NOVEL SIMPLE Chapter-142 Dead Man Walking
Ewan scoured his Spellbook and even skimmed the hub while Frost and Orange guarded his premises—one standing alert by the root, and the other frolicking on the branches. Yet, he found nothing he could use in his situation. All the spells and artifacts suitable for the task required either Anima or spirit. Both the parties had to be an Asheva, Kyrons couldn’t use them. Just on this point alone, the failed product of Obria, the radio transceivers, and Avis’s invention, his communication boxes, far surpassed the competition. But Ewan could get neither.
So, he let go of the notion and sought an alternative that could serve his purpose. After going through his Spellbook once again, he chanced upon a non-elemental tracer spell.
Its spell circuit almost followed the same path as his <Stigma>, its applications also mimicked the same. Instead of marking targets with a negative or a positive mark for the follow up spells as <Stigma> did though, this tracer spell left a long-lasting mark on the target that pinged the spellcaster with information—position, life status, and some other miscellaneous details.
Ewan took out his notebook and drew its circuit, scribbling his remark where he saw fit. Since it resembled <Stigma>, he didn’t have any problem with it. The study of the spell drew him in as always and before Kidd’s holler reached his ears and broke his trance, he traced the spell circuit once and channeled the spell.
Kidd came racing to him, panting, blood dripping down his chin.
“What happened?” Ewan frowned.
“He…He…” Kidd gasped for air; his chest heaved hard, and his breaths ended in grunts.
“Breathe first, you’re fine now.” It took him a couple of minutes before his puffs and blows calmed down. He gulped, supporting himself on his knees.
“Did you kill someone?” Ewan asked, looking at his bloodied yet unwounded face.
“I found someone like you asked, Boss, but he said he didn’t want to do it halfway through. I asked for the coins back, but he refused. So, I pushed him down and smashed his face with a rock.”
Ewan clicked his tongue and sighed; this was an oversight on his part. “Give me the pouch,” he said, taking half of the coins away from it then throwing it back to Kidd. “Use this much now, find someone desperate,” he said. “Clean up before you go back.” Ewan threw him a bottle of water. “And take this, it’s better than a rock, just in case. It’s sharp, so handle with care, don’t lose your fingers.” He also gave him the Obsidian Dagger again for protection.
“Yes, Boss!” Kidd saluted again and dashed away with the bottle and the dagger.
…..
This time, he didn’t fail. By the time sun trailed its everyday path and reached the peak, Kidd returned with an emaciated man, almost on the verge of death. His stink reached Ewan before he did; rags barely covered his body, and his overgrown entangled beard and greasy hair locked and tangled into a natural braid.
“Boss,” Kidd said, walking over with a grin. “He agreed.”
Ewan nodded. “That’s the place.” He pointed at the cave with his eyes. “You just have to go in, as far as it goes. You reach the end and walk out, I’ll double the coins you got,” he said.
“W-What if I don’t walk out?” the man asked, licking his chapped and grimy lips.
“You get to keep what you have,” Ewan said.
“W-Will I die?”
“Maybe, maybe not. Now go.”
The man instead took a step back, staring at the cave, his eyes wavering.
Ewan squinted.
Enthrall!
He cast the spell, the mystic element surging around him, and tinkered with the man’s thoughts. He broke down his suspicions and amplified his greed. “You can get fifty coins, think about what you can do with it. What you can eat, where you can go, who you can sleep with,” he said. “Do you still not want to do it?”
“I-I’ll go, please keep your promise,” the man said, clutching the pouch of Crelith coins at his chest, and limped towards the cave. The trap that took an Asheva’s life at the entrance flickered with an olive-green light but died down without any action—the overwhelming with numbers strategy was already showing progress.
Spoor!
Ewan cast and marked the man as he stepped into the darkness and let the cave devour his entirety. The next moment, he received the pings. The man’s position, his frail but rapid heartbeats, his temperature—he detailed the cave and the situation inside for Ewan within the range of the spell.
…..
“How long do we have to wait, Boss?” Kidd asked, playing with the Obsidian Dagger, teasing its edge, while peeking at the crack every few seconds.
“Shouldn’t be long,” Ewan said. The man was a Kyron, a mortal, utterly powerless against the traps designed to kill the Ashevas—the first sign of danger or a trap would slaughter him. But just in case, and to avoid complications, he wanted to wait till the man breathed his last before hiring another tester.
A snap of a twig and a crunch of dead leaves far off in the distance attracted Ewan, he looked over and extended his Ryvia. Yet, he found nothing—the sound came from beyond his range. It could be animals, it could be Astylinds, it could even be someone who got lost. But it was most likely the Ashevas who went into this cave yesterday.
“Boss?”
“Shh.” Ewan shushed him with a finger on his lips then pointed towards the other side of the clearing. “Go hide,” he whispered.
Kidd bobbed his head and broke into a run, diving into a thick bush. Ewan pulled his neck gaiter up, covered half his face, and blended into the shadows of the tree crowns before putting away his Astylinds. Even at the peak of a Flamecrest afternoon, the dense aged forest had enough shade to support him.
Soon his stretched thin Ryvia picked up some movements; someone brushed along its tendrils. There was only one man, and he wore a familiar face.
The first battle Ewan fought in Drarith, it was against a same-aged man who contracted a Lightning Falcon and wielded strange exploding knives that attacked his soul. Ewan won the fight in the end, the man burst into pieces under his <Fireflies>.
Yet, here he was, a dead man walking, alive and kicking, and heading for the cave. The mystery behind his survival piqued Ewan’s interest.
He had his secret; the man must have his own. The revelation or even a hint of either called for a life and death conflict. And Ewan wasn’t above hunting him for it.
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