"What?"
That was the one word Ashur could muster as his eyebrows were slanted in confusion. In front of him was supposed to be the legendary weapon; Astreas Blade.
However, what lay before him was a mere hilt. It was placed on an altar, with an altar beside it having a spear with a blackened tip on it.
While Ashur gazed confusedly at the altar with the hilt laid on it, Charon tried his best to hold in a laugh. The look on his nephew's face was exactly the same as Astra's when his wife had confessed her love to him. That same amount of confusion mixed with obvious gears turning in the head were plastered onto his face.
A second later that expression vanished like smoke however, as he spoke. "Oh, so this must be what you meant. The blade is special, able to communicate and give conditions once holding, but when it's not held it reverts to a neutral state."
Charon nodded, his eyes focused on Ashur's own. He was glad he didn't need to give another explanation.
"Since you understand so quickly you should go and claim it."
"Alright then." Ashur replied, stepping forward with gusto.
As he reached his hand out to grasp the weapon, he couldn't slow the beating of his heart. What was this feeling? Nervousness? Unease? Or simple anticipation for what form of progression he would acquire when taking it?
The second he grasped the hilt, he understood. The darkness shot out from the blade, extending further than the length of a normal shortsword, but lesser than a long one.
A wide silence filled the cave as Ashur stared at the blade. It was beautiful. He could see his reflection in it.
His one eye, for some, appeared different in the reflection. He couldn't articulate concisely what had changed, its color was still amber, just as his skin was still brown, yet something was not the same.
"So, what was your condition?" Charon asked, snatching him away from the reflection of himself in the blade, which had left him mesmerized.
"It seems that the more level-headed I am, the further the blade will extend."
"Oh, so if you were angry or stressed it would shorten?" Charon questioned with a head tilt.
"Possibly. I'd only be able to tell with a practical example." Ashur paused, before his gaze shifted toward the spear on the other altar. "Would you like to spar, uncle?"
A boisterous chuckle fell from the older man's lips. A spar? In his world, he had known no such thing.
When he was a young boy, as the second born, he endured painful training that left no room for break or rest. He had fought with all he had from the moment he could coherently say a full sentence.
"We can do battle if that's what you're saying. I won't be going easy on you just because you're my nephew, alright?"
"Sounds good to me." Ashur couldn't veil his excited grin as he replied, he had fought with his Father plenty of times when he was alive, but never got the opportunity with his Uncle. When he was younger, he asked his Father if he was the strongest man in the village, to this day he remembered his father's answer.
"As the chief of the village, I must have incredible power Ashur. If I don't, then that leaves us vulnerable to attacks from pirates, thiefs and raiders, as well as any armies so I must be strong. However, should I lack in something, my brother is more than capable of making up for it. I would trust no other man with my life than he."
Ashur's Father, Astra was a strange man. His way of speaking was always tempered to leave room for thought and was often open-ended.
This made him a great leader, as well as Father. He didn't say things directly from his own perspective too often, which allowed his subordinates, as well as family to draw their own conclusions and beliefs.
He was truly a powerful man, able to stand on his beliefs, while not trampling on the beliefs of others. Ashur couldn't help but admire and respect him, even after his being dead for nearly 7 years. He was the man he admired the most, who he wanted to be the most, and who he ultimately needed the most.
If it weren't for his death, it was unlikely Ashur would have walked his current path. He would have continued to be the heir to the clan, staying within the village to most likely marry Mary, and eventually become the next chief.
The death of his Father derailed everything he could have wanted, the thought of revenge henceforth taking precedence in his life.
Now, the two warriors were away from the altar, with Ashur holding the darkened blade and Charon the blackened spear. The spear seemed as light as a feather as it twirled through the man's hands quickly, his eyes locked on Ashur who held the blade behind him, crouching low to enter his standard combat stance.
In an instant, the two charged each other. Though Charon should have had the reach advantage with his spear, Ashur was the first to strike. He slashed with a blinding speed but it narrowly missed Charon, who pivoted to his left.
He wasn't allowed a moment to breathe however as the black blade once again swung towards him in a wild fury.
This time, he wouldn't be allowed to dodge, he needed to take the attack head on. With a shift in his stance, he buckled down, pushing the shaft of the spear to meet the sword. The vibration rippled up his arms, as the pure power of Ashur was up against his own.
"You've gotten strong." Charon said through a half smirk, a light grunt escaping his mouth as he shoved the man back, separating the weapon lock.
"I'm slightly surprised I was faster than you. I expected to be on the backfoot somewhat."
"That's only because I tested you slightly to gauge your strength. I need to see more so I'll raise the level a bit."
In a blur, Charon jabbed at Ashur with his spear. There were 3 stabs in total but each one was dodged, with Ashur only losing a couple strands of hair, as the strikes were aimed for his head.
Right as he lifted his blade, prepared to counterattack, Charon lunged forward, forcing Ashur to defend with his blade instead. The sparks flew from their weapons, a smirk lying on both of their faces.
Charon was relentless in his pursuit. Following his lunge he swept sideways, which was also blocked by Ashur's blade, albeit barely.
So far, the fight had been pretty even but that was exactly when it all changed. Charon swiped upward, which was quickly dodged by Ashur but now that his spear was hanging in the air, it was time for his second attack, a downward slash. Ashur quickly raised his blade to block the blow, but right as he did so, in a flash of speed, Charon lowered his spear, spinning it to jab the heel of it into Ashur's stomach.
"Ghk" Spit flew from Ashur's mouth as the blow punctured his defenses and before he could react he was met with a front kick to the chest, sending him stumbling back several feet.
His eye, squinted from the pain of the hit, could barely track the spear which was now slicing through the air, eager to become the source of the man's third scar.
Instinctively he raised his blade, prepared to meet it and hear the sound of metal against metal, however that sound didn't come.
In a slight shift within Charon's hold on the spear, it whipped around his weapon, slicing at his hand before jumping upward, knocking the blade into the air. Ashur, completely speechless and silent, could only watch as the man twirled the spear once more before slashing.
Now, with the wind-knocked out of him, guard down, and blade currently in the air, there was no way for him to survive the attack.
Was he about to lose here? Could his uncle really be trying to kill him? No. He couldn't lose. He hadn't achieved anything yet after all. To bring his brother to justice, as well as take down black jack; there was no way he could go down before then.
The blade which had continued to fly away, suddenly halted, zipping back into his hand in the blink of an eye. The tip of the spear slid off his weapon, with a firm step forward and tight twist of the hips, his blade met his opponent's neck stopping right as it touched.
With a smirk on his face, Charon let the spear fall to the ground. "Good one. You win."
"W-what was that?" Ashur asked faintly. Now that the high intensity battle was over he lowered the blade to his side.
"If you're referring to the weapon just now, that's one of its characteristics. It comes back to the wielder whenever they wish. I'm unsure if there's a distance to the limit but regardless, when it's needed, in combat, it will always be in your hand."
"Wow. This thing is truly incredible." Ashur said with a look of awe on his face. He gazed at the weapon, it remained the same length from the moment he'd picked it up to now.
Given the condition, he'd thought it would have been shortened, but maybe nervousness wasn't separate from level-headedness.
In that situation, though he panicked, he still thought rationally. Before losing the weapon he was so focused he even trusted his instincts.
Post-battle he had come to the conclusion that Charon was an excellent fighter. He knew Ashur, someone decently experienced in combat, was likely to trust his instincts, so he used a feint masked through a deadly blow, allowing him to create an opening which he capitalized on immensely. He also read his combat style perfectly, one that met adversity head on, so he believed he wouldn't have just dodged the deadly combination.
"Uncle?"
Charon had picked up the spear and was heading towards the altar, no doubt to place it back down but when hearing Ashur call out to him, he stopped. "Yes?" He replied.
"Would you mind another round? I don't feel like I truly beat you."
A smirk formed on the older man's face at the statement. It was true. Technically it was a bit of luck, coupled with determination that provided Ashur the victory. It wasn't pure power or such skill Charon couldn't compete, if anything it was neck and neck.
When Charon turned his smile dissipated however, being replaced by straight-laced lips, his expression hardened. "No holding back. If one of us gets seriously hurt then so be it."
"Sounds fine to me." Ashur said, having a hardened expression of his own.
This was a form of a test. If he couldn't defeat his uncle, when he faced him with the serious intent to kill, how would he face his brother who would no doubt have the same approach to battle? He also had to become stronger and familiar with Astreas blade, and this was the perfect place to do so.
***
"Yeah. Everything that happened back then just assured me of something. I'm really worthless…"
Even though his words were laced in pessimism, a smile was on John's face. His gaze was focused on the sight before him, the field of flowers. He and Sherryl were sitting on the hill that oversaw it all.
"Come on, don't say that. After everything you told me about your mission, even to the last moment, it sounded like you tried your best. To sum up all your efforts and still say you're worthless… It's not right." As Sherryl spoke, her face was perturbed. She, like John, was overlooking the flower field.
After splitting up with Ashur, the two decided to go near the field of flowers again, hoping to find Annerose but they weren't so lucky. Instead, they opted to sit and talk.
Sherryl asked if he would be fine sharing things about himself, specifically around his history with Marion. So, John did what he felt natural and retraced the entire journey that led him to meet Mary whose death in turn was the source or the bad-blood between him and her sibling.
After finishing the story, that's where John made his comment. She had been silent the entire time, but she had to speak up then.
Her impression of John was pretty high even though they had just met. For one, he was someone who could stand tall next to Ashur, who was powerful and just in his own right. He didn't appear to be the type to try anything lackadaisical either. Even through that, he still had that outlook on himself.
John released a sigh, his eyes breaking away from the flowers for the first time since they had sat, locking with Sherryl's. He was silent for a moment, just taking in the girl's expression.
There were so many emotions wrapped into it. Sorrow, understanding, yet somehow there was frustration in it as well. A frustration that he couldn't see things the same way she could.
"Look, I didn't call myself worthless as a play at getting pity, I truly believe it. But my belief in my worthlessness is why I do what I do. My worth is in being an adventurer, someone capable of completing whatever job he accepts so the fact I failed one, especially a job so immensely important means I don't have that much worth."
"...I may not be able to speak on this since I'm not an adventurer myself, but to me it sounds like you did your very best, no?"
"Well my very best wasn't enough. I still failed. I also didn't keep my promise."
"What promise?"
"The promise I made to my employer's daughter, Laura. I said I would bring her dad home no matter what…"
"Hmm."
Sherryl removed her gaze from John's, letting it fall on the field of flowers once more. The only thing being exchanged between the two now was silence. A look of contemplation was on her face as her lips were pressed together tightly.
John took that second to look away from her, his attention falling onto his hands. They were rough and coarse, proof of how hard he trained ever since he was 11 yet it wasn't enough to accomplish the things he wanted to.
He didn't know what to do or say at this point. The word stagnant was an apt descriptor for what their conversation had suddenly become. If it was due to his persistence in his statement that Sherryl clearly disagreed with or being so open with someone he had just met was hard to say, but he didn't regret it.
It may have been selfish, imposing his feelings outward without thought on how heavy it would feel to the one it fell on, but he didn't dislike that choice. He needed to talk his thoughts out loud, and a part of him hoped that he could receive a thought back, from someone other than himself.
"Alright, let's go." Without much else explanation into what she meant by that the girl stood. She raised her arms over her head, stretching with a satisfying groan.
"Go where?"
"Nope. No questions, just obedience."
"Wait, what are yo-"
Sherryl, in a surprisingly bold manner, snatched John's hand, pulling him up with more strength he'd have guessed a girl with her size would have. She then proceeded to scale down the hill, the direction being the town, meanwhile John was lagging behind, as she was practically dragging him with her.
John, despite his confusion, stayed quiet, allowing the girl to lead him away.
He didn't know what she was planning, but he had no reason to resist. It's not like whatever he had going through his head had chances of being closer or further to the next step than whatever she had cooked up.
After all, he was the one to drive their conversation into a wall, one that was extremely high and wide, her actions of pulling him away would have had the same effect as turning him, shifting his direction away from that wall.
It didn't take the pair long to traverse throughout the village. Due to there being a singular dirt road through the village, John passed many villagers, but unlike the previous day he noticed far less stares. The reasoning could have been that Ashur, someone infamous in the area wasn't with him, recognizing him from the previous day when he'd arrived, or even a lack of care as there were more important things to worry about.
"Ah, there he is." As Sherryl spoke, a sigh of relief fell from her lips. Her hold on his arm released as well, and John, who was busy looking in a different direction, course corrected. The girl's stride was strong and purposeful as she marched forward.
"Hey, Marion."
"Hgk."
"Um… Marion?"
The scene before John was interesting to say the least. Marion, the person Sherryl was trying to get the attention of, was drenched in sweat. The man's shirt was off, revealing chiseled muscles birthed from years of training, in his hand was a wooden sword which he was swinging up and down repeatedly.
He was currently standing in a training ground, one that had stone steps surrounding it on all sides and on those steps were several individuals, primarily female. Infatuation was the common denominator on their faces as they gazed at him dreamily. However, when Sherryl appeared, their eyes fell on her instead.
This made the situation very awkward for the green-haired girl in question, as she was trying to get the attention of a man who was wholly absorbed in training while the angry glares of several girls were on her for attempting to interrupt their show.
Sherryl might have been standing in uncomfortable silence for at least a minute, eyes glued to the pink-haired man when he finally stopped his repetitive swinging. His wooden sword lowered to his side, before he turned to her. His face was serious, not showing a hint of surprise at her, implying he had heard her initial call out to him.
"What do you want?" Marion's tone was serious, not harsh but it was clear he had things to do and wanted to waste no time.
"Well, I brought someone here to speak with you." After her statement, Marion's gaze instantly shifted behind her. In his sights was John, whose lips were curled up into a forced smile.
"Hey Marion." He said, raising his hand to wave slightly.
"What do you want?" The moment John spoke, Marion's energy shifted. Before when he'd spoken to Sherryl, he simply had an impatient air about him, but now it was blatant irritation.
"Well, I thought about how I could make things right."
"Make things right? Are you talking about my sister's death? I don't see how anything you do now could change her fate so what is "making it right" to you?"
John clenched his teeth. The man's words, just like in their previous conversation, were like daggers. "Making it right would be destroying the organization that caused her death."
Marion turned away from John, raising his wooden sword into the air in preparation to continue his repetitions. "Hmm. Well that would be a start, now, if you'll excuse me I'm going to get back to training."
"Wait!" John shouted out, causing Marion to lower his wooden sword once more. His face was dressed in annoyance at the blonde-haired man's interjection.
"We're not done here. You need to apologize to Annerose!" John shouted, his eyebrows furrowed in anger.
"Huh?"