Chapter 177
Expression of Life
They crossed the river within two days and the forest beyond within two more. While it was a bit slower with her tagging along, she held up surprisingly well; either she hid it from him and ignored the ails, or she made some notable improvements herself. The likelier scenario was the former one, but Sylas didn't probe.
The dull journey that he used to spend in complete silence, battling the swarm of thoughts, was far more jubilant and lively. Even if there were times when they wouldn't utter a word between them for hours, it was still far better with some accompaniment than alone. Even he, different though he may be, was still a social soul, it seemed, in want of bonds and friendships and loves.
That, though, had to end as the vista of the village came into view. Asha retreated several miles backwards—or, at least he asked her to do so—while Sylas made a move forward, still armed only with a blade. Within seconds of him letting some of his energy seep out, a grand shadow swept out from the village in the form of hundreds of tiny tendrils that morphed together into a hooded figure, eyes cloaked in wariness and confusion.
"Who are you?" it was a question Sylas heard hundreds of times before. Now, however, he had more context to the Shadow's tale.
"The binds cannot be unmade," Sylas said. "No matter what you do."
"… who are you?" the glint in man's eyes became dangerous as his hand reached for the sheathed weapon.
"Even if the last Cairn is destroyed, Gods will come… and simply build more. There is no escaping the fate."
"So, you are one of the Gods' exalts?" the man spoke coldly and indifferently. "Strange, that you are trying to convince me with words to give up. Usually, your lot simply goes for the neck."
"I have no love for the Gods. Perhaps even less than you," Sylas shrugged. "I'm simply telling you that you could have spent the centuries of your life enjoying it rather than brooding over the impossible. The kingdom will fall and all will burn and turn to ashes… but there will never be a world you are dreaming of. Not in our lifetimes, anyway."
"Ha ha ha ha," the man suddenly began laughing as though Sylas retold the funniest joke ever put together. "Is that so? You sound just like those jaded old fools who tried to stop us. Their bootlicking didn't help—gods culled them, too. Even those who put forth cauldrons of children as sacrifices… they all got gutted. "
"Haaah, it's all so… pointless," Sylas sighed, pulling back his hair. "War upon war upon war. It never ends, does it? Young are plagued with the resentments of the old… and resentment only ever grows. The want of freedom… is really hypocritical most of the time, I learned. If not the Gods, somebody else will hoist the chains. Perchance you, perchance somebody else. And there will be a slew of stupid to worship them. And just as they marched to war in the name of the Gods, they will march just the same in the name of something else. You can't beat the stupid out of us. It's part of who we are. Besides, too many people worry about food and shelter to muse upon the grand thoughts of the godless world. You are fighting a battle conjured up in the highs of lofty goals you made up."
"A fancy speech. Everyone has those," the man said. "You know how many fancy speeches I've heard in my life? Thousands. They usually fall into one of two baskets: open nihilism, or hopeless optimism. They do well to distract the 'stupid in us', as you called it. But they are meaningless. Things that matter in life don't need a speech. Freedom isn't a lofty goal. It's the purest expression of life. Just because you and your lot can look away… doesn't make you any better. Perhaps worse. You say that my battle is pointless. It may well be. I've seen enough for me to doubt that my goals can ever be achieved. But… so what? We can always all surrender. Surrendering to the 'inevitable fate' is easy. Everyone can do it.
"The simple truth is that we will die fighting for it. Because, in our hearts, we know the goal true. Your belittlement means nothing. We have been mocked and jeered and laughed at by everyone, even those we loved. Words of a stranger are hollow."
"As they should be," Sylas smiled faintly. "I hardly wanted to diminish your dreams. Simply wanted to see whether you could be recruited. Alas…"
"Recruited for what? You are working for Gods, then?"
"No," Sylas shook his head. "I work for a Prince, you see. A young boy, a dreamer—just like you. He's young, though, so he can be forgiven. And that young boy wishes the throne and the kingdom. And… I will give it to him."
"Hah. You, alone? And you are calling me a dreamer?"
"Why not?" Sylas titled his head innocuously. "If need be, I could do it alone. If all it took was brute force to command a kingdom, I'd have already done it. But capturing the kingdom and holding it are two different things. I have a feeling I won't be there for the boy when he hoists the crown. So, in my stead, he'll need heads cooler and older than his. It also helps that the King himself is in on it."
"Oh? That old fool? Ah. No wonder. That's why he sent the young prince north. Had nothing to do with the exile. Ha ha ha. He's still playing games, all these years later. If it were me, I'd have killed them all for even fancying a change. A sentimental fool, just like his father. The kingdom will be better off if his line gets gutted, anyway."
"There's a problem with that."
"What?"
"I'm the young prince's guardian," Sylas smile. "And I take my job very seriously. And you… you just threatened the boy's life."
"You are mighty confident for someone who is about to perish," the man said, drawing out his blade.
"Confident? Ah. No, I'm afraid what you're seeing isn't confidence," Sylas said, drawing out the blade too. "This is indifference born of hundreds of years of anguish. The endline of humanity, you could say."
"What—" before the man could further the question, he was forced to draw back immediately as he barely managed to dodge a swift strike of the cold, silver blade. He felt cold sweat pour down his back immediately as the old instincts that had been slumbering for hundreds of years began to wake up. He almost died, he realized. And his instincts began to scream—all the experiences potted together from his long life, they were all telling him that he might really die.
He was never one to draw back from a battle, though. Besides, he had nearly died thousands of times before. If there was anyone in the world that was friendly with death, it was him. At least… that's what he believed. Soon, however, he was corrected.
Though he didn't fear death, he still respected it at least. The strange man in front of him had neither fear nor respect for the tale—the way he attacked was not just reckless, it was suicidal. And yet, he wouldn't die. He cut and swept and stabbed, and the man appeared unfazed. On the other hand, during their exchanges, he was hit several times too—and the wounds weren't healing. The man's energy was unique—it wasn't a Godly Path, or even anti-godly one, like his own. It was something else entirely, and it was feeding off of him, it seemed.
Sylas was unaware of the thoughts swimming through the man's head—nor was he particularly keen on trying to decipher his psyche. There was little to the battle besides the next moment, and planning too far ahead, especially at these speeds, can counter-fire often.
He himself, though, fought like a madman—always. Whatever little opening he saw, he'd latch onto it—even if it meant exposing his own back to the counter-strike. He was more than happy to suffer many wounds to inflict one, for to kill him would take thousands, but to kill the other would only take a few. He could only imagine how frustrating it must be to fight him—this unrelenting, seemingly mad, ungodly, undying beast that just never seems to quit. Sylas knew that, if the roles were switched, he'd be pulling his hair out. Repeatedly.
He mused with the battle for a little while longer before, once again, sacrificing himself for one attack—this time around, he didn't go as insanely hard as the last time, settling for a heart and a quarter. Still, it was more than enough to not just kill the Shadow, but obliterate the village and the surrounding area too, as well as carve out yet another canyon. Admittedly, this one was a tad bit shorter and narrower and shallower than the last. So, it was a start.
While he was lying on his back, watching the sky, he heard footsteps approach and, soon enough, saw a familiar face hanging above his. Her eyes were clear, though hiding a twine of pain, and her lips curled up in a faint smile.
"What'd you think? Pretty badass, eh?" he quipped, forcing a grin.
"You don't look like one right now," she fired back. "Barely a man, even."
"That would hurt if not for the fact that I physically can't be hurt more at the moment."
"You sure do look like you're taking it well."
"I'm used to the pain," he forced a smile. "Still, wouldn't hurt to get a nice lil' kiss to make it go away."
"How about I just dress up your wounds proper, fix you a hot soup, and tell you how badass you looked from afar?"
"… sounds like the perfect evening. Start with how badass I looked, though. That sounds like it would be a great story."
"Pfft… khm, yes, alright. So, you were…"