“Last year, Jurot placed first in the tournament,” Fred said, nibbling the cheese the soldier offered to him. It was a few days away from going off completely, the sourness dancing all across his tongue. “He placed first in his segment. He fought against Sir Logan, who wielded a weapon from back in the old times, one of those the order gives to their heirs. Third Ice, I think it was called.”

“So he beat one of those from the Order of Ice Blades, eh?” Phil replied, no longer picking at his food or drinking, instead keeping a keen eye on the young man before him, and an even keener ear.

“Yeah, that’s right,” Fred said, keeping the old man’s gaze. “He fought against Sir Gordan too, who was trained by the Grand Commander of his order.”

“Which order?”

“The Order of the Thousand Hunts.”

“He was trained by Sir James Greatwood?” Phil asked, sitting up taller, and suddenly the rest of the soldiers turned their attention to Fred. Sir James Greatwood was a Florian, though unfortunately had been found outside of the land when chaos erupted.

From what the captain recalled, the Grand Commander had remained within East Port, under the excuse he was going to keep any Aswadian assault from the sea at bay. His presence alone wouldn’t have done such a thing, but it was in the last year when Sir James Greatwood had revealed something to the world.

He was a Paragon.

Fred, the young Florian man, was an Expert, a respectable position.

The knights defending the Commander were Masters, some of the greatest warriors one could ask for.

Jarot, the Mad Dog, was yet to become a Grand Master, but this would place him among legends of the land.

Then there was the realm of Paragons. From the tens of millions of people across all of Aldland and Floria, the number of Paragons could be counted upon the hand.

King Merryweather was a Paragon. He was widely considered to be the strongest across all the land, the old Guardian who had been the King’s Sword for the last three kings of Aldland. He was also considered the strongest King’s Sword to date.

Then there was Lord Marshall Royce, the previous Knight of Death, King Merryweather’s contemporary, who was one of the few who could clash with the old King as an equal.

Then there was Sir Robin, the leader of the Order of Wings. It was the longest standing order to date, save perhaps those from Aswadasad. Unlike other orders, the entire order numbered barely in the couple of dozens officially, and those which held the avian titles, only eight.

Sir James Greatwood numbered among such figures now, the Grand Commander of the Order of the Thousand Hunts, a prestigious order which came from Florian lands. Two of the Paragons were natives to Florian lands, a great achievement for the once duchy, now kingdom.

“Kitool, the woman with the staff also faced against the likes of such great warriors,” Fred said. “She also beat them. She not only beat them, but like Jurot, she beat the Iyrman who had placed third too.”

“The de-,” the captain began, before clearing his throat. “The woman in the plate?”

“No. She dropped out of the tournament after the first few stages. If she joined again, I’d have no doubt she’d be able to place in the top ten, but the one who placed third was the cousin of the Iyrman with the greatsword, Naqokan.”

“She fought well,” Phil said, nodding his head slowly. “Cousins?”

“Cousins,” Fred confirmed. “There was another Iyrman who should have placed fourth, but he had come across Kitool too.” Fred’s lips refrained from twitching. “Those two with the greatsword, their cousins are aiming for the title of Chief in the Iyr.”

Phil’s brows raised in surprise. “They must be two of many to aim for the title.”

“I would bet a lot of money either one of them becomes the Chief,” Fred said. “I’d bet my life on it.”

Phil had no idea the group was full of so many great Iyrmen. To think so many of them were related to great figures, or future great figures in the Iyr. He wasn’t sure what was so impressive, that they were related to such great figures, or that Fred spoke with such conviction.

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“Kitool fought them, both of the future Chief canditates, and won.”

“The girl with the staff?”

“She placed second in the tournament,” Fred said. “Second only to Jurot.”

“Makes sense…” Phil’s eyes fell to the side, looking through the tents to see Fate’s Golden off to the side.

“She would have placed first but she held back,” Fred said.

“What?”

“The staff she has is a magical staff, but she didn’t use that staff, she used a different staff, one that wasn’t suited for battle, not as much as this one is anyhow,” Fred said. “She held back and almost beat Jurot, even though he wields the best weapon among us all.”

“…”

“They say her grandaunt is a Paragon too.”

Phil’s brows raised in alarm once more, his eyes glued to Fred. ‘A Paragon?’ His eyes snapped to the side as he spied the young Iyrman who was talking with her cousin. “Her grandaunt’s a Paragon?”

“That’s what I heard.”

“…” Phil wasn’t sure if he should believe that.

“The other Iyrman, in the armour, Jaygak, who dropped out from the tournament, they say her grandaunt’s was pretty famous back in the day. Flame Brand, I think?”

“I can’t say I’ve heard of her.”

“She was more active in Aswadasad,” Fred said. “They say she’s a Grandmaster too.”

‘Are they all related to monsters?’ Phil thought, feeling a chill enter him.

“She fought against Lord Asa too, and made out better than Mad Dog,” Fred said, trying to hammer in the point, though the older man’s heart couldn’t handle any more. “I reckon she could face any Vice Commander of any order with a good showing, and that’s me being generous.”

“I’ll keep an ear out for their future stories,” the Captain said. “I might not live long enough to hear them all, but I can at least listen and pass them along.”

Fred led out a long sigh. He paused for a long moment. He had said quite a bit, but nothing the Iyrmen themselves wouldn’t have said, he was sure of that. “You see that big lad? Not the Iyrman, the other one. Nobby. Used to be a porter a few years ago. He was a big lad, but not a somebody. Boy was barely seventeen when he was trained by Mad Dog’s grandson.”

Phil whistled. “Lucky kid.”

“Lucky kid came first in the tournament against all the other Iyrmen we talked about,” Fred said. “Naqokan and all them, not the older ones. He fought all of them and beat even Mad Dog’s granddaughter.”

The soldiers remained silent as they listened to every word the young Florian man was saying.

“Then there’s the other big lad,” Fred said. “He’s the grandson of the previous Elder Wrath.”

“The previous Elder Wrath?”

“Wildheart.”

Phil leaned back, his eyes falling to the group once more. He had never heard of such a party travelling the land before. These kids, whoever they were, were no doubt somebodies in the Iyr, and would end up rocking the world with their stories. Every fibre of his being had come to that conclusion. ‘Mother take me.’

“I’m below average,” Fred said. “I’m not sad about it. I’m not dreaming for anything big. I don’t want to be a Gold Rank adventurer like Jurot. I don’t want to be Silver like the other two. I don’t want to be no Chief of the Iyr either. I just want to get married, have my own kids, have a few drinks in the evenings, that’s all.”

Phil could see the look in Fred’s eyes. He was a man who had found a purpose in his life, but he knew his limits. No, it wasn’t that he knew his limits, it was that he had limited himself, because he knew not to fly too close to the sun.

“All these Iyrmen,” Fred began, almost whispering. “They’re all so… prestigious. They’re all amazing. They’re all… they’re all following the same guy, same as me. The half elf in purple. He’s Jurot’s brother, but he’s no Iyrman. He might not be an Iyrman, but…” Fred shook his head. “I’ve only seen him be beat twice, and I’ve heard him been beaten three times. Mad Dog beat him first. The third time, I heard it took the three Iyrmen, Jurot, Kitool, and Jaygak.”

“The second?”

“…” Fred swallowed. He wasn’t sure what he should say. It wasn’t that he couldn’t say it, but rather, he didn’t want to say it. To speak such names, it was dangerous. “When I first met Adam, I was dying. I… I thought about Rock Hill. Roundmund. Gunthers. The Aswadian merchants that would come by and sell their jewellery.”

“I thought about the fields I used to play in when I was a boy, and the mud that used to get stuck on my boots. Ma’d get mad when I came back with all that mud, and Pa’d spank me. I used to curse at them when I was a boy, but then I’d eat the porridge, sad I couldn’t eat a peach. Didn’t track mud much after that…” Fred smiled at the thought, but it passed within a moment.

“I thought about how I couldn’t…” Fred sipped some of his ale, Phil nodding his head in understanding. “I was half dying. Adam rushed over to me, let me sip water from his skin. Within the week we met some… thing. It’s name was Lord Stokmar. You know the stories about the moving mound?”

“Earthenbeast, aye,” Phil replied, nodding his head slowly.

“I met it.”

Phil’s head sunk slightly, his eyes narrowing. “It’s just a story to put kids ta bed. I used to…” Phil swallowed, recalling the memories of telling the tale to his own children whenever he could return.

“Lord Stokmar, they call ‘em.” Fred remained silent for a long while. “I hear Lord Stokmar’s apparently about as strong as Lord Asa. We…” Fred remained silent for a long moment later. “I met… someone related to Lord Asa. Apparently, just as strong. I saw him…” Fred shook his head lightly, recalling the memory. “A being like Lord Asa beat him. I don’t mean he surrendered, like how he surrendered to Sir Roseia and Sir Karra. I mean beaten. He was… he was half dying. When he fought Sir Roseia, he almost killed her with a single blow. He tried to fight a man who spat on the gods, and he was almost killed. He probably didn’t want to. He probably didn’t even have to, he could have-,”

A horn blew threw the fort and quickly the soldiers shot to attention, even Captain Phil, who had been so engrossed by Fred’s words, and the intense look of terror within the boy’s eyes. He was almost glad to be pulled away from the tale, unsure if his heart could handle it.

Yet, Fred remained seated. He sipped the ale slowly, wondering what Adam had done this time.

Adam stared up at the sky. “Jurot…”

“Yes,” Jurot replied.

“Is that a…”

“Yes.”