As the evening sun began its descent, casting a warm glow over the Castle of the First Epic, a soldier donning the customary armor of the first kingdom approached. The soldier's attire bore a resemblance to that of the knights of old, yet it possessed a distinct flair unique to the normal knights.
The knight entered the vast room, his heart beat fastly, and he stood under his deadly gaze, the one after called The "Epic".
These formidable beings, hailing from various kingdoms, carried out their duties in isolation from one another, each occupying a castle acquired through raids conducted either long ago or in recent memory.
The Epics, driven by their individual ambitions and desires, chose to engage only in matters that suited their personal interests. They lived by their own rules, often disregarding any allegiance or loyalty to those they worked alongside. These beings of immense power was delighted in participating in agreements and arrangements solely to subsequently betray their unsuspecting partners. Whether it was their penchant for causing havoc or simply indulging in the exercise of their extraordinary abilities, they reveled in bringing destruction to anything that stood in their path.
What had initially begun as a mere series of individual power struggles had transformed over the course of eighteen years into a grand spectacle resembling a contest. The Epics, driven by an insatiable thirst for dominance, had turned their endeavors into a competition of sorts, a ruthless game played with the fates of countless lives as its stakes.
And at that day, within the Castle of the First Epic, a sense of unrest pervaded the air. Lapus, the current holder of the prestigious title, found himself grappling with a situation spiraling increasingly out of control. The delicate balance of power and influence that had existed among the Epics was teetering on the brink of chaos.
Out of breath, the knight hurriedly approached Arsillo, his voice strained as he relayed the message, "Sir, Miron wishes to see you."
Arsillo, though inwardly nervous, managed to maintain an outward semblance of calm as he inquired, "Miron? What brings him here?"
"We are unsure, Sir. He did not disclose any details. He simply mentioned that there were 'matters' he wished to discuss with you."
*What could Miron possibly be scheming now?* Arsillo started to feel his heart beat fast, as he was suddenly faced with an unexpected visit from a person he was scared to face.
But without delay, Miron materialized before the first Epic, his arrival devoid of any customary protocol. He entered the room as though he were a ghost, his presence both eerie and disconcerting.
"It has been far too long, Lapus. I see you have found yourself a new abode," Miron's voice reverberated through the chamber, its chilling timbre burrowing into Arsillo's mind. The ease with which Miron spoke, infused with a disconcerting mix of a smile and mirth, contrasted sharply with the underlying edge in his words.
Approaching Arsillo with an air of immense self-importance, Miron exuded a confident demeanor as he moved with measured, gentlemanly strides. Arsillo fought against succumbing to the skepticism welling up within him, choosing instead to maintain a composed posture and attempting to attune himself to Miron's hidden agenda.
"Yeah, it's been a long time, Miron. It is actually quite surprising to see you here." Arsillo replied, his voice steady despite the roiling uncertainty within.
Turning his gaze towards his soldiers, Arsillo issued a direct command, "Leave Miron and me alone."
The soldiers swiftly complied, forming a protective line by the door, ensuring both Arsillo's safety and their own absence from the impending conversation. As they exited the room, Miron resumed speaking, his words echoing through the air as he leisurely traversed the chamber in circular patterns.
"I presume you are curious as to why I have come," Miron stated, a peal of soft laughter lacing his words.
"You made it clear that your absence would be prolonged. So why is this sudden change of heart, prompting you to pay me an unexpected visit?"
Miron then laughed quietly,
"I'm very happy to hear that you remember our rendezvous back in months I have told you about. And, yes, I was indeed on a mission. But not to drag this out any further or longer, I must ask you something. Something that I need to know."
*He is hiding something big. I must talk to him with so little information. Otherwise, I'm not so sure he will try something bad here.* said Arsillo to himself as he watched Miron's calm eyes wander around the room.
"What would you like to know from me?"
Arsillo subtly shifted in his chair, resting his hand against his cheek, attempting to exude an air of nonchalance while grappling with the intensity of Miron's questions.
Under the shadowy cloak, Miron's smirk twisted into a sinister grin, his eyes gleaming with malevolence. The air grew heavy with an aura of dread as he uttered his next words.
"Are you familiar with Kaika, the Wolf bloodline?" Miron's voice dripped with wicked amusement.
"Yeah, he's Alpha Prime's brother—a dangerous individual. I haven't laid eyes on him in ages, nor do I have any intention to." Arsillo responded, his eyes rolling in a display of indifference as he focused on his own hands.
Gazing directly at Arsillo, Miron's smirk widened, his shrouded figure radiating a palpable sense of darkness. With an eerie calmness, he revealed his intentions, as if relishing the impending revelation of his malevolence.
"Did you know that it was I who killed him?"
Arsillo's response was devoid of surprise. Miron's claim was just another morsel of information he had almost anticipated. Given the extensive coverage of Miron's actions in various news articles and the fervor with which people followed every detail about him, the revelation held no shock value.
Remaining composed, Arsillo maintained his calm facade, eager to hear more from Miron's twisted words. After all, Miron had a penchant for spinning tales of the utmost darkness.
"I am well aware of the incident. The kingdoms buzz with rumors about your involvement—a fierce battle that nearly decimated an entire kingdom and more. It seems something provoked you beyond your usual capacity for rage."
With an air of boredom creeping into his voice, Arsillo voiced his growing impatience with Miron's prolonged preamble.
"Is that all you came here to say?"
Miron shook his head, his gaze fixed on Arsillo with an intensity that sent shivers down one's spine. Beneath the cloak's concealment, his intent grew increasingly malefic.
"No, that is not why I am here. In the heart of the village, Kaika saved a child and disappeared with them. I have searched for that child tirelessly, but my efforts were in vain."
So, that was the source of his anger. But why would he go to such lengths for a mere child? Arsillo pondered, his thoughts betraying his calm exterior.
"Why do you desire the child so fervently? Surely, they are an ordinary citizen like any other. Kaika had a penchant for saving people, yet he relentlessly attacked evil forces even if it meant danger." Arsillo then continued, trying to keep his conversation interesting for Miron, "It is a well-known fact that people fear you, but these random assaults will only compound the pressure upon you. It would be wise to cease these haphazard battles you instigate."
Miron's gaze held a flicker of something akin to empathy as he responded, "Kaika's eyes revealed his concern for the child. I saw it in his gaze. If that child were an ordinary citizen, he wouldn't have risked sneaking out of town with them."
"So, all this fuss is because he cared for a child? I don't recall Kaika ever having a child. We looked after everything he possessed when we had the opportunity."
"Those times, those things he did, were nevertheless unrelated to everything he had."
Perplexed, Arsillo furrowed his brow. "What do you mean?"
Miron leaned forward, his eyes burning with an intense, almost fanatical focus. "We have made countless research about his bloodline, his family, his friends, and many people he could or would care about. And you, being the person who did them, should know better than me that he is somebody who likes to put up a show while he is on the track."
Confusion clouded Arsillo's features. "I still don't understand you, Miron. You should be more clear."
With a sudden shift in demeanor, Miron's expression transformed into a twisted combination of joy and evil, abandoning the perpetual smirk that had haunted their conversation thus far.
"It's not his child, but it's a child of one of the descendants, I'm sure of it. He was protecting him as if he was a family member. Maybe someone who is closer to him had something to know."
Bristling with annoyance, Arsillo retorted, "Then why involve me? If you seek someone with knowledge of the child who blinds you in your pursuit of the Wolf Bloodline, you should be looking elsewhere. I have had no dealings with the Wolf Bloodline and have no intentions of doing so."
Miron put up a joyful expression again. This time, not having the smirk he had the entire time, he had only a very much joyful and evil smile.
"I have discovered that the one who saved the child is a witch named Pelena. I want you to find her and unearth any connections she may have with the child. Pelena owes a debt of gratitude to those like Kaika who once saved her, and I am confident she would be willing to repay it."
Arsillo wasn't pleased with all. Everything that Miron said at that moment with the chance of being a trick he could play on him, was even further discomforting and was like an order that he was trying to give. Arsillo didn't want him to act with such greedy gestures in his presence. He wanted Miron to know his place and talk knowing how much he was doing wrong to him.
"This is my kingdom. You are in no position to give orders, Miron. You'd better remember that."
Fury burned within Arsillo's eyes, the prospect of taking orders from someone like Miron enraging him. However, before he could voice his discontent further, Miron placed his hand near his mouth, and a sinister display unfolded. Purple flames flickered to life, dancing ominously in his grasp. Miron then blew a whistle, and within seconds, the room became populated by hundreds of ethereal souls.
The once-satisfied expression on Miron's face vanished, replaced by a steely and furious countenance.
"Your kingdom is worthless. You're only giving orders from where you sit, sleeping every night not knowing how many times I could have got your eyes pop out of your skull. You are just a little bug that I'm not stepping on to crush and a useless body that I'm not giving to my companions to eat. And with such artistic manners, you are here thinking you are living the best life you have, aren't you, my king?"
As they locked eyes, face to face, all that could be read on Miron's features was the embodiment of death itself.
His words and the expression etched upon his face presented the most horrifying sight Arsillo had ever encountered. In that moment, he forgot his own immense power as an Epic. The room felt suffocating, the air thick with the weight of impending chaos. Miron's eyes remained wide open, fixated on Arsillo's soul, his lips sealed shut like an impenetrable vault. He exuded a monstrous aura—a force that Arsillo had inadvertently provoked, stepping upon its very tail.
However, Miron took a step back, his body posture regaining its initial position. The atmosphere grew tenser, and Arsillo could sense the palpable fear emanating from within him. The King's earlier remarks now felt like a terrible misstep, and he longed to undo his regretful decisions. But faced with Miron's wrath, all he could do was remain silent, succumbing to the overwhelming power that held him captive.
There was no contesting Miron's unstoppable might.
"Fine, I will comply," Arsillo finally relented, his voice trembling and his heart in disarray.
The satisfied look on Miron's face came back. His deal pleased him.
"I'm glad we got along, I'd stay a little longer if I didn't have urgent business, but I have to go."
Before departing the room, Miron turned towards the King one last time, his expression sending chills down Arsillo's spine.
"And remember, do not let me down."
With that, Miron slowly made his way towards the wall, his form dissolving into thin air until he vanished completely.
Arsillo collapsed into his throne, his chest going back and forth with the heavy breathing he had. He tried to silence himself from how much he was affected by the situation, unwilling to reveal his vulnerability to his soldiers. Yet, the horrifying encounter he had just endured left him sitting in silence for what felt like an eternity.
Taking a deep breath, he tried to reassure himself that Miron had merely sent a clone, an imitation to unsettle him.
"He sent a fake one." Arsillo muttered to himself, seeking solace in that thought.
However, before he could fully process the situation, one of Epic's men entered the room, visibly agitated.
"Sir! Our top-ranking Elite soldier has been defeated by an unknown assailant!"
Events continued to unfold simultaneously, leaving the Epic no respite to collect his thoughts. Frustration welled up within him, and he bellowed in exasperation.
"This is just perfect! I will address that matter later. Send me the fourth and third elite soldiers immediately! I have a mission for them."
The escalating tension and mounting challenges served as a grim reminder that Arsillo's troubles were far from over.
(-At that moment, in an unfamiliar part of the forest-)
"Hey, kid, at this rate, it'll take us three days to get there," Hiroshi said, peering around the tree in front of us.
"We need to pick up the pace," I replied, well aware that reaching our destination would likely take even longer than anticipated.
"There's a small town nearby. The folks there aren't aware of what's happening, so we can buy horses and speed things up."
"Yeah, I was thinking the same. I just hope it won't be a wasted trip. I hope the witches can unlock the map's seal. We have nowhere else than the map points us at, and it is the first time I am using it." I said looking at the sealed map, trying to find an open spot.
"Don't you know anyone in the witch village who could help us?"
"Not many, but I believe we can trust them. The last time I spoke with Pelena, she was incredibly kind and willing to assist. If we can find her, perhaps she can offer some guidance."
Hiroshi looked unsure at that moment. It was hard to trust someone when I couldn't even provide concrete details. Nonetheless, he continued walking until he eventually called for a halt.
"Let's set up camp here for the night. We'll resume early tomorrow."
"Alright, I'll take care of the fire," I replied, venturing into the nearby woods to gather some branches.
Hiroshi let out a sigh of exhaustion, stretching his weary body before joining me in collecting firewood.
"I'll scout the area for any potential dangers," he announced.
With the fire prepared, I wandered through the forest, collecting fallen branches, and returned to properly ignite the campfire. I nearly burned my hand in the process, but managed to regain control just before Hiroshi's return. We settled down by the fire, engaging in conversation.
"Hiroshi, why do you always keep your hat on? I've seen you stumble and fall countless times, yet you never let go of your hat. What's the importance of it?"
"It's not about saving the hat, kid. It's not a life-saving accessory. It's just a habit from the past, one that I reckon will stick with me."
"What do you mean?"
"My father used to say that a man only takes off his hat when he dies, or he dies with it. Like some kind of symbol or ritual cowboys perform when they pass on. I never truly grasped the weight of my father's words or the burden he carried. But now, I understand that it's not an easy thing to do. So, in short, this hat holds as much value to me as the gun we purchased."
That makes sense. Is it a family heirloom?"
"No, actually. It was given to me by someone I admired. His name was Jesse. He was the fastest gunslinger in town, a real legend they called 'The Claw of the West.' When people saw him, the bad ones would scurry for cover or wet their pants in fear."
"Sounds like he was incredibly powerful."
"Kid, describing him as powerful doesn't do justice. It may be hard for you to comprehend, and even for me at times, but it's the unadulterated truth. As he was my childhood hero, I may have elevated his greatness in my mind, but my adult perspective remains clear on the magnitude of his accomplishments."
"What kind of person was Claw, then?"
"It's not a topic I usually talk about."
"Oh..."
"But I'll make an exception this time and tell you."
-----------------------------
A group of people once caused chaos in our city for no reason, by a bunch of no-good troublemakers. At the time, I was trying to be someone like him, trying to be a gunslinger just like Jesse. I was just fooling around to show how much I can do. I thought I could take 'em down, but I ended up just getting in the way. I wanted to stop them, but I didn't realize how childish I was acting at that moment. Jesse jumped in front of the bullets to protect me. And I was very much so sure of him that he would and can protect me. But it was no use since I was the one who caused him to do this.
Even when he was dying, he showed kindness to me, saying it wasn't my fault he was breathing his last breath.
But I was the one to blame entirely.
Taking his hat into his hand, he said to me, with little breaths falling from his lips,
"Hiroshi, as long as you want to save people, you don't have to be like me, just be yourself."
Then he flashed me a smile and added,
"Take care of this hat. I'm sure It'll look better on you."
-----------------------------
Hiroshi smiled and looked at the campfire.
"I've never taken this hat away from me since."
Everything that Hiroshi told me about that moment was so deeply wounding, I couldn't help but remember the other people around me doing such great things. Hiroshi was just like me when I was a child, but seeing that he came out with another outcome, I now understand the value of some things that annoyed me the first time with my uncle.
I did many things and learned many lessons from them, but Hiroshi was left all alone. To do, to enjoy, to even live. Everything that he was going to do, was all alone.
And that part that I hated the most.
"You see, Ryuu, a man I held in high regard, just like you do with me, once told me that no matter how death may come, we cannot evade its grasp. It's a force that none of us can stand against. So, don't burden yourself with blame. Jesse saved countless lives, fully aware of the risks involved, and I believe he would have done it all over again without a second thought."
"Yeah. It is just the process of understanding the concept of what he did. But I'm grateful for your words regardless."
I smiled, getting happy with the warm words Hiroshi said.
"I would do the same too. Carrying a significant part of somebody that left us, sometimes gives the feeling of them still living within us to this moment. Must be something heavy, but something special at the same time."
Hiroshi chuckled,
"Yeah, something like that."
After a restful night's sleep, we resumed our journey early in the morning. The hours of walking seemed to fly by, and soon enough, the village came into view. Our stomachs grumbled with hunger, prompting us to seek out a restaurant before attending to our horse-related matters.
As we stepped into the cozy establishment, the aroma of freshly cooked food enveloped us, igniting our appetites. We found a table near the window, allowing the warm sunlight to cascade onto our faces. The friendly chatter and clinking of cutlery filled the air, creating a comforting ambiance.
Hiroshi leaned back in his chair, a hint of concern lining his features.
"Looks like we've spent our last bit of money on food. How in the world are we going to afford those horses?"
I reassured him, my determination shining through.
"I'll figure something out, Hiroshi. There must be someone in this village willing to lend a hand."
A wry smile tugged at Hiroshi's lips as he struck a match, igniting his cigar.
"They're not the friendliest bunch, kid. We're just two strangers roaming around, seeking help. It won't make sense to them. You better hope they don't kick us out of the village altogether. Unless we stumble upon a pot of gold, we're out of luck."
As Hiroshi finished his sentence, a raucous clamor erupted from the crowd outside, drawing his attention.
"Step right up! Step right up! Test your skills against this mighty opponent, and win yourself a pair of healthy horses! Place your bets and take a chance!"
I gestured excitedly toward the commotion, a glimmer of hope in my eyes.
"Look! A chance! A lottery, perhaps!"
A flicker of astonishment crossed Hiroshi's face as he extinguished his cigar.
"I take it all back, kid. Let's go and secure those horses."
With renewed determination, Hiroshi and I made our way through the bustling town square, where the entire village seemed to have gathered. The crowd buzzed with anticipation, each person longing for the prize horses. Navigating through the throng proved challenging, but after a few minutes of persistence, we managed to carve a path toward the center.
And there, in the midst of the bustling crowd, stood the undefeated contender—the talk of the town. He loomed large, muscles rippling from his shoulders down to his fingertips. Beads of sweat glistened on his taut body as he confidently displayed his strength, systematically defeating every challenger that dared to step into the ring. Ego swelled within him, his chest puffed up with pride as he reveled in his victories.
As the defeated challengers retreated, and a daunting silence settled upon the crowd, the man in the ring let out a thunderous roar, taunting the onlookers.
"Doesn't anyone have the courage? Come on, you spineless chickens!" His booming voice reverberated through the air, sending shivers down the spines of those who heard it.
But it wasn't that scary for me. Just like the time my uncle had defeated the bully that was kicking an innocent man, and the other memories I had of my uncle beating up such "buffed" men like this, I know exactly that they were the weakest ones among the others.
With an air of confidence, I leaped into the ring, confronting the muscular contender.
"I think this ring is empty, and enough for us to move around. I'll be your opponent." I declared, my voice filled with determination.
The man scoffed, laughter dancing in his eyes. "You? What can a boy like you do?"
A smile crept across my face as I replied, "I'm not sure. You'll have to get closer to find out."
My body pulsed with excitement, the culmination of my arduous training with Ronk in the forest. Memories of enduring icy waters, dodging hurtling boulders, and surviving treacherous nights in the wilderness surged to the forefront of my mind. Thanks to my uncle's teachings, my mental fortitude had sharpened, preparing me for this moment. The exhilaration of combat surged through me, fueled by the intensity of my training.
In a fleeting instant, our eyes locked, brimming with confidence and anticipation, each eager to unleash our skills. The bell rang, heralding the start of the fight, and the man lunged at me with unrestrained aggression.
Caught off guard by his swift attack, I swiftly regained my composure. Numerous openings presented themselves for me to strike. Evading his charge with a sidestep, I focused my concentration on the next move. With precision, I unleashed a powerful blow.
Seizing the opportune moment, I delivered a forceful punch to his stomach, twisting my fist to inflict maximum pain upon his organs and bones. He soared through the air, writhing in agony as he struggled to regain his footing. Yet, his efforts proved futile. Defeated, he lay on the ground, unable to rise.
Gasps of astonishment echoed through the air as spectators redirected their attention to our confrontation. Unfazed by their stares, Hiroshi made his way to collect the horses.
"Congratulations, kid. Well done," he commended, a hint of pride in his voice.