Three years later.

  “My team will not be able to do this mission,” Raji said as matter-of-fact as he could muster.

  Master Bluestone looked up at him, a brow quirked. “And why is that?” He asked, bemused.

  “There is a… well we…” the young man swallowed, bringing back his composure. He already had an excuse, if his tongue could only remember it. “Ninsey isn’t feeling well,” he said instead of the really smart thing he’d concocted before. Fuck.

  “Well, go without her then.”

  Fuck.

  His master was a man whose authority showed on his face. Liver spots riddled his skin, marking age in well-worn patterns. His hair was thin, but shaped respectably, a medium track of white that was short enough to be practical but long enough to indicate years of thoughtful care. His eyes were grey, sharp things that could have stunned one in his youth but now serve the clear purpose of calculated observation. Despite his humanity, his mana had kept his body alive well past its natural decline. The wrinkles decorating his sharp features meant he was years past a supernaturally lengthened prime, and his mind would hold all those years as a font for wisdom.

  He was not one to deceive, which meant only failure would befall any of Raji’s attempts at deception. Raji deceived anyway with an attempt so poor, only Ninsey could be fooled. The young man rubbed his neck, his body unable to contain its own embarrassment.

  “No, uh, well…”

  “There’s something you’re not telling me,” Master Bluestone observed. He leaned back in his chair to better observe his anxious student. His brows narrowed. “Is everything alright?”

  Fuck.

  “Well, um, well, no…”

  “Did something happen to a member of your team or does it have something to do with the mission?”

  “Uh… sir… um… uh…”

  “Your stuttering is not an answer. Quit thinking. Just shove the words through your mouth.”

  Now, that was a way to say it.

  “It’s just… it’s about the mission. We can’t do it.”

  “Why not?”

  Raji’s eyes flicked around the room, looking for an anchor. His heart was beating fast. He could feel it beating fast.

  “You’ve become a very capable young man.”–Bluestone looked the young man up and down and amended–”In the field, at least. There is no reason your party cannot handle a simple case like this.” The master dug through the papers at his desk, pulling out a piece of parchment with the assignment. He shifted his reading spectacles chained around his neck to the tip of his nose. “It’s not even a hunt. You just need to meet the artifact seller at our designated location in Yunicsa and bring the Twilight Blade back to our sect’s temple.”

  “Yes, but…”

  “You’re sweating.” The master tossed his student a silk handkerchief, still trying to read this particular anxiety from the young man’s face. Where his words were tied, if only his eyes could fill. But all he could garner was Raji’s absolute panic, which was a common enough occurrence that it told him little of the story. However, throughout the past few months, the kid stopped fretting over missions. He was now well suited to his role, despite what years of barely meeting Bluestone’s high expectations had suggested. He even started taking the lead, and that party of his acquiesced to their shifting dynamic with surprising ease. The boy had always been bright, driven, and well liked. While his anxiety remained, its target shifted, like filling the role of party leader gave him a certain armor he would crumble without.

  But now he was crumbling over a simple mission. That was a novelty.

  “Yes, thank you, sorry.”

  “Raji,” his master started, his edged hardening. This was familiar at least. Familiarity was good. The boy could use familiar. “You’re right. You shouldn’t lead this mission.”

  “Oh? Thank you sir!”

  “Mali will.”

  The young man’s face froze. “Okay,” he said carefully. “That makes sense.”

  “You’re not a good talker anyway. She can deal with the exchange.”

  “Perfect.” This should be perfect. He didn’t have to go. Mali would be in charge. But he had gotten his way too fast, and without his master probing for details. That was not how conversations with Master Bluestone went.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  “Now, pack up your things. Your party will be heading out tomorrow.”

  What? “But you said.”

  “Clearly you’re unfit to lead. So Mali will. Is something else wrong?”

  “I can’t go, Master Bluestone. I can’t…”

  “Tell me why.”

  But he couldn’t do that either.

  “I want to help you, Raji. But you refuse to let me. So you’re going on this mission.”

  Raji swallowed. Fuck. Fuck. Fuckity, fuck!

  “Yes, sir. You’re right, sir. I was just nervous about something… frivolous. It should be fine.”

  It would not be fine. It would not be fine. It would not be fine.

  Master Bluestone stared at his student with those discerning eyes. There wasn’t malice there, but the man was as solid as a stone. Difficult to sway, harder to move. If he didn’t explain exactly what his issue was, then he was going on the mission. And if he did explain his issue, he would lose all the respect he struggled for these past three years. There was only one option he was willing to choose.

  The next morning, he and the three members of his party set out for Yunicsa. He was going to regret this. Or maybe he’d die. Anything is better than disappointing Master Bluestone, though.

  Three years earlier, in the dungeon.

  Raji nodded his head. What the creature had said was surprisingly reasonable. They both wanted to escape, why not do it together? It was much better than being eaten, at the very least.

  “Okay, what’s your plan?”

  “I’m chained.”

  “Yes.”

  “And we are in the most secure spot in the dungeon.”

  “Are we really?”

  “Yes, two metal doors each carved with runes. Even powerful magics cannot open them.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I’ve tried.”

  “So you’re a powerful demon then?”

  “Yes.” The demon was riddled with unbridled arrogance. His voice was dripping with his own ego. He didn’t just state that as a face, but every small facet of his tone relished in that affirmation. That didn’t mean what he said wasn’t true. Raji winced.

  “So you’re down here because…”

  “They’re terrified of me.”

  “The other demons?”

  “Yess.” The word was just barely elongated, the voice lilted. There was that pride, again.

  “And what makes you so terrifying?”

  “Come to my corner, if you want to find out.” He could even hear the smile tugging the demon’s lips wide. It was savoringly malicious. “I won’t hurt you, I promise.”

  “I’m supposed to believe that?”

  “Yes. I need you to escape.”

  Raji laughed. That ache in his belly panged again as the laugh tensed his stomach muscles once more. “I am not powerful.”

  “It doesn’t matter. You just need to be another person.”

  “And why is that?”

  “One of us is in chains. The other isn’t. That’s one more step closer to the door.”

  The young mage took that in. It made a simple kind of sense, but it made sense. He exhaled air from his nose before saying, “So what's your plan, then?”

  “Oh, I don’t have one.”

  “...” Raji’s eye twitched. “Then why… why act like you did!?”

  “When did I do that?”

  “When you said…”

  “‘Let’s start planning our escape?’ Is the implication not that I haven’t yet started? Or is my Glaciturial too weak? In the latter’s case, many apologies for my poor speech. This is not my mother tongue.”

  If the corner monster wasn’t fucking terrifying and probably malicious, Raji would have the mind to punch him. Instead, he tried to think of a way out. Instead of even that, his mind started to wobble into mist. Metaphorical mist, mind you. No mist demons had pervaded his weak human senses, as far as he was aware.

  “Here’s my plan. I sleep. Then, tomorrow, you answer my questions and you answer them right. Then, we plan. Got it?”

  “Yes, Master Laudknight.”

  “Don’t call me that,” Raji snapped.

  “You don’t like being called ‘master’?”

  “No, Laudknight.”

  The silence hung for a moment too long, but his brain was too tired to run wild. It was only when he was half drifted asleep that Zish got to have the final say. “Okay, Raji. Get some rest.” It was lilted, but whispered. Like the amusement was for himself, and he had not intended his cellmate to hear. But the human did hear. And as he plummeted into his dreams, his brain kept the phrase on repeat.

  “Okay, Raji. Get some rest.”

  It was a sweet melody, to be called one’s name. To be given a moment to rest.

  Why was it so sweet?

  Why was it now, in the depths of a demon fortress, caged in with a powerful, probably malicious demon, that he finally got to rest? The floor was cold and hard, but the cloak the demon had given him almost made up for that fact. It was supernaturally comfortable. Demonically so, perhaps. Magically enhanced. Or maybe he was just so fucking tired, that it didn’t matter how hard the ground was and how soft the cloak was. A moment to sleep in any state felt like the height of luxury.

  He had been tired for a long time. Longer than he realized.