The next day, Roderick and Wesley decided to leave Chisu City (as they had little choice) and head west to the border city "Kerton" in the Marquez Kingdom. Though close to the Nasda Empire and often embroiled in border conflicts, Kerton was a political, economic, and military hub with a large population and bustling commerce, possibly presenting opportunities. Besides, in the event of a royal crackdown, escaping to the Nasda Empire would be easier.
They shared their plan with Charmion, who silently nodded.
He had nowhere else to go.
Thus, the trio set off.
Along the way, Roderick lamented his longing for Miss Nia while flirting with pretty girls they encountered, and Wesley cursed someone for not repaying debts while continuing to spend the creditor's money on food and lodging. Unfortunately, these spiteful words had no effect on a morose individual, leading Wesley to bitterly multiply the debt tenfold. Meanwhile, Charmion remained entirely silent, lost in thought, resembling little more than a block of wood.
After three days of travel (a journey that could have been quicker by horse or carriage, but Wesley's tight grip on his purse and vehement refusal prevented it), they reached a small town by noon, found a modest inn, and were halfway through a meal when a conversation from another table captured everyone's interest.
"Hey, did you hear? There's big trouble at the capital, Chisu City!"
"What's so serious?"
"Word is a strange sorcerer stormed the Advanced Magic Academy, defeated many experts, and only Elder Shuken was able to restore order!"
"Wow, imagine someone daring to cause chaos where the Marquez royal family studies. That's a death wish."
"Indeed!"
Roderick and Wesley exchanged glances before looking at Charmion, who sat expressionless, lost in his thoughts. The two could only sigh.
The following day, four days after leaving Chisu City, they heard another version at a village inn:
"They say that troublemaker was a dark sorcerer, a type thought extinct for a thousand years."
"Really? Aren't dark sorcerers supposed to be heartless fiends?"
"Yes, word is he'd already killed many, thank goodness Commander Lant and Elder Shuken subdued him. Such a fiend deserved death."
Roderick couldn't help interjecting, "I heard no one died."
"What do you know? Dark sorcerers are devils incarnate. Why wouldn't they kill?"
"…"
On the sixth day, in another inn:
"Oh my, did you guys hear? The black-robed demon killed hundreds in the capital and is now massacring villages outside of town."
"That can't be; did you mishear?"
"It's from the capital. The demon's inhuman, killing not just resisting men but also elders, women, even infants. Not even a demon would be so insane!"
"…"
On the seventh day, traveling with a merchant caravan, Roderick and Wesley purchased a gray robe for Charmion to replace his conspicuous black one.
"I've lived over half my life and never encountered such tragedy."
"... What do you mean, old sir?"
"I came from the east a few days ago. I heard graveyards by some villages were dug up. Must be that crazed dark sorcerer. They say making terrible skeleton soldiers starts that way."
"…"
"And recently, pregnant women were cut open for their unborn, and youths vanished only to be found horribly mutilated. It's surely his handiwork."
"…"
"By the way, you know, they say that demon has companions?"
"... Really? What did they do?"
"Why do you laugh like that? Those companions must be as vile, committing unspeakable acts. If caught, they'd be beaten to death on the street!"
"…"
By the eighth day, the trio avoided crowded areas.
"What kind of world is this?" Roderick angrily kicked a pebble, venting his frustration.
The gray-robed Charmion silently followed; Wesley replied, "Exactly, calling us mad is rich; they seem like lunatics!" He paused, then continued, "But don't these rumors seem strange to you?"
Charmion remained indifferent, so Roderick asked, "What do you mean?"
Wesley said, "Rumors always get twisted, but these are too exaggerated. I suspect someone's deliberately stirring trouble."
Roderick nodded, glancing at Charmion before adding, "Hey, deadwood, these rumors started with you. Why do you seem so unfazed?"
Charmion replied coolly, "I didn't do any of those things."
Wesley retorted, "No kidding, you've been with us all this time, obviously not you."
Roderick added, "The worst part is, they've dragged us in too, calling us the demon's companions. If this spreads, my good reputation is finished."
"Bah!" Wesley said, "What reputation do you have? Charmion, any ideas? We can't keep going like this."
Charmion looked down, shrugged, "What can I do? We don't even know who's spreading this. Do we explain to everyone?"
The two fell silent, watching Charmion walk on. Roderick whispered to Wesley, "Why do I feel like deadwood's lost his spirit? Could he end it all?"
"I don't know. Since leaving the capital, he seemed near death, yet he's still here. It's good; he owes me money, still hope."
"Why obsess over money? With a friend like that, you're heartless."
"Don't be absurd; I'm just talking. I'm not that kind of person."
"I've always said, you are that kind."
"…"
On the ninth day.
Wesley stretched, "Ten miles ahead is the village of 'Arshat.' From there, it's half a day to Kerton City."
Roderick scowled, "It took nine days for a six-day journey, and you're proud?"
Wesley snapped back, "I was saving us money, and you—hey, where're you going?"
Roderick strode ahead, leaving the two behind, approaching an elderly man with a cane and a delicate girl carrying a small pack—his granddaughter, from her supporting hold.
With a bright smile (Wesley muttered from behind: incorrigible), Roderick said, "Ah, lovely lady, do you need assistance?"
The girl smiled slightly, like a blooming wildflower in spring, exuding natural beauty:
"Thank you. Can you tell me the way to 'Tock Village'?"
"Oh, we just came from there. Follow this road to a crossroad, turn right."
"Thank you, sir." She nodded, laughing lightly.
As the girl led the elder away, Roderick called out, "Miss, where do you live? May I visit you? What's your name…"
Suddenly, hoofbeats interrupted. Roderick turned to see five riders approaching in Marquez military attire.
The girl and elder's faces turned pale.
The riders dismounted; a tall soldier, appearing to lead, scrutinized Charmion's group and, seeing them as travelers, turned to the elder and girl, barking, "Old man Aubu, dodging the draft, are you? Come back to serve."
The three shared a look—they saw the elder, weathered and frail, barely clinging to life.
"General, I'm too old to fight," the elder begged desperately, with the girl chiming in.
The leader, far from a general, basked in the title, softening slightly, "No service? Fine, pay the draft tax."
The elder cried, "Sir, I've sold everything over the years and can't afford tax. Please, spare me."
The leader's anger flared (such encounters common, it wrote itself): "Old fool! No tax, no service, and dare defame Marquez's laws? You're dead." He kicked the elder down. The girl screamed, checking her grandfather's state.
Roderick and Wesley, incensed, were about to speak when a soldier whispered to the leader. Eyeing the girl, he smirked, "Pretty thing. Come satisfy me, and I'll waive granddad's tax."
He grabbed her. She cried, struggled, powerless.
As he enjoyed his triumph, pain burst in his head. He freed her and stepped back, she was snatched away.
He saw two travelers from the group, the third, a staff-bearer, unmoved. The leader drew his sword, encircling Roderick and Wesley with soldiers.
"You fools! Interrupt my fun? You're dead." The sword swung.
Roderick and Wesley defended with their weapons, cursing, "Ha, interrupting you, scum."
"Right, my job's no saintly work, yet compared to you, I'm a saint."
Amidst clashing blades, Roderick and Wesley's spirits wavered; not fighters, against seasoned soldiers, they struggled. Amidst battle cries, the leader's sword came down, Roderick blocked, but another kicked his side, toppling him.
The leader laughed, slashing down. Wesley, desperate, tried to help but was entangled. The elder and girl turned their faces, unable to watch.
Then a commanding voice broke the din: "Break!"
The leader paused, chest groaning, mirroring his four men. Staggering, they coughed blood, collapsing, twitching to stillness, likely doomed.
They turned to the sound—a calm Charmion stood, a blush fading from his face.
The elder and girl, recovering, thanked the trio. Roderick asked for their story, the elder sighed deeply:
Marquez and Nasda, enemies across generations, never ceased border wars. Life near the front was hard. Five years ago, General Toran arrived, embezzled army funds, taxing in the name of protection. Soldiers raided villages for men. Hundreds died in war—fear and discontent reigned. Seventy-five-year-old Aubu was conscripted. Previously, a draft tax bought freedom, but now he couldn't pay, fearing brutal Marquez soldiers, forced to flee to relatives. Even then, they weren't spared, pursued. Without Charmion's intervention, today's outcome was dire.
Roderick and Wesley were stunned. Rarely visiting the border, they were shocked by such events. Escorting the pair away, the trio planned.
Wesley started, "What now?"
Roderick said, "What but keep going?"
Wesley pondered, "True, Aubu said Kerton's better, less chaotic." He glanced at Charmion, "What about these soldiers?"
Charmion, indifferent, said, "Leave them." He walked on alone.
Roderick followed, whispering to Wesley, "I'm starting to believe those rumors. He's cold."
Wesley nodded, "Are all dark sorcerers this way?"
Charmion seemed to sense, turning back, "Why so slow? What are you saying?"
"…"
Arshat Village is a settlement with nearly a thousand people spread across three hundred households. By the time the three entered the village, it was already noon, and not a single passerby could be seen on the road.
They wandered around but surprisingly found no inns or taverns.
"Is this a joke? Is everyone done with business?" Wesley grumbled.
"It seems we'll have to find a farmhouse to buy some food," Roderick suggested.
"You go ahead; this is your specialty."
"You~~, never mind, who can blame me for my charm?" Roderick reassured himself, then casually chose a house that didn't appear too dilapidated. He approached the door, striking his most charming pose (here we go again), and smiled as he pushed it open.
The door swung open easily.
Sometimes, the doors of fate are surprisingly simple to push open. However, what spills forth may not be a gentle stream, but rather a torrent capable of turning the calm river of history into a raging flood.
On the seventeenth of October in the year 1076 of the continental calendar, Roderick, a third-rate wandering minstrel, opened the door of a farmhouse in Arshat Village, on the borders of the Marquez Kingdom.
Future generations would come to remember this day as the "Birth of Darkness."