Mannat didn’t understand what Teej meant until the man stopped tapping his sword on the floor. At the same time, his three guards unsheathed their swords and daggers and came into action. One stabbed the counts back while the other two mingled among the circle of soldiers surrounding Mannat and took them out one-by-one.

The world stood still. Mannat witnessed the count sprouting a mouthful of blood. A sword point pushed out from the front of his chest. The kind man glared at Mannat as he lost strength in his legs; his knees buckled. Teej’s soldier violently pulled the sword out of the count's chest and the old man fell to his chair with bludgeoning eyes, bleeding from his wound. He wasn’t dead but was losing blood fast.

The other two men in red moved through the count's soldiers like blades harvesting wheat in the field. Before Mannat could make sense of their action, everyone except them and Sarpanch was dead and on the ground, splattering bloody flowers over the white marbled floor.

“Why?” That was all Mannat could muster before thoughts and guesses ground his mind into a mess.

Thankfully, Teej was arrogant and in no hurry to deal with him.

“Don’t think too much. It’s all for revenge. Your father will get what he deserves. And you, are not required. You are a thorn that will prick my father if I take you back. To avenge Noor’s death your father needs to pay the price and for that, you need to die, nephew.”

“But why did you kill them?”

Teej sneered. “But I didn’t.”

The man raised his sword and acted. He was fast, brick, precise. The silver glow around his sword compressed until it turned into a brightly shining crystal. They were too close. Mannat thought he was dead. This was not an attack at the same level as before. This time Teej had put his whole body behind the attack and Mannat had no answer to it.

The sword was at Mannat’s neck before the mana could even start moving inside his veins.

‘Why?’ It was more an introspection rather than an outward expression of his thoughts. Mannat already knew the answer. He waited excruciating long for the sword to slice him into pieces. Mannat wondered for a second whether he should come clean, and tell Teej that his sister was alive. Perhaps that would allow him to keep his life. But then he understood that whatever Teej had done to become an Inquisitor, how he had gained levels and how he had earned the power to kill a noble, even though a count, meant that he didn’t care about his sister. Perhaps, there was a time when he did, when he first started searching for Raesh, but not now.

Teej had been upright with him. He only wanted vengeance.

Where was the sword though? The introspection had gone on for long enough. Really, where was it?

That was when Mannat sensed something fly past him. A rain of heavy black feathers fended the sword away and pushed Teej back. Then something appeared between Mannat and Teej.

It was a bird, pitch black, with red eyes, a raven.

The raven flapped her wings and another volley of black feathers with metallic luster flew toward Teej, keeping him at bay. They couldn’t hurt the man. Teej sliced the air in front of him with his sword and a curtain of silver light that exploded from his sword fended the feathers.

Mannat watched as the raven folded her wings and fell toward the ground, changing as she descended, turning human, becoming… someone familiar.

Her wings grew larger, sleeker, draped down like a black robe. Thick, oily black hair flowed down from her skull that ballooned into a human shape. The robe covered her feet as the raven stopped transforming, giving Mannat the shock of his life by turning into the Witch.

“How long are you going to stand still like a fool?” The Witch tattled in her signature high-pitched voice.

Her appearance was awe-inspiring enough to bring the fight to a halt.

“You are the raven!” Mannat forget he was fighting.

“Witch!” Sarpanch hissed from behind and crawled back, away from her as far as possible.

He had just witnessed a murder, but that didn’t bother him much. However, the Witch scared him. She did! She was older than him, older than the oldest person alive in the village. Some villagers even proclaimed that she preceded the village!

While the others came to halt, the Witch moved. She had no plans of sticking around. She raised her open palms parallel to the floor and curled her fingers.

The marbled floor splintered. A web of cracks spread with her at the center.

“Who the fuck are you?” Teej gritted his teeth.

Mannat sensed Teej’s attention dividing between them and his guards, who to his senses had started moving. They were coming. The woman with the daggers was especially quick. Low to the ground, she moved silently, violent in her actions.

Mannat knew he would be dead if she caught him. He could fend for himself against common hooligans and idiot monsters. This woman was different. Her job was to kill people. He wouldn’t survive against her.

He got ready to protect himself when a broken shard rose from the cracked marble floor and caught her leg.

“Magician—” Teej gritted his teeth. “Get back! Don’t approach her!” He shouted to his subordinates when more and more shards floated out of the ground and shot off toward him and his men.

Teej made a spectacular show of swordsmanship and cut away everything that came toward him with his sword. The silver streak that followed his sword turned corporal and blocked everything in front of him. His subordinates had it tough. The woman with the daggers nimbly dodged what she could and got closer to the Witch.

Mannat got ready to attack her when he sensed the Witch imbue mana into a marble shard and flung it toward her.

The shard struck its target, halting the woman. She would have had it easier if the pain from her impact was her only problem. The Witch’s mana pushed into her body and then she, as if pulled up by strings, lost her footing and fell toward the roof.

She struck the ceiling hard. Her daggers slipped out of her hands and fell to the ground producing clangs akin to an abandoned wind chime. She slid on the ceiling before coming to stop beside a hanging flowerpot. She tried to get up, but the ceiling molded around her and caught her limbs. The mana imbued into her body ran out at the same time and she slumped from the ceiling, a struggling marionette with no escape.

The other soldiers had to leave the room after taking a few too many hits of the heavy marble pieces.

Teej being the last one standing, all the marble pieces started flying in his direction and overwhelmed him.

“BITCH!” Teej shouted and started spinning his sword in front of him, creating a circular shield of silver light that blocked everything that the Witch threw at him. He screamed while the stones kept flying at him, striking his silver shield, breaking, floating up, and attacking him repeatedly, relentlessly, without rest.

Seeing him struggling Mannat grabbed the Witch’s wrist and pleaded with her to let him go. “You are going to kill him!”

She swatted him on the face. “Are you done squawking or have you still some empathy left? That man tried to kill you. Did you forget that?”

The distraction proved disastrous. Teej took the chance and pulled out his trump card. The spinning sword shone brightly. He screamed, held the handle with both hands, and stabbed the sword into the floor. A shock wave bust out with him at the center and sent every floating piece of marble flying in all directions. The shards shot at the walls, penetrating deep. Some broke through the glass, others tore into the decorative furniture and chairs. In short, he survived, but not for long.

The Witch started acting before Teej could stand. She raised a hand and squeezed.

Mannat’s eyes opened wide when he sensed her connecting multiple mana channels between Teej and the braziers all around the balcony. She shot threads of highly condensed mana through the channels, attracting the fire. Whirling tornadoes of hot red fire followed the channels to Teej, attacking him from all directions.

Teej was tired, but not so tired that he couldn’t understand the situation. He rolled away and dodged to the best of his ability. One of the tornadoes skimmed one of his legs, burning through his pant and robe. The heat singed his hair. Another, he blocked with the stream of silver light that flowed through his sword. His leg was red and blistering behind the burned leg of his trouser. He ignored the pain and got ready for a counterattack.

“What’s next?” Mannat asked the Witch when he saw Teej stand up with his knees buckled, in an attacking position.

Teej lowered his sword, held it with both hands, and charged toward the two, silver light waving behind him.

The Witch’s fingers danced as thin cylindrical pillars rose from the ground. Teej dodged those he could, others he let them fall on his body. He didn’t stop. He grunted through the pain, his sword glowing brightly with every step he took. His thoughts couldn’t have been clearer. He was charging his sword with mana for one final attack.

“Prepare a mana blast and release it when I ask.” The Witch told Mannat, who did as was asked.

A few steps away, Mannat’s heart raced. The Witch pulled one arm back. The pressure on Teej decreased and he shot forward, ecstatic.

“I WIN!” Teej laughed manically and swung his sword diagonally, from the bottom to the top.

The Witch reacted at the same time, clenched a fist, and punched with the hand she had pulled back.

“Do it now, brat.” She yelled.

A burst of wind pressure shot toward Teej, but it couldn’t block the sword. Charged to the brim with mana, the sword glowed bright silver. The blow would have been devastating, but it never struck. Mannat’s mana blast blasted the sword midway. The resultant blast threw away all three of them.

Teej’s sword flew out of his hands and stabbed deep into the ground while he flew back and struck hard on the balcony railing. The Witch didn’t suffer much, but Mannat was thrown back. He fell to the floor with a grunt and rolled until he stopped. It took him a few moments to find his bearing. When he stood up staggering, he had a bloody nose and ringing ears.

“I can’t kill him,” The Witch said.

Mannat sighed in relief for some reason. He wanted to thank her for saving him when a flurry of furious footsteps besieged them.

Soldiers rushed into the balcony from behind following Moore.

They saw the destruction, the screaming soldier stuck on the roof and a cold sweat made them sane. The soldiers were apprehensive at first until Moore saw the count sitting in the chair holding his chest, blood had soaked his bright tunic red. He was breathing, but his face was pale.

“What did you do?” Moore yelled at Mannat. “I believed you!”

“It was not us!” Perhaps Mannat should have started with the truth because all the soldiers were running at him and the Witch, taking away his only chance to come clean.

“Don’t let them escape!” Teej poured the last drop of fuel into the mix and the situation exploded.

The soldiers exploded with confidence and rushed Mannat. The Witch saw the situation devolving, pulled Mannat into a hug, and they both shot out of the manor through the balcony.

Mannat could only sense the soldiers helplessly throwing their spears and swords after them, but the two of them were a tornado of black gas flying far away from the mess at a blistering pace.

Teej stumbled up and coughed a mouthful of blood, stood up using the railing for support, and glared at their retreating figure, unable to do anything about them. It was already too late by then. The duo was lost in the moonless night, hiding in plain sight.

Gritting his teeth, Teej stared at the hibernating town and roared at it. He couldn’t kill a child. He had not felt such shame since becoming an Inquisitor. He gritted his teeth and swallowed the anger, letting it brew in his stomach, growing and festering. Another look at the town and he walked away from the railing using the chipped sword as a cane.

A few soldiers came to him to help him. He pushed them all away. A fire burned in his eyes.

Behind him, the balcony was in an uproar. A few soldiers were clearing the mess, some were trying to free Teej’s subordinate from the ceiling.

He found Moore holding a pillow over the count’s wound, ordering the soldiers around, feeling helpless.

Moore had checked the count's wound. The sword had penetrated all the way but hadn’t hit a single organ. It was not a miracle the count was alive. The swordsman who stabbed him had never intended to kill him in the first place.

“Why?” Count asked Teej through gritted teeth. He knew the answer, but he still wanted to hear it.

Teej stumbled to a fallen decanter, picked it up, and shook it to see if its contents had survived the trouble. Liquid sloshed inside, which he drank straight by the mouthful. Red wine overflowed from the side of his mouth, down his chin, and onto his torn clothes. It washed the blood flowing from his wounds only for more to flow out from the center of his chest and drench his black shirt wet and thick.

He drank his fill then threw the decanter to one side, cleaned his face with his hands, and limped toward the count.

Moor blocked his way. Face to face they stood. Both angry at one other, righteously so. However, only one anger was directed toward the so-called escaped felons. Moore knew who had hurt the count. He just couldn’t understand the reason.

“Do you have something to say to me?” Teej asked aggressively.

Moore’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t disobey. The man was an executioner. He didn’t need a reason to kill him. It was already a blessing that he hadn’t killed the count. And it didn’t matter who started the fight. The boy was now a fugitive.

Moore bowed his head, but he didn’t pull out of Teej’s way until the count asked him to step aside. An order he had to follow.

Count defiantly stared at Teej, resisting him to the bitter end. Teej didn’t make it difficult for the old man this time.

“You are alive. Find happiness in it if you can. Order the men to close the gates. I want the boy found. ”

“And if I don’t obey?” The Count rasped painfully.

Teej snorted. “Then arrange a funeral for your family and yourself. The crime of standing against the Empire is punishable with the eradication of your whole lineage.”

“What madness—”

“You have been harboring a dangerous criminal in your region.” Teej grinned when he saw the Count's confusion. “Don’t you know the Witch who rescued the boy? There have only been five magicians in the Empire. Where do you think she comes from?”

Teej blared a smile at Moore, turned around, and left the balcony. He saw Mannat’s Sarpanch in the hallway, staring at the mess in a daze, confused and scared at the destruction that the Witch and Mannat had caused.

“YOU!” Teej called and the man in white was on his knees in front of him.

“I—” Sarpanch wanted to apologize, but it wasn’t his apology Teej wanted.

“You know the boy, don’t you? Come with me. Tell me everything you know about him.”