The days unfolded like chapters in an epic saga, as Colin and Kaldor immersed themselves in an intense training routine.
The training ground became the constant backdrop to their journey together, where the clash of metal echoed under the daily sun.
Their skills intertwined in a dance of calculated movements and sharp strategies.
Each training session was an opportunity to learn and grow, with both warriors challenging themselves to reach new heights of skill.
In the beginning, the sessions were marked by an intense exchange of blows, each trying to break through the other's defenses.
Swords cut through the air, and sweat dripped as they strove to outdo each other with every move.
Colin, agile and quick, learned to wield his sword in a more refined way, exploiting every advantage offered by his unique stance.
Kaldor, for his part, honed his Middle Stance, adjusting his defense to become an almost impenetrable barrier.
His patience and keen observation allowed him to anticipate Colin's movements, responding with calculated counterattacks that tested his opponent's agility.
As the days passed, a special connection formed between the two.
They were not just opponents but allies in the pursuit of mastery.
Deep conversations about technique, philosophy, and strategy filled the hours after training, strengthening not only their skills but also their understanding of each other.
"You'll surpass me soon," said Kaldor, sipping water from his canteen.
They were resting under a leafy tree.
Colin also drank from his canteen.
"You and I are users of Pujance, right? Elara mentioned it a few days ago, but… I have to admit, I don't know much about it, and I'm kind of curious."
Kaldor nodded.
"It's normal. Most of us don't know much about how it works. That's why we go to university. There, we learn and become stronger. The only thing I can tell you is that… you were born in the summer, right?"
Summer?
"Users of the Tree of Strength are born at that time. That's all I know."
"I see…"
"Elara doesn't know much about it either, but I know she was born in spring, so she's a good healer, and her prayers have a lot of power."
Does the period in which I was born influence my abilities?
"Let's get back to training. Tomorrow, we'll raid the lair."
"Right."
[…]
In the quiet atmosphere of the kitchen, Elara and Safira were engaged in an activity different from the usual battles and magic. They were both wearing aprons.
The scent of fresh spices hung in the air, while the kitchen utensils waited patiently on the marble countertop.
Elara, with a warm smile, took on the role of mentor in the art of cooking, her skillful hands handling the ingredients with grace.
Her long blonde hair fell softly past her shoulders, while her blue eyes remained focused on her hands.
Safira, curious and determined to be useful, watched Elara's instructions attentively, her apron now stained with traces of flour and spices.
Her concentrated expression occasionally turned into a radiant smile as she absorbed Elara's teachings.
Elara picked up a wooden spoon, pointing to the bubbling pot in front of her, where an aromatic mixture released delicious vapors.
Following the instructions, Safira stirred the pot with determination, her eyes reflecting the sparkle of someone learning something new.
"That's it!" exclaimed Elara. "Keep it up while I chop the vegetables."
"Yeah!"
The soft sound of knives cutting vegetables filled the kitchen as Elara guided Safira through the preparation techniques.
The ingredients danced under their skillful fingers, creating a symphony of sounds and aromas that transformed the kitchen into a veritable laboratory of flavors.
The harmony between the two—one guiding, the other learning—created an atmosphere of complicity.
As the fire crackled under the pans and the aromas intertwined in the air, the kitchen became a cozy refuge.
Safira remembered her home, her mother, and how happy she had been whenever she helped cook for guests.
"Ready!" Elara rested her hands on her hips, satisfied with what they had prepared. "You're a fast learner, Safira. I'm sure the kids will love it!"
Safira smiled, her expression lighting up her face for a moment—until, like a bucket of cold water, her smile faded.
"Miss Elara… I… wanted to be useful to you…"
"And cooking isn't useful?"
"Well… Mr. Colin and the others are training, and I feel like… I'm just being a burden…"
Elara ruffled Safira's hair gently.
"Cooking is one of the defining factors of all species, you know? Through it, we learned to use fire to transform food and make digestion easier. It's around a table full of food that we create social and cultural bonds. It's as important a task as wielding a sword or slaying monsters."
Safira nodded slowly.
"I know… but I think I'd be even more useful if I could fight like you and the others…"
Elara nodded thoughtfully.
"Well, the university accepts everyone. There, you can learn magic from experienced teachers. I could teach you the basics, but unfortunately, I'm a terrible teacher."
Safira frowned, lowering her gaze.
"I don't think Mr. Colin will want me around…"
"Why not? If that's the case, you'll be going as my guest, not his."
Hearing that, Safira's face lit up with a smile, and Elara affectionately stroked her hair again.
"Let's put the lid on the roast, take off the aprons, and head into town. We need to restock the pantry."
Excited, Safira nodded.
"Okay!"
[…]
Between the shadows of the trees, Bastiat and Darian remained hidden, furtively observing the bandits' lair.
The dense foliage provided effective cover as they spied the cave entrance.
The bandits, adorned with shiny earrings and gold teeth, stood out in the half-light of the cave. They wore rough clothes and wielded menacing scimitars.
Hostages, bound and fearful, were kept captive in an isolated area of the cave. Their anguished expressions contrasted with the arrogance of the bandits.
Stacked chests revealed the presence of looted treasures. Among the piles, gold coins, sharp swords, and carefully stored gunpowder glittered.
Silver bracelets and precious stones adorned the wrists of the bandit leaders, symbolizing their status within the gang. The sparkle of these jewels contrasted with the cave's dimness, highlighting the opulence earned through illicit acts.
One of them, dressed in thick noble clothes and wearing a crown, tossed a coin onto the pile.
"Which castle are we going to rob next?" asked the leader, taking the crown in his hand, his fingers full of rings. "We could go to that village with the abandoned castle. They're offering 100 gold coins for our heads, you know?"
Another member, bald and tall, groped a girl whose red eyes and bruises told of the abuse she had suffered.
"What do you want to do? That place is full of mercenaries."
"Yeah," said another, a long-haired man wearing a golden chain. "But we've got plenty of gunpowder. We'll invade, blow everything up, and take whatever we want."
The leader took one of the rings off his finger, examining it in the lamplight.
"No, we'd better go to Ultan," he said. "With all that money, we can join one of the emperor's guilds, buy land, gain favors, and live a peaceful life."
He looked at the bald man.
"You can have as many women as you want. And you," he pointed at the hairy man, "can open a distillery. That was always your old man's dream, wasn't it?"
"So that's it?" asked the bald man. "We're just… retiring?"
Bending his knees, the leader jumped onto the pile of gold and placed the crown on his head.
"Attention here, all of you!"
He clapped his hands, assuming the manner of a party host.
"As prince of this small kingdom, I'd like to thank you, my loyal citizens, for your excellent service—except for you, Jeffyn. You still owe me ten gold coins!"
The bandits laughed, and he continued.
"At last! We've got enough money to fill the coffers with a duchy. You, Mulunyphin, can buy some land, make money, open a brothel—how about that? And you, Vendutius, can open a tavern and sell the bad drinks that only you can stand!"
They laughed again.
"The thieves from the Black Lair are officially out of business. Take your share and enjoy yourselves. And for those of you who'll miss me, why not start your own bandit gang? You can keep having fun until someone kills you or some prostitute gives you a disease."
Laughter erupted once more.
He threw the crown at Jeffyn's bald head.
"Gentlemen, the women are in the cage on the left. Be gentle—don't break the toys before your little friends get a chance to play."
He bowed theatrically.
"That's all. Now comes the applause, right?"
And so they did. They whistled, clapped, and shouted Randolyn's name over and over again.
He jumped back to the ground, greeted with slaps on the back from his companions.
"Shit!" muttered Darian. "Those bastards are leaving!"
"Calm down," said Bastiat. "We've still got time. They'll probably stay here getting drunk until dawn. We might have an advantage if we attack at first light."
"Did you count how many bandits?"
"Twenty-seven… Most of them better be drunk, or we're toast—especially if any of them know how to use magic."
"Let's head back, warn the others, and get ready."
"Right!"