Consistent Chapter Length whom?
Chapter Three
The Weary
Despite no longer being under contract, Ace and Sabo's behavior did not change much at all. Ace seemed calmer, and both demons appeared to hold significantly more goodwill towards Marco than before, but other than that Marco could see no difference. They paused about a mile away from Farrow, well away from any prying eyes or suspicious ears, and planned. Marco found a spot on a fallen log; Ace sat against a tree that Sabo leaned on to his right.
"We have three options, but only two of them are in this direction," Marco explained, rolling out a large, waterproofed map on the ground. Using the bottom of his staff to point—he could almost hear Hancock muttering about improper use of magical equipment—Marco indicated the three locations while he spoke. "The church, the Waystones, and—" he hesitated, and Ace finished.
"The keep."
"Right." Marco indicated the church. "This is well to the East, two weeks' journey at least even if we travelled hard. The Waystones, however, are here—just west of here, about four days' walk. And the keep is beyond that and slightly to the north; a week's walk from here, but only three from the stones."
Ace regarded the map with a hard gaze. "If your traitor is not going to the stones or the keep, we'll have an extra two weeks of travel time. We'll be way too late to stop him."
"Better odds than betting everything on the church," Sabo pointed out. "Besides, I've no doubt that the church—even with its Purged victims—lacks the quantity of ancient magic that Teach needs. The stones and keep are the only options within any reasonable distance."
Ace still didn't look convinced, but he accepted Sabo's logic and looked to Marco. "Well, fearless summoner, this is your ship. Steer."
Marco gave him a dry look and then rolled up his map, shrinking it with a simple spell and returning it to his satchel. "The road to Alawane picks up a few miles from here. It's an almost straight shot to Alawane; we will find the Waystones about three quarters of the way there."
"Let me clarify," Sabo said, pushing off the tree, "since things have changed a bit since I was last here. The road from Farrow is not the road to Alawane?"
Marco shook his head. "No, as the road to Alawane is an ancient construction. The road from Farrow meets it at a fork; the roads to Alawane, Tristoff, and Arbor all branch from that location."
"You mortals and your confusing names," Sabo muttered with a shake of his head. "No wonder you spend so much time discussing the roads; no one knows which one you're talking about."
They stopped in the tiny village of Laifet, about a days' walk from Farrow, so that Marco could replenish his supplies. He purchased food from the local inn and bargained for beds for the night. While he was perfectly capable of sleeping outside, if he had the opportunity to avoid such a fate, he would certainly take it.
Ace and Sabo, wary of all the angelic imagery pasted around the town, were visibly uneasy.
"They don't know what they're worshipping," Ace complained during dinner. He kept his voice down, mindful of the suspicious glances of the locals. In such a small town, travelers were never entirely welcome. Marco considered it an unspoken wonder of the world, considering that the town was quite literally on the road to Alawane. "I mean, angels? Really?"
After Marco's near-death experience, Ace had been much more open. Marco wasn't sure what to make of his behavior just yet, so he settled for bemused amusement. "Ace, you do realize that we have precious little scripture about angels, much less any that proclaims them the righteous bastards you describe?"
Ace, in the middle of snacking on a strip of dried beef, choked. Sabo not-so-helpfully hit his back until Ace had recovered enough to shove him away. "'Righteous bastards'?" he repeated weakly.
Marco shrugged. "Your story forced me to do some reevaluation." The road gave plenty of opportunity for introspection, and while it was nauseatingly world-inverting to think about, the true natures of angels and demons simply were, whether or not Marco liked them.
Shaking his head, Ace leaned back against the wall with the beef hanging out of his mouth the way Thatch often chewed on pieces of grass. "Are you humans always this…malleable?"
"Considering that I am merely one individual, I can't answer that," Marco replied blithely.
"In any case," Sabo said, "we should watch our words for the duration of our stay. I'd hate to get chased out of another town by a crowd armed with pitchforks and torches."
"Another?" Marco asked, catching a glimpse of a grin twisting Ace's lips. Sabo mirrored the expression.
"Let's just say that Luffy was not always the most popular individual in town. Some people took…offense, so to speak, to his ideas."
"Violence, more like," Ace said.
"Let's not repeat that," Marco said. "The last thing I need is for a story like that with a physical description to reach the castle. Thatch would never let me hear the end of it."
Ace cocked an eyebrow. "The wounded one?"
Hearing his friend described like that made Marco deflate slightly. "Yes. Though I received a message during dinner that he is recovering nicely."
"So that's why you suddenly stepped out," Sabo said.
"Right. Kureha does not care much for timing—or appearances in a town that has likely seen a hanging within the past two hundred years."
Sabo frowned. "Are you serious?"
"Very. There are still many towns suspicious of magic, especially after the Great War. A stopping-point like this is probably more suspicious than most, given with how many strangers it must deal with."
"So if they found out you were Court Magician," Ace began, but Marco stopped him.
"Let's not finish that thought. I'd prefer if this was as uneventful a stay as possible."
Ace shrugged. "Fair enough." He pushed off from the wall and stood straight, cracking his back with a slight wince. "Sabo, watch?"
"Sure. Enjoy your rest, Court Magician Marco."
Marco could have sworn that Sabo had a wry grin on his face when he spoke, but the demon left too quickly for him to be sure.
After passing through the forked roads and sticking to the road to Alawane, the group made quick time to the stones, shortening the four-day walk to three and a half. When they got within a half day's walk of the stones, however, Marco stopped. As a farmer's wagon—pulled by a weary-looking donkey and driven by a weary-looking man—rumbled past, Marco led the way off the road.
"What is that?" Ace asked, wrinkling his nose as though smelling something unpleasant.
"Not sure," Sabo replied, disgust finding equal purchase in his lowered brows. "It's some kind of taint to the air."
Marco kept walking, following the magical energy still lingering in the air. He had been feeling it for the past hour, but only now had he been able to track it. While the energy was not a smell, it prickled at Marco's magical senses like an unpleasant odor. The farther he pushed his way through the trees, the stronger it became, until he had to resist the urge to put an arm over his face, a gesture that would accomplish precisely nothing.
Ace had tied his bandana over the lower half of his face and had his eyes squinted almost shut. The bandana's fabric shimmered with an enchantment, and Marco quickly saw the logic behind the action. He paused for a minute to wind his half-width cape around his face and neck like a scarf. The material, already enchanted with spells for protection against wear and grime, gained another enchantment. Soon, Marco could breathe again. He glanced to his right and saw that Sabo had a single enchanted glove held over his mouth and nose.
The three soon found the source of the taint: a clearing some ten yards by twelve, littered with debris and broken trees. Marco crouched by the nearest shattered trunk, tracing the splinters while he tried to puzzle out just what could have caused such damage. It was undoubtedly magic, but what spell? The taint in the air only told him that strong black magic had been used, and nothing more specific than that.
"Marco," Sabo called, his voice somewhat muffled by his glove. Ace and Marco picked their way through the debris to where Sabo stood in the center of the clearing. Sabo was kneeling over a deer carcass—or what Marco guessed was a deer carcass. The poor animal was scattered in gory pieces over several yards, with only its bones retaining some semblance of shape. Flies and other bugs buzzed through the air.
"Two days, at the most," Ace muttered, his voice laden with disgust no longer directed solely at the tainted air. "What a senseless killing."
"Who would do this?" Marco murmured, crouching next to Sabo to get a better look. From the scorch marks, he would hazard to guess that the cause was a combustion spell, but no combustion spell he knew of should leave such a taint in the air.
The trio examined the clearing for several more minutes, but no further clues presented themselves. Back on the road, Marco racked his brain for potential reasons.
"I've heard no tales of bandits near Alawane," he mused. "Certainly no rogue magicians. No peasant magician, no matter how talented, would senselessly waste that meat."
"They were likely practicing," Sabo said.
"Exactly what I was thinking," Marco agreed. "I just can't figure out what spell. None that I know of fit the taint; nor have the locals shown signs of panic or fear about mysterious explosions in the woods."
Sabo shrugged, a surprisingly human gesture, and glanced at Ace. "What do you think?"
Ace's eyes were far off, and Sabo had to physically prod him to get his attention. "What?"
"I asked what you thought about the clearing," Sabo repeated.
"I don't know," Ace said slowly, brows knitting. "Something about it—I can't explain. It felt familiar."
"Familiar?" Sabo queried, but Ace just shook his head.
"I don't know how or from where. Did you not recognize it?"
Sabo hesitated. "Well, maybe, now that you've brought up the possibility."
"If we find another location, we can see if it jogs your memory," Marco suggested.
"Let's hope we don't," Ace growled.
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