[A/N: Author san has been having very bad network service that's why Author san didn't post. Please add to library if you like.]
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A Week Later
The man with the cinder-colored hair turned slowly in position as he took in the environment around him, he had run into in a forest; with the trees growing so closely to each other they blocked out the moonlight. It was a lot darker than it was outside, but still he felt a lot safer here, the wolves wouldn't think to come this way, some of them might not even fit through if they tried; the widest space was a single narrow path that led out from the moonlight behind him and deeper into the darkness, everywhere else was taken up by the trees. He fumbled through his pockets for the little flashlight he had with him, silently hoping he hadn't lost them in his flight from the wolf pack that had ambushed him. Fortunately he found it sticking out of his back pocket, a few inches from falling off altogether.
He flicked it on and pointed forward, the narrow path twisted through the trees and he followed the snaking path, trying so hard to steady his breathing. But as soon as he heard the howling again he let out a loud gasp, he shut off the flashlight, but not before speeding through the first bend and pressing his back to a tree trunk, he drew a deep breath after slowly counting to ten and peered from behind the tree, the silhouette of seven or more wolves stood just outside the entrance to the closely growing trees, sharply etched against the moonlight, their glowing eyes met his and they snarled, baring their teeth.
He ducked back and pondered on his best means of escape, he could keep running until he found an open clearing, but he had no idea how long that would take, his other option was to climb up a tree, but the thick mass of darkness would make it an almost impossible task without the help of his flashlight, and he wasn't going to give up the only advantage he had—supposing the wolves' night vision wasn't strong enough to locate him here.
He peered from behind the tree again and saw the wolves coming into the narrow path, their movements slow but purposeful as they sniffed and prodded the ground with their noses; they knew where they were going, they had his scent. He stepped backwards, tracing his hands on the trunks of the trees and daring to breathe. He exhaled sharply and flicked on his flashlight for a split second just to find out where the path led next. He flinched as he heard one of the wolves give a snarl; he darted into the direction he had found and flicked on his flashlight again for what he thought was only a second. But he was wrong; he heard another snarl a few meters from behind him as soon as he turned off the flashlight, he fought the urge to scream as he darted through the little path he had found, he could hear the wolves following in hot pursuit. He gritted his teeth and kept on moving as slowly and quickly as he could, he decided he would either result to crawling on his hands and knees to keep finding his way or turn on his flashlight and continue running at top speed, it didn't make any difference if the wolves knew where exactly he was, they had his scent, their advantage was strong either way.
He flicked the flashlight on and ran as fast as his legs could carry him, the wolves running behind him and barking as some of them snapped at his heels, he ran and jumped as he felt his stamina failing, then his flashlight beamed on a figure standing in the way.
"Out of the way, there are wolves!" The cinder-haired man screamed.
The figure in his way did not move or speak, making the cinder-haired man wonder if he was really there or just some apparition playing tricks with his mind. Still, there were other things to think about, as he neared the figure he put out his hand and brushed him to the side, darting past him, and then he froze as he heard the sound of a sword being unsheathed.
"Flame Barrage!"
The cinder-haired man turned around, his eyes widened in shock as he caught sight of the figure slicing his way through the wolf pack like they were simply just rice bags, maybe it was a trick of the eye, but his sword seemed to be flaming, leaving deep burning gashes in the parts of the wolves it had cut down. By the time the figure had stopped, the wolves had been reduced to nothing but piles of hides and meat.
"You shouldn't be out in the night all by yourself," the figure said as he sheathed his sword. "Especially when you're only armed with nothing but a flashlight."
The cinder-haired man swallowed, wondering if he'd be attacked next.
"What's your name, stranger?" The man with the fiery sword asked.
"J- Jerome." The cinder-haired man stuttered.
There was a bout of silence, and then Jerome spoke, clutching his flashlight to his chest.
"What's your name?"
The man with the sword did not answer immediately, and when he did speak, it wasn't an answer to Jerome's question. "You should leave here; this is no place for unarmed men."
"Oh… okay, but I have nowhere to go, I'm kinda lost." Jerome replied. The fiery swordsman gave a deep sigh.
"Can… can I go with you?"
The answer was short and simple, "No."
Jerome swallowed; he wasn't expecting the swordsman to agree, yet he had hoped against hope. He opened his mouth to plead again, but the swordsman spoke before he did.
"Follow me," The fiery swordsman replied. "But do not do anything clumsy or stupid."
"Sure!" Jerome grinned.
The fiery swordsman led Jerome out of the thick trees and into another part of the forest where there was more spacing between the trees and the moon shone brightly, all the while Jerome questioned the man of his name and praised his sword skills, the man did not reply, keeping a straight face until they arrived at his cottage.
"How long will you be here?" The fiery swordsman asked before letting Jerome in.
Jerome paused; he hadn't thought of that himself, he was only too happy to get shelter for the night. His eyes darted left and right, his lips closed as he was unsure of what answer to give.
"Have you suddenly lost your voice, stranger?' The swordsman inquired, rather impatient.
"The night would be just fine," Jerome replied and gave a relieved sigh when the swordsman gestured for him to get in, peering solemnly at the gleaming stars in the night sky above them.
But Jerome did not leave the next morning, neither the day after that, nor the next morning. He was much too intrigued by the swordsman's skills to go without learning at least a trick or two; and he would've been kicked out for his impudence, but for his offer to pay for his training in the form of a handyman, for as long as he remained under the swordsman's roof. For a month Jerome called the swordsman Master, not knowing him by his true name and afraid to ask the second time—though he would not admit his fear, and often consoled himself with the thought that he would come to know the swordsman's name when he was deemed worthy.
That would take a long time though, as Jerome came to realise. His sword skills were often taunted by the swordsman for being too loose, as if anything better could be expected from a man like Jerome. But Jerome did not retort, and often tried to make the swordsman's insults his motivation, and often spent countless hours sharpening what little skills he had.