There's no more crying over spilt milk. It is how it is. There's nothing we can do about it. I knew he was incompetent and he has much leeway dawdling here. God damn it! So now do I have to try to compensate by using my men for your inconvenience? You better patch it up before it becomes an exacerbation. Between you and me.
"Lord Aisla, is the preparation still holding up?" Lord Geoff is referring to the circumstances of the defense, as he casually tries speaking to me.
"Ehem…" as I snide coughing towards his statement, in the allusion of 'do not talk to me' gesture, and whereby I roll my eyes over him.
"Uhmm…" he stutters, undertaking to catch my attention once again, then I leave him hanging by glancing off my facet away from him.
"Hey! Don't turn your back away from me. I am still talking to you." Lord Geoff incites, crying from afar.
Don't you ever say my name out of your Goddamn filthy mouth and stop bothering me, I have better things to do. I never should have taken a command from the likes of 'you'. You are an inconvenience, being too complacent since we have been in peace for too long - more than a century.
To wind up and to extinguish my ire against the man whom he neglected the obligations appointed to him, I tread straight to the recreational chamber - a venue near from the outside of the castle walls of this domain of this fortress. And there I find my platoon reveling, prancing, competing against and with each other.
"Lord Aisla! We are pleased to welcome you in flesh, my lord!" in a pleasant tone, as I meet one of my troops who can gobble and relish a dish on a plate.
"Hey, what's new?" in a subtle manner, as I am surprised, confronting him with a fist bump afterwards.
"A last night for ourselves, my lord. The dusk is still beginning and as the overture of evening is coming." he retorts.
"And?" beckoning a face with my eyebrow raising, I say.
"Cheers to those who might survive! Cheers to those who can't! Alas, cheers to those who may not have a tinge of a lavender whiff." hoisting his palms upward with a mug on his hand, as the crowd follows his roar.
Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.
Clyden, he is such a rabble rouser - a demagogue. In a good way, however. He is a tall, fair man. Well-built, in terms of muscle mass. He is also bright, possibly more adept than me. Knowing his demeanor and behavior, he still regards me as his respected superior despite him having thrice taking an education. He took it abroad on all of those three attainments. All of them are martial focus: one when he went to the harbors of Haganalopolis and as he took his maritime naval science and arts, and the other one is when he got his schooling from the city Zyxperis in the another 'Plane' - a military education in land and terrain tactics, and the last one is the most and yet the prestigious one that he got because Clyden pursued his military strategy at Inglovia and as he aced his class with flying colors.
Befitting to his feats and achievements, he is qualified to be the marshal of Kehina and of course, I am going to accept the fact he is more capable than what my abilities could offer to this nation if he does try taking my position over. Clyden in a humble declaration refused the offer and denouncing his vie to the contendership to be the top dog of this nation. He claimed, as I quote: "Education is only just numbers, but you? Lord Aisla? Marshal of Kehina is more efficient when it comes to strategizing, altering battle plans, and sort of the others. Because you have always done this on a day-to-day basis and you are paid to do this." well, indeed, I am flattered.
Meanwhile, as the clamor is on the crescendo and not fading anytime soon. I tread towards the man whom I can't even remember his face or distinguish his presence. Nor did I meet him. He is sitting alone with a cup of ale, mead, or whatever on his grasp by himself in a stool with a chess board and its pieces on the table scattered all over the atop of the surface. I approach him so I can better accompany him while he is drinking in solitude.
I take a seat, my ass down and as I initiate the conversation by speaking: "Hello there! You seem like a recluse lad. Why don't you take your spot with the boys along the pit?" suggesting him to frolic amongst the joyous gathering.
He reaches for the pieces - one black and one white consists of all pawns. He shuffles the chess pieces with both of his hands from behind. He then confers in front of me both of his hands in a clenched fist.
"You're the marshal here, inn'it? Lord Aisla, ain't I right?" he utters, while he is holding his fists mid-air, as I nod in response to his ultimatum.
"Pick." adding, in an imperative mood, he insists.
I choose to select with my left hand on impulse to his right side what's in front of my raised hand. He opens his palm opposite to what I've chosen. It's the white. All of a sudden, the chess pieces were set in an instant. Startled. What kind of sorcery is this? Is this a one of the shenanigans? I am sweating so much, harder than before. And that albeit the phenomenon is this cold, the glands won't stop oozing. Asking to myself, oh god. I think that I have stepped into a trap. Oh please, Lady Anda, please forgive me if I were to perish and to leave this world in the wake of calamity.
"'There's no more crying over spilt milk. It is how it is' you presumed. As it is, how it is going to be." mockingly, as he breathes in a whisper tone.
Under the guise of a beautiful man, the pretense of a mortal. He might be the harvester of souls - Grim Reaper.