Jason Grekor

"THAT WAS WEIRD, Jas," Diana whispered, her voice barely audible above the din of the marketplace. "Why did you lie about the cub?"

"A necessary precaution, little dove," I said, ruffling her hair. "It's better if no one knows the true nature of your...cat companion. Wouldn't want to attract unwanted attention, would we?"

Her frown softened, and her eyes lit up as she spotted a stall overflowing with glistening candied apples. She tugged on my sleeve, her eyes fixed on the vibrant red treats.

We spent some time leisurely exploring the market, Diana happily guiding me through the vibrant stalls. The tempting scents of street food filled the air as we navigated the lively crowd. Deciding to refuel before continuing our exploration, we enjoyed a delicious meal at a food stall.

As we emerged, something caught my eye. Scanning the bustling marketplace, I noticed an oddity – a man. He stood alone near a fruit stand, dressed in unremarkable clothes, his gaze fixed intently upon us. My instincts, sharpened from countless hunts back in Dreynoir County, alerted me to his inconspicuous presence.

We decided our next stop would be the sacred temple of the Carmine people. The mysterious figure continued to trail us, maintaining a discreet distance but never allowing us to stray from his sight. I kept my expression neutral, chatting with Diana about trivial matters.

The temple, perched on the banks of Shamara Lake, exploded in a riot of crimson. Ancient textures and intricate carvings adorned the pillars and archways, creating a scene of breathtaking beauty. Lush greenery surrounded the temple, while the vast blue lake shimmered in the distance. A flock of bird-like statues, humanoid in form, stood guard along the temple steps, their smooth black bodies frozen in mid-gesture. But it was the temple's structure itself that truly stole my breath—a colossal peacock, perched atop a blood-red plinth. The architect had somehow captured the bird's haughty grace in stone, its tail feathers fanning out to form the temple's entrance.

The sight of so many worshippers, not just the Carmine folk, fascinated me. Most were women, heads bowed beneath their scarves, fingers tracing the contours of small tokens or worn prayer beads. I could almost hear their silent pleas – for healing, for children, for a life touched by mercy. The hopeful desperation in their eyes spoke volumes. It was easy to understand why this place, steeped in the legend of Guanyin, drew them in. They say the goddess herself had spent her final days here, bathing in Shamara Lake before ascending to heaven. The air itself seemed to vibrate with their collective faith, the scent of incense a tangible reminder of their presence.

While I admire their devotion, I'm not a particularly religious man myself. To walk through those grand doors, to stand beneath that soaring ceiling, felt like intruding upon something sacred. I felt it would be disrespectful to enter the temple without genuine faith, to pretend to a belief I didn't hold.

Meanwhile, Diana was happily exploring the temple gardens, taking in the beauty and fragrance of the surrounding flowers.

"Diana, it's getting late. We should head off," I called out to her. Hearing my voice, she came running back, a freshly picked rose in her hand and a beaming smile on her face. I took one last glance at the magnificent temple behind me.

I'd been deliberately taking my time, first strolling through the market and then exploring the temple, just to see if that odd figure would continue to follow us. And he had, indeed, followed us every step of the way. "Persistent fellow, isn't he?" I mused to myself.

It was afternoon by the time we finally arrived back at Gilbert's manor. I strode through the entrance, pausing only for a brief glance back towards the road. The mysterious figure was nowhere to be seen. "Had he given up?" I wondered. "Or was he simply biding his time, waiting for a better opportunity?" Either way, my suspicions were now confirmed. That shopkeeper was definitely involved in some way with the hybrid cub.

"Diana," I announced, turning to her with a smile, "let's finish your bonding ritual." A beaming smile lit up her face, and she cheerfully headed towards the manor.

We made our way to the gardens, a tranquil sanctuary hidden within the bustling manor. The air was heavy with the intoxicating fragrance of jasmine, a sweet perfume that seemed to waft from every flower and leaf. We found the little cub playfully tumbling beneath the graceful willow tree. Upon seeing Diana, it bounded towards her with an excited yelp, its tail wagging furiously.

Diana sat beside the adorable creature and gently stroked its head. The cub, its tail swishing back and forth, nuzzled into her hand, its tiny tongue rasping playfully against her palm. Zillas, known for their discerning nature, chose their own companions, and this one clearly adored her already.

"Alright," I declared, opening the pouch of blood powder. "I will draw the mark for you. Most of the nobles use their house sigil as their bonding mark. But for you..."

I dipped my finger in the powder, its texture surprisingly fine, like dust from crushed rubies. With a steady hand, I drew a crescent moon on the bonding scroll, the crimson lines stark against the aged parchment. The symbol held a special significance for Diana, whose name is similar to that of the goddess of the moon.

There, it is done," I proclaimed, presenting the scroll to her with a flourish. "What do you think? Not quite a masterpiece, but it will serve its purpose."

It's simple, but I love it, Jas," she whispered, her eyes sparkling.

"Alright, you ready for this?" I asked, passing her the scroll and the silkwood. "Remember what to do? Picture your mana flowing into the scroll, making those runes glow, and then gently touch it to Luna's head. The silkwood will do the rest, creating a bond between you two."

Diana closed her eyes, her small hands trembling as they held the scroll. I watched her, a lump forming in my throat. Was I doing the right thing, thrusting her into this ancient ritual, binding her soul to a creature we barely understood? But then I saw the determined set of her jaw, the way her brow furrowed in concentration as she focused her will. I smiled inwardly. It was already decided; there was no backing down now.

The air thrummed with a barely audible hum, and the crimson rune on the scroll began to glow, its light casting dancing shadows on Diana's face. The ancient symbols etched into the parchment seemed to twist and coil, their edges blurring as if they were trying to break free from their confines. It was a mesmerizing spectacle, both beautiful and slightly unsettling.

She pressed the scroll against the cub's forehead, and for a heartbeat, nothing happened. Then, a spark ignited in the silkwood, blossoming into a flame that danced and flickered. The soulfire surged outwards, enveloping Diana completely before cascading over the small puppy, forging a connection between their very beings. Diana gasped, her eyes widening in astonishment. She glanced towards me, seeking reassurance. I gave her a thumbs up – everything was okay. The flame lingered briefly before fading, leaving the silkwood within her reduced to ash.

A mark, identical to the one I had drawn, bloomed on the cub's forehead, glowing a vibrant red against its soft fur. The cub let out a soft purr, nuzzling against Diana's hand. Sunlight filtered through the willow branches, painting the clearing in shimmering light. A soft smile spread across Diana's face as she stroked the cub's fur.

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"Congratulations, Diana!" I exclaimed, my voice filled with pride."You forged the bond perfectly."

"Luna, I will call her Luna. Oppa, do you–" Diana's words were cut short by a sudden movement. I thrust her behind me and drew my sword in a single, fluid motion. The world seemed to slow down, the familiar weight of the sword a comfort in my hand. A sharp, metallic ring echoed through the yard as steel met steel. The dagger was deflected, its point thudding into the soft bark of the willow.

My gaze snapped up to the edge of the garden. A figure stood there, easily overlooked in the drab clothes of a factory worker. But the glint of a second dagger in his hand left no doubt about his purpose. I recognized him then – the same middle-aged man who had been shadowing us.

"Missed the first on purpose, kid," he rasped, his voice like grating stone. "Hand over the cub, and no one needs to get hurt."

Missed on purpose? I thought, my gaze fixed on the kunai embedded in the willow's bark. Or more like you perfectly aimed for Diana, hoping to scare me into submission. I let my facade of naivete slip a little further. "I'm terribly sorry, but I'm afraid that simply isn't possible, good sir," I replied, feigning a flustered politeness. "You see, my sister has already formed a bond with it." I gestured vaguely towards the scroll clutched in my other hand.

"Don't try to fool me, kid. I know how this works. Torch the scroll, the bond's gone. So just hand over the cub and make this easy on yourself."

Clearly, he hasn't considered that I might be a knight, I thought, suppressing a smirk. Let him keep believing I'm just another merchant. It's better this way. Assassins were known for their unpredictability, a real pain to deal with. If he was one, with Diana here, a direct fight was too risky. I needed to play this carefully.

"I understand your desire for the cub," I conceded, buying myself some time. "But surely we can negotiate this like civilized people. What's your price?"

A cruel smile twisted his lips. "My price? Your life and the cub. Now stop stalling and—" Before he could finish, a blur of motion erupted from the house. Rex, Gilbert's loyal hound, a beast that looked more bear than dog, exploded from the house like a furry cannonball, launching himself at the assassin. He snarled ferociously, baring his teeth. The man yelped in surprise, stumbling backward as Rex slammed into him, sending them both tumbling to the ground.

"Diana, run!" I shouted, shoving her towards the house. "Go find your father!" She hesitated for a moment, her eyes wide with fear, but then she nodded and sprinted towards the manor, Luna clutched tightly in her arms.

The assassin had escaped Rex's initial onslaught, but Rex was relentless. He circled the man with menacing growls as the assassin pulled a long dagger from his robe, a wickedly curved blade glinting in the sunlight. The assassin lunged, his dagger flashing towards Rex's heart.

I didn't hesitate. Fueled by instinct, I charged. I breathed deeply, drawing in the wyrd that swirled around me in the air. The invisible particles flowed into me, charging my crown, empowering me. My blade, imbued with wind essence, sliced through his dagger as if it were butter, severing his hand at the wrist.

The dagger clattered to the ground, followed by the hand, still clutching the weapon. Its fingers twitched as blood sprayed across the manicured lawn, painting the roses crimson. The assassin howled, collapsing in a heap and clutching the stump of his wrist. Gods, he was weaker than a tavern brawler. I stepped closer, the scent of blood heavy.

"All that talk, and you can't even use mana?" I scoffed. "Honestly, that was disappointing. I was hoping for a decent warm-up before heading to your master's den."

But the assassin was in too much pain to listen. He bit back a scream, his body convulsing. Sweat beaded on his forehead, mingling with the blood that flowed freely from his severed hand. He clawed at the grass, his fingernails digging into the soft earth, a whimper escaping his lips.

Rex, sensing the shift in power, stood over the fallen man, a low growl rumbling in his chest. I knelt beside the assassin, placing a reassuring hand on Rex's fur. "Easy, boy, easy. Don't kill him just yet."

"You..." the assassin gasped, his voice hoarse with pain and disbelief. "You're a...a knight?"

And you must be a fake mercenary pretending to be an assassin to get money. But hey, at least it made things easier for me.

"Ah, so you finally noticed," I chuckled, stepping closer. The assassin's eyes widened in fear as I knelt beside him, my shadow falling across his face. "Or perhaps you shouldn't underestimate a 'merchant's' ability to defend himself."

I clamped a clean cloth over the gushing wound, pressing hard to stem the crimson tide. "Now, tell me," I said, my voice dangerously low. "By the looks of it, you are not an assassin. You are too weak to be one. So then, who is the moron who sent you? Who wants the cub?"

He glared at me, his eyes filled with hatred. "I'll never…" he started, but his words were cut off by a strangled cry escaping his lips.

"Don't be foolish," I warned, maintaining pressure on the wound. "Tell me what I want to know, and I'll ensure you receive proper medical attention. Otherwise..." I let the threat hang in the air, the implication clear. He could bleed out here on the grass, or he could choose to talk.

He winced, his eyes flickering between me and the house. A beat of silence hung in the air before he rasped, his bravado cracking, "It was...the beastkeeper. Offered me a hefty sum to trail you. Said it was crucial to know if you had the cub... Said it was valuable. Told me not to engage, but...you were just a trader. I thought I could..." He trailed off, his voice tight with pain and regret.

What a greedy scumbag, I thought. He saw the cub and thought he could make a quick fortune. I had what I needed from this fool. Now, how to use the shopkeeper to get to Kirien… I glanced at the assassin, his breathing shallow and ragged. He wouldn't last much longer without aid. Just then, a commotion erupted from the house, shattering the tense silence. Gilbert burst through the doors, his face ashen with fear, Diana close on his heels.

"Jason! What in God's name happened?" he cried, his voice thick with panic.

I swooped down — the severed hand disappearing beneath the towel with a practiced flick of my wrist. "It's alright, Gilbert," I assured him, offering a devilish grin and pointing at the concealed hand. "I have the situation well in hand." Then I put the hand in the bag. Diana was young; she didn't need to see that.

I recounted the attack. Gilbert, though visibly shaken, quickly expressed his gratitude.

"Jason, I…I don't know how to thank you," he stammered, his voice trembling with emotion. "You saved my daughter's life."

"Of course," I replied, giving him a reassuring nod. "Anyone would have done the same." Then, changing my tone, I said, "But I think you should get some extra protection in your manor, Gilbert."

Perhaps the shopkeeper acted alone, but his failure would force him to inform Kirien. Surely Kirien wouldn't risk sending another incompetent mercenary after the cub. I glanced at the small furry creature playing around Diana. Why was it so precious to Kirien that he would risk so much to find it, knowing the inquisitors were on his trail?

"As for this man," I said, gesturing towards the assassin who lay on the ground, desperately trying to stem the flow of blood. "Get him a medic. He won't be a danger anymore." At this rate, he wouldn't remain conscious for long.

"Yes, I'll do that," Gilbert replied grimly. "But what about the one who sent him? Will he try to attack again?"

"He will, but not today. I'll handle him myself; you needn't worry about that, Gilbert." The shopkeeper had probably already fled, but I still needed to confirm it. I had to return to the beastmaster haven.

"Oppa!" Diana peeked out from behind Gilbert, her eyes wide. "Are you okay? Did he hurt you?" She rushed over, her small hand reaching out to touch my arm. "You're not bleeding, are you?"

"Your oppa is quite strong, Diana. Didn't he promise to always protect you?" I knelt down and gently squeezed her hand. She smiled, a glimmer of her usual cheer returning to her eyes. But before I could fully reassure her, a wave of commotion erupted from the house as servants rushed into the garden, led by a frantic Lyna. She scrambled across the lawn, her skirts tangling around her legs. She reached Diana, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Clutching her daughter to her chest, she buried her face in Diana's hair, her body trembling. Then she took Diana inside the manor, the cub padding softly after its master.

Gilbert's face was a mask of rage, his veins throbbing in his neck. He spun towards the guards, spittle flying from his lips as he bellowed, "Are you all blind?! An assassin strolled into my home, and not one of you saw a thing!" The guards exchanged uneasy glances. They hadn't seen anyone suspicious. Of course, the assassin, despite his lack of prowess, must have been cunning to slip through their defenses. He likely slipped in through the back gardens, using the bustling staff as cover.

"Gilbert, I'll leave this to you. I have something else to attend to," I said to Gilbert, who was still consumed by rage. He nodded curtly and called for a medic and a servant to assist the dying man. I didn't feel an ounce of sympathy, but the assassin was so weak that he posed no further threat. There was a lot to do, and I would start with the shopkeeper.