The Sorcerer Who Loved Magic But Hated Reading

Alaric, Elyas, and Claire walked quietly through the village. The dirt path was lined with houses, some still standing while others were crushed, their wooden beams splintered and walls caved in. Smoke hung in the air, and the eerie silence was only broken by the occasional sound of a distant cry. The three of them exchanged worried glances, unsure of what had happened here.

As they continued their walk, their boots crunching softly on the ground, they noticed the signs of devastation—abandoned carts, spilled goods, and a few villagers sitting despondently by the ruins of their homes. Alaric clenched his fists, his brow furrowed with frustration. Claire's face reflected sadness, and Elyas maintained a calm, thoughtful expression.

Near the village square, they were approached by an older man with a weary face and a staff in hand. His clothes were tattered, and he looked as though he hadn't rested in days. He paused in front of them, his eyes lighting up with a glimmer of hope.

"You… are you the guild from the south?" the man asked, his voice trembling with a mix of desperation and relief.

Elyas stepped forward and nodded. "Yes, we are," he said with a humble tone.

The man's shoulders sagged slightly, as though a heavy burden had been lifted. "Thank you for coming to help us," he said, bowing his head in gratitude.

Elyas shook his head gently. "No, it's alright. It's what we're here for. But may I ask… what happened to this village?"

The man's expression darkened as he looked around at the destruction. "Bandits attacked us. They took everything—our food, our tools, even the little jewelry we had. There's nothing left for us."

Alaric's eyes blazed with anger. "What? Bandits? I will not forgive them for this," he growled, his hands tightening into fists.

Claire's voice wavered with sadness as she looked at the man. "I'm so sorry this happened to you."

Elyas sighed deeply, his expression firm. "What thieves. What cowards."

Alaric turned back to the man. "Do you know where the bandits might have gone?"

The man shook his head helplessly. "No, I have no clue. But please, help us. Some of my comrades are badly wounded. Can you tend to them?"

Elyas immediately nodded. "Of course. Where are they?"

"This way," the man said, leading them to a small gathering of injured villagers. They were huddled under a makeshift shelter, their faces pale and their wounds hastily bandaged.

Claire knelt beside one of the injured, her voice gentle as she reassured them. She quickly began tending to their wounds with the supplies she carried. Elyas turned to Alaric. "Help them. They need us."

Alaric grumbled under his breath but eventually relented. "Fine," he said, kneeling beside another wounded villager. He placed his hands over a deep cut, and a faint glow emitted as his healing magic took effect.

Elyas joined them, moving from person to person. Together, they worked swiftly and efficiently, easing the pain of the injured and stabilizing their conditions. Alaric's scowl softened as he saw the relief on the villagers' faces. Claire's hands were steady as she cleaned and wrapped each wound. Elyas' calm guidance ensured they missed no one.

The villagers, though weary and broken, began to express their gratitude through soft words and nods. For the first time since entering the village, a faint sense of hope started to bloom amidst the ruins.

Alaric's face was red with anger as he confronted the villager. "What's the reason they keep attacking a small village like this?" he demanded. "They don't even have the guts to face a real fight, do they?" His voice was sharp, and his fists were clenched tightly.

Elyas placed a calming hand on Alaric's shoulder. "Alaric, you need to stay calm," he said firmly. "Getting angry won't solve anything right now." Claire stepped closer and nodded, her voice gentle. "Elyas is right. We have to think this through."

The villager, looking weary and defeated, sighed deeply. "They attack us every two or three months," he explained. "We barely have the strength to fight back. They come at night, when we're sleeping. It's chaos. People wake up to their homes burning. They attack house by house. Their leader… he's too strong. His name is Dragon. He's a devil who does whatever he pleases."

Alaric's eyes narrowed. "A devil, huh?" he muttered under his breath, his anger simmering just below the surface.

Elyas's expression changed, as if he'd just remembered something. "Dragon… I've read about him," he murmured. Claire's face twisted with anger. "That monster," she said softly, her voice filled with frustration.

The villager continued talking, describing the bandits' methods, but Alaric's patience had already worn thin. Without a word, he turned and walked toward the door.

Elyas called after him. "Alaric, where are you going?"

"To find them," Alaric replied bluntly, not breaking his stride.

Elyas frowned and stepped toward him. "What? Don't be reckless! We don't know how strong they are, or even where they're hiding. We need a plan!"

Claire quickly chimed in. "Elyas is right, Alaric. You can't just charge in without knowing anything."

Alaric spun around, his voice filled with frustration. "So what? We're supposed to just sit here and do nothing while these people suffer?" He didn't wait for an answer and continued walking out of the building.

Elyas sighed heavily and let him go, shaking his head. "He's always like this," he said, more to himself than anyone else.

The head villager looked alarmed. "Are you sure you should let him go? He might get himself killed."

Elyas waved a hand dismissively. "Don't worry. He's strong. But… he's always been like this. Charging ahead without thinking. He can't even name his magic properly."

The head villager frowned, confused. "Name his magic? What does that mean?"

Claire stepped closer to Elyas, her voice low. "Are you really sure about this, Elyas? He might face someone too strong for him."

Elyas nodded slowly. "I'm sure. He'll be okay. trust him.