Chapter 23: A Clue to the Answers (Kai)

~Kai

Lives are valuable commodities.

And more often than not, I trade in it, even more than coins or the black of Xeonite metal.

There are different prices attached to these commodities—

Mine worth the most of all.

-Kai Bloodseeker, on the subject of commodities and self-worth

“Rise and shine, oh Dreaded warriors!” I said cheerfully toward the eleven Dreads tied onto the posts. They stood as still as scarecrows in the courtyards of the Third Frontal Fortress. But I wouldn’t have expected any movements from them. A few days of torturing does wonders for your will to live. Well, mostly because I had also starved them and bound them with Grasteon chains.

Dying from hunger is one of the worst ways to go. Give me a sword in one hand and another sword straight through the heart. That is the easiest way to go. Some might object to my idea of what is the easiest death, but they know not what they say.

I gestured a hand at Nuala, waving at her to go ahead. Smiling like a child given permission to go outside to play, she took the bucket of water in her hands, throwing it onto a Dread in the middle.

Bucket and all, she threw it. After smashing onto his face, the bucket clanged onto the stone courtyards noisily.  

I frowned at that. “Just the water, Nuala. Not the bloody bucket also. Have some sense just because I don’t specify myself.”  

She stuck her tongue out at me like a small child would do to her parent. I sighed at that. There was no fixing her.

I nodded at my seven handpicked warriors, excluding Nuala—she was like my right hand, always with me wherever I went. With my permission given, the seven warriors each threw their own bucket of water onto each of the bound Dreads.

Bucket and all, the seven warriors had all thrown, following Nuala’s example. I narrowed my eyes at that. Just slightly, for I didn’t want them to think that I would kill them all for that small act. It was one of the benefits of becoming one of my seven handpicked warriors, the seven Bloodguards they called themselves.

You could be quite rowdy and I wouldn’t give a care. The greatest benefit, however, was that I remembered your name. Well, I suppose another benefit would be that you were less liable to get killed out here, though I think the former benefit is much better. Recognition from me was as rare as falling in love—

It would never truly happen, but you could get a small taste of it at least.

When I saw that some of the Dreads had been roused from their forced sleep, I moved toward the middle one, the Dread tied in the middle position of the eleven posts. Each step that brought me closer to the bound Dread warriors, the smell of shit, blood, and rot assaulted my nose ever the more strongly.

The Dread tied in the middle post was the leader of this group. His appearance denoted him to be at the lower end of the caste system that was inherent in the Dreads. With his three horns lined up singly on his forehead, the Dread was just two ranks above the Hornless.    

Up close now, I could smell the acrid wounds on his fully naked body. I sniffed, turning my back toward the bound Dread. I wasn’t worried I would be attacked from behind. They were bound with blue Grasteon chains enhanced by runic markings. It would take an impossible feat to break out of all those chains bound around his joints and chest.

To intimidate, to horrify, you have to move slowly. You have to make every movement count. A slow moving blade that inches across your throat is far more sickening than a hasty blade. Actions, also, speak far more than words.

I waved a hand at Jenna, who had her bow strung behind her back as usual. She nodded, bringing me a wooden chair. I thanked her and she returned back to her position. Ah, reliable Jenna. She knew exactly what I was thinking.

The chair was finely carved and made out of Strong-Heart wood. On the seat, there was a soft blue cushion, the insides of it made of feathers from a short-tailed redbird. A rare kind of bird with feathers that were widely exclaimed for their softness and beauty. I didn’t know why it was made into a cushion; you couldn’t exactly admire the feathers with a cushion cover blocking the view.  

The action of bringing that chair spoke loudly to the blurry eyed three-horned Dread—I can sit here comfortably for many, many days, even years if you prefer. And I will keep you alive, torturing you every second, every minute, and every hour for the rest of your unnatural life. At least, until you give me what I want.

It was that kind of action. See? Actions do speak louder than words, oftentimes. Though don’t take my word for it.  

Leaning easily onto the back of the chair, my butt planted firmly onto the cushion of the seat, I slowly crossed a leg over the other. Then I made sure the strap of my broadsword strung behind my back was in a comfortable position. “A fine morning, is it not, my friend?” I decided to start out my interrogation easy.

I had captured these eleven Dreads two months later after my scouts had obtained no leads with their investigations and in their questioning of the wild beast tribes living in the Cruorus Lands. The scouts probably had not gone deeper enough into the Cruorus Lands. After all, the beast tribes living near the Eastern Grasslands were not exactly known for their overflowing font of knowledge.  

In addition, my communications with the other four Commanders of the Frontal Fortresses had led to nowhere. They were undergoing their own investigations and had obtained no clues as to the sudden increase in the skirmishes with the Dreads.

Instead of returning my greeting kindly, the three-horned Dread spat at me. It was a useless attempt. A few days of starvation can do that to one. A dry throat, a dry mouth, and no spittle will come out. Only blood.

But I had made sure not to injure the mouth and the throat. Wouldn’t want them mute after all and spitting blood at me all the time.

I twitched a small smile. I had to admit, even the lowest Dread warriors in their caste system were hardy bastards. They didn’t break easily.

A shame how quickly an easy interrogation turns difficult in the blink of an eye. Or in this case, in the blink of a spit.

Then again, I suppose that made it all the more pleasurable to good ol’ Kass. Short for Kassina, she was one of the seven Bloodguards. I called out to her.

“Could you stand by me, Kass?” I said, my eyes meeting her short form. Other than me, she didn’t allow anyone else to shorten her name like that. The shortened name somehow just rubs her the wrong way. A rubbing that was liable to earn a dagger through your eye.

One of my subordinates had called her Kass once, mimicking after me. And the next day, he had woken up with a dagger in his eye, screaming for his mother. Dangerous and a mean little thing Kass was. To quell that incident, I had to pay a hefty compensation and dismiss that subordinate after rushing him to a healer.

In my experience, the worst kind of subordinates or warriors were the ones that did not have any discipline. And Kass was the worst kind. But I didn’t keep her around because she was a good warrior. I kept her around due to her talent in inflicting pain. Torture, if you know what I mean. Not to mention she was also cunning, and with a tongue slick enough to raise a dead person to life.  

Hearing my call, Kass sauntered over to my side, humming a small tune. I forgave her for that small delay. Kass held a soft spot in my heart. But that was probably because it would be a pain to find another one that was as cunning or as excellent in torturing as she was. A personal torturer was hard to come by.

Standing beside me, Kass barely came up to my sitting height. Indeed, a small little thing, possibly shy of five and a half feet tall. I smiled at her with my special smile.

She froze, and underneath her messy, dirty blonde hair with bangs that almost covered her eyes, she looked a tad nervous. I didn’t blame her.

My smile could have spoken of anything. Displeasure. Happiness. Satisfaction. Approval. Disapproval. And my displeasure or disapproval was liable to get one killed faster than an overextend trip into the heart of the Cruorus Lands.

Like Nuala, I had picked up Kass somewhere near the heart of the Cruorus Lands. She had been both a slave warrior and a “slave lady of the evening” in the Rokka tribe, one of the wild beast tribes. The beast tribes were not part of the Tribal Alliance. They were seen as little more than animals despite the fact that most of them looked similar in form to us.

Part of the Wolf tribe, or whatever they called themselves in their language, Kass had these wolven ears and tail. Her eyes were of deep midnight, a pointed button nose, and a set of lips that could easily make a bloodcurdling smile.

“What is it, commander,” she said, husky and all seductive like. Evidentially, her time as a lady of the evening had not been wasted.  

“It seems our guest is quite tightlipped but still able to spit. Could you be a dear and persuade him for a few sips? I wouldn’t like to be known as inhospitable, after all.”

I watched as Kass worked her magic. She simply walked up to the three-horned Dread and a whimper escaped from him. There was also a fear in his beady dark eyes, as they flittered left and right.

I chuckled darkly to myself. Kass had worked some exquisite magic the last few days upon these Dreads. I could smell the fear from the eleven Dreads. Well, the ones that were conscious anyway. The fear also could have just been the rot and shit settling on them. It was sometimes hard to differentiate between the smell of fear, shit, and rot. One just get so…so used to them combining into one atrocious smell.

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Her right hand straightened into a flat palm, it soon became a blur of motion as she jumped up and chopped down at his face. Landing back down onto the ground with immaculate grace reserved only for a skilled fighter, her right hand was balled into a fist. Slowly unclenching her right hand, three small black horns fell down beside the post.

“I have been saving this torture for tonight, but it seems you desire it now, my lovely guest,” Kassina whispered softly to his legs.

Had Kass been taller and the Dread not tied up so high onto the post, she would have certainly whispered into his ears, and not to his legs. But sadly, some things were just impossible. And a taller height for Kass was impossible.

None of the Bloodguards or the warriors milling around the courtyards dared pointed this fact out though. That would have been asking for a free dagger through their eyes.

“Would you like some high heeled boots, dear Kass?” I asked, an amused smile on my face. Not at Kass, but at the Dread.

The previous three horned Dread was now hornless. His face was priceless, a mix of outrage and fear. Among the horned Dreads, the number of horns proved for a stronger position in the caste system. Thus, their horns were their pride, especially for those higher in the caste system.

Cutting the horns off was cutting both their pride and position. Like me, Kass had found a precious insight into the nature of people. To truly break a person, you do not break his body but his spirit, the stuff that makes him a person. That said, break a body enough and the spirit will naturally follow along.

“Did you know, my dear guest, there are many ways to break a Dread,” Kass said, all slow-like. She had ignored my question, but I let it go. Words are the easiest to forgive. At least it was for me.      

Kass let out a pure laughter. At least, it seemed pure to the others. She couldn’t deceive my ears though. I knew that her laughter was a fake one. There was no real joy in it. “Oh right, I had almost forgotten that you have already enjoyed some of my ways the last few days.”

She grew the nail of her forefinger longer. Slowly and slowly, longer and longer, the nail grew until it was about as long as her forefinger. Kass was about to give a show, a show which she had been practicing since she could walk.  

Her nail softly tracing the left leg of the Dread, she continued moving it upward and upward until it hovered precariously at his crotch.

“Fuck you, bitch,” the Dread whispered, his voice hoarse. He would have shouted if he could but a dry and injured throat can only make so much noise.

As if she had not heard his curses, Kass stabbed her nail into his crotch slowly. Half an inch, the nail sunk down slowly. Stopped. It continued digging further. Another half an inch. Stopped. Then another, and another.

His screams lit up the courtyards, energizing the lethargic morning. It looks like I had been wrong, after all. A dry and injured throat can still make much noise.

At the loud screeching of the Dread, the heads of the nearby warriors at the other courtyards turned toward the screaming. I met their curious gazes with my own stare. The warriors quickly lowered their heads and returned back to their drilling.

Discipline, my friends, goes a long way. And practice makes perfect.

The warriors would thank me later on. Practicing your discipline, especially under the screams of the Dreads and the smell of shit, piss, rot, and sweat wafting over, was undoubtedly good practice. It was how I had learned my discipline.  

The screaming continued for close to an hour and I had a front seat view of it all. I was quite surprised halfway through the spectacle. It seemed to me that Kass had improved her techniques. Pretty soon, she would be a match for me.

My eyes moved toward the other Dreads tied onto the posts, meeting each and every pair of eyes. They were now all awake. The screams of their leader, no doubt, helped quite a bit in their wake up calls.  

I made an exaggerated yawn. Well, perhaps not so exaggerated in truth, for I had been up all night waiting for reports from the scouts.

Ignoring the screaming—one can take amusement from pain only a short while before boredom starts to set in—I thought upon the movements of the Dreads.

For as long as I could remember, there had been a stalemate between the Dreads and the Tribal Alliance, extending into the second century already. With a few exceptions, there had only been the occasional skirmishes in the Cruorus Lands. Nothing too extreme. Many deaths on their side and a few deaths on our side.

Guarding the borders of the Eastern Grasslands were five Frontal Fortresses with one Commander in each. There were also many other smaller forts with their own Imperators. Then there was the Central Fortress with its High Commander.  

Multiple reports had been coming from the smaller forts that there were more and more skirmishes. Likewise, I had been seeing many other small bands of Dreads crossing the Cruorus Lands. Stupid of these Dreads. Suicidal, in fact. Their small attacks did nothing but dye my hands red with more of their blood. We had barely lost anyone to these small attacks.

There was a relief to my ears now. The screaming had become half-crying, half-sobs. His throat must have also been parched and raw from the constant shouting. I could barely hear his cries now.

“Stop!” the hornless Dread said, choking on that word. Previously, he had already been mangling the common language of the Tribal Alliance, and now he was mutilating the language. So much so that I wouldn’t have been able to recognize that word, had I not heard it so many times when I set my hands to torturing.    

I held out a hand to stop Kass from torturing the Dread any longer. Already a sorry figure, he looked even more pitiful now. Flakes of dry blood covered his naked body, and fresh blood, still wet from their wounds, dripped down onto the courtyards, a small trace of it even running toward the legs of the chair I sat upon.  

“Kill me, please,” the Dread begged, half-sobs and such. “I don’t know anything.”

I motioned for Kass to continue, and she nodded, making a move toward the Dread again.

“No, no. I will tell you,” he whimpered, his eyes always fixed upon those sharp, sharp nails of Kassina. “We were there to escape from our Lord! There’s a war going on in the border territories!”

The Dread wasn’t particularly well-versed in the common language of the Tribal Alliance, and with the added benefit of his injured throat, most of the words were almost senseless garbage. Luckily, I knew the Dreads language quite well.

I smiled at that. You can learn many things from a torture chamber, though a language learned from someone under such duress is…difficult, to say the least. In their agonies, they can even mangle some of the pronunciation of the words in their natural language.  

“You see, that wasn’t too bad now, was it?” I didn’t expect an answer to my question, but the Dread still answered. Some people—they simply have not one jot of clue. It’s why they die so quickly.

Standing up, I walked over to the Dread. Then I pressed my right palm onto his chest. Slowly, ever so slowly, my fingers dug deeply into his flesh. Just the right amount of force for it to be painful, but not enough to make him bleed.

A few seconds passed by as the Dread sobbed some more, his eyes looking down at me in confusion.

I gave him some mercy then. The fingers of my hand furled and dug deeply into his chest, then past his sternum. In a single instant, I ripped out his heart. The pinkish organ covered by arterial blood thumped a few more times, as if it was still alive, as if it knew its purpose still. With death, there was no more purpose.

A final scream, a final thump. A shame the two didn’t coincide at the end.

My hand bloodied, I threw the heart away. It landed close to the post of the nearby bound Dread, who would have flinched away if he could. From the corners of my eyes, I could see Nuala almost salivating at my actions. Crazy child.

“Kill them all,” I said to my seven Bloodguards. Then I slowly walked away, never once looking back, but not before leaving a parting remark. "Oh right, don't forget to wash those nails of yours, Kass."

Normally, I wouldn’t have personally ended the Dread’s life. But almost an hour of time had been wasted on him. Time that could have been spent elsewhere. Like sleep, for example. Ah, sleep, a most precious thing. It came to me even easier than killing.

My mind swirling with thoughts, I headed back inside the Fortress, a gigantic structure built by many of the tribal Magus and Builders working together. All the while, I hummed a nameless tune from my Incretio tribe, a thing I had left far behind in the dusty childhood memories of my past.

My pondering ended.

All my thoughts led to one conclusion—

It was time to pay a visit to the Dread borders, and along the way, perhaps a few of the beast tribes living near there.

Yes, it was time to pay a personal visit from yours truly, Kai Bloodseeker, the only remaining survivor of the Incretio tribe.

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AN NOTE:  Yahello, it's me, author guy again.

Every chapter that has been marked with  "(Kai)" will be from the perspective of Kai Bloodseeker.  For now, there are a few more chapters to go before the perspective changes.