Escape

Sturm looked at the destruction surrounding him. Edgar was no more. After literally turning himself into a bomb, nothing but ash remained of the proud merchant. Only a last, desperate force of will had saved Sturm and Reinhardt, and even that will was now gone from this world. As the young slave watched the ashes being scattered by the wind, a feeling of emptiness overcame him.

The Art of the Nine Pillars enhanced not only how his senses took in information from the outside but also his perception of his own feelings and body. At this moment, Sturm felt absolutely nothing. It was like he had been dropped into space, floating around aimlessly with nothing around him.

Somehow Sturm found the energy to crawl towards the place Edgar had died. The little bit of lightning still jumping around the scorched patches of earth repeatedly shocked Sturm, causing him to drop down like he had been tasered. When he finally found himself kneeling in front of Edgar's place of demise, he held the remaining ashes with his hands.

How many times had he screamed at the TV screen back on Earth when the protagonist would stay around to lament the death of a loved one instead of running away? Logically, it made no sense. Why add another death on top and waste the sacrifice? Only now did Sturm understand what the characters felt like.

He simply did not care if he died. At this moment, life simply felt worthless. It would be different if Sturm had some time to think about the situation, but the shock was too recent. One Ear's death had been the first time that the vulnerability of human life hit him, but as bad as it sounded, it was not something impossible to accept.

Edgar, in contrast, had literally shaped his life in this world. The merchant had saved him from misery, given him care and affection, always believed and supported him, despite him being a slave. Never again would he hear stupid jokes, that impressed smile when Sturm would instantly pick up the main points of a lesson. The business empire they were trying to establish would never come to be.

<<Edgar… I haven't finished repaying what you did to me. You treated me like a son when the world despised me and wouldn't give a damn if I lived or died. When coming to this world, my plan was to depend on myself, but you changed my mind, made me feel the importance of having people you trust, of having a... family. Now you are gone, what am I supposed to do?>>

"Sturm, we have to go. Don't let his sacrifice be in vain. Edgar gave everything for us. It is our responsibility to take this opportunity he gave us." Reinhardt, being a fifth-step commoner and an experienced mercenary, had already recovered from the shock. Edgar always wanted him to protect Sturm, and that is what he was going to do.

Sturm looked at him with dead eyes. "Reinhardt. He is gone. We will never see him again. Talk with him. Laugh with him. What did he do to deserve this? How many times did he save my life, even giving his own life for me in the end? Is this the price of being powerless?"

It was hard to see the usually motivated and positive young slave give in to despair. Reinhardt had seen it too many times throughout his life as a mercenary. People often think killing a person is what haunted you most, but having a loved one die in your arms or next to you, powerless to change the outcome, was more scarring than anything. The best way to keep someone in that situation from turning into an empty hull of a human was igniting intense emotions before emotions disappeared entirely.

"Yes, Sturm. Nobles control the celestial steps we can take, so they decide our lives as well. We have to do everything in our power just for a chance at survival, but our fates are ultimately not in our hands. They say changing our destiny is impossible, but I believe we have to struggle as hard as we can. There is a reason I always tried to teach you to take every single advantage you can get and look at you now—a slave who wields magic. Do you think this is your end? There is a noble mage ultimately responsible for Edgar's demise. Will you let him get away with this? Or will you rip his heart out and sacrifice it in memory of the man you owe everything to?" A heart full of revenge was something dangerous, but Reinhardt knew nothing could mend a heart quite as much as hate could.

<<Arcanus Attalus Rufus. You messed with the wrong people. I came here to challenge myself, but now there is only a single goal left for me. Ending you.>>

As Sturm's emotions started welling up, there were signs of lightning beginning to gather around him. Subconsciously, rage started expelling mana cells and converting them into lightning matter. Before the phenomenon could increase in intensity, Reinhardt already started dragging Sturm along. They had been stalling for long enough. With the spectacle of Edgar's sacrifice, everyone in the camp would be alerted.

It was only a matter of time before the camp's guards and slavers would investigate. If they found out how many nobles had died, they would do everything in their power to stop their killers. Even if they were only commoners, they were responsible for the camp's safety and would be held accountable. At this point, they either caught Reinhardt and Sturm or died trying because if they did not, then death would be the last thing they would have to worry about.

Just as Reinhardt feared, dozens of guards and slavers were already on their way. All of them knew that the explosion came from the Overseer's mansion, hurrying to check on the noble. The pure destruction shocked them. Even the metal fence had been knocked over and partially melted. When they saw a tall, armored man running towards them with a young teen in tow, their first reaction was to try to question them about what happened.

Only because he kept himself together far better than Sturm did not mean Reinhardt was not furious. Seeing the group of guards and slavers approaching, the former guard captain charged right in, completely unleashing the berserkergang he had been building up. The guards were not prepared for it, they had never seen magic, so they thought the giant lightning dome to be some kind of natural phenomenon. That was why they initially only wanted to interrogate the two survivors, not arrest them.

Both of his axes had been destroyed, but a berserk Reinhardt did not need them to deal with a few untrained commoners. Before they knew what hit them, half of their numbers were already on the ground, either dead, unconscious, or groaning in pain. Teeth were stuck in Reinhardts fists, and even some brain matter had splattered onto his face, which only caused him to fall deeper into the berserkergang.

Seeing his last remaining friend leading by example, Sturm unleashed his [Black Room] and charged his [Fists of Mjölnir]. Every time the mad berserker was in danger of being stabbed in the back by the slowly recovering guards and slavers, he stepped in to paralyze them. Their teamwork had been trained against dangerous magic beasts for years, so the bodies quickly started piling up around them.

More and more reinforcements arrived for the slavers and guards, and upon seeing their comrades being massacred, they quickly jumped into the fray. The newcomers rapidly realized that the young slave with lightning around his fists was the primary cause of the giant's unimpeded rampage. But no matter how they tried to surround him, the teenager slipped through their encirclements, dodging strikes coming from all of his blind spots while he did that.

As Sturm seemingly danced through the enemies, his senses were pushed to an unprecedented height. It would be no surprise if the amount of information processed made his brain overheat. Minute adjustments made every strike he dodged hit another enemy, and when there was no path of escape, Sturm managed to deflect attacks to cause further friendly fire. It was like the slave camp forces were fighting not just the two intruders, but also each other.

If they had left a little earlier, they would have never found themselves in this situation, but neither Sturm nor Reinhardt regretted it. Every dead or beaten enemy would calm their hearts and vent their feelings. Keeping up the [Black Room] and [Fists of Mjölnir] exhausted both Sturm's mind and boy, but in turn, the two abilities invigorated his soul.

How many slavers and guards were there in the camp? The number had to be up in the thousands, but luckily not all of them were on their way to the Overseer's mansion. Some tried to keep order between the slaves. Some were on the other side of the mountain and did not see the cause for the terribly loud boom.

In the end, though, there were still hundreds of guards and slavers rushing into the meat grinder that was Reinhardt and Sturm. At some point, some of them confirmed the absence of the Overseer, which at first hardened their resolve to kill the two suspects, which they already identified as the Rampage Bear and Edgar's slave.

But the fear of eventual death and torture would only be a motivator in the face of immediate life-threatening danger for so long. No matter how many times they managed to cut the Rampage Bear, no matter how many people threw themselves at the young slave, the two refused to go down.

Ten, twenty, thirty, forty… the numbers of fallen comrades kept climbing up, sending shivers down their spines. They were used to terrorizing defenseless slaves, not fighting professional mercenaries. They had to step over dozens of bodies just to get to the bloodied and crazy enemy.

Panic started to spread, shaking morale. It was simply too much; those were no humans, those were demons. Another punch of Reinhardt that once again made a head pop like a watermelon was the final straw, causing the first slaver to run away. A chain reaction ensued, and the commoners started fleeing for their lives, even pushing and shoving each other to get away faster from the two demons.

Still immersed in his berserkergang, Reinhardt tried to give chase, but Sturm placed a hand on his back and sent a shock pulse into his body. As the electricity coursed through Reinhardt, the red in his eyes and the crimson steam around his body slowly receded. After literally purging the rage out of Reinhardt's system, the former guard captain's sight finally returned to normal.

"Thanks. We have to go before they realize we are in no condition to fight anymore. Can you run?" Reinhardt asked.

Having vented his emotions on the commoners, Sturm had already recovered most of his calm. Adrenaline was still pumping through his system, but he knew the adrenaline rush would eventually end.

"Physically, I am fine, but my will is almost exhausted, and I feel too dizzy to keep up my [Black Room]. We won't be able to rely on my senses to escape."

Reinhardt took a look around. "The wall closest to us is to the west, but our only chance is to flee deeper into the forest, so we need to go north. When those guards recover their senses, they will expect us to go west as well, so it may work out better for us."

Having decided their next course of action, the pair started navigating north through the thousands of tents. Edgar's ashes had been left behind, but his memories accompanied them in their hearts. Still, as they kept running as fast as they could, tears started flowing down Sturm's cheeks.

<<What a sight, a grown man crying. I guess I should be thankful no one knows about my previous life. Fuck, is that really what matters now? Ok, Sturm, just empty your mind. One step, then another step, this isn't the time for distraction.>>