Straddling his black stallion, Nox ZaiWin averted his gaze from the battle taking place at the bottom of the hill right in front of him, and turned to look at the man that had rushed up the dirt path, respectfully bowing as he reached him.

“We have successfully breached the fortress, Calzai!” the man informed and he nodded in appreciation.

“As expected. Nothing but a bunch of mercenaries,” the man mounting the horse next to him snorted with contempt. “It will all be over soon. We’ll be able to go back to that last inn just in time to have that wonderful pie for dinner again.”

He sighed and shook his head in silent condemnation. With almost twice his age, ZenTar was one of the very few people he truly trusted to guard his back. They’d been together since he could remember and, as such, he was always a bit more condescending towards his easygoing nature. On the other hand, carefree as he might sound, his sword was at least as deadly as his own, if not more.

“Remind the men that none of the salves are to be hurt or killed! I need them alive!” he reinforced and the man that had brought him the news bowed again and rushed back down the hill.

“Wasn’t this Lord supposed to be a dainin? All I see are men blindly hacking around with their swords …” ZenTar criticized and he sighed silently.

“Must you always wish for a bloody battle?”

“All battles are bloody, in case you haven’t noticed. I only wish for an interesting battle. This is beyond boring!”

The words had just left his mouth when a breathtaking, shattering scream filled the air, a violent blast of wind suddenly whipping their clothes and hair. The impossible number of bright red markings that spread all over the fortress’ wall left all those waiting with him a top the hill gaping in disbelief. And, while they stared, the markings kept spreading, covering the outer wall and pouring into the field bellow. The desperate screams that followed filled the air as if the end of the world was upon them and everywhere men tumbled to the ground, grabbing their heads between their hands, trashing and screaming until they were finally still and silent.

“Wait …” was all he could hear ZenTar say, and then he too was atop that wall, enveloped by a misty cloud of darkness. The red markings beneath his feet were already fading away, but he didn’t spare them a second glance. Silent and swift like a breeze he quickly made his way through the men that defended the wall, killing all who stood in his path, his blade of darkness cutting the air around him, flying back and forth, slaying lives before they could even realize what was happening.

“It’s the Demon General!! It’s the Demon General!!” someone shouted at a distance and the sound of screams filled the air again, as panicking faces looked at him before they turned to run away as fast as their legs would carry them, some even preferring to jump from the wall to stand in his way. Yet, none of that held his attention for more than a split second, his gaze fixed on the dark box placed at the top of the wall, just a few steps away from him. Whatever it was, whatever had just killed hundreds of his men, had originated from inside that box, and he’d be dead before he’d allow them to use it again.

“Do it now! Kill him!!” a voice barked, making him avert his gaze but, contrary to what he’d expected, the man that had given the order wasn’t looking at him, but at the box where another man frantically started turning a metal wheel.

Now that he gave it a closer look he recognized the box for what it was, a torture mechanism built to inflict unbearable pain and, eventually death.

Taking a deep breath, he exhaled and appeared like a deadly cloud of smoke right beside the man turning the wheel. With nothing but a whisper his sword cut his throat and proceeded to kill the other five men now surrounding him, followed by another seven a bit farther away, until they were all dead or running away, and the box was standing like a lonely dark mark at the top of the wall.

Calling his sword back to him, he allowed it to fuse back with his blood, and the dark mist that had surrounded him finally cleared, his clothes settling back down, the few locks of hair that had escaped his long braid falling over his forehead.

Now that he’d stepped into the battlefield his men, including ZenTar, would also unleash the powers of their daitai, the holly markings they had been blessed with since birth. It wouldn’t be long before the battle was over.

Looking at the box standing right beside him ZaiWin tried to feel the presence of whoever was inside it. He had never seen such a huge extension of markings covering the ground like that before. Whenever a dainin chose to cast their markings on a specific area it was always in an organized, circular form, never like a chaotic mantle, and he’d never met anyone able to affect such a large area, he considered, looking down from the wall. Whoever was inside that box had been able to stretch their area of influence all the way to the ground. And, not only that, the men surrounding him, even though they were the closest to the box, had remained unharmed, while his men, down there, had dropped dead where they stood. He had heard rumors that the Demon Clan held a different kind of magic, that it was more savage, more deadly. They had probably locked one of them in that box and tortured him into obedience, he guessed looking at the box again.

“Are you out of your freaking mind??!” a voice stormed and he sighed, already backing away from the box. “And get away from that thing!!”

ZenTar was on him in two wide strides and promptly made a point to pull him back, protectively placing himself in front of him.

“It stopped.”

“And are you a fucking Seer now? Able to know if it will become active again at any moment??” ZenTar replied and he sighed again. “I swear!! One of these days I will kill you myself, with how much you’re always doing your best to drop dead at every turn!” he went on, in full scolding mode, which he, and the other men around them, pointedly ignored.

“Whoever is inside it is probably dead,” he guessed with a displeased tone and ZenTar pointed all of his seven flying flame daggers at the box.

“It better be! Or I’ll kill it myself!”

“You most certainly will not!” he immediately countered and, with a wave of his hand, the fire on all seven daggers disappeared as if blown away by a cold gust of wind, and they all fell on the stone ground at his feet, no more common than any other daggers. “Have you forgotten why we came to this wretched place? What if the one inside it is one of them? What if it’s their freaking prince? Do you want to start a war on account of a bit of unrestrained power?”

ZenTar crossed his arms and averted his gaze less than pleased.

“What if it lashes out again?”

“We’ll restrain it. If they’re still alive, that is,” he added doubtfully. “I believe we’re more than able to do it.”

ZenTar grunted something unintelligible under his breath and he couldn’t blame him. The truth was that he wasn’t so sure that he’d be able to contain such an immense surge of power. With some luck, whoever was inside it was either unconscious or dead.

“Fine. Open the box,” ZenTar ordered one of the other men and the rest formed a circle around it, taking on defensive positions, expecting the worst.

The grinding sound of metal as the man slowly turned the wheel made them grimace, leaving their nerves on edge, the suspense transforming into an increasing apprehension with every passing moment. A loud clang told them that the door had been unlocked and ZaiWin couldn’t help take a step forward, peering inside as it was slowly opened.