Tale of a Hedonistic wizard

As the first attacker fell, two more rushed in to take his place. The young man spun the spear in a glittering arc, its tip leaving trails of light in the darkness. The bandits fell back, crying out in pain and surprise as the spear found gaps in their crude armour with unerring accuracy.

An arrow whistled past the young man's ear, so close he could feel the disturbance in the air.

Without conscious thought, he dropped and rolled, coming up with the spear pointed directly at the archer.

With a grunt of effort, he hurled the spear like a javelin.

The weapon streaked through the air, a bolt of divine lightning. It struck the archer square in the chest, the force of the impact lifting the man off his feet and sending him tumbling down the hill behind him.

For a heartbeat, everything was still.

The remaining bandits stared in shock at their fallen comrade, then at the now unarmed young man.

A wiser group might have fled then, but anger and greed drove them forward.

As they charged, the young man stood his ground, his eyes closed, his hands outstretched.

Just as the first bandit reached him, sword poised to strike, the young man's eyes snapped open.

They glowed with the same inner light as the spear.

"To me!" he cried, his voice carrying an authority that belied his years.

In response to his call, the spear tore itself free from the fallen archer's body and streaked back towards its master. It moved with impossible speed, weaving between the charging bandits. As it passed, several cried out in pain and surprise, dropping their weapons as if burnt.

The spear slapped into the young man's outstretched hand just in time for him to parry a sword strike that would have taken his head. The clash of metal on metal rang out, but where the sword's edge was notched, the spear remained unmarked.

The knights fought off the men who attacked the clergyman.

Now armed once more, the young man became a whirlwind of motion. He moved with a grace and skill that seemed impossible for someone of his age and apparent inexperience.

The spear was everywhere at once—blocking, striking, and sweeping legs out from under their owners.

One by one, the bandits fell. Some were struck down by precise blows from the spear's tip or powerful swings of its haft. Others simply collapsed, as if the mere touch of the glowing weapon was enough to sap their strength and will to fight.

Through it all, the young man felt as if he were in a dream. His body moved of its own accord, guided by instincts he didn't know he possessed and powered by a strength that couldn't be his own.

The cold no longer touched him, and the wind no longer hindered him. He was aware of everything—every movement of his enemies, every shift in the terrain beneath his feet.

As the last bandit fell, the young man found himself standing alone amidst the carnage, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The spear's glow dimmed, and with it, the strange clarity and power that had filled him began to fade.

Reality came crashing back in.

The cold bit at him once more, and he became acutely aware of every ache and pain in his body.

He looked around at the fallen bandits with a mixture of awe and horror, scarcely able to believe what he had just done.

"By all the gods," came a voice behind him. The young man turned to see the clergyman standing in the doorway of the carriage, his eyes wide with wonder and fear. "It's true. You really are the one."

Before the young man could respond, the sound of approaching hoofbeats filled the air. The riders who had been escorting the carriage returned, having chased down and dispatched the few bandits who had attempted to flee.

The leader of the escorts, a grizzled man with a scar running down one cheek, dismounted and approached the young man. He took in the scene—the fallen bandits, the still faintly glowing spear, the shocked expression on the young man's face—and let out a low whistle.

"Well," he said, a note of respect in his gruff voice, "looks like we needn't have worried about your safety after all, young man."

The young man opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. Now that the danger had passed, the full weight of what had just occurred began to settle on him. His legs trembled, threatening to give out beneath him. He looked at the knights and the clergyman, and a doubt crept into his mind on why they left him alone, like they had deliberately done it.

'Were they testing me?' was all he could think.

The clergyman rushed forward, supporting the young man before he could fall. "Easy now," he said gently. "You've done more than enough. Rest, and let us take care of things from here."

As the escorts began the grim task of dealing with the fallen bandits, the clergyman led the young man back to the carriage. Once inside, he wrapped a thick blanket around the young man's shoulders.
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"Who are those people?" the young man finally managed to ask, his voice barely above a whisper.

The clergyman's eyes sparkled with a mixture of excitement and reverence. "They seem like bandits, but seeing how they particularly targeted you, it sure does raise doubt. And let me say that you proved beyond any doubt that you are indeed the blessed child of prophecy. The power that flows through that spear, the skill with which you wielded it—these are gifts from the god themselves."

The young man looked down at the spear, still clutched tightly in his hands. Its glow had faded entirely now, leaving it looking like nothing more than a finely crafted but ordinary weapon. Yet he could still feel the power thrumming within it, waiting to be called upon once more.

"I... I killed them," he said, the reality of his actions finally sinking in. He didn't really know what he was doing when he attacked the bandits, and when the light flowed through him, he just lost control of his body and attacked the bandits.