The axe blade whistled through the air where Marcus's head had been a heartbeat earlier. He ducked smoothly, his movements fluid despite the full plate armor he now wore. The bandit who had swung at him looked momentarily confused, not expecting such agility from someone in heavy armor.
Marcus didn't give him time to recover. A crimson aura blade materialized around his right hand as he lunged forward, the construct slicing through the bandit's leather armor with precision. The man fell with a strangled cry, joining his three companions already lying motionless in the forest clearing.
With practiced efficiency, Marcus checked each body, confirming what he already knew. None had survived. He felt the familiar mixture of regret and resignation that now accompanied each combat encounter. These weren't twisted monsters or magical threats—just desperate men who had made poor choices. But they had attacked the merchant caravan he was contracted to protect, leaving him no choice.
Seven months had passed since Stoneridge. Seven months of solo contracts, intensive training, and deliberately keeping everyone at arm's length. The merchant who had hired him knew him only as "The Crimson Sentinel"—the name he had begun using after several successful missions had earned him a reputation on the frontier. Few knew the young man behind the armor, and Marcus preferred it that way.
[Status Update] [Name: Marcus (aka "Phoenix"/"The Crimson Sentinel")] [Age: 11 years, 2 months] [Level: 54] [HP: 345/345] [MP: 645/645] [Strength: 112] [Dexterity: 98] [Constitution: 85] [Intelligence: 120] [Wisdom: 104] [Charisma: 62] [Selected Skills:]
[Aura Projection: Level 32][Aura Control: Level 35][Counter-Magic: Level 31][Aura Weaponry: Level 33][Magical Theory: Level 26][Magical Insight: Level 24][Combat Movement: Level 25][Armor Integration: Level 22][Emergency Counter-Magic: Level 6][Magical Structure Analysis: Level 8]
"Sentinel! Are we clear to move out?" The merchant caravan leader's voice called from the bend in the road, where the wagons had formed a defensive circle at the first sign of trouble.
"Clear," Marcus called back, his voice deliberately deepened. His enhanced strength and carefully allocated stat points had accelerated his physical growth, putting him at a respectable 5'8" despite being only eleven—though he claimed sixteen to clients. The custom-fitted full plate armor he now wore added to his imposing presence, the blue-tinted metal engraved with counter-magic runes that glowed faintly crimson when he channeled his aura.
"Gods above, you made quick work of them," the merchant leader—Darius—said as he approached, eyeing the bodies with a mixture of relief and unease. "That's the third group this month. The roads are getting worse."
"They usually are before winter," Marcus replied, dismissing his aura blade and wiping his physical backup dagger on the grass. "We should reach Highcross by nightfall if we push on."
Darius nodded. "I've traded these routes for twenty years, and I've never seen bandits so organized. Someone's coordinating them." He looked at Marcus speculatively. "Want to extend your contract? Triple the usual rate for the return journey."
"I'll consider it," Marcus said noncommittally. He never committed to new contracts immediately these days. Each one required careful consideration—assessment of the risks, research on the route, evaluation of potential magical threats. He had become methodical to the point of obsession.
The caravan resumed its journey, Marcus taking his customary position riding ahead as scout. The solitude suited him, allowing him to extend his aura sense in periodic sweeps to detect potential dangers before they could threaten the merchants.
As he rode, his mind returned to the letter he had received three days prior—a communication from Lia, sent via the monthly crystal report system they had established. She was thriving in the specialized Academy program, excelling in enhancement techniques beyond what the instructors had thought possible for someone her age. Her latest achievement had been sustaining a full-body enhancement for nearly an hour—a feat that had apparently left Master Linnea speechless.
The letter had ended with her usual taunt: "Better keep up, Marcus, or I'll leave you in the dust when we meet at Eldavia!"
Despite himself, he smiled. Their monthly communications had become a lifeline of sorts—a reminder of the friendship and purpose that had set him on this path. Unlike his carefully edited reports to the Academy, his messages to Lia were honest, detailing his contracts, challenges, and the lessons he was learning in the field.
He had never told her about the nightmares, though. The dreams where he relived the Stoneridge disaster, watching helplessly as the monsters he had inadvertently freed tore through the town. In these recurring nightmares, he never reached the second altar in time, never stopped the entity from fully forming. He would wake drenched in sweat, the screams of imagined victims still echoing in his mind.
"Focus on the mission," he reminded himself, pushing the memories aside. The present demanded his attention, and dwelling on past mistakes helped no one.
As the road curved through a narrow ravine, Marcus's aura sense detected something unusual—a faint magical signature emanating from an outcropping above. He signaled the caravan to halt and dismounted, approaching the rocky formation cautiously.
The signature was subtle, unlike anything he'd encountered before. Not the raw power of a monster or the structured patterns of a spell trap, but something more... deliberate. Observational.
"Show yourself," he called, crimson aura flickering around his hands. "I know you're there."
A moment of silence, then a soft chuckle. "Impressive sensitivity," a female voice replied. A figure shimmered into visibility on the outcropping—a woman in her mid-thirties wearing the distinctive robes of a Wayfinder Guide. Her hands were raised in the universal gesture of non-aggression. "Few can detect observation wards that subtle."
Marcus kept his aura ready but didn't form a weapon. Wayfinder Guides were neutral parties, dedicated to maintaining the frontier routes and assisting travelers—though they rarely revealed themselves unless necessary.
"Sentinel, yes?" the woman asked, studying him with unnervingly perceptive eyes. "Your reputation precedes you. I am Naomi, Senior Guide of the Eastern Routes."
"Why the observation ward?" Marcus asked directly.
"Bandits have been using this ravine as an ambush point. We've been monitoring to determine who's coordinating them." She gestured toward the caravan. "Your intervention saved me some trouble today."
"You were watching, but wouldn't have helped?" There was an edge to his voice.
Naomi's expression remained calm. "Wayfinders observe and report. We intervene only when absolutely necessary." She descended from the outcropping with practiced grace. "Though I admit, I was curious to see the Crimson Sentinel in action. Your counter-magic is... unusual."
Marcus tensed. His techniques were distinctively Academy-trained, something an experienced practitioner might recognize. "I had specialized training."
"Clearly," Naomi agreed, not pressing further. "I have a proposition for you. The Wayfinder Guild has information about what's organizing these bandits—something magical in nature. We lack combat specialists, and this threat requires your particular expertise."
"I don't work with partners anymore," Marcus stated flatly.
"This would be consultation only. We provide intelligence, you handle the threat, we both benefit. The roads become safer, you get paid extremely well, and no one needs to know we collaborated."
"What kind of threat?" Despite his reservations, professional curiosity stirred.
"A corrupted Wayfinding focus at Ravenhollow Pass. It's drawing in susceptible individuals and altering their behavior—creating these coordinated bandit groups. Simple minds trying to bring travelers to the source."
This caught Marcus's attention. Magical mind control was rare and dangerous—exactly the kind of challenge that would build his reputation and experience. Still, years of Academy training and months of frontier work had taught him to be cautious.
"I'll need details. Full disclosure of everything you know about the focus, its location, and potential defenses."
Naomi nodded. "Fair. We have a safehouse in Highcross. Meet me there tomorrow after your caravan arrives, and I'll provide everything we have." She handed him a small stone token inscribed with the Wayfinder symbol. "This will grant you access."
Before he could respond further, she whispered a word and shimmered out of visibility again, though his aura sense could still detect her moving away through the underbrush.
As Marcus returned to the caravan, his mind assessed this new opportunity. A corrupted Wayfinding focus would present unique challenges for his counter-magic abilities. Such artifacts were ancient, complex, and notoriously difficult to deal with—exactly the kind of experience that would be valuable for his Eldavia application.
But working with the Wayfinders, however loosely, meant trusting others again. After Stoneridge, he had made a deliberate choice to work alone, to ensure that any mistakes he made endangered only himself.
"Problem ahead?" Darius asked as Marcus remounted his horse.
"No," Marcus replied. "Road's clear."
As they continued toward Highcross, Marcus's thoughts returned to Lia's letter and her progress at the Academy. She was pushing boundaries, taking risks, growing stronger through collaboration and shared knowledge. Meanwhile, he had isolated himself, taking only straightforward contracts that he could handle alone.
Was he truly gaining the experience he needed, or had he allowed the trauma of Stoneridge to limit his growth?
The question lingered as they crested a hill and the walled settlement of Highcross came into view. Perhaps this Wayfinder contract would provide an answer—a chance to test his abilities against something truly challenging without putting others at direct risk.
Decision made, Marcus adjusted course to lead the caravan toward the town's eastern gate. Tomorrow he would meet with Naomi and learn more about this corrupted focus. For now, he would focus on completing his current contract and ensuring the merchants reached their destination safely.
[New Quest Alert!] [Title: The Corrupted Focus] [Description: Investigate the mysterious Wayfinding focus at Ravenhollow Pass] [Reward: 3000 XP, Wayfinder Guild reputation, Rare counter-magic insight] [Difficulty: High] [Note: Potential collaboration required]
The Highcross Inn where Marcus had taken a room was typical frontier accommodations—serviceable, reasonably clean, and most importantly, anonymous. After completing his contract with the merchant caravan and collecting his payment, he had retreated to his room to prepare for the meeting with Naomi.
His full plate armor stood on its stand in the corner, the countless small runes etched into its surface glinting in the lamplight. The armor had been his largest investment after Stoneridge—custom-made by a dwarven smith in Ironhaven who specialized in aura-conductive materials. Unlike standard plate which would have restricted his movement and counter-magic techniques, this armor had been designed to channel his aura through the metal itself, amplifying rather than hindering his abilities.
Marcus sat cross-legged on the floor, slowly breathing as he conducted his evening meditation routine. This practice had become essential to managing the nightmares and maintaining the mental clarity needed for precise counter-magic.
As his awareness turned inward, he assessed his internal energy. Five new levels gained since Stoneridge, each accompanied by careful stat allocation. He had focused primarily on Strength and Intelligence, with enough points in Constitution to support the physical demands of continuous armor wear during long journeys.
These changes had accelerated his physical development far beyond normal parameters. While still technically a child by age, his body had developed to that of a mid-teenager, with the muscle definition of someone who trained constantly. The discrepancy between his actual age and appearance had widened enough that his cover story of being sixteen was rarely questioned now.
But physical changes were only part of his development. The past seven months had honed his counter-magic techniques through practical application against a variety of threats—everything from standard magical barriers to more exotic challenges like a cursed artifact that had been turning livestock into bizarre chimera creatures.
His specialty in aura weaponry had advanced particularly rapidly. Where once he could maintain only simple constructs like blades and shields, he could now create complex weapons with multiple components—articulated whips that could target specific magical nodes, aura-bows that fired counter-magic arrows capable of disrupting distant threats, and his favorite, a two-handed greatsword construct that could cleave through multiple magical barriers in a single strike.
Yet despite these advancements, Marcus couldn't escape the feeling that he was stagnating in other ways. His refusal to work with partners or teams meant he rarely faced challenges that would truly push his limits. Solo contracts were safer, more controllable, but also more predictable.
[System Message: Seven months of avoiding teamwork, and now a mysterious Wayfinder wants you to consult on a magical focus? Your avoidance issues are about to get thoroughly tested, it seems!]
A knock at his door interrupted his meditation. Hand instinctively falling to the dagger at his belt, Marcus approached cautiously.
"Yes?" he called, not opening the door.
"Message for the Sentinel," a young voice replied—likely one of the inn's servants.
Marcus cracked the door, finding a boy of perhaps twelve holding a sealed letter. After the boy departed with a small tip, Marcus examined the letter carefully before breaking the seal.
Inside was a single line of text: "Meeting location changed. Northern watchtower, midnight. Bring your counter tools. -N"
Instinct told him something was off. The message lacked the Wayfinder authentication mark that should accompany official communications. And "counter tools" was an unusually vague term for a Guild member to use.
Either Naomi was being deliberately obscure for security reasons, or this wasn't from her at all.
Rather than dismiss the message outright, Marcus decided to investigate. If it was a trap, better to know who was setting it and why. If it was legitimate, missing the meeting could cost him valuable information about the corrupted focus.
He donned his armor methodically, each piece settling into place with familiar weight. The enchanted plates adjusted slightly as his crimson aura flickered through the conductive metal, creating a perfect fit. With the final piece—his full helm with its distinctive crimson plume—secured, the transformation was complete. No longer Marcus Phoenix, child prodigy from Emberfall Academy, but the Crimson Sentinel, mysterious counter-specialist of the frontier.
The northern watchtower stood apart from Highcross's main walls, positioned on a hill overlooking the road that led toward Ravenhollow Pass. It was an ideal vantage point—and equally ideal for an ambush.
Marcus approached with caution, using his aura sense to sweep the area for magical signatures. Two figures waited at the tower's base, partially concealed in shadow. Neither was Naomi; their magical signatures were crude and undisciplined compared to a Wayfinder's refined aura.
Remaining concealed behind a stand of trees, Marcus analyzed the situation. These individuals were likely connected to the bandits he'd encountered earlier—perhaps seeking revenge or attempting to eliminate the protector of merchant caravans.
Rather than walk into their trap, he decided to spring his own. Creating a simple illusion construct—a basic application of aura projection he had developed for scouting—he sent the crimson figure walking openly toward the watchtower while he circled around behind.
The reaction was immediate. Both figures tensed, one drawing a shortsword while the other began weaving what appeared to be a crude fire spell. Amateurs with minimal training but dangerous intentions.
"That's him," Marcus heard one whisper to the other. "The one the Master wants."
Master? That was unexpected. Random bandits seeking revenge wouldn't refer to a master.
Before he could consider further implications, the spellcaster launched their fire attack at his illusion construct. The moment they committed to the attack, Marcus struck from behind, crimson aura blade silently materializing as he incapacitated the swordsman with a precise blow to the back of the head. The spellcaster turned in shock, fire spell dissipating as Marcus's counter-field disrupted their casting.
"Who sent you?" Marcus demanded, aura blade at the spellcaster's throat.
"P-please! We were just following orders!" The young woman couldn't have been more than twenty, her magical training clearly rudimentary. "The Master at Ravenhollow said to deliver the message and bring you to him if you came!"
"This Master has a name?"
"We don't know his name! No one does! He came to the Pass three months ago, offered protection and teaching to anyone who would serve him." Her eyes darted to her unconscious companion. "Is Gareth...?"
"He'll have a headache. Nothing more." Marcus withdrew his blade slightly. "What does your Master want with the Crimson Sentinel?"
"He says you're a threat to his work. That you've been killing his collectors." She swallowed nervously. "The bandits you've been fighting... they collect travelers for him. Not to kill them. He needs them for something at the focus."
This aligned with what Naomi had suggested about the corrupted Wayfinding focus influencing behavior. But "collecting" travelers hinted at something far more sinister than simple banditry.
"And the real Wayfinder? Naomi?"
The young woman looked genuinely confused. "I don't know any Naomi."
That confirmed his suspicion. He had never actually met Naomi—the woman who had approached him on the road had merely claimed to be her. Either she was an impostor, or she was working with this mysterious Master.
"Here's what happens now," Marcus said, his voice cold through the helm. "You and your friend will leave Highcross tonight. Return to your Master and deliver a message: The Crimson Sentinel is coming for him."
The woman nodded rapidly, relief washing over her face as Marcus stepped back and allowed her to drag her unconscious companion away from the watchtower.
Once they were gone, Marcus considered his next move. The corrupted Wayfinding focus was clearly more than just a magical anomaly—it was being actively used for something that required capturing travelers. And someone was concerned enough about his interference to try luring him into a trap.
This was no longer a simple consultation contract. It had become personal—and potentially connected to something larger than random bandit attacks.
Returning to the inn, Marcus began methodical preparations. First, he sent a message to Darius declining the return journey contract. Next, he spent an hour researching Ravenhollow Pass in the maps and guidebooks he carried.
The Pass was a narrow mountain route about two days' ride northeast of Highcross. It contained one of the original Wayfinding focuses—ancient artifacts placed by the first explorers of the frontier to guide travelers safely through dangerous territory. Those focuses had been maintained by the Wayfinder Guild for centuries, but some of the more remote ones were checked only seasonally.
Perfect locations for someone seeking isolation and access to powerful magical artifacts.
As he packed supplies for the journey, Marcus realized he was facing exactly the kind of situation he had been avoiding since Stoneridge—a complex magical threat that might affect innocent people if he failed. The responsible course would be to contact the Wayfinder Guild or even the Mercenary Guild for backup.
But something held him back. This was an opportunity to test himself against a challenging opponent, to see if he could handle complex threats alone. If he succeeded, it would prove he didn't need to rely on others—that he could prevent disasters like Stoneridge through his own skills and preparation.
[System Message: Your first response to finding out someone is kidnapping innocent travelers for mysterious magical purposes is to decide to handle it alone? Your definition of "learning from past mistakes" is fascinating!]
Before dawn, Marcus departed Highcross, following the northern road toward Ravenhollow Pass. The journey would give him time to formulate a strategy based on what little he knew. His experiences at Stoneridge had taught him the importance of understanding magical structures before attempting to disrupt them—a lesson he wouldn't forget.
As the road wound into increasingly rugged terrain, he reflected on the irony of his situation. He had left the Academy to gain real-world experience, driven by a desire to test his abilities against genuine challenges. Now, seven months later, he was riding deliberately toward what might be the most dangerous situation he had faced since the Howling Depths.
But this time would be different. This time, he was prepared, experienced, and most importantly, determined not to let anyone else pay the price for his actions. Whatever awaited him at Ravenhollow Pass, he would face it alone—as the Crimson Sentinel rather than Marcus Phoenix.
Whether that distinction would be enough to protect him remained to be seen.
[Level Up!] [You are now Level 55] [All stats increased by 1] [5 Stat Points Available]
[Quest Update: The Corrupted Focus] [Status: En Route to Ravenhollow Pass] [Warning: Potential complexity exceeds initial assessment] [System Message: Solo mission against an unknown magical threat orchestrated by a mysterious "Master" who's collecting travelers? What could possibly go wrong? At least you've got cool armor now!]