The dirty and mossy city, once abandoned due to the harsh climate, has become a haven for many dregs of society, expelled from the evil world of the imperial capital. Expensive wine that flowed like water, after successful deeds, was replaced by sour liquor, which cost many times more. Corrupt beauties were replaced by sick, exhausted women. And the loot itself rarely exceeded a couple of gold.

The very border of the region, in decline for more than half a year, devastated by eternal rains and cold storms coming from Haldmir , forced people to survive, to appreciate every crumb that they could get. But not everyone was ready to work hard for the sake of life. Not happy, not even satisfying, but still life.

The city of vice, the kingdom of sin, the lot of the outcast. People found shelter here, where they could hide and earn some coins for one more day, by any means. The Chieftain was the law. His fattened brain was capable of only two things: cruelty and greed. Once a formidable robber, he was a rotting carcass sitting on a throne. With a red-hot iron, he punished those who violated his law. And the law here was extremely simple - obey. You have nothing, everything is yours - belongs to the Chieftain, and praise his name, since he allows you to use it.

The choice was not great. Play by the rules or die.

To be called a Chieftain, he chose himself. He had always liked stories about powerful chiefs who ruled over tribes that all other rulers feared. There was power and strength in this word. The people often called him a fat pig. And even more often - nothing, because no one wanted to be on a spit in his fireplace.

There were eyes and ears everywhere. Honor, dignity, were unfamiliar to the locals. And those who heard something about these concepts could be found in the mountain of corpses outside the city wall, with their throats cut and their wallets empty.

Darkness always reigned on this street, even in the middle of the day, dozens of selected thugs, thieves, merchants hid in the shadows. The locals did not meddle here, even under pain of death. The society of thieves was still a society where a knife fight was preceded by a certain ritual - an overturned mug of beer, swearing, going out into the street. Here, you were already dead without even ordering a beer...

In the middle of the street, covered with sewage, towered the figure of a monk. His clothes were clean and adorned with gold, his staff of shining metal, the precious rings on his hands, like a beacon, attracted attention. Not believing their luck, they discussed who goes first. Isn't this a trap? It is difficult to imagine such a passerby here. The last time it happened was over a hundred years ago, and the guy lasted two minutes. To be precise, it was the guy with the gold tooth. More specifically copper tooth. But the thieves found out about this when they dragged his skull into the shop.

Two shadows slithered out of the darkness, rapidly approaching the monk's back. The knife might have gleamed in the dim moonlight, but it was rusted all the way to the hilt. The blade clanged against the staff. And the owner's forehead turned out to be pierced with a finger.
The second robber, quickly realizing that it was not worth it, had already turned around, hearing the quiet whisper of the monk. Pain shot through my ankles. He fell to his knees and turned around. The tall figure was already moving away. His gaze flickered to his feet. To his own surprise, he realized that his body had turned and his feet remained on the ground.

 

The monk struck the wooden door with his staff three times and, without waiting for an answer, pulled the handle. With a dull crack, it fell off, remaining in his hand.

- “Hmm, what did I expect?” - He shook his head, examining the item in his hand and dropped it to the ground.

The door swung open and a pale man invited him in. Quite a boy, with scarlet eyes, led the monk behind him, illuminating the path with the stub of a candle. For such a small building, the journey was much longer. Winding corridors abounded with stairs, now rising to the top, then rushing into the darkness.

It seemed like an eternity before the boy stopped and pushed open the door to the room.

A table, two chairs, and a man seated by a window, looking out over the city, illuminated by moonlight.

- "Sit down" - Casually waving his hand, he said.

The monk sat down on a chair and looked out the window. They were at the top of one of the towers, once used by the city guard to watch the streets. Now, all the entrances to it were boarded up and it seems that this path was the only way to get here.

- "Good to see you, mister?" - The monk spoke with a smile.

- “No names. They are useless now…” – The man’s voice was quiet and calm. The moonlight fell on his patched hood, covering his face securely.

- "Understand. In that case, let’s get straight to the point” - The monk’s face was still smiling, but anger boiled inside. A disgusting place, which took almost a month to get to. But he could not entrust such an important task to only one mercenary. The orders of the Goddess were clear. The boy must be dead - “You must fix one problem. His name is Zee, the magician. My people say he's in the region, I think with your web, it won't be a problem to find this boy. He is... a very flamboyant personality and leaves chaos in his wake. Of course, I will pay for your services in the best way. You may be interested in something much more valuable than money”

- "And what is it?" – Continuing to look out the window, the man asked apathetically.

- “Indulgence from the Church. Complete forgiveness for all your sins. You will be able to return to the capital and live like a fairly wealthy and law-abiding person” - the monk took out a folded sheet of paper and unfolded it and handed it to the man - “Signed by the pontiff himself. You just need to wright a name"

The man's hand reached for the indulgence, but the monk quickly removed it from the table.

- “Work first. As a deposit, I can offer some gold for work expenses” - He threw his overstuffed purse on the table.

- “Gold, forgiveness. Great words. For them, it is not a pity to die. However, I suggest another option” This time, he reached for his purse.

Expecting a trick, threats of violence, the monk thought: “Come on, try to give a signal. Call your guys, who will turn into a bloody mess. And after a couple of minutes, you will already be begging me to give you this job, with oaths and tears. But to give credit, they work for the result. Maybe I should leave a couple alive…”

At that moment, moonlight fell on the man's hand. Eaten by ulcers, covered with blisters, a snow-white brush grabbed a purse. The monk froze, the smile beginning to fade from his lips.

- “My master offers something more. Eternity." The man rushed forward, overturning the table.

The monk reacted with lightning speed, stabbing with his palm like a spear and with his other hand, sealing, casting a spell.

The palm pierced the man's chest, sinking to the wrist. His insides were cold. Too cold. The spell bound the arm in chains, stopping it at the monk's throat and pulling it back sharply. The hand didn't stop, the chains dragging the wet flesh that fell off the man's bones. The bones of his fingers closed around monks throat. The spear arm was paralyzed, remaining in a cold captivity.

The monk tried to cast a new spell as the man's hood fell back, revealing a youthful face. Impeccably smooth, full of feminine beauty and warmth, but also as pale as an albino boy's. His mouth dropped open. A flock of flies burst out of the darkness. They covered the monk's face, penetrating his mouth, nostrils, and ears. Soon his lungs were filled with the swarming mass. He wanted to cough, scream, escape. But it didn't work.

In the last moments, he felt someone else's gaze, full of cold fury. Wrath soon filled him too.

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- “No, too inconspicuous. Whoever is chasing us is not connected to the guards” -  Zwei thought out loud, sitting on a thick tree branch. She deftly jumped down, landing silently on the withered foliage.

The guys enjoyed a short break. Apart from stopping for the night, they were constantly on the move, until the half-elf needed to scout the area or resupply water.

At these moments, Bor fell to the ground exhausted and breathed heavily, repeating that he felt death, he did not have long, ten more steps and his legs would fall apart into small pieces that would have to be collected for the next few years in order to bury him properly.

Zee pulled off his boot and studied the new callus that had appeared on his toe. The ability to regenerate, for some reason, began to work noticeably worse. Whether it was due to lack of practice in recent years or alcoholism, the fuel of which has worn off, causing bouts of nausea and dizziness. It was unbearably hot by the fire, and without it - the frost made its way into the bones, forcing his teeth to chatter in time with his steps.

- “The halt is over! Get up, you useless leather sacks, and go!” - Zwei adjusted her bow and gave orders, debating whether to kick Bor to speed up or give him a few more moments. The original plan to avoid the deadly lands failed - “Whoever is chasing us is as good a tracker as I am and might be here in a few hours.”

- “Deadly lands? Not a very pleasant name. Can you think more? If it was possible to pass there, they would not be called deadly ones” - Bor rolled over and stared at the half-elf , cherishing the hope of convincing her.

- “If we don't hurry, we can die here too. There we have at least a chance. So - FORWARD” - she shouted and stepped on Bor’s back and ran.

Zee followed her, jogging lightly, trying to keep up.

Bohr, buried in the forest floor, let out a muffled cry, got up with difficulty and made another attempt not to be left alone, no matter how much he wanted to.

 

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The dead lands lived up to their name. People liked to give sounding names, even if there was no specific reason for it. The witch forest has not been a home for witches for several centuries, although home is too big a word. Once there they noticed an old woman, past which a raven flew by, in her hand was an apple, and on her head was a hood. The unspoiled brain of a couple of local peasants did some calculations, compared them with the fairy tales they were read to as children, and recreated the unique story that gave this forest a big name and deprived the local tavern of a regular supply of mushrooms.

Bottomless swamps turned out to be several puddles covered with mud. It was possible to drown in them, but it was even easier to get around on a rocky path. But one lost boot caused all the shopkeepers from the nearest town to go around several mountains. Again inflicting an economic blow, on the same inn.

But in this case, the deadly lands were deadly. The twisted influence of the lord of darkness, the hordes of his dead servants, poisoned everything for miles, tearing hundreds of peasants from their homes. This region was a harsh place, but there was a limit to everything. When your skinny goat is carried away by a huge mosquito that makes sounds painfully similar to the laughter of a great-uncle who died of phthisis, it is a sure sign that it is time to pack up and run in the opposite direction, until an equally skinny cow becomes someone else's dinner.

Zee's leather boots gradually fell into disrepair. The skin was getting harder and starting to crumble as it came into contact with the local slurry, which had once been water. Bor walked barefoot. The less secure protection of his feet had melted away on the first day, replenishing the reservoir of rot. Now every evening, he tried to scrub off a thick layer of whatever it was while he sat twenty meters from the fire. The elf did not let him nearer, citing the smell, which was already disgusting, and mixed with the smell of the ridiculous man's feet, caused vomiting spasms, even in local distorted animals.

Several times they got into trouble. The incident with the flying badger will remain in their memory for a long time. While the luckiest of the group went out in search of food, despite the recommendations not to do so, Zee and Zwei set up a small camp in the cleanest place. It looks like it was the foundation of one of the houses. A piece of stone that had been cleaned by the rain and looked more than worthy. The fire was already crackling, exhaling suffocating aromas, but still relieving the cold, when a scream was heard. From some semblance of a forest, Bor jumped out. More precisely, he was dragged out by a creature clinging to his hair.

The badger was extremely dissatisfied with the uninvited guest who tried to crawl into his hole and proudly fought for his modest property. Bor yelled as he tried to rip the animal off. Zwei sighed, picked up a small stone and threw it at the striped carcass.

The gaze of the beast darted to the projectile, with animal agility, he released the enemy and spread his snow-white wings. The rays of the setting sun played on the feathers, giving them a scarlet hue. The noble beast made a circle of honor, over the camp. And went to the forest.

For just a few seconds, it hovered in the air, over Bor. But this moment seemed like an eternity. A stream of something from the badger washed over the already dirty face, scattering in a myriad of sprays. Now not only his wings shone, but Bor's entire face. His hair was adorned with brown dew that flew to the sides as he shook his head and shouted “NOOOOOO”.

And as soon as this moment ends, the real horror begins. Bor rushed to the camp, shouting that he needed water. He was greeted by hospitable stones flying into his broad forehead in a futile attempt to stop the monster.

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The forest edge, covered with moss and ferns, seemed like heaven on earth. This place was not affected by the curse, leaving a lonely island, which became a resting place for an exhausted company. Even the experienced Zwei , accustomed to surviving far from the city walls, found this adventure difficult. Reconnaissance, finding a way, hunting, supervision over companions, all this collapsed on her shoulders. Sometimes it seemed to her that if it were a couple of children, it would be much easier. But there was nothing to do.

She made a risky decision and announced a halt for the day.

Signs of surveillance had disappeared a week ago, but my instincts told me that the danger was still close.

“Better to be found rested than exhausted” she thought, weighing every possibility.

Bor snorted softly to the side as he transformed himself into a human form in a nearby stream, leaving an incurable injury to a pair of local insects that lived near the water. Now it was existence, not a life.

Zee practiced magic. His mind cleared, after weeks of trials, his strength began to return, but it was still hard to think. Magic did not obey his will, now and then losing shape. The pronunciation of the words made the process easier, but not enough. The food and water he created was like earth and sand. Attacking spells, once again losing control, burst forth with unbridled streams of energy. In order not to injure the satellites, they had to be postponed. He focused on creating objects, it turned out badly, but a set of porcelain cups no longer melted from contact with water, which could be considered a success.

Zwei, who was stirring the rest of the stew in the cauldron, took off from her seat, made a somersault and picked up the bow.

- "Hey what's going on?" - Shouted Zee , dropping one of the crooked mugs.

- "Quiet! It is here…” - the elf whispered menacingly. Her fingers slid off the string, sending the arrow flying.

But it did not fly even a meter, as a black metal spike crashed into the tip, repelling the projectile and sticking into the nearest stone.

Laughter erupted from the darkness. So cheerful.

- “Well, I found you, kittens”