“So, you’re the one who dealt with that massive curse up north.” Spoke Janardan grumpily. “You have my thanks, but that not enough to change my opinion of your damn church: I can’t stand how two faced you are.”

The man’s physic was the opposite of the mage’s stereotype, tall, large and muscular, he had the aura of a mercenary or an old war veteran.

“It wasn’t my work alone. Azrael did most of the work.” Explained Ignis to the older necromancer.

“You damn right he did,” Interjected Thracian, miffed by the fact he couldn’t publicly claim credit for his deed. “you’ve only played the role of a diversion.”

“Don’t push your luck, old man. I’m still the one who had to do most of the cleansing… and I wouldn’t mind doing some more, there’s another blight right in front of me.”

“Color me scared, brat, that’s the only way you’ll ever see me afraid of you.”

“That’s not how the sentence work, old man. Telltale sign of senility if you ask me.”

“Well, no one does; your opinion doesn’t matter, brat.”

Eying Thracian suspiciously, the old necromancer asked. “Hum, who could be this… gentleman?”

“His name is Thracian,” Volunteered Ignis. “His knowledge is as profound as a puddle, however is irksomeness is wider than any ocean and taller than any mountain.”

“Ah,” Sneered Thracian. “this one was almost passable. Good job, brat, enjoy the first and last decent wisecrack of your entire life.”

“Do not try to distract me with your banter.” Roared Janardan. “This one isn’t human; he is not even breathing.” He approached the ancient king, sniffing the air. “You aren’t a wight either, what in the hell are you?”

“Can we talk about that somewhere… more discreet?” asked Azrael timidly, he’d been particularly discreet ever since well before they met with the old master.

“Now you talk? Hmph, not even a hello, I don’t know what they taught you in that damn church, but you’ve sure lost your manners.”

“I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t know what to say… you didn’t want me to go, and I made a mess almost immediately.”

“Eh? You did? But You came back with a master and all.” The old necromancer’s reactions were all over the place, getting angry or friendly without warning, this time he seemed genuinely curious, maybe joyous. “What did you do? Come on, tell me?”

“After we relocate, if you don’t mind.” Asked Ignis.

“Right. Well, follow me then.” And then without looking back to see if they followed, he brought them to an unassuming room he used as his office.

“Is this place really safe?” Asked Thracian. They thin walls didn’t inspire much confidence.

“The people here know better than to spy on me. You can put your familiars on the lookout if you don’t believe me.”

“No, It’s just…” Ignis hesitated for a long moment, not knowing himself what was bothering him. “I’m not used acting so openly.”

“This place is my hometown, you know, the people here understand the nature of our work better than most, not like those cretins in the north. They transformed the damn death lord territory into a literal land of the dead. Bloody useless morons, all of them… they mistake their prejudices for the truth and make laws around them! The death lord should have wiped them all out, damn spies and traitors.”

Azrael clarified. “Most people down south still follow the old customs. Tanathopia on the other hand, was built around refugee from other countries, and a core of life lord worshippers who never pardoned the death lord for transforming their master into a wight.”

“Even though he was the one who bloody asked for it,” Complained the old necromancer. “because he was too weak to help in battle.” This was new information for Ignis, if it was true, it was probably censured long ago.

“Your damn church should know better, but they went with everyone’s bullshit to appease the birdbrained masses… but enough about this; tell me what that thing is.”

“I’m not a thing, I’m Thracian, king of king. You should watch your mouth old fart, unless you want me to teach…” The armor suddenly jerked back, before falling to the ground.

“I’m not afraid of your kind ghost, and what you used to be don’t matter to me. Where’s Thracia? Where are your armies? You’re just a damn ghost, and a king of nothing.”

This time, Thracian voice came from Azrael general direction carrying a small hint of fear. “What was that?” However, it didn’t last long, ceding place to the ancient king usual haughtiness “Is that a way to treat your savior? I’m the one who destroyed the ghost laying that damn curse you were so afraid of up north.”

“You have my thanks, Azrael, but you should put a leash or your damn pet.” He drew a long breath. “Well, now I understand why you’re here, you’re looking for hot spot we haven’t cleaned up yet, right?”

The trio was a bit lost, thanks to the man habit of skipping all dialog he wasn’t interested in to jump right to the conclusion. “Hum, yes, that’s about right.”

“I thought so. The most obvious answer would be Tanathopia, this place is a mess, but you’ll only find enmity there. I suggest you leave them to rot, it’ll be faster than trying to convince them.”

Even with the king’s decree and the backing of the church, Ignis home, the kingdom of Aether was pretty bad, but here it, it felt like they’d sooner kill each-others than talk. He leaned towards Azrael to ask. “It almost sounds like you’re at war.”

“That wouldn’t be far from the truth, the people up north are convinced they’re being cursed by the one down south, and there have been many confrontations. There are also pogroms, like the one who killed my parents… Honestly, even though I want to save my country before it’s too late, I also feel like those deserve to die for what they did to me and my family.”

Each of the death mages here had their own focus, Janardan and Azrael cared more about the living, which was why destroying spirits didn’t bother them in the slightest, Ignis cared more about the dead, but he hadn’t completely rejected the living, which explained why he couldn’t completely reject the pair’s method as wrong, going even as far as to help his apprentice.