Here I am, strutting toward the village. As planned, my team hangs back in the shadows.
Thinking about it, why did I volunteer to take point here? A lazy guy like me ought to be kicking back while others do the dirty work. Oh, right—it's all because of Kathleen and that damn Council. Honestly, it's absurd that they'd force a Magister to get his hands dirty. What's next? Do my men start thinking I'm just some Council lapdog?
Whatever. Let's get this over with fast so I can get back to my downtime.
The first thing I noticed when I entered the village was the quiet. Way too quiet for my taste. You know, that creepy silence that makes you feel like people are peeking at you from behind their curtains?
The houses were made of wood, with straw roofs and half-shut shutters. Definitely not the most welcoming sight. A little further, I spotted a small square with a fountain in the middle—except the water wasn't running. Just an old basin, filled with algae and dead leaves. Yeah, not exactly the picture of charm.
As I wandered through the streets, I caught the smell of damp grass mixed with soil, but not the fresh, earthy scent you get in fields after the rain. No, this was stale and cold—like the kind of dirt that's been stomped down and forgotten.
Not a soul in sight. Not even a dog barking to remind me that something around here was alive. The few people I did see didn't even look at me. Old ladies in aprons, some guy dragging a cart full of... well, maybe potatoes? Their faces looked worn and tired, as if nobody here had any interest in saying hello. Which was fine by me, honestly.
I glanced around, looking for a bench where I could park myself for a bit. Yeah, with all this dead silence, I was feeling like I needed to take it easy.
Just as I was considering plopping down on the ground, I spotted a wooden sign hanging crookedly off its hinges, the faded paint barely readable—probably said "Inn" or something like that. The "I" was nearly gone, but hey, close enough for me to guess I might be able to rest my feet there for a few minutes.
I pushed open the door, and it creaked like it hadn't been used in a century. Inside, it was dim, with only a few candles flickering here and there. The smell? A mix of vegetable soup and burning wood—actually kind of pleasant, for a change. I walked in, moving carefully, trying not to draw too much attention. Not that it mattered; there were only about three people in the whole place, all huddled around a large wooden table, each absorbed in their bowl of soup as if it was their last meal.
I spotted a chair a bit off to the side and took my sweet time heading over, no rush to throw myself into the whole gloomy vibe of the place. Once I sat down, I gave a nod to the innkeeper—a chubby guy with sideburns as thick as his belly. He shot me a look that screamed, "Another one just here to sit without ordering." So, I raised a hand, like, Hey, chill, I'll order something, alright?
He trudged over, a rag slung over his shoulder. "What can I get you, kid?" he asked, looking like he had a dozen other places he'd rather be.
I shrugged. "Whatever's easiest to whip up."
He raised an eyebrow, maybe a bit offended by my nonchalance, but didn't say anything as he walked away.
I slouched back in my chair, staring up at the ceiling. Not exactly five-star decor, but in a dead-end village like this, what else was I expecting? The inn was about as exciting as watching paint dry—plain walls, creaky wooden tables, and not even a single picture on the walls to break the monotony. Candle shadows flickered on the ceiling, casting a sleepy sort of show.
I sighed. Couldn't they have sent someone else? Anyone? But no, it had to be me. All because of some story involving a certain Lysandra, who'd apparently holed up somewhere in this middle-of-nowhere village. Honestly, she couldn't have picked a better hideout—no electricity, no noise, even the smell of soup here seemed... sad.
I glanced at the door, practically feeling the urge to bolt, but I had to keep up appearances.
Just as I was eying the door, considering my escape, the innkeeper returned with a steaming bowl. "Here you go, vegetable soup," he grunted, plopping it down in front of me. I barely managed a "thanks" before he shuffled back to his counter.
I picked up the spoon, brought it to my lips, and blew on the contents, hoping it was at least edible. One sip and... alright, not gourmet, but definitely passable. Good enough to keep me busy, at least.
I looked around while sipping, eyeing the other patrons who hadn't lifted their heads from their bowls since I walked in. They all seemed like they were in "silent statue" mode. Honestly, I was tempted to shout "Boo!" just to see if anyone would react. But nah, better to play it cool this time.
Just as I was half-heartedly "enjoying" my soup (if you could call it that), a low, serious voice sounded right behind me: "Master, do you actually have a plan?"
I sank back in my chair, feeling the weight of the question. "What, you don't trust me?"
"Yes." He didn't even try to hide it. Lovely. Just what I needed—a familiar with a serious lack of respect.
To avoid looking like a lunatic talking to myself, I reply to him mentally, keeping the whole conversation under wraps.
"Vexana's patrolling with her minions. Everything's under control."
Garsus frowns. "That's exactly what worries me, Master. You know how… unpredictable she can be."
Before I can respond, another voice joins in, drawling with a hint of amusement. An elf, lounging mid-air as if reclining in an invisible hammock, snarks, "Not very knightly of you to doubt your master, is it?"
Garsus whirls around, a sneer in his voice. "And letting our master wander without a word—is that noble?"
I roll my eyes (or at least aim them at the inn's ceiling) and think to the elf, Go assist Vexana. It'll put Garsus at ease.
The elf gives a mock pout, but in the blink of an eye, he's gone.
Just as I think I might get a moment of peace, Garsus is back at it.
"Master, this village may look quiet, but something feels wrong. Have you noticed the… tension among the villagers?"
I raise an eyebrow. Tension? My friend, these people are calmer than a field of stones. It's not tension; it's… profound boredom.
Garsus shakes his head, a look of disdain on his face. "And that's precisely what worries me, Master. The boredom here feels almost… unnatural."
I roll my eyes again. Listen, Mr. Suspicion, if you want to play detective, why don't you do something useful? Try observing by the fountain. That's where the village grannies gossip… Maybe you'll find a clue, or at least hear a decent story.
Garsus clenches his fist to his chest, clearly ready to dive into his noble yet pointless mission. And just like that, he vanishes in silence.
Finally, a moment of peace.
Or… maybe not.
Vexana sends me a mental signal: Master, there's movement in the woods to the north. Someone's attempting stealth… and failing miserably.
Her tone is as cold and methodical as ever.
I let out a long sigh.
Before I can reply, yet another voice echoes in my mind, this one laced with mockery.
"Hey, look who's here! The elf reinforcement! The master sent me for backup! No need to complain, Vexana!"
Ah, Fern. Mr. 'I-lounge-in-an-invisible-hammock' decided to take matters into his own hands—or rather, he did exactly what I told him to do, but now he's stirring the pot.
"Reinforcement?! I don't need him, Master!" snaps Vexana, her tone sharp as a crack of a whip.
I sigh. Honestly, these familiars… If I let them go on, they'll be at each other's throats in no time.
Alright, enough bickering. Keep your distance.
I take one last sip of the tasteless soup, rising slowly from my chair.
As I stand, I toss a few coins on the table and head for the exit. Just as I reach the door, a familiar, sarcastic little voice rings out in my mind.
"So, Master, ready to get your hands dirty for a change?"
Oh, just what I needed.
Keep that irony to yourself.
But as I step out of the inn, I feel the eyes of the villagers on me.
Perfect. All I wanted was a quiet village where nothing happens. And now I've walked right into a nest of trouble…
Once outside, I pull out the so-called "stone-phone"—a marvel of technology, if you stretch your imagination—and call up the rest of my team, hanging back.
Mira picks up in a flash. "Magister?"
"Yeah, Warden Mira. There's movement north of the village. Grab Warden Griffin and check it out."
"Understood!"
Right then, I hear Piper in the background, a touch of impatience in her voice. "And what do I get to do?"
I shrug, even though she can't see me. "You, meet me at the village entrance. We're doing a little… crowd control."
She sighs, but doesn't argue. I meant "crowd control," but honestly, I'm just hoping this wraps up quickly so I can get back to my more crucial duties—namely, doing nothing too strenuous.
To be continued!
Next Chapter: In the end, I'm the one Who does Everything