It was as Arimir feared: that when he arrived back home, the bandits were already there. Even from outside he could see the men within as they searched, rushing around the home. Braga, patient in his evil ways, simply stood waiting outside expectantly. And while Seda was well-hidden, Braga’s certainty in her presence made her eventual capture a certainty.

  Nothing would stand between Braga and his mission to make Arimir suffer. The townsmen had all gathered, drawn by the constant commotion, to watch without protest as the bandits moved between homes, looking for more innocent people to terrorize. There would be no help from those others, who like he’d done, had already accepted the inevitable. Seda would be taken, so long as Arimir didn’t do anything to stop it. This simple fact was perhaps what granted him the strength to do what he would: for any other course of action would mean only desolation, just as Runt had said.

  Braga was the first among the bandits to notice Arimir’s approach, and with a wicked smile he beheld the smaller man whose house he violated. Braga had no reason to react differently. Arimir was unarmed, perhaps more stern in demeanor than when he’d last seen the brute, but otherwise the same weak man as ever. The brew Runt had made Arimir swallow down had done nothing. Its only effect was to make Arimir gag from its fetid taste. So much for being a weapon, Arimir thought. How any weapon could be wielded while in one’s stomach was beyond his ability to reason out. But like a strong spirit, the simple act of downing the concoction had been enough encouragement to make Arimir act regardless.

  But while determined to see this confrontation through, Arimir was under no illusions about its ending. Braga was still the same powerful and clever man as always. Arimir was no warrior. Even unarmed, especially while unarmed, Braga could easily overpower Arimir and beat him to death in a matter of moments.

  But Arimir would rather die here than live to see his sister abused. If they were to place a single finger upon her, it would be only after killing him. Such bravery was foreign to Arimir until now. But it felt right regardless. He would see this fight through.

  “So you return…” Braga taunted, arms still crossed, posture showing plainly his lack of concern despite the clear aura of hostility from Arimir. “Everyone should know that you’re the cause of all this.” He raised his voice for the gathered crowd of people to hear. And even his bandits paused their search to watch. “Because you went and did something foolish, because you killed my men, you’ll all suffer for slighting me.”

  “I didn’t kill them.” Arimir answered, coming to a halt a mere few paces from Braga. “But I’ll do my damndest to kill you, here and now.”

  As if this was his true prize, Braga laughed, smile broadening until it seemed to twist his face into something truly worthy of revulsion. “Fine then… Try it.”

  Clenching his fist, Arimir rushed forward to throw a punch, his entire weight behind the blow. But in reply Braga simply side-stepped the attack, tripping Arimir in the process before throwing his own fist into his opponent's stomach. With a gasp Arimir’s lungs were forcibly emptied and he nearly crumbled to the ground. And still with a smile, Braga stepped back to kick Arimir into the dust.

  Groaning, pain flashed through Arimir, but it wasn’t enough to break his resolve. Standing, he prepared himself to keep fighting. And again, he tried to throw a punch, only for Braga to block the blow and respond with a heavy fist sent directly into the side of Arimir’s head. The whole world went white for him, and stumbling, Arimir nearly fell over again.

  Never once did Braga truly attempt to end the brawl, if such a fight could even be considered one. Instead he toyed with Arimir, throwing punches, kicks, hard hits into the smaller man’s body; bruising, wounding, but never anything beyond that. Braga intended to cause harm but not kill, if only for a little while, while he made his point.

  Again, then again, and again, Arimir was beaten. He was thrown. He watched repeatedly as Braga’s fist came towards him while unable to defend himself. Hit after beating after newfound pain did Arimir suffer in each attempt to defy Braga.

  “Are you going to give up?” Braga asked as he threw Arimir into the dust. “Because this only ends when you decide it does…”

  Arimir rose to his knees, one eye swollen black, the other bloodshot, one of his back teeth loose, and his entire body wracked with pain. Braga knelt down beside him. At Braga’s provocation Arimir thought that the bandit would finally kill him. But instead, Braga threatened something far worse than death.

  “I’ll tell you how this goes.” Braga explained, slowly, and with venom. “You give up, then I go grab your sister from wherever she’s hiding and make you watch… Then I kill you both before stringing your naked bodies up beside your beloved Lawbringer. So know, the longer you bleed, the more you delay that outcome.” Braga then leaned in close. “But you can’t hope to accomplish anything more than that.”

  Digging his hands into the dry earth below, Arimir put his strength into simply breathing through the intense pain that came from his chest, sucking in air. And with a simple nod he acknowledged Braga’s taunt, his promise, and doubted not for a second that the man lied. But something unique was forming within Arimir, after a lifetime of complacency. He, at this moment, was content to delay the inevitable. And though it would end with his eventual, inevitable defeat, he would fight onwards.

  Although pointless, defiant for the sake of resistance, and ultimately doomed to a terrible fate, Arimir would keep fighting for however long his body allowed.

  And standing, a lumbering process that was done while Braga stepped back to watch patiently, Arimir came to look into Braga’s eyes with all the fire he could muster. Arimir didn’t doubt the outcome of this next exchange. He thought it could only go one way, with him again on the ground and Braga unharmed. But still he rushed forward to fight. Again he clenched his fist to throw a punch. Again he put his entire weight and soul into the attack.

  But unlike before, this time something wholly unexpected occurred. Unbeknownst to him the potion he’d drunk had finally metabolized. And from that, all the power within was imbued into his body. Its ability to enhance his body, to give him what he needed, that most strange power unknown to the world was channeled into his punch. And while such power could last mere moments, a single instant was all that was required to fell the feared and terrible Braga.

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  With a speed beyond normal human limits Arimir’s fist rushed towards Braga’s head fast enough to cause a blur. With wide eyes Braga had only the time to perceive the blow but not react before it made contact. In one moment the man was indomitable, the next, his skull was caved inwards as Arimir’s fist passed effortlessly through bone.

  With a sudden splattering of brains and shower of blood, Braga’s lifeless body dropped to the ground, a husk of a once powerful man, leaving all but especially Arimir stunned at the sight. For the first time the gathered throng of townspeople made a noise as they shouted or cursed out their surprise. And the bandits, who’d for so long been utterly confident in their power, must surely have felt fear the likes of which they’d believed reserved for those beneath them.

  And Arimir, through his doomed fight, his defiance, and newborn dogged bravery, had killed the bane of Invilgram. Now standing before the body, his arm covered in blood, eyes wide with utter bafflement, Arimir could only breathe. Relief washed over him, followed by a clearer realization of what had happened.

  He looked at the crowd around him, then the bandits who still stood on the porch of his own home. The thugs were afraid, powerless, and everyone knew it. In the following seconds Arimir was not alone as he rushed the bandits, intending to take them through sheer force of numbers as the men of Invilgram finally exacted their revenge.

  Within an hour, the bandits had been rounded up and to face Invilgram’s wrath. By nightfall their corpses decorated the very tree Lawbringer Gelmir had been hanging from before he’d been cut down. And through it all, the fight for justice against the bandits, the hunt for the few who’d attempted to flee town, and the fiery if sullen wake of it all to follow on that night, Arimir only caught a single sight of Runt.

  The man had been watching from afar, in the moments following Braga’s death, expression cold, face hidden, but eyes revealing something close to warmth. But then, before Arimir could approach, Runt slipped away. And never again would Arimir see the man who’d saved them all.

  —-------------

  “Why didn’t you tell him to wait until your creation worked its magick?” She asked, her personal concern for the man shining through.

  “Its effects would last only a short time.” Runt answered. “Better for him to begin the fight early than wait too long and be doomed. And few things work the potion through one’s blood faster than a fight.”

  “…You should stay.” Aleyda spoke to Runt as he packed what few belongings he owned.

  Her house of healing served quite well as both a temporary home to sleep within and laboratory to create the necessary potions to save Invilgram. The process of refining the final recipe had been a difficult one. His initial test upon himself, while successful in creating something capable of imparting strength, caused too many side-effects. And the final process to make something pure enough for Arimir’s use required a number of tools that nobody but a Sorceress would ever possess.

  In return Runt would leave the potion’s recipe with her, for safekeeping, and to protect the town if ever it again needed saving. It would be useless to Runt anyway. The recipe required Desert Blood flowers and Vermillia Bramble bark that had been enchanted by a Sorceress, alongside a litany of other minor ingredients that wouldn’t be found further north.

  “I shouldn’t.” Runt answered as he packed away his now empty vials. “I was just passing through…”

  “But you have done far more than that. You saved Arimir, all of us, there should be some amount of reward.” She replied. They could both hear the sounds of celebration coming from outside, interspersed with the desperate pleas of those few remaining bandits who the townspeople now took their wrath out upon.

  “This isn’t my sort of celebration.” Runt answered. It was already nearing dusk. And if he didn’t leave now then he would be resuming his travels in the dark.

  “Then perhaps I can offer aid.” Aleyda said, clearly as relieved that Invilgram was saved as anyone else, though her nature demanded a calmer temper. “The fact you suffer an ailment is plain to see. At least let me attempt to heal it.”

  “You can’t.” Runt answered.

  “Then allow me to inspect it. Perhaps my insights could allow another more gifted Sorceress to heal it.”

  “You shouldn’t.” Runt answered, his patience quickly running thin.

  Run attempted to leave, only for Aleyda to block his path. “Please.” She spoke; her wish to contribute at least something to Runt for his troubles quite evident.

  With a sigh, Runt relented. “Fine.”

  Moving to sit down in a chair, Runt allowed Aleyda to perform her magick upon him. With a meditative focus she placed her hand upon his chest from which a soft glow began to emanate. Runt felt first a tingle beneath his skin. Then, the feeling grew more intense, more discomforting, like bugs beneath his flesh as Aleyda's magick revealed the nature of his ailment to her.

  Immediately, as expected, her expression shifted. From focus to confusion, then revulsion as she came to understand what made Runt the way he was. No words were exchanged then. She simply looked into his eyes, her questions obvious but never to be answered, as Runt in turn stared back. Aleyda stepped away from his path, magick fading, to allow Runt to leave. Annoyed, always annoyed when the origin of his deep-rooted sickness came to the forefront, Runt took one final stock of his belongings and left Aleyda’s shop behind. Soon he’d procured all the food and water he needed to go further northward. And as the sun set upon the horizon, Runt left it all behind.

  A stranger once again, he traveled north into the lands beyond.

  —-------------

  The diary of Tufa of Invilgram reveals little about the Alchemist. It makes no direct mention of him, but the circumstances of the events he recorded, the death of Braga the bandit king, and the ascension of Arimir to the town’s protector. These vents might be otherwise resigned to obscurity if not for the method Arimir used to kill Braga. For in these times, nobody knew the nature of Alchemy. And any account of its use clearly stands above others as evidence of the Alchemist’s presence. Never before in recorded history were potions of any sort used. But direct mention of the figure himself wouldn’t be recorded until several months later.

  This next account is the second known record of the Alchemist’s existence, and one where he played a far more direct and obvious role in the events which transpired.

  -Tome of the Alchemist Retold as written by Master Luthren Hobst of the Royal Preservation Society. Circa~1145 ADW