Tale of a Hedonistic wizard

As the sun began to set, casting long shadows through the trees, the tide of beasts finally began to ebb. Those that could still move began to retreat, their bestial minds finally grasping that this was a foe they could not overcome.

Ofken stood in the centre of the clearing, his clothing torn and soaked with blood—both his and that of the countless beasts he had slain.

The sword of Xeborh pulsed in his hand; its thirst for battle temporarily sated.

As silence fell over the forest, broken only by the rustling of leaves in the wind, Ofken turned his gaze back towards the horizon, right in the direction of his village Beymyre.

He had eliminated the threat, as he had set out to do. The village would be safe now, free from the terror of the beasts that had plagued it for so long.

But as he began the walk back, a small voice in the back of his mind—perhaps the last remnant of the boy he had once been—wondered at what cost this victory had come.

The sword of Xeborh had granted him the power to protect his people, yes. But in doing so, had it taken something essential from him? Something that could never be reclaimed?

He was now pledged with heavy duty, which was yet to come.

The knights were greatly astonished at Ofken's ability to wield the sword. He was definitely a great warrior, and even without the sword, he could survive a beast tide just based on his instinct. His ability to understand the beasts and their attack pattern was commendable; it was like he knew where to strike them, and precision was on the mark.

Ofken pushed these thoughts aside as he emerged from the forest.

*

The mists of Gravarane Forest clung to the outskirts of Beymyre like a shroud, tendrils of vapour creeping between the humble cottages as if searching for prey.

Dawn was breaking, painting the sky in hues of blood and fire, a fitting backdrop for the figure that emerged from the treeline.

Ofken, or what was once Ofken, strode towards the village with purpose.

The sword of Xeborh hung at his side, its presence a constant thrum of power that set the air around him vibrating with barely contained energy. His eyes, once warm brown, now glowed with an otherworldly blue light, scanning the village and the surrounding area with predatory intensity.

The villagers, emerging from their homes to begin their daily routines, froze at the sight of him, and the men followed behind. It was a dozen of them, but enough to intimidate the entire village.

Some gasped, recognizing the boy who had left three or four years ago and now returned as a man changed by forces they could scarcely comprehend. Others recoiled, sensing the aura of danger that radiated from him like heat from a forge.

Ismay, the village elder, stepped forward, her gnarled hand clutching a walking stick. "Ofken?" she called, her voice quavering. "Is that you, boy?"

Ofken's gaze snapped to her, and for a moment, something flickered in those glowing eyes—a hint of recognition, perhaps, or a ghost of the boy he once was. But it was gone in an instant, replaced by the cold, calculating look of a predator assessing its surroundings.

The villagers watched his approach with a mixture of awe and fear. They had heard the sounds of battle echoing from the forest and had seen flashes of blue light illuminating the trees.

Ismay, her eyes wide as she took in Ofken's blood-soaked appearance and the eerie calm that surrounded him.

"It's done," Ofken said, his voice devoid of emotion. "The beasts will trouble you no more."

A cheer went up from the villagers, relief and joy overcoming their fear for the moment. They surged forward, wanting to thank their protector and celebrate the end of the terror that had defined their lives for so long.

But Ofken stepped back, the sword of Xeborh humming ominously at his side.

The villagers halted, the celebration dying in their throats as they sensed the wrongness emanating from the man who had once been their friend and neighbour.

"Ofken," Ismay said softly, her voice filled with sorrow. "What has become of you, child?"

For a moment, something flickered in Ofken's glowing eyes—a hint of confusion, perhaps, or a glimmer of the boy he had once been. But it was gone as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by the cold, impassive gaze of a weapon rather than a man.

"I don't know, but the village will be safe from now on," he paused, looking at the villagers, taking in their confused and fearful gazes. This villager and its people have been his family since his parents died; he ate and drank with every family. It was part of every house in the village as they treated him like a family member. He continued, "I need to go, but if you find any trouble, don't forget to send me a letter; I will always be there for you."

"I will be at the Temple of Light in the scroartint central, he said, looking at Ismay.

"What happened to you? Who are they?" Ismay asked, looking at the knights.

Then a knight stepped forward and said, "You needn't worry, GoodElder. This child now bears the will of the heavens. He is the child of the light, blessed by the Godking."

Everyone gasped, hearing the news. Shocked was the least of what Ismay felt at that moment.

"So, rest assured, he is in great care of the temple," the knight added.

The woman bowed to the knight and said, "My Lord, the boy had a hard life and lived for the well being of the village. Please, if it's not trouble, take care of him."

The knight then said it was time to leave for Ofken. Find more chapters on My Virtual Library Empire

He asked, "Where is Satvi?"

"She is at the spire, at last. I will ask her to write to you," said Ismay, holding his hand. Ofken nodded.

Without a word, Ofken turned and began to walk away from the village.