Chapter 2:
Day Before The Horde.
Laen woke up with a yawn and stretch that would make even a cat jealous. His movement did not go unpunished, however, as the small boy next to him stirred and punched him in the side weakly.
“Good morning little man.”
Sleepily the child turned to look out the window of the room and said in a slurred speech, “ What do you mean morning… It's still dark ooout.”
“C’mon Lorhael, you were the one who begged me, for days might I add.”
Getting off the single bed Laen did some brief stretches before walking into the kitchen. Gathering some water from a small barrel and putting on a new shirt before walking into the yard and waiting for his son.
The house they lived in was small, but it was enough. It was actually bigger than he would’ve liked, with 2 bedrooms, a kitchen, and a living room but it had the biggest courtyard in the village. That was the only thing that both he and his wife really emphasized when they asked the city for a house. Although they were situated on the south side of the town, far from his post. He liked it, they both did.
Laen began to reminisce on those beautiful days with her. However, as the resident scout captain, he forced himself out of his stupor. Doing some preliminary stretches for his legs, he thought about what he had to do for the day. With a sudden movement, he sped to the other side of the field in just under a second, and with another, he was back.
‘The Junior Training is tomorrow, I should lay off on Lorry a bit so he isn’t sore tomorrow plus… It’s his birthday today. I also have to head to the village to our north, according to Elder Arrel they are late on their shipment and the other teams have yet to make their report… probably won't be back until next week. If it goes well...’
*Swish*
He quickly brought up his arm and gently deflected the wooden sword to the side.
“You’ll have to try harder than that Lorry.”
Lorhael had asked to be trained in swordplay for his birthday last year and out of annoyance he had said yes. The little man simply absorbed knowledge and had read almost all of the books in the house -that included a few of Laen’s sword scrolls. Fascinated and itching to test his knowledge, he begged, and begged, until he was given a training sword.
Which led to this.
Quickly Lorhael stepped back and towards the weapon rack in the corner of the field, trying to cut off his father’s access to a weapon. That was quickly found to be useless when Laen simply leaped over him.
Now equipped with a weapon of his own, Laen got into stance as Lorhael pouted. His plan was foiled in just one move, anyone would be annoyed about it. As the dawn sun started to peek over the city walls they clashed, Lorhael constantly trying to push forward as his father deflected every strike.
“Edge alignment Lorhael, the blade almost bounced back on that one.”
…
Wrong foot forward… Good variability, but you think too long.
…
That is not a proper shuffle-! Never cross your feet! Step into overhead strikes.”
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
As the minutes passed Lorhael slowed, and his strikes duller. Eventually, after an hour of training and adjusting Laen finally parried another overhead strike before striking Lorhael in the chest with his palm, breaking his stance.
“That’s enough for today kiddo, I have to prepare for tomorrow's job and you have some magic to brush up on.”
Lorhael simply sat there for a while. His breathing labored and the front of his shirt was drenched in sweat. He would have to take a shower before studying, but that wasn’t what he was thinking about.
‘It’s been a year and I can’t even clash with him!’
Every single one of his attacks were redirected! Not even blocked! Lorhael had been working hard on mix-ups and sword stances by himself but it was nothing in front of his father.
He obviously knew that there would be a physique and experience difference between them but his father always fought at a level similar to his. He didn’t use any fancy footwork or sword stances that he hadn’t taught, nor did he just overpower Lorhael. No, he just used the forms properly. Actions done in perfection.
“Now, kiddo. Remember what I said during the fight, think them over before our next spar. I guess that’ll be in a while though.”
“Wha- are you leaving?”
The kid looked noticeably distressed and even looked down a bit sad. Even Laen couldn't handle the sadness radiating off Lorry’s pout. The tears in his child's eyes wrapped up the deal as his trained facade couldn’t help but crumble at the sight of the child in front of him.
‘He really got his looks from his mother…’
“Yup, new assignment, but hey now don’t get sad. I know it’s your birthday. I’m actually leaving early to grab your gift before I leave.”
“Ah, really? What is it?”
“Well, wouldn’t you wanna know? But, I guess you’ll have to wait until I come back, still need to pick it up. C’mon on now, you have to wash up.”
---
He watched Lorhael run into the bath as he went to grab his gear from their bedroom. Namely, his sword. It wasn’t much and it was probably time to replace it a decade ago, but, it had lasted him this long. 15 long years, 15 years of fighting after leaving his small village, and for 15 years it had lasted.
It was a steelium long sword, shorter than most but still a long sword, and was inherited from his father after his death. Even before that, it was owned by his father's father. It was unknown how many generations held it. Yet, even now, it shined like new. Looking over he grabbed his bag and one last thing. A small statue of a woman.
His armor was already on and as he strapped his sheath to his hip he confirmed his plans. ‘Writing materials were always expensive, but even then. 120 coin for a blank notebook?’
---
Lorhaels's gift was in Laen's hands. The shop was quite the distance away from their house, all the way over on the Northside of town. While not much for him to cover a normal person would have difficulties making good time, even when sprinting. However, in his hand was a small 300-page notebook bound in leather. Looking from afar it looked completely normal. Even at a closer distance, it looked like a normal book… but, if you caught the sun at just the right angle, you’d see it covered in runes and circles.
He looked down with a smile creeping onto his lips, “Let’s hope he likes it.”
---
Arrel
Heavy wingbeats resounded through his head, even surrounded by the sounds of war -or was it his heart? A shadow blanketed the battlefield as he saw the gigantic, winged, monstrosity in the sky. Its body was like a lion covered in scales and its long, spiked, bony tail flailed behind the body as it flew in the skies above. Its scaled head was what tipped the man off, however. Even with its head covered by its mane, its bone-white, snake-like face, and long neck allowed him to recognize it at a glance.
All true monsters, large monsters as many had classified them, held a percentage of dragon blood in them. Many scholars and even ancient texts corroborate this. A small drop of blood turned even the smallest creatures into blood-thirsty beasts.
-What gives a beast the name or, more accurately, allows them to be classified as a Drake?-
Direct descendency. Half of the blood flowing through this beast was foul dragon blood.
Every hunter around Arrel scrambled to back off and get behind cover. The defenses broke down as another attack left the mouth of the beast. This one was barely blocked by the few hastily created barriers. Even then, they couldn’t block everything, and he was forced to watch as flame breath cut through and into the town behind him. As the few citizens still heading for the great tree burst into flames.
Men, women, and children were all incinerated before they could even attempt to protect themselves. The heat was sweltering even for him and the pain in his heart even worse. How many of those children had he talked with just this morning?
The world seemed to slow down as Arrel took it all in. His adrenaline spiked and he racked his head trying to figure out the best way to minimize fatalities. His first move was to try and get a read on the disgusting thing.
‘Adult drake. So at least 4th tier. Would require at least a team composed entirely of veteran 4th tier hunters accompanied by at least two teams of 3rd tiers for support. Major weaknesses, Dragon Blood poison, Black herb, dues to its bestial half it'll be weak to blades, and most importantly, Blood Madness. Caused by the highly unstable amount of dragon blood in them they are dumber than rocks, non-sentient, and overly hostile. However, if they are able to overcome the madness…’
Looking up he used his superhuman body to peer into the dragon's eyes… and it looked back.
'5th tier. Sentiance regained. Capable of magic. Possible kingdom-level threat...'
"Best course of action..."
Hefting up his hammer, he approached the dragon.