Paragon Of Destruction

Arran spent several hours exploring the city, which he discovered was named Eremont after asking some of the locals. Although it was even larger than Silvermere, there was an aura of impermanence to it, as if many of those in the city either arrived only recently or did not plan to stay for long.

The city was littered with inns and taverns, far more than would be found in any normal city, and as Arran wandered the streets he soon realized that many of the people there were either traveling merchants or youths hoping to join the Shadowflame Society.

After a time, he got hungry, and he stopped at a small food stall on the side of the road, where an old man stood beside a red-hot grill.

"What'll you have?" the old man asked as Arran stopped in front of him. "I've got flatbread, grilled goat, mutton, sausages, and ribs."

"I'll have a piece of flatbread with grilled goat," Arran said.

"Just give me a moment to prepare it," the man said, taking a piece of meat and putting it on the wood grill inside his stall. Soon, the smell of roasted meat wafted into the air, and Arran's mouth watered in anticipation.

As the old man prepared the food, he gave Arran a measuring look. "Planning on joining the Society?"

Arran nodded. "I just arrived, but I'm hoping to join as soon as I can. Got any good tips?"

There was little point in hiding his intentions. With a good portion of the people in Eremont being to join the Shadowflame Society, it would be more suspicious if Arran said he was there for some other reason. Moreover, the old man looked like he might know a thing or two about how things worked in the city.

"Bad idea, what with everything that's going on across the border and all," the old man said with a shake of his head.

"What's going on across the border?" Arran asked, his interest immediately aroused.

"Many things, all of them bad," the man replied. "Caravans disappearing, villages getting burned to the ground, Society patrols being ambushed… Things are never quiet on the other side, but nowadays, it's as if the whole region has gone mad."

"You're saying I shouldn't join the Shadowflame Society?" Arran asked.

"I'm just saying it's no place for a nice young man like yourself, is all," the man replied.

Arran smiled wryly at hearing himself being described him as a nice young man, and he wondered what the man would think if he knew about the things Arran had done over the past few years. Nothing good, he suspected.

"I'll keep it in mind," he said noncommittally. Of course, no matter how dangerous joining the Shadowflame Society might be, it could hardly be more dangerous for Arran than staying in the Empire.

"Do what you will," the old man said with a shrug. "Not like you youngsters ever have much sense. Anyway, the food's ready."

Arran thanked the man for his advice and paid him for the food, then went on his way, eating as he walked. The grilled meat tasted even better than it smelled, and for some time, he idly wondered the streets of Eremont, content at finally tasting some simple hot food again.

As he considered what the old man had told him, he decided to ask around a little more, to see if maybe anyone else could tell him what exactly was going on across the border.

Arran spent some hours browsing the city, stopping by several inns to talk to merchants and locals about the situation on the other side of the border. Yet although everyone seemed to know about the general state of things, nobody could tell him any details — even the merchants who traveled across the border with trade caravans only knew that travel was more dangerous than usual.

The young people who hoped to join the Shadowflame Society were all dismissive when they talked about the dangers of crossing the border, and Arran could not help but think that perhaps the old man had been right about youngsters' lack of sense.

After several hours, Arran gave up, at least for the time being. He had not even begun to start thinking about ways to get recruited, and he would have plenty of time to figure things out later.

For now, he would just find a decent inn, and focus on learning more about how the recruitment process worked. But first, he thought, he would get something more to eat — even if he was still full from the grilled meat he ate earlier, he was sure he some space left for another few bites.

He passed a few food stalls, but dismissed them when he saw their offerings. Finally, he came across a food stall run by an old woman, and when he saw the dumplings she sold, he was instantly reminded of Jiang Fei.

"How much?" he asked.

"Three coppers for a dozen," the woman replied.

Arran was about to order when suddenly, a voice sounded.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you. Not unless you like the taste of rat meat, at least."

The old woman turned around with an angry glare, but when she saw the man who had spoken, her face fell.

"Apologies, young master Darkfire," she said. "I did not know he was a friend of yours."

Arran had turned as well, and seeing the man who had spoken, he could not help but be surprised.

Darkfire was young, around Arran's age, with long dark hair and a handsome face. Although he wore a simple black robe, he would have stood out in any crowd — even if Arran was by no means short, Darkfire stood at least half a foot taller than him, with broad shoulders and arms that were thick with muscle.

Feeling some envy, Arran realized Darkfire looked like a hero out of legend. Yet he could not bring himself to dislike the man — there was something unusually open and straightforward about his manner that immediately appealed to Arran, especially after the time he had spent with the ever-deceitful Panurge.

"If you follow me," Darkfire said, "I'll show you a place with better food."

"All right," Arran said, deciding that for now, he would trust the man. If things changed, he was confident that he was strong enough to escape unharmed.

They left the food stall behind, the old woman silently glaring at them as they walked away. After a short while, they arrived at another food stall that sold dumplings, and these turned out to be of excellent quality.

"Who are you?" Arran asked as they ate.

"My name's Dao Qianjun," the man replied, "though people usually call me Darkfire."

"Are you a mage?" The nickname reminded Arran of Windsong and Master Zhao's alias, Flameheart, and he wondered if the name Darkfire had similar origins.

"If only," Darkfire said with a sigh. "The nickname's because of my lack of talent in magic. I have a Fire Realm, but I never managed to open it. So when I try to produce Fire… well, there's no light."

Arran nodded in understanding. "So why did you save me from eating rat dumplings?"

"Other than an honest desire to stop others from experiencing the horrors of badly cooked rat meat?" Darkfire made an exaggerated grimace. "Truth is, it's that sword of yours," he said, pointing toward the sword at Arran's side.

Arran had hidden the starmetal sword in one of his void bags, but the sword he wore was one of the treasures he had taken from the Herald's stronghold — large and heavy, with perfect balance and a blade that never seemed to dull, it was only slightly inferior to the starmetal sword.

"The sword? What about it?"

"If you know how to use it, I was hoping you'd be up for a few rounds of practice."

An eager grin appeared on Darkfire's face, and even if Arran was still slightly wary, he could see no signs of anything but guileless enthusiasm in Darkfire's expression.

"All right then," he said. "I suppose I could do with some practice."

"Perfect," Darkfire replied. "Follow me. We can use the training grounds at my home."