Chapter 39
Dyn
He dreamed. It wasn't hard to figure out it was a dream—after all, he was back in his small, one-bedroom apartment. The humming, buzzing, headache-inducing sound of the AC blowing away the heat was still there. The cracked, ajar window that he never managed to fully close still looked on toward the local park that was supposed to be for kids to play in, but became a prime hotspot to score some weed. The constant footsteps of the couple that lived above him, the revving sounds of the cars whizzing past on the street nearby… everything was just as he remembered it. But it was distant.
Opening his eyes, Sylas remained lying for a long while. He fought not to think about Earth too much, but it was impossible to completely shut it off. He missed it—even the ugly parts of it, even the days when he barely had enough money for ramen. At the very least, he wasn't stuck in a frigid, dark castle on the verge of a second invasion within a month.
Sighing, he sat up, running fingers across the jaw. His beard had grown considerably. He was too lazy to shave it—plus, it kept his face warm, even when it got windy. Walking over to a nearby bucket, he washed his face and flushed his mouth. There was no toothpaste here—not even a replacement. If the tooth ached, it was either booze or endurance. The food lacked hard sugars, however, leading to less decay overall. To him, thus far at least, it didn't matter.
Quickly tossing on some clothes, he left the room—with the Prince still asleep on the other end—and the castle itself, walking out into the razor-like cold. Even with the scarf hiding over half his face, it still felt as though there were tiny blades scraping his skin. Shuddering, he gritted his teeth and beelined toward the almost-repaired portion of the wall. Unsurprisingly, there was nobody else anywhere. Partly because it was very, very early in the morning, and partly because nobody was quite willing to leave the relatively warm castle for the frigid wastelands outside.
He arrived somewhat quickly, hurried by the cold, stopping next to it. It should be completed within a week if they pushed it, he mused. The last remnant of that night. Sylas' first night in this world. It's already been so long. Chuckling lightly, he shook his head and refocused. He wasn't expecting the person to actually show up but on the off-chance—
"You're shaking," Ah, of course… he sighed, looking to the side where he saw a figure appear out of thin air. They were slender and short, but a quick inspection told Sylas that it was a man—a fairly young man, but a man nonetheless.
"With anticipation," Sylas said, smiling.
"You just got the words for everything, huh?"
"It's my job."
"… what exactly is your job?" the man asked. He was draped in a cloak and a hood and even a mask on top of it. Even if Sylas had perfect sight, there really was nothing to see—not even the man's eyes.
"To ask questions," Sylas replied. "Such as who are you, how do you know about the attack, and why did you warn us?"
"…"
"I'll give you some wine—"
"I don't want your godawful wine."
"Then what do you want?"
"I want this castle to stand," the man said.
"Why?"
"Out of the goodness of my heart?"
"Who is attacking us?"
"I don't know."
"Are you their deserter?" Sylas realized quickly that the man guarded any and all info with a burning fervor. I can try squeezing him… but fuck, I really wanna squeeze a blanket and get the fuck out of this cold…
"Des—no! Listen, the only reason I chose to come is to confirm that you will warn the Prince."
"I won't."
"H-huh?"
"Your info is unsubstantiated," Sylas lied his lips off quickly. "For all I know, you want us focusing east while you and your army attack us from the west."
"W-what? No, that's not—"
"How would I know?" Sylas pressed. "You appear out of thin air, a dagger in my back, and tell me of this supposed attack from the east. And every question I ask of you is met with abject silence. A chicken crackling about the sunrise being four seconds too late would have more credibility than you. Why would I worry the Prince with this?"
"Because it's true!!" Damn, he's got no patience. Probably barely twenty, if that. Sylas was often surprised by how well Valen carried himself—after all, he was twenty-one years old. That was the difference of the upbringing, Sylas mused.
"So you say."
"Ugh, fine! What do you want to know?! What would convince you?"
"Who are they?" Sylas asked.
"Deserters, criminals, squeezed sort, mostly," the man replied in frustration. "They've occupied a nearby fort some few years ago. They survive off of plundering the trade routes and hunting in the mountains."
"How many?"
"About a hundred? I'm not sure."
"Who are you?"
"I'm Dyn and—wait, no! You and your tongue!"
"… nice to meet you, Dyn," Sylas cracked a smile, even daring to pull down his scarf. "Why did you warn us?"
"…"
"Does it have something to do with the unimaginable vista north of this wall?"
"What are you talking about?" the man asked, tilting his head.
"'suppose not," Sylas sighed. "I'm guessing you're with them, or at least you're pretending you are to survive."
"What—no, that's not—"
"That's the only way you could possibly know," Sylas shrugged. "I'll make you an offer: if you stand with us on the wall when they come, I'll make you my squire."
"… I'll kill you," the man growled through gnashed teeth, clearly offended by the offer.
"Don't be so readily offended," Sylas chuckled. "Being my squire isn't a bad deal."
"I should have just let you all die!"
"Hey, hey, hey, you can't bake the cake and eat it too," Sylas butchered the saying, trying to calm the young man down. On the surface, at least. "You can't be the goody-two-shoes by warning us and maintain that edge that could cause papercuts. Dyn."
"… what?"
"Let me introduce you to someone before you make your choice," Sylas said.
"Who? Your precious Prince?"
"No," Sylas shook his head. "Someone even more important than him."
"… hm?" Sylas' words clearly drew the man's curiosity and Sylas didn't wait for it to cool down.
"Follow me," he said, walking away without affording the young man a moment of respite.
To fully play out the role, Sylas didn't even look back, as though he didn't care whether the man followed him or not. In truth, he cared—he cared deeply. It was another apple that fell in front of him, just like Ryne. It was like collecting pokemon at this point—Sylas had to catch them all. The man could easily sneak in and out of the castle, not to mention appear out of thin air. It was clear that he wasn't just another sword-wielding-moron. Well, he was a bit of a moron, but that could be remedied.
While the system or whatever it was that dragged him here didn't give him any notable gifts—even the ones that he was promised, such as the talisman that he never received and was still in the 'pending' status, or the sword-style that he couldn't even practice just yet—it did feel as though it steered some ridiculous individuals his way. If he could rope in the young man, he'd have another card to play.
Sylas beelined for Ryne's basement. Though she had her own room right next to Sylas' and Ryne's, she spent most of her days and nights in the basement recently. In fact, she usually slept during the day and worked during the night, which was why Sylas hoped to catch her awake.
Still not looking back, yet certain in his heart that the man was following him, he walked to the cellar doors and cracked them open, descending into the dark. Nobody with an iota of a brain would actually follow him downstairs, but a mixture of confidence, pride, and curiosity worked against the young man. Sylas heard the footsteps following him some ten-twenty steps behind, cracking a smile.
Reaching the doors, he stopped and banged a few times on them, listening. Luckily, she was awake. He could hear her hastily approach, clearly annoyed that someone interrupted her. The doors swung open and the red, angry face peaked through.
"Who the hell—oh, it's you," she calmed down immediately upon seeing it was him, even cracking a smile. "What's up? Did you miss me?"
"Always," Sylas chuckled. "But that's not why I'm here."
"Oh? Why are you here?"
"I want to introduce you to someone," Sylas said, finally looking back. At the very edge, as far away as he could stand without leaving their sight, the young man looked onward.
"Hm?" Ryne looked at the strange, hooded man and then back at Sylas. "Who's that?"
"No clue," Sylas shrugged. "Says his name is Dyn. Do you know any Dyns?"
"Dyn? I feel like I heard that name someplace before…" Ryne mumbled, though appearing uncertain.
"Anyway, Dyn had some really unnerving news for me, but, as you can see, is very wary."
"As he should be."
"Why? Just... why?"
"You opened it for me," Ryne said, shrugging her shoulders.
"Fair enough," Sylas nodded. "Anyway, Dyn—meet Ryne. Our resident future Princess—"
"—HEY!!!!"
"And our resident Exorcist."
"…"
"…"
"EXORCIST?!!!" the young man blew his fuse immediately, the mask falling off, revealing a face behind it. Unlike what Sylas was expecting—another handsome boy—beneath peered a scarred face, entire half burned away, eye missing. It was quite a grotesque sight, so much so that Ryne yelped lowly in shock. "Shit," realizing the mask had fallen off, the young man cursed and quickly picked it up, putting it back on.
"Yes," Sylas pretended as though he didn't see anything, still smiling and nodding. "Our Exorcist. Quite impressive, isn't it? Now, would you reconsider my offer? Hurry up, though. I'll only wait for like a week or so."
"…"
"…"
"It was a joke. To lighten the mood."
"Well, you certainly did something to the mood," Ryne said. "As for whether you lightened it…"
"I'll tell the Prince—"
"—the mood is lighter than a feather!" Ryne didn't even have to wait for the threat, she knew it wouldn't be anything nice. Sylas nodded, stroking his chin knowingly and glancing at Dyn.
"Let's have breakfast," he said, dragging Ryne out of the basement and closing the doors behind her. "I'm hungry."
"I was just thinking about eating. Good timing," Ryne nodded.
"Let's go, Dyn. The meal's the no-strings-attached kind. Of course, our food reserves going into the winter aren't marvelous, not to mention we only eat once a day—"
"Hey, stop lying!" Ryne pinched him, though he hardly felt it through the numerous layers of clothing he sported.
"… that's the last time I use you to recruit someone," Sylas said, sighing. "You're awful at it."
"And you're just awful!"
"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Let's just go and eat…"