The bandit still hadn’t made any move. After witnessing what happened to his friends, the coward didn’t dare to take even one more step. The other two were writhing on the ground where they had dropped, their arms and legs twitching erratically, their bodies bending and twisting as they tried and failed to break free. Trapped and helpless, like insects stuck in a spider’s web. And clearly, the third man wanted no part in that. He hunkered down behind a tree, peeking out cautiously, watching and waiting, though for what, Viktor couldn’t say.

  Several minutes passed in silence. He remained completely still, using the time to steady his uneven breathing. The pounding in his chest had begun to settle, and the ache in his muscles had dulled a bit. It was time to go.

  He was pnning to use it. Yes, this was a good opportunity, and that bandit would make an ideal test subject. But it must not be here. Not in the middle of the main road that connected Daelin to the castle. Jeanne or Lloyd could pass through at any moment, and not to mention the two witnesses lying over there. He had to lure the man away.

  He reached into his pocket once more and withdrew all the silver he carried. He tossed them into the air, catching them as they fell. The coins rang out with a sharp clink as he juggled them in quick succession.

  Then, he darted to the side of the road, plunging into the tree-infested ruins of urban Voskryn. Only an idiot would fall for bait that obvious, but hey, smart people usually didn’t become bandits in the first pce. And sure enough, just a few seconds ter, he heard the sound of footsteps pounding behind him, crashing through the undergrowth.

  The road had been bad enough, but this was a whole new kind of hell. He had to weave through tangled brush, leap over crumbled debris, and dodge the splintered branches that cwed at his clothes. But still, he kept running, knowing that the man behind him was facing the same problems.

  He ran and ran, forcing his body to its limit. Then finally, he slowed to a stop, his legs quaking beneath him. He reached into his satchel and grabbed the waterskin with his sweaty finger. Unscrewing the cap, he brought it to his lips and drank deeply, the cool water rushing down his throat like a relief.

  He heard a rustling in the thicket. His pursuer must have arrived. As he turned, he spotted the bandit’s silhouette behind a nearby tree, peeking around its edge. Viktor couldn’t help but ugh. Really? After all that chasing, and the guy was still hugging trees?

  He tossed the coins onto the ground between them. “Go ahead. They’re yours if you want them.”

  Then he turned away, just enough to keep the bandit within the edge of his peripheral vision, and took another drink.

  The bandit didn’t move. He was suspecting a trap, obviously. But he wanted those coins. He had been chasing after Viktor for a while, and had suffered just as much. There was no way he would back down now, not with the prize right in front of him.

  At st, Viktor caught movement. The bandit was stepping out from behind the tree, slowly, hesitantly. He wasn’t directly facing the man, so his view was limited, but he was certain the man’s eyes were fixed on his hands, one holding the waterskin, the other brushing through his damp hair. He had made sure both of them could be seen clearly by his prey. He had no doubt the bandit had readied himself, prepared to immediately dive for cover the moment he reached for his pocket.

  Time seemed to stretch as the bandit crouched down cautiously, moving closer to the coins. And, just as he was about to touch the silver, Viktor hurled his waterskin at the man. Water spshed over the bandit, drenching him from head to toe in an instant.

  The bandit let out a startled yelp, stumbling backward, his hands swatting at the water that soaked through his clothes. His face was red with embarrassment and anger as he gred at Viktor. The fear of the silk-shooting tube evaporated as rage overtook him, and he barreled forward.

  “Damn you brat!” The bearded man yelled, grabbing Viktor’s colr. “What the hell are you—”

  The words stuck in his throat as he saw ice spiderweb across his sodden sleeves. And that was not the only pce. Frost was spreading everywhere, and fast, crawling up his limbs, wrapping him in its frozen grasp. He thrashed, but his waterlogged clothes had hardened into a cage of ice, locking his body in pce.

  The man was aghast. “What... what is going on?”

  Viktor took a casual step back. He raised his right hand to show the bandit what was on his wrist. “See this bracelet? A stupid gift from my stupid sister. But I’d asked a friend of mine to transfer the power of a certain Reliquary into it, so now I can use it to turn water to ice.”

  “What?” The bearded man’s eyes widened. Obviously, he had no idea what kind of nonsense the damn brat in front of him was going on about.

  Viktor watched the fear and confusion on the immobilized bandit’s face with amusement. Then he gnced at the bracelet, now housing the power of Bjorn’s Reliquary. This artifact was indeed very powerful. All he needed was a sufficient amount of water, and then he could do this with a mere thought.

  But turning water to ice was just one aspect of its power. Once the ice had formed, it could absorb heat from nearby liquids to create even more ice. And the human body, being mostly water, was especially vulnerable to this effect.

  He couldn’t freeze someone instantly by simply touching them, though. No, to create the initial ice, certain conditions had to be met. The more abundant, the more purified, and the more concentrated the water, the easier the process became. But once the ice took hold, it would then suck the heat and turn the body into a frozen statue.

  The question was how long it would take. When Bjorn used the Reliquary against his minions, anyone struck by the ice nces froze within seconds. But that battle had taken pce underwater. The water around the targets turned into ice first, which greatly accelerated the process. Now Viktor wanted to see how fast it could happen without the extra water to speed it up. And that was the purpose of today’s experiment.

  The fingers stiffened first. Knuckles locked, joints seized, tendons rigid. The bandit stared, horrified, as he could no longer control his own hand. He struggled against the unseen grip, but the soaked fabrics had fused to his skin, anchoring him in pce as though he were sewn into the air.

  The bearded man tried to scream, but Viktor cmped a hand over his mouth before any sound escaped. “Shh,” he said softly, as if he was hushing a frightened child. Anyone could be listening. Jeanne, Lloyd, the other two bandits, or even Rhea, who might still be out there, sitting like a duck instead of running away as she was told.

  The man now stared at him, and Viktor met his gaze. Was he begging? Cursing? Praying? Didn’t matter. He was wearing the same wide, wet eyes the King of Lyndor had worn when he witnessed what happened to his family. And just like that time, Viktor saw his own reflection in those eyes, smiling. The sort of smile one had when they saw someone else was falling apart, while enjoying every moment of it. And as he looked at himself like this, he realized that his current face wasn’t all that different from his old one. Yes, when he was still the boy who lived with Vera, his appearance was probably very simir to Quinn’s.

  He watched as ice began to sprout from the pores on the man’s face, like frosty stars scattering across his cheeks. Then his skin faded to a waxen gray, the color of blood turned still. The bandit’s chest hitched, each breath more shallow than the st. His lungs must have been nothing but ice shards by now. He convulsed once, twice, then froze mid-spasm, finally truly locked in pce.

  Viktor withdrew his hand, as though he had just brushed dust off a finished sculpture. The bandit, now encased entirely in ice, stood motionless before him, mouth half-open, eyes wide with terror forever etched into his frozen face. He didn’t spare the man another gnce as he turned and walked away.

  Then, it happened. The final aspect of the Reliquary’s power.

  With a crack splitting the air, the statue—once flesh, now ice—exploded. Shards of frozen meat erupted in all directions, sparkling briefly in the sunlight. A section of femur embedded itself in a nearby tree, while a piece of jawbone skittered across the bushes. Viscera, preserved in a ttice of ice, quickly melted upon hitting the ground.

  Viktor didn’t even flinch. He knew what was going to happen, so he had taken cover in advance. His clothes were not stained even one bit.

  There was no body left behind, as wild animals would take care of the rest. And even if anyone stumbled upon these scattered pieces, they would likely assume they belonged to someone who got mauled by a beast.

  “Now... where the hell am I?”

  When he ran away from the bandit, he just tried to get as far as possible, and didn’t pay attention to direction. Not like it mattered much in a dense forest like this anyway. Every tree looked the same, every path led to nowhere.

  Well, not really.

  Since the road from Daelin to the castle ran west to east, he must have headed east when he was chased by the bandits. He turned back to take down two, so he was facing west at that point. He then ran to the left side of the road to lure the third one, which meant he was now on the southern side of the city.

  North would take him back to the road, while south would lead to the river. With all the running he had done, he was probably closer to it now than to the road. If he were to get there, he could then follow the Voskryn back to the bridge. Yes, that was the best pn.

  He looked up at the sky. It was well past noon, and the sun no longer hung directly overhead, so he could now tell which way was west. With a slight grunt, he adjusted the strap of his satchel, which was now considerably lighter as the waterskin had been emptied. After recollecting the coins, he moved south, and it wasn’t long before the distant sound of running water reached his ears. He pushed through the underbrush, and soon enough, he found the Voskryn spread wide in front of him. He took a moment to catch his breath, leaning against a tree, his gaze scanning the wide, flowing river before him.

  And he saw people. On the opposite bank.

  Adventurers?

  The figures were too far for him to make out any clear details, but they were all visibly armed. He doubted bandits would risk walking that close to Daelin. In fact, he could see a couple of watchtowers lining the path.

  Wait. That road.

  His eyes swept the bank, and he quickly spotted a stream flowing into the river. Yes, it had to be the very stream born of the waterfall behind which y the entrance to his dungeon.

  And that meant the paved road on the other side must be the one Gideon had ordered constructed. He had never bothered with it, as he always went straight from his house, cutting through the forest. But he could see why the te Guildmaster had chosen this route. A bit longer, sure, but building a road along the river required less effort to clear the trees and other obstacles. Also, unlike other rivers of The One Thousand Streams, the water around the town was not infested by monsters, so boats could be used here to ferry people and goods.

  Viktor turned to the right and strolled beside the winding Voskryn. Not far off, the bridge y stretched across the river, and as he drew near, he saw three figures running across the span toward his side.

  He squinted. Was that... Rhea?

  Yes, it was unmistakably her. The same long brown hair, the same cloak.

  The girl must have made it back to Daelin safely, and managed to find some people she could ask for help. Now they were returning to the ruins to save him. Perhaps he should pick up the pace so that he could meet them before they ran into the forest.

  But then, he realized who were with her.

  A tall woman cd in a brown tabard, her golden hair bound in a thick braid, followed by a thin man, his gaunt face framed by a tangle of dark strands.

  Well, now this is getting interesting.