After finishing their supper, both of the weary travelers set up their respective 'beds' (Bakura pulled an old blanket from his bag, while Malik ended up gathering some straw from the back of the storehouse) and laid down for the night.

The morning came far too quickly for Bakura's liking, and he pulled the quilt over his head as the woodland birds started chirping. 'Ugh... those miserable little squawkers are lucky I didn't bring my slingshot...'

"Good morning, Bakura!~"

The tired blacksmith snarled and huddled deeper into the old blanket, cursing his luck. Of course the insufferable tag-along would end up being a morning person. Eventually the metalworker slugged out of his 'bed' and began digging through his pack for some sort of sustenance.

Breakfast consisted of two large, dry biscuits apiece (for once, the blonde foreigner could find no fault and tucked in without further complaint). Bakura groaned as he stood up and looked around the abandoned hovel. He slowly started to re-gather all of the supplies they'd left out the night before.

Meanwhile Malik was nearly bouncing about, clearly ready to hit the trail. "Man, I slept so much better without those heavy shackles! Thanks for that!"

Bakura let out a rough grunt of acceptance while he struggled to re-pack his bag. 'Curse this blanket... how did I even get this d*mn thing to fit inside in the first place?!'

"Here, let me help!" Malik grabbed a ragged piece of twine from the dusty floor and wrapped it around the bag. The tightened cord made it much easier to guide the remainder of the blanket into the hewn knapsack.

"...thanks." Bakura begrudgingly added. Yet the smiling ex-slave didn't seem at all put off by his companion's monosyllabic response.

"Wow, that's the first full word you've said today! You're really not a morning person, huh?"

"I'm not an anytime person!" The annoyed smithy snapped as he finally managed to close the buckle atop his pack. "I like silence, and clearly you two have never even been introduced!"

"Tch- silence is boring." Malik casually replied as they both stepped outside. He continued talking as they made their way down the road, leaving the dilapidated property behind. "I'd rather shake things up a bit, start something exciting, and discover something new! There's always places to go and people to meet- it's a big world, you know?"

"No, I don't." The crimson-eyed smithy muttered sullenly. "I have everything I need at my own estate."

"Oh?" Malik's expression suddenly turned devious, and he smirked as he sidled closer to the irritated 'ogre'. "So, you have a girl, I take it?"

"What possible use would I have for a woman?!" The irate journeyman snorted, as though his companion was mad for even making such a suggestion. "They're all too loud and whiny, and they wear far too much of that suffocating perfume cr*p!"

Malik grinned as he slyly nudged the other traveler's left arm. "Ah, so it's the same gender you're seeking?"

"Yes." The smithy immediately confirmed without thinking. But his eyes widened and he soon rounded on the now-snickering ex-slave. "I mean, NO! I don't 'seek' anything or anyone! I am content!" Bakura frowned as he kept his eyes firmly set on the path ahead. He could feel a bit of heat building beneath his skin, and he hoped his face wasn't growing red.

"Oh-ho?" Malik snorted. "Methinks the smithy doth protest too much... I think you're going to have to hire yourself a matchmaker one day."

"And I think you're going to end up in a shallow grave- soon." Bakura warned the unintimidated tag-along.

But the blonde fool only smirked and shrugged his shoulders. "Whatever you say, 'ogre'."

The frustrated iron worker didn't bother replying. 'This wretched journey feels like it's taking a lifetime to complete- and there's still two days left! I pray this 'sorcerer' isn't terribly skilled, or else I might be tempted to beg him to end both of our lives! Although I suppose we'll have to find the miserable b*stard first...'

The main road was mostly empty, but Bakura was able to glean from the few various passerby that the magician's property wasn't far- evidently the sorcerer also valued privacy, and was situated well before town's boundary lines began.

"So, it'll be on the left side, just past a thick grove of Rowan trees." Malik seemed to blink as he repeated what the last passerby had said. "Hey Bakura, what's a 'Rowan tree'?"

"It's a leafy tree with lots of berries... and if it's where that earlier farmer said, we should see some soon."

"Oh! Is that them?!" Malik eagerly pointed to the left side of the trail, where several rows of interspersed saplings were growing proudly.

"That's them." The smithy confirmed in a flat tone. "There should be an opening nearby..." Sure enough, the confident quest-goer managed to find a small path between the closely planted timbers.

"Wow..." Meanwhile, the dark-skinned follower was staring upwards in awe. The dark-leaved trees were dotted with brilliant bunches of red berries. Malik seemed intrigued by the vivid-yet-tiny spheres ('the plants of my homeland never bear red fruit!') and even wanted to see if they were edible. Normally, Bakura would be thrilled for any chance of 'accidentally' poisoning the pest; but the harried blacksmith knew he was on a deadline. So he quickly dragged the foreign fool past the grove, only muttering, "You can pick berries later- right now, we need to do some reconnaissance."

"Whoa..." Malik gasped as the modest forest gave way to a vast, open prairie. On the other side of the flat field was what could only be described as the estate they sought.

"That must be it." Bakura conceded as he took in the building.

It was an impressive bit of architecture- the main house was a sturdy, grand structure made of reddish-brown bricks and large, colorful windows. It almost looked like a cathedral, but then a second part had been added on to the far left side. The smaller partition contained a domed roof (complete with an observation deck, likely for star-gazing), a large windmill with many attached gears, and a series of odd markings and carvings that wouldn't be amiss in an ancient spell-book.

"Incredible!" Malik immediately took off across the field, scarcely slowing down until he reached the awe-inspiring estate. The white-haired metal worker sighed before reluctantly following after the noisy brat. 'May as well join him in inspecting the property... perhaps we can find a half-opened window or something...'

Bakura had wanted to handle things in a quiet, subtle manner. Alas, his bronzed companion soon spoiled all hopes for this plan when he accidentally knocked into one of the large cogs on outer wall of the mill. The metal icon somehow tapped against another metal gear, which lead to a deafening noise.

The loud *clanging!* sound reverberated several times through Bakura's head, and it took all his strength not to massacre the blonde klutz.

"Oops?" Malik wore only a slightly abashed grin as he apologized.

"Idiot! Have you no concept of stealth?!" Bakura hissed quietly towards the blonde. The smithy planned to continue with more berating terms, but was interrupted by a second noise.

The front door of the house had been thrown open, and a rather tall man strode out onto the stone front stoop. He was wearing dark blue robes over an ivory tunic. His arms and wrists were adorned with different pieces of silver jewelry; many of them holding precious stones.

"And just WHAT do you two fools think you're doing, trespassing on my lands and damaging my property?" The aggravated wizard declared in an unfriendly tone.

Bakura felt himself pause for a moment as he tried to think up a plausible excuse. This gave his ever-talkative follower a chance to (loudly) whisper in his ear: "I thought you said that the prince was guarded by a fire-breathing dragon!"

"Do I look like a dragon to you?" The annoyed brunette frowned at the foreigner. "I study magic- that does not make me a dragon any more than studying the stars would make you a planet."

Bakura put one hand over his face as he muttered sideways to his impulsive comrade: "I said he has a reputation like a fire-breathing dragon."

"Hmph- I have also garnered a reputation for not suffering fools." The magister added arrogantly before declaring: "-I am known as Sir Seto, the Indomitable- and I am also known for being a highly skilled 'Arsero' mage."

"..." Both the foreigners stared blankly for a moment, before Malik whispered (again, quite audibly) "...did that guy just say he's an '*rshole' mage? ...is that even a thing?"
"ARSERO, you uneducated boor!" The annoyed sorcerer snapped, losing some of his icy demeanor. "It's LATIN- it means I study 'the properties of fire!'"

"Ooooh." The blonde nodded before accepting the correction. "Hmm, yeah; that makes more sense."

"..." Sir Seto turned to the white-haired intruder and flatly declared: "Your companion must make for quite the conversational partner."

"Try traveling with him for hours on foot- felt like three bloody weeks." The foul-mouthed 'ogre' replied. "But all pleasantries aside, I'm guessing you're the tutor of Prince Ryou of the Southern lands?"

The steely-eyed wizard gave an abrupt nod. "I am. And what business do the two of you have with my apprentice?"

Spurred by their good luck thus far in finding the estate, Bakura decided to try a little gamble. "We are messengers, and have been sent to fetch him and bring him home. I am Bakura, also known as 'The Ogre', and this is my assistant, Malik. We bring word that Ryou's father, King Milde, has fallen ill."

"Oh?" The tall conjurer peered down at the visitors in a scrutinizing manner. "I heard no such news- pray tell, when was his majesty stricken?"

Malik quickly caught on, and eagerly interjected: "It happened very suddenly!"

"Indeed-" Bakura nodded, almost impressed by his tag-along's wit, "-evidently it is one of those foreign illnesses; no doubt brought by some exotic diplomat visiting from another kingdom."

"Interesting." A wide smirk grew across the magister's face as he spoke. "You have indeed woven a most colorful tale, Sir 'Ogre;' but you've also failed to notice one critical detail."

"Oh? And what's that?" The pale adventurer tried to calmly call the lankier man's bluff.

The dark-haired enchanter sneered. "I am a necromancer of great renown- my intelligence is only superseded by my wealth." Sir Seto's blue eyes seemed to flash with overbearing ire as he spoke. "Did you truly think that I would not keep an arcane scrying stone on hand, when I have the second heir of King Milde himself sharing my manor?! I am constantly aware of the outside world, and I know for a fact that the King is fine, and is currently meeting with his military leaders to discuss financial matters. Which means you two-" here he pointed one long index finger at the pair- "are imposters, out to commit high treason against the king... an offense punishable by death."

'Sh*t.' Bakura felt his face start to drain of all color- he should've known that a powerful sorcerer wouldn't be foolish enough to completely cut himself off from the outside lands. But if he was truly as skilled with fire magics as he claimed... they were both screwed.

"Tch- I thought as much. Fools." Sir Seto smirked as he started speaking as though he was giving a grand speech. The gloating victor didn't even notice that his audience had somehow dwindled to half its previous size. "Honestly, I'm impressed you even made it this far- you two are quite a pathetic pair of-!"

There was a painful *thunk!* sound as the rock collided with the side of the brash magician's head. The lanky conjurer instantly collapsed in an undignified heap of blue and ivory robes.

Malik glanced at the downed warlock in front of him before guiltily throwing the heavy stone aside. "Er, sorry... I didn't think he'd be that easy to kill..."

Bakura snorted as he noticed the crumpled robes shifting slightly. "He's not dead, yet... but we'd better hurry and find the prince, or else we will be."