“Babo, you fight so much?” the little Jarot asked.

“Yes,” the old one armed Iyrman replied.

“Why?”

“I fought because I fought.”

“I will not fight.”

“You will not fight?”

“Why not?” Jirot asked, reaching out to her brother’s hand, holding it gently.

“I do not like it.”

“Hmm,” Jarot replied. He wanted to nip such a dislike in the bud, but even he could not defeat his greatson’s adorable innocence. “If you do not wish to fight, then you do not need to fight.”

Little Jarot smiled, leaning in to rest his cheek against his greatfather’s chest, feeling the way it shifted, like the way Lanarot did with Sky every so often. He sucked his thumb, his eyes closing half way, as his sister joined him, the pair smiling at one another.

Jarot held his greatchildren close to him, a hand wrapped around the girl, who he couldn’t dare to drop his guard around. “When you were still young, your babo had to fight in the war. It was not the same fighting. That time, I fought for you, my Jirot, my Jarot. You were still so small, and troublesome,” Jarot said, noting the way Jirot peeked up at him, smirking, before returning back to sucking her thumb.

‘Hehehe,’ the girl thought.

“I went to bring you glory.” The old man frowned, leaning his head back so his children would be unable to see his face. He closed his eyes, his knee throbbing.

“Babo beat up Aldishmen,” Jirot said.

“Yes, I did.” The old man smiled.

“Daddy tell me you fight and fight, and you are so strong.”

“Your father?”

“Yes, daddy always telling me you are so strong!” Jirot said.

The old Jarot glanced back down at the pair, a wide grin across his face. “Do you know that your father is my grandson.”

“I know! I know! Nano tell me!” Jirot said, sitting up taller. “Papo is your grandson too!” She cackled as though it was forbidden knowledge.

“Yes.” The old Iyrman smiled, kissing their foreheads. “I helped the Aldish against the Florians, but I fought the Aldish too.”

“You take arm,” Jirot said, holding up her hand. “You did not take my arm, because it is my arm.” The girl smirked.

“That is right. I took his arm, do you know why?”

“He is bad?”

“The brat from Black Moon, she was cheeky, so I took her arm!” Jarot laughed wildly. It wasn’t the first time he had spoken the tale, but they had been so young back then.

“Babo, I am cheeky too!” Jirot cackled.

“You are cheeky, but you are my greatdaughter, so you are allowed to be so cheeky!”

“Kekekeke!” The little girl squealed with delight and covered her mouth as she shook within her greatfather’s arm, while the little boy smiled.

“Not all the Vice Commanders were so cheeky,” the old man admitted. “There was the Vice Commander of the Order of the Thousand Hunts, Sir Kris Huntsmaster. He was not so bad.”

“He is good boy?”

Jarot thought of the girl’s words. He glanced down towards her. “Are you going to bully him?”

The girl smirked. “No?”

While the trio cackled together, it was the grandsons of the Mad Dog who caused trouble within the Order of the Black Moon.

Jurot stood, holding his axe in front of him ready to fight. He knew there were only two ways to calm a Northerner. The first way, and the most preferable way for an Iyrman, was to beat them. The second…

There was only one person in their party who could utilise both ways, but it was a forbidden card to be played in case of emergencies, a way which would only bring forth a darkness across the land.

‘I cannot allow us to play the card,’ the Iyrman thought, holding his axe towards the Oathsworn in front of him, the pair giving off an aura, ready to kill.

Adam remained sitting, his arms crossed, his face blank. ‘Of course these guys are going to fight each other. Why did I think there was any other option? Seriously, how can everyone be so…’

Jane and Marshal Black watched the way the pair fought, dancing the dance of death. The Order was an Order from the North, meaning they didn’t send a Vice Commander to face the Iyrman, but rather an appropriate young woman around Jurot’s age. Jane was rather impressed by the young woman, barely in her early twenties, and yet already an Expert, and no doubt also far more capable than herself at the young woman’s age.

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Yet.

Though the pair fought with great strength, and though the explosion of thunder rumbled through the fort, the young Iyrman, who should have fallen with such a great blow, managed to strike back with an equally heavy blow. The difference between Jurot and the young woman wasn’t that one was a Rage Dancer, and the other an Oathsworn, nor that one was a man and the other a woman. The difference was that, when one of them struck true, they could use their Divine Smite to slay their opponent, and the other?

Phantom’s magic exploded within the young woman’s mind, causing her to stumble backwards, and though she fell, Jurot grabbed her shoulder, so that she didn’t fall so harshly upon her head.

“Your grandfather was not quite so considerate,” a voice called through the air, an older man, who wore full plate of dark steel, an amulet of a black moon. The wrinkles upon his face were outmatched by the scars on his face. His hair was stark white, like that of the snow of the north which had begun to fall. His eyes were soft and gentle, like that of a father’s, but within those eyes, a measured control.

“Grand Commander,” Jurot said, sheathing his axe, bowing his head.

The old man removed the young woman’s helmet, noting the blood trickling out of her nose. He brushed her face gently, sending warmth through the young woman, who gasped for air, before coughing.

“Mabel, rest within the temple,” the old man commanded, before standing up once more, clasping his hands behind his back, before his eyes fell across the Iyrman. His eyes were still soft, but as they passed from the Iyrman to the demons, they were suddenly far more vicious.

Lucy frowned, feeling the intense pressure against her, while Mara crossed her hands over her navel, standing tall and proud, and ready to fight.

The Grand Commander’s eyes then fell to Adam, then to Jaygak, then to Kitool, then to Jane and Marshal Black. He bowed his head lightly towards the Marshal, who returned a bow of the head, though even he could feel the sweat drip down his back.

“Bloody Jarot…” the Grand Commander called out the name, closing his eyes, reminiscing of the past. “There were few as vicious as he in my time.”

“Yes,” Jurot said, standing up taller, his lips twitching slightly.

“The difference between myself and all the members of the Black Moon are that I had come across Bloody Jarot once before.” His eyes remained silence. “I was still young myself, a few years older than Mabel perhaps, when we crossed paths. He was strong, vicious, a Mad Dog they called him. In some ways, that is true, and I hear, in some ways… I misspoke, there is another who had come across him too.”

A single chuckle filled the air.

Three sets of eyes turned to Adam, whose eyes had fallen to another, before he felt them upon him. He glanced between Lucy, Jane, and the Marshal, furrowing his brows, hurt by the accusatory gazes, before his eyes fell to the young Iyrman chuckling.

It wasn’t just any Iyrman, but the expected Iyrman.

The Grand Commander noted the young woman’s red x, flanked by three yellow tilted kits on either side. “You must be her granddaughter?”

“I am her grandniece,” Jaygak replied, certain who the old man was talking about.

“I appreciate your grandaunt’s consideration when she visited our Vice Commander.”

“My grandaunt understands what it means to come under the axe of the Mad Dog, though, she still likes to poke him,” Jaygak said, her lips forming a wide smirk.

‘Flame Brand, was it?’ The Grand Commander’s thoughts fell upon the pair of Iyrmen. The grandchild of the Mad Dog, and then the grandniece of Flame Brand, who had forced several Orders to come together in Aswadasad to force her away.

“What brings you all so far north?” the Grand Commander asked.

“We have business in the North,” Jurot said.

“What kind of business?”

“…” Jurot remained silent, allowing Adam to take the bait.

“Why are you being so shy?” Adam asked, right on cue, causing Lucy, Mara, Jane, and the Marshal to stare at him. “Jurot recently became a father, and I recently had my seventh child, so we’ve decided to win the nightval tournament.”

A silence fell across the air.

An avalanche of laughter erupted, tearing through the silence.

‘Eh?’ Adam thought. He had thought they were laughing at the group, but this was a different kind of laughter.

“So, you had children!” the Grand Commander almost shouted. “Congratulations!”

The North, whose entire numbers barely reached just the capital city’s numbers, held children in high regard too. Jurot wasn’t sure if he should have allowed Adam to uncover what he had sworn to hide for the season, but Adam, whose face was full of shock, glanced around like a deer in headlights, before smiling slightly.

Quest Complete: A Northern Welcome

XP Gained: +100

XP: 1 400 -> 1 500

“Isn’t it unfair?” Adam asked, sipping the drink, as the Northerners poured him cup after cup. “How can he do this? He’s already so strong, handsome, and smart. Having cute children was my thing, but he took that away from me too? My own brother betrayed me like this?”

‘He’s gone too far,’ Jaygak thought, but she ignored how cringe Adam was being since he had behaved for so long, and they were so close to North Amber now. They were but a day away, by next evening, they would be at North Amber, the second greatest city in all of the North.

Grand Commander Sebastian poured Jurot a drink, who raised his cup, sipping at the wine. The pair sat opposite one another, remaining silent for a long moment. The Grand Commander had already stated his congratulations, so there was nothing to talk about.

Except for that.

“You are as strong as your grandfather at his age,” Grand Commander Sebastian said. “Perhaps stronger?”

“Grandfather is stronger,” Jurot said.

“Even so, you have yet to cause as much as a mess as him, and for that, we should be thankful.”

Jurot didn’t want to mention the reason why he didn’t cause such a mess, but he allowed the reason to continue to complain and to rant and rave about his children to the rest of the Order. “I have come to win the tournament and leave. We will not stay long in the North.”

“Will you stay during the Twilight Month?”

“It is likely.”

“Allow me to warn you, for there has been some sightings of savagery across the land recently,” Grand Commander Sebastian informed.

“Okay,” Jurot replied. “Thank you.”

Jane and the Marshal remained silent, glancing between one another, while the half elf showed himself to be a fool. However, what could they say, when they had seen Jurot beat a rising star of the Order so swiftly, and yet, somehow, the fool was considered to be stronger?

The next afternoon, as the group made their way north, the soft rain of nightval bouncing off the stone road, the carriages stopped.

“What are those?” Adam asked, squinting his eyes.

“Ice trolls,” Jurot replied.

“We’ve come across bears, wolves, but ice trolls? So close to the Order?” Adam asked, as though he understood the significance of such a thing.

“They must have travelled through the mountains,” Jurot said, donning his shield. “They are dangerous.”

“How dangerous we talking?”

“There are five of them, so we may die if we do not kill them quickly,” Jurot said, holding up Phantom, swinging it several times to warm himself.

‘Why are they talking so casually when the ice trolls are charging at us?’ Marshal Black thought, grabbing his sword, which seemed to be made of stone.

‘These guys are fucking crazy,’ Jane realised, having drawn her blade midway, pausing as the thought crossed her mind.

The howling of the wolves filled the air, as the trio of awakened wolves eagerly awaited the impending death.