Chapter 27 : Clause of Fire

“Men burn alive. Rolling across the ground does nothing. You can’t smother it. It takes whole urns of water to extinguish even a single burst. And in battle, no one has the time—or the hands—to carry that much.”

“What about staff with water barrels?”

“We have them. But it’s not enough. She—Redna—changes targets constantly. If a warrior poses a threat, she burns them. If she’s frustrated, she sets fire to the building they’re in. There is no pattern. Just destruction.”

“Tactical chaos,” Curtis  muttered. “Maximum disruption with minimal cost.”

“Exactly.”

“Still,” Curtis  added, “even if I stop the Spirit… that doesn’t win the war, does it?”

“No. But we’d stop losing.”

Bruno’s eyes hardened.

“Our real strength still stands. We just lack a way to counter her. With you, the field evens.”

Curtis  paused.

Then slowly, nodded.

“We accept. So long as one clause is made clear in writing.”

“Which is?”

“If the Spiritcaller is neutralized and the battle is still lost—it isn’t our fault. Our contract ends there.”

“Naturally,” said Bruno, smiling at last. “We wouldn’t insult allies who answer the call.”

He turned to Terty.

“And you, Sir Terty… will you fight beside him?”

“I, too, wish to enter the contract,” Terty declared, his tone ironclad. “As Curtis ’s shield and sword.”

“Ahh! My thanks, truly!” Bruno beamed, his voice rising with rare delight.

Though his desperation for a powerful mage was greater, the addition of a warrior like Terty—whose very name held weight in Nizertere—was a gift not easily measured. Two pillars now stood where once there were none.

They agreed to journey together to the Mercenary Guild, to seal their pact in ink and binding rune.

Bruno cleared his throat, lowering his voice like a man unsure whether to speak.

“Ahem… I admit, it may be unbecoming to ask this now, but—well, as your employer, perhaps I may be allowed a bit of… concern?”

“Of course,” said Curtis , calm and unreadable. “Speak your mind.”

“This Spiritcaller—the one you encountered—Sir Terty said she was… unbearably arrogant. But isn’t that, in its way, a sign of her strength?”

“You’re worried Curtis  won’t be able to handle her,” Terty said, smirking.

Bruno looked away but didn’t deny it. Terty’s smile widened as he reassured the man in his blunt but honest fashion.

“You’re unaware, then. Curtis  was ranked Silver just this morning.”

“Silver? Already?”

“Awarded for his role in the recent hunt. He nearly slew a troll alone.”

“A troll…?”

“Unless Redna hides a Gold-tier sigil beneath her cloak, she won’t be his match. Not among Silvers, at least. I saw it with my own eyes.”

“You give me too much credit,” Curtis  interjected, embarrassed. “I’m no immortal.”

He chuckled, scratching the back of his head, as Bruno’s face lit with visible relief.

“Then allow me one favor,” Curtis  said, his voice now low and serious. “As we prepare for war… do things as you always have. Follow your usual plan. Just… add me to it.”

“That’s all?” Bruno blinked.

“That’s all I need.”

They left for the Guild and sealed the contract with the Guild’s crest and clerical magic.

Afterward, Curtis  and Terty returned to Bron’s Rest to gather their things—better to be gone before Redna, unpredictable as wildfire, returned to ignite chaos beneath a peaceful roof.

“Thank you for your hospitality,” Curtis  said, bowing slightly.

“You’ll be in our guestbook till this place turns to dust,” Freeman replied with a wink.

“Come back and drink with us anytime!” Saker called out, raising a tankard.

But their path no longer ran through taverns. As newly sworn allies of House Narok, they would stay at the estate—ready to move at a moment’s notice.

The day passed without event.

But the morning that followed did not.

Before the sun had fully climbed the horizon, a rider arrived in haste, bearing grim tidings.

One of Narok’s allied merchant clans had lost a vital warehouse—seized by Gaude’s men under the cover of dawn.

In less than an hour, warriors gathered before the estate gates.

150 Bronze-ranked fighters. 15 Silver.

A modest force, perhaps, for a faction that ruled half a city. But this was not a war of extermination. Not yet. To unleash full-scale slaughter in the heart of Nizertere would invite ruin on both sides.

This was a war of dominance, of precision.

 And in that war, Silver-rank fighters were the blade that cut deepest. The Bronze were there to complete the form—a presence, a force, not a strategy.

With aides and tacticians included, the force was near two hundred strong. More than enough to claim a battlefield.

“We entrust this to you, Curtis ,” Bruno said as he gripped the mage’s shoulder.

“I’ll see it done,” Curtis  answered, his voice calm as water before the storm.

Together with Terty and Narok’s vanguard, he marched through the winding arteries of the city to its outskirts, where the warehouse lay like a jewel about to be pried loose.

The area was mostly deserted. Even those brave enough to remain in war-touched districts had fled. The only souls nearby now were the soldiers—and their enemies.

Before the warehouse, in a broad clearing, stood House Gaude’s formation, mirrored in size and strength. There would be no negotiation. No ceremony.

Only fire.

“Prepare for battle!”

The order echoed. Narok’s warriors surged forward, closing the distance.

Gaude’s soldiers made no attempt to parley. They moved like a well-oiled machine, steel and purpose in their limbs.

At the front of their formation, framed like a flame on an altar, stood Redna—lips curved in a blade-thin smirk. Beside her, the silent man from before, unmoving. And beside them, Gaude’s Silver warriors, fanned out like the wings of a bird of prey.

“It’s just as they said,” Curtis  murmured.

“She follows the same pattern each time,” confirmed a Narok captain.

Redna would cast a dazzling burst of flame to shatter formation and morale. Then, while her enemies flinched, Gaude’s warriors would rush in to strike.

She herself never moved—letting her summoned flame rampage through the ranks. Untouchable.

 Untouched.

But today, Curtis  stood at the front.

Terty at his side, silent but ready. Narok’s forces mirrored Gaude’s formation.

Except for one difference.

Just behind Curtis  rolled a wagon, covered and creaking softly. Its contents unknown to all but him.

The two armies drew near—close enough now to see the shape of Redna’s mouth as she whispered something just for him.

“She’s saying,” Terty translated dryly, “‘I told you it would’ve been better if we never met again.’”

“She never shuts up, does she?” Curtis  muttered.

“Couldn’t keep that one to myself. It was too good.”

Redna’s expression darkened.

Annoyed by their calm, she brought her hands before her chest.

From her palms, a flame bloomed—small and flickering, like a candle’s first breath. It danced for a moment… then birthed another.

FWOOOOOSH.

The second flame shot forward into the sky—and as it flew, it grew.

What had begun as the size of a child’s fist exploded outward, devouring air and space as it became a roiling orb of destruction, large enough to consume a carriage whole.

FWHAAAAAAAM!

But even as the inferno screamed through the air, something even greater rose to meet it.

A shield of water—massive, glistening, summoned not from a puddle but from power and will—slammed into the flame and smothered it completely.

The blazing sphere collapsed under the weight of that wave, vanishing into a hiss of steam.

Redna’s eyes widened, her smugness washed away in an instant.

And Curtis ?

He smiled, slow and satisfied, as the mist rose between them.