Finally, something worth the effort.

  After several weeks lingering in a waste of a city, a man wrapped up in a water resistant cloak sensed a presence in the city. Snatching a Disciple or Vara would be worthwhile, but too troublesome, and the majority of commoners had frail bodies.

  Crouching by the river, he waved his hand just above a passing fish. With nary a ripple on the waters surface, a cloud of blood appeared and a spot of chum sank to the bottom. Running his thumbs over scarred fingertips, be nodded in satisfaction as he felt a faint sense of the Flow of Life return to him.

  What a shallow understanding the Church held. Seeking to tap into the Flow of Life, in their reverence they did not realize it washed away their own vitality. Even if such energy could come from nothing, who would let such a thing be known for free?

  He, Manns, was the foremost genius amongst mages! Who, aside from him, could deduce how to reverse the Flow of Life and siphon away at its energy instead of giving back? For now the Flow could only be tampered with if he was immersed in it, either through killing, or being the target of an incantation, but his understanding grew with each day.

  Along with the fact some informants from the merchant guild shared that they suspected some sort of trouble in the near future and were willing to pay quite handsomely when the time came. At the end of the day, no matter how much they feared him, the decision makers didn’t need to interact with him. They gave the servants the order, who then needed to obey.

  What pawns! How meager!

  The church may have had the teachings to harness the Flow of Life, but they lacked the gall to direct it. Mages acted wilfully and true to themselves, but blinded themselves to the greater picture.

  And unless they were part of one of those two groups, the Blessed lacked the boons of either. They were prime fodder for Manns’ own ambitions.

  Rubbing his fingertips together again, he lifted his head and felt the air around him. Rough and weathered, they were still instruments of his most delicate craft. Clenching a fist, grasping at nothing, he was so close to feeling the Flow of Life. With just a little more weight to his existence, it may be grasped. In this moment, disturbances and pulses informed of a presence approaching the city.

  Keeping his cloak loosely around his body, Manns moved through the debris that floated along the banks of the town’s east side. Wood from sturdier barges sank directly to the river’s bottom, however the occasional battered dinghy or flotsam from upstream got caught on Terdri’s piers. Every so often, the troublesome bits would need to be dislodged, left to lazily float a few hundred meters downstream.

  In more prosperous and populous times, slums would appear here, feeding off the artificial reef. Some time before Manns arrived there had been a culling, but remnants of ramshackle hovels still remained. A good place to remain relatively unnoticed.

  Putting a hand on algae covered wood, Manns quickly hoisted himself up onto the raised dock at the town’s edge. Quickly he wiped the muck off his valuable hands onto the bottom of his cloak before looking around. In these dawn hours, a few half-hearted fishermen sleepily loitered with fishing poles or nets, some daring to wade through the waters to pluck molluscs off the pilings.

  They were worth as much attention as the fish. Slovenly trying to save a few cupra. No ambition at all, simply coasting along the Flow. Even servile Disciples grew to execute the Flow of Life’s will more effectively.

  Manns turned down one of the thin streets, boldly slinking between forgotten stalls from when a monster attacked the city. The civil unrest had since been quelled, but combined with the departure of the Randall-Varren, and the onset of winter many things were slipping through the cracks. There was also a curious lack of Paladins in the city.

  He needed to circumnavigate a large portion of the town to gradually discover their current locations. While doing his best to avoid Paladins, more than once did he have to leave supplements behind. Even as his speed increased, grafting flesh was not a quick endeavor.

  Noises of rattling carts and their goods filled the morning as various stalls were set up and deliveries to prepare for the day took place. A man from a nearby village that came by every other week to sell parchment had an abnormally strong physique, but not quite so exceptional that Manns would take a risk to assimilate him.

  Drawing closer, he could feel mana and the Flow of Life starting to resonate not just through his fingers, but also in his core. Things were too precarious to rush, he’d yet to reveal himself either.

  Manns finally noticed a strange and faint sensation in the air. He couldn’t quite grasp it at first, but how could a man of his talent remain ignorant? It was the unique sensation of being cut off from the Flow of Life.

  This necessitated a short pause to reflect. Phenomena cut off from the Flow of Life were truly rare, in fact Manns only knew the sensation from when he practiced reversing the flow. Rocks and inanimate objects could have no link to the Flow, for there to be something with the sensation of being severed—

  While he had his curiosity, Manns had since surpassed that stage in his training. Besides, it was a diffuse feeling, hard to track down. Absorbing the strength of this Blessed one would be more beneficial.

  Tapping his fingers together, he rested against the pillar of the town’s decorative wooden arches. It was a juvenile tale from someone with little imagination. The fine scales of the serpent being struck down by a hero were coarsely rendered, the face and sword of the hero plain. With contempt Manns evaluated the woodwork while awaiting his target.

  Sunbeams reached through various decorative lattices, gradually illuminating the street. Hurriedly pulling a hand cart that rattled behind her, his target set up one alley down from him. A wine merchant that suddenly found herself oversupplied following the drastic drop in population.

  Not high enough quality to attract the favor or attention of any Disciples, the jugs were simple lacquered wood. As a result, her goods would store poorly. Lowering the price to try and break even this season was her only option.

  And who wouldn’t enjoy a cheap bottle of wine?

  On a street already scarce in stalls, when one in four having a customer at any moment made it a busy day, having five people waiting for her to arrive was booming business.

  Manns bided his time. Taking action was his nature, but he was no fool. She may just be selling wine to peasants, but he still couldn’t afford to make a scene. Terdri made up for being undermanned by deploying a suspicious amount of watchers in the abandoned houses.

  If the Blessed broke her routine, heading further back into the alley, he could take that moment to strike. Until then he considered ways to engineer that situation himself.

  A chirp of feminine laughter brought him away from his thoughts back to observing. About 15 paces away, the final customer seemed to have quite the silver tongue, though Manns couldn’t make him out past the decorative pillars.

  Even without actively making use of his hands, the flow of life in her eye became noticeably more active. Incredible; he had only ever seen the fear of death stimulate a Blessed’s power

  She stepped forward, moving to the side of her sales cart. Manns wished he’d stolen the ears off that potter many years ago, but he’d decided it wasn’t worth the risk. He was a genius, he should have been more confident in himself. Now he couldn’t tell why she was suddenly moving back into the alley behind her cart.

  Was she just being emotional? Rejected? Was the customer like those second-generation Disciples with little drive and just felt like toying with her?

  He rubbed his fingers again, the oddity of the situation planted a seed of suspicion. The closest abnormal signal came from a watcher in the building between himself and the Blessed. With the overhanging second floor, it provided a certain blind spot, so long as he kept quiet. He couldn’t find a source for the vague feeling.

  It was entirely possible the Church was simply up to something in this town. Even he couldn’t work without information, they possessed a legacy spanning untold generations. The chances they were focusing on himself or the Blessed remained vanishingly unlikely.

  And besides, a Blessed eye, even one, was simply too valuable to pass up.

  With no eyes on him, he sprinted around the cramped back of the building. Designed as a simple stop along the river, houses lacked courtyards behind them. Moderately successful Disciples found themselves posted here to gather an accepted level of bribes, not built with the idea of feeding potential recruits a taste of what could be theirs.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Peeking from the back of the alley, the wine seller slumped against the wall, looking upwards in a daze. In one hand she gently shook a wooden jug side to side. Sometimes she’d tilt her head a bit towards her stall to look for customers, but mostly just looked towards the faint rays of sun wistfully.

  She was still acting too open. Approaching silently took long enough that a quick turn of the head, or moment of instinct was all that she needed to see him and make a fuss. He could escape, but his chance would be wasted.

  Focusing, he began to struggle with the Flow of Life, muttering quietly.

  “E Tian Meng, seek succor of the world condense, terminate supported by myriad beings yol Hegu emit, Eighth to Third resonate winter breath.”

  Cool morning air still being warmed by the morning sun lost its energy, turned brisk, then cold. The effect itself wasn’t incredible, nor did it need to be, that would simply draw attention.

  His genius exhibited itself in the incantation. A merging of scripture and spell, Manns figured out how to hijack the Flow of Life’s response to a prayer to fuel his own spells by interrupting the verse at certain points! It may increase the time to cast, but caused next to no mental fatigue. Perfect for moments like this where the objective was to alter the environment.

  The Blessed lowered her head, and crossed her arms. With winter quickly approaching her clothes weren’t light, but it couldn’t keep away this Mann-made cold. Already distracted in her mind, she shriveled against the wall. Now less attentive to her surroundings, Manns began his approach.

  Gravelly dirt crunched lightly with each footfall. More important than being dead silent was keeping a steady pace, people were far more sensitive to changes than noise. As the Blessed slowly slumped towards a sitting posture he kept moving, someone moving up the same alley may be suspicious, but not immediately alarming.

  Standing above her, just a few feet away, Manns felt his instincts kick in. Through her hair, he could see she’d fallen asleep. It didn’t seem to be a result of her blessing, something was certainly amiss.

  Looking over her small cart into the street, there were no observers. The nearest voices were quite some distance away. Last night he’d spotted a group of homeless and beggars gathering together, some of which had claimed this area as their own— they were still elsewhere.

  Crouching down, Manns held her head firm against the wall, preparing the Flow of Life in his other hand. He flexed each finger once. Then twice.

  Manns simply needed to act before this fell feeling fell upon him. It was just that upon successfully scooping out the Blessed eye, he would need to remove his own to make room for it, a process that would need to be swift and couldn’t afford any mistakes.

  Touching her eye to get a better feeling of the flow— that definitely should have caused her to stir. However the pulse of life felt just as strong as with any other organ he’d encountered. Locating just past the thinnest point of connection, even if he could be more precise, cutting it out a little bit beyond gave him more room for error. Just for prudence’s sake, Mann’s wouldn’t slip up at this point.

  His power coursed through his fingers, just about to pierce through her skull when he threw himself back. An unsettling sound of metal and stone shrieked before him. Manns could make out the vague form of his reflection in a poorly maintained blade shoved into the gravel with enough force to deform the hilt.

  Manns looked up at the interloper.

  “My oh my, what a pretty gal, and you want to take her eye?” A man, too tall by more than a head, looked down with a relaxed smile. “Personally I’ve taken a fancy to your hand— I’m a person who wishes to live a very quiet life. Although, if I were to fight I wouldn’t lose to anyone. Succinctly put, why don’t you show me what you can do? Just maybe you can leave with those other bits and bobs you’ve stolen.”

  The interloper had an odd cadence to his speech, and casually juggled four swords as a jester might during a festival. He didn’t seem to be paying much attention to the swords, or even the threats. Aloof… and separate from the Flow of Life.

  “So you’re the oddity that’s been lurking in this place.” Manns drew out an iron baton from his cloak. His hands were a more effective weapon, but were lacking when it came to blocking heavy strikes.

  The giant was giving him time. His overconfidence would be his demise.

  “Hoh? You can sense something? What is it exactly?” Unfortunately to buy time to cast a stronger spell would require Manns to interrupt his spell in the first place. Instead, the icy bolt, facilitated by his field of cold was unleashed just before the interloper finished his question.

  An imperfect blade sang and cracked, the man pirouetted, slamming the ice with enough force the top foot of the sword flew off and embedded itself into a wall. Then, he used his foot to catch the hilt of a falling blade and toss it back into his juggling circle.

  Manns involuntarily stepped back, his heart beginning to pound. This feeling… cut from the Flow of Life it couldn’t be quantified, but it was the same as when he needed to face down a Paladin.

  “Damn it. What are you after? You’re disconnected from the Flow of Life, what use could you possibly have for my hand?” Talk as a distraction and slowly rotate towards the street. Seizing the woman’s eye was a lost cause now. Then he could cast a spell to threaten her, and the man would likely turn to save her. Given his reaction to being shot from the back, Manns could only use that opportunity to run and seek vengeance at a later date.

  “Hmm, disconnected from the Flow of Life? That might explain why that Disciple’s healing technique had the opposite effect. Although since they thought it was her flawed method, I take it most can’t see the Flow of Life as you do…Hey, are you paying any attention over there? I’ve got questions.”

  “Coalesce stasis, form sharpness, impart speed, ice bolt!”

  Despite his power and casual attitude, he was still a novice that remained very much on guard. Instead of an anti-mage fighting style to interrupt an incantation, he stood back passively.

  Still, with a backhand throw, he gave up one of his swords, exploding against the nascent spell before it could fully form.

  “Hey hey hey, get back here!”

  Manns felt a trickle of sweat move down his neck as he sprinted. If this swordsman decided to throw two in sequence, even he would be severely injured. The only luck in this situation was the man seemed earnestly curious about his ability to control the Flow of Life.

  Sprinting into the street, a few eyes turned their way. The observer from above surely noticed, but it must have looked like a petty matter. He needed to find a source of interference to lose his pursuer.

  He led the chase through the center of town, trying to use others as obstructions. But from behind, he could still hear a needling voice.

  “Excuse me, make way, sorry about that!”

  So damn persistent, how could he make an escape? There was the option of diving into the river, but if that didn’t work he would be giving up on the more varied options available in town.

  Perhaps by covering him in water he could be frozen? But using that much magic with attention already starting to gather on them?

  That was it!

  “Help! Rogue mage!” He bumped into several more people as he strained his mind multitasking.

  A silent ice bolt formed from behind, only roughly aimed at his position. Running, aiming, casting silently, his mind faltered for a moment. Ice shattered, splintering a decorative facade, closer than Manns liked, but it served his purposes. Shouts of panic quickly arose.

  Despite their worthless existences, vendors drew out their own hand axes or spears. Those in town to gather supplies for smaller villages likewise brought out small knives, or grabbed some leftover timbers to use as a club. A smaller portion was intrigued and looked towards him with interest, and the least common reaction by far were those who immediately ran away.

  This was how the weak managed to survive. By mimicking strong individuals, to elevate their own presence, regular humans were willing to charge forth at an opponent far beyond their means. While foolish to attempt alone, those without ability outnumbered those with it. Even he had to forfeit blessings in towns that lacked a temple at times. Unruly mobs who took the words of the Patriarch seriously aggressively rushed into danger; that would cause difficulties for a Disciple, and without a method to reinforce flesh, he was even more at risk.

  Disorganized charges of the untrained was not an uncommon sight to Manns. He knew how to instigate these simple creatures; so why were they so hesitant this time?

  Making a sharp turn, he shoved past a stocky man carrying a crate. Ignoring the shout, Manns caught a brief look at his pursuer waving the blue band that represented a registered mage.

  Damn it all, he wasn’t a weakling, so he was strong enough for the church to give him leeway? Still there was a limit before they found it to be an affront. Manns changed course to the nearest watcher.

  Escaping from custody was less risky than fighting, and several Disciples already started approaching.

  “Behind me! Stop this madman!”

  “Both of you, halt in the name of the Patriarch!” Manns wanted to keep running, but the Disciple looked young and arrogant. Sword already in hand, he stood up with a commanding presence.

  Idiot! Absolute idiot! Manns knew there was at least one incantation to get a read on how much energy an individual possessed. If getting a read on the mage was impossible, he possessed at least half again the energy of the Disciple and was currently retreating.

  Of course the whole point of running towards him was to make use of the Church’s authority, Manns predicted this, but it didn’t make him any less stupid.

  Slowing down, Manns tried moving to the left edge of the street, away from the Disciple’s sword hand. The Disciple shifted in that direction raising his sword to a more active striking stance.

  “Not just the mage, ignorant peon. You halt.”

  Manns couldn’t help but take two more steps as he slowed to a pause. A peon? Which of them was ignorantly offering themselves up to the Church and the Flow of Life?

  This wasn’t the place for pride, he was regaining control of the situation, no matter how unpleasant the method.

  “Why, my humble greetings Disciple.” The mage stopped juggling the swords, catching two in each hand… the missing and broken sword were somehow replaced during the chase. Bowing deeply, his head still barely dipped below the Disciple’s eye level. “I’m glad the rightful enforcers have arrived. I spotted this fellow about to murder a poor lass in a back alley and felt like intervening.”

  “Absurd—“ Manns jumped back a step as the Disciple’s sword was leveled at his throat. They stared into each others’ eyes with equal contempt.

  “Know your place!”

  Looking off to the Disciple’s side, the mage was giving him a cheeky smile. Had he bribed the Disciple at some point? Manns failed to notice his presence earlier, but unlikely as it was it seemed to be the most rational explanation.

  Unwilling to let the Disciple control his life, Manns raised his metal baton, warding off a probing strike with a metallic clank.

  “You dare? Mage, stand by. Your inability to follow the commands of the Church will be punished, after this criminal is dealt with.”

  “Believing a magic user, over myself? Madness! Useless, corrupt—”

  The sword darted swiftly towards Manns’ side, ruthless and without warning. Spotting the movement easily, their weapons clashed. Flowing elegantly from the rebound, the Disciple struck four more times. Under pressure as he moved to a two-handed grip, Manns accurately crushed his fingers before breaking his arm and turning to run.

  Getting into a prolonged fight would be worse than useless. His plan didn’t pan out and he needed another strategy. Escape towards the forest, or across the river? If they gave pursuit, crossing was a riskier choice, yet the forest remained in the town’s sphere of influence.

  “Here Disciple, I have some Callus ointment I’d happily contribute to the Church. And if you’d deputize me…” The giant certainly projected his voice intentionally as Manns retreated. A bluff of some sort? No, Manns had no idea what the mage’s angle was in the first place for a bluff to work. Quickly ducking into alleys just to break line of sight, given the giant’s stride, Manns ran to the docks.

  A fishy scent grew stronger, and as he stepped onto the slippery docks with a dinghy not a few meters away, an enormous weight collided into his back. A sharp pain shot through his mouth as a tooth cracked, his face shoved into sturdy wooden boards.

  Brain foggy, a large hand lifted his head up— funny, he shaved his hair close to avoid being grabbed in a fight like this— adding something rancid to the metallic taste in his mouth. Was he trying to prevent verbal spellcasting?

  “Hope you don’t mind a taste of goblin rags, hopefully they keep you from biting your tongue off.”

  “HMMMF!” By the Patriarch!

  Forget about his face, this cut, not a hundred, a thousand, a million times worse! Not only a feeling of pain, but as a core piece of his soul had been excised in a swift strike.

  That… that was his center, his focus, the embodiment of ambition, his hand!

  Burning tears welled up in Manns’ eyes despite his illusions of stoicism, and he struggled to open them as he struggled with the pain. He still had some ability with his right. He could reattach it, there was no risk of rejection, it was his own flesh, there was nothing with which he was more familiar.

  “Now this thing’s a little dangerous. Shame the Church won’t let me keep it. Maybe I’ll be a little spiteful.”

  A soft plop of water felt deafening.