In my right hand I hold a parchment, in my left hand a bottle of wine.
I crumple up the parchment and throw it away.
I don't know exactly how many times they tried to make me teach those petty bourgeois. Magic is about talent and talent is not something you can buy with gold coins.
Much more than that, it's about feeling. Feel the mana that flows in nature, that surrounds the world and emanates from every particle.
Those who have their senses dulled by material goods would never understand. They are not worth my effort.
Trust me, I've already tried.
I'm not saying you should become an ascetic monk or anything like that. After all, that bottle of wine didn't fall from the sky. I had to buy it. What I mean is that living only for worldly pleasure takes you away from the true understanding of magic.
But of course a duke, viscount, or any noble shit doesn't want to hear that. They don't know how to hear no; they think they can solve all their problems with money.
That's why I give up. That's why I crossed this damn kingdom.
Strapped to my waist is a purse filled with gold coins. Enough for me to buy a nice place in Yaqoh and live surrounded by cows and pigs and forests.
My name, so well known in this realm, must be forgotten. Nothing else ignites the flame of motivation inside me. And trust me, I've seen it all in this life.
— Sir, there are bandits on this road. We'll have to go around Kanepe, past Naman, and head southwest to Burdin. From there, you will take a boat to the island. My apologies. — said the coachman with his tired eyes and old appearance.
— Whatever, do what's best for you. — I answered.
No bandits on these roads would be a risk to me, but I'm just fed up with the same script. Of course, if someone put a sword to my throat, I would have to react, but it was preferable that I just not be disturbed at all.
The road was shit. Potholed, full of stones, but the view was beautiful.
Kanepe, did he say? Beautiful. Simple.
I don't see high walls, much less megalomaniac constructions. All I see are farmers, adventurers. Ordinary people.
I see children playing, dogs running and I hear birds. I feel a little nostalgic.
I've seen it several other times, but not like this. I've been told that the Viscount of Naman was a good leader and cared about his citizens. Apparently it's true.
Tea. I smell tea.
The sun is in the middle of the sky, slowly moving towards the horizon. It must be three o'clock in the afternoon.
The wagon continues to rattle.
— Sir, horses need to rest. They're thirsty. Let's make a brief stop. How is everything? If you need it, there is a tavern in the village's heart. The food is good and the beer is cold. — the coachman said again, as he tied his horses to a wooden stump.
— Okay, I'll look around here. — I replied, going downstairs and dusting off my clothes.
I took a last sip of wine and left the bottle on the wagon.
Walking around Kanepe, I was more and more reminded of where I came from.
Richard Sigurdson was my name before I became Richard Goldencloak. It's been so long.
Sigurdson, son of Sigurd. When you are not noble, you have no right to have a family name, you simply gain the title of son of your father. It is, most of the time, the certificate that your destiny is going to be shit.
Sigurdson... It's been a really long time.
Something comes my way. I cast an air spell and alter the projectile's trajectory.
It was a ball.
— Hey! — shouted a blonde man sitting in a tree trunk. Strong as an orc.
Apparently, the ball hit his head and nearly made him spill the turnip stew he was eating.
Wait... Turnip stew? It's not much appreciated as it has strong flavour by Lair standards.
— Sorry, Uncle Dormund! It was Vilkonen who kicked too hard!
A little girl with golden hair ran up to the man. He wasn't even mad. With a smile on his face, he ran his hand over the little girl's head and returned the ball to her.
She took off running towards her other friends.
I approached the man and said something I hadn't said in a long time: — Hoj.
The man instantly reacted to my words, and his gentle aura was gone. His eyes were now those of a predator.
I've never felt so much murderous intent in my life. A monster, a damn monster.
— Dus vast. Wos Rohandee.
Don't worry, I'm born in Rohand.
— Your pronunciation. No one in this realm utters the sound of "dus" like we do.
He drank the rest of his stew and stood up. When he stopped in front of me, it reminded me of my father.
He held out his hand.
I could feel the strength emanating from his body.
Why the fuck was a Rohandese here? I thought they had all been killed or had escaped to the east.
— Saedhonish Lafras. But here, they call me Dormund.
— Richard… I mean, Thivo Phedde. — I put my hand to my head. It had been many years since I had spoken my real name.
— You... where were you from?
— Kapak, Ashe Peninsula. And you?
— Trag. — Without realizing it, I placed my hands on the giant's shoulders — Heavens… How? I thought I was the last. There was a time when I looked for survivors, but I gave up after years of not finding anyone. Please, are there others like us? Rohandese I mean.
He made a simple gesture, but it was enough to send this old man to the ground on his knees.
Three. His fingers counted three.
— Just me, my wife and my son.
And then, after so many years, the spark of motivation ignited in me again. My eyes, now filled with tears, betrayed my deepest emotions.
I wasn't the only one.
Besides me, this almost divine-looking man, with a body that looked like it had been sculpted by the ancestral gods of Rohand and his family.
I got to get to know him better. I got to get to know his family.
Yaqoh? To hell! It was the gods... Yes, it must have been!
We walked to his house. Extremely simple and poor, but heavens... I could smell the turnip stew without even going inside.
When the wooden door opened, a woman with a little boy on her lap came to greet Saedhonish.
Red hair. Red like our past kings.
She was beautiful. On a level that words alone could not describe.
And beyond that, I could feel it.
She looked small, delicate, but she hid her strength. Yes, she was at least twice as strong as the man beside me.
I did not learn Rohand's arts before its downfall, but I mastered magic to the 6th tower. If I got close to this woman without proper protection, she would squash me like a fly.
And... More than that... The child also emanates strength.
A beautiful boy like his mother and just as delicate, but I could feel it. His tiny arms possessed a strength never seen before for a child his age.
Also, I could see that he was faking sleep while absorbing mana around him. Like a hungry vortex.
It couldn't be by chance. This child knew how to meditate. I had to test.
— Saedhonish... — I directed some mana to my fingertip, and I shot towards the boy's belly.
As I suspected, she was gone the moment she got close to him. The child was actually meditating.
Saedhonish drew the ax he had strapped to his waist, and the woman lunged at me like an enraged lioness.
I promptly knelt down and, with tears in my eyes, pleaded.
— Please let me teach this child. Let me be the teacher of the future king of Rohand.
After many years, I finally said something sincere.
The woman stopped before punching me and Saedhonish before he split me in two. They knew that if I wanted a fight, I would cast some protection first. I was being sincere.
— Dormund, who is this man? — she said.
— I met him while having lunch. He knows our language. He's a survivor.
— Then why did he attack Valentin? — Her hands were cracking, ready to kill me if she had to. And that's okay, who wouldn't defend their child?
It was then that, to my surprise, the little boy got off his mother's lap on his own and walked over to me.
With the funny way of a child, he asked if I was a wizard.
I replied yes and conjured a bullet of air towards the sky.
His reaction was more unusual than the question he had asked me.
— Can you do this five more times?
I did what he asked. After all, children make little sense.
I felt the mana at his fingertips and in disbelief; I watched a child of apparently five cast the same spell as me without the aid of theory books, scrolls or practice.
His parents were just as surprised as I was. They didn't know the little demon they gave birth to.
But I could imagine.
My body felt light, like never.
I had won a new mission. At 70 years old, I would hardly be stronger than I already am. After all, everything in this life has an end. But now I could pass on my legacy and be part of the emergence of an incredible figure.
Valentin was your name, right?
— Zerish. If your parents allow me, I'll name you Zerish.
Ysirish was the hero of our people. Ysi, the first; Rish, the dragon.
But he is already part of the past.
I will pave the way for Zerish, Rohand's second dragon.