Desolate Mage: A Legend Reborn!

They looked well equipped, all hundred of them mounted and fitted with nearly standardised heavy scimitars - weapons appropriate for attacks from atop a Sar"peh (a 6-legged camel-like steed without humps well-suited for long distance travelling and lugging goods).

With more than double the number of men compared to the Arena supply group, the bandits easily enclosed them with blades unsheathed. The defenders had their own weapons out, but the leader of the group, Khalid, stood at the front and held up his hand to prevent his men from starting the conflict.

Lars watched as a large, muscular and moustached rider pulled out from the formation and approached Khalid who was holding a piece of paper up. He listened intently to their conversation to catch a hint of what was going on.

"You"re new around these parts, aren"t you...? I"ve never seen you before in Desert Scorpion"s gang." Before the fierce-looking man could close the distance, the short and stout Khalid called out to him.

But the rider kept quiet, only maintaining a stern expression as he cantered closer then finally stopped about 10 metres away from the stocky caravan leader.

Khalid felt uneasy as he watched the powerful-looking man rein in his steed and come to a halt before him, then quickly dismount and approach. The caravan leader subconsciously backed away a little as he drew nearer and was relieved when the bandit leader stopped at a 3-metre distance - very near, near enough to strike in an instant.

The moustached man had heavy hooded eyes with protruding eyebrows and looked taciturn. He stood there quietly as he emanated a pressure that made Khalid and the Arena guards sweat in nervousness.

The silence was deafening, pressing down on their hearts and psyche and leaving them on edge. Even more disquieting was the fact that the riders surrounding the perimeter had not dismounted - they were still in formation to charge and begin a slaughter at the drop of a hat.

The stand-off continued for a while, the only interruptions being the whistling of the wind across the gra.s.sy lands and whipping through the branches and leaves of the trees in the once-desert area.

Then the stillness was broken quiet.

"You aren"t new to this business. You know the drill. Hand over everything; we"ll leave you with enough to survive your journey back." His low and booming voice carried powerfully through the calm of the night. As if on cue, a strong breeze whooshed through their surroundings, kicking up the dust that had already settled and rustling through the gather people"s hair.

Khalid was indignant and frowned deeply before saying his piece. "Look here! We are from the Arena of Valour! We"ve already paid this month"s dues just a week ago and I was the one who personally handed over the tribute to the Roaming Sword King Tasha! Here, I have the confirmation letter prepared, take a look at it yourself if you"re not satisfied!" He spoke bluntly and brazenly as he was convinced of having the moral high ground to defend his troupe of wagons. He held up the piece of parchment-paper he had gripped tightly in his hand. In his worry, he had not noticed how he had gripped far too tight and crumpled the doc.u.ment badly. This, along with the already ragged edges, made it look like an old treasure map that had seen better days.

The quiet and strong bandit leader just levelled a steady but piercing gaze on the shorter man, showing his superiority in terms of both power and numbers - something that was more powerful than any negotiating chip or doc.u.ment. He gave no response, neither moving to take the preferred letter nor reb.u.t.ting the caravan leader"s statement. He just slowly sneered, then began a deep, rumbling chuckle that sounded almost like a cough or grunt. It slowly developed into a full-blown barking laugh, followed by his men who joined in to laugh raucously with their captain.

The stout but well-built wagon leader began to turn red in embarra.s.sment, then his face changed to an even deeper red as the blood vessels in his body swelled from anger. "What!?? What are you laughing at??! I--I demand to see a higher up! Not you lowly workers! Bring me the Sword King or the Spear King! I won"t negotiate with you lackeys anymore!"

At these words, the bandits laughs upped a notch, growing even more hysterical and amused in their cackling. Some of them slapped their thighs, while others held their bellies or fell onto their Sar"peh"s backs in their acts of mockery.

Then the bandit leader held his hand up high, and the men quickly fell silent.

He took a step closer, then stopped - his towering frame appearing like a mountain ready to crush their group of travellers.

And he spoke, sending an icy chill up all of the Arena dwellers hearts like a punch in the gut.

"Sword King is already dead." As soon as he finished those words, he reached into his robe to pull out an ear. One with 4 different coloured rings pierced through it. In each of those rings was inlaid a precious stone - an arrangement unique to Sword King Tasha, proof that he really was dead or at the least, defeated and routed in battle.

"The new Sword King of the Northern Point Desert stands before you." The hulking man spoke matter-of-factly with no exaggeration, placidly and slowly enunciating the words - showing his full confidence in the claims. Though in fact the Northern Point was already developed into a lush land, it was still referred to by its old name.

"From today onwards, the Desert Scorpions are merely a memory of the past, one that will soon be forgotten in the sands of time... From now on, we, the Sand Crabs under Lord Byrus will rule and control the rights to pa.s.sage in this territory!"

Khalid frowned even deeper. He clenched and unclenched his fists slowly, a sign of the stress he was placed under at this moment.

Then he started laughing.

"What kind of name is that? Hahahaha! Sand Crabs??! Sounds tasty! Right, men?"

He and the wagon workers gave the bandits a taste of their own medicine, roaring in amus.e.m.e.nt at the ridiculously weak sounding name the group had given themselves.

The moustached man"s face turned black as he smoothly withdrew his heavy extrlarge scimitar from where it hung by his waist. And yet despite his clearly aggravated mood, he spoke quietly with a dangerous tone in his voice. "Do you want to die...? If that is your desire, I am sure we can accommodate you, Mr Big Mouth and your band of comedians..."

Khalid snapped at that moment, face turning into an aggressive scowl as he shouted in return. "Listen up you newbies to the area! Do you think we"re just a bunch of pansy pushovers!?" Then he turned to his men behind him and shouted out a question, "Are we a bunch of pushovers, boys?"

"NAY!!!!" "NO!!!" "NEVER!!!" He received a resounding roar in return, though one that was not uniform.

"Look, we belong to the Kingdom of the Sands! I wouldn"t have shown this if you hadn"t forced us, but now that you know it, if you dare touch us, you"re dead!" Then Khalid pulled out a round medallion with a s.h.i.+eld engraved on it. On the s.h.i.+eld was an insignia, a coat of arms with an eagle"s head but with the eyes of a snake - Duke Silvan"s crest.

The bandit leader"s face darkened even further, blackening to the extent that he looked like he would explode at any moment. The veins in his forehead began to pop out due to his excessive anger, but he still restrained himself from las.h.i.+ng out. A conflict with the crown was not something Lord Byrus would forgive!

So he spoke quietly once more and kept his voice low in order to manage his anger. "...Let"s cut the talk. You know what to do - hand over your things, your money and we"ll let you go. We will come to the Arena in 2 weeks for tribute; you may negotiate with Lord Byrus" representative at that time for the payments." Then without another word, he turned and returned to his steed, then rode back to the ring of bandits with his cloak fluttering in the air behind him as he rode.

Angry and unwilling but without an option, Khalid coughed, then grunted loudly as he shook his head. Then despite his reluctance, he waved to his men to comply with the demands.

* * * * *

The bandits showed rich experience in their line of work - they came prepared with multiple sacks as they did not want to bring the wagons or any vehicles along with them. Whatever they could not easily lug, they left behind. They also searched through the supplies and foodstuffs to ensure nothing was hidden - they even checked the feed bags for the wagon"s Sar"peh, underneath the carriages, in between the wheels and axels to make sure.

They also accosted all of the wagon workers and guards one by one and patted them down to ensure nothing was missed. Fortunately for Lars, they ignored his ring hanging around his neck as he laid a simple illusion spell on it to look like a piece of stone; while his replacement replica Brightstar was already in pretty bad shape from the start, thus it was ignored with just a look of derision from the bandits searching him.

The whole process was completed in less than 15 minutes, after which the bandits packed up and prepared to leave before the sun rose in the coming hour.

The bandit leader looked glum and still in a bad mood over the slight he had received earlier, and left some parting words. "I won"t say it"s been a pleasure to do business... But I hope we meet again. It was very profitable." He ended with a sarcastic sneer of false pleasure.

Khalid shrugged, ignoring the barbed jab and turned to return to his tent. Though he likely would not get any further sleep, he still intended to close his eyes and give his weary heart and mind a well-needed rest.

But he was stopped before he even took 5 steps back towards his group of men.

"Wait." The bandit leader who had earlier not been involved in the search dismounted swiftly and walked briskly past Khalid. He went towards the camp area, causing the jittery Arena folk to back off as quickly as they could.

He weaved his way past the fireplace and the various utensils stacked up from the last night"s dinner, then stopped in front of a slim and tall cloaked figure, the face of whom was hidden. But he could tell that the person was different from the rest of the rough and tough men in the group.

"Excuse me." He spoke gruffly, at odds with his polite words as he looked at the skin of the persons smooth, graceful and fair hands. "I would like to request for you to remove your hood and show me your face."

The hooded person turned to face the large man, then stopped for awhile, hesitant. Then the person pulled back the hood to reveal golden hair, an angular, soft-skinned face devoid of blemishes and beautiful brown eyes, though they were slightly on the small side.

The moustached man was stunned as he saw the vision of androgynous beauty before him, and his face turned flush as he was excited. He then spoke to everyone around him with a loud voice.

"Everyone else may leave, but I"m taking this boy with me." Then he looked at Lars and his mouth parted in a disturbing smile as he said, "You... Are just my type..."

He reached out his hand to touch the boy"s face, only to suddenly find that he had stopped.

He couldn"t move.

"????" There was no force surrounding him, nor were there any bonds. No hands, no weapons placed against him. But he found that no matter how hard he tried, he could not will his body to move.

"What... What"s going on...??" He thought.

Then when he looked into the boy"s eyes, he realised what it was.

He, self-proclaimed Sword King Raghu of the Northern Point Desert, was frozen in fear from the un.o.btrusive, composed and restrained but overwhelmingly madness-inducing killing intent radiating from the boy"s eyes.

He was afraid.

"...Thank you..."

"???? He... Why is he thanking me!??" But he couldn"t give voice to any words or questions to ask further.

"I... Was going to keep quiet and let you go, initially... And... Even when you poked your nose into my business, I was still able to forgive you, yes, even now! But..." Lars kept his face neutral in a serene smile, but one that struck great terror in the bandit leader Raghu"s soul, nearly causing his spirit to flee his body on the spot.

"I... I was in a very bad mood, so... I"m grateful..."

The boy stood up and pulled out his dagger oh-so-very slowly, taking his time as if he were a viper that held its prey enthralled in its sights, casually playing with its food.

Then he spoke languidly, taking his time as he stepped around the panic-stricken but frozen man.

"I"m sure you"re wondering why I"m thanking you, why I"m grateful." He smiled affably, looking completely like a n.o.ble young master enjoying an art display or relis.h.i.+ng a display of flowers blooming.

"I"m grateful... Because you"ve helped me, given me an opportunity..."

Then his eyes turned murderous, with b.l.o.o.d.y killing intent oozing out.

"And I can finally let off some steam by killing you - all hundred of you."

Lars raised his hand with the dagger in it and incanted a spell, bursting right throught the formerly-arrogant bandit leader"s chest.

The man died without his name even being known.