《Fractured World Legacy》


 Prologue

    PROLOGUE


    Pharzalis, possessing a beauty seldom seen, has been likened to the artful arrangement of words, the intricate composition of colors, and the harmonious blending of tones. However, among the palace concubines, she was like a diamond among lumps of ice. What made her a ruby among ice was her intelligence.


    She became the adopted daughter of a low-ranked noble house because of her intelligence. During her teenage years, her intellect earned her a place in the palace. As she came of age, she ascended to the position of rightful empress of the Terzion Empire, the oldest among the Inner Realm sovereign states, for the same reason.


    One evening, she visited the star dome at the highest peak of the palace, where the Terzionite seers had been observing the universe since the empire''s inception. Her black hair cascaded down to her waist like a stream of black onyx.


    She pondered in the place where ancient seers had once speculated whether the stars seen today were the same as those of yesterday, and whether their number was odd or even. It was also where they discovered the Black Eye in the sky and foretold the impending catastrophe.


    Through its crystal shell, capable of scrutinizing distant objects, her black eyes observed the entire capital. Its people. Their lives and journeys. This city was ancient, witnessing many events that occurred and were subsequently forgotten. History was born and buried.


    Pharzalis had crawled her way to this position using her own strength. Her own hands and feet. Nevertheless, all of this was merely a stepping stone, not the ultimate goal. She had a duty ¨C more of an aspiration. An aspiration much grander. More noble.


    She nodded in her mind. It was time to stop using those contraceptive concoctions. Those grasses and herbs.


    All preparations for the rebellion were perfect. To succeed, she had to sever the entire imperial bloodline at once. They only gathered during the emperor''s passing, the inheritance of the throne, or the birth of the crown prince.


    Among those three, the birth of the crown prince was within her control.


    Pharzalis was ready to conceive as many times as necessary, but fortunately, her firstborn was a boy. When the crown prince turned eight days old, every bearer of the name Azgarath with a rightful claim to the throne flowed in their blood gathered to pledge their loyalty.


    A span of white stairs connected the temple, which also an imperial mausoleum, to the palace where the emperor resided. As stars pierced the sky, members of the imperial family took turns pressing the sole of the heir to their foreheads as a sign of submission. Beneath the same sky, she ascended its one hundred and eight steps.


    She was not alone. She came with forty champions. She knew them well, and could recount in which battlefield each of them had acquired their scars. A red scarf was tied around their upper arms, and on each scarf, a request was embroidered with golden thread. These were requests that Pharzalis had vowed to fulfill.


    The surgical scars from her childbirth, stitched with silk, were still not healed. It chafed with each step. The surgery was not due to the difficulty of childbirth but rather to allow her to determine the time of the birth and, thereby, the time of the rebellion.


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    The Ascent, this would later be remembered as.


    The rebellion failed. Nevertheless, the entire Azgarath bloodline was slaughtered that night, including the crown prince. Except one, the Emperor, Gardioz Azgarath.


    Before the sun reached its zenith the next day, the entire Pharzalis household had met the hangman''s noose. Not only did her family up to the seventh degree of kinship perish, but even beggars who had tasted bread from their oven suffered the same fate.


    The Emperor witnessed it firsthand. The silver mask he wore to conceal last night''s wounds gleamed as he adjusted his seating.


    Skaith had only one arm since the night before. He had become the captain of the Emperor''s guard, the youngest ever to hold that position, since the night before. He ensured the death of each condemned, kneeling and feeling their neck pulses. The Emperor waited for his nod after nod before allowing the next group to feel the coarse hemp rope tighten around their necks.


    The Emperor stood as the final condemned''s shoeless jig turned lifeless and dangled. His grand cape billowed as he turned, a gesture marking a new chapter in the history of the Terzion Empire.


    The rebellion transformed the Emperor, and with him, the entire empire. Old statutes were torn apart as swiftly as his signet ring pressed the warm wax of new decrees. Within a few years, Terzion returned to an era of abundance, where people perished more from gluttony than hunger.


    However, the more brilliant a gleam, the darker its shadow. The Emperor violated an old anathema of advancing Artifica, an ancient discipline from the Chaos Era Two which had once nearly consumed the world. This act defied the fundamental laws of the Inner Realm.


    Each side demanded an explanation, allies and enemies alike. Their bewildered faces reflected on the polished surface of the Emperor''s silver mask. However, his response was as still as its arched surface.


    Years passed until, one day, the Emperor rose from his throne to declare war against the other four Inner Realm states. Without warning, and even before Terzion¡¯s Artifica had reached operational status.


    This time, the Emperor spoke. His hoarse voice from the neck wounds during the rebellion reverberated in the great hall of the palace.


    Chaos Era Two happened because of Artifica. Now, the other four Inner Realm states still possessed it despite the anathema. He would destroy all traces of Artifica, thus preventing the recurrence of Chaos Era Two. To confront it, he must gain dominion over it himself.


    Some scoffed, thinking his words were just the excuse of a would-be tyrant. Some laughed at his contradictory stance. The Emperor had indeed changed. He never removed his mask even though his wounds had long since healed. His voice had never recovered either.


    Skaith, however, knew at least some part of the truth.


    The night after the execution, the Emperor summoned him to the imperial chamber. Golden chandeliers cast a modest illumination.


    ¡°Untie my bandage.¡± The Emperor sat with his back to him, placing his mask on the small table next to a dagger with a green handle. The bandage beside his head was stained with brownish blood spots. Skaith''s right hand untied the knot, and the Emperor removed the rest.


    The long black hair, which was like a starless predawn sky and, when unfolded, was like the wings of a crow in the middle of the night, has now been cut short, revealing a pale, gaunt nape.


    The Emperor picked up a mirror, fingers tracing the tear that stretched from above the ear to the left cheekbone. ¡°I¡¯m no longer beautiful. Well, I no longer need my face.¡±


    ¡°Your Majesty, how may I be of service to you?¡±


    ¡°Teach me how to alter my voice using Prana. Even a rightful empress in this accursed empire is forbidden from learning it.¡±


    ¡°By Your Majesty''s command.¡±


    ¡°Skaith, are you not curious why I do all this? Sacrificing my firstborn son and my adopted family?¡±


    ¡°I am present to provide service, not making inquiries.¡±


    ¡°One of The Nine, Skaith. Because I am one of the Nine Seekers of Redress. My duty ranks first. Nothing else is numbered in my life. The rest are just... the rest.¡±

 CHAPTER 1: The Hostage Prince

    Taran sat at the edge of the Half Moon tower. One side of the tower had been sheared off, leaving the empty rooms between his dangling legs enshrouded in shadow. He was fond of this place. From here his gaze could follow the river that, after meandering and slicing through mountains, ended in Arvane. His birthplace.


    There, his father, mother, and younger sister awaited his return. His second younger sister was still in the womb when he left Arvane. He also heard that his mother gave birth to another younger sister while he was in exile. He longed to meet them all.


    Fayra was beside him, her fingers tucking her hair behind her ear. Beneath her knee-length skirt, her bare feet dangled. The spring sun atop the mountains separating Arvane and Wyndor made her hair appear as if it had just been poured from a smelting furnace.


    ¡°Fayra, do you know where the name Half Moon comes from?¡±


    She turned. Her green eyes meeting his. Not the Crown Prince of Arvane or The Hostage, but him.


    ¡°You know I don¡¯t, that¡¯s why you ask. So why, Bookworm?¡±


    ¡°In the past, when the founding Leviathan Knight of Arvane and Bahamut Knight of Wyndor arrived, this land had no ruler. They fought together to unite hundreds of tribes. Their natures were different. Leviathan Knight preferred indirect methods, while Bahamut Knight couldn''t stand such ways.


    ¡°One day, Bahamut Knight gathered the tribal leaders around this tower. He didn''t speak a word. He drew his saber and, with a single swing, cleaved the tower to intimidate them. Since then, the tower once called Full Moon was known as Half Moon.¡±


    Fayra sighed. ¡°You brought me all the way here just to tell me that?¡± She twisted the corner of her lip in an exaggerated expression of disappointment.


    ¡°Remember the first day we met at your welcome party as a hostage?¡± Fayra said. ¡°You sat in the corner, your servant standing at attention. Your face was like you were attending your own funeral.¡±


    Fayra demonstrated by leaning forward, both elbows resting on her knees, fingers interlocked, and her lower lip protruding.


    ¡°I wasn''t like that!¡±


    ¡°You were exactly like that. That was the first time I saw a member of the Ilvamar bloodline. Your ash-blue hair and ash-blue eyes.¡±


    Indeed, ash-blue hair and eyes were the distinctive features of House Ilvamar, heirs to the blood of the founding Leviathan Knight. These traits could not be forged, and were their identity as well as their pride.


    ¡°I was afraid you''d suddenly leap and tear my throat out.¡±


    ¡°Now you''re making things up.¡±


    ¡°No. Do you know what else people say about Ilvamar? You have a cold stare.¡±


    ¡°I''ve heard that, but it''s nonsense. I fell off a horse once and got seriously injured. Mother visited me every day. Her gaze was the gentlest. Why bring up the welcoming party now? That wasn¡¯t exactly the best day of my life.¡±


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    ¡°Because, do you remember today is the three-year anniversary of our meeting?¡±


    Taran opened his mouth but no words came out. Fayra dropped her shoulders and put on that exaggerated expression of disappointment again.


    ¡°Are your books so fascinating that you forget about us? Luckily, one of us remembers.¡±


    Fayra retrieved a small pouch from her waist and handed it to him. A round pearl-like object rolled into his palm as he emptied the pouch, translucent and unadorned green.


    ¡°What is this?¡± He held the pearl up to the sky. A hairline crack marred its surface. Inside, it seemed to be its own world, a world composed of a single element, Air.


    ¡°Grandfather gave it to me when I was little. A gift. He said it matched my eyes and brought luck. Now it''s yours.¡±


    Taran laughed as he put the pearl into his pocket. Not a restrained laugh in the face of humiliation, nor a laugh to preserve the arrogance of his captor; it was just a laugh meant solely for her. ¡°You don''t believe in luck. You believe only you have the right to determine your own life.¡±


    She smiled, forming dimples on her cheeks. ¡°That''s right. Everyone has the right to determine their own life, but a little bit of luck doesn''t hurt, hm?¡±


    ¡°And you gave this to me?¡±


    ¡°Grandfather said the pearl can only grant luck to one person once. It''s useless to me now. I''ve already met you.¡±


    Fayra''s words made his face burn up.


    ¡°Fay... I''m sorry I forgot about the day we met. But I brought you here for another reason.¡±


    He retrieved a small box from his pocket, keeping it concealed in his grasp. He took a deep breath, steadying himself to ensure his next words were unwavering.


    ¡°Fayra, would you do me the honor of becoming my betrothed?¡± He opened the ring box in front of her.


    Fayra''s lips parted, and her eyebrows lifted. However, she then turned her face away. She tucked her hair behind her ear. The state of her fingers and nails served as a subtle reminder that her life, too, had been devoid of comfort. Her gaze lowered, partially concealing her green eyes.


    ¡°Are you unwilling¡­?¡±


    ¡°I''m scared. The Crown Prince of Arvane, held hostage in Wyndor, proposing to a low-ranked Wyndor noblewoman. What awaits us in the future?¡±


    ¡°The relationship between Arvane and Wyndor has improved a lot since the last war. Theo even heard rumors that I''ll be released soon.¡±


    ¡°Theo? Your servant? He never lies to you.¡±


    ¡°I''ll take you to Arvane. Sooner or later, I''ll ascend the throne, and then our future will be ours to shape.¡±


    Fayra''s cheeks blushed. She extended her left hand. His heart overflowed with joy as he took her hand with one hand while the other prepared to slide the ring onto her ring finger.


    ¡°Uh... do you know where the tradition of putting the ring on the left ring finger comes from?¡±


    Her lips tightened, as if she were about to pounce and strangle him. ¡°Taran! Do what I think you were going to do, or you''ll regret it for the rest of your life!¡±


    He choked. Readjusting his position, he reached for her hand once again, but the screech of an eagle interrupted him. A long blue ribbon fluttered from the eagle''s leg.


    ¡°Blue ribbon. Important message.¡± Fayra folded her hands. ¡°More important than me.¡±


    He cursed himself for not doing it right earlier. However, the moment had passed.


    He raised his arm, welcoming the eagle. Prana Armor materialized on his lower arm just as the eagle¡¯s razor-sharp talons gripped it. He retrieved the message and released the eagle back into the sky.


    The message in his hand was brief, not even filling a small piece of paper.


    ¡°You''re wearing that expression again, like your old self,¡± Fayra said. ¡°I don''t like it when you make that cold expression. What¡¯s wrong?¡±


    ¡°Arvane... No, His Majesty the King has violated the peace agreement and attacked Wyndor.¡±


    Her eyes seemed like a layer of ice with holes punched through them. The color drained from her face. ¡°Does this mean war?¡±


    ¡°We have to return at once.¡± He stood up and lifted Fayra into his arms. One arm encircled her back, and the other cradled the back of her knees.


    He assimilated with the power of Bahamut within him. Six translucent green wings spread from his back, extending until they exceeded the rim of the tower. He leaped and flew away from the Half Moon tower.

 CHAPTER 2: Measure of a Friend - Part 1

    Varne and Eiran ran, dodging the fir and pine trees that towered like a cluster of pillars. Branch tips scratched at their faces, and their shoes were damp with blood after tripping over twisted roots many times. The fragmented moonlight through the forest canopy was their only source of light.


    Eiran glanced back. The glint of the brigand¡¯s short blades was still there and getting closer.


    ¡°Turning at time like this!¡± Varne exclaimed. ¡°Look ahead or your head will bust!¡±


    ¡°Varn, it seems like we''re moving away from the village.¡±


    ¡°Shut up and run!¡± Varne panted through clenched teeth to compensate for his dwindling endurance. Eiran was no less desperate for air, wheezing with each breath.


    Eiran''s toes hit a root, and he stumbled. Varne stopped to reach out his hand.


    ¡°I can''t outrun them.¡± Eiran looked back once more. ¡°Go on without me.¡±


    ¡°Do you think I''d leave you?¡±


    ¡°Look at those bushes. I''m small, I can hide there.¡±


    ¡°They''ll find you. Come on, hurry!¡± Varne pulled his hand, but Eiran coughed as if he were about to cough up his lungs.


    ¡°Varn, you know my illness. Go. Consider yourself a bait, heh heh.¡±


    The leading brigand was so close Varne could almost see his crooked nose. Arguing would only benefit those bastards. ¡°Damn! Eir, hide!¡±


    Eiran did not see which way Varne was running because his eyes were fixed on a cluster of bushes. His steps faltered carrying his body there, his breath growing shallower. Yet he endured and dived into the bushes just a breath before the leading brigand passed.


    Clasping his mouth with both hands, he peered. One by one, the brigands passed by. His body convulsed each time he suppressed a cough, biting his finger in the process.


    Only after the footsteps and curses of the sixth brigand had vanished could he exhale. The energy that had surged due to the dire situation now left his body all at once, and he slumped.


    He hoped Varne managed to escape. But Varne was fast, the fastest in their village. He must have succeeded. He knew this forest, and¨C


    THUD! A blunt object struck his head from behind, throwing him forward. The impact rocked his head; he did not feel like falling to the ground; he sank into it.


    He groaned, hand holding the back of his head, which was damp with blood. In his sixteen years of life he had never received a blow as hard as the one just now. Then, strong hands seized his arms and threw him to the ground.


    Pairs of brigand eyes stared back at him as he opened his eyes, glistening as white as their weapon blades, with grins beneath them. A bandit stepped on his stomach, tensing his entire body.


    A one-eared brigand said, ¡°That brown-haired brat got away, but this fool thought he could hide from us.¡±


    ¡°What now, Chief?¡±


    ¡°That bastard must have run back to the village, yelling his head off. Finish this fool then we go!¡±


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    Kicks and punches rained down on Eiran''s head, ribs, and stomach without any sense of restraint. They did not use weapons so they could savor this. He just curled up. Enduring. As he always did.


    After a while, the blows subsided. Someone kicked his body, flipping him onto his back.


    ¡°Hey, is he croaked?¡±


    Almost. The moon appeared dazzling through his bruised eyes. But before he could begin to appreciate its beauty, a bald-headed brigand eclipsed it with his ugly head. ¡°The fucker¡¯s not dead yet!¡±


    Eiran winced at the thought of the pain when the brigand raised his enormous fist.


    THUNK!


    A thick branch swung through the air, striking the bandit''s head with a heavy thud.


    ¡°Eir, get up!¡±


    Varne fended off the brigands using the branch. Eiran tried to get up but failed. He tried again but only managed to bend his knees. Then, a brigand''s blow knocked Varne down.


    Varne shriveled on the ground, just like he had earlier, taking punches and kicks like a sack. Eiran crawled toward Varne, though he did not know what he could do. A brigand noticed his actions and rewarded him with a kick to the face, knocking him unconscious.


    When both of them regained consciousness, they were tied to a tree while the brigands sat around a campfire. One of the brigands noticed they were awake and tapped the arm of the person next to him. The heads of the brigands turned one by one in their direction.


    One-Ear loomed in front of them, thumbs tucked into his belt. A bare, short knife dangled from the belt.


    ¡°I admire your spirit,¡± he said. ¡°So, here''s the deal. If you can escape from my beloved there, I''ll let you go.¡±


    Their eyes followed the brigand¡¯s tilted head. Beside the campfire, a huge dog lay curled up. Its fur bristled and wrinkled with every breath. Its yellow eyes pierced through their spines.


    One-Ear allowed the dog to sniff their bodies. Its breath was dry and hot. Meanwhile, the other brigands wagered on whose guts would be longer after the dog ripped their bellies.


    One-Ear used his knife to cut the ropes, then squatted in front of Varne. ¡°I like you. You remind me of the guy who took my ear. He had that same ''hit me'' look in his eyes. Take that rock and smash the boy next to you, and I''ll cut you loose.¡±


    Varne''s lips mumbled something that Eiran could not hear. One-Ear could not hear it either. He repeated it, but it remained inaudible, prompting One-Ear to bring his good ear closer to listen.


    Varne''s hand flashed, grabbing the knife from One-Ear''s belt and stabbing it beneath his chin. Alas, the brigand was quicker in stopping his hand. He pulled the knife from his hand and tapped Varne''s head with it.


    ¡°Well, if this is what you want.¡±


    One-Ear let them run ahead. Dawn was beginning to break by then. Eiran''s wounds prevented him from walking upright, so Varne had to support him.


    ¡°We can''t outrun that dog,¡± Eiran''s words muffled due to his swollen face, and his breath was wheezing as ever.


    Varne stopped. ¡°This time we escape together or not at all. I¡¯m tired of saving you.¡±


    ¡°I know. I¡¯m also tired of being saved.¡± Eiran managed a smile that looked more like a crack on his battered face. His black eyes sparkled from beneath the swollen flesh. ¡°We hide together.¡±


    ¡°Where?¡±


    ¡°Remember that old cave? The entrance is too narrow for all the dogs behind us.¡±


    ¡°Well, I¡¯ve no better idea. Let''s go.¡±


    They ran as if their legs were tied together. The crashing sound of the dog''s footsteps trampling the dry leaves on the forest floor and its barking tightened their hearts. Their ears roared with the rush of blood.


    The cave''s entrance was a narrow gap at the base of a rocky cliff. Eiran crawled into it and found a spacious chamber with a high ceiling. Varne followed but got stuck halfway. He had a body the size of his age, but the cave''s mouth was just too narrow.


    Eiran tugged at Varne''s hand. They almost made it when Varne suddenly jerked backward.


    ¡°Damn! The dog bit my leg!¡±


    Eiran pulled as hard as he could while Varne kicked his legs. Then, like a turnip pulled from hard winter soil, Varne broke free.


    ¡°Varn, help me!¡± He tried to move a large rock to block the cave''s entrance. Varne''s assistance came too late. The dog slipped in and pounced on Eiran''s left shoulder.


    The large dog''s weight pinned Eiran to the ground. Varne tried to help by kicking it, but only managed to make the dog furious, shaking Eiran from side to side.


    Eiran grabbed a piece of twig from the ground and jabbed it into the dog''s eye. The dog yelped, releasing its bite, and fled through the entrance. They surged to seal the cave''s mouth.


    Both of them slumped. Sunlight streamed in through a crack in the ceiling, providing dim illumination. There was no other way out of this place. They were safe but also trapped.

 CHAPTER 2: Measure of a Friend - Part 2

    ¡°The fuckers are here!¡± Shouts from outside roused them. They moved away from the entrance until their backs hit the wall.


    ¡°My beloved, what happened to you? You li¡¯l bastards! I''ll gouge out your eyes too!¡±


    The commotion mingled with all kinds of curses told them that the brigands were trying everything to get in. However, after a while, it became clear that they could not. Eiran squeezed Varne''s shoulder and exhaling.


    ¡°We should''ve gone back to the village and told the others instead of facing them alone,¡± Varne said.


    ¡°They were collecting wet leaves and green branches at the forest edge. That wasn''t for warmth. They wanted to create smoke to make the villagers flee, thinking there''s a forest fire and then loot it. We would''ve been too late if we went back first.¡±


    ¡°So, that''s why you threw rocks at them?¡±


    ¡°I asked if you had a different idea, but you just shook your head and said, ¡®Well, I have no better idea.¡¯ Don''t forget, you threw rocks too! The biggest one!¡±


    They both laughed, but their laughter was soon interrupted by the smell of smoke. Through the gaps between the rocks covering the cave''s mouth, thick grey smoke crept in.


    ¡°Those bastards!¡±


    ¡°Varne, lie down. Hopefully, my guess is correct.¡±


    They both flattened their bodies against damp cave floor. The smoke crept toward them but then swung upward and out through the crack in the ceiling, just as Eiran had hoped. The brigands stopped smoking them out after about an hour. Varne was slightly out of breath, but nothing more, while Eiran continued to cough.


    ¡°Eir, your illness is getting worse.¡±


    ¡°I''m fine.¡± Eiran sat cross-legged, waving his hands.


    The back of the cave was dark. Even from this distance, they could hardly see each other''s faces. For a while they did not speak, just listening to the brigands blaming each other.


    ¡°Varn, don''t count on my uncle. But your father will come, won''t he?¡± Eiran said after his coughing subsided.


    ¡°Yes. We just need to hold out until then.¡±


    ¡°Can your father handle six men?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s a Prana Decima. He can.¡±


    ¡°Right... I almost forgot because your father never showed his Prana.¡±


    ¡°I wonder about that too.¡± Varne could only make out a silhouette beside him when he turned. ¡°Father trains me in secret. He also told me not to show it, even though being able to use Prana is not that special.¡±


    ¡°Can you use Prana, Varn?¡±


    ¡°Well... not yet. What''s the point of training so hard if there''s no chance to show it, right? Father also doesn''t allow me to do anything.¡±


    ¡°No wonder you''re beaten up.¡± Even in the dim light, Eiran''s annoying grin remained just as annoying.


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    ¡°Why didn''t you train? My father offered to train you, didn''t he?¡±


    ¡°Because of my physical condition. My Prana didn''t even reach the minimum threshold. Before your father, someone told me that but I didn''t believe her. You know they often lie so you''ll train with them. But I believe your father.¡±


    Everyone has Prana and Mana, but not everyone possesses enough to use in combat. In other words, not combat effective. Varne knew this.


    ¡°You should train, Varn. Having Prana talent is a rare opportunity.¡±


    ¡°Rare? Many people can use Prana. Half, maybe?¡±


    ¡°No. Only one in ten people have the talent for Prana or Mana. That''s why they''re called Decima. In the ancient language, it means one in ten.¡±


    ¡°Not rare. You could lose fewer teeth than that.¡±


    ¡°Well, not everyone can develop their talent. Many lack the opportunity, the desire, or are just unlucky. In reality, the ratio of Decima to regular soldiers in the military is only one in thirty. It''s even less in everyday life.¡±


    ¡°That''s better. Slightly.¡±


    ¡°The strength among Decima vary greatly. A strong Decima can defeat many weaker Decima. Prana might not be my path, Varn, but there''s still Mana.¡±


    ¡°There are no Mana Decima in our village.¡±


    ¡°Not a problem. As long as I keep searching, I''ll find one. By becoming a Mana Decima, I''ll be one step closer to getting my own ship, and after that, I''ll sail the Inner Sea to find my parents.¡±


    ¡°Sometimes I envy you. You always know what you want to do.¡±


    The gleam in Eiran''s eyes continued to shine as he spoke. ¡°To win, strength and skill alone is not enough. You also need the right temperament.¡±


    The light from the crack in the ceiling grew stronger and more upright as the sun rose. Varne was fifteen, and he was also starting to think about his future. However, with his father not allowing him to join the Guild or the military, he did not know what he would do.


    ¡°Eir, if you ever have a ship, let me join you.¡±


    Eiran did not answer for a long time.


    ¡°Eir?¡± Varne turned. He could see more now. Eiran''s head was bowed, his curly black hair hanging like moss from a tree branch, the back matted with blood. His torn clothes revealed bite marks as dark as charcoal. Dried blood ran down his pale left arm.


    ¡°Eir!¡± Varne shook his shoulder.


    His hand rested on Varne''s. Cold, weak. ¡°I''m fine...¡±


    ¡°Fool! You''re almost dead!¡±


    ¡°No... This is nothing. I''ll endure. I told you, the right temperament...¡±


    ¡°You''re a fool. That''s your temperament!¡±


    Eiran smiled before his head drooped.


    Varne caught his body and leaned him against the wall. He did not know what to do. Seeing his cracked lips, the first thing that came to Varne''s mind was water. However, there was no source of water here. The brigands had been quiet for a while. Should he risk peeking outside?


    Smoke began to seep out from between the rocks again. This time, instead of the sharp and pungent smell, the smoke carried a fragrant and savory aroma.


    ¡°Hey, little ones! Grub¡¯s ready. Come on out!¡±


    Varne cursed. Not only were the brigands still there, but they also insulted his intelligence with tricks like this.


    But then he heard something else.


    ¡°You bastard! Where the hell did you come from!¡± One-Ear said.


    ¡°Turn your head and leave, or I''ll turn it until you can see your own ass crack!¡± another said.


    ¡°One step closer, and I''ll fuckin¡¯ kill you!¡± a third shouted.


    Then there was the sound of a brawl. Punches, kicks, profanities, groans, more profanities. And silence. Varne approached the cave entrance to listen better.


    ¡°Varne! Are you in there?¡± Someone called from outside.


    ¡°Father!¡±


    ***


    Lorn carried the unconscious Eiran to their house on the forest edge. His father was neither an apothecary nor a physician, but his experience on the battlefield had taught him basic skills. He applied a herbal concoction in the form of a paste and wrapped Eiran''s wounds, leaving him smelling like lavender mixed with marigold.


    ¡°Varn,¡± Lorn said as he closed the door to Eiran''s room, ¡°even though I disagree with how you did it, you did the right thing. I''m sure they would have truly burned our village after looting to facilitate their escape.¡±


    Their house was large with two bedrooms. It once belonged to the village head but was abandoned due to its proximity to the forest and vulnerability to monster attacks.


    In the kitchen, Lorn ladled soup from a clay pot over the fireplace. ¡°It''s almost winter, and without food reserves, many of our neighbors would die. Wild beasts would emerge from the forest, and without homes, there will be many victims.¡±


    Lorn added a wooden spoon and served the soup. ¡°I''m proud of both of you.¡±


    Varne almost choked when he heard his father say that. He was embarrassed and happy at the same time.

 CHAPTER 3: Steps Toward a New Path

    Eiran woke up in a dim room. Bandages with a herbal concoction subdued the throbbing pain coursing through his entire body as he rose from the bed. Opening the door, he found Varne''s father waiting for him. Lorn inquired about his condition while preparing a warm meal.


    ¡°Thank you, Uncle,¡± he said as Lorn served a broth with pieces of sweet potatoes and bread. The soup was salty with a strong garlic scent.


    Varne often complained to him that he often complained to Lorn ¨C that even the fish in the sea did not eat as much salt as he did, or that that the amount of garlic Lorn used could cause a famine. Every time, Lorn would simply say that salt was essential for a warrior to avoid getting weak, while garlic was healthy and aided recovery.


    ¡°You''ve been unconscious all day. It''s past midnight now, and Varne is already asleep. Stay here for the night,¡± Lorn said.


    Varne had sworn to change that recipe and had practiced cooking a lot. However, Eiran envied him although he never said it. He had never tasted what his mother or father''s cooking was like.


    ¡°Thank you, Uncle.¡±


    ¡°Eir,¡± Lorn called out as he was about to return to his room. ¡°You''re not just a friend but a loyal friend in times of trouble. I''m grateful to you.¡±


    Before sunrise the next day, he returned to his uncle''s house in the middle of the village, the largest three-story house. His uncle was a horse ranch owner. He had opened the ranch here, considering the highland to be ideal for horses¡¯ muscles.


    His uncle was in his study, writing with a bronze-tipped pen on parchment. He only used parchment for important contracts. A lantern provided minimal illumination from the edge of the table, throwing large shadows across the room.


    Eiran steeled himself before stepping forward to the table.


    His uncle glanced for a moment from his forehead before returning to his contract. The tip of his pen screeched against the parchment.


    ¡°Ran away from home? Got into a fight? Ungrateful. Just like your father. And your mother. Feed the horses.¡±


    Eiran braced himself not for any beatings or cane strikes. After years, they did not hurt that much anymore, especially since his uncle was getting weaker. What still hurt as much as the first time was when his uncle ridiculed his parents.


    ¡°Uncle, you always talk as if you know my parents. Who are they? I¡¯ll find them and won¡¯t bother you anymore.¡±


    The scraping stopped, and his uncle plunged his pen into the inkwell. While waiting for the ink on the parchment to dry, he looked at Eiran. His eyes were a light brown, his eyebrows thick and black. He was around fifty years old.


    ¡°They''re nobody, not worth mentioning. I don''t know where they are, and I don''t care. They abandoned you, and I''m the one inconvenienced, troubled, and missing out on many opportunities because of you.¡±


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    ¡°Then who are you, Uncle?¡±


    His uncle picked up the pen, wiped it, and continued writing. ¡°Go away. I''m busy.¡±


    Eiran clenched his fists but said nothing. He turned to leave.


    ¡°You probably don''t know because you''re busy playing with that raggedy boy,¡± his uncle said as he opened the door. ¡°We''ll move from this wretched village in a few days. This village doesn''t bring in enough profit.¡±


    ***


    Varne observed the village notice board. His village was too small for anything significant to happen, and it never had any important announcements to be posted. The board was usually just filled with obscene drawings, almost always cocks, as the kids who scribbled on it had never seen their counterparts.


    However, that day, he spotted a scroll attached there. The paper seemed expensive, its cursive writing graceful, and its decorative frame gave it a formal air.


    ¡°You should learn to read, Varn. The writing system used throughout the Inner Realm now is much simpler than the languages used before.¡± Eiran said from behind, his body still covered in bandages, his steps limping. ¡°That scroll is a call for volunteers to join the fight against the Terzion Empire.¡±


    ¡°Is there going to be a war?¡±


    ¡°My uncle often sells horses to the Fhon garrison. They say the Cairdelis Federation fell last year, and the Kargadin Arkanate is struggling against Terzion. Our kingdom is worried as well.¡±


    Varne had once seen the Inner Realm map at Eiran''s uncle''s house. The Inner Realm consisted of three landmasses surrounding the Inner Sea. To the northwest lay the Eldarin land, ruled by the Isofea Kingdom; to the southwest, the Denois land under the dominion of the Arvane Kingdom. To the east, the Terzion Empire, Cairdelis Federation, and Kargadin Arkanate shared borders on the vast Zelros land. He himself lived on an island to the south of the main Eldarin land, part of the Isofea Kingdom.


    ¡°My father said those brigands yesterday were deserters from their posts. By the way, why did Terzion start the war?¡±


    ¡°Emperor Gardioz started the war three years ago. He wishes to destroy the Artifica so that all may live in peace, or so he said. But what''s certain is that Terzion is unstoppable and ready to invade us and Arvane.¡±


    War. It was an opportunity to prove oneself. The battleground that separated boys from men. But his father would never agree.


    ¡°But don''t worry,¡± Eiran said. ¡°We have the Southern Shields to protect this island. And our village is too small to be a target.¡±


    ¡°Why did you come looking for me?¡±


    Eiran showed a necklace with round stone pendants on a string. ¡°I found these stones in the cave and made them into keepsakes.¡±


    ¡°Keepsakes? For yesterday?¡± Nevertheless, he took one and put it on. Eiran also donned his.


    ¡°Varn..., there''s one more thing. My uncle is moving to Fhon. I want to bid you farewell.¡±


    ¡°Moving? Did you steal your uncle''s wine and get drunk again?¡±


    Eiran lightly hit his upper arm. ¡°I wish. Goodbye, Varne.¡±


    ¡°Is this a joke...?¡±


    ¡°At first, I didn''t want to either. But this is the opportunity I''ve been waiting for. Fhon has a soldiery, and I''ll make a career there or forever be my uncle''s errand boy. Don''t do anything foolish, Varn, because I won''t come to save you.¡± Eiran winked.


    Varne just gaped as Eiran limped away.


    Lorn never let him do anything. Eiran could only obey his uncle. They would grow up, take a wife, have children, and eventually die in this village. He would then dig a grave for him, or the other way. He never expected they would part ways before that day.


    He ran after Eiran to the village''s only gate.


    There he saw a convoy of cargo wagons at the top of the hill. Eiran did not notice him because he was busy handling a herd of horses. He wanted to shout, but the distance was too far. Little by little, Eiran disappeared into the folds of the hills.


    Fhon? That city was at least ten days away. He would never see him again.

 CHAPTER 4: Blood Not of His Own - Part 1

    Varne placed a stack of logs next to a large tree stump that reached up to his waist. On this scorching day, he chose to go bare-chested, the stone pendant necklace hanging from his neck.


    He placed a broad paulownia leaf on the tree stump and set a log on top. He gripped an axe in his right hand, and with a single swing split the log without scratching the paulownia leaf beneath. He switched hands and repeated the action.


    In a short time, he had finished splitting dozens of logs. He wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. He was in a forest clearing, without a hint of shade to shield him from the blazing summer sun.


    Two years had passed since Eiran left. His encounter with the brigands and the absence of friends his age had made Varne focus on his training, even though he still was not sure of its purpose.


    Various exercises had sculpted his physique into a well-defined build. Not large, but substantial. He was not particularly tall either. In a crowd, he would not stand out, but if lined up he was a little above average.


    In two years, he had progressed from a passive Prana Decima to an active or genuine Prana Decima. Half a year ago, after mastering destructive Prana techniques, Lorn moved their training deep into the forest.


    They set up a tent and could stay in this clearing for weeks before returning to the village. Lorn never spoke about it, but he knew from others that two years was remarkably fast. Such talent could make him dominate the battlefield if only his father allowed it.


    ¡°Father, I''m done.¡±


    Lorn was catching fish in the river. Clusters of cattails grew on its banks. When practicing the Voidblade technique, a long-ranged slashing technique, he had to be able to cut the plants without felling them. And he had truly succeeded only if the plants did not wilt the next day.


    Lorn flipped the leaves. ¡°You''ve learned to control your strength well. Practice both of your hands; you never know when one might be unusable. You might have to fight using your left hand while climbing spiral stairs with walls on the right.¡±


    His father was a monster hunter without Guild membership. Years ago, he had been allowed to live in the village in exchange for protecting it from monster attacks. Their residence was close to the forest as most of the monsters came from there. In recent years, the number of monsters had decreased. No one knew the reason, but it had made Lorn, and by extension, Varne, less appreciated.


    According to Lorn, he was forty years old ¨C he was not a farmer, so he was less attentive to the cycles of seasons and years. His body was robust and fit, characteristic of Prana Decimae who was not prone to age. Several scars bore witness to his past, but he did not like to talk about it.


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    Lorn fetched a pair of lead-filled wooden swords from the tent and tossed one to Varne. They then assumed ready stances. Varne attacked first. Lorn deflected the blow with the flat of his blade and then countered with a thrust. Varne tilted his upper body and swung back.


    He once asked why Lorn only taught him sword techniques.


    ¡°Three reasons. Swords aren''t the king of weapons, but they are versatile in many situations. Suitable for wanderers who can''t choose their battleground. Second, swords are easy to find and purchase. You don''t want to be in trouble because your weapon is too peculiar. And finally... I only know sword techniques.¡±


    Both their swords locked until their hands touched. ¡°Watch out; I can break your fingers, Son.¡±


    Varne hooked his heel behind Lorn''s heel and pushed to topple him. However, Lorn swiftly seize his ears and brought him down to the ground with force.


    ¡°Ouch...¡± Varne got up, holding his searing ear. Lorn believed that half-hearted training would only create a false image of real combat. Therefore, his attacks were not restrained, even if they did not inflict harm.


    ¡°Every fighting style has its own philosophy. Ours emphasizes strength, speed, and surprise. That''s why your attacks must be strong, swift, and sudden like lightning!¡±


    Varne assumed his ready stance once more.


    ¡°Wait. Your sword''s strap is loose.¡± Lorn reached out his hand and, as Varne handed him the wooden sword, spun it so that the tip faced his neck.


    ¡°You just died, Son.¡±


    Varne frowned. ¡°That''s unfair.¡±


    Lorn sighed. ¡°Of all the responses, that was the worst. Saying that to your opponent is like praising them. Remember, you fight to stay alive, nothing else. Don''t fight when you can avoid it. Not all enemies need to be fought. An ancient master once said only cliffs face the tempest. When the storm comes, take shelter.¡±


    Evening was drawing near when Lorn finished their sparring. He went into the woods to check traps, while Varne bathed in the river before preparing a campfire. However, as he patted down his pockets, he realized the flint was missing. By the time his father returned from the forest with a pair of summer-furred brown hares, Varne still hadn¡¯t lit the fire.


    ¡°Varn, I''ll show you something.¡±


    Lorn rested his left hand on the firewood. He always wore that wide bracelet with five white beads on his left wrist. The beads were called Arcanzite and could convert Prana into elemental energy. Lorn''s Arcanzite in particular converted Prana into lightning.


    One of the beads glowed. A net of purple lightning ran through his hand, and from his fingertips a strand of lightning leaped onto the stack of wood, igniting it.


    ¡°This isn''t just for lighting fires,¡± Lorn said. ¡°Each Prana technique has its own maximum power, limiting our attack output. Arcanzite acts as a Prana reservoir, allowing us to release it in a single burst. Of course, Arcanzite also has its own capacity limit.¡±


    ¡°Doesn''t seem very useful.¡±


    ¡°Imagine it this way. You have a campfire and a bucket of water. If you try to extinguish the fire drop by drop, you could use up the whole bucket and the fire would still burn. But if you pour the bucket, it''s a different story. Arcanzite is useful for pouring your Prana.¡±


    ¡°Then it''s only useful when facing much stronger enemies. But you always said to run from enemies like that.¡±


    Lorn smiled. ¡°But in your hands, Arcanzite will be even more powerful.¡±


    He did not quite understand the point. Before he could ask, Lorn had already removed the bracelet and handed it to him. ¡°Try it yourself.¡±

 CHAPTER 4: Blood Not of His Own - Part 2

    Varne put it on his left wrist like his father. The bracelet clicked as it clasped. ¡°What should I do?¡±


    Lorn''s lips opened, but no words came out. Instead, he said, ¡°Try channeling Prana into it in your own way.¡±


    He tried to channel Prana into his left hand as if he were going to release a technique, but nothing happened. He repeated it, and still, nothing. He then attempted to draw and gather Prana into his body first before...


    One bead lit up.


    ¡°Father, I did it!¡± He exclaimed as he watched the sparks of lightning tickling his hand.


    Then two beads lit up. The arches of lightning grew thicker, and his hand muscles tensed. Three beads, and his fingers moved on their own. Four beads, and lightning was striking and scorching the grass.


    ¡°Enough, Varn. Stop.¡±


    Varne cut off the flow of Prana to his hand, but nothing happened. He redirected the flow, he jolted the Prana to expel the power in his hand, but still failed. He then withdrew his power¡­ and the fifth bead lit up.


    Lightning engulfed his left arm. Every hair on his body stood on end, and his hair waved. The lightning bolts were no longer intermittent but continuous, writhing and crackling.


    ¡°Varn!¡± Lorn tackled him. It was the last thing he saw before the bright light turned everything white.


    When he opened his eyes again, he was lying in the grass, cradled in his father¡¯s arms. Lorn''s clothes were torn, and his back was severely burned.


    ¡°Father!¡±


    The surrounding area was scorched, with embers scattered here and there. His tent had also caught fire. Lorn rose, forcing a smile. ¡°It''s nothing. This injury isn''t as bad as it looks, but let''s call it a day for our training.¡±


    Varne rushed to grab a half-burned bag of ointments and began to apply salves to the wounds. Despite his father¡¯s repeated assurances that it was just an accident, guilt still overwhelmed him.


    ¡°I''m the one at fault. I should have taught you how to do it. Whatever method you used just now, don''t do it again. Forget about it.¡±


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    Among the burned belongings, Varne found his flint. He rebuilt the campfire, skinned and bled the hares, and gutted and scaled the fishes. He skewered them all on twigs ¨C ensuring they were not poisonous ¨C and began roasting them. Plenty of garlic for Lorn.


    That night, fierce wind tore at the campfire, creating a sound like whipping cloth.


    ¡°Varn, by the end of this season, I will entrust you to an old friend of mine.¡±


    ¡°More training?¡± Varne took a bite of the hare.


    ¡°That''s part of it.¡±


    ¡°Why should I continue training if all that effort will just be kept hidden away? It would be different if you let me join the war or a Guild.¡±


    ¡°Another reason is that I want to keep you away from the war. Kargadin fell not too long ago, and Terzion has already defeated us in a naval battle once. Our kingdom has started a conscription.¡±


    ¡°Then this is my chance to show my training! If I succeed and get recognized, you won''t have to live like this anymore.¡±


    ¡°I''m training you so that you can protect yourself because you will need it one day.¡±


    Lorn gazed at him from across the campfire. His black eyes reflected the flickering flames. The shadows cast deep creases on his face.


    Lorn opened his mouth but then closed it again. Varne had never seen his father hesitate. He had always been confident and unwavering; it was his temperament as a Prana Decima.


    ¡°Varn, you''re seventeen now. Until now, I''ve never told you about your mother. Do you want to hear it now?¡±


    Varne paused, the hare meat forgotten in his mouth. After swallowing, he replied, ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Your mother died during the second Arvane-Wyndor War on the Denois mainland. At that time, my old friend and I were members of an... organization... on the Wyndor side. We passed through a village where everyone was killed. There, we found you. Your mother died holding you in a swamp, your umbilical cord still uncut.¡±


    Varne furrowed his brow. ¡°Found me? Found... me?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not your birth father, Varn.¡±


    As if suddenly plunged into the sea at night, he was at a loss. Lorn never joked, and he was not joking now.


    ¡°Uncle Dorian and I,¡± Lorn continued, ¡°decided to save you and leave the organization. After Wyndor fell, we moved to this island.¡±


    ¡°Then¡­ who are my real parents¡­ Father?¡± Calling Lorn ¡®father¡¯ now felt awkward. ¡°Do I have siblings?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. You''re the only one alive. But I want you to understand something. I am your father, and you are my son.¡±


    Varne stared at the tips of the flickering flame. In that moment, Lorn seemed like a stranger to him. All of a sudden, the name Varne did not hold the same meaning as it did earlier in the day. And all of a sudden, he understood Eiran''s feelings.


    ¡°I''m sorry, I didn''t tell you this before because I didn''t want you to be burdened by your inheritance. Tomorrow we''ll go back to the village and leave as soon as I recover.¡±


    ¡°Where does Uncle Dorian live, Father?¡±


    ¡°The other end of the island. About two weeks¡¯ walk in the summer.¡±


    ¡°How long will I stay there?¡±


    ¡°Uncle Dorian will make that decision.¡±


    Varne did not feel like arguing and nodded. They slept under the open sky that night. The vast expanse of stars was above their heads, yet Varne felt a profound solitude.

 CHAPTER 5: By Friends Unbroken - Part 1

    Eiran''s foot splashed, breaking the stillness of the puddle. He wore a padded sand-filled vest as heavy as standard armor of Isofean army, even though the rain made it heavier.


    He exerted all his strength and took the next step. He had been accepted as a member of the navy, but that was not enough. To become a ship''s crew, not just a ground support crew, he had to pass a series of other tests.


    The final test was to cover the distance from the eastern bay to the military harbor in the west before the water clock at the endpoint ran out and rang the bell. His peers were already out of sight. He began to cough and stumbled. His knees buckled, and his hands gripped the sand.


    He had to stand. His fingers clawed at the beach sand. He had to stand, or he would fail. His hair hung down, framing his narrowed view of the sandy beach.


    Two years after moving to Fhon, he was still a dwarf. His legs refused to stand, no matter how hard he forced them. However, he would cross the harbor gate, even if it meant crawling.


    Out of nowhere, a firm hand clasped his upper arm and helped him to his feet.


    ¡°Jeth...¡± Eiran recognized the teenager. He was tall with a broad chest.


    Another person grabbed Eiran¡¯s right arm and draped it over his shoulder. ¡°Come on, hurry, the water clock is almost out when we get back,¡± Haran said. He was shorter than Jeth but equally sturdy. He had known them since his early days as a recruit.


    ¡°Look, my beard has grown thick waiting for you,¡± Jeth said, stroking his smooth chin.


    They supported him through the second half of the journey then let him go just before the harbor gate came into view. Without Jeth and Haran, his body heavy and sluggish, burdened by his own effort. However, in their stead, the cheers of his peers carried him through the gate just moments before the bell rang.


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    The examiner reopened the inkwell and wrote his name on the pass list. Only after confirming that did Eiran finally collapse. Pats of congratulations from his fellows shook his body. He had no breath left to shout with joy; no matter, now he was a ship''s crew.


    There was just one problem. It was not the test, but this turned out to be a stumbling block for Eiran.


    Every crew lived in pairs with a partner. Partners would take turns working, save each other if one fell overboard, inherit the other''s possessions if one died. They shared food, sleeping quarters, and watched over each other. A partner was one¡¯s other half at sea.


    Aspiring ship crews built trust with their chosen partners during the tests. Unfortunately, Eiran''s partner had failed the previous test, and now he was left without one.


    Out of the hundreds who passed the test, some were friendly with him. Others avoided him, considering his physique a burden. Those who befriended him already had their partners. Jeth and Haran had even promised to be partners from the beginning. He could not ask them to be his partner now.


    He had only three days to register with his partner. Three days were too short... No, there were still three days!


    That very day, when even blinking hurt, he searched for a partner among those who were still unpaired. However, they preferred to remain regular sailors or try again next year rather than risk their fate to Eiran.


    On the second day, he tried different approaches. He offered a larger share of his wages to potential partners. He would share his rations with the partner because he did not need as much as they did. He was willing to split his booty, his small frame required less space on the ship, he was a smaller target, he could climb the mast easily, he would not crowd his partner when they had to sleep in the crow''s nest, he could make repairs in tight spaces, he would work with ropes in dangerous places, he would be on the ship while the partner took shore leave he would clean the poop deck he would do the deathwatch he would empty the puke bucket he would clean the rotting ballast he would also...


    They all walked away.


    On the morning of the third day, Eiran sat on the edge of the cliff, holding Violet''s scarf. Half a day remained. He had tried everything. Trying again next year was not an option due to the age limit. Failing this once meant failing forever.


    He was unaware of Haran''s arrival until his friend tapped his shoulder. ¡°Come on, let''s go to the sauna.¡±


    ¡°Thanks, but not now.¡±


    ¡°Oh, come on. It''s our glorious tradition for graduates to hit the sauna together. You missed it on graduation day. Jeth is waiting for you too. Just a moment.¡±


    He was weary of facing rejection after rejection and eventually gave in to Haran''s invitation.

 CHAPTER 5: By Friends Unbroken - Part 2

    The sauna in the barracks complex was a long room that could accommodate dozens. Rows of sauna stoves lined the center, and long benches belted the three sides of the room.


    Jeth sat alone at the end of the room. He sat slouched, head tilted back, both arms outstretched, and naked as a plucked chicken. He waved as he and Haran sat opposite each other to his left and right. They all had the same unit tattoo on their right chests, a winged fish entwined by a serpent.


    ¡°Cover your junk, you swab!¡± Haran tossed a towel at Jeth''s crotch.


    Jeth placed the towel on his face. ¡°Don''t blame me if you are below my station, ha ha ha.¡±


    Haran clicked his tongue. ¡°Eir, don''t mind that swab. Have you heard the news from the front lines? Emperor Gardioz moved Vraka Keragan from his captivity in Kargadin to their colony in Arvane.¡±


    Eiran knew Keragan. Every sailor or soldier did. He was one of the best fighters in the Inner Realm. He was also a Vraka ¨C the heir of a clan who had a rightful claim over the entirety of Kargadin, a sort of crown prince. During the war, Keragan and both of his sworn brothers landed many staggering blows against Terzion.


    ¡°Gardioz is a fool. Why doesn''t he just deal with him?¡± Jeth said, his voice half muffled by the towel.


    ¡°You''re the fool,¡± Haran retorted. ¡°Gardioz wants to make him a puppet ruler, just like he did with prince of Cairdelis. Keragan keeps refusing, and after several rescue attempts by his remaining followers, Gardioz moved him to a location no one knows.¡±


    ¡°Bah, Keragan''s reputation is exaggerated,¡± Jeth said. ¡°After all, Kargadin lost. And the land that took decades to unite was conquered in just four years.¡±


    ¡°That''s because Neuvane used sneaky strategy. He spread monster trees across Kargadin''s Ancestral Plains, killing all the vegetation and destroying their cavalry.¡±


    Eiran poured a ladle of water over the stove. Steam billowed to the ceiling with a hiss. Neuvane was the architect of the Terzion¡¯s Artifica project and the chief advisor in cleansing the Inner Realm of ancient facilities.


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    Kargadin''s cavalry was considered the best in the Inner Realm with nexus of powers. Striking their center of mass was almost impossible, traditionally making the Kargads hard to conquer and unite.


    Neuvane solved this by targeting the Ancestral Plains itself. He not only killed the horses but also most of the Kargads. This action solidified his reputation as Gardioz''s most infamous subordinate.


    ¡°There''s no such thing as sneaky strategy in war. There''s only strategy. Sneaky or not depends on whether you¡¯re on the receiving end or the one dealing,¡± Jeth said.


    ¡°Don''t underestimate Keragan. Even his enemies respect him. Among Terzionites, there''s a saying: ''Meet one, run; meet two, no need.'' It means that if you ever meet Keragan and one of his sworn brother on Kargad soil, you''re as good as dead there''s no point in trying to escape.¡±


    ¡°Which one? Farkas? He''s dead too, no need to talk about him.¡±


    ¡°Farkas was a hero. He and his father defended their fortress to the end. They only lost because, once again, Neuvane used cowardly tactics!¡±


    They argued as if they had forgotten his presence. He did not understand why they were arguing. Perhaps both were worried, though unwilling to admit it, as they would soon face Terzion.


    Then why did they bring him here? But as Eiran was about to leave, Haran said to Jeth, ¡°Stop your yapping. Tell him.¡±


    Jeth lowered the towel from his face. His rust-colored eyes stared at Eiran. ¡°Me, Haran, and some other friends have secretly helped you find a partner, but no one wants to. You''re going to fail.¡±


    Eiran was aware of that, but hearing it from someone else stung.


    After Lorn had told Eiran that learning Prana was beyond his reach, Mana became the logical choice. However, he later found out that learning Mana required a lot of money. The Southern Shields, the rulers of this island, were known to appreciate talent and effort, yet they were far too elevated in status to take note of a mere sailor.


    Eiran then chose the regular military path. Despite the detours, sooner or later, he would get his own ship. Until he encountered this partner issue...


    ¡°Jeth, you really are a bilge rat! Eir, ignore him. What we mean... we know you are literate and numerate to the point where the accountant asks for your help. So... the whole cohort agreed that your only hope of becoming a crew is by taking the Mana test on your own.¡±


    ¡°Thanks, but¨C¡±


    ¡°That''s why,¡± Haran interrupted, ¡°we''ve agreed to fund you.¡±


    Before he could fully register his surprise, Jeth pulled out a bag of money from behind his waist. Eiran was agape. His gaze shifted back and forth between the money bag, Jeth, and Haran.


    ¡°But we want you not to forget us when you become a captain,¡± Haran said with a half-smile.


    Eiran stifled his welled up eyes; he knew well that tears held little value among Isofean sailors who had six different profanities just for the word ''anchor.''


    ¡°Violet will be happy too. We''re fans of her singing. And if she gives you a very special gift...¡± Jeth winked. ¡°We want to know all the corners, cabins, and bilge.¡±