The Sorcerer Who Loved Magic But Hated Reading

Alaric stepped into the forest, his expression dark with anger. "I will not forgive that bastard bandit," he muttered to himself. As he walked deeper into the trees, he heard a faint noise—voices drifting through the undergrowth. Curiosity mixed with his fury pushed him in their direction.

He came upon a group of drunken men, sitting around a small fire. They were laughing and talking loudly, one of them at the center of attention. This man, clearly the leader, was boasting about how he had ravaged the village. "It's great," he slurred. "We got so many valuables—jewelry, weapons,

everything." The others around him chuckled, agreeing with every word. Their laughter echoed through the woods, ringing in Alaric's ears and fueling his anger.

Without hesitation, Alaric lunged at them. He moved swiftly, tackling them one by one. They tried to defend themselves, but Alaric's rage was too overwhelming. One of the bandits, struggling to catch his breath, looked up at Alaric and gasped, "What's your problem, man?"

Alaric didn't give him a chance to speak. "You're the one who crushed the village?" he demanded, his voice rising. "How dare you do that?"The bandit, panting now, tried to catch his breath. "We just took orders from our master," he wheezed. "From Diablo."Alaric's grip tightened. "Where is this Diablo?" he snapped.

The bandit looked around, clearly nervous. "North," he said quickly, pointing in a direction. "You'll find him there."

Without another word, Alaric knocked the bandit unconscious and left him lying on the ground.

Alaric knocked the bandit unconscious with a single blow. The man crumpled to the ground, motionless. Alaric paused for a moment, catching his breath, then turned and headed deeper into bandit territory without looking back.

Meanwhile, back in the village, Claire paced anxiously near the edge of the campfire where Elyas sat, sharpening his sword.

"I can't believe he just left like that!" Claire said, her voice shaking. "We have to help him. He could be walking into a trap!"

Elyas sighed, his hands gripping the hilt of his weapon tightly. "He's always been reckless," he muttered, though his frown showed his concern.

Ben, the head villager, stepped forward, holding a rolled-up map in his hands. "She's right, Elyas. If Alaric is facing the bandits alone, he won't last long. He'll need all the help he can get," Ben said firmly.

Elyas hesitated, his jaw clenched. He didn't want to admit how worried he was, but Claire's pleading eyes and Ben's determined words left him no choice. Finally, he nodded. "Fine. We'll go after him. But we need to be careful. The bandits are dangerous."

Claire's worried expression softened into a small smile. "Thank you, Elyas. I knew you'd understand."

Ben handed the map to Elyas, pointing to a marked trail. "This is the way into their territory. Be careful—there are traps set up along the paths. They use them to catch their enemies easily. Stay sharp."

Claire and Elyas both nodded, taking his warning seriously.

"Thank you, Mr Ben," Claire said with a grateful smile. Elyas gave a quick nod of thanks as well.

"Good luck," Ben said, watching as the two gathered their weapons and supplies.

Without wasting any more time, Claire and Elyas left the safety of the village, their determination clear in their eyes. The sun was beginning to set, casting long shadows across the forest as they followed the path toward Alaric.

Claire glanced at Elyas as they walked. "We'll find him," she said, her voice steady. "We have to."

Elyas didn't respond, but the way he gripped his sword told her he felt the same

Back in the village, Ben knelt before the small shrine he had built for moments like this. His hands were clasped tightly, his lips moving in a quiet prayer. "Keep them safe," he whispered, his voice trembling. "Guide their blades and shield their hearts. Protect them in the battle to come."

The wind stirred the trees gently as if carrying his words into the heavens.

Meanwhile, Alaric was running through the dense forest, his boots crunching against the fallen leaves. He pushed forward despite the growing darkness, but his frustration grew with each step. He had no idea where to go. The forest seemed endless, and the direction toward the bandit camp was unclear.

As he slowed to catch his breath, his eyes caught sight of something unusual—a man sitting cross-legged near a calm pool of water. The man's eyes were closed, his hands resting on his knees as he meditated, completely still.

Alaric furrowed his brow and approached cautiously. "Hey!" he called out, his voice cutting through the quiet forest. The man didn't move, his focus unbroken.

Alaric stepped closer and raised his voice. "Excuse me! Do you know where the north is?"

Still, the man remained silent, his calm demeanor unshaken. Irritated, Alaric shouted, "I'm talking to you!"

At this, the man opened his eyes slowly and stared at Alaric with a piercing, serious expression. The intensity of his gaze made Alaric falter for a moment. Realizing his mistake, Alaric took a step back and lowered his tone. "I'm sorry for shouting," he said quickly. "I just need to know where the north is."

The man studied him for a long moment before silently raising his arm and pointing to the north.

"Thank you," Alaric said, nodding before sprinting in the direction the man had indicated.

The man watched Alaric disappear into the trees, his expression unreadable. Then, with a quiet sigh, he closed his eyes and returned to his meditation.

Elsewhere, Claire and Elyas ran through the forest, their urgency growing with every step. "He must be close," Claire said, her voice breathless but determined.

As they entered a clearing, they stopped abruptly. Around them, bandits lay scattered across the ground, unconscious or worse. Claire's eyes widened in shock. "Alaric," she whispered.

Elyas tightened his grip on his sword. "He's already been here," he muttered, scanning the area for signs of his friend.