《The Feast of Riven》


 Chapter 1

    He laid his back against the gnarled trunk of the ancient fig tree, its bark rough against his skin. The sword lay between his arms, the edge stuck in the ground, his right elbow resting lightly on the hilt. The boughs of the tree stretched out like a protective canopy, their lush green leaves rustling gently in the warm breeze, filtering the harsh sunlight that tried to penetrate their dense foliage.


    It is said that many hermits and priests became enlightened under this very fig tree, with some claiming it has stood here since the creation of the world. Most of these seekers hailed from the neighboring monastery, where they revered this ancient tree as a sacred sanctuary. Each of them, in their final stage to sainthood, would meditate here for a week, as they claimed their prophet did before slaying the dragon that terrorized a certain village.


    He felt heavy, as though the weight of his own body pressed down, pulling him into the roots of the fig tree, which twisted and coiled like snakes in an intimate embrace beneath him. Something thick and wet surrounded him; it was blood, and he realized he was losing consciousness.


    As he began to slip into stupor, a soft thud came his way. The sound¡ªunmistakably the footfalls of bare feet¡ªapproached steadily, bringing with it a sense of calm rather than danger. He opened his closed eyes with great difficulty; a slender figure stood before him, tall and poised. Clad in a simple yet dignified robe of deep saffron, the coarse fabric draped loosely from his shoulders, brushing gently against the ground.


    The wide, flowing sleeves concealed his hands. A leather belt cinched the robe at his waist, securing it in place. From this belt hung a small pouch containing the few meager possessions he carried: a wooden idol of Kelsar, a few worn scraps of parchment, and a well-used quill. Apart from these, he held a wicker basket in his right hand.


    Before he could make out the figure in front of him, he lost consciousness.


    He woke up to the sight of a chandelier made of wrought iron. The air was filled with the scent of incense and beeswax. The flickering light from the candles mounted on the candelabras created dancing shadows on the walls. Tapestries adorned the space, particularly depicting their


    prophet Keslar. One particularly striking tapestry showed Kelsar fighting a dragon against the creatures of the Netherworld. This Monastery was the only place where monks were trained as warriors¡ªwarriors of immense will and stature, capable of defeating the fiercest knights. And dragons, if the legends were true.


    This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.


    Kastiel turned his head, and there, on a wicker chair, sat a person hunched over a book, a tome made of dark brown leather mottled with age spots. The monk turned his gaze from the book to the wooden pallet. He was silent, and Kastiel scrutinized him from the pallet; the monk''s hazel-blue eyes penetrated him with an inscrutable look.


    "Where am I?" he mumbled incoherently.


    "Keslar Monastery," the monk with hazel-blue eyes responded with a stoic calm before turning his focus back to the tome.


    Kastiel waited a moment and tried to sit up, but a robust and sturdy hand barred his action. Even if the hand hadn''t stopped him, he wouldn''t have been able to do so. He felt nauseous, woozy, and giddy.


    "Where''s my sword?" he queried.


    There was no response. Kastiel felt as if he had no more spirit left to speak. He closed his eyes and sank back into unconsciousness.


    The next time he opened his eyes, he found himself surrounded by an assembly of monks. Their robes fluttered softly, a sea of saffron in the dim candlelight. The hazel-blue eyes were missing among them. His body ached, and he wanted to slip into sleep again. Out of the gathering, an elderly man stepped forward. Unlike the others, his head wasn''t shorn but crowned with tousled locks of silvery hair cascading down to his shoulders.


    The man stood out not only for his hair but also for the hilt of a sword protruding from behind his shoulder, glinting faintly in the candlelight.


    "From the looks of everything, I infer you are a swordsman. I also realize you are not from this part of the world¡ªa vagabond," he said.


    The silver-haired man was weathered, dressed in a simple, minimalistic robe that flowed loosely around his body. Subtle lines suggested reinforced leather patches on his shoulders and forearms, with hints of chain mail beneath the robe. A wide belt wrapped around his waist, securing a sheathed dagger and adding a practical touch to his otherwise unadorned attire. He wore sturdy, well-worn boots, the scuffed leather showing years of travel. A long, dark cloak hung from his shoulders, cascading down to the ground, with a barely visible dragon symbol embroidered near the hem, representing his connection to the Keslar Monastery and its legendary dragon lore. He took a step closer, his eyes sharp as they scrutinized Kastiel, almost as if peeling him away from the pallet.


    Kastiel''s throat was dry, his body still heavy with fatigue. "Who are you?" he rasped, the words feeling like gravel on his tongue.


    "I''m the one who has to ask that question. So, who are you, swordsman?"


    Kastiel feigned not to hear the question, or perhaps the question never reached his ears. "Where the fuck am I?" he growled abruptly.


    The silver-haired man showed no reaction, nor did the monks surrounding him. "Watch your tongue, youngling," he warned sharply.


    Kastiel calmed down. He tried to speak again but found his strength failing him once more. His head throbbed, and he felt like the pallet he lay on was about to give way beneath him. Why was he here? How had he come to this place? The last thing he remembered was the village of Riven... and the blood. So much blood.


    "Rest now, swordsman. There will be time for answers later," the silver-haired man said, as Kastiel once more plunged into unconsciousness.

 Chapter 2

    The next time he was conscious, he was feeling way better. This time he was met with both the blue eyes and the silver-haired man.


    ¡°Right¡±, started the silver-haired man.¡±Let me put you on track right away. I am Cevi of Keslar Monastery. He said with a proud face.


    ¡± You are now resting inside the Keslar Monastery, and when Feblestan found you, you were half dead¡±. He nodded towards the young monk standing quietly beside him.


    Feblestan smiled softly, the corners of his mouth barely lifting. In his right hand, hung a sword of 36 inch long, its hilt resting securely in his grip. The blade was sheathed in blackened leather, the scabbard clinging to it as if molded to its form. Intricate stitching ran along the side, reinforced by silver rivets that caught the dim light of the room. The steel mouth of the scabbard was polished and firm, fitting neatly around the crossguard, with only the leather-wrapped hilt exposed.


    Kastiel sat up, this time there was no hand barring him and he was rather comfortable moving his body. he sat at the edge of the pallet and looked sharply at both the figures in front of him.


    ¡°I think it¡¯s time for your story¡± Cevi said.


    Kastiel without answering his questing turned his head towards Feblestan and spoke in a low, gravelly voice, ¡°Thank you, Monk.¡±He bowed his head slightly in acknowledgment.


    ¡°So, this is the famed Keslar Monastery¡± began Kastiel, his voice still hoarse but gaining strength.


    The silver-haired man nodded. ¡°Indeed. A sanctuary for some, a place of answers for others. But few come here by accident.¡±


    Kastiel¡¯s gaze lingered on Feblestan for a moment before returning to the man before him.


    Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    ¡°And which am I?¡±


    ¡°You tell me swordsman¡±


    ¡°Kastiel,¡± he corrected with a slight smirk, ¡°or Kas, if you prefer.¡±


    ¡°Listen here, Kastiel, or Kas, this monastery has it¡¯s own rules and giving refuge to a renegade swordsman ain¡¯t one¡± the silver-haired man said, his voice firm and unyielding.


    That words pierced through the air and punched through all his internals and hurting more than his injuries.


    ¡°You don¡¯t know what you are talking about monk¡± Kastiel snorted, the bitterness rising in his throat.


    ¡°I am merely stating fact, youngling, your mark on that right arm is not a medal for honor, right? Save it, I don¡¯t want to know about your spineless tale.¡± he said with an inscrutable look


    ¡°Listen here you old¡­.¡±


    Kastiel began, his voice brimming with frustration, but the words were abruptly cut off by Feblestan, who had remained silent up until that moment.


    ¡°We just want to know the story,¡± he interjected calmly, his expression revealing nothing of the tension in the air.


    ¡°Is this guy really a warrior monk¡± Kastiel asked, skepticism dripping from his voice as he eyed the silver-haired man.


    ¡°Oh, he¡¯s a warrior, a skilled one at that,¡± Feblestan replied, a mischievous smile creeping onto his lips.


    ¡°But oldie here isn¡¯t a monk. He didn¡¯t complete his training. Now he just loafs around here, and the Abbot let him be. Seems like to be a monk, you need more than just a sword¡ªyou gotta have a brain.¡±


    He raised an eyebrow, a playful glint shining in his eyes, clearly enjoying the banter.


    ¡°You little snot,¡± Cevi shot back, his voice laced with defiance. ¡°Just because you¡¯re that old man¡¯s favorite doesn¡¯t mean you can say anything you like. One day, I¡¯ll give you a good hiding, and then we¡¯ll see which is more essential¡ªa sword or a brain.¡±


    ¡°So, Kas¡± Feblestan began, ignoring Cevi, his tone shifting to one of genuine curiosity, ¡°let us hear your story. At least you owe me that, right?¡±


    Kastiel rubbed his wrist absentmindedly, feeling the faint sting of the tattoo under his sleeve.


    ¡°Fine¡±, his voice devoid of any real emotion, as if the word itself had lost its meaning.


    "I was on my journey to find some job, for, as you can see, I am a swordsman¡ªa hired thug," he said, his face twisting slightly, betraying a flicker of distaste, as though the very words left a bitter taste in his mouth. It was clear he didn¡¯t much care for what he had become.


    ¡°Oh, look what we have here,¡± Cevi cackled, a glint of mockery in his eyes. ¡°A sell-sword, a man with no loyalty, I suppose? Wait¡ª¡± He paused, a grimace twisting his features as understanding dawned. ¡°That explains the mark.¡±


    ¡°Okay, you old cock, I¡¯m tired of your shit¡­¡±


    Feblestan interjected, his voice sharp and unwavering.


    ¡°Kas, calm down. Don¡¯t make me regret saving you,¡± he continued, his tone softening just a fraction. ¡°Let¡¯s move on to why you¡¯re here. And you, oldie¡ªshut up.¡±

 Chapter 3

    Kastiel waded through the ravine, the air thick with the scent of wild thyme, foxglove, and yarrow lining the steep banks. He emerged into a clearing, where a wagon sat alongside a group of people. Kastiel''s gaze was drawn to a man with a ring of hair around his crown, gripping a girl under his elbow. The flash of a knife hovered alarmingly close to the poor thing¡¯s throat. And there are people surrounding, traders. It was a robbery. Five men and two women were crying and pleading to the brute to let the girl go. The men wore simple tunics of coarse linen, dyed in muted colors of browns and greys, some with ragged sleeves. Wide belts of thick leather cinched their waists, holding pouches and tools. Over their tunics, they sported woolen cloaks, fastened with crude iron brooches, tattered at the hems. Their trousers, tucked into sturdy boots, were patched with rough stitches. Some of them had the faint sheen of coin purses that once bulged but now sagged pitifully. The women, their heads covered with simple scarves, wore ankle-length dresses, also made from linen, layered with woolen shawls to stave off the chill of travel. One woman clutched a wicker basket, her trembling hands giving away her fear, the woven reeds rattling softly as she begged.


    ¡°Let the lass go¡±, Kastiel ordered


    The man turned to face him, the girl still trapped beneath his arm . He was shrouded in a tattered cloak that fluttered like a shadow in the breeze, its edges fraying ominously . Beneath the cloak, he wore a snug leather vest that hugged his torso, its surface marred with scratches. His loose tunic, frayed at the edges, billowed slightly in the wind, revealing sturdy trousers that ended just above his weathered leather boots. A belt cinched around his waist held several pouches, bulging with stolen goods. He wore fingerless gloves, worn but functional, which allowed him to maintain a firm grip on his dagger, its hilt just visible at his side.


    ¡°Let her go,¡± Kastiel repeated, his tone sharpening like the blade at the man¡¯s hip. ¡°There won¡¯t be talk the next time.¡±The man smiled ominously, a cruel glint in his eyes as he nodded toward Kastiel. Suddenly, a roar erupted from behind, and four men charged toward him from the opposite direction Kastiel swiftly unsheathed the sword from over his shoulder, the blade glinting menacingly in the fading light. He tightened his grip, adrenaline surging through him, and charged forward, ready to confront the men charging opposite him.The first assailant lunged at Kastiel, a dagger glinting in his hand. Kastiel sidestepped, feeling the rush of air as the blade whistled past him. He pivoted on his heel, bringing the sword down in a swift arc, the blade slicing through the air with a satisfying whoosh. It connected with the man¡¯s arm, causing him to drop the dagger with a pained yelp. Kastiel''s eyes darted to the remaining three men, who were now circling him like wolves.


    They were calculating, waiting for their moment. He could see their fear, but it was eclipsed by their desire to overpower him.


    If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    With a quick breath, he shifted his stance, the sword held high. The second man charged, a heavy club raised over his head. Kastiel feigned to the left, drawing the man in, then spun right, bringing the sword down hard against the club. The impact reverberated through his arms, but he pressed forward, forcing the man back.


    The third assailant rushed in from behind, attempting to tackle him. Kastiel dropped low, the man flying over him and crashing into his companion, sending both sprawling to the ground. He seized the opportunity, whirling around to face the remaining fighter, who was now visibly shaken.


    With a swift motion, Kastiel lunged forward, the sword aimed straight for the man''s heart. The man barely managed to deflect the blow, but the force of the strike sent him staggering backward. Seizing the moment, Kastiel pressed his advantage, feinting left before driving his sword into the man¡¯s side.


    A grunt escaped the man¡¯s lips as he fell to the ground, his eyes wide with shock. Kastiel barely had time to catch his breath before the last two men recovered and charged him again, a dangerous glint of desperation in their eyes.


    The first swung a fist, catching Kastiel in the jaw. The blow sent him stumbling, but he quickly regained his footing. He countered with a slash of his sword, narrowly missing as the man ducked just in time.


    The other man rushed in from the side, aiming a kick at Kastiel¡¯s knees. He anticipated the attack, leaping into the air as the man¡¯s foot swiped beneath him. Landing deftly, Kastiel twisted around, the blade aimed for the man''s midsection.


    The sword struck hard, and the man crumpled to the ground. The last assailant, now filled with dread, backed away slowly, looking briefly between Kastiel and the bodies of his fallen associates. He fled.


    ¡°Let her go,¡± Kastiel growled again, his voice a low, sinister hiss. The man hesitated, fear evident in his eyes, and Kastiel took a step forward, the blade gleaming ominously in the fading light.


    ¡°Make your choice.¡±Kastiel said. ¡°Oh, wait, your time¡¯s up. Go to hell you fucking cur¡±


    Kastiel surged forward, the leader of the bandit hurled the girl aside like a ragdoll and began to flee. But it was too late. Kastiel¡¯s blade sliced through the air, landing a fierce slash to the man¡¯s backside. The girl trembled from head to toe, her body shaking uncontrollably as she kept her gaze fixed on the ground, too terrified to look up. The group rushed toward her, there was concern in their faces. One man and a woman knelt beside her, gently pulling her into their arms, holding her close in an embrace. Still, the girl trembled, her fear not yet shaken from what has happened.


    ¡°Is everyone alright¡± Kastiel asked, his voice steady despite the tension in the air.


    The group stared at him for a moment, their expressions a mix of shock and gratitude, before the eldest man stepped forward and bowed deeply.¡°Thank you, dear Knight¡±! He exclaimed


    ¡°Oh, no, no. I¡¯m not a knight, sir,¡± Kastiel replied, shaking his head.


    ¡°Where are you heading towards?¡±


    ¡°To vistvilla¡±


    ¡°Can I join, I lost my horse to colic. I would be grateful if you people let me join you and give a little space in that wagon¡±


    ¡°Oh of course¡±, The man said, after looking back to his companions.

 Chapter 4

    The party moved briskly, the wheels of the wagons thudding against small pebbles and rocks beneath the road. The smell of damp earth lingered in the air, mingling with the faint sweetness of wild herbs crushed underfoot. Occasionally, a gust of wind would carry the scent of burning wood from distant campfires. The creaking of leather harnesses and the soft murmur of the group filled the silence.


    Kastiel sat in the back of one of the wagons, his sword resting beside him. He glanced around at the group; the men rode their horses at the head, while the women and the girl trailed behind. The elderly man, his face etched with pockmarks, sat beside Kastiel, glancing nervously at the silent swordsman.


    He scratched the back of his head, his voice hesitant. "So, where are you actually headed to?"


    Kastiel turned his head slowly, his gaze sharp. The weight of it seemed to press down on the old man, who swallowed nervously. His mouth opened as if to say more, but Kastiel¡¯s scrutinizing look silenced him. The question died on his lips, replaced by an awkward shuffle of feet as they continued down the road in silence.


    The road ahead began to narrow as the trees thickened on either side, their darkened trunks casting long shadows over the path. The air grew heavier, the earthy scent of wet soil and decay creeping into Kastiel¡¯s nostrils. The wagons slowed, Kastiel sense  something unsettling in the air. And  the animals pulling the carts confirmed it by clopping their hooves nervously against the uneven ground.


    Without warning, a sharp, guttural screech echoed through the forest, freezing the group in their tracks. The birds fell silent, and the wind stilled as if the world itself was holding its breath. Kastiel¡¯s hand instinctively moved to the hilt of his sword, his eyes scanning the tree line for the source of the sound.


    From the depths of the forest, a hulking shadow emerged, massive and unnatural. The creature¡¯s body slithered and lumbered at once, five thick, muscular tails whipping the air behind it, their tips bristling with jagged scales. Its head was a grotesque sight¡ªwide and flat like a crocodile''s, but with eyes that burned red like hot coals. A low, rumbling growl emanated from its throat, causing the ground to tremble.


    "Get back!" Kastiel barked, swinging his legs over the side of the wagon and dropping to the ground, sword drawn.


    The traders scrambled in terror, the women pulling the girl toward the back of the group, while the elderly man stood frozen, his pockmarked face drained of color. The monster¡¯s tails lashed the ground, sending dirt and debris flying into the air as it moved closer, each step slow and deliberate, as though savoring the fear it instilled.


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    With a sudden lurch, the creature lunged, its massive jaws snapping at the air in a horrifying display of power. Kastiel dove to the side, narrowly avoiding the beast''s razor-sharp teeth. He rolled to his feet, his eyes fixed on the creature, muscles tense as he gauged its next move.


    The monster let out another screech, its five tails now swaying in unison, preparing to strike. Kastiel knew he had to act quickly before the creature could overwhelm him.


    One of the tails lashed out, aiming for Kastiel¡¯s legs. He jumped, barely avoiding the whip-like appendage, and countered with a swift slash of his sword, the blade biting into the tail¡¯s rough scales. The creature roared in pain, its eyes narrowing in rage. Two more tails swung at him, one from the left, the other from the right. Kastiel twisted, using his sword to block one tail while narrowly dodging the other. The impact sent a sharp jolt through his arms, but he held firm.


    The beast¡¯s crocodile-like maw opened wide as it lunged again, this time faster, its jagged teeth gleaming in the dappled light. Kastiel rolled to the side, but the monster was relentless. One of its tails lashed at his back, catching him off guard and sending him sprawling to the ground. His sword skittered out of reach, clattering against the stones.


    The creature loomed over him, its hot breath reeking of decay. Kastiel''s heart pounded in his chest, but his mind remained calm, searching for any advantage. His eyes darted toward his sword¡ªtoo far. His hand, however, reached for the dagger strapped to his belt.


    With a roar of defiance, Kastiel pulled the dagger free and drove it into the underside of the monster¡¯s snout. The creature reared back, howling in pain, thick black blood spilling from the wound. Kastiel seized the moment, scrambling to his feet and diving for his sword.


    The beast, now enraged, lashed out wildly with all five tails. Kastiel ducked and dodged, each strike missing him by inches. He gripped his sword with both hands, his muscles burning, waiting for the right moment.


    The creature lunged again, its jaws snapping. Kastiel sidestepped and, with a powerful swing, brought his blade down on the base of one of the monster''s tails, severing it cleanly. The beast shrieked, thrashing wildly, the stump of its tail spraying blood across the road.


    Taking advantage of its confusion, Kastiel rushed forward, raising his sword high. With a powerful downward strike, he drove the blade deep into the monster¡¯s skull, right between its burning red eyes. The creature let out one final, pitiful growl before collapsing into the dirt, its body twitching as life drained from it.


    Panting, Kastiel yanked his sword free, wiping the thick black blood from its blade. He turned to the group, their eyes wide with a mixture of terror and awe.


    The elderly man, still pale, managed to speak. ¡°What in the gods'' names was that thing?¡±


    Kastiel, his breath still heavy, glanced down at the beast¡¯s carcass. "A creature of the wilds. They grow bolder as the days grow darker. Keep moving, we have to get to the city before night fall.¡±

 Chapter 5

    As Kastiel and his companions reached the gates of Vistvilla, the city''s busy sounds became louder with each step. The stone walls loomed high above, decorated with bright paintings depicting scenes of commerce and celebration. As he stepped under the archway, he was immersed in a wave of warmth, accompanied by the rich odors of spices and roasted meats wafting through the air. The market area spread before him like a tapestry of color and energy, with booths bursting with items from far kingdoms and merchants calling out alluring deals.


    Kastiel wished the party goodbye and left. He strolled onto the cobblestone streets, the hard stones feeling cool beneath his boots. People crowded around him, with dealers trading frantically, youngsters dashing between the mob, and the odd musician playing bright melodies that danced on the wind. Brightly colored banners flew overhead, calling his attention to the colorful assortment of businesses and pubs that lined the streets. The excitement of trade permeated the air, mixing with the laughter and talk of the city''s residents.


    Kastiel''s eyes narrowed as he studied the faces around him, apprehensive but interested. Among the crowd, he noticed a group of ladies gathered beneath a scarlet lamp, their laughter echoing like bells in the nighttime air. The appeal of the Red Lantern Quarter was unmistakable, its notoriety attracting him like a moth to a flame. Nonetheless, he resisted temptation and walked with considerable difficulty away from the women.


    With a deep breath, he pressed on, navigating the crowds.


    "Kas!" a bright and pleasant voice yelled out, breaking through the market''s commotion. He looked up to see a lady standing in front of him, her hair in a wild cascade of dark curls surrounding a face that lit up with recognition. It was Arabel, a childhood friend from his clan, her eyes twinkling with mischief and nostalgia.


    He smiled as he said, "Arabel." As they embraced, the bustle of the city temporarily subsided, leaving the two of them alone in a comfortable cocoon.


    "You look different," she observed, taking a step back to assess him. "You''re stronger, but your eyes have shadows. What''ve you been up to?"


    ¡°Just surviving.¡±


    Arabel paused for some time, then after scrutinizing Kastiel once more, hugged him again, this time a lot tighter. Kastiel felt lighter as her arms tightened around him. This time, he noticed the intense smell of ¡®Queen¡¯s Crown¡¯ all over her. She always wore this special perfume made with jasmine, ambergris, bergamot, rose, and a touch of vetiver, mostly worn by the queens of the northern kingdoms, but Arabel smuggled these from there.


    ¡°Ah, this fucking smell,¡± Kastiel said with a teasing grin.


    ¡°Don¡¯t you dare insult it. You know how hard it is to smuggle this shit from the north?¡±


    ¡°Shit is shit, doesn¡¯t matter where it¡¯s from,¡± Kastiel snorted.


    Arabel punched him hard on his right shoulder. They both laughed hard.


    ¡°Let¡¯s get some wine,¡± Arabel said.


    The heavy wooden door of the tavern creaked as it swung open, revealing its dimly lit interior. The smell of roasting meat and stale ale wafted in the air, mingling with the earthy scent of wet wool and unkempt travelers. The walls were worn, and the surfaces were rough, with a few tapestries hung haphazardly.Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.


    There was bantering all around the tavern, punctuated by the clanking of tankards and laughter. A group of rough-hewn farmers sat hunched over a table in the far corner, discussing the tax laws of their respective kingdoms. A troubadour sat across the table from where the innkeeper was placing orders for the barmaid to pick up and deliver to the customers. His one leg was propped upon a small stool, drawing the bow across the vielle¡¯s strings. His fingers moved deftly along the neck, plucking out a heartbreaking, romantic melody.


    The floor, though uneven, had cracks and gaps between the wooden planks, most of it covered with hay, so it was warm underfoot. The sporadic clomping of boots could be heard as the patrons came and went. Upstairs, the creaking sound of floorboards signaled rooms that offered little more than a thin mattress and a blanket for a night¡¯s rest.


    Kastiel and Arabel sat near the troubadour. The barmaid approached their table and wiped it clean.


    ¡°What can I get for you today, sir?¡±


    Kastiel glanced at Arabel, who was sitting across from him. She shrugged. ¡°Ale,¡± he said, drumming his hand on the table. ¡°Give me your strongest, and I hope it doesn¡¯t come with a side of regret.¡±


    The barmaid chortled. ¡°That¡¯ll be the Red Briar Brew. Strong as a bull, smooth as a bard¡¯s lie.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll have that.¡±


    "Just the ale, or are you hungry as well?"


    ¡°We¡¯re good.¡±


    The barmaid hurried off, her apron streaked with spilled ale, muttering the orders under her breath.


    The troubadour, with a mischievous smile, chimed in. "Red Briar, eh? That stuff will either make you dance or sleep, sometimes both.¡± He tapped his own tankard, which he had now placed on their table. "Pour me one too, will you? I¡¯ve earned it after that masterpiece."


    Arabel raised an eyebrow. "Masterpiece, huh? Didn¡¯t you flub a note in the middle?"


    The troubadour gasped in mock offense. "Flub? My good sir, that was improvisation. Art is meant to surprise." He clapped Arabel on the shoulder. "But don¡¯t worry, I¡¯ll drink enough to forgive your lack of taste."


    ¡°Get your fucking hands off my body, you codpiece-crusher!¡±


    The humor in the troubadour¡¯s face vanished. The grin twitched as he withdrew his hand, slow and deliberate. ¡°Ah,¡± he murmured, raising both palms in mock surrender. ¡°Oh, come now, I meant no harm. Just a friendly¡ª¡±


    Arabel¡¯s gaze remained icy. "Touch me again, and you''ll be playing that vielle with one hand."


    "Message received, my lady. No need to bring violence into a simple misunderstanding."


    "Careful, troubadour," Kastiel said lazily. "She means it. I¡¯ve seen her follow through."


    "How about I make it up to you both with a round of drinks? No more wandering hands, just good company and fine ale," the troubadour said.


    Arabel glanced at him as he took his seat, the corner of her mouth twitching slightly and her jaw clenched as she gritted her teeth. Slamming a fist on the table, she said, ¡°You are as annoying as a fly in the barrel of wine.¡±


    The troubadour, his face falling for a brief moment, gave a quick nod. "As you wish, my lady," he said softly, trying not to show the disappointment on his face. But before he could retreat entirely, Kastiel¡¯s voice cut through the tension.


    The barmaid, with a sway of her hips, approached the table, her tray laden with tankards. She set them down with a firm but gentle thud, the froth almost spilling over the edge.


    ¡°One more ale,¡± Kastiel ordered.


    "Sit down, troubadour, it¡¯s fine," Kastiel said, his tone casual as he leaned back in his chair, swirling the ale in his tankard. He shot Arabel a glance, then turned back to the troubadour. "A bit of company won¡¯t hurt. You¡¯re buying, after all."


    The troubadour¡¯s face lit up, and a grin spread across his face. ¡°Ah, that¡¯s why they say ¡®Wisdom skips the woman¡¯s doorstep,¡¯¡± he said, raising his tankard toward Kastiel.


    Kastiel glanced at Arabel and saw her rolling her eyes. He laughed at her. He liked seeing her get mad.


    ¡°You are a work of art¡­ well, what¡¯s your name, oh magnificent troubadour?¡±


    ¡°Elias d¡¯Avignon. I¡¯m sure you¡¯ve heard this name before, as I¡¯m quite famous across all lands, and they say even the wind whispers my name across all kingdoms.¡±


    ¡°Name¡¯s Kastiel, and my companion here is Arabel. And of course! Your fame precedes you. I¡¯ve heard your ballads whispered by the winds themselves.¡±


    ¡°I think I¡¯ve landed on the wrong footing here, but let me apologize to you once again, my lady.¡±


    ¡°Fine,¡± Arabel said.

 Chapter 6

    The tavern door slammed open with a loud bang and four figures strode in. Their heavy boots thudding against the wooden floor. The room fell quiet for a moment then resumed with the rumble. All of their eyes narrowed when they landed on Kastiel.


    ¡°Well, look who we have here,¡± sneered one of them, a short man with a jagged scar across his left cheek. ¡°Kastiel, the craven. I think I smelled you from afar, you know, I can smell a coward from a thousand fucking miles¡±


    The others chuckled darkly as they approached. Another, stockier and with arms crossed over his chest added, ¡°Didn¡¯t think we¡¯d run into you. Tell me craven, does your dick not stand straight cause you also fear the women folk¡±


    Kastiel didn¡¯t flinch, his jaw tightening as he stared them down, but before he could say anything, Arabel rose from her seat, her eyes blazing with fury. ¡°Still your tongue, you gabbing lout,¡± she snapped. ¡°If you wag your tongue like that anymore, in the name of Kalie I¡¯ll fucking cut it off¡±


    The scarred man raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. ¡°And who are you wrench, do you have any idea what this craven did-or didn¡¯t do.¡±


    ¡°I know enough,¡± Arabel shot back, her voice steady. Her nostrils widened accompanied by deep, sharp breaths. ¡°And I won¡¯t sit here while you mock someone who¡¯s worth ten of you¡±


    One of the clan members a women with braided hair and cruel smirk on her face, stepped forward. ¡°Stand down, girl,¡± she said coldly. ¡°You¡¯re aiding an exile. That¡¯s forbidden. He¡¯s nothing to us, and he should mean nothing to you.¡±


    Arabel took a step closer, her fists clenched at her sides. ¡°He¡¯s something to me. And you can shove the rule book up your arse. You don¡¯t get to decide who I stand with.¡± Kastiel¡¯s face had a faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips.


    The stocky man sneered. ¡°You¡¯ll regret every single one of the words you have chosen today, you filthy wrench!¡±


    Before Kastiel could intervene, the woman lunged forward, slapping Arabel hard across her face. The crack of the blow echoed in her ears. Kastiel surged to his feet, his chair scraping loudly against the wooden floor. At this moment the troubadour disappeared into the shadows.


    ¡°That¡¯s enough!¡± Kastiel growled, the anger made his face contorted and devilish. He stepped between Arabel and the clan members, his hands curling into fists.


    The scarred man laughed. ¡°Look out guys, the craven is gonna take us on.¡±


    Kastiel didn¡¯t reply.


    The fight erupted with a ferocity that caught all the attention of the tavern. Kastiel moved first, his fist snapping forward and connecting with the scarred man¡¯s jaw that rang bells in his ears. The force sent the man staggering backward, crashing into a table and spilling ales across the floor.


    The stocky one lunged at Kastiel from the side, winging a heavy fist aimed at his ribs. Kastiel pivoted smoothly the blow grazing his cloak but missing its mark. Seizing the opportunity, he delivered a sharp elbow to the man¡¯s gut, forcing the air from his lungs in a loud whoosh. As the stocky man doubled over, Kastiel grabbed his collar and drove him face first into the edge of the bar, leaving him groaning on the floor.Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!


    The braided woman snarled and charged at him next, her movements quick and precise. She aimed a low kick at Kastiel¡¯s knee, trying to destabilize him. Kastiel stepped back just in time, her boot grazing his leg but failing to land solidly. She followed up with a dagger she pulled from her belt, slashing in a wide arc aimed at his chest. Kastiel ducked low, the blade whistling over his head, and countered by sweeping her legs out from under her with a well-placed kick. She hit the floor hard, the dagger skittering away across the wooden planks.


    The fourth clan member, younger and quicker, saw his chance while Kastiel was momentarily turned. He leaped onto a table and launched himself at Kastiel, tackling him to the ground. The impact sent both men rolling across the floor, the sounds of grunts and scuffling filling the air. The younger man managed to pin Kastiel for a moment, his fists hammering down. Kastiel raised his forearms to block the blows, gritting his teeth as the punches rained down. Then, with a sudden burst of strength, he twisted his body and threw the younger man off, sending him sprawling onto the floor.


    Kastiel got to his feet, blood trickling from a cut on his lip, and turned just in time to see the scarred man coming at him again, a broken chair leg clutched in his hands like a club. Kastiel sidestepped the wild swing, grabbed the man¡¯s wrist, and twisted it sharply, forcing him to drop the makeshift weapon with a howl of pain. With a quick, brutal uppercut, Kastiel sent the scarred man collapsing onto the bar. The braided woman had recovered, rushing Kastiel with a furious cry. She aimed a series of rapid punches, her technique more disciplined than the others. Kastiel dodged the first two but took a glancing blow to the side of his jaw. He retaliated with a feint to her left, then struck her square in the stomach with a powerful hook. She gasped and fell to one knee, clutching her side.


    The younger man came at him again, this time wielding the dagger the woman had dropped. He slashed wildly, desperation fueling his strikes. Kastiel stepped into his guard, catching the man¡¯s wrist and twisting it sharply, forcing him to drop the blade. Kastiel followed with a swift knee to the man¡¯s ribs, then shoved him backward into the wall, where he slid down, groaning in defeat. Breathing heavily, Kastiel surveyed the scene. The scarred man was slumped over the bar, clutching his face. The stocky one was still on the floor, groaning and holding his ribs. The braided woman knelt, dazed and gasping, while the youngest lay against the wall, defeated. Kastiel¡¯s fists were clenched, his knuckles bloodied, but he stood tall, his eyes cold and unwavering.


    He stared down at the clan members, his voice steady and sharp. "You¡¯re done. Stay down, or I won¡¯t hold back next time."


    Kastiel turned to check on Arabel. Blood trickled from her nose and mouth, staining her pale skin. Elias stood beside her, his face tight with concern.


    "Are you alright?" Kastiel asked softly, his voice laden with worry.


    Arabel met his gaze and smiled, despite the blood and pain. She gave him a slight nod. Kastiel opened his mouth to speak, searching for words, but nothing felt right. He knew how few people would ever stand up for him, and what Arabel had done would not go unnoticed. Aiding an exile was a crime¡ªthe clan would make her pay.


    "It¡¯s alright," Arabel said, her voice calm but firm. She could see the guilt brewing in Kastiel¡¯s eyes, the way his shoulders hunched as if the weight of the world rested on them. She knew how he thought, always quick to blame himself.


    "Why did you do that?" he asked after a pause.


    "Do what?" Arabel replied, tilting her head in feigned confusion.


    "Stand up for me. I didn¡¯t ask¡ª"


    A sharp slap cut him off mid-sentence. Kastiel froze, his cheek stinging, and Arabel¡¯s fiery eyes burned into him. Before she could say a word, he pulled her into a tight embrace.


    His breath hitched, and then the dam broke. Kastiel buried his face against her shoulder and wept, the raw sobs shaking his body. Arabel said nothing. She simply held him, her arms strong around his trembling form, her hand stroking the back of his head in soothing circles.


    They stayed like that, wrapped in silent understanding, until the door creaked open and another crew entered the tavern.