Blood of the Merciless

Chapter Twenty-Eight

28.

Jerial woke up from his bed with a grin. Col had shown them to probably the worst rooms in all of the castle. Desperately cramped. Jerial hopped on his feet. He made his way to the curtained window. He pushed the curtains aside to glance outside. The sky had been darkened by clouds. Rain is still pouring. This had been home. He looked at his reflection in the window. It had been purple due to the light that emanated from his eyes. He always felt strange looking at this body. It had reminded him of when he was younger but something was different, that stupid woman did not fail to leave her mark. Jerial moved from the window and towards the door. He swung the door open and walked through. The corridor was slightly lit by torches that hung on the walls. He quickly slipped into the room that was next to the one he slept in. In the room sleeping softly was the one they called Florian. A stupid boy, one who did not deserve to live if he was being honest. He had always wondered why his son kept a fool like him around, especially when their relationship had been frayed. Jerial was not here to kill him; however, he was here for something of great importance. Lying next to the bed, still sheathed, had been the Blade of Heinzidal. An artefact that he had been looking for for years and one that he had reluctantly been forced to leave behind when he had raided Versus. He already had a few of Heinzidal's legendary arsenal, hidden deep within this castle. He had never used them, the blade was the one he had always truly wanted. Swordplay had been his favourite thing growing up, even going as far as becoming one of the greatest swordsmen to grace the land. He grabbed the sheathed blade and silently exited the room. He immediately unsheathed the blade. He felt the blade tug slightly on his stria and stamina reserves. He thought back at how the stupid Florian kid could not regulate his reserves when he held the blade. He expected the blade to pull even more but his plan seemed to work. He had two stria reserves now, his own and from the Rixa amulet that hung from his chest. Jerial walked through the corridor twirling the blade in his left hand as he walked. He knew this castle like the back of his hand. He finally made his way to the much larger part of the castle. Two soldiers approached him.

"Lord Alaric, I am afraid we have orders for you to remain in your room." The soldier was barely finished when his throat was carefully slit. The soldier dropped lifeless onto the floor. The other soldier was about to pull out his sword when the crimson blade was at his throat. Purple eyes met brown terrified eyes.

"I am not Alaric. I am Great Lord Jerial and I have returned to take back what was once mine. Will you join me, soldier?" Jerial kept his voice low. The soldier shook his head. Jerial wasted no time dispatching him as well. This continued as panic ran through the castle. Nobody seemed keen to join his side, so he had to punish them. Here he stood beyond a few corpses. Their blood painted the floor crimson. He heard the sound of footsteps behind him and he turned around. Standing behind him crouched with two daggers firmly in her hands was the woman his son called Savia. She kept her gaze on him.

"Who are you?" She asked, her tone tainted with anger.

Jerial smiled at her. "What do you mean? I am Alaric."

"Liar."

Jerial gave her a hearty laugh. "You are a smart one. I see why he took such a liking towards you. What was it that gave me away, other than my eyes?"

"Your aura." Savia's knuckles whitened around the hilt of her daggers.

"My aura? What in Heinzidal's name are you talking about?" Jerial asked.

"You are threatening, he is comforting."

Jerial gave another laugh. "I see, that was always a part I could never beat out of him. His mother's fault, you see, taught him compassion. Unnecessary things really." "But you are right, my name is Jerial, that stupid fool's father."