“I-Im alright Alfred, I just need a breather” reassured Apollo as he proceeded to walk away from the dreary hall with Alfred in tow. The downcast boy stepped out into the Hemiarch courtyard taking deep exaggerated breaths as he continued to walk into a random direction.
Alfred clearly saw that something was troubling his young master, but he decided to give him some space to breathe; he simply chose to follow behind him silently.
‘Alright, think…….what can I do about this situation’ Apollo asked himself, he racked his brain for ways to possibly extricate himself from the war.
‘Realistically, I have three major paths, for one I can ask Mother- no….it has to be father since he has the final say in the matter’ But he knew that this path was the least favourable for one sole reason, ‘father wishes for me to achieve great things in the army’. He was sure of this, after all, Tyranir Heimarch was an established commander in the previous war; not to mention that the entire house Heimarch was renown for its military achievements. ‘Even grandfather served his fair share of wars’ he sighed mentally.
‘There is also that reason…..’
‘Isn’t that right my dear eldest brother?’ Apollo deliberated as he looked in the direction of Salem, the city where his brother was stationed to rule.
Apollo was aware of the customs implicated within the inheritance of nobility, especially those with more than one male heir. He knew deep down that Hermes was the focused heir to the current house, ‘The action of father clearly states this, there’s a reason he is ruling Salem, he was being prepared for when father decides to step down’.
‘I am the backup’ Apollo thought distastefully.
However, Apollo didn’t take this to heart as he was also aware of the responsibilities required of him if he was the sole heir to house Heimarch. So, he was also grateful that it was Hermes that had to shoulder this very responsibility rather than himself.
‘The second option is to step on the diplomatic path’, Apollo considered this path for a moment before also rejecting it. He knew that he was not meant for that kind of life. Although becoming a diplomat was both a prestigious and worthwhile occupation, he disliked the idea of becoming someone similar to his tutor, Timothy.
He lusted for an adventure, no matter how perilous or disastrous it may become.
‘That leaves the final option……directly accepting my fate as a willing soldier under the Dracir banner’.
As a matter of fact, he could simply run away, ‘but then what?’ he asked himself, ‘I’m a weak child barely capable of protecting myself; I may have been an adult in my previous life. But exactly how does that help me in a world of a different kind of chaos?’. It doesn’t help the fact that he knew that this was an extremely cowardly act that would certainly tarnish the Heimarch household’s reputation. It was the same as biting the hand that had fed him.
Although Apollo had only known them for six odd years, they were nonetheless of his own blood. He never doubted familial ties and he certainly wouldn’t change that now.
Clang, Clang, Clink
Amidst his many thoughts whilst walking in a random direction, Apollo looked up to see that he had walked towards the barracks. He observed the inconspicuous building that housed roughly 12,000 men under his father’s command. He saw many men doing military drills, spars taking place and those that stood still acting like guards interacting with each other.
He always wondered why his father arranged for them to be situated within the Heimarch estate, after all, they were part of the same organisation as those in the city of Hollevin; much different from his father’s private retinue of 3,000 elite attachment, those men he understood their role perfectly. But these 12,000 men, ‘for what purpose do they serve being here of all places?’.
‘Surely, the others are enough to protect a manor consisting of only 5 Heimarch blood, an extra 12,000 men sounds a bit excessive’ he pondered for a moment before accepting the fact that he couldn’t understand his father’s arrangements.
Cling, Cling, Clang!
“That sound again”, mumbled Apollo, he could tell that it was different from the sound of metallic swords clashing, this sound was blunter, like a hammer smashing something metallic thus Apollo decided to follow this repeated sounds of metallic hums.
Around the corner of the massive barracks, a hundred or so metres away stood a sheltered smithy that was open to the outdoor area, possibly in an effort to balance the heat emanating from the sizeable fiery furnace that attached itself to the wall. Even from this distance, Apollo could feel the change in temperature.
Along with the clings and the clangs he also heard the muffled chatter between two individuals, one Apollo had recognised and another he saw was hammering away at a piece of metal on an anvil which had just been through the furnace as seen from its orange glow. This fellow was an elderly man possibly in his sixties with a leathered-like face, sweat constantly pooling on his roughened head, he was stocky despite his age.
‘Unfortunately, not a dwarf’ thought Apollo silently as he walked towards the two individuals with Alfred still following behind him equally as silent.
“….how many can you refine from these batch of materials old man Reggie?”, Apollo heard one of them say as he closed the distance.
“I….should..be able to refine five maybe six for you Drebin” exhaled the old man in between swinging his mighty hammer.
Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.
‘Drebin..’ as Apollo recognised was the armourer that had supplied him with the bow and arrow as well as the finger tab previously.
As if hearing his name being called, Drebin turned around to face the approaching entourage, “Young master Apollo, what can I do for you, young sire” he said in surprise.
“Nothing much, you can carry on, I’m just sightseeing” replied the boy as he eyed the hard-working smith. He always wondered how certain equipment were made, in fact, it was his first time witnessing a master at work for something that seemed outdated in his previous world.
Feeling this concentrated stare, the old man looked away from the flattened metal and glanced at Apollo with a surprised interest, “My name is Reginald young sir”. He followed the boy’s sight and saw that he was looking at his work in progress. He didn’t mind the extra pair of eyes, so he returned to hammer away at the hot material, shaping it horizontally before taking out a large set of tongs to place the rough metal back into the furnace.
“Interested in the art of metallurgy, young sire?” he asked the boy whilst stoking the fire underneath the furnace with the nearby bellow.
“Perhaps you could say that” Apollo replied simply. He had once thought about crafting in his previous life, he wondered many times if he could personally create furniture and the like as a side job. Of course, that thought was quickly dismissed by his financial situation back then and his lack of experience, after all the equipment required for such activities were quite expensive never mind the materials.
“What are you making?” he asked curiously.
“Just a simple sword, sire”
After ensuring enough time was spent for the material to incubate within the furnace, Reginald took it out of the furnace with the tongs and continued to hammer it some more until a rough sword-like shape was made. He then retrieved the elongated piece of metal and shoved it in a vessel containing some sort of liquid causing an audible sizzle and a billow of white smoke. Afterwards the old man slowly cooled the sword down and began sharpening out the edges of the sword against a grinding wheel until a polished edge was obtained.
Finally, Reginald fashioned out a wooden hilt and attached it to the rod-like bottom of the sword thereby completing the entire process presenting a truly simple looking sword that was about an adult arms-length.
Apollo internally criticised the sword and out came a description much to his surprise.
{Iron sword (Common): Attack 35-40 (Phys) ~ A straight blade composed of pure iron. Has a yew hilt with a simplistic design.}
“Good sword!” remarked the boy openly.
Reginald appreciated the young lords’ sentiments and simply handed the sword to Drebin who subsequently packed it away with the rest of the already completed swords.
“I’ll come back for the rest later on, I will store these ones first” called out Drebin before saying his farewells to Apollo and departing soon after.
“Can I try making a sword?” Apollo directed at the old man with a keen impression.
Reginald was inwardly fascinated by this request, normally people would just tell him to make a sword rather than asking him if they could essentially teach them to make their own sword. He felt dubious at this very moment, nevertheless the young boy was the son of his employer thus he just couldn’t refuse the proposition.
Sure enough, the boy and the wizened old man began a new round of forging, this process was mostly silent apart from the cling and clangs as well as Reginald’s words of advice to Apollo in terms of forging and the like. He informed him of the basic techniques involved in the art whilst Apollo would note these down within his internal Encyclopaedia.
Reginald actually took a step back in the entire process allowing the young boy to learn via firsthand experience rather than as a visual experience. He simply told Apollo what to do, the only time he ever helped was when the metal was required to be heated up due to the natural risk of burning oneself. He was also the main person in charge of hammering as the hammer itself was too difficult to handle for Apollo.
Meanwhile, Alfred stood nearby like a lamp post presumably lost in his own world but of course this was just a pretence, an expert can easily realise that the butler was purely focused on his surroundings like a watch dog.
After roughly grinding out the edges of the sword, Apollo carefully attached a block of wood that he had carved earlier to the bottom of the sword and with that came the completion of his first ever sword, with the help of Reginald of course.
He looked at his creation with suspense and examined it with his system which produced a timely description,
{Iron sword (Poor): Attack 20-23 (Phys) ~ An oddly straight blade composed of pure iron with a seemingly dull edge. Has a yew hilt with a crude design.}
‘What is this crap!’ he remarked internally ‘Such difference from the sword before and what do you mean ‘oddly’?......and a ‘crude design’ you say?, I must say, this has to be injustice on my behalf, I spent a good 30-minute carving that damned hilt you bastard!’.
“Not a bad effort” concluded Reginald to the side, “Interesting hilt of choice” he added with an expressionless gaze. Only he knew what he was truly thinking about.
“A worthy achievement! Young master” chimed in Alfred.
“I appreciate it, thanks for the help old man” Apollo sighed,
“By the way, can I keep this?” Apollo said whilst weakly swaying the metallic sword about.
“Of course, you can young master; I see nothing wrong with that” replied Reginald after casting a quick glance at Alfred, since the butler said nothing then he assumed that it was okay for the child to keep the sword. In fact, he could name a couple reasons that could go wrong such as an angry Drebin; the armourer would have to make do with one less sword but he kept quiet knowing that he simply couldn’t refuse the young lord.
“Alright! No take backsies!” the boy quickly replied happily. ‘With this I can practice more soundly’ he thought.
Afterwards, the duo said their farewells to the amused smith before returning to the manor. Perhaps as a net positive from the tiresome forging along with the newly acquired item, the young boy returned with a heightened mood; completely disregarding the fact that he may die in a future battle. He simply threw that troublesome possibility at the back of his mind.
In his room, Apollo gently packed away the sword and retrieved a set of bow and arrows as well as a leather glove from a nearby nightstand. Truthfully, he could place these weapons in his internal inventory, however, he wasn’t sure how to explain it to the others when he magically summons them from nowhere. He was also doubtful if anyone nearby was keeping tabs on these equipment, after all, who lets a 6 year old carry around a sword never mind a bow?.
Later that same evening, Apollo could be seen in one of the many Heimarch fields practicing his archery skills against a poor oak tree that had an engraved target. The boy was simply honing his skills from where he left off the previous day. Afterwards, he exercised dutifully as per his daily regiment before finishing the day by perfecting the Wim Hof breathing technique for his mana acquisition.
In hindsight, Apollo was well aware that honing such skills was important for his future and he could only do so with diligence as he knew every ounce of improvement whether it be in archery or sword arts or even blacksmithing could in turn increase his likelihood of surviving in the future. ‘What use is it to be a worthless fighter?’ he often asked himself, ‘Id rather kill than be killed’ he promised himself.
Was this a proclamation of conquering your fears? Who knows, but Apollo knew one thing and that was to survive whatever is to come.