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Elements of Chaos [Dark Fantasy - Sword&Sorcery]
Chapter 8: Kentai - A Not So Shining Knight

Chapter 8: Kentai - A Not So Shining Knight

LATE NOVEMBER 844 AQE

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…

The word had been racing through Kentai’s mind from the second he intervened. He had promised himself repeatedly that he would stop sticking his neck out for people and yet, here he was getting involved in somebody else’s mess! He didn’t even have a decent motive like valor or justice and that made him want to kick himself all the harder.

That’s not entirely fair… I had a secondary reason…

He’d felt the faint tug of magic when Wujun walked into the tavern, ebbing gently like the soft breathing of a hibernating bear. That he was obviously an untrained Zosara was not the only motivation though, oh no. If only his heart were so charitable to his own kind…

Stop lying to yourself! You opened your fucking mouth because he’s cute!

If he could have given body to that voice in his head, he’d have done so, just for the pleasure of running it through with a sword.

Kentai glanced over at Wujun, who was strolling casually beside him now, his head swiveling to take in every building, sign, and street with far more enthusiasm than was usual. If you’d seen one shitty village, you’d seen them all, except the odd young man appeared to be seeing this one for the first time.

It made the swordsman frown, intriguing and unsettling him all at once. He wanted to ask more, but he got the sense Wujun didn’t know more. The air of innocence about him was exactly the thing that had brought him trouble in the tavern. He was such an easy mark for the predatory bandits and thugs who slinked through the streets of Tiguri at night.

“Where are you staying?” Kentai finally broke the silence and came to a stop at a crossroads. He’d been leading them around in circles, hoping to lure out any attackers who might come for a piece of the well-dressed, naïve city boy. With no signs of an ambush, he believed it might be safe to walk Wujun home now. From this crossroads, he could easily navigate to anywhere else in the town.

“Oh.” Wujun blinked, as if to pull his mind back from far away. “The big cottage on the hill. I think it’s…” He glanced around to get his bearings.

Kentai had already started in the appropriate direction. “The Junjiko estate, huh? You either have important friends or deep pockets.”

A shadow fell over Wujun’s face at the remark, and he nodded absently. “Something like that, I guess…” He didn’t elaborate further. A frown line creased his brow and he seemed to drift away again.

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Tilting his head to one side, Kentai studied the younger man. After a moment, he opened his mouth to apologize for touching on a sensitive subject, but before he could get the words out, the hair on the back of his neck stood on end, alerting him to danger. He clapped a large hand on Wujun’s shoulder and yanked him out of the way just as a rock flew through the spot where his head had been.

Kentai didn’t stop moving or allow Wujun to stop either. With a glance, he had taken in the surrounding area and determined where the attackers would come from. There was only one place for them to take cover: the black alleyway. This was no more ideal, but the darkness would hide them from further projectiles and whoever was waiting in ambush would be easy enough to deal with in close quarters.

“What’s happening?” Wujun sounded alarmed, but not as frightened as Kentai would have guessed him to be. “Why are they attacking us? Who are they?”

“Questions later,” Kentai grunted, finally relinquishing his grasp on the younger man. He moved the hand to the hilt of his curved utzu and froze in place. The alley was pitch black. His eyes were nearly useless except to distinguish the shadowy outline of the walls and ground from the empty air. He closed them, letting his other senses take control. He could hear Wujun breathing beside him, slow and steady, despite the rapid thump-thumping of his heartbeat.

Impressive… he’s keeping his shit together well. He’s had training…

There were others nearby as well, their breathing not so controlled, and their footsteps as they advanced gave away their position entirely.

“Don’t move,” was the only instruction he had time to give Wujun before the pair of louts sprang forward.

Kentai kept his eyes closed as he struck, aware that their enemies might attempt to blind him with a sudden flash of light. In one swift motion, he had drawn his utzu and struck down the first thug, his blood coating the blade and spraying against the wall. He could hear the wet splatter, the anguished, gurgling gasp, and then the hard thud as the lifeless corpse hit the ground.

Neither sword nor warrior broke stride, the lethal steel thirsting for another hot drink with the lustful fervor of a desperate prostitute. In contrast, Kentai was as flat and emotionless as a granite slab. If he allowed himself to think of it, the weight of death would be too great to bear and yet the moment demanded action. Without hesitation, he struck for a second time, and in that single slash felled the other assailant.

A shiver ran through Kentai. He knew what came next; the price of taking a life for him was far steeper than that of any other mercenary. Even without opening his eyes, he knew they were there, could feel their confusion and grief taking shape.

“Am I dead?”

That was always the first question.

Kentai forced his eyes open, but did not look toward the translucent, shimmering figures hovering near their corpses. He fixed his gaze on Wujun, who hadn’t moved an inch since being ordered to remain still. His hand found Wujun’s in the dark and he tugged him onward, just as the wailing began; the spirits had seen their bodies.

The warmth of Wujun’s skin eased the tightness in his chest somewhat. Later, when he had time to process, he would find this curious, but at the moment he was too busy leading his new charge to safety.

Just as they reached the other side of the alley, there was a loud clamoring behind them. The rest of the gang had followed and stumbled upon their dead comrades.

Kentai and Wujun, hands still clasped together, ran down the street.