–—- ??? -–—

  The world of Vlanoris is a fantastical place. From the humble rock sprite to the majestic water dragons, it's filled with magical creatures that reside under its sky. Unending grassy plains, craggy mountains, and vast seas. Dark forests dotted with the sparkling lights of the fae. A world of radiance and shadow, all watched over by the gods and the system.

  Of all the unique sights of the world, none was quite as odd as the one currently in the imperial throne room of Golvan. Nestled deep within the great tower walls and burning homes of the conquered city, a strange man sat in his comfortable chair, holding a steaming mug in one hand.

  “Would anyone like a refill?” Wilbur asked the stunned room of heroes, the floating, steaming coffee pot shaking a little as he offered.

  Silence followed as the nervous people in the room glanced at each other.

  Wilbur shrugged as the large coffee pot moved above his mug. Steam trailed and flickered from the stream of dark liquid that poured.

  The heroes were all sitting on comfortable sofas and chairs that the wizard had summoned.

  Darcy, who was sitting on a purple loveseat, cleared her throat.

  “Um… Wilbur.”

  “Yes?” Wilbur replied, looking over his glasses.

  “So…” she began, her voice hesitant. “I really appreciate not being dead and all, but could you explain how exactly you’re doing what you’re… well… doing?” She gestured with her cup around the room.

  “I mean, it's just coffee.” Wilbur frowned. “Just how low have hot beverage standards fallen?” He looked toward the rogue, raising an eyebrow. “I know it's not common in Vlanoris, but I’m pretty sure every continent had some type of tea. You still have tea, right?”

  Darcy blinked. “What?”

  “She’s not talking about the damned drink.” Someone shouted. Wilbur turned his eyes to the man. He was built like a brick, muscle rippling across his frame, with spiraling tattoos covering his bare chest. Pale eyes stared incredulously toward the wizard.

  Wilbur met the eyes of the towering figure. It was hard to take the man’s threatening look seriously. The tattooed, scarred berserker held a porcelain cup in one hand as he sneered. Compared to the large man, the cup looked more like a shot glass.

  “You’re Algorax, right?” Wilbur asked.

  “That’s right,” Algorax replied, his voice deep and rough. “Are you going to answer the question?”

  Wilbur rolled his eyes. “You all act as if you have never seen magic before.”

  Algorax squinted. “So you’re an elementalist, then?”

  “Wizard.”

  Algorax chucked the cup, his hands trembling. The porcelain drinkware flew through the air for a moment, then abruptly halted, hovering mid-air.

  All eyes shifted to the cup, then back to Wilbur.

  “Don’t break my things. It’s rude.” Wilbur, hand outstretched, chastised the man.

  “See that right there!” Algorax hissed, pointing toward the cup that was slowly rotating in the air. “How are you doing that? You froze the Demonlord, made cups float, pulled items from nowhere…” The berserker stood, his gaze locked onto Wilbur. “I have seen many strange things in our travels, but this is beyond all of them.”

  There were nods of agreement from the heroes as they expectantly watched Wilbur.

  Wilbur took a large swig from his mug, then flicked his finger, vanishing it from sight. He crossed his arms and leaned back in his comfy chair.

  “As I said, I’m Wilbur. I’m a wizard.” He raised an eyebrow. “I feel like that should be more than enough.” He gestured to a woman in the circle whose blonde hair cascaded down her shoulders. “Weren’t you casting spells? Can you explain this to your… well… denser friends?”

  The woman, Catherine, blinked owlishly at him. “What? Umm… uh… I’m not really sure I understand either.”

  Wilbur pinched the bridge of his nose, inhaling sharply as he closed his eyes. Just what type of morons were these heroes? Didn’t the races of this world normally send their best people for this thing? Just what in the world was going on?

  “Good sir.” Jonathan’s voice cut in. Wilbur opened his eyes and met the nervous look of the paladin. He gave the man a nod, and Jonathan continued. “Would you mind if I asked a few questions? You seem to be a powerful mage from far away, and we merely wish to understand.”

  Wilbur shrugged. “Go ahead.”

  A new mug full of steaming dark liquid appeared in his hands. The white mug had bright blue lettering emblazoned on its side that read “Wish I’d called in sick, to be honest.”

  “My first question is, how should we properly address you?”

  Wilbur paused mid-sip and stared over the lip of the mug.

  He was about done. For the love of… Like. He could just clap his hands and vanish across the world. It would be so simple.

  Why had he resurrected these dumb-dumbs again? Why did he care?

  Awkward silence filled the room as Wilbur slowly lowered the mug. His face had the look of “You have got to be kidding, right? No one’s this dumb… right?”

  But the paladin just gave him a weak smile and waited for his response.

  “For… the… last… time.” Wilbur dragged out the words. “Call me. Wilbur.”

  “Seriously, it should be obvious we don’t know who you are, Wilbur.” Darcy, the rogue, blurted out. “You keep repeating your name and acting like that’s important, or that we should know it. We don’t!”

  “Names are important, Darcy.” Wilbur snapped back. “In fact, if you knew his true name…” He gestured toward the frozen Demonlord. “You wouldn’t be in this mess to begin with. You could just order him to drop his weapons and submit to execution.”

  He turned his attention back to Jonathan. “What’s your next question, Jonathan? I’m honestly growing tired of dealing with you people and your incompetence.”

  “Incompetence!?” Algorax yelled, his face flushing with anger. “We aren’t incompetent!”

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  Wilbur’s head slowly creaked to face him. “You were literally a pile of ash five minutes ago.”

  Algorax opened his mouth, but his response died in his throat. His jaw snapped shut, and he gave a tiny nod.

  Wilbur swept the room with his gaze. “That’s actually bothering me,” he mused, his eyes turning to Jonathan. “Aren’t you all supposed to be the heroes of this world?”

  The paladin nodded.

  “Then how are you all losing so badly?” Wilbur asked. He made a calming gesture with his free hand. “I’m not even saying that to be mean. I’m genuinely curious. To be overwhelmed by such weak spells and just die… it’s honestly a bit pathetic.”

  “What do you mean?” the short red-haired hero protested. She squinted her forest-green eyes. “He’s one of the most powerful demonlords in recorded history. His magic is unmatched. My barrier was overwhelmed by just one spell. Blocking any more seems impossible.” Her eyes darted toward the Demonlord. Wilbur saw a shiver of fear ripple through her.

  “What? It’s just arcane bolt. It’s not even that great of a spell,” Wilbur replied with a frown. He held up a hand, and sparkling energy pooled near his palm. A glowing spell, almost identical to the Demonlord’s, yet far brighter, appeared in his hand.

  “See?”

  Gasps and the sound of metal being drawn filled the room. Most of the heroes had recoiled at the sight of the spell.

  Most.

  Wilbur frowned as he stared at the axe blade in front of him. His eyes traced it to its owner.

  “Demon,” Algorax hissed down at him.

  Wilbur chuckled, then brought the mug to his lips. He took a long sip as he locked eyes with the berserker.

  “No, I’m not.” He cocked his head. “Also, do you really think you have a chance?” Wilbur’s gaze flicked meaningfully toward the still frozen Demonlord.

  Algorax hesitated. “I will jus—” His words froze as his eyes widened. His tattooed face was now lit by the glowing bolt that hovered inches from him.

  “I’m a wizard,” Wilbur stated. “I use spellcraft. You know, a practitioner of magic. Just like your friends over there.” He took another long sip. The sound echoed through the silence that hung in the air.

  “Now,” he continued, “let’s all just calm down. Put your axe down, okay?”

  Algorax slowly pulled his axe away, his eyes locked on the crackling bolt that hung suspended in front of him.

  “Go ahead and sit back down.”

  Algorax moved back, the bolt not following. His shoulders relaxed slightly as he retook his seat.

  “Good!” Wilbur waved a hand, and the still-floating porcelain cup hovered back to the large man. Algorax took it.

  “Okay, now will someone explain why all of you just crapped your pants when I cast a simple spell?” Wilbur asked, his eyes locking in on the older, thin man he hadn’t spoken to. “You, Timothy, right? I saw you casting magic. Aren’t you versed in spellcraft?”

  The man's thin lips pursed as he shook his head. “No, I am an earth elementalist.”

  Wilbur frowned. “But… I mean… so your specialization is earth? What about generalist spells? Runes? Scrolls? Spellcraft? Wands?”

  The man was silent, his expression confused.

  Wilbur looked around in dumbfounded amazement. “Are you telling me?” He pointed at Timothy. “All you can cast is earth-related magic?”

  Timothy nodded. “It’s my affinity. I draw from the spirits of the earth and channel my magic through them.”

  “Oh my god.” Wilbur groaned. “How are you a hero then?”

  No one answered.

  Wilbur couldn’t believe it. There was no way.

  “[Eyes of the Sage],” he muttered. His eyes glowed with a mixture of gold and purple. He swept his gaze through the room, pausing on each member of the heroes’ party.

  [Jonathan - Paladin of the wind and sun - Level 134]

  [Catherine - Fire Elementalist - Level 122]

  [Marie - Light Elementalist, Vital Energy Manipulator - Level 127]

  [Selva - Water and Ice Elementalist - Level 114]

  [Garven - Radiant Swordsman - Level 121]

  [Darcy - Shadow Rogue - Level 133]

  [Algorax - Totemic Berserker - Level 130]

  He swept back to Timothy.

  [Timothy - Earth Elementalist - Level 115]

  His eyes glowed brighter as he delved deeper into the man. The elementalist shifted uncomfortably as Wilbur's gaze intensified.

  After a moment, Wilbur blinked, his jaw opening in dumbfounded amazement.

  “Your core… It’s completely infused with earth mana… why?!”

  “Ummm…” Timothy replied. The skittish man looked like he wanted to flee the room. “It’s my affinity?”

  Wilbur turned to Catherine. He blinked again. “And your core is completely drenched in fire mana!”

  He turned to Selva, then to Marie. The mug in his hand vanished, and he rubbed his forehead.

  “So let me get this straight,” Wilbur said, his eyes squinted. “You all are the cream of the crop? Really?”

  “We’re the strongest magic users and fighters on the continent,” Darcy growled.

  “Really?!”

  “Yes…”

  Wilbur slumped into his seat, his mind mulling over the problem. He glanced over toward the Demonlord.

  Hmmmm…

  His eyes moved back toward the heroes.

  “Geez. I guess we have our work cut out for us, then.” Wilbur rose. Algorax leapt to his feet, his eyes sharp as he watched the wizard's movements.

  Wilbur raised his hands.

  Clap. Clap.

  There was a clang of metal and ‘oofs’ as the ones still sitting slammed into the ground, the furniture vanishing.

  “Right then.” Wilbur nodded, striding past the heroes as they scrambled to their feet.

  “Let’s give it another go, then. It’s pretty close, but you guys should be able to do it,” Wilbur said as he casually strolled toward the Demonlord.

  The heroes all looked at each other.

  “What?” Jonathan said. “What do you mean we should be able to do it?”

  Wilbur stopped walking, turning his head to look at them, his eyebrow raised.

  “Isn’t it obvious? You still need to defeat the Demonlord,” he said, gesturing toward the hulking monstrosity. Wilbur changed directions and headed for the side of the room.

  “Wait, you can’t be serious, right?” Catherine asked, her eyes wide. “We lost to him. He killed almost all of us.”

  Wilbur turned as he got to the wall.

  “Correct. Now you can do it again with what you learned.”

  Clap. Clap!

  All of the heroes froze at the sound.

  “Better get ready.” Wilbur glanced between the heroes and the Demonlord. “My spell ends in fifteen seconds.” He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. “Good luck!”

  Jonathan blinked, then shook his head. He drew his sword and spun toward the demon.

  “Come on, everyone. This is strange, but we have another chance. We can figure out our new… friend later.”

  Darcy shrugged, drawing her daggers. “I guess he did revive us.”

  The other heroes gathered themselves and moved into formation. Algorax glanced toward Wilbur.

  The wizard raised a hand, giving him a thumbs-up and a grin.

  The berserker turned back as the interrupted roar of rage resumed and reverberated through the hall.

  Jonathan’s jaw snapped open as he yelled.

  “Come, my friends! This time, we beat this monster. Charge!!!”

  –—- ??? -–—

  The roar of battle cut off mid-bellow.

  Clap. Clap.

  Darkness slammed into Jonathan’s senses, and light returned just as violently.

  He gasped, stumbling as his body reformed, muscles screaming with phantom pain. His hands shook around the hilt of his sword. He could still feel it, the moment his ribs had collapsed inward, the sickening crunch that had followed.

  Around him, the others staggered back into existence.

  Marie fell to one knee, retching violently. Selva leaned heavily on her staff, pale and unfocused. Catherine stared at her hands as if unsure they belonged to her. Darcy laughed once, sharp and hysterical, before clamping a hand over her mouth.

  Algorax stood very still.

  Jonathan didn’t need to look to know why.

  He’d seen it happen the first time.

  The berserker’s flesh had softened. Sagged. Melted like wax poured too close to a flame. Algorax hadn’t screamed. He’d simply looked down at himself in stunned disbelief as his body lost its shape.

  Then there had been clapping.

  And Algorax had returned.

  Silent. Wide-eyed. Obedient.

  Jonathan’s stomach twisted.

  “No. No. No!” Wilbur’s voice rang out, bright and irritated. “What was that? You’re getting worse. You know you’re getting worse.”

  The wizard paced in front of them, mug in hand, completely unconcerned with the carnage he’d undone.

  “Please…” a deep voice whimpered.

  Jonathan flinched and turned.

  The Demonlord was curled in on himself near the shattered throne, massive arms wrapped around his knees. His wings trembled. His head hung low.

  Wilbur paused mid-sip, blinking. “Huh. Guess I forgot to freeze him again.” He frowned at the demon. “That’s on me.”

  “I don’t want to fight anymore,” the demon replied.

  Wilbur just shook his head. “You should have thought of that before you decided to resurrect, you stupid coward.” He glanced around the room, then shrugged. “This won’t do. Guess I should fix his attitude.” He raised his hand. “[Uncontrolled Rage].”

  Jonathan’s heart sank as he watched the red mist spill from Wilbur’s fingers and wash over the demon’s body.

  The Demonlord convulsed. Then he screamed.

  Rage ignited behind his eyes as he surged to his feet, claws scraping stone.

  “There we go!” Wilbur said cheerfully. “Back in the game.”

  Jonathan swallowed. This wasn’t a battle. This wasn’t training.

  Wilbur smiled at them, utterly unconcerned with the horror in their eyes.

  “Alright!” he announced. “Take number fourteen.”

  Jonathan tightened his grip on his sword.

  There was only one escape from this nightmare. They needed to win. Then they could figure out how to face the true threat.

  His eyes turned to the real monster in the room. The one known as Wilbur.

  Who gave him a big thumbs up.

  “You got this, y’all! Fifteenth time’s the charm!”

  –—- ??? -–—

  –—- Authors Note -–—

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