That night I received a series of messages over the soul-link from Mark… wait… Wolfram. (We may have decided to use our new names, but I was having a bit of a hard time with it so I repeated it in my mind a few times. Wolfram. Mark is now Wolfram; we are Wolfram and Heller. Old habits die hard, and all that - it would come eventually.)
I did take note that he was suddenly calling the guy who had kept him locked up on the same floor of that castle for years his 'dad'. I guess having even one pleasant interaction is enough to have a large impact on a kid, even if they are a reincarnated one. Psychology is weird...
he continued with a mental shrug,
His messages answered a few of my questions... but raised almost as many more. So his family had a secret martial art of some kind? That was interesting, although he also sent me the words that he translated as 'martial art', and my interpretation of them was more 'spiritual armament longevity training' (or something along those lines), but, given the way our language was structured, there were always a few ways to translate things and context clues played a large part in exactly how any given phrase was meant to be interpreted. (For example, the term for "I am hungry" literally translated to "My stomach is empty", but the same term had a different meaning if said by a caretaker (like a parent) where it would mean "Would you like to eat?", and from there it had even more potential transformations depending on who said it, why they said it, and what time it was said. Context-based languages were exhausting!)
I couldn’t openly discuss 'martial arts' or the weird powers and abilities that I had seen the soldiers of House Flameward displaying during the shadow wolf attack, but I was starting to suspect that most people in this village didn’t know much about such things anyway. There were stories and legends, of course, and more than a few witnesses to the paranormal feats accomplished by the soldiers of House Flameward who protected us, but it was always just attributed to being members of a Noble House – because, apparently, it wasn’t that uncommon for Nobles and their private guards or soldiers to perform seemingly impossible feats, such as breathing fire or breaking stone with their bare hands, but it wasn't something that normal people had anything to do with.
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It was generally acknowledged that being nobility intrinsically meant being mighty, and that the more aristocratic a bloodline was the more potent its descendants would be. It was simply accepted as fact - but there was one method by which a commoner, with enough talent and luck, could change their fate: Anyone was welcome to attend one of the two yearly tournaments held in the City; the White Tournament for those just leaving Academy, or the Black Tournament that was open to any adult brave enough to sign up.
The prize was the same for both tournaments, the chance to join one of the Noble Houses as a soldier. After becoming a soldier there were still further ranks and opportunities, but nobody I met had a clear picture of what they were. One thing I did learn was that the higher-ranked soldiers were granted significantly more privileges, and could sometimes even join the House they served as nobles themselves (at least, according to the legends)! These higher-ranking soldier-nobles sounded a lot like 'knights' from Earth, but I didn’t know enough to draw a clear distinction yet.
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I smiled and took in a breath of fresh morning air, my legs burning with a pleasant feeling of exertion as my feet rapidly struck the cobblestone street. I was most likely the only kid in the entire village out this early in the morning, so it wasn't much of a surprise that I drew so many looks from the few other villagers who were out and about. I wasn't exactly small for my age - in fact, it was quite the opposite - but having my father the giant following behind me like a titanic shadow must have made me look absolutely tiny in comparison.
Jaws always took me to the Smithy once a month, although I now sometimes ran alongside him if I didn't feel like being carried. The man was so large that he walked much too quickly for my shorter legs (despite always appearing to move in carefully deliberate slow motion when viewed from afar), so I had to move at a pace that was somewhere between a run and a jog to keep pace or he would simply scoop me up without warning. The one time I had gotten distracted and ran a bit too far ahead of him he had lunged forward and grabbed up me so fast I hadn't even known what was happening until I was in his arms, and he had refused to put me back down until we reached the Smithy.
I returned the many waves and nods I received happily, enjoying the exercise and feeling like some kind of minor celebrity. A group of guards on patrol even stopped and greeted us with slight bows and respectful greetings to 'Master Toly' and 'young Heller', and I realized I had seen some of them at the Smithy a few months ago when they had come to have their equipment repaired. They weren't soldiers of any of the Noble Houses, so not only did they lack any cool superpowers (since they lacked noble backing), but they also relied entirely on the village itself to keep them supplied.
A strange sound like a meaty impact followed by a bunch of breaking twigs above and behind me drew my attention abruptly, and I heard gasps from the people around us as I span around just in time to see Jaws flexing his hands around two odd red shapes. Where the heck had those come from!? Had someone just tossed him two... wiggling... sacks of red... feathers...
Bloody beasts, it was those damn birds again!! I looked up at the sky, but it was clear of any other threats.
The guards we had just passed arrived just moments later, and I saw that the villagers around us were looking around the street warily, half of them having produced knives or other weapons from seemingly nowhere.
"Stupid things got confused by how big you are, Master Toly, probably thought young Heller here was small enough they could carry him away! Ha! Bloody little chance of that, strapping young lad he is," the leader of the guards said, reaching over to ruffle my hair (and carefully avoiding my horns). "Don't you worry, young man, these beasts always hunt in pairs, so there aren't likely to be any more in the area."
My father was, as usual, a man of few words as he handed the mangled bodies of the two dead birds over to the guards (they would be processed for meat and delivered to the Smithy later, I was told). They also had to notify the soldiers of House Flameward responsible for protecting the village, who would decide if an alarm should be raised.
"Where do they come from?" I asked one of the guards quietly.
"Well, these particular beasts arrived in a wave some, oh, twelve years ago I think? It was one of those weaker attacks that won't draw attention from The Merrik, so we handled it ourselves," he paused and let out a low chuckle, "ah, well I say 'we', but, of course, it was House Flameward that beat the worst of them back. The rest of us just helped with the cleanup."
"What about the Shadow Wolves? Do they ever attack the village?"
His grin faded as he shook his head, his face going slightly pale as he glanced at his fellow guards, and my eyes widened as it occurred to me that they had probably all lost friends and colleagues. A few had turned in our direction with somber expressions as he replied, "Those... well, blessing or curse, those foul creatures summoned The Merrik's vengeful gaze down upon their kind in all his Sky-fallen glory, lad," he made a hand gesture that was meant to show respect to our Savior, which was repeated by the rest of the guards, "and he's not a merciful sort."