All human fantasies and dreams about battles are lies, deception, and total fiction. The brain of the average person imagines battle as a long, methodical, and frozen in time exchange of various attacks. Magic volleys, cold weapon strikes, gunshots. During his time serving in the charoloms and then in the Inquisition, Castor quickly realised that all battles are fleeting. There are no hour-long fights between two opponents, not even ten minutes. Often, any combat encounter ends in a few seconds or a minute. Perhaps longer if there is a complex intertwining of various factors.
Combat is not a dance, not the grace of a ballerina, not a display of skills accumulated over decades of training. Real combat is a fleeting clash where the fates of two or more beings are decided in a matter of seconds. Where any mistake, any lack of any component, results in death. Quick or slow.
When the sea creature leapt out of the water, opening its toothy maw to either grab his throat or bite his face, Castor launched the ice blade with a movement of two fingers. The sword flew quickly around the mage, then after a full rotation pierced the non-human's head through the temple.
"If the enemy is human-like, the best course of action is to aim for the location of vital organs," the razor-sharp icicle pierced another creature in the heart.
"The best target is the heart or the brain. The brain is a higher priority because of the high probability of losing the ability to function.
"Deep freezing is also an optimal option," a stream of cold air from Brinel's open, glowing palm froze another creature that had decided to jump out from his right flank. The spawn of the depths turned into a beautiful ice statue connected to the platform by a crooked frosty pedestal.
"Turning the entire body into a meat substance is one of the best ways to get rid of enemies," Castor said with a smile, controlling the flow of translucent blades with his fingers, which dug into the flesh like hungry wolves. But instead of falling into the water, the blood froze in the air, forming intricate pale red patterns around the bodies.
The mage grabbed the last creature by its fish tail, which squealed as it tried to escape Castor's grip. Castor silently threw the creature over himself and onto the platform, then froze its hands and tail with a wave of his hand. Immobilising the target before the painful procedure was half the battle.
"You attacked first, and there is no agreement between us regarding the treatment of prisoners, so as the victor, I have every right to do with you as I please," Brinel said the memorised phrase, leaning over the creature from the depths, which was trying to curl up as tightly as possible. Castor felt fear in those eyes, in those tiny movements.
"Fear is what unites most living organisms. It is a natural reaction to danger to the body," Brinel nodded. "Despite species, energy, mental and moral differences, this feeling is the same for everyone. Even gods are capable of feeling it, especially..." Castor lowered his gloved hand to the forehead of the struggling creature. "When cold death stares at them from behind the veil."
Castor frowned slightly, then froze the creature's head when an unpleasant impulse struck his mind. There was no useful information in the creature's mind. He had, of course, cherished the hope that these creatures had once been human or relatively peaceful beings, like his "guest," but no. There was no logic, no reason, no rationality. Only the purest thirst for blood and naked instincts without a hint of conscious activity.
"Sad, but predictable."
***
"Can you help me, creature?"
Castor crouched down at the edge of the platform where the sea creature was spinning. It looked at the mage with a hint of fear as he began to create small ice images. The first showed a solid surface, the second showed him and his platform, and the third showed a straight line with a question mark above it. After laying out the necessary request on the ice, Brinel pointed to his question. The fish-man (Caster has no official name for this creature, nor any description of its characteristics) looked at the composition with confusion at first, but then nodded vigorously and swam away, beckoning the mage to follow him with his hand.
"There is no trust between us, nor any understanding, but I technically protected him from the creatures, and I have no other option but to follow the creature.
Castor's smile twitched. He never liked situations like this, where he had to ignore any sign of danger and follow a dark path. However... Brinel sighed and stepped onto the surface of the water. The liquid froze under his feet, allowing him to stand with his left foot.
"Uncertainty haunted me at the very beginning of the Dark Dawn, when lack of information became my default state."
The creature looked in amazement at Brinel running across the water, leaving icy footprints behind him. The mage saw nothing surprising in this: he had the power to freeze an entire planet. This would most likely lead to irreversible consequences in his energy structure, but it was perfect as a weapon of last resort.
"How silly, but it allows me to maintain a human perspective," he smiled brighter as, instead of tracks, the mage began to create a path in front of him and glide along it, occasionally creating dead loops to add a little drive and liven up this "hike." The creature leading him into the unknown looked in amazement at the picture of Castor rolling along, smiling contentedly as he caught the gusts of wind.
Their journey ended after an hour and forty-nine minutes. Castor stepped onto solid ground with great pleasure. The mage admitted that trusting this sea creature had not been a mistake and that he should somehow thank the ocean's creation for its help. Food could be an insult to an intelligent being, and Brinel had no money in the normal sense of the word. All he had were kilograms of various metal pieces, which had become currency in the world of the Grim Dawn. He also had jewellery, precious stones, and expensive metals, which were useless to anyone but the magician.
A small cold whirlwind covered his left palm. When it disappeared, the magician held a small kilogram ingot of gold in his hands. Alchemical gold, which is used in artefact crafting and in the production of magical weapons, as well as in the enchantment of other metals. An expensive pleasure obtained by changing the structure of ordinary gold. And for Castor, this piece was of little importance.
"A good reward for a job well done.
Brinel leaned towards the creature and held out the ingot. It looked at the mage in confusion, who added a little more warmth to his smile to show his good intentions. The ocean creature carefully took the ingot, then looked up in surprise when it saw the small shoulder bag that Castor had handed it.
"Carrying a bar and swimming at the same time can be a laborious task. This should lighten your load. Thank you for a job well done, creature," Brinel bowed slightly and turned his back to the creature.
"All professions are important, all professions are necessary," thought the charmer, closing his eyes. Life and numerous observations of working people had taught him this saying. The aristocracy, that is, the group to which he belonged in terms of wealth, always looked down on ordinary people. Brinel did not understand this, nor did he understand the logic behind this behaviour. Without peasants, without the middle class, the aristocracy could not survive as a class.
"The aristocrat is fed by the farmer. The aristocrat is cleaned up by servants. The aristocrat is fought for by soldiers."
Brinel looked at the sheer cliff he would have to climb. It was a small test that separated him from the fullness of the land. The creature had swum away on its business, judging by the splashes, so Castor was left alone with his thoughts.
"Theoretically, I have achieved the main goal of my existence. Now I need to choose a new one to have a reason to continue living.
"There is a good chance that I will hit a wall in my own mind and decide to end my life by hanging myself or inflicting fatal injury on myself," Castor mused aloud as he climbed the rock. He could have covered the distance with magic, but there was no point in demonstrating his abilities unnecessarily.
"That's not an option. My knowledge and experience have been gained through blood, sweat and tears. Leaving them behind would be a complete disregard for my own work," he said aloud, but his words did not slow his breathing or prevent him from climbing with his hands and feet. Many of his now dead friends and comrades had asked him why he spoke his thoughts aloud.
"A stupid question. It's all about habit and the effectiveness of this method. By saying my thoughts out loud, I reduce the chance of making a mistake.
***
Castor frowned slightly. His climb brought the mage to... a road, if he correctly identified the wide grey strip with white stripes. The material was hard and unlike anything used in Erulan. There was also a metal fence of odd shape separating the road from the cliff edge. Was it designed for the safety of crews and carriages? For armoured military vehicles? Brinel did not consider this road to be for pedestrians: it was too wide, too smooth and too expensive-looking.
"A forest on the seashore," the mage looked at the trees across the strange road. "A frequent refuge for spirits of both the forest and the water, as well as an ideal place to hide various dark rituals or sect dwellings.
One of the most unpleasant locations. There were few Inquisition branches on the coast, as well as patrols along the shores, so all kinds of abominations loved to hide in such places. There was also the option of mountains and swamps. And many others: contagion can take root anywhere if given time.
"Next, I need to understand the technological level of the local population, study their anatomy, and determine their level of aggression," Brinel jumped over a low, crooked fence from the forest side. "This includes studying their language and culture.
The last thought added warmth to his smile. Castor had always been attracted to culture and art. In its diversity and ability to convey ideas not through direct statements, but through various metaphors, expressions and epithets. He was particularly attracted to music and the visual arts. The opportunity to see places you would never otherwise be able to see or to lose yourself in the relaxation of listening to a violin duet with a piano... Castor would give a lot to return to his childhood, when he could attend symphonies and art exhibitions.
"A possible goal is to enrich one's own cultural background by absorbing something completely foreign. To enjoy life and try to experience the life of an ordinary mortal?" Castor pondered as he entered deeper into the forest. "It could be an interesting experience. To this, one could add an attempt to attend a local academy or university as a student in order to get to know the locals by learning from their mentors...
But first, I need to perform the ritual and try to absorb knowledge about languages from the information sphere. Or one of the most common ones, if there is ethnic diversity here.
"Then you need to get some local currency, obtain official documents, if any, find housing, a source of steady income, and then you can start making plans for the future.
Castor went deeper and deeper into the forest, which began to give off a distinct magical energy. He could not say more: he had not practised shamanism or their rituals, so he knew the essence of nature solely as a scientist.
"There is enough energy here to perform the necessary ritual, so..." His thoughts were interrupted when his icy gaze caught sight of a creature he had only seen described in ancient treatises by travellers to distant eastern countries. A young woman with predatory green eyes, chestnut hair and, more importantly, fox ears and three tails. In her hands was a basket of herbs that exuded magic.
"Castor, the intoxication of realising you're still alive isn't giving you any breaks. Where are your sensory spells and your caution?"
***
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