Chapter 4
Old friends reunited
As the first rays of dawn pierced through the window, Preacher stirred from his slumber. To his surprise, he found himself ensnared in the tight embrace of Iris. Her naked body was entwined around his, her limbs like vines clinging to a tree.
Preacher tried to extricate himself without disturbing her, but his movements were met with a soft murmur. Her eyes fluttered open, heavy with sleep.
"Where you going?" she asked, her voice groggy.
"Bathroom," he whispered.
"Again," she complained, her voice laced with a hint of annoyance.
Preacher had indeed spent an exorbitant amount of time in the bathroom during the night. The previous evening had been a whirlwind of passion and exploration, and Iris's insatiable appetite had left him both exhausted and depleted.
"I'm sorry." he said, attempting to appease her.
Iris sighed and rolled over, her back towards him.
"I'll be right back," he promised.
With a groan, he disentangled himself from Iris's grasp and stumbled out of bed. As he made his way towards the bathroom, he could hear Iris's soft laughter behind him.
"Don't take too long," she said. "I'm not going anywhere."
Preacher smiled and closed the bathroom door behind him. He poured water from the pitcher into the wash basin and splashed cold water on his face. As he looked in the mirror, he saw a reflection of himself that he barely recognized. The man staring back at him was tired and burdened, but there was also a flicker of contentment in his eyes.
Iris was the type of woman he had always desired. Every time was a wild and intense experience.
Preacher finished his business and returned to the bedroom. Iris was still lying in bed, her upper body exposed, she had turned to face him. Her eyes met his, she looked very vulnerable.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to be upset."
"It's okay," he said, sitting down on the bed next to her. "I understand."
Preacher reached out and took Iris's hand.
"I love you, Iris," he said. "You mean more to me than you know."
Iris looked up at him, her eyes shimmering with tears. "I know," she said. "I love you too."
As Preacher's lips met Iris's, a surge of electricity coursed through their bodies. It was a moment of pure ecstasy, a timeless interlude where the weight of the world melted away. In that kiss, they tasted the nectar of love, passion, and a profound connection that transcended everything.
When their lips finally parted, Iris whispered words that sent shivers down Preacher's spine, "I never want to lose you."
Preacher pulled her closer. "I'll never let you go," he vowed.
"You know it's still going to be a few hours before they come to get you," Iris said, her voice a seductive purr. "We have plenty of time for play before you have to get up and get ready."
Iris giggled and pounced on Preacher, her lips descending upon his with fiery intensity. He welcomed her advances, losing himself in the intoxicating whirlwind of passion.
As the morning wore on, they reveled in each other's company, beneath the brightening sky. Time seemed to stand still as they basked in the glow of their love.
After their morning of love making Preacher and Iris both got out of bed and got dressed. Preacher and Iris parted ways, each intent on their separate tasks. Iris, still glowing from the shared intimacy, made her way to the restaurant downstairs to procure tea and honey and breakfast, mindful to adorn her slave collar as a subtle reminder to her that even though Preacher had freed her, she still had to pretend to be a slave. Preacher, seeking a moment of solitude, retreated to the bathroom to freshen up.
As Preacher adjusted his shirt, a persistent tapping echoed from the door. It was Iris, her steps light as she approached with a delicate tray in hand. The aroma of Black tea and enticing breakfast wafted through the air as she entered the room.
"My love," Iris whispered, her voice soft and sultry, "I've brought us some tea and food."
Preacher turned from the mirror, his eyes lingering on Iris's slender form. She was a vision of loveliness, her long, auburn hair cascading down her shoulders and down her back like a silken waterfall. Her golden eyes sparkled with a mixture of shyness and desire.
"Thank you," Preacher replied, his voice husky with contentment.
Iris set the tray down on the table and poured two cups of tea. Preacher took a sip, savoring the warmth and astringency. Iris watched him with a tender smile, her own teacup held delicately in her hands.
"Are you feeling refreshed?" she asked.
"Yes," Preacher said. "And how about you?"
"I am feeling... blissful," Iris replied, her eyes meeting his.
Preacher leaned back against the couch, his gaze never leaving Iris's face. She was his everything - his lover, his companion, his mate.
"I can't believe how lucky I am," Preacher said softly. "To have found you…"
Iris's smile deepened. "I am the lucky one, you've done more for me than I could have ever dreamed of" she said.
As soon as they finished their tea and breakfast, they heard the sound of heavy footsteps in the hallway outside of their room. Preacher and Iris looked at each other with a knowing glance.
"Elias," Preacher whispered.
Iris nodded and stood up. "I'll get it," she said.
As the footsteps approached the door, a loud knock echoed through the inn. Iris's heart skipped a beat as she opened the door, revealing a towering knight in gleaming armor.
"Sir Michael," the knight boomed, "the Royal Mage is here to retrieve you."
Preacher, seated at the table inside, looked up with a chuckle. "Wow, dude, you're like so formal. Lighten up a bit."
The knight stared at Preacher in confusion. "Sir Michael, I've been sent to escort you to the carriage."
Preacher rolled his eyes. "Yeah… yeah… I know. Just chill, man. Don't be so uptight." His carefree attitude shifted abruptly as he turned serious. "But Iris is coming with me."
The knight glanced at Iris, a petite fox beast girl who was clearly a slave. "Uhh, yes, Sir Michael...but I don't think Sir Elias will appreciate this. He wasn't expecting an additional passenger, and slaves aren't allowed to ride in the royal carriage."
"Well, he'd better make an exception," Preacher declared firmly. "Because I'm not going anywhere without her."
The knight nodded reluctantly and led them to the front of the Inn, where a magnificent royal carriage awaited to take them to fetch Preacher's motorcycle.
As Preacher and Iris approached the carriage, Sir Elias's eyes widened in surprise. "Sir Michael," he began, his voice laced with unease, "slaves, especially demi-human slaves, are not permitted to ride in the royal carriage."
The atmosphere crackled with tension as all eyes turned to Preacher. A chilling gleam entered his gaze, a look that could paralyze even the boldest warrior. "You'll make an exception for her," he uttered, his words carrying an undeniable authority.
Elias's resolve wavered under the weight of Preacher's gaze. With a deep sigh, he backed down and bowed his head, allowing Preacher and Iris to step into the carriage.
As Iris settled onto the plush seat, a sense of wonder washed over her. She had always been nothing more than a lowly slave, treated as a mere object. But in the presence of Preacher, he made her feel like an equal.
The carriage lurched into motion, carrying its passengers through the bustling streets. Preacher's presence cast an aura of mystery and intrigue, while Elias sat silently, his thoughts consumed by the extraordinary turn of events.
As they drove down the cobblestone streets to the dwarven blacksmith shoppe, a crowd of onlookers gasped in astonishment. Never had they witnessed a demi-human riding in the royal carriage. Elias's face flushed with embarrassment, but Preacher remained impassive, his gaze unwavering.
In the heart of the bustling medieval town, the carriage pulled to a halt before the unassuming blacksmith's shoppe. As the door creaked open, the first to alight was Preacher. His piercing gaze scanned the smoke-filled interior until his eyes locked with those of a large, stout dwarf behind the counter.
"Where the hell is my bike?" Preacher demanded, his voice reverberating through the shop.
The dwarf, his face shrouded in a thick beard and spectacles perched precariously on his bulbous nose, peered up at Preacher with narrowed eyes. "And just who the hell might you be?" he growled.
"I might very well be the bloody Queen of England, but that's beside the point. My bike's here, and I want it back now," Preacher retorted.
"England, huh? Can't say I've ever heard of that. Don't know where that is," the dwarf grunted, his voice laced with disdain.
Preacher strode up to the counter and placed his calloused palm on the rough-hewn wood. His intense gaze never wavered from the dwarf's. Both Elias and Iris were watching with rapt attention. They had never witnessed a human so brazenly confronting a dwarf. Was Preacher deliberately provoking a fight?
Suddenly, the dwarf burst into a raucous laughter that echoed through the shop. "Boy, you are either brave or a fool."
"A little bit of both, actually," Preacher replied, a faint smirk playing on his lips.
The dwarf's laughter subsided, and his gaze hardened. "Very well. Your motorcycle is in the back. Follow me."
Preacher followed the dwarf through a labyrinth of anvils, hammers, and flickering forges. As they reached a secluded corner, the dwarf gestured towards a covered object.
Preacher pulled back the tarp to reveal a gleaming black motorcycle, its sleek lines and glistening chrome a stark contrast to the rustic surroundings.
"There it is," the dwarf said, his voice now devoid of its previous hostility. "You owe me nothing for fixing it. Consider it a favor."
"Thank you," Preacher replied with gratitude to the dwarf, "I have another request. I need you to outfit my servant with some weapons."
The dwarf looked shocked, his eyes widening behind his thick spectacles. "Are you sure you want to do that? I mean, she is, after all, a slave and a demi-human."
Preacher nodded in confirmation, his gaze unwavering. "Iris is more than a servant to me. She is my companion. And she deserves the means to protect herself but also, she is to be my bodyguard, and I need her outfitted for any quests we will be going on together."
The dwarf, after a moment of contemplation, nodded, a wry smile playing on his lips. "I think I have just the equipment she needs."
He walked over to a rack of swords and pulled out two beautifully crafted curved short swords, each with intricate engravings of birds in flight along their blades. He handed them to Preacher.
Preacher held up one and looked at it in the light, then the other. He swung them around in his hands, testing their weight and balance. A smile touched his lips as he felt the power in his grasp. Then he started moving around, his body a blur as he practiced his martial art forms, swinging and slicing through the air with practiced grace. Each movement flowed effortlessly from one to the next, like water running down an unobstructed stream.
Iris watched in amazement; her eyes wide with awe. She had never seen such skill, such effortless power, before. Preacher's movements were a story unto themselves, a dance of death and beauty that captivated her.
"These are perfect," Preacher said, his voice low and gravelly, as he sheathed the swords. He turned to Iris; his eyes filled with warmth. "Go on, try them out."
Iris, hesitant at first, picked up one of the curved swords. Its weight felt reassuringly familiar in her hand. With a deep breath, she mimicked Preacher's movements, her own movements awkward at first, but gaining confidence with each passing moment.
As they trained, the dwarf watched with a twinkle in his eye. He had seen countless warriors come and go, but there was something special about Preacher and Iris. Their bond, forged from each one's own hardships and a deep respect for each other, was something rare and beautiful.
Iris, because of her beastman heritage, was well toned and strong with natural athletic agility who after a few moments of following Preacher's guidance and direction began mimicking his movements. They danced together the deadly dance of swords.
The air in the smithy crackled with tension. Elias glowered at Iris, his gaze like hot coals. He didn't like the way Preacher favored his servant.
After the show Preacher and Iris put on in the smithy the dwarf spoke up. "You know you will now have to name your swords. No self-respecting swordswoman would ever have such swords without giving them proper names," he declared.
Iris glanced at Preacher, her eyes filled with uncertainty. He simply nodded, leaving the decision to her.
With trembling hands, Iris lifted the first sword. Its polished surface cold and highly reflective like ice. A moment passed as she gazed upon it, then a name flowed forth from her lips: 'Furiza.'
As the word escaped her mouth, the blade erupted in an ethereal glow. Ice bloomed along its edges, its cold embrace promising to freeze the very air. Iris's eyes widened as she realized she was channeling magic into the blade, conjuring ice magic.
Emboldened by the enchantment, Iris extended her other hand, holding aloft the second sword. Its keen edges reflected the faint sunlight streaming into the smithy. Suddenly, a thought struck her, a memory of the sun's blinding brilliance.
'Fushicho!' she cried, her voice echoing through the workshop.
In an instant, the blade ignited in a blazing inferno. Flames roared and danced, promising to consume all in their path. Iris marveled at the sight; her mind aflame with the power coursing through her veins.
Furiza, the Ice-Forged, became a symbol of her icy resolve to protect Preacher no matter the cost. Fushicho, the Sun-Forged, represented her fiery spirit, she would bring an inferno of flames to any that threatened her husband.
"Weapons? For a slave?" Elias spat, his voice thick with disapproval.
"Have you lost your f**king mind? It's one thing to let her ride in the royal carriage, but arming her? That's madness! You'll be sorry for making this decision"
Preacher, unfazed, leaned closer to Elias, a dangerous glint in his eye. "Sorry for what, Elias? For protecting myself? For ensuring my own safety? She's my servant, and I'll decide how she's equipped."
He pointed at the slave collar, a gleaming iron band around Iris's neck. "Don't forget, this collar ensures her obedience. She can't harm me."
Elias knew it was true. She couldn't harm him, but it wasn't him he was concerned about, he remembered all those times he sexually humiliated her and the threats of making her his plaything. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong, a darkness lurking just beneath the surface of Preacher's words.
Iris stood silently, her head bowed her blades sheathed, a mask of humility concealing her true thoughts. She wasn't a slave at all, not anymore. Now, armed with Preacher's trust and a set of weapons forged in the depths of the smithy, she would become something more. A silent, deadly protector, lurking in the shadows, ready to strike down those who threatened Preacher, her lover, her mate, her husband.
The smithy hummed with the rhythmic clang of hammer against metal. As Preacher exited the shop, mounting his motorcycle, Iris followed, a shadow in his wake. Their paths were set now, there's a twisted dance of power and deceit, a dance that would lead them through perilous lands and into the heart of an ancient, forgotten mystery.
Elias walked out following Preacher. "Don't forget Sir Michael You need to register with the adventurer's guild today. We have a number of monster quests we need you to do as part of your training."
Preacher looked at Elias. "I got you." was all he said and rode off.
"You sure about this, Preacher?" Iris asked, her voice tinged with concern as they pushed through the throng of sweating, boisterous adventurers. The air hung thick with the scent of sweat, ale, and something faintly metallic, probably dried blood from the latest brawl.
Preacher, his eyes narrowed, scanned the chaotic scene. "We're just here to register."
"True enough," she muttered, her eyes darting around, taking in the various weapons, maps, and strange potions scattered around the guild. It was a far cry from the quiet life they'd left behind, a life where Iris had never dared to dream of holding a sword, let alone wielding it.
Their conversation was interrupted by a gruff voice. "You two, over here!"
A large, bearded man with a scar across his cheek motioned them over to a desk laden with parchments and quill pens. "Name's Thorgath, Guildmaster."
"I'm Preacher," he said, his voice steady and calm. 'We were sent by Elias the royal mage to get registered today.'
Thorgath eyed Preacher up and down, then glanced at Iris. "Demi-human slave, aren't you?"
Iris nodded in response, still uncomfortable with her new-found freedom because of Preacher, but still had to pretend to be a slave in public.
"Well, demi-humans can't register as adventurers," Thorgath said, a sneer twisting his lips. "Not allowed weapons."
Preacher reached into his pocket and pulled out the King's medallion, its golden surface glinting in the dim light. "I think you can make an exception in this case." Then turned to Iris and had her open her cloak. Under her cloak Thorgath could see two short swords in her belt.
Thorgath took the medallion and looked at it carefully, his expression unreadable for a moment. He then looked back at Preacher, then at Iris. "Very well," he said, tossing the medallion back to Preacher. "But she will have to go through the trials before she can register. Gotta test her skills first."
Thorgath shot a disquieting smile at Iris, his one good eye gleaming with a strange sort of amusement, almost predatory.
"Understand?" he said, his voice a low rumble. "No exceptions for demi-humans. Not even for a King's favor."
Iris, her heart pounding, felt a rush of anger mixed with fear. She knew the trials were dangerous, designed to weed out the weak and unprepared. But she also knew she had to prove herself, for Preacher, for her own dignity, and for the freedom she had finally tasted.
She met Thorgath's gaze, her own eyes burning with a newfound defiance. "I understand," she said, her voice steady despite the tremor in her hands. "I will face your trials."
"Then come this way child." Thorgath motioned to Preacher and Iris as he led them out back behind the Guild to a small battle arena.
In the heart of the hallowed Adventurers' Guild, where aspiring warriors honed their craft, a fateful trial awaited young Iris and her mate, Preacher. Alongside the gruff Thorgath, they were led to a secluded battle arena behind the guild.
"We don't use wooden swords in these trials,' Thorgath's voice boomed. "You use your own weapons. It's a test of skill and control, but sometimes things get out of hand and people die."
A cold shiver ran down Iris's spine as she realized the gravity of the situation. She watched as Preacher turned to her, his eyes filled with a mix of encouragement and concern.
"You don't have to win, Iris," he said softly. "Just do your best and make a good showing."
Iris nodded nervously; her face composed but her heart pounding with fear. She had never fought a real opponent before, let alone an A-rank adventurer.
As Preacher and Iris stepped onto the field, their opponent, Amelia, emerged from the shadows. Her eyes gleamed with a cold determination, and her lips curled into a cruel smile.
"This demi-human bitch will never be an adventurer in this guild," she hissed.
The air crackled with tension. Iris, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm against her ribs, charged forward, the two short swords in her reverse grip a blur of steel. Amelia, the A-rank adventurer, stood firm, her broadsword a menacing silhouette against the midday sun.
Iris's first strike, a swift slash aimed at Amelia's face, was met with a mocking chuckle. Amelia, with a flick of her wrist, effortlessly dodged the blow, her eyes locked on Iris with a predatory gleam.
"Nice try, kid," she sneered, her voice dripping with contempt.
Iris, despite the fear gnawing at her, refused to falter. She knew this was more than just a trial; it was a fight for her dream, a fight to prove that she could be worthy to stand next to Preacher as his mate as his equal, just like any human woman. Her movements, initially fueled by adrenaline, began to settle into a rhythm, a dance of steel and agility.
She weaved around Amelia's powerful strikes, her lithe body a blur of motion. Each parry was a small victory, each dodge a testament to her determination. Her reverse grip, initially a source of curiosity, now proved to be a strategic advantage. She could strike from unexpected angles, her movements unpredictable and swift.
Amelia, however, was not easily disarmed. She was a seasoned warrior, her every move calculated, her strength undeniable. Iris knew she couldn't outmuscle her opponent. Instead, she relied on her speed and agility, her attacks relentless, a storm of steel against Amelia's stoic defense.
The crowd, initially skeptical, began to murmur with appreciation. A few cheers broke out as Iris managed to land a glancing blow on Amelia's arm, drawing a hiss of pain from the A-rank adventurer.
Amelia, her pride wounded, shifted her strategy. Her attacks became more frenzied, less controlled, her anger fueling her strength. But Iris, undeterred, continued her relentless assault. She wasn't there to win by brute force; she aimed to outsmart her opponent, to exploit the openings Amelia's fury created.
Time seemed to stretch, the air thick with the clang of steel and the grunts of effort. The battle was a dance of exhaustion and determination, each move fueled by a desperate need to prove her worth.
Finally, with a swift, precise strike, Iris managed to disarm Amelia. The broadsword clattered to the ground, a resounding thud that seemed to echo the shattering of Amelia's arrogance.
Iris, her breath ragged, stood triumphant, her swords held high. She hadn't just won the trial. In that moment, as the crowd erupted in cheers, Iris knew she had not only earned her place in the guild, but she had also earned her place by Preachers side as his mate.
In the bustling adventurers' guild, Thorgoth, the burly guildmaster, paced restlessly. His fists were clenched, his face contorted with rage.
"How the hell could that little demi-human bitch beat my best adventurer, an A rank no less? No, no way is that little bitch going to join his guild!" he swore to himself.
As if on cue, Preacher walked back to the front of the guild. His piercing gaze met Thorgath's, sending a shiver down his spine.
"So now are you going to let her sign up or not?" Preacher asked, his voice calm but firm.
Thorgath hesitated, his pride warring with a sudden, inexplicable fear. He had always been the undisputed authority in the guild, but Preacher's gaze held an aura of danger that he had never encountered before.
"Why should I let her join? She's demi-human and a slave!" Thorgath protested.
Preacher leaned forward, his eyes narrowed. "Because she defeated your strongest adventurer. That gives her the right to join any guild she chooses and she's, my companion."
A tense silence hung in the air as Thorgath weighed his options. He could defy Preacher, but deep down, he knew that would be a mistake.
With a heavy heart, Thorgath relented. "Fine," he growled. "She can join. But don't blame me if she gets herself killed."
Preacher nodded curtly and turned to leave. As he passed Thorgath, he whispered in his ear, "Be careful what you wish for." Thorgath said.
Back at the Inn Iris buzzed with excitement as she twirled gracefully around the room, her feet tapping a joyful rhythm upon the wooden floor. In her hands, she held a freshly minted adventurer's card, a testament to her newfound accomplishments.
Not only had she passed her trial, but she had also proven her worth as an equal to her beloved Preacher. As she danced, a sense of pride washed over her, knowing that she had earned her place by his side not only as his mate but as a fellow adventurer.
Her golden eyes sparkled with joy as she recalled the trial she had faced earlier that day, defeating the A-ranked adventurer in combat. It had been a grueling battle, testing her strength, agility, and strategic thinking to the limit. But Iris had prevailed, her victory a testament to her dedication and the power of her newfound abilities.
Preacher's heart swelled with joy as he watched Iris dance. Her lithe body moved with unmatched grace, her laughter filling the air. It was a sound he could listen to forever, a melody that resonated deep within his soul.
She ran over to him, squealing gleefully, "I did it, I did it!" she said, her voice alight with excitement.
Preacher, smiling at her, grabbed her by the waist and held her close. "I'm so proud of you, baby."
Iris, her heart still leaping for joy, grabbed Preacher's face and gave him a big kiss. "What should we do to celebrate?" she asked, her eyes sparkling with anticipation.
"Unfortunately, there's not much we can do but order a nice dinner from downstairs," Preacher suggested, his smile fading slightly. He knew that their options were limited, especially with Iris's status as a demi-human slave.
Iris suddenly stopped, her joy evaporating like mist in the morning sun. She realized that there wasn't anything they could go out to do together because she was a demi-human and a slave in this land. There wouldn't be anywhere they could go together without attracting unwanted attention or facing prejudice. And her face fell, the light extinguished from her eyes.
"I'm sorry," she said, her voice laced with disappointment. "I got over excited and forgot for a moment where we were."
Preacher tried to console her, seeing the pain in her eyes. "I have something to tell you." He said, his voice serious.
Iris looked at him with a look of concern. "What?" she asked, her voice an expression of fear and anticipation.
"You know I was summoned here by the mages," Preacher started.
Iris nodded remembering the week she spent taking care of him when he was unconscious and how she, when no one was around, enhanced his mental and physical abilities. Preacher continued to explain, taking a deep breath. "I was sent here by God, to help end this war. This is the purpose I was brought to this realm. I have other suspicions about this world, but I have to find the evidence and I suspect it lies deep in your past, otherwise God would not have sent me here."
Iris's eyes widened in disbelief. "What do you mean?"
"I can't explain everything now," Preacher said, his voice low and urgent. "But I know that God has a plan for us. He brought me here for a reason, and that reason is to help bring peace to this world."
He hesitated for a moment, then continued, "He knew we would meet, Iris. He knew that you were the one who could help me achieve His purpose."
Iris stared at him, her mind racing. The weight of his words settled upon her, a heavy burden yet a glimmer of hope. "What do you want me to do?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
Preacher took her hand, his touch strong and reassuring. "I need you to trust me," he said, his eyes filled with an intensity that sent shivers down her spine. "I need you to believe that I can help lead us to a better future."
He leaned in close, his lips brushing against her ear. "We are not just lovers, Iris. We are partners. We are warriors. And together, we will overcome any obstacle that stands in our way."
Iris closed her eyes, a deep breath escaping her lips. She knew this path would not be easy, but she had faith in Preacher. She had faith in their love. And most of all, she had faith in the power of God. This wasn't just a journey for them, it was a mission, a divine calling to bring peace to a land ravaged by war. And she was ready to fight, to stand by his side, to face any challenge, to fulfill their destiny.