Chapter 165
The Sun Shines South
Sylas was nibbling away at some dry fruit he’d found inside the village as well as some rather awful wine. Though the vast majority of the village was blown to smithereens during his confrontation against the Shadow, most of its underground remained relatively intact--though it did take him nearly five days to actually find the entrance. While he could have simply whacked away at the ground, he ran the risk of collapsing the entire thing, which would defeat the purpose.
He’d healed almost completely, by now able to walk about freely and even exercise lightly. Even he felt it unfair, how little he sacrificed to fell someone like Abe--it wasn’t even a ‘sacrifice’, not in Sylas’ eyes anyway.
Most of the underground rooms were empty and lightless, with only a few having anything within them. He'd also found the main room--a bed, a few bookshelves populated mostly with pulp fiction, causing Sylas' eyebrows to rise quite a few times. Besides that, there was little else. Though Sylas roughly perused the many books, nothing stood out but the odd taste the man had in fiction.
Eventually, he’d gotten through all of them and explored every inch of the underground, finding nothing of import. Leaving, he stumbled into the snowed-in lands. It was quite... strange. Though the snow hadn’t covered everything--namely the massive gash his attack left in the ground--it had covered most of it, regaling their battle to the singular strike.
It never stopped snowing, not here. But southward... it would. He turned around and faced it, the distant, fogged, misted, clouded lands of beyond. The singular forest that stood behind him, toward the north, parted into two--spreading out west and east and leaving the southern patch of land mostly untouched. There were hills that rolled onward and massive pastures that likely shone in resplendent emerald in the summer, and whatever else land lay beyond.
With the wind in his back, he slowly began walking south--he had no weapon, not anymore, his own sword having been blown up during the attack. But it didn’t matter. He suspected nobody would casually approach a demented-looking, topless and barefoot man walking about aimlessly in the middle of the Cold Snap.
His goal was singular--to map out as much of the south as he could. To map out the journey that they would eventually have to take. It would be difficult, he knew, to move before the Spring. The biggest hurdle was constructing enough carriages and having enough horses to pull them. But there were upsides, too--he could simply walk ahead of the entire entourage, melting snow as he went. This would ensure that the horses never froze to death and that it wouldn't be as relentlessly chilly and frosted as it can be, especially at night as he would act effectively as the central heating. At the same time, with Asha coming along, there would be no shortage of supplies.
"It won't hurt to give it a whirl a few times," he mumbled absentmindedly. "If we can move out during the winter, it would cut down the wait time every new loop. Would also give us a larger leeway in how we allocate time on the road."
He rolled along the numerous hillsides, subject to the world of pure white on all ends. It was quite enchanting, as it looked very much like a snowed-in desert, only with much taller dunes.
Days later, he finally came across an anomaly--to the west, he saw something 'wiggle' within the mist, causing him to move toward it. He had no clue exactly where he was, even if he had the rough map inside his head; in fact, he wasn't even sure just how 'south' he'd actually moved since it was quite difficult to tell in the snow-white space. For all he knew, he was moving southeast or southwest rather than directly southward.
As the night fell and as he approached closer, quite a sight welcomed him--the kindling fires sprawled across, hundreds of them, causing him to hurry forward. Breaking through the mist, a view of a stone wall came to him--it was some twenty feet tall, made of rugged and old wetstone, draped in white snow from most sides. It stretched for over three miles at the front, curving into the misted distance, sporting three towers during the visible stretch. All three were manned, and the people atop them were extremely alert. The reason Sylas knew they were was simple: they immediately spotted him.
“HALT!!” a voice cried out through the snow and, after focusing a bit of energy into his eyes and taking a closer look, Sylas saw that four bows were already armed and ready to shoot. “WHO GOES THERE?!!” there was no rational explanation he could offer. In fact, he suspected that the only reason they were even talking was to wait for the reinforcement, as they suspected he was some sort of a beast they couldn’t down with four arrows.
“I come from the north,” Sylas replied just loudly enough to be heard. “Ethwar Castle. It... it has fallen!”
The world turned to silence and Sylas followed suit, patient. They wouldn't believe him. Of course they wouldn't. They would be morons to do so. But he had to start somewhere. This would, after all, be their first stop on the journey southward--even if it wasn't actually fully southward. At the very least, he hoped to be let in, even if it would mean in chains, just to see a general size and the being of things.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
A burst of energy suddenly came rushing toward him. If he wanted to, he could have easily dodged it--in fact, he could have grabbed it with his hands and sucked it in. But he chose not to. It was a test--a burst of energy aimed directly at his right arm, with the intent of blowing it off. Sylas let it.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!” he cried out in misery, a glottal scream that froze the blood of all those who heard it. Blood sprayed out like a fountain, urged slightly by him as well as to make the scene as large of a spectacle as possible. The arm came flying off cleanly, falling into the deep snow. “M-M-MONSTERS!! MONSTERS TRAPPED ME!!” he screamed and began to turn in place, acting as though he realized he had been put into an illusion. “YOU BEAST!! COME FACE ME, IF YOU DARE! DON’T HIDE BEHIND YOUR ILLUSIONS! GIVING ME HOPE... AAAHH! I HATE YOU!”
Though it has been some time since he last went a bit nutty with acting, he was satisfied with the performance. He added some more flavor by stumbling about, as though on the verge of passing out--which wasn’t strange considering his blood loss.
"Take him inside and to Warden Vanessa," the only reason he heard the instructions was because he enhanced his ears with the energy. "I'll inform the Commander. If Ethwar truly fell... the risk is too great."
“Yes, Captain!”
Sylas didn’t resist when six men came at him, four of whom had their swords out. He didn’t resist when they put chains on his arms and around his neck and tossed a furred, leather blanket on him. He didn’t resist even when they put a hood over his face so that he couldn’t see anything; he wanted to, and he cursed plenty inwardly, but he held back. There was a good reason why he was acting like this--even if he was strong, not only did he not fully heal yet, but he also didn’t have a weapon. Not to mention, he’d gain little by simply killing his way through.
The wet snow soon turned into the cold and wet stone beneath his feet, and the temperature grew hotter when they entered some building. He was dragged below the ground, with his chains clanking to the melodic sound of horror, and was seated some fifteen minutes later, the hood taken off of him. He was in a small, though the extremely fragrant room. There were only four walls, the straw bed, and a basin of water. Well, there were also two guards--they wore chainmail and some scraped leather, and both seemed to be in their late twenties at the latest.
"Fine, fine, fine, stop yapping!" a voice came from the outside. "Wait until I tell the Commander! Dragging me out of the bed at this ungodly hour... unless it's the King, I don't care!" the doors were flung open and a woman came flying through the frame, immediately locating Sylas. Just as she was about to rush forward, she paused, giving him another look. She was quite young, Sylas mused--somewhere in her mid-twenties. She had copper skin and a head full of curled, black hair that was all over the place at the moment. "What a sloppy job," she licked her lips as she approached him, taking a closer look at his arm. "He's still bleeding. Get those supplies inside already!"
“Y-yes, Warden...” a couple of helpless guards cried out softly as they carried quite a few boxes of things into the room. From the looks on their faces, the boxes were quite heavy.
“Hm? What the hell are you still doing in here?” she turned around and growled at them. “Get out!”
“B-but Warden, he could--”
“He could, he could, he could what? Piss at me? The man’s without an arm and in chains! Did you forget I could beat all your asses quite easily, huh? Get out! Get out!”
“Y-yes, Warden...” the woman commanded a lot of respect and fear, it seemed.
"Haah, hapless bastards," she mumbled as she closed the doors behind her and turned toward him, seemingly ignoring the boxes. Her lips curled up into a faint smile as she continued standing there, cross-armed. "It was a good try, but quite sloppy. From the looks of it, dear Captain Hayns' energy wasn't strong enough, so you aided the man a bit by cleaving off the arm cleanly for the effect. The cut is too precise, the bleeding too exaggerated--at least for the state of your overall body. Anyone who bled out as much as they said you did would be pale in the face. Not to mention that the cold of the winter in conjunction with the blood loss would obliterate your consciousness in less than thirty seconds."
“... you still let them leave, knowing that?” Sylas asked, smiling faintly.
“I am quite strong, you know? You might just not be able to harm me~~”
“I imagine you are,” Sylas said. “So, what now?”
"Well, the moment the Commander sees you, he'll come to the same conclusion as me," she said. "The Captain and the others are still quite young, you see, so they might not know any better. But the Commander's a real deal. And, unlike me, he likely won't be in the mood to chat. He'll simply... khh," she ground the sound through her throat and teeth and gestured with her fingers a slash through the neck. "You know?"
“I’d very much like to avoid that,” Sylas played along. “Seeing as you’re telling me this, you have a plan?”
“Do I? Hmm~~I just might. I’m not sure I should, though. You look like the thankless bunch.”
"As you can clearly see, I own literally nothing but the pair of pants," Sylas said. "And I doubt that the woman of your grace is interested in what is beneath them."
“Bah! Barbarian!” she cursed out. “Who cares about your tiny dick? I’m more interested in how you survived the journey here! Naked, at that!”
“Help me,” Sylas said. “And I might just share the tale.”
“Are you ready to hurt?” she asked, taking out a sharp-seeming knife from one of the boxes.
“Do be gentle,” Sylas said. “I have quite a low threshold for pain.”
“... ah. You’re one of those sarcastic bastards,” she clicked her tongue. “Never liked your kind very much, actually. A true, proper man ought to be straightforward with his words. Leave the glib tongue for us women.”
“I--”
“Don’t talk,” she warned sternly. “And don’t use your energy. You’ll have to trust me completely.”
“Alright.”
“... what the hell,” she cried out lowly when she stabbed the knife into him. “You actually... did it. You’re one crazy bastard, I’ll tell you that much. Look at this bastard, not even defending himself. Why would you trust a complete stranger, some deranged woman, in a shady, dark room? Man, there is something wrong with your head... maybe I should open it up and see--no, no, can’t be greedy. Aah, this crazy bastard isn’t even twitching...”