Ethan's Fantasy-Drift

"What is a priest of Rathma?"

As Ethan carried the letter Isendra had entrusted to him, this question occupied his thoughts. His understanding of this dark and dangerous world was surface-level at best, and he had no idea what kind of organization Rathma was or what kind of person he was about to meet.

Following Isendra's directions, Ethan headed north along a worn path that wound its way through the wilderness.

It was called a road, but in truth, it was little more than a trail beaten into the dirt by frequent travelers. Even so, it provided a reliable sense of direction.

In this underdeveloped world, if one got lost in the wild, the best way to regain their bearings was to find such a path. Following it long enough, in one direction or another, would eventually lead to a settlement.

Another advantage of sticking to the road was the relative safety it offered. Creatures like the Quill Rats and the Fallen—both of which Ethan dreaded rarely appeared on the main paths. Instead, the occasional zombie, slow-moving and few in number, posed the greatest threat. Ethan was confident enough in his abilities to deal with those.

"According to Isendra, I should reach the priest after three days of travel along this road. But it's already been two days, and I've neither seen nor heard a thing, not the priest, not even another traveler."

The oppressive environment was also wearing on him. The corruption of dark energy had grown noticeably stronger, even in the short time since Ethan had first arrived in this world. The sky remained perpetually overcast, robbing the days of warmth and light. The air itself seemed thick with an unsettling force that Ethan instinctively resisted.

Over time, as his spiritual power developed, Ethan began to feel an inexplicable pull toward the dark energy around him, as if his body wanted to absorb it and convert it into magic power.

"While it's true that mages can use any energy as magic," Ethan muttered to himself, "I'm sure channeling this kind of negative energy would come with a heavy cost."

Images of mages seduced by power only to meet tragic ends flickered through his mind. He forced himself to remember their mistakes, taking a deep breath to steady his thoughts.

"Uncontrollable power doesn't belong to me," he whispered, as if reaffirming his resolve.

Just as he prepared to continue forward, Ethan spotted movement in the distance. A group of skeleton soldiers, armed with long bone-bladed swords, was patrolling in a disciplined formation.

"Skeleton soldiers?"

The sight of them immediately put Ethan on high alert. These weren't mindless monsters wandering aimlessly; their movements were deliberate, almost strategic.

"This isn't normal…"

Peering farther into the distance, Ethan spotted more skeletons patrolling in formation.

"There's too many of them. If I try to push through, it's suicide."

He quickly decided to retreat. Moving slowly and deliberately, he backed away, keeping his steps light and his eyes scanning for a place to hide.

Unfortunately, the area around him was barren, offering little in the way of cover. Not even a dead tree or rocky outcrop could shield him.

As he cursed his bad luck under his breath, the skeletons suddenly stopped their patrol. To his surprise, rather than charging at him, they began to congregate in one place.

What happened next startled him even more. One of the skeletons at the front turned toward him and… waved.

"Wait, is it waving at me?"

Ethan froze in place, his mind racing. Was this some kind of intelligent undead? Could he have stumbled upon a skeleton inhabited by another transmigrator like himself?

Before Ethan could decide whether to flee or approach, his question was answered.

A man dressed in black and white robes emerged from behind the skeletons. With a simple gesture from the man, the skeleton that had been waving at Ethan dissolved into nothingness, as did the rest of the undead.

"A necromancer," Ethan muttered, his eyes narrowing.

The sight was unmistakable. As one of the original classes in Diablo II, Ethan recognized the necromancer immediately.

"So those skeletons were his summons."

It explained the strange, coordinated behavior of the undead, they were under the control of this necromancer.

Despite his recognition, Ethan hesitated. In a game, necromancers were popular, even heroic figures. But in reality, a mage who dabbled in corpses and souls would hardly be considered trustworthy.

Turning and running didn't seem like an option. The necromancer had already noticed him, and Ethan vaguely remembered the game lore portraying them as defenders of balance rather than harbingers of destruction. Deciding to take a chance, he approached cautiously, his hand still resting on the hilt of his dagger.

"Greetings, young traveler," the necromancer called out, his voice calm and measured. "I am Xul, a priest of Rathma. I sense the presence of someone familiar on you. Did she send you to me?"

Xul's words startled Ethan. Only then did he realize this was the priest he had been searching for.

"That… should be right," Ethan replied hesitantly, pulling the letter from his pouch. "Are you the Rathma priest Isendra mentioned?"

Xul nodded, though he clarified, "I wouldn't call us friends. We've only met once, but we share a common goal. She must have imprinted her mark on the letter, let me see it."

Ethan handed over the letter but couldn't suppress his curiosity. "So, you're… really a priest?"

Noticing Ethan's doubt, Xul offered a small smile. It seemed he was accustomed to such misunderstandings. As he read Isendra's letter, he began explaining the nature of the Rathma priest.

The Rathma priests, Ethan learned, were entirely unlike the necromancers he'd imagined. Their core belief was in maintaining balance in all things, between life and death, creation and destruction. They weren't aligned with either good or evil, instead pursuing absolute neutrality.

Their magic, derived from the primal energies inherent in all things, wasn't inherently dark or evil. It was the same energy harnessed by other groups, such as the Amazons. However, because of their ability to manipulate undead creatures, the Rathma priests were often misunderstood and their practices unfairly labeled as "black magic."

"Our magic is neither black nor evil," Xul insisted, his voice firm. "This classification is born of ignorance and prejudice."

Ethan listened attentively, though part of him couldn't help but find Xul's enthusiasm for his beliefs amusing.

Eventually, Xul returned to the matter at hand. "The letter says Isendra has discovered significant clues at the Rogue Camp. The surge in dark power seems linked to a mysterious figure, and the Blood Wastes are crawling with dark creatures. Even Andariel has claimed the fortress, blocking the path to the east."

Xul paused, rubbing his temples as if the information he'd just read gave him a headache. "One way or another, I need to head to the Rogue Encampment."

He turned to Ethan, his expression more measured now. "Young man, Isendra mentioned that you're diligently working to become a mage?"

"Yes," Ethan replied, though inwardly, he wasn't entirely sure if he could actually succeed in becoming a mage. Still, everything he had been learning and gathering was pushing him in that direction.

"Have you considered joining the Rathma priests?"

Ethan blinked, caught off guard. Xul's tone was casual, but there was an unmistakable enthusiasm in his voice, the kind that suggested he was already imagining Ethan among the ranks of the necromancers.

After a brief pause, Xul launched into what Ethan could only describe as a recruiting pitch. The priest spoke about balance, discipline, and the noble path of seeking equilibrium in all things. But the more Ethan listened, the more he realized he wasn't interested. Learning that the necromancers of this world were more akin to Puritan ascetics than dark sorcerers had already dulled his curiosity about the profession.

"No, I think it's better to stick to the path I've already chosen," Ethan said firmly. "Wavering between options won't get me anywhere."

To his surprise, Xul nodded approvingly, a rare smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"Well said, young apprentice. With that mindset, I believe the day you become a full-fledged mage isn't far off."

Ethan felt a faint spark of encouragement, but it was quickly doused when Xul gave him a once-over, his gaze lingering on Ethan's thin frame.

"However," Xul said thoughtfully, "in this dangerous environment, you'll need to improve your ability to protect yourself. Otherwise, you might not survive long enough to realize your potential as a mage. Since your mental power won't improve overnight, you should consider working on your combat skills in the meantime."

Ethan nodded instinctively, but then the implications of Xul's words hit him. Combat skills? Did Xul think he was part of some team that would take on hordes of dark creatures? And why melee combat of all things?

"Wait… are you suggesting I focus on close combat?" Ethan asked, his skepticism plain.

Xul raised an eyebrow, his calm demeanor unshaken. "And why not? Do you think I'm unqualified to teach you?"

Before Ethan could respond, he felt a sudden blur of movement. In the blink of an eye, Xul, who had been standing two steps away, was now right in front of him. A cold dagger pressed lightly against Ethan's neck.

"As a priest of Rathma," Xul said evenly, his voice low and steady, "close combat is a required skill."