harsh, child, but that is the truth of the matter. Now, go wait in the carriage. I don't want you to be around for this."
Isha opened her mouth to protest, but no words came out. She simply closed her mouth, nodded, and left.
She stumbled into the carriage, shivering at the thought of what was happening near her. This wasn't some adventure of heroes from a storybook. She huddled deeper into the carriage seat.
"Is this going to be a common part of my life now?"
Isha shuddered.