The Hated Hero and His Sigils of Ancient Power

"In life, I hunted animals to eat and sell to the market. That was what my life was like since I learned how to use a dagger." The Hunter's voice was no longer hoarse.

He and Immanuel sat next to each other on a cliff overlooking the woods and the clearing where they fought. They watched the sun as it was rising, painting the sky a violent blend of red and orange. The Hunter had dismissed the serpent, and it crawled away from them, leaving a trail of blood at every inch it crawled.

"Sometimes I sold meat, sometimes I sold treated hide, and sometimes I sold both. Life was fine for the most part." The wolf-man paused. "I travelled to a town that turned out to have been ravaged by the presence of a serial killer. I did not intend to go there. I just happened to come across it on a journey."

Where?

The Hunter raised an index finger to answer his unspoken question. "If you are wondering where it is, I cannot tell you. Time, with the help of the clerics, buried that place and its story. Not literally, of course. And then Mistrerion himself also erased my memories of the place's name. All that's left was what happened to me there."

He lowered his hand and continued, "So one of the town guard talked to me and asked for my help. Apparently, their government have sent numerous bounty hunters to bring him to justice, but none have returned to the Governor."

A governor led them? Damn, this story happened several hundred years ago, then!

"They were likely killed or too terrified to do the job."

"Yes, that was why I was brought to the Governor to help them, even if I had no experience hunting outlaws. I believe I had business there as well, which was why I felt myself compelled to help."

Immanuel nodded as he started to feel the heat from the rising sun.

"Well, to make things short, the person they were looking for was none other than The Mouse."

For some reason that he could not point out, Immanuel felt the end of the story coming from a distance away.

The Hunter looked up to the sky and turned to him. "So how it happened was… I almost had him. He fell into the hole I summoned on the ground, and I was about to leap in and subdue him. But his resolve let his mana transform his body into a shadow, and he climbed out and escaped."

… in accordance with your will.

The wolf-man looked down. "I tried to chase him, but in that form, he was quicker than I was. He caught me unaware, and he stabbed me multiple times, making sure he had killed me."

Immanuel laid a hand on The Hunter's shoulder. "I'm sorry, Hunter, if the way I ended our duel ever reminded you of how you died."

"It's fine." The Hunter sighed. "If only we are, at least, given hints as to who we're fighting, then I could have prepared better than I had."

Immanuel laughed. "What are you saying? That snake almost had me!"

The Hunter pat Immanuel's shoulder in return, having remembered how he escaped the serpent's maw—the black sword and sludge. "A fair argument, that one. You were right when you said that you outsmarted me."

There was a rumbling in the distance. The serpent burst into the ground and disappeared, leaving behind a tunnel of previously unexposed earth.

"Was the serpent not with you when you tried to hunt The Mouse?"

"That serpent's name is Ju-i. I first met him in this realm, not in the realm you come from. He is one of many playful spirits, usually those of dead children, that wish to take on animal form for fun. Mistrerion grants them this wish, and in exchange, they serve him."

Immanuel's heart jumped. So I just hurt a child in combat? And that silver-eyed crow was the spirit of a child after all?

But Immanuel shoved the questions aside rather than push them The Hunter's way. "About Ju-i, you said he was a trap I triggered. We walked all the way up here from where we fought, and yet not once did we come across a spot where you placed a trap."

He motioned a finger pointed to the distance from right to left. "I thought you had placed traps everywhere?" The Hunter laughed at the question.

"Are you sure you know what the sigil I test for does?"

Manhole

Summon a manhole to use as a trap or a hiding place.

"I'm not sure of what you're trying to say here, Hunter." Immanuel raised an eyebrow in confusion.

The Hunter laughed once again. "Let me put it this way. With this sigil, you will a hole into existence, correct? In my combat test, it is your fear that wills a trap into existence."

"It was all a bluff, then?"

"Yes, it was supposed to make you second-guess your every move. But you gave it all you got in spite of that, from the start of combat, so I was left with no choice but to bluff you another time.

That smirk and side-eye flashed in Immanuel's mind again.

"Why Ju-i appeared instead of the usual bear trap or another trap of that degree, I don't know. Even I was surprised." The Hunter continued with a shrug. "But does that still matter now, considering that you won in spite of you having summoned him?"

The angry yellow sun had risen higher up, and The Hunter stood and dusted his trousers with his left hand. Immanuel also stood up, knowing what to expect next.

The Hunter offered a hand to Immanuel, who shook it. "Congratulations, Immanuel Maier. You have earned the right to the Manhole sigil. You may begin using it upon your return to the world you came from."

"Thank you. It was a good matchup. If only we could have a rematch later today, when you heal." The Hunter patched the wound on his side with medicinal leaves bound in place with a strip of torn cloth. He expected his wound to completely heal by noon.

"Well, if I had done more notable feats with the mana gifted to me, then..."

The Hunter's smile turned into a concerned frown. "Wait, Immanuel. Are you saying… you intend to get more than one sigil within the same day?"

Immanuel's face flushed and he looked down, feeling, for a moment, that he must have demanded so much from the ancestral spirits. "Well, yes. I have enough mana for one more," Immanuel lied.

"Damn, you're a bold one." The Hunter shook his head. "What's the hurry, kid?"

Do I tell him?

"The Hierophant is presently occupied with many other important matters. I only have today to get every—" Immanuel caught himself. "I mean, the other sigil I need."

"Right, one more sigil." Oh no, he caught on.

The Hunter pointed to a distant dirt road behind the cliff. "From here, just walk along that road over there. Do you see that?"

Immanuel nodded before raising a question. "Where should I go next, and who should I look for?"

The Hunter smirked as he lay a hand on Immanuel's shoulder. "Just follow the dirt road. You will know where to go when you see it."

Immanuel departed not long after that conversation. He waved a hand at The Hunter as he walked backwards to the dirt road he must walk on. The Hunter responded in kind as he, in turn, faded slowly into nothingness. His job was done.

Walking along the dirt road, Immanuel would have kept looking straight ahead if not for a distant rock formation split in half by the roots of a tree that grew on top of it. What amazed him even more was that the tree wasn't even a massive one.

He imagined the tree's beginnings as a seedling that sprouted on what little soil was on top of that rock formation. In time, wind and rain eroded the soil it was growing on, leaving the young tree without anything to anchor its roots on.

If there was an advantage to being ignorant, it's not knowing that something is impossible to do. All the young plant did to get to the height it had then was to bring its roots down to the soil. And perhaps, even in the absence of soil, down it did bring its roots, defiant against the rock formation itself—tenacious in its search for soil.

Perhaps it was nothing short of a miracle that the young plant survived without soil and grew into the tree it was that day. Just as miraculous was how Immanuel Maier lived to see another day despite severe injuries and massive blood loss.

Both must be acts of the god known as Mistrerion.

This must be a lesson from the god himself, Immanuel concluded. Realizing that he had been standing in one spot for a while, he turned to the road and resumed his search for the next challenge.

I will know it when I see it.

True enough, way beyond the rock formation, after having passed many individual trees that stood among grass, something caught Immanuel's attention. Over blades of grass, there was a rippling patch of air that distorted the appearance of anything viewed through it.

It was not a hot morning. Even stranger was how higher up the surface the ripple of air was than usual. Immanuel veered off the road and approached it with one hand on the grip of his sword, ready to draw it at any time.

Nothing hinted to Immanuel that the rippling air could harm him in any way. Despite this, he took sword in scabbard off his waist. Just in case.

With the tip of his sword, made blunt by the presence of scabbard over blade, Immanuel poked the ripple of air. He raised an eyebrow; the end of his sword disappeared into it and caused larger ripples, as if it were disturbed water.

Immanuel pulled his sword back. It's still whole.

He moved his head closer to the rippling air. Everything behind it looked distorted. Magical in nature, doesn't seem malevolent. What if…

Immanuel inserted the sword—still in its scabbard—deeper into the distortion. One hand held the weapon's grip in case he needed to defend himself.

With nothing tugging the sword, he brought the hand holding the scabbard into the distortion. The surface of the ripple in the air felt like water, and it seemed that there was nothing beyond that.

Immanuel waved the sword in the rippling air, expecting a reaction. Although the surface of the distortion felt like water, Immanuel felt no resistance when he stirred it with the sword.

No reaction.

Immanuel thought to throw a stone into the distortion, but he changed his mind. Instead, he took steps back until he was several arms' lengths away from it. Then he sprinted forward and leapt into the distortion…

… which turned out to be a portal to elsewhere.

The distortion brought Immanuel Maier to a familiar place. He stood in the middle of a cobblestone street, with houses that stood to his left and right. In the distance was a massive, high-rise structure.

"This place looks familiar," Immanuel hissed. There was neither animal nor person in sight. He drew his sword and took a few steps forward, stopping when he saw the full height of one of the towers of the distant high-rising structure.

On that one tower was a tapestry that bore the coat of arms of Grand Baron Ronan Varden. His heart pounded.

Cheeks tightened as tears threatened to be unleashed.

… and I promise to love you just the same

… or even more.

"Moonshadow Fort, indeed." He gripped the two-handed sword with both hands, expecting a fight that very instant, but he heard a familiar joyful laugh instead. It came from the direction of the Grand Baron's manor.

"Leanne!" Immanuel sprinted to the direction of the manor. Tears streamed down his cheeks.