The land was a reddish-brown scar, dotted here and there with a skeletal tree. On the far horizon, a constant haze of yellow dust blurred the line where earth met sky.
This sprawling wasteland at the foot of Boranis Rise made it impossible for any large settlement to take root. There was not enough food to sustain a population, nor any local treasure worth the cost of importing it.
As a result, Boran walked for what felt like an eternity without seeing another living soul.
The landscape was a novelty at first, so different from the view on the hill, but the newness faded quickly. After a full day of travel, he was already sick of the sight.
He was torn between a desire to savor his first real journey and the need to conserve his magic for emergencies. He settled on a brisk walk, a pace that would have been a steady run for an ordinary person. Even so, it had taken a normal traveler three days to cover the distance he had already crossed.
And still, nothing but barren land surrounded him. It seemed he had passed the region without so much as a single village.
He wasn't worried about food or water. If he just kept walking, he was bound to find something eventually.
“Come.”
He stretched a hand toward the sky. A bird circling in the distance broke from its path, swooping down to perch on his outstretched arm.
Dominion over animals had become as natural as breathing since he’d awakened his power; it took no effort at all.
With his free hand, Boran snapped the bird’s neck. He drew a knife from his bag, plucking the feathers and skinning the small carcass with practiced motions. Finally, he made an incision at its throat and focused his will. Blood began to pour out.
Let’s see…
From the stream of blood, a thick, dark red mass separated and fell away, leaving behind pure, clear water that seemed to float in the air.
It was a spell for extracting potable water from blood, one of the many techniques Batyr had taught him. It was hundreds of times more efficient than creating water from nothing.
He filled his leather pouch with the fresh water, then roasted the bird and ate it with a chunk of goat cheese from his pack. For now, his hunger and thirst were sated.
He walked for hours after his meal. Just as the sun began to beat down from directly overhead, he spotted a group of people descending a low hill up ahead.
There were six of them, all men. They wore the dust-caked cloaks of weary travelers and had short swords strapped to their waists for self-defense. They were pulling a large, cloth-covered cart, suggesting they were merchants making their rounds between distant villages. He’d heard of such men visiting the hamlets at the foot of the hill, though he’d never met any himself.
When Boran moved to block their path, a middle-aged man who seemed to be their leader called out, his expression wary.
“Who are you to stand in our way?”
“A lone traveler,” Boran replied politely. “Could you tell me if there’s a city nearby?”
At his question, the men exchanged puzzled glances, tilting their heads. It was then that Boran noticed the way some of them were looking at him. Their gazes were sharp, no longer merely cautious. They were edged with avarice—the predatory glint of a hunter sizing up his mark.
The leader spoke again, his tone far harsher than before. “Follow the path we came from, you’ll find Angkor Thom. Just stick to the wheel tracks. Unless you’re an idiot, you can’t miss it.”
The insolent tone made Boran’s brow furrow slightly, but he simply nodded. He was in no mood to argue over their rudeness. He had, after all, stopped them in the middle of nowhere, and they had given him the information he wanted.
“Thank you.”
He gave a polite nod and turned to follow the tracks as instructed. But before he could take a step, one of the merchants moved to block his path. The man’s face was twisted into a sly, unpleasant smirk.
“Hold on. You take something, you give something. You weren’t planning on just taking the information and running off, were you?”
“First, open that bag of yours. Looks like you’ve got it stuffed pretty full.”
Before he knew it, the merchants had surrounded him. Several had already drawn their swords, their hands steady, their stances promising a swift death if he resisted.
“Bandits?”
“Call it a side hustle,” the leader grunted. “Just leave the bag and go. We’ll let you keep your clothes. We don’t like to make a mess if we don’t have to.”
Boran’s heightened senses sometimes allowed him to perceive strong emotions as distinct scents. It wasn't always active, and only worked on those nearby, but the stench rolling off these men was unmistakable. It was the smell of a predator just before the kill.
Their promise to let him go was a lie. They wanted him to surrender the bag willingly, to keep its contents from being stained with his blood.
“Alright,” Boran said, a faint smile on his lips. “I suppose you’ll do for some practice.”
“What?”
Boran spread his palm and swept his arm sideways. He conjured a flicker of wind and, with a surge of power, magnified it a hundredfold. A violent gust tore through the circle of men, lifting them off their feet and sending them tumbling through the air.
“Aaaaagh—!”
Just as Batyr had said, amplifying an existing force was far more efficient than creating one from scratch. Another of his master's lessons, much like the water-from-blood trick.
He surveyed the scattered bandits. One lay still, his neck bent at an unnatural angle. Another scrambled to his feet, only to collapse with a cry, clutching a leg that was clearly broken.
Boran turned his attention to the four who were staggering upright, now covered in dirt. He began his second spell.
He started by untying the water pouch at his waist.
As water trickled from the opening, it transformed, radiating a chilling cold. It hardened into razor-sharp spikes of ice that hovered in the air. With a gesture, he sent one flying. It shot forward and buried itself in a bandit’s abdomen.
This was a spell meant to be used near a larger source of water, he recalled.
“Arghhhh!”
“I’m sorry! Please, forgive me!” the man with the broken leg screamed, throwing down his sword and begging for his life.
Boran, however, was dissatisfied with the spell. The ice spike’s speed and power were laughable compared to what he could achieve with his slingshot. Then again, he’d spent his entire life honing that skill; it was only natural it would outclass a spell he’d just learned.
As an experiment, he formed another ice spike and made it spin as he launched it. This one flew several times faster, whistling through the air before piercing the neck of a bandit who had turned to flee.
“Die—!”
Just then, the remaining two bandits, who had been creeping closer, let out a war cry and charged.
He had been about to kick them away, but an idea came to him. He stomped his foot on the ground.
The reddish-brown earth erupted. Several massive spikes of hardened soil shot up from the wasteland, impaling the charging men and lifting their bodies into the air. A technique that reshaped the ground itself into a weapon, but only usable on soil.
“Urgh…”
They were weaklings. He could have killed them all with a single mental command. But by testing his skills like this, he was getting a feel for how he might handle future battles. He was beginning to understand which of the techniques he’d learned were truly useful, and which ones best suited his own nature.
The man stabbed in the stomach didn’t look like he would last much longer. Boran walked slowly toward the final survivor, the one with the shattered leg.
Batyr had warned him to never show mercy to the vermin one met on the road. If you spared one out of pity, that same man would repay your kindness by bringing ruin to ten innocents.
Boran intended to follow that teaching to the letter.
“Ah… ah…”
The man trembled, a dark stain spreading on his trousers. He froze as Boran reached a hand toward him. But just before he ended it, a question occurred to Boran.
“Let me ask you one thing.”
“Y-yes, sir! Sir Mage! I’ll answer anything!” The bandit, clinging to a sliver of hope, ignored the pain in his leg and bowed his head frantically.
“Why attack me so recklessly? A lone traveler in a place like this could easily have been a wizard. As you now see.”
If Boran were a bandit, he never would have targeted someone like himself. Setting aside any moral qualms, it was common sense to assume that anyone traveling alone through such a desolate land possessed considerable skill. They had nothing to go on.
The bandit hesitated, then stammered out an answer.
“I-it’s because… you bowed your head, sir…”
“What?”
“When our leader was rude to you, you just… you lowered your head and thanked him. We figured you had to be an ordinary man.”
So it was a test. They spoke rudely on purpose to gauge his reaction. Because he’d found it too much trouble to argue and had simply acquiesced, they had judged him weak and let their greed take over.
“Thank you,” Boran said. “You’ve taught me something valuable.”
In a place like this, any show of weakness was an invitation for predators.
As payment for the lesson, Boran placed a finger on the last bandit’s forehead and commanded his death. The man’s end, at least, was painless.
The bandits’ cart was laden with supplies that would be hard to come by in rural villages. The goods were in fine condition, not appearing to be stolen or looted. His initial assessment that they had once been merchants was likely correct.
It would be too cumbersome to take the whole cart, so Boran simply took their money and left it behind. Then, he resumed his journey, following the wheel tracks.
As he walked in the direction of the city, the reddish-brown wasteland slowly gave way to patches of green. Trees became more common. With a clear destination in sight, he broke into a run, moving several times faster than before. By sunset, he arrived at Angkor Thom.
“Wow…”
Boran breathed out the word as he gazed down at the city sprawling below the low hill.
In the light of the setting sun, he could see at least a hundred people walking the streets or tending to their work. The combined population of all the villages at the foot of Boranis Rise was barely forty. To see so many people in one place was, for Boran, an astonishing sight.
He entered the city and walked slowly, weaving through the crowds and marveling at the bustling urban energy. The buildings, made of dark brown brick, were all of a similar style, most two or three stories high. Some had small stalls set up out front, selling various goods.
The passersby paid little attention to one another. Even when their paths crossed, there were no greetings, no conversations struck up.
After a moment of quiet observation, Boran approached a fruit vendor who looked more relaxed than the others.
“Excuse me.”
“Hm? A customer?”
“No, I was wondering if you could tell me where to find an inn.”
Batyr had told him about such places, where travelers could find lodging. Any city of this size was bound to have one.
The fruit vendor, however, didn’t even let him finish. He snorted and waved a dismissive hand.
“If you’re not buying fruit, get lost!”
The rude reply made Boran’s expression harden for a moment. Was he supposed to get angry here, to avoid being seen as weak? Then again, perhaps it was an unspoken rule of the city: you buy something before you ask a question.
After a brief internal debate, Boran nodded and pulled out his coin pouch.
“Alright. How much is this?”
“Two Keping for an apple. You look like an outsider, but I’ll take other coins if they’re about the same size.”
When he asked, the vendor explained that a Keping was the local copper coin. Boran found a few that matched the description among the bandits’ money and handed them over. The apple was a fruit he’d never seen before. It looked shriveled and had a faintly unpleasant smell.
“Follow that road straight and take a left. You’ll see a house with a blue roof and a painting of a beer mug on it. That’s the inn.”
Finally armed with directions, Boran walked on, taking a bite of the apple. He immediately spat it out and tossed the rest of the fruit into the gutter. It was horribly sour and astringent, so foul he wondered if it was poisoned.
Fortunately, the vendor hadn't lied about the inn's location. If he had, Boran had been fully prepared to go back and teach him a sharp lesson. He soon spotted the building just as it had been described.
He stepped inside, and a young barmaid approached him.
“Well now, aren’t you a handsome one. Here for a room?”
“Hmm.”
Boran just nodded, slightly flustered by her attire. She was clad in a gown so sheer it left little to the imagination. He’d heard that these places often had women who served drinks and sometimes sold their bodies, but hearing about it and seeing it were two very different things.
“How much for a night?”
“Sixteen Keping. Or one Salung, if you have it. If you’ve got other money, you’ll have to ask the innkeeper.”
A Salung, she explained, was a silver coin.
After he handed over the payment, the barmaid smiled sweetly and leaned her body against his shoulder.
“A room can get a little cold when you’re sleeping alone. Shall I come warm it up for you?”
“No, thank you.”
Batyr had warned him repeatedly never to get involved with the women in these places. Most carried diseases of the flesh. A powerful knight might resist the sickness himself, but he could unknowingly pass it on to other women later.
“Instead, I’d like to ask you something.”
He wanted to know if there were any magical beasts with bounties on them nearby. It was a perfect way to absorb more magic, grow stronger, and earn some money on the side.
But the barmaid didn’t answer. She simply pointed toward a large barrel of ale nearby.
It was his second lesson since descending from the hill: in a city, no one answered a question for free.