[960] – Y04.060 – Trouble in Red Oak III

[960] – Y04.060 – Trouble in Red Oak III

The Count could only watch, mesmerised by the scene. He held his blade ahead of him, but he couldn’t dare to step forward. The Count had fought in a number of wars, gathering so many medals, had he not been a Count, he wouldn’t have been able to afford a room to store them all. The Count had fought beside Iyrmen too, many of them among some of the best he fought alongside, not that he wished to admit it.

Even so, he had no idea what was befalling in front of him.

Even though the knights, the pair Masters, and still fresh to fight, both focused upon the crippled Iyrman, the old man refused to fall. It wasn’t just that he refused to fall, even with the pair entirely focused upon him, it was that he was still fighting, and placing down such heavy blows that the knight he was focusing had begun to step backwards. One of the Masters finally turned his attention to defending himself to the horcish Iyrman, who he could no longer ignore.

The Count could see with his eyes, but one thing he noted were the sounds that managed to push through his pulsing ears. He could hear the sound of steel against steel. The sounds of roaring, grunting, and groaning.

One was a knight by the name of Majestic Blade, whose bladework was almost like a dance. Yes, the majesty of his blade was well known, to the point that his blade could clash against some of the best within the various Orders across the land.

The other was a knight who equalled the Majestic Blade, Gentle Heart, they called him. His sister was more famous, as one of the few who breached the top thirty of the Three Hundred Blades, but should he want to, he could have certainly placed near his sister.

The grunting and groaning only came from his knights.

The Count knew war.

War was simple.

This?

He did not know this.

Another pair were also watching the fights, with their large, innocent, amber eyes.

“Halt!” came the shouts. “Halt! In the name of the law, halt!” Whistles blew, but were drowned out by the sounds which hypnotised the Count.

The guards rushed to the scene, wearing their long cloaks of deep red, their shields in front, while some drew their blades, and others held out their longspears from behind their companions up front.

“Halt!” the guards shouted, noting the Count, so instantly they turned their weapons to those who were no doubt the cause of the mess.

The Captain blinked. ‘Oh, Divines...’

Majestic Blade panted, unable to see through his blurry vision, holding up his blade desperately, swinging randomly, before finally dropping to a knee. Gentle Heart fared slightly better, holding his blade in front of him, but that was only because he was unable to feel his arms or legs. Meanwhile, the pair of Iyrmen towered before them.

The Iyrmen before them had stopped their onslaught as the guards appeared, though the guards didn’t step forward, waiting for their Captain, because even they knew they shouldn’t find any courage for heroics against the half dying old men.

The two Iyrmen spoke in their own tongue, which cut through the near stunned silence, and the ragged breaths.

“I should kill them,” Jarot said.

“You cannot.”

“I have to send the message.”

“You cannot.”

“Can you stop me?”

Rajin let out a sigh. “Jirot, your greatfather wishes to kill, but your mother will be upset.”

The gasp caused the old Jarot to glance back, seeing the pout upon the girl’s face, who had no idea she had been seconds away from death had they failed.

“What is this? I will not kill them!” Jarot declared.

Meanwhile, a figure in the shadows fell against the wall. ‘Did they teach the goblins the Iyr’s tongue? Are they Iyrmen? I didn’t hear anything about that!’

“We have kept them alive for the sake of Countess Redoak,” Rajin said. “You may consider it our weakness.”

The Aldishmen remained far away, even far away from the horcish Iyrman who carried the children, who were either horcs or goblins, but that was completely irrelevant. These random old men, who looked like they were half dying, had managed to defeat six warriors that belonged to Count Westmoon. Not just any warriors either, but the likes of Majestic Blade and Gentle Heart, while being outnumbered.

One of the guards, whose spear pointed towards the earth, stared at the crippled old man who wore a particular set of tattoos. ‘Blue circle. Blue diamonds?’ It was then the memories came to him from a few years ago, back when he had tried to apprehend another Iyrman.

‘If you wish to disarm me, it will be only after you pluck my shield and axe from my cold, dead hands.’

‘There’s no way he knows of me, right?’ the guard thought, his heart beating in his chest. ‘No, can’t be, no way!’

“Babo!” Jarot called, reaching up his hands to be lifted by the old man. “So cool! So ‘mazing!”

“So good at fighting,” Jirot confirmed, cuddling up beside the old man, feeling the sweat against his skin, getting some of his blood upon her clothing. She brushed his sweaty brow. “Oh dear!”

“Babo! I call mummy! She is help you.”

“Yes! Mummy is so good at helping! I also good at helping, babo.”

“Yes, your mother can help me, but is your babo not strong?” the old cripple asked.

“Babo so strong!”

“So strong!”

“That is right!” Jarot almost roared. “No one can harm you while I am alive!” The old man embraced the children close to his chest, his face twitching as he tried his best not to fall into another rage. Even bloody as he was, he held his greatchildren close, planting firm kisses on their cheeks.

‘What am I meant to do in this situation?’ the Captain thought.

“Of course, you smelly boy,” Adam said, pulling his son onto his lap, the boy almost making to cry, though he stopped once he was within his father’s arms.

“Who could not love you, my boy?” Jarot asked. “Hmph. Next time, I will kill them all, and you will see how much you are loved!”

‘So he fought two Experts and a Master?’ Adam thought. ‘He looks fine too, the old geezer. How the hell can you be this strong?’ Adam was fairly certain there was no chance he could defeat two Experts and a Master with just his martial abilities.

“You were unable to drop Gentle Heart?” Rajin teased.

“You took too long to defeat Majestic Blade for one who has both arms and legs,” Jarot joked back.

Rajin let out a small chortle, leaning over to rest his head on his fist. ‘I can no longer say the Mad Dog has lost his bite.’ Rajin understood why Zijin had asked him to come watch over Jarot, the Elder, in his wisdom, understood that there was only one way for the old man to regain his bite, and if that happened, someone like Rajin would need to keep him in check, or at the very least, try to keep him in check.

“Babo, I have it,” Jarot said, raising both his arms. “You can have!”

“I do not need your cute little arms.”

“Not cute! So strong, babo, so strong!” Jarot huffed, raising up his tiny chubby arms, clenching his fist into the air.

“They are so cute!” Jarot pulled his greatson onto his chest, causing the worker to tut, before she focused back on bandaging his wounds.

“Babo...” Jarot hugged his greatfather with both of his arms, having no idea the pain he was causing the old man, who refused to let out the hiss in the middle of his throat. “I love you.”

Jarot tensed up for a moment, and in that moment, the others thought they’d need to pin him down. “I love you too, my Jarot.” The voice came out choked, the old man pinning the boy to his chest, refusing to let him go.

“Babo!” Jirot called.

“Yes?”

“I love daddy!” Jirot cackled.

“Do you love me?”

“I... love daddy!” She cackled once more.

“You smelly girl, you can love babo too.”

“I love babo?” Jirot asked.

“Yes.”

“I can love daddy?”

“Yes.”

Jirot blinked, furrowing her brows. “I can?”

“Of course. What about nana? You love her right?”

Jirot looked down, shyly glancing towards her grandmother. “I love nana...”

“What about papo Jurot?”

“No!” The girl cackled.

“Why not?”

“Papo does not pick up! Does not carry me!”

“That’s because you’re always so scared because he can put you to sleep.”

The girl’s eyes darted around to try and find Jurot. “No! No! Not time for sleeping!”

“That’s right.” Adam ruffled her hair, feeling her thick and curly hair within his hand. “You have to love papo since he named you.”

“Name?”

“Yeah, my little Jirot. It was papo Jurot who named you.”

“Papo give me name?”

“That’s right.”

“Papo Jurot loves me?”

“Of course he does!”

“Okay.”

“Do you love him?”

“No!” Jirot cackled with delight, clapping her hands.

How dare they aim their blades towards our children!