李淳罡死了还是飞升了

Once he entered the Hunters’ lands — the Darian Imperium, as he would have to call it — he would be surrounded by enemies, with any mistake he made a threat to his life. And if anyone even suspected him of being a mage, a fate far worse than death might await him.

But that wasn’t the only danger.

He would journey into lands where he knew neither the laws nor the customs. And while others traveling into the Imperium could afford to learn slowly, that was not the case for Arran.

He had two tasks, and precious little time for either. Accomplishing the things he’d set out to do would involve no small amount of risk, and both tasks would involve their own challenges.

The first of these tasks was the one Brightblade had given him: to learn as much as he could about the Hunters. That would mean traveling their lands, learning their customs, and — if he could — learning about their military.

This was the reason he could not simply show the Knight’s amulet to be allowed into the Imperium. Once he did so, he would be bound to whatever she had planned for him, likely leaving him unable to travel freely.

And so, he would have to enter the Imperium on his own power, going unnoticed as he studied the vast enemy nation. And his curiosity drew attention, it would certainly draw suspicion as well — especially with the Imperium on the verge of war.

That no mages had succeeded in infiltrating the Imperium so far could only mean that the Hunters guarded their nation jealously, catching any spies before they could succeed.

Yet the second task would be the more difficult — and dangerous — one. He would get recruited into the Hunters’ ranks, learn as many of their secrets as he could before the war began, and then flee the Imperium just as the Hunters moved to battle the Ninth Valley.

With only a few years available, learning their secrets would require him to make a meteoric rise through their ranks. Rather than avoiding attention, he would have to seek it out — to draw the eyes of the Imperium’s best teachers and strongest fighters.

The plan bordered on madness, but it was the only way to get the knowledge he sought. As an average recruit, he would only learn average things. But if he was to risk his life, then he wanted a suitable reward.

He sighed as he pondered the path ahead.

If he had a decade or two, achieving both tasks would be an easy matter. As it was, however, he’d have to do two decades of work in just a few years. And all without being found out.

But his concerns were eased when he remembered the previous day’s events.

Just a few years earlier, the Body Refiner he’d slain would have been a deadly enemy. Now, however, the man had been no more of a threat than a pesky insect he could swat with his palm.

He’d come far over the years, and he would go farther still. The Darian Imperium, for all its purported strength, was just another obstacle to overcome. And when he did, he would emerge stronger once more.

With a deep breath, he stood up and stretched his body. Then, the worries he’d felt all but gone, he began to pack his belongings.

He left the inn well before sunrise, though not before eating an unexpectedly lavish breakfast. If nothing else, it seemed his actions of the previous day had won him the man’s fear — which was nearly as useful as respect.

Then, he stepped into Esran’s filthy streets.

Even at this early hour, the streets were already filled with people, though not quite as many as there were during the day.

If the crowd was rough in the daylight, it was even rougher before dawn. While a few merchants and craftsmen were preparing for the day ahead, most of the people Arran saw wandering the streets were drunks, beggars, thugs, and whores.

Just in the few short miles it took Arran to reach the western edge of the city, two rag-dressed thugs made abortive attempts to rob him, which he took as a sign of desperation rather than overconfidence.

He could not help but sigh at the state of the city. It truly was a cesspool. And when war broke out between the Ninth Valley and the Imperium, things would only get worse — rather than thousands, there would be millions trying to flee the borderlands.

This was something he had not considered earlier, but now, it was all too clear. Whatever disaster the Ninth Valley might face in the war to come, the borderlands would face something far worse than that.

Between the two powers stood millions of people whose lives would be thrown into chaos, with entire towns and villages set to be uprooted and abandoned as people tried to escape the violence.

And amid the chaos, bandits and brigands would seize their opportunity to rob and loot and plunder with abandon, without anyone there to stop them.

But in the end, there was nothing he could do about that. All he could do was try and help the Ninth Valley win the war. And even that might not be possible.

At the western edge of the city, he found a large crowd of people — thousands, rather than the hundreds he had expected to find, with many of them shouting and trying to push their way forward through the masses.

Yet as he approached, he saw that the crowd was held back by a line of guards, their weapons bared as they stopped the desperate mass of people from pushing through.

Even with his strength, it took Arran several minutes to push and jostle his way to the front of the crowd, where he was met by the steel of an anxious-looking guard’s blade.

"Stand back!" the man snapped as Arran moved forward.

Arran calmly held up the black seal the steward had given him. "Bijan sent me."

The guard barely gave it a glance, then stepped aside just long enough for Arran to pass through the line. "Go see the captain," he said as Arran passed, though his eyes remained fixed on the crowd in front of him.

As he stepped past the guards, Arran saw that there was a group of several hundreds of people standing a small distance further, accompanied by a few dozen guards.

He walked toward them unhurriedly, studying the group as he approached.

The group was a strange mix of wealth and poverty. About a quarter of the people were dressed in fine clothes and carrying well-made packs — the ones who’d bribed their way in, Arran thought.

The rest, meanwhile, ranged from families of farmers and villagers to gaunt vagrants in ragged clothes. These would be the ones who’d scrounged up the coin to get onto the list, only to have to spend months in Esran, using up what little wealth they had as they waited for their turn to leave the borderlands.

When Arran was a few dozen paces away, one of the guards stepped out from the group — a tall man in a well-fitting uniform, with a weary expression on his face. The captain, Arran knew.

When he reached Arran, the man gave him an appraising look, then asked, "Name?"

Once more, Arran produced the steward’s black seal. "Bijan sent me," he said again. No point in telling the captain more than needed.

"Hand me that," the captain said. He inspected the seal, then pocketed it and turned his eyes back to Arran. "That must’ve cost you a pretty penny." He gave Arran a look of barely veiled disgust — not a fan of bribery, then.

Arran shrugged. "Nothing I couldn’t afford."

When he saw that his disdainful look had no effect, the captain sighed. He gestured at the group behind him, then said, "Join the others. We leave in half an hour."

Arran did as the man said and joined the group of borderlanders. And as he stood among them, he could see that most had expressions of relief and joy — though more than a few looked anxious, as well.

"Spent a long time waiting?"

When Arran turned toward the voice, he saw that it came from a middle-aged farmer. The man and his family looked better than most of the others in the group, if only slightly.

"Not too long," Arran replied. "Though longer than I would have liked."

The farmer nodded thoughtfully. "Me and the family, we waited for two months. Would’ve been more if I hadn’t had a bit of extra gold with me." He cast a look at the crowd in the distance. "A good thing, too, that we’re leaving today. I can’t see the city staying peaceful much longer."

Arran frowned, then glanced at the crowd as well. "You think they’ll try to break through?" The thought hadn’t occurred to him earlier, but now that he looked at the mass of desperate people, it didn’t seem unlikely.

"Not today," the farmer said. "But sooner or later. Keep a herd of sheep fenced in without plenty of food, and they’re bound to break the fence. Can’t see people being any different."

"They could just go around the city," Arran offered. "Make their way into the Hunters’ lands on their own."

The farmer shook his head. "Can’t do that. Any who’ve tried, their heads turned up right outside the city a day later. Only safe way to get into the Hunters’ lands is to be with one of the groups."

Arran spent the next half hour making small talk with the farmer. Although he didn’t learn anything useful about the journey ahead, there was little else to do while he waited.

More people arrived to join the group, though only a handful. With a chance at leaving the borderlands, it seemed there were few who would risk being late.

Then, as the sun began to creep up above the horizon, the guard captain called out, "Attention!"

At once, the group fell silent and two hundred pairs of eyes were immediately focused on the tall man.

"In a moment, we’re heading to the Hunters’ lands," he began. "My men and I will accompany you for the next two days. After that, you’re on your own."

He paused briefly to look around the crowd, then continued, "After we depart, you must stay with the group at all times. Wander off or fall behind, and you will die. Do not leave the road, no matter the reason. Any questions?"

Some murmurs sounded in the crowd, but none spoke. The instructions were clear enough — stay with the group, no matter what.

"Good," the captain said. "Any of you have a change of mind, this is your last chance to turn back. We leave now."

Nobody took the opportunity to turn back, of course. Most of the people in the group had spent months waiting for a chance to leave, and they’d sooner have fallen on their swords than change their minds.

Just a few minutes later, the group had set off to the west, with the continued shouts of the larger crowd soon fading in the distance.

They traveled at a slow and steady pace, pausing halfway through the morning for a quick meal before continuing onward.

The surroundings were much as could be expected — densely forested wilderness, with no sign of civilization other than the road they walked on. In another place, the woods around them might long have made way for farmlands. But here, they were completely untouched.

Arran passed the time by talking to some of his fellow travelers, and found them to be in high spirits — having finally left Esran behind, they were eager to face the final leg of their journey.

The same was true for Arran himself. The worries he’d felt in the morning had faded, and now, all he wanted was to reach his destination and face whatever obstacles lay ahead.

About an hour after midday, they met a returning group of guards. The two groups’ captains spoke for a few minutes before saying their goodbyes, and from their weary expressions, Arran deduced that they had nothing of interest to share.

At nightfall, the group set up camp right on the road, ignoring the dense woods on either side of the road. As the captain had told them, stepping off the road would cost them their lives.

Yet when morning came, they found one of their group missing — the young son of the farmer Arran had spoken with the previous day, a boy of only barely ten years old.

The farmer searched the camp in a panic, despair on his face as he begged the guards for help.

"We have to get him!" the man cried out as he approached the captain. "He must have wandered off during the night. He can’t have gone far..."

The captain shook his head, though his expression was pained. "We can’t. If your son left the road, then he’s already dead."

Arran knew this wasn’t true. His sword could Sense the boy, less than a mile from the road. Yet not too far from the boy, there was another presence, rapidly moving closer.

"Then I have to find him myself," the farmer said, jaw set despite his haggard look. It was obvious that he was prepared to give his life for a chance to rescue his son.

Yet before the farmer could step off the road, Arran grabbed the man’s shoulder.

"Stay here. I’ll get him."

Perhaps it was a stupid thing to do. While it wouldn’t risk his life, it might force him to reveal the Knight’s ring to the Hunters. And that would cause more than a little trouble for his plans.

But then, Arran had once been a foolish boy himself. And if he hadn’t received plenty of help from well-meaning strangers, he’d have died long ago.

"Don’t," the guard captain said when he saw what Arran was about to do. "More than likely, he’s already dead. And if you go after him, you’ll die as well."

Despite the firm words, there was some sympathy in his eyes, and Arran guessed that the captain would have searching himself had he believed there was any chance of success.

Arran shrugged. "We’ll see about that."

Without further words, he dashed into the tree line. Although he didn’t use his full strength, he moved at a pace well beyond anything a normal human could achieve, and he reached the boy barely a few minutes later.

Yet even as he found the boy, the presence he’d felt earlier arrived. And just as Arran reached the boy, so did the other person — a woman, clad in leather armor, with a slender sword at her side.

As Arran’s eyes met hers, he briefly considered his options — whether to kill her or to show the Knight’s ring.

Yet the woman glanced at the boy, and her face softened. "Go," she said in a low voice. "And hurry." Then, without waiting, she disappeared into the surrounding brush.

Arran breathed a sigh of relief, but he knew better than to ignore her warning. She wasn’t the only Hunter in the area.

"I just went to go pee..." The boy looked at Arran with fearful eyes. His feet and hands were covered in mud, and several streaks of mud covered his face as well.

"And like the mule-headed dunce you are, you got lost," Arran said. He sighed deeply, though not without remembering his own childhood. "Let’s get you back to your father."

He unceremoniously picked the boy up from the ground and threw him over his shoulder like a sack of grain. Then, before any other Hunters could arrive, he hurried back to the group.

When he arrived a few minutes later, the farmer and his wife received their son with tearful eyes — and no small amount of harsh words. From the look of it, the boy would have trouble sitting for at least a few weeks. Hopefully, he’d learn from the punishment.

As Arran turned away from the reunited family, the guard captain approached him.

"That was a foolish thing you did," the man said. "Brave, but foolish." Despite the words, he looked nearly as relieved as the farmer had.

Arran shrugged. "I’ve been known to act before thinking."

That, he knew, was something he’d have to change — and soon. Because although he did not regret the risk he’d taken in saving the boy, in the Imperium, foolish bravery would not end well.

And if he failed in his tasks, not just his own life would be at risk.