“You’re just messing with me, aren’t you?” Jareth prodded Cedric, whose bewilderment only deepened. “I swear I saw the sand in the hourglass was completely gone.”
“Um, excuse me, sir?” Cedric interjected, a puzzled expression creasing his brow as he glanced at the hourglass, noticing there was still sand trickling down. “I don’t quite understand. You declared victory earlier, and I refrained from commenting, presuming it might be a tactic of yours, or part of psychological warfare or something,” he remarked, studying the old man. “But as you can see, there’s still sand left in the hourglass, sir. I assure you, I wouldn’t dare deceive you.”
“I’m telling you, I’m a hundred percent certain that I’m right,” Jareth declared, his frustration evident in his voice. Casting a quick glance at the young noble, he asked, “Hey boy, I noticed you looked at it earlier. You must’ve also seen that the time had expired as well.”
“Huh, I don’t know what you mean,” Elysian replied, feigning confusion before suddenly grinning.
“You!” Jareth exclaimed, his eyes narrowing upon realizing that the boy had done something. “What did you do?!”
Without responding, the young noble just maintained his smile while the old man gave him a piercing glare. Suddenly, out of nowhere, the entire training ground erupted into cheering when all the young soldiers finally realized that their young lord had triumphed over the mercenary.
“Hey! Quit making things hard, old man! The young master clearly won,” Yorick stated, moving slowly towards them. “And what’s with that barrier? Didn’t we agree that you can’t use any aura?”
Jareth sighed heavily, realizing that everything had gotten frustrating and complicated. “Are you dense, boy? The agreement clearly states I won’t use aura, and I didn’t. That’s a formation with its own energy source. I set it up when I placed the relic in the ground, way before we even reached an agreement on the rules.” His eyes widened suddenly, realizing something. Turning to the young noble, he asked, “Wait, did you use formation?”
Grinning at the mercenary's surprised expression, Elysian stayed silent, flicking a peanut to the ground in front of the hourglass, thus destroying the formation he had cunningly set up.
Surveying the ground he had hit, Jareth saw a couple of peanuts strewn around, finally piecing together what happened. Shaking his head in disbelief, he burst into laughter and said, “I finally get it. You’ve got me good, boy. You really got me.”
“I don’t understand. What did he do?” Cedric inquired, puzzled by what happened.
“It appears your young master devised a cunning strategy, flicking those damn peanuts at the barrier with just enough aura and force to weaken it without damaging the nuts. Instead, he skillfully angled it perfectly so that it bounced towards the front of the hourglass, concealing his actions without leaving a trace while creating a formation at the same time. Damn, that was a genius move, boy,” Jareth stated in admiration, seeing him in a new light.
Staring at the young noble, everyone’s eyes suddenly widened, uncertain how to react to the revelation. Their earlier jubilant celebration turned into quiet contemplation. In the deepest recesses of their minds, a tiny recognition emerged—they might be witnessing the birth of a legend. However preposterous the idea might seem, it couldn’t be denied that whatever the boy had done was something remarkable.
“Formations are rare in the Kingdom of Thorin. Even within the capital, you can only find a handful who are proficient in it,” Jareth stated, eyeing the boy. “Making a formation from that distance with that level of accuracy is extremely difficult,” he remarked with admiration in his voice. “I’m very curious; who taught you about it? And what formation did you even use?”
“Don’t ask, old man,” Elysian chuckled, retrieving the pot of money. “You know we all have secrets. You’ve got yours, and I’ve got mine.”
“That’s fair,” the mercenary responded, nodding in understanding.
“I will return all the money you’ve bet,” Elysian declared, raising the pot of money. “As agreed, I’ll also split the reward money equally among us.”
“Young master, you don’t have to. What I’ve said earlier is just for the soldiers,” Yorick quickly insisted, feeling uncomfortable about including the younger boy in his sudden proclamation earlier. “You’ve won that money fair and square. It wouldn’t be right if we were to get a share from it.”
Elysian just smiled and responded, “No, you all deserved it. I couldn’t have won without your help. By fighting him, not only did you exhaust some of his energy, but more importantly, you also provided me with valuable information to come out victorious in this fight. So, this victory is not only for me but for all of us!”
Suddenly, the entire training ground erupted in applause and celebration, with people shouting his name.
“Elysian!”
“Elysian!”
----------------------------------------
“Young master, wait!” Yorick exclaimed, running hurriedly towards the young noble who was about to return home.
“Do you need anything?” Elysian asked, turning to the older boy.
“Uhmm,” the young soldier hesitated for a moment before regaining his nerve. “The boys wanted me to ask if you’d join us for a meal. They’re eager to celebrate today's victory, and it just wouldn’t feel right without you, the one who beat that old man.”
‘It seems that trying to rebrand my image worked. Well, this is still just the young soldiers, who are more like trainees. It’s a start, though. It’s a small step into gaining the respect and admiration of my future forces.’
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“Of course, it would be my honor to join you and your men, Yorick,” Elysian responded, smiling and nodding at the older boy.
After meeting with the others, they immediately went to a bar frequented by the soldiers. It was an old and weathered place that looked like it had seen much better days. Still, it exuded a nostalgic charm, bearing the scars of countless shared stories everywhere. The scent of food and alcohol lingered in the air, mixing with the comforting aroma of worn leather from its barstools. Wanted posters and faded signs adorned its walls, each a relic of years past. The loud voices from conversations, punctuated by the occasional laughter, painted a picture of a warm and cozy place that patrons loved.
“Hey, Yorick, I'm glad you’re here!” the owner of the inn exclaimed, smiling widely when he saw the young soldier. “Do you know what’s wrong with Sybil? He's been drinking since yesterday. We’ve put him upstairs after he passed out.”
“Girls,” Elysian quipped, smiling knowingly.
“Tsk, problem of the heart. It seems it hit him hard,” the man stated, shaking his head in sympathy. Studying the boy, he added, “I’m Haldor, by the way, the owner of the Armored Mug, the finest pub in town. Are you a new recruit, kid? You seem awfully young.”
“He’s the youngest son of the Baron, Elysian Ironheart,” Yorick quickly stated, feeling uneasy about the way the old man addressed the young noble.
Haldor’s eyes widened instantly, swiftly bowing in apology. “I’m sorry for not recognizing you sooner, young master.”
“Relax, sir. No need to apologize,” Elysian responded, offering a comforting chuckle to lighten the mood. “I don’t expect everyone to recognize me, and I don’t punish those who don’t.”
“Thank you for your understanding,” Haldor said, smiling at the boy. “What do you want to eat, young master? It's on the house.”
“You don’t need to, sir,” Elysian stated, chuckling at the kind gesture from the owner. “Actually, I’m planning to pay for today’s celebration,” he said. Turning around, he increased the volume of his voice and addressed the young soldiers. “Listen up, boys! Eat and drink all you want; it’s my treat! So, let’s celebrate!”
All the young soldiers suddenly erupted into applause and cheers. Even some of the patrons in the pub followed suit, infected by the jubilant atmosphere.
“Osric, I’ll be paying for everyone today. You can treat this glutton next time, okay?” Elysian said, turning to his companion upon realizing the boy’s promise to Bran.
“Okay, young master,” Osric replied, nodding respectfully to him.
“Am I included in that kind gesture of yours, boy?” Jareth suddenly asked, chuckling at the young noble.
With a quick glance to the side, Elysian was surprised to see the old man, seated on a leather stool, facing the front bar while drinking. “What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice betraying his startled reaction.
“What else, if not to drink?” Jareth quipped, snorting at the question.
Elysian chuckled at himself, strolling over to the mercenary and sitting beside him. “Are you moping because you’ve lost to a small and weak child?” he asked, teasing him.
“Don’t flatter yourself, boy,” Jareth denied, taking another slug from his mug. “I just love drinking.” Suddenly looking at him, he added, “Aren’t you too young to be allowed here?”
“Don’t worry, I’m not going to drink, old man,” Elysian stated. “I’m just here to eat.”
“Good,” the mercenary said, nodding at him. “Kids shouldn’t drink. It's a bad habit to have.”
“Oh, that’s rich coming from you,” Elysian retorted, snickering at his pontification. “You’re an alcoholic.”
“That’s precisely why I’m the right man to preach—because I’m an alcoholic,” the mercenary said, taking another sip from his drink.
Both of them suddenly grew quiet, finding comfort in the silence while listening to the people around them.
After getting everyone’s order, Haldor approached the young noble and inquired, “Young master, may I ask what you wanted to eat?”
“Hmm, I’m not sure,” the boy mused, taking a brief pause. “Could you tell me about the specialty of this place?”
“Roast pork, young master,” the owner replied, grinning proudly. “Some say it’s the best in the entire barony.”
“I’ll have that then,” Elysian said, nodding to the man.
“You’re not what I expected,” Jareth finally said, his gaze lingering thoughtfully. “I’ve heard that you’re quite the brat, but it seems you’re remarkably insightful for your age. You also seem to fight extremely well. Thornwick would be really happy, knowing that he has two sons who are geniuses.”
Elysian snorted and responded, “My brother might be, but I’m no genius.”
Suddenly laughing, Jareth cautioned, “Boy, be careful; too much modesty can easily turn into arrogance.” Taking another drink from his mug, he changed the subject and said, “It’s surprising to hear you acknowledge your brother’s genius, considering the rumors that both of you don’t get along.”
“We don’t,” Elysian stated, pausing momentarily before clarifying. “Well, it’s more accurate to say that I don’t get along with him. It’s nothing serious—just childish jealousy.”
“Here’s the food, young master,” Haldor said, grinning proudly as he served a generous portion of roasted pork coupled with maslin bread. “I hope you like it.”
“Thank you, sir,” Elysian responded, smiling as he took a bite. “It’s indeed delicious. It’s no wonder it has been dubbed the best in the barony.”
“You warm my heart with your praise,” Haldor said, smiling in appreciation. “Enjoy your food, young master.”
“Childish jealousy? Hah, I thought you’d say that he’s not your brother because you don’t share the same blood,” Jareth remarked, grinning as if baiting him for a response.
“If you think I would be upset by it, you’re wrong. Being family isn’t just solely defined by blood,” Elysian said, chuckling at his goading while shaking his head. “By the way, I’m surprised that you even know about my brother.”
Snickering, the old man retorted, “Of course I know, kid. I even know his real father. I taught both him and your father.”
‘That’s why the commander was so respectful towards him. But if he’s really my father’s master, why haven’t I heard about him before?’
“Huh? Are you my father’s master?” Elysian quickly questioned, surprised by the revelation.
“Sort of,” the mercenary muttered, giving no additional details.
“Why haven’t I heard about you before?” the boy asked curiously, scrutinizing him intently.
“I don’t know. Ask your father,” Jareth replied, downing another gulp from the mug.
“Hey, you b*tch! I told you to sit!” A man’s voice suddenly shouted from the back, yanking a young woman down to sit beside him.