Chapter 22: Kai Bloodseeker

There is an art to killing.

Whoever tells you that is full of shit. There is no art to killing.

Only death and more death.

-Kai Bloodseeker, on the subject of killing

~Kai

Battles! Always a bunch of skirmishes!

I leaned down against my broadsword, chin resting on top of the pommel of the black hilt. I ignored the stifled gurgles that came from down below me. A sword stuck in the throat does wonders for your capability of speech. Your words turn into gurgles. Meaningless garbage that the living always scream out inside death’s grip.

I looked down at the result of my blade-work. It had been a quick and clean thrust to the throat, the throat of the last of the Dread warriors in that skirmish. I met his dark eyes, a veil of confusion threaded by death’s own hands covering the beadlike pair.

Like usual, the same results always happened with the dying. Near death’s door, their eyes become blank, the light slowly going out in them. Like a flame in the night slowly winking out of existence, soon swallowed up by the darkness.

And I was that darkness.

I removed my foot from his armored chest, stepping lightly off of his corpse. Then my broadsword out from his throat. Quick and smooth. But the removal still made a wet noise, and a last gurgle from the Dread warrior.

I held the broadsword in front of me, inspecting it here and there, then moving it back and forth, trying to make a few glints in the daylight. Despite my attempts, the broadsword still remained as dull as ever. Red on black. There was only the sheen of the fresh blood covering the tip, and the dullness of the red of the previous bloodshed.

Xeonite metal did not shine well, even with a coating of fresh scarlet blood.

I looked over the fields. Over half a hundred corpses of the Dread warriors looked back, some of them coiled around their mortal wounds, as if they had regressed back into their infanthood. Fecking babies, most become in a true battle.

Skirmishes. One after another. There were no end to them.

Each passing day, the borders between the Eastern Grasslands and the Dread Mountains became more and more of a shithole. Sure enough, the corpses would pile up and soon enough form a mountain of their own. Corpse Mountain, I would call it too. And I would plant a flag on top of that mountain, claiming it as my own.

“Kai Bloodseeker,” a voice called out from behind me. A gentle voice on the ears. Soft and pretty, like light shining into the darkest of places. But it didn’t reach me. I was too dark for that light.

Bloodseeker Kai, or Kai Bloodseeker. It didn’t really mattered either way to me. The title was worthless to me. I turned around to meet the owner of that gentle voice. “Magus Sabria.” I held her soft blue eyes with my own pair of eyes. Black on blue. Except my color could swallow her color whole. They were innocent eyes, not suitable in the borders here where death ran amok.

They reminded me of my lost innocence—if I ever had any in the first place.

“How was your first skirmish?” I asked, the lines of my mouth curving slightly. It was a smile born for many tasks. I used that smile in battles. I used it to greet others. And I used it to bid farewells, the last sort of farewell if you get what I mean. Suitable for many things, that smile was.

She shook her head sadly, her long flowing light blue hair catching the sunlight from the movements. “Painful, depressing. Saddening. I never knew it was like this.”

I spread my hands out in a wide gesture, as if attempting to catch at the carrion eaters already coming for a feast. “Welcome to the borders between the Eastern Grasslands and the Dread Mountains. It ain’t much, but it is my home.”

“No one should have a home like this,” she said softly, her eyes looking pitifully at me.

I didn’t mind it. She could look at me in my bloodstained armor all she want. Pitifully. Happily. Sadly. However she wanted.

Suddenly I felt a chill come over me, and I saw the pretty blue eyes of Magus Sabria widening in surprise. Quicker than even a half-taken breath, I turned around, dodging at the flash of the weapon that came slashing down at my head. Then with my one free hand, I grabbed at my opponent’s slim neck, before happily smashing a knee into the stomach.

The fallen form of my opponent clutched at her stomach, her raven colored hair in a disarray, stained with blood, and her white longsword lying beside all slanted. “Heehee, I love it when you kick me like that, Commander Kai,” said Nuala, giggling at her own words.

“You are fecking insane, Nuala,” I said coldly, yet calmly. “Must you attack me every damn skirmish, every damn battle? How many times have I told you to stop that shit. A thousand times already?”  

“Heehee, but it has only been two hundred and six times, counting this time too,” she replied. “You don’t like it?” She gave a small pout, her blood red lips curling sadly, her golden eyes glinting with an encompassing sadness.

“Trying to gut someone in the back is not a show of love,” I reminded her for the umpteenth time. “Anyway, stop trying to gut at me. Today’s skirmish is already over.”

I turned my back once more toward Nuala, knowing that she would no longer try to attack me. Once was enough for her after every battle. Still, I wonder at what had caused her to become like this? Probably my raising her.

I laughed out loud at that thought and Magus Sabria turned her head slightly to the side, looking at me in confusion. I ignored it.

Nuala had been a war orphan I had picked up many years ago. I forget where exactly but it was in between the borders of the Eastern Grasslands and the Dread Mountains, or the Dark Shadow Mountains if you preferred the proper term. If one wanted to die, or seek excitement, the land between those two borders was the way to do it. The land there was a vast stretch of plains, hills, and forests we collectively called the Cruorus Lands.

Nuala had been young then, possibly only a ten year old child or so. It didn’t matter to me. I never really bothered to ask about her age. I had only liked that look in her golden eyes, a darkness that would do anything for her survival. She reminded me of when I was but a child. It was probably the reason why I did not give her a quick blissful trip into death’s arms, and instead wanted to raise her.      

Call it a whim, or an urge. On that whim, I raised her for ten years on the battlefields, bringing her along with me. So if I had to estimate her age, Nuala was probably over twenty years old. She also had these slightly curious patches of fur around her body. It was probably due to her belonging to one of the beast tribes.  

“Commander Bloodseeker Kai,” a voice said from behind me. The voice belonged to a male face I did not recognize. I had too many of these faceless subordinates. Where they go and where they came from, I did not give one speck of shit. It was already hard enough to sometime remember my own lightly tanned face with its pale white hair in a reflection. White hair that was like the color of healthy bones. I didn’t need any more faces to add to mine.  

“What is it?” I asked.

“Reports have come in. The other squads have defeated their enemies, and most of the remaining Dread warriors are routed. Shall we give chase?”

I gave a cursory glance at the surroundings. A vast plain with a few hills and a forest nearby. “Don’t bother chasing. We will head home now.”

I sniffed at the sweat, blood, shit, and fear that always accompanied the slaughters of a battlefield. Then at myself. I needed a bath. “Order the squads to file in,” I commanded.

“At once, Commander Bloodseeker Kai,” the faceless subordinate said. I really had to remember his name.

I shrugged. Oh well, there was plenty of time to remember it later.

Beside me, Nuala had playfully linked her arm around mine. My arm which was accoutered with a black vambrace, but no gauntlets for the hands. I liked the feel of the hilt of my broadsword and of the rectangular shield behind my back. I would not give it up for a small extra protection, which was not all that useful anyway.

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Not even a week later, I personally took care of a small skirmish, only taking with me a few warriors, ones which I bothered to remember their faces at the very least. As always, Nuala was beside me. And that Magus Sabria, who had been sent to watch over me, was also here. The reason that Magus was here was due to my rebellious and “famous” personality. Or hospitality, I should say. The two terms both go hand in hand.  

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The enemies numbered less than a hundred, small for a skirmish. It was usually around two hundred that came from the borders of the Dread Mountains, and out the Cruorus Lands.

But with our eight warriors, excluding that Magus Sabria, we were vastly outnumbered. Just my kind of odds. And had there been a bet, I would have spent my entire fortune and blood betting on my side.

“Commander Bloodseeker Kai, will you be taking care of them by yourself?” Jenna asked. She wore only a black leather armor and used a bow quite well, far better than I myself could ever accomplish. Impressive, really.

It was why I bothered to remember her name. She was a Hunter that had come from the Demona tribe. I don’t know which exactly—there were too many of these Demona tribes in the Eastern Grasslands. Eight of them, if memory serves correctly.

“No, all seven of you may join the battle while Magus Sabria watch over me like a mother hawk.”  

The seven warriors in my personally selected group chuckled darkly at that. All of us had experienced some troubles with hawks before. Crafty birds, they were. Vengeful too, especially if you were trying to steal some of their eggs.

The scouts used these hawks as vision in the skies. They were invaluable tools of the trade.

“So I am a mother hawk now, eh, Commander Kai?” Magus Sabria said, her hands planted on her hips. She had a way of accentuating just the right words. Scary, really, if it weren’t so irritating.

I didn’t answer her, only proceeding toward the enemies. Part of my charm, I suppose. That reticent silence and that coldness. A whore had complimented me on that once, though that was probably just her trying to gain some more favors from me. Favors that came in the form of coins.

I have heard that over in the far west near the Western Highlands and the Bleary Grasslands, there are some tribes part of our Tribal Alliance that do not trade in coins. That they share everything and help one another out. Interesting, really, though I doubt any of them had probably experienced a war, had seen the dregs of morality and the epitome of vices such as greed.  

It took only a few minutes. The skirmish was over quickly. A slaughter. These Dread warriors were weaklings, the bottom of the bottom in their caste system. I could have taken all of them by myself.  

The leader of this band was also the bottom of the bottom, almost barely a rung above. The Dread leader was a female warrior. Black-skinned with two yellow eyes. Similar in form to us except for one small black horn, half a thumb’s length protruding from her forehead.  

I planted a booted foot onto her stomach, then quickly disabled her, amputating one of her arms and one of her legs with one easy slice. She was only wearing a cloth armor so the amputations came clean and easy.  

The warriors of my group crowded around me, watching for any signs of threatening movements from the Dread leader. They would kill her instantly if she went for my throat. Even missing an arm and a leg, a Dread warrior was not to be underestimated. It didn’t matter if the warrior was male or female. Everything was equal before the sword. Before my sword.

“Tell me, why have more and more of you been coming out of your borders?” I asked, no trace of inflections in my voice. It was neutral. Not coldly neutral. Not even warmly. Just simply neutral, bereft of all emotions. I had perfected that voice to an art. It made the blood in most run cold, hearing such a voice.

“Nala urh mala!” the Dread leader screamed out loud, pain still ringing true in her voice. I guess she was still mad at the two bleeding separated limbs beside her. They belonged to hers truly, so I suppose it was in her right to be mad at me, to curse at me.

Fuck your mother! That was what those words had meant in her Dread language.

“Fuck your mother! KAI BLOODSEEKER!” she repeated again, this time in my language. She spat those words out as if they were dirty things.

I laughed at that. “Many have tried. None except my father succeeded. In the end, they are both dead and already rotting in my graves. My parents, that is.”

I feigned a pleased look on my face. “Still, I am honored that you Dreads bothered to learn my language, and even my name. I guess those prisoners you took were useful after all. I am, however, surprised that my name has spread that far. You do me a great honor, Dread.”

I moved my broadsword, letting the blade hover precariously over her throat. “Ish nala urh hamala.” I said, my voice still neutral. In the Dread language, a raspy brutish language with strange rhymes, I had replied back, “I fuck your grandmother.”

In the borders between the Dread Mountains and the Eastern Grasslands, you pick up many lessons, a few of which include knowledge of your foes’ language. Specifically in the area of cursing. After many years, I now had a smattering of languages and various other curses that could make a grown warrior’s balls shrivel.  

I inspected her yellow eyes. They looked determined to fuck my mother. I guess she wouldn’t be answering my question anytime soon. With that knowledge gained, I simply walked away, taking my bloodstained boot off of her cloth armored chest.

I waved a hand behind me, then ignored the resulting screams and curses in the Dread language. One of my seven handpicked warriors had killed her. Not too cleanly too from the way she had died screaming. I needed to teach them better.

“Don’t you think that was too cruel?” Magus Sabria firmly asked. I could see her face going slightly pale. Some are just not suited for pain, blood, and torture, I suppose.

“Battles are cruel.”

“Stop using such misdirection. You know that I meant the amputation of her limbs. You needn’t have gone so far. That was just petty cruelty.”

I stopped at that. Those last words rang inside my mind, resonating with a part of me that had been buried. My eyes raked over the form of Magus Sabria once more, reevaluating her. Not bad. She had some determination of her own.

“You know nothing of my world,” I said softly. “Of the blood I have waddled through. Of the corpses of the Dreads, innocent lives, and many other lives I have stacked into a heap. A heap big enough to form a small mountain of its own. You know nothing, Magus Sabria.”

“And petty cruelty is the least of it.” I walked away slowly, not waiting for her answer.

Instead of her answer, I needed some answers of my own soon. There was an unorderly chaos going on in the Cruorus Lands, and in the Dread Mountains beyond. I could feel it in my bones. A feeling that was usually always correct.

Damn. I really needed some answers. There were simply too many skirmishes from the Dreads nowadays. Barely a week had passed in between the last one and the previous ones. Simply too frequently for my taste.

It added an unorderly chaos to the already chaotic Cruorus Lands. I liked the usual chaos of the Cruorus Lands better. At least then, there was a semblance of order.

Perhaps the Dreads were having some rebellions in their caste system. Or perhaps something more was going on. Perhaps they were fleeing from something?

I needed some clues, and as the commander of the Third Frontal Fortress that guarded the borders of the Eastern Grasslands, I would have to get them soon, or else I would be the one in trouble first.  

And as always, beside me, Nuala had caught up, her slim bloodstained arm linked around mine.

“That was fun,” she said cheerfully.

I didn’t know what fun she was talking about. The skirmish itself, the death of the Dread leader, or the conversation I just had.

“Yes, it was,” I said.

Sometimes, a yes works quite well to ambiguity. And a no, though I have found a yes to work better most of the times in my experience.  

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AN NOTE: Hope you enjoyed the chapter, though somewhat dark and bloody, I suppose. But blood and darkness will always accompany this  sub-main character.