[1052] – Y05.052 – Darkness Rising III

[1052] – Y05.052 – Darkness Rising III

“No,” Jurot said.

Theo raised his brows inquisitively, though his heart eased. It had been almost two brutal weeks of getting beaten, even though it was Jurot who put himself through the gauntlet. Theo always fought him first, for the chance to earn the twenty silvers. It was just twenty silvers, but since they could fight daily, it meant that he could earn more coin than the typical hundred silvers they earned monthly. It was Theo’s duty to tire him out enough for the rest.

However, they would only earn twenty silvers if they won, otherwise it was half, split between the five. He would fight first, followed by Thomas, then Alfie, then Aria. If they could not defeat him, then it would be up to Dunes. In his heart, there was a hope. The hope of being able to get lucky and all that coin for himself spurred Theo on, but they all ignored that particular offer, since there was no way they could defeat him before even the fourth person stepped forward. Unfortunately, it seemed those days had come to an end.

“The four of you should attack me all at once,” Jurot finally said, feeling the heat of the rage fill him. There was only a moment of the four blinking, before they charged forward, staves in hand as they assaulted the Iyrman. He, too, used a staff, beating them each senseless with surgical precision. His skin was like iron, threatening to break any staff which did not know its place as struck him. As the four fell before him, the heavily armoured Dunes charged forward, his magical longsword in hand, clashing with the Iyrman.

Dunes struck true six times within their bout, pushing his body to its limits as he swung his magical blade, shrugging off the clattering staff against his armour. He used his blade to strike true three times, while naturally striking true another three times, each time healing himself from Jurot’s onslaught. This day he pushed Jurot further he had previously.

While Dunes did not use his magic, Jurot did not wield his axe, nor held any shield. Dunes was fighting a weaker Jurot, and he himself repaid that in kind, though still used his magical blade so as to assist the workers in earning a greater pay. Yet, somehow, the Aswadian who had been trained at the Order of the Black Mountain, fell to his knees, panting wildly, feeling the sweat seep through his clothing from within his heavy armour. ‘Is this why Brandon the Great warned us?’

Jurot remained red hot with rage, feeling it pulse through his body, filling every pour with the intense need to kill, before it finally dissipated. He closed his eyes, allowing the breeze to cool his skin. “You did well. I almost fell.”

Dunes stared up at the Iyrman, who stood tall, his skin bruised, his side slightly bloodied. He inhaled deeply, sighing out, before standing, cracking his back. He tried to recall who he was meant to slip his silvers to that day.

‘Was he always that strong?’ Amira thought, the woman sitting to one side, with a few of the other mothers, each who were busy dealing with their own work, from teaching, to knitting, to repairing clothing or maintaining the business’ equipment. She had accompanied Jurot for some time, but she didn’t remember him being so monstrously strong, or her husband for that matter.

‘He’s not so bad,’ Bael thought. ‘Is he as strong as his brother, though?’ Even so, Bael wasn’t sure he could beat the Iyrman, fighting with only his fists.

Cobra also peeked at the fight, taking a small break during her work, with Viper and Python covering for her.

‘You are acceptable,’ Jurot had informed her when she had asked for training.

‘Acceptable?’ Cobra had already seen the difference between herself and Adam, but it appeared to her that the distance between herself and Jurot was equally as fathomless. Then, of course, there was Kitool. ‘Will she come to train us too?’ Her eyes darted to the side, to find her cousins, one in specific.

The Silver Fate squad remained at the business, assisting the group in their training. While Jurot assisted the new set of figures, Nirot and the rest assisted Cobra and the others. Their training was far lighter, though still quite difficult, training an hour every morning and an hour every evening as part of their duties.

Even though they were all training this way, Cobra could feel it. There was something else in the air. It was unspoken, but she understood. Though Jurot had called her acceptable, it meant she did not require harsh training as the others. While she was someone who could be refined into a true Expert, the others still needed to master the basics. Jurot’s training would quickly beat the others into shape, while also assisting Dunes.

‘Are they planning to use us for revenge against the Orders?’ Cobra thought. She wouldn’t have thought it, but when it came to them, she couldn’t rule anything out. ‘What am I meant to tell the children?’

The days continued to pass by, one day at a time.

Amira finally approached Dunes during a prayer. The Aswadian sat upon his knees, praying before the magical blade. The woman sat down on a stool, also bowing her head to pray a lighter prayer.

“You should go see him,” Amira finally said. “He will want to see you.”

“Did you both say thank you to nana for taking you out to see the statue?”

“I said it!” Jirot confirmed, while little Jarot nodded. “We are so polite, daddy!”

“Yes, you’re all so good.” Adam’s voice cracked slightly, pulling the pair closer to his chest. “My wonderful children, who are all so well behaved.”

As evening approached, the old, one armed, one legged Iyrman sighed. His body ached from his training, though the bath had soothed his muscles. He sat at the round table alone, the venerable Iyrman lost within his thoughts. He glanced around at the empty seats, before closing his eyes.

‘I am a Grandmaster now,’ Sarot had revealed, his voice low. Jarot remembered how his brother’s eyes had been awkwardly focused upon him. ‘I will take that role.’

Churot had sat upon Jarot’s leg, the same leg which remained. He could still remember the weight of the boy, even when he was still a toddler, and yet so quiet, so well behaved. Though he ate slowly, he still ate well.

‘Do you think Rirot will allow it?’ Jarot had joked, causing Tarot to laugh, before the old man stopped, noting Churot look up at him. Tarot beamed down at the boy, reaching out with a thick finger, rubbing the boy’s nose.

Jarot’s thoughts fell away as steps approached him, and the bald Iyrman, with the thick beard, sat opposite him. Jarot let out a small sigh, as though complaining at the old man for interrupting his thoughts. The old Iyrman poured himself a cup of wine, but stopped as Jarot shook his head.

“I will drink my milk.”

“Milk?” Rajin whispered.

“It is my favourite,” Jarot replied, simply, sipping the milk lightly.

“...”

A moment of silence accompanied the pair.

“Mad Dog,” Jarot said, before chuckling lightly. “Undying. The Kid.” He inhaled deeply. “It was because I am so weak, my brother is dead, and the youngest is training when he is needed here.”

“...”

“They should burn my tales,” Jarot growled, feeling the heat of the rage filling him, though it was kept at bay by the chill of his grief, the old man too tired to allow the grief to fuel his rage.

“I do not regret it,” Rajin finally said, watching as the old crippled Iyrman froze in place, before their eyes met.

Jarot slowly smiled, sipping his milk. “Let us share a drink when we return.”

“Okay,” Rajin replied, as though the pair truly would return.



It's still many chapters away, but I think it's worth the wait.