Supreme Magus

"The one wearing a camouflage suit, white rabbit gloves, and snow deer boots." Arno said.

"Is he telling the truth?" Lith asked, and all the other bandits except the one Arno had singled out nodded like frenzied parrots. "I’m inclined to believe you, but this was all too easy. How do I know you’re not framing a poor idiot?

"Maybe you are the one I’m looking for, and your loyal subordinates are covering for you. You friend Ygar was quite tight-lipped, after all."

"Screw Ygar! He was a moron." Arno spat as if speaking that name left a bad taste in his mouth. "Ask Nadrim if you don’t believe me. He always brags he knows more about the gang than anyone else."

"Who?" Lith furrowed his brow.

"The bald one with the white rag on his face." Arno replied. "He’s been a recruit for a bit longer than me, and claims that during the years he’s learned a few things."

"Well, Nadrim, you’d better talk fast, because I’m getting bored of this already." Lith brought the man matching the description to him, and removed his gag with a flick of the wrist.

"Arno is right." Nadrim had a grizzled beard and the cold eyes of someone who would do and had done anything in his life to survive. "Kharam is a lieutenant of the Blood Axes. If someone knows where to find Mak, that’s him."

"Again, proof?" Lith said with a flat voice.

"All the real members of the Blood Axes must get a tattoo of the gang somewhere on their bodies." Nadrim replied. "Low-level grunts must put them in visible places like hands or forearms as a show of loyalty.

"High-level executives, instead, must hide the tattoo so as not to draw the attention of the constables in the event they get arrested. Mak is the one who pays to get a Healer to remove the grunt tattoo and make you a new one once you enter his inner circle."

"How do you know all this, and why should I care about this story?" Lith asked.

"Only a young idiot like Arno or Ygar enters a gang without doing their due diligence." Nadrim said. "I’ve lived to my ripe age because I avoided those who would use me as cannon fodder and always got insurance.

"As for your second question, feel free to strip everyone. You won’t find any tattoos on most of us. Kharam, instead, has a tattoo on his right hip, where no one would find it unless they force him to take off his pants."

Lith nodded and brought Kharam to him. He found the tattoo depicting two crossed red axes right below the waist.

’This ink is years old and enchanted.’ Lith thought. ’It’s enchanted with a weak spell that makes the tattoo hard to remove and keeps it from fading. It must be a deterrent to keep trusted people from running away and starting a new life.

’Taking the tattoo off would require a skilled Healer. Even if one burns the flesh, the enchantment would make the ink resurface.’

"Nice to meet you, Kharam. Let’s cut to the c-" The bandit spat in Lith’s eye the moment the gag came off.

Unfortunately for him, a mere thought sent the lump of saliva back into Kharam’s face as if he had spat towards the sky.

"You’re a cheeky bastard, aren’t you?" Lith said. "Either that, or you’re just stupid. Didn’t you see what I’ve done to that other guy, Igor?"

"I’m not stupid, you damn brute. Quite the contrary." Kharam smirked. "You could afford killing a few losers to make the others fall in line because there’s plenty of them. Now you’ve found me, and that’s why I’m much safer than I was a second ago.

"You are not stupid either and know there is only one of me. You can’t afford to kill or mutilate me. If I die, you’ll never know where to find Mak. You need me to find him, and I know it."

"Aren’t you scared of my interrogation techniques?" Lith asked.

"No, because you’re on the clock, my murderous friend." Kharam chuckled. "If I don’t report to Mak in a few minutes, he will relocate our headquarters, and you’ll never find him. I assume that whoever hired you won’t be happy if you fail, will they?"

’I’d call his bluff since I can’t sense a communication amulet, but there is more than one way to deliver a message.’ Lith scanned the area with the Eyes of Menadion, spotting a messenger bird that kept itself in proximity to the bandits, ready to answer the right call.

’He wasn’t bluffing, and without the proper command, I can’t send the bird to Mak and follow it.’

"You make a good point." Lith nodded.

"Then you’d better stop wasting time talking and start listening." Kharam snarled. "Here’s my conditions-"

"Here’s my counter offer." Lith grabbed the bandit by the throat and squeezed it just enough to shut him up.

Then he sent two tendrils of Spirit Magic plunging inside Kharam’s body.

One attached to his brain and the other to his mana core, activating a powerful mind link. Kharam felt a foreign presence lingering in his thoughts, but had no way to stop it.

’Don’t worry, I can’t read your mind.’ Lith’s voice resounded in the bandit’s consciousness. ’I can only speak to you and show you things, and you can do the same. Tell me what I want to know, and I’ll stop.’

’Stop what?’ Kharam was still sending his thoughts through the telepathic connection when the tendrils of mana began tracing the first Decay rune into his mind.

Lith didn’t conjure its power, though. After all, the bandit was right about his situation. Lith couldn’t afford to kill him, and he was running out of time. Without the fear of death, most threats were empty promises.

The time constraint meant that Kharam’s life became more valuable with each passing second, and that Lith couldn’t torture him too hard without the risk of him passing out or losing his mind.

Lith’s need for reliable information was Kharam’s shield, or at least so he believed.

’This is something I like to call "Dread Magic". Let me show you why.’ With each line Lith traced, the Vikara rune neared completion, and the primordial fear of aging bloomed in the bandit’s mind.

Years seemed to pass in the space of a few seconds. Years during which his body weakened and his vigor waned. Kharam saw himself repeating the same day countless times, becoming one day older as the cycle repeated itself.

Soon he couldn’t carry heavy bags anymore. His joints ached when he woke up or got out of his bed. His breath became ragged, and his hairline receded bit by bit. As more time passed, Kharam was forced to spend his days sitting around, too weak and tired to do anything.

He spent years reminiscing about his youth with whoever he met, acting like the old coots Kharam had always despised. Then, dementia took his mind, and he was reduced to a shell of the man he once had been.

He had become a drooling, pitiful man trapped inside his own body. The few moments of lucidity only made his condition more painful.

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