Chapter 37: Prince, rain and fury_The King of Desires

Chapter 37: Prince, rain and fury

“Where is your magic staff?” Ekar asked.

“Please, do you think you have a chance if I were to use a magic staff?” The advisor furrowed his brows as if he has just listened to the most ridiculous thing ever. “Spear,” the advisor commanded, staring at Ekar’s lackeys.

And they gave him a blank look.

“Give him a fucking spear,” Ekar impatiently told his Yellers, his bodyguards, realizing they had no idea what the advisor meant with his words. He could not wait to break the advisor and tear him from limb to limbs as he has announced.

It finally dawned on Ekar’s Yellers that the advisor asked them for a weapon.

One of them tossed the advisor a crudely made spear, a wooden stick, slightly bent, with iron tips at both ends. The advisor caught the spear with one hand and spun it around in blurry circular motions. He gave it a few snappy and quick jabs, showing his familiarity with the weapon.

However, One-eye thought that the advisor looked more like one of those showmen who lived and die by the crowds on the streets of Kingscrown than a fighter with the way he used the spear. Suddenly, the advisor jumped and smashed the weapon to the ground as if testing its durability. The wooden stick in his hand made a crisp sound as it hit the ground, undamaged. The advisor gave a slight nod of satisfaction as he retrieved the spear.

Ekar’s Yellers jeered, mocking the advisor as he was testing his new weapon. It’s understandable. Their trust in Ekar’s victory was as solid as rock. They were seasoned fighters who lived through battles and campaigns with Ekar. They were Ekar’s royal guards, cruel, twisted and strong just like him. However, even if they were not seasoned fighters, they would bet all of their coins on Ekar.

Keep laughing when you still can, One-eye thought, silently mocked Ekar’s Yellers for committing the same mistake as he did last night.

Ekar was a giant among men. Had One-eye not seen Bloodbeard before, he would have thought that Ekar was the only one of his kind.

However, unlike Bloodbeard who was forged like a bulk of tempered muscles on the godly anvil of the Sinintee, Ekar’s entire body was built of stones and marbles. Ekar was strong but slow on his feet, unlike Bloodbeard. He did not have that deceptively explosiveness or the blessing of Wonten or the inability to feel the pain of Bloodbeard. However, Ekar needed none of those. Ekar was beast of his own kind, a walking fortress on the battlefield.

As the advisor was playing with his spear, four of the Yellers carried the Bonecleaver to Ekar. Ekar grabbed it by the handle and made a few swings as if he wanted to intimidate the advisor with it.

However, the advisor did not give a single fuck to Ekar, just minding his own business and testing his spear.

Eventually, Ekar’s Bonecleaver rested on his shoulder, a full wingspan of a grown mountain eagle of scarred black steel. It was too long, big, thick, unwieldy and rough on the edges to be a sword. It had no point, just an unsharpened trapezoid at the end where the point of the sword should be.

That thing looked like a mistake that came out of a weed smoking smith’s furnace, unfinished, a huge slab of metal with two blunt edges and a giant handle. Yet, in the hands of Ekar, it rivaled the most destructive dwarven siege engines, a force to be fear. No armor or shield was thick enough to protect anyone from the crushing weight of that blade. Other than Ekar, Bloodbeard was probably the only one in the world could use something like that as a weapon.

However, Ekar rarely used the Bonecleaver to kill his foes. He mainly used it to dispatch his foes with a swing to their guts, shoulders, arms or legs and incapacitated them. He always avoided hitting his foes in the neck or the head. Receiving a swing from the Bonecleaver was more than enough to incapacitate most men.

He never finished his foes during battles. Ekar just left them like that, unable to move, lying in their pool of blood, broken, trampled, bleeding to a slow death. If they managed to live through the length of the battle, usually the strongest and luckiest or perhaps unluckiest, Ekar would come back for them. He always did, searching for his dismantled foes, hoping that they would be alive to provide more entertainment for him.

He was a cruel and fucked up bastard, even among the cruelest and most fucked up people One-eye has ever met. He would use his fists to pummel his incapacitated foes until the light went out of their eyes. That was Ekar when he was most merciful. The usual Ekar would bring his immobile victims back with him to his tent, feasted on their blood curling screams, bathed in their blood and the smell of their innards for an entire night.

The only person in this horde that can truly fight Ekar was Bloodbeard.

Without saying, Bloodbeard hated Ekar despite having Ekar under his command. He had no love for Ekar’s sadistic nature. Yet, he kept Ekar around. Ekar was a great fighter and a great commander. He’s valuable on the battlefield.

Compare to heavily armored Ekar who was wrapped in a mismatched set of plate mail, boiled leather, gauntlets, greaves; the advisor only dressed in his long robe. One-eye guessed that the advisor intended to win the match with his quickness.

However, Ekar was a moving fortress and his arms were siege engines. Many have tried to win against Ekar with quickness, trying to bleed Ekar with grazes on his unprotected parts. They were all dead, and Ekar still lived.

The advisor looked as though he was chiseled out of ice, a delicate and fine ice sculpture that the dwarves would make in their winter festival to honor Sinintee. He was “fair” and One-eye thought that “fair” would make a strange description for a man, but here he was, the fairest of the fair. Just by standing in the presence of the advisor, as uneducated as he was, One-eye felt like he was just as eloquence as the bards.

The advisor reminded One-eye of an elf that he has seen once on an aristocrat slave market of Kingscrown.

Elves, they were rarely seen out of their land. A lucky slaver captured that one. The creature was displayed on a galley for the richest of nobles to bid. Its skin was untouched pristine snow without a mark. Its hair was the glimmering light of the stars. It was as though the songs that the bards often sang came to life. That creature was the closest thing to be the nude form of the Valkyria, fair and godly. It was fairer than the wives of those noblemen, the most coveted whores of high society and probably more than the king’s most treasured wives. Yet, that creature was completely paled in the sight of the advisor.

The advisor was Niwdar if Niwdar was a male god and if her hair was dark. He was the personification of beauty itself. As fair as the Valkyria were, they were no match for their mother, the most beautiful woman of all the realms. And the advisor, he was easily the fairest man of all the realms. Perhaps, only Sinintee himself could contest with the advisor.

The advisor was anything but a capable fighter from the way he looked. People would have thought that until they learned it firsthand. One-eye certainly did, as well as the rest of Bloodbeard’s bodyguards during the encounter last night.

The male Niwdar they have thought turned out to be Flokí, the smiling Demon Lord for what Flokí was. The bit of his blade was terrible, it burned like hot brand but his smile was even more. When that smile appeared on his lips, nobody could move. That smile was petrifying and terrifying. If a person has seen that smile once, it stuck in their head forever.

Yet, One-eye could not help but fear for the advisor’s safety. His opponent was Ekar after all.

“Master advisor, please be careful,” One-eye warned the advisor.

“Why?” The advisor casually asked, as though he has never perceived Ekar to be a threat. He looked like he was about to take a nap. He did not look like a man who was about to fight the monster that was Ekar. It was a bizarre sight.

Ekar’s Yeller laughed again, jeering the advisor. And the crowds around them laughed as well. Some people from the crowd have already started making bet on how long the advisor would live.

They thought the advisor looked like those virgin noble boys who stood on the battlefield for the first time, yet to see blood, yet to kill a man while still dreaming of dragons and glories.

Did he really intend to fight Ekar with a spear?

The spear would give him range, a good choice under normal circumstance. However, Ekar’s weapon and his abnormal strength would pose an extremely difficult challenge. There is no way that the advisor would win this fight without using his strange magic.

“Spear,” the advisor stopped spinning the spear given to him and looked at Ekar’s boys again. None of them understood what he meant.

“Spear,” he firmly repeated.

One of them tossed him another spear out of reflex and he caught it with his free hand.

What?

He’s fighting with two spears? One-eye has never heard of that.

Bloodbeard’s fighting style with the two halberds was already odd. The advisor’s style of using two spears was even odder. However, his arms did not look like they had the strength to wield both spears at once.

One-eye was confused. Ekar snorted in ridicule, “A jester till the end,” and the crowd laughed. However, the advisor still had that look of nonchalance. He did not look like he cared.

What? Two spears? Is that even possible?

One-eye watched the advisor with his jaw slackened. He could not imagine how the advisor would fight this battle.

How did it become like this?

One-eye thought that he should report this to Bloodbeard and stop this fight, yet, he just stood and watched

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Fearless was updating his résumé inside his head.

Military advisor (for a host of 6000 worms)

What a career choice!

He felt like laughing, and he did, just a bit. “What was I thinking?” He muttered the words quietly. His career choice could not be more stupid than this.

Then, Clariciel’s warning and the bet Fearless made with her came to his mind. She scared him with her prophecy, making him think that his problem was much more serious than it was. When a goddess likes her giving that kind of prophet, of course, anyone would take it seriously.

Fearless cursed Clariciel within his mind and blamed everything on her. He blamed that final sack of wine that he has consumed last night. He blamed that caravan of people who died to bandits. They made him drink which lead to him being drunk. If only they did not die in such a manner, he would not be so depressed and rely on that sack of wine to do away with his depression.

Fearless blamed everything and everyone but himself. He just wanted to go to Madukat, to see the civilization of this world, to see and talk with another human being. He has somewhat expected that his trip would not be that easy.

Iliva’s reclusive life denied Fearless ‘chance of learning the time and date of this world. He did not even know what time it was when he began his journey. He was a little bit hopeful that he has arrived at the time when Madukat has fallen under the control of the Empire. The city would know peace for a while.

However, Fearless’ worst expectation came true. He has arrived at Escana at the very beginning of the Second Great War. This was the worst time to be in Madukat and in Zard in particular.

Fearless cursed himself that he should have crossed the Spine… without mountain climbing tools, that is not an option. Maybe crossing the Great Plain? Fuck, how many months it would cost me to cross the Great Plain with his bare feet before I could see people? Madukat was the only viable option from the beginning.

To sum up, the reasons that Fearless found himself in this peculiar situation, it was bad luck. Fearless nodded his head.

I have done no wrong. My career choice is a mistake, but it’s not my fault. This world is the one in the wrong. Might as well fix it now.

Fearless scoffed, playing with the two spears lent to him by Ekar’s lackeys. They were crudely made from hardwood, without a shred of beauty or practicality. Their balance felt wrong in his hand. One of them was even bent like a crooked chopstick. The spears were iron-tipped on both ends, their tips rusty and damaged.

It’s hard to fight with something like these. Oh, well, they are more than enough for the job.

Fearless advanced toward his opponent, casually, without a sliver of fear or doubt in his system.

The whole situation turned out just as he has intended.

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“One-eye, step back,” Fearless ordered. The bandit confronted Ekar out of reflex.

They said that the mouth is the root of all misfortune. One-eye only realized that after Ekar stood in front of him to stare down with his superior height. He froze up under Ekar’s towering shadow like a gazelle in the headlight. He knew he has misspoken.

Was Pushover a perk in the game?

Fearless thought, believing if “Pushover” was a perk in the game and was assigned with levels, One-eye would be without a doubt has maxed out that perk.

“You have heard it from One-eye. From today onward, I’m your boss. By the way, I’m your boss’ uncle as well.” Fearless no longer had any intention to stay in the shadow of Bloodbeard and controlled this horde of bandits from within the dark. The frozen lake of early winter inside his head reflected his path. It was clear on what he has to do.

“You gotta shitting me,” Ekar bent his back like a drawing bow, bringing his eyes down to Fearless’ height. “Something like you? Something like you as my boss? You look no different from these dogs of mine,” Ekar violently yanked the chain in his left hand and the collared women all fell flat to the ground. He then pulled the chain and reeled the women on the ground, leaving them groaning from the pain of their skin being scrapped by the ground.

Fearless inwardly graded Ekar’s intimidating tactic with a huge E. There was only one reason he did not give Ekar a huge capital F. It was attributed to the fact that the oversized worm has realized that those women had previously had an impact on Fearless’ psyche. But no longer.

“Do you need a potion?” Fearless asked, looking at Ekar, concerned.

“What?”

“I think your eyes are pretty damaged. I cannot have a commander under my command to lead a unit while being damaged in both eyes. One-eye, give me my luggage. I think I have a potion that cures eye blindness.”

Ekar looked stunned, stared at Fearless with widened eyes and abruptly broke into laughter. His laughter was like thunder, a low and rumbling crack.

Fearless has prepared himself for an attack, a punch, a grapple or a kick. But, no attack flew his way.

Ekar turned around, looking at One-eye and his lackeys and pointing his finger at Fearless, and kept on laughing. It was as though he has heard something truly amusing from Fearless.

His lackey obviously had no idea why Ekar laughed like that. They forced themselves to laugh as well, the kind of awkward laughter. Their laughter started to attract attention from the bandits around them. A crowd was forming.

Ekar kept on laughing with his finger pointed back and forth between his own eyes and then Fearless. Nobody understood why he was laughing like that, not even Fearless. He intended for it to be an insult.

“You, you are great,” Ekar tried to stifle his laughter, “My sides have never hurt so bad. You are truly great. I thought that you were a magic caster from the robe. You fooled me, jester. That was the funniest joke I have heard. Whose court you come from?”

Fearless said nothing. He was still expecting Ekar to hit him at any given moment, thus, giving him the right to retaliate. Ekar was delaying the process for Fearless.

“Jester, do you know who am I?” The oversized worm asked, still laughing.

“No, I have not heard. How about introducing yourself?”

Ekar placed a hand on Fearless’ shoulder and put pressure on it, “You are funny. How about becoming my personal jester?” He was laughing but his eyes were not.

“That would be a problem for me since you and your people are supposed to listen to my command.” Fearless smacked Ekar’s arm, shrugging it off his shoulder.

The crowd hushed into an eerie silence.

“Try a different joke, jester. That one is getting old,” there was no longer laughter in Ekar’s voice, only threats.

“I see that you have a problem with listening to my command. How about this? Let Sinintee bear witness. You and me, we fight. Loser listens to the winner. That’s the quickest way for the two of us to settle this.”

Ekar did not attack Fearless, therefore, Fearless had to come up with another tactic.

Ekar laughed again. “Do you think you have what it takes to challenge me jester?”

Fearless almost scoffed at Ekar by reflex. A parasitic worm like Ekar would be lucky to breathe the same air as Fearless and yet, he dared to question Fearless’ quality. Fearless, however, did not let his pride getting in the way of his plan.

Fearless took two steps away from Ekar, just outside of his striking range. “You mean the bet? Don’t worry. I have it,” he pretended as if he did not understand Ekar’s mockery. ”If I lost, you can have this.” Fearless removed Enfermé from the thigh strap and held it in the air, “Enfermé, is that name known to you?”

Ekar and his lackeys showed a blank look.

In Fearless’ hand was Enfermé, easily the strangest looking sword that anyone has ever seen. Its blade was a bit too long to be a knife, yet too short to be a sword, and uncharacteristically thick. The blade of a sword is supposed to be thin, thus, allowing it to puncture flesh easily, not Enfermé though. The strange wave pattern similar to that of Damascus steel on its blade only made Enfermé looking even stranger.

“The sword of Seal?” Fearless continued to ask. He saw no reaction from his audiences, “No, really? None of you moron learn anything about history? Empirefeller? Kingslayer?”

A light of recognition appeared on the face of a few people among the audiences, more importantly, Ekar’s. “Great, you are not that stupid after all. There is hope. Yes, this is the blade that ended Craxus.”

“That must be a fake,” Ekar said.

“Fake? See this.” Fearless scoffed, hurling Enfermé into the air. The five meters length of black steel that wrapped around Ekar’s left arm chinked and split into halves. The chain that connected the women to Ekar has been snapped. “This thing cut through anything that is not a divine relic. Diamond, Titanite, Mithril, dwarven steel, black steel or a blob of frozen fat, it makes no difference in front of this sword.”

Ekar stared at the blade in awe. It unnatural sharpness and its history brought greed into his eyes. The crowds around him buzzed like bees, staring and chatting as Fearless went to retrieve Enfermé. “Win this fight and you shall have it.”

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Ekar showed a blank face. He was thinking of something.

Fearless had no idea what Ekar was thinking inside that ugly skull. But he would not let it affects his plan.

“Not enough? Greed is a good motivation.” Fearless decided that he would not give Ekar a chance to dictate the situation, “How about this? Inside that bag One-eye’s holding, there are artifacts of equal and more value than this blade. Still not enough or perhaps you are afraid?” He asked with a mocking tone.

All eyes but Ekar’s were on the large luggage on the arms of One-eye.

Fearless’ mockery visibly flipped a switch inside Ekar. “Me afraid? What am I afraid of?” It was a low and primal-like growl like that of an angered beast. Fire burned inside his eyes.

“Of losing in front of your boys. What else?" Fearless smirked, "Of showing how weak and pathetic you are,” Fearless pointed his finger at the collared and chained women. “I have heard that you love preying on the weak and the broken. Do you think that beating up these women made you strong? That’s laughable. They don't fight back, do they? How about picking on someone who can actually fight back?”

The crowds were dead in silence.

“You are very funny, jester,” Ekar spoke. His voice was the cracking of red coals.

“For a man so big to be so coward, what a shame. It’s fine, go back to your boys and pretend that this conversation has never happened. Also, you don’t have to worry about me giving you unfavorable orders in the incoming battles. I will position you and your boys at the rearmost where no arrow or blade would harm you.”

“If you wanted to die so bad, so be it. Everything of yours will be mine, including that flapping tongue of yours. I will rip it off your pretty mouth after I ripped your eyeballs out of those sockets and chew on them. Your ears will be cut and feed to my dogs. You won't have eyes, you won't have ears or a tongue. You will arrive at the hall of Mistress Death blind, deaf, crippled and stupid after I’m done with bathing in your scream and innards, and then all the dead and the living will know that you are the fool, a jester who thought he could fight Ekar.” Ekar gnashed his teeth.

“That’s unless you win the duel, fool.” Fearless arrogantly scoffed, “But, that suits me. Winner takes all. Your possession, your people, I will take them all. Your life, to be honest, i don't want it. Let the gods decide decide what to do with it.”

“Make some space,” Ekar thundered. His patient and calmness have run dry.

I’m ending this before Bloodbeard arrives. Fearless decided.

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The advisor suddenly stabbed one of his spears to the ground and then another one. He fixed them firmly to the ground, making them planted steadfast to the ground, immovable.

Then he casually walked toward Ekar. He made people confused. Everything he did made people confused.

“What? Did you think that I would use those spears to fight you? Don’t flatter yourself. I need no weapon to fight you.” His voice was unwaveringly confident.

It made One-eye asked himself a question “Then what the actual fuck those spears used for?”

“Keep talking while you still can.” Ekar advanced grimly, covered in steel like a moving fortress. The sound of his greaves crushing on the ground resembled that of rumbling thunders. With every step he made, a tremor created. It was as if the gods had decided to split the realm underneath Ekar’s footstep.

“Of course, I will keep talking. That’s what I do.” The advisor showed no sign that he was fighting a death match, bantered as he entered Ekar’s sword range.

Bonecleaver swept in a low arc and a sickening ghostly sound of breaking bones echoed within One-eye’s ears. He shuddered. However, that one grown eagle’s wingspan of black steel caught only empty air. There was nobody in front of Ekar.

The buzzing crowds surrounding the two fighters died away in ghostly silence.

Everybody could see the advisor, everybody but Ekar. One-eye could guess the confusion on Ekar’s face behind his iron helmet. He probably had that same stupid looking that One-eye had last night.

“You are slow. How about changing that ridiculous weapon of yours to a lighter one? You might be able to catch me,” the advisor was stalking Ekar’s shadow from behind, scratching the back of his head, looking very bored.

Ekar turned around, Bonecleaver flashing and caught the advisor in his ghostly shadow, looking equally stupid as its master.

“Behind you, boss,” one of Ekar’s Yellers managed to snap themselves out of silence.

Ekar spun around again, Bonecleaver trailing, trying to catch a glimpse of the advisor. However, the advisor would disappear and reappear underneath the shadow of Ekar’s towering back.

“Where are you?” Ekar roared.

“Behind you,” the advisor replied.

Bonecleaver thundered in a low arc and Ekar trailing behind this time. Pebbles and dust shot up as that giant blade hit the ground. Ekar kept spinning, this time, his gauntlet swept first in an angry high arc.

“In front of you,” the advisor disappeared and reappeared in front of Ekar, his own blade flashing for the first time. It burrowed deep into Ekar’s metal breastplate with no resistance.

Ekar growl like a wounded beast, sweeping his gauntlet again, only catching the advisor’s shadow one more time. He has come to know the wickness of that blade like One-eye did.

“Behind you,” the advisor said, his blade tore through the back of Ekar’s plate armor with no effort. Ekar raged, flapping his arms. The advisor retreated with urgent footsteps, his sword with him, to avoid the whirling storm of death that was Bonecleaver.

“Astounding! I'm surprised that you can still swing that blade. Enfermé should have sealed your . You are stronger than I have thought.” The advisor joyfully clapped his hands and commended Ekar in the dead of silence.

There was no noise from the crowd. It was like Ekar’s Yellers had their tongue removed, the same could be said about the rest of the spectators.

Ekar groaned, dragging Bonecleaver in a lumbering arc to strike the man in front of him. But even a child could avoid it with if Ekar wielded it around with that kind of speed. The advisor playfully skipped and landed on the blade of Bonecleaver. Ekar was brought to his knees by the additional weight of the advisor. Bonecleaver slipped out of his iron grip like a slippery fish.

The advisor looked like a nimble mountain cat. He played around with Ekar as though that moving fortress was but an easy prey. It was so bizarre of a sight that One-eye thought that he must be dreaming.

This was Ekar, The Cruel, the Moving Fortress, and Bloodbeard's equal in combat?

Has he always been so weak? So vulnerable like this? Or his opponent was so strong?

Ekar roared. His growl was loud and painful and wheezing through the iron of his visor. Blood drenched the sole of his greaves. He charged headlong, arms swinging. The advisor disappeared again. Ekar turned around, and there stood the advisor, nine or ten steps away from him.

“Face me, coward. Stop running around with your trickery,” Ekar roared. His fists pummeled the ground to vent his anger. Dirt erupted as Ekar pounded the ground with his heavy punches.

The advisor laughed, “What a jester. Whose court do you come from? If I faced you with my full strength, you would have arrived at the hall of Mistress Death without knowing who killed you or how you died. And that’s really boring in my opinion. Besides, I promised I would leave your life to the gods before this duel, did I not?”

Ekar roared, bulled ahead. He leaped, arms swooping, desperately catching the shadow of the advisor.

Once again, the advisor was behind Ekar with at least eight steps in between.

“Face me, coward. Do you have no honor? Sinintee is watching, face me.” Ekar roared. His fists pounded against the ground again.

Ekar’s Yeller finally recovered their tongue, jeering, “Coward, face him like a man. Stop running around.”

The advisor disinterestedly shrugged his shoulders, “As you wished,” disappeared and reappeared within a blink of an eye, standing at where Ekar should be.

Ekar was nowhere to be found.

One-eye thought he was seeing things and blinked his eyes. Then, he heard the most terrible noise that he has ever heard since he was born.

He was not sure if it was a scream. It was visceral and full of regret, but it ended abruptly by a most horrid sound.

One-eye was not even sure what he heard. It sounded like a thud, a crack and a splash all at the same time, a truly horrid sound.

He blinked his eyes once more, staring at that familiar looking thing.

There was Ekar. It was Ekar. He was in the middle of a crater, lying in a pool of blood of his own, broken, squashed inside his plate armor.

The crowds were silenced again. Then, somebody among the crowd screamed.

"The gods ruled that you are to die. You are truely unlucky," The advisor sighed, "Of all the people in this world you can challenge, it's me that you challenged."

Amidst that commotion, the advisor stood, casually cracked his neck and yawned as if he just woke up from a long slumber, “Man, this skill is broken. Devs, you might need to nerf this. This skill is OP. Actually gravity is also OP. Nerf gravity as well.” He spoke in a foreign tongue as though he was casting some sort of magic. Or perhaps, he was praying.

Ekar’s Yellers screamed. Their howls were blood curdling. “Avenge,” one of them drew his hatchet from his sash. The rest picked their weapons as well. They charged at the advisor. One-eye screamed, trying to stop them. But his voice drowned out by the screams of the Yellers.

All of a sudden, things became truly horrid.

The sky rained people.

Raindrops that took the form of Ekar’s Yellers kept falling down from the sky. A red flower blossomed every time one of those giant raindrops hit the ground with that crunchy and splashy sickening sound. The raindrops hit people and the ground as they fell, regardless, the result was a red blossoming flower. The sound of the raindrops hit the ground drowned out the scream of the avengers, the dreaded scream of belated regret, and the howls of the forever cripples.

It rained and it kept on raining.

One-eye was brought to his knees, doubled, retching the viscous white foamy liquid that was the moldy bread, a charred piece of jerky and half of an ice potato that he consumed during his last supper.

The sky rained people. Every drop pommeled the ground with a sickening sound. Every drop formed a crater of red blossoming flower.

And then, the sky decided to stop raining. The squall of people stopped as suddenly as it came.

One-eye looked up. It was a garden of red flowers, a love letter and fresh tributes to Mistress Death. Something hit One-eye’s stomach with the force of a stampeding bison. He doubled again. His stomach was completely empty this time, for good.

The advisor stood in the middle of that garden of running red, intently looking at the sky, as if he was expecting another rain of people. Around him, there were only blossomed flowers and groveling people and crying people who had all but crawled into fetal position and abandoned their fate to the mercy of the gods. However, there was only one true god.

That god was beautiful. His robe was grey like a thundercloud without a drop of red. His hair was dark like a starless night. That disconnected look on his face only made him more enchanted and otherworldly.

The god sighed exasperatedly. He looked tired and bored.

The remained of Ekar’s boys wailed louder, smashing their own head against the red wet ground, groveling and begging for mercy, fearing another squall of people.

The god sighed again.

His face was beautiful but cold as a sheet of ice. His eyes were even colder, like the unmelting snow of Neversummer. He was a god, completely disconnected from mortals.

The god sighed again and Ekar’s boys wailed even louder as if they were newborns again. They were completely terrified as much as One-eye, perhaps more.

That god was their mother and father. If he loved them, they would live. Otherwise, they could only count on the welcoming arms of Mistress Death to shower them with love.

“I thought that this is a duel with Sinintee’s eyes watching from above,” the god sighed again, still looking up at the sky, as though telling Ekar's Yellers that another squall of people would come.

Ekar’s boys cried, apologized, groveling and earnestly smashing their faces against the ground. Their faces were red with the flower’s water of their friends.

“I hope I don’t get fired on the first day,” the god said something incomprehensible, then breathed in, “One-eye,” he thundered.

“I’m here,” One-eye replied immediately.

“Oh? You are there?” the god still cast his gaze at the sky as if he was still expecting another rain. Then he disappeared. “How did it end up like this?”

He was standing next to One-eye.

“Those fools brought this upon themselves. They had only themselves to blame.” One-eye firmly replied.

“Obviously,” the god nodded his head, never looking at the flowerbed he created as though he was perfectly satisfied with his gift to Mistress Death.

“I don’t care who. One of you cut off the head of that fool who requested his own execution and put it on one of the spears I previously planted. Oh, clean up this mess as well.” The god commanded.

Ekar’s boys groveled, earnestly accepting their mission without complaints.

“Oh, I almost forgot. The one who executes my command will be tasked as the commander of that fool’s unit.” The god walked away and never looked back.

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Don’t look back.

Fearless inwardly updated his latest favorite mantra. The previous mantra was “Don’t look down” and the one before that was “Teleport, Swap, Teleport, Swap.”

“Worms, even though they are not people, they look like people and bleed like people. How troublesome.” Fearless sighed heavily.

He approached those women who were reduced to broken toys for Ekar to demonstrate his cruelty. Fearless did not dare to look at them directly. He focused his sight on a pebble on the ground, blurring their damaged shapes from his vision.

He squashed down and quietly activated “A strange choice.” A ball of golden light escaped his palm and traveled toward the bounded women. A strange choice was a single target/healing AOE skill. It was a result of an episode on Jimmy Holland’s talk show.

“A strange choice” was a skill based on a long interview of The Alliance had with Jimmy after FY won his third MVP in the MVP voting race.

That interview was long and almost painful because it took Jimmy over ten minutes to warm Misery up to his questions. Jimmy should have interviewed FY alone, but he did not.

One of the questions that Jimmy asked to warm Misery up was, “If you are reborn as a character in the world of Escana, what kind of skill do you want to have?”

It was one of those staple questions. Yet, at that time, Fearless had no idea how prophetic it was.

Merleon answered, “God Strength.”

“Like that farmer general?”

“Yes,”

“That’s fair. He’s your favorite character after all.” Jimmy nodded his head.

Fantasy replied, “Maybe something that allows me to tame ancient dragons.”

“That’s broken as hell. They might as well make a sequel Rise of the Dragon Rider with you as the main character.”

FY answered, “Maybe a magic that would allow me to freeze or part the sea.”

Jimmy then commented, “That’s reasonable. You don’t have to build a fleet to cross the sea.”

FY’s most favorite warlord is a dwarven king of Starfell Island. The unique geography of the Starfell Island made it difficult for the opposing faction to invade FY’s territory at the beginning of the game. However, FY would also have a hard time to invade the opposing faction’s territory. He had to build a war fleet to ship his army across the sea.

Misery scratched his cheek, “Mind control. Turning my enemy units on each other would be nice.”

“Mr. Demon Lord, your wish is my command.” Jimmy bowed theatrically to Misery and turned at Fearless, “And you? Mr. First runner-up in the MVP voting? What kind of ability do you want?”

“You just poke at where it hurt the most.” Fearless comically grabbed his chest and fell down, dragging Misery and FY down to the sofa with him. Then, he bounced up right away, “Doesn’t matter. Next year, it will be mine once again.”

Jimmy showed a disgusted look and asked, “So? Your answer?”

“I don’t know… Maybe something that would allow me to undo damage and debuffs to ally units.”

“Why? I thought that you would want an ability to fly the sky like witches or burn down a castle in a matter of second.”

“That’s why I said ‘I don’t know’. You never give me enough time to think.”

“What? Do you really need time to think about such a question? Let’s do it again. Now, close your eyes for a moment and think. What kind of ability that you really really want to have?”

“Okay, I have a different answer this time. I want to have a skill that would allow me to undo damage and debuffs to ally units.”

“What? Again? It’s the same answer.”

“No shit Sherlock”

“Why?”

“Because you look like you had a problem with me picking that answer.”

“Is he always this disagreeable in your team?”

The Devs probably decided to humor the fans and made it real, giving Fearless exactly what he has wished for during that episode on Jimmy Holland talk show.

Though, it was not exactly as Fearless has intended. They even put a limit on the skill, making it a single target skill. Fearless must aim it at a living target to cast and that target must not be Fearless himself.

“That was a strange mechanic.” Fearless honestly thought. What makes it even stranger was that he would be healed as well if he successfully cast this skill on a nearby target. That was a nutcase of a mechanic, clunky as hell.

That orb of light contacted with one of the women and split itself into multiple smaller orbs at the size of fireflies. After that, the fireflies danced around the women and Fearless. Out of curiosity, Fearless could not help but look down. This was the second time he succeeded in casting this skill. The first time the used the skill, the target was One-eye. But, there was so much blood that Fearless did not dare to look.

The fireflies danced on the naked body of the women, slowly, those multicolored bruises faded. The broken bones reset. The cuts, the scabs and those festering wounds withered and disappeared. It was as if Fearless was watching a movie special effect in plain sight. Soon, the women’s naked backs were spotless of wounds and scars.

Still, they were groveling, their head planted on the ground, shaking. Healed them he did, but not completely. Ekar did more than just broke their bodies.

Fearless was suddenly reminded of that demon who he decided to lock up in the most obscure part of his memory.

It was the same back then. It is the same now.

He sighed. As Fearless sighed, he noticed a few of his fireflies were flying away from those groveling women. He decided to follow them, One-eye trailed behind.

The worms of Ekar made way for him as though fearing another rain would come. Fearless could not care less about them. The golden fireflies entered a nearby tent, fourteen to fifteen meters away from those women, and Fearless followed them, lifting that fabric served as the tent entrance.

That unique smell filled his nose.

Fearless nearly vomited, only his gag reflex stopped that from happening. He brought his hand up to cover his nose. One of his many magic coins was there as well, pressing against his lips. It has been inside his palm for the entire length of the fight with Ekar. It stayed there with Fearless through that rain of flying worms. That coin was still with him but its magical property was stretched to the limit this time. This was the limit.

It was like Fearless’ nose was turned up to eleven all of a sudden.

Fearless has come to know that smell after he has arrived at this world. It had a musty smell of iron, grim, brain numbing, and then times a thousand. It had that rancid rotting smell of decaying fleshes, revolting, repelling, nauseating, and then times a thousand; and then added that permeating terrible stench of feces with some kind of sickeningly cheap perfumes in the mix.

There was nothing on earth could smell worse than such foul stench. That was death.

The wind winter inside his head still played its icy tune but Fearless could begin to hear the faint song of the cicadas in the background. Fearless had that nipping shudder that always comes running down his spine every time he sensed something wrong. That shudder was a signal for him, it told him to stay away from this tent, as far as possible.

Fearless closed the tent and decided that he had enough. However, the fireflies that danced around his body left him as well, entering the tent.

“A strange choice” only operated on living targets and the people Fearless recognized as ally units. That consisted of those groveling women, Fearless himself and whatever or whoever inside the tent.

Fearless could imagine what is waiting for him inside of that tent from the rancid smell it exuded. He even knew who the own that tent.

He had enough materials for a lifetime of nightmares. He had no wish to see more. That song of the cicadas was being mixed with the howling wind of winter inside his head and it was only getting louder by the minutes. His entire body was screaming at Fearless to get the hell out of this place.

Beyond that stained brown fabric of an entrance was something worse than the heat of summer or the song of the cicadas. Fearless knew that, of course, he understood.

Still, his feet rooted to the ground. He was not afraid. He was fearless. Yet, his feet rooted to the ground.

He hesitated. Fearless could not understand himself.

What’s there to hesitate? Just get the fuck out of here.

Fearless violently scratched his head, venting his frustration on his scalp. His long uncut nails gouged into his scalp, felt like they would leave marks. Dandruff started falling like snowflakes. When was the last time he took a proper bath?

He cursed and cursed and cursed, inwardly. He’s being stupid and Fearless understood that.

“Fuck it,” he cursed, gritted his teeth, steeled himself and entered the tent anyway, “Fuck it all.” He did not suppose that One-eye would understand his words. He cursed in English.

“Stay here,” he told One-eye and entered the tent.

Hell greeted Fearless the moment he entered that tent in its full twisted glory.

Perhaps because Fearless was expecting it, his senses were turned to eleven, his sight, his hearing and his sense of smell, all of them.

On one side of the tent, the side that was lit by the morning light coming through the entrance, pallid white figures hanging upside down like freshly butchered pigs inside the butcher house. Human body they were, probably, mutilated beyond recognition, without nose, lips, breasts, genitals, ears or eyes. There was no way to tell if they were men or women once. Their stomach opened. Their entrails spilled out, some slithered on the floor, some wrapped around their open belly like serpents, and some shoved back into their lipless mouth or cutout nose.

Fearless held his breath, pressing his hand against his nose even tighter. He steeled himself, fighting back his urges to run out of the tent. Then, Fearless’ gag reflex hit the limit of stopping his stomach acid. It came out. There was no way to stop it. Whatever the content of his stomach was, it came out of his mouth in a hot pouring geyser. In exchange, Fearless caught himself a full whiff of it, that rusty, rancid and sickeningly sweet smell of death. It filled his nostrils and went into his mouth. He wanted to gag and vomit out that thing that went into his mouth, but the thing that came out was just another load of stomach acid.

He put his hand on his mouth again, like that would help.

Fearless thought that he should get the fuck out of this place as soon as possible. He took a step to the entrance. His step was pulled back by the ground, not metaphorically. There was something like glue on the ground, sticky and gluey. Fearless dared not to look. He took another step back to the entrance. He stepped on something slippery. It went splash beneath his travel boot. Fearless held his breath. He did not want to imagine it, whatever that thing he just squashed under his sole was. He had no courage to move forward or backward. He got stuck where he was.

His entire body was drench in sweat and enveloped by that whiffing scent of death.

Then, Fearless saw the fireflies danced around a pitch-black corner of the tent, illuminating a shape of a human. He cursed the stupid fireflies for dragging him into such a terrible situation. Fearless directed his freed hand forward and cast at the human shape that his little fireflies illuminated.

A fourth of Fearless’ mana reserve was emptied in a hurry. A golden orb of light appeared from Fearless’ pushing-out palm, lighting up the entire tent.

Horrific images after horrific images entered Fearless’ eyeballs. He gagged again, but nothing could possibly come out of his empty stomach.

People with their skin completely peeled, people with their head grow out of their opened stomach, people who formed the shape of a giant centipede…

If this were a replication of hell, Fearless would rather go to hell with no eyes to see, no nose to smell, no ear to hear and no tongue to talk or taste.

That golden orb of light traveled through the air and enveloped that human shape.

Human, definitely, not sure if it was he or she, burnt black. It was tied to a post.

Fearless did not stand and watch his orb of light and his fireflies to undo that damage on that charred human. He cut off the rope that tied that charred half corpse to the post and took off his robe. He wrapped that half-corpse inside his robe, put it on his back and got out of that accursed place as soon as possible. He got what he came in for.

One-eye was standing outside of the tent as Fearless has ordered.

It was then; Fearless remembered that he had to keep up with his act. This was a solo act of his.

“Does Ashtorá know about this place?” Fearless asked

“Yes, but…”

“Not another word,” ordered Fearless. He then locked his eyes on one of Ekar’s lackeys within the vicinity, “You, have this entire tent burned for me by the time I come back.” His words were low, the calmness before a storm, threatening.