The Wandsmith [LitRPG, Isekai, Harem]

"You two, get up. Get up!" Ori shouted, his voice cutting through the heavy stillness.

He had just finished freeing and treating those left in the cages. Most were either mortal or newly Awakened, all severely malnourished; an affliction Ori was quickly learning was far more complex to treat than normal wounds.

His White Mage class spells, Channel Restoration and Cure Wounds, worked by either reversing recent damage or accelerating the body's natural healing. However, when it came to long-term injury or conditions that required more resources than the body could supply, magical healing could become dangerous. Muscle mass and nutrients had to come from somewhere. If lifeforce or physical reserves were lacking, the body would cannibalise itself to meet the demands of magical healing, often leading to death.

It was the same reason he had been forced to carry Raven through the tunnels. Even though he had healed her wounds and partially restored her atrophied limbs, he had been unable to regenerate her muscle mass through magic alone.

Until he advanced further along the Life aspect of his class and gained access to spells like Regenerate, or those capable of conjuring living flesh, he could not truly help most of these people. He could free them, feed them, relieve their pain, and stabilise their condition, but little else beyond that.

The infernally tainted boy who had dropped to his knees earlier still lay there, muttering incoherently. Thirty yards away, a haggard-looking young woman sat upright on her elbows, staring at Ori with wide-eyed horror.

Although the spell had ended, the aftershocks of Starfield still lingered. In the corners of one's vision, the air shimmered faintly. The ground, once filled with jeering slavers enjoying beer and roast meat, now sparkled dimly with fading stars. Even the natural light of Twilight, usually calm and diffuse, appeared dulled and subdued.

Ori could feel something strange settling in the air. A lingering starryness had soaked into his presence, weaving itself into his Aura of the Progenitor. It was likely a side effect of his Aethermancy, one he did not yet fully understand and had not attempted to control. The effect carried a terrifying stillness, the silent pressure of the Void, fused with the majesty of the Cosmic and underpinned by the diametric influences of Celestial and Astral forces. With concentration, he could suppress these changes from affecting the world around him. Even so, Ori could not ignore the power of transcendent spells, abilities, and artefacts. They left echoes in eternity and their nature was never simple, to the environment and especially to the wielder.

Between the slaver camp and the nearby village, he had sensed over four hundred minds exposed by the spell. While he had avoided probing the minds of those deemed neutral or innocent by the spell's celestial aspect, others had been scanned briefly. In four cases, he had gone deeper.

Two of those lay before him now.

In the boy, Ori had found someone pushed to the edge. A child who had committed acts of violence and cruelty, but only under duress. Though bound by infernal contracts and burdened by dark deeds, he despised himself, the men who had enslaved him, and the things they had forced him to do. He had once vowed to become strong enough to escape and bring down those who had broken him. But, when Ori found him, he was on the verge of abandoning that promise.

Ori reached out with a ghostly hand and gripped the boy's tunic, lifting him until only the tips of his toes brushed the dirt. From his ring, he withdrew the bladeless dagger, and with his Soulcrafting affinity, he stabbed the boy.

The scream that followed ripped apart the boy's vocal cords. The boy's voice gave out almost immediately as the blade tore into the essence of his soul.

Infernal taint unravelled. Class-linked spells, accolades, and the marks of his contracts were stripped away, consumed by the river of peritia Ori directed through the blade. When it was done, Ori's mood had only darkened. He let the boy fall into the dirt, limbs convulsing in a stinking mess in a pool of his own piss.

Without a word, Ori cast Beacon of Restoration, infused with Purifying Light and the Law of Radiance. The spell washed over the boy in brilliant light, beginning the long process of cleansing and repair.

Ori turned his gaze to the woman nearby.

He remembered what he had seen in her thoughts. She had joined the slavers willingly, drawn by the protection of a powerful man. Ruthlessly pragmatic, she avoided unnecessary cruelty, but when given justification, she could be every bit as vicious and calculating as the rest. She had belonged to the Sovereign-ranked leader, though he had shared her freely with his men.

Had it not been for a moment of pity, twisted by petty jealousy, that had led her to free a slave she believed could replace her, Ori might have allowed Starfield to erase her from existence. Instead, with no infernal taint to cleanse, he settled for the same combination of spells, bathing her in light.

After a minute or so spent stewing in his strange and unfamiliar anger, the boy Ori had soulcrafted, stirred and returned to consciousness. His dusty clothes, once soaked in filth, were now clean if dusty. Ruenne'del observed from the side. She was enjoying this side of him, her emotions flowing through the bond blurred his anger with her amused detachment, as if this were all theatre and the participants were willing actors in some fae play.

Part of him wanted to glare at her for her inappropriate delight, but he caught himself. This was simply a part of her nature, something he was beginning to understand, and even love. He exhaled slowly, allowing her perspective to place a little distance between him and the surging fury that had overtaken him moments earlier.

A part of that anger, he knew, came from the fact he still hadn't fully come to terms with Ruenne'del's admission. That there was an evil ex out there he would one day have to face. Another dangerous figure to challenge. Another impossible quest to add to the ever-growing list of near-insurmountable things demanding his attention.

Now that rage had found an outlet.

Then it had been stoked by the horrors of the camp and magic he had designed and wielded with precision but still did not fully understand. One he had underestimated, particularly its toll on his soul.

Drawing both the boy and the woman towards him with spectral limbs, Ori placed them at his feet. He let out a long breath and looked each of them in the eye.

"Help these people. Feed them. Get them where they need to go. This isn't an order, or even a request. It's simply the right thing to do. You get me?"

His tone had softened. The sharpness of his earlier anger had been replaced by something more sincere. Both nodded, silent and wide-eyed.

When he had touched their minds, Ori had begun to understand the weight the title Bane carried in their hearts.

They were both human, and to humans, the legend of the Dragon Bane was more than myth, it was humanity's pride, resistance, defiance and ingenuity packaged in a single man. It was the everlasting memory of someone long dead, who stood against a world ruled by monsters and cruel powers.

Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

The original Bane, a rogue alchemist who had terrorised dragons and driven their entire species close to extinction on the Material Plane before turning his wrath on the infernals, had become more than legend. His feats were woven into songs and tales, passed down to children and men in playground rhymes and warrior hymns alike.

And now they stood before one who carried that title once more. A living Demon Bane. One who bore it by right of his own power, and not alchemic tricks and clever schemes.

The awe and fear they felt towards him was something Ori was only beginning to understand. A part of him already knew that word of his actions would eventually spread, despite his intentions, if not his actions to remain low-key. It was a thought that sat uncomfortably alongside his broader goals. Sooner or later, the rumours would become confirmation, and confirmation would attract the attention of immortal warlords, kings and gods. However, Ori now realised that he would need to become strong enough not to fear them long before that point arrived.

"You can call me, Redeemer," he said. "Beyond that, tell no one anything. Swear it."

"I swear, Lord Redeemer," the boy said at once.

"Yes, Redeemer. I swear on my soul," the woman added, voice low.

Ori nodded, then turned his gaze towards the village and walked away. Whether or not they would feel compelled to keep their oath was less important than the fact that he, the Redeemer, had asked it of them.

Of the other two minds Ori had delved into, one had belonged to the Sovereign-ranked infernal, the leader of the camp. Ori had gone deep, skimming past the man's countless atrocities, and instead using the now shockingly valuable secondary effect of Starfield; intelligence gathered from the minds of vanquished foes. Through it, Ori had gained insight into the infernal's plans, the routes they had taken to reach this camp, and a network of hidden bases and staging grounds scattered between the two major cities he intended to visit before crossing the sea to Vespasian.

Dremsway, a human city and capital of one of the few surviving human kingdoms on Twilight, was slightly out of their way. But Ori still intended to visit. He hoped to earn coins, trade for enchantment resources, harvest the energy from nearby rifts and visit one of the public mass inheritance sites. More than anything, he simply wanted to experience a large human settlement for the first time.

Cear'hallen, a port city governed by a triumvirate of water, air, and land-aspected elementals, was the final major stop on the Great Southern Road. It was also where Ruenne'del, now walking silently at his side, had directed them.

After partially absorbing the memories and theories on Fate affinity that Ori had inherited from Nameless, she had used her own formidable gift as a seer to locate the city as the current resting place of the Name Eater.

With fewer than ninety days remaining, Ori now saw those two cities as his last meaningful opportunities to improve his strength before fulfilling Nameless' quest. And knowing now that demon nests lingered near the rifts, any detours they made along the way felt not just justified, but necessary.

The final mind Ori had looked into deeply did not belong to anyone from the slaver camp.

Known to most as the friendly and seemingly harmless village Fletcher, the man had built a reputation for affability. In truth, he had spent years preying on travellers along the Southern Road. He hunted them as much for sport as for power, gaining peritia by taking down challenging individuals or groups, while also subjecting the weaker and more vulnerable to rape and cannibalism. His victims were often lone wanderers, people whom fate rarely remembered. It was a life marked by pragmatic, almost mundane evil, so calculated and devoid of remorse that Ori found it difficult to decide what he felt. His White Mage class, however, was unequivocal. The man, a Greater Ranker, had to be removed from fate.

In his previous life, Ori might have sought higher authorities to deal with the situation, washing his hands of direct involvement. He would have weighed the risks, and the need for secrecy, and avoided conflict, even knowing how monstrous the man truly was. Even knowing the likelihood that he might one day turn his arrows on Ori, or someone Ori cared about.

But not now.

Standing outside the Fletcher's shop, Ori wove Prismatic Smite together with Call Lightning and Law of Radiance. His intent flowed through his affinities and meta-magic, shaping the spell into a single, focused ray of disintegration that fell from the sky. In the span of a heartbeat, the shop vanished from the face of Twilight in a blinding bolt of celestial light.

He caught glimpses of eyes watching from behind cracks and shuttered windows. Survivors from the slaver camp trailed behind him at a cautious distance.

Ori stood for a while, watching the last remnants of the shop burn. Ruenne'del stood beside him, her pink hair and fairy wings, catching the dim light. He could feel her reaching out and he let their fingers intertwine.

He stayed silent as the emotions ran through him. Thoughts swirled.

How many had that man killed? Hundreds? Thousands? Would his spell now begin to discover more mass murderers? Would he become known, sought after, and feared? And was this truly who he wanted to be, an avenger, judge, jury, and executioner for the sins of the entire universe?

No.

His power had loosened the constraints that once kept him polite, hesitant, and deferential. He was now more decisive, quicker to act, and more willing to use lethal force. But he would not allow himself to become something he was not.

If evil stood in front of him, he would cleanse it. Otherwise, his bonds and the people he loved would remain his first and only priority.

With that silent affirmation in his heart, Ori turned away from the ashes and left Kelwyn Ford behind.

"I believe I know of this Kayleigh Winterscorn. A dangerous individual, just shy of becoming an entity in her own right, though one of impossible beauty, if I'm not mistaken," Harriet said with an impish grin in the Dreaming.

They stood together overlooking her representation of the capital of Lunaesidhe from the main palace balcony. The pale yellow lights reflecting the starry dusk sky above served as a silent balm to a heart still unsettled by recent events. It was a rare meeting between them in the Dreaming, their second since the destruction of Ghigrerchiax, and his first opportunity to speak to the woman he now considered the matriarch of their household. Her wild tumble of midnight-blue hair shimmered faintly in the moonlight, her cleft chin and gentle smile offset by smoky eyes as intense, and passionate as the first time they made love.

He held her closer. Her easy acceptance of the situations he had found himself in had done much to soothe his guilt, while her concern over his new quests had led to several promises and reassurances that he would contact her through the Summons Guild should he find himself in need of her assistance. And that he would find a way to survive, should the challenge prove beyond his abilities.

"If you're seeking my approval or permission to pursue this ice fairy, and form this battle harem of yours, you have it, though you do not need it. Beyond my request that all of our family seek the Immortal Rank, I trust your judgement, and I know your heart and soul will guide you just as well as any advice little old me could offer."

Ori shook his head. "Your support and approval help me more than you know. It's so easy to lose myself out there, rushing around and fighting, and growing stronger. That man I killed, the fletcher, sometimes I feel there's only a few degrees of separation between someone like that and me. I've probably killed more people than he has. The only difference is a morality I'm desperately trying to hold on to. Without you, and the people I love, all this power has no value. So yes, humour me with your opinions and your wisdom, Harriet. Before I forget myself and become something I never wanted to be."

Ori tugged her close, her head nuzzling against his chest.

"Yes, my love."

Several moments passed before Harriet looked up, turning to meet his gaze.

"Ori, I have a request to ask of you."

"Oh yeah?" Ori asked, surprised that there was anything he could offer his elven queen. "Anything. Let me know, and I'll turn fate upside down to get it done."

Harriet laughed. "No, Ori, not such a big favour. Poppy has been... bragging, for lack of a better word, about how you've been teaching her enchanting in the Dreaming."

"Yeah, I thought it was only fair. She did teach me how to Void Dance, after all."

"Well, I'd like your expertise, and your guidance," she continued, before reaching up to kiss Ori. It was a long, deep kiss, one in which his hands roamed the exposed back of her nightdress, a dress so fine and sheer that he could feel the shape of her full breasts pressing into him. He drew her closer, seeking more, but she broke the kiss with a knowing smile.

"Incentive for you to come back to me sooner, my love," she said, her usual regal tone now more breathy. "and also to borrow one of your affinities."

"Oh yeah? Which one?"

"Aether. I'd like you to teach me how to be an Aethermancer."