Fonilpi Chronicles: Book 1 (War of Change)

Volume I - Part IV

I remember how badly I wanted to follow her in after life, but Captain Dean being a Captain himself, had somehow averted my own attempted demise, pulling me out of my misery by appointing me as the new treasurer of the village, busy and absorbed - a blatant endeavor that wouldn't even begin to make up for what he had done. In spite of what had occurred, I had accepted the role, for this world wouldn't let you mourn or grieve but to press on no matter what. Then came this one-arm madman today, and along with his immorality was his contrasting wisdom, grounded and inarguable, all nothing but the truth. So shall I'll take this dust of gold, to live for myself and aim for a purpose, and would have instead serve under the lordship of the Lightylden king before my luck runs out to my death.

Sean impatiently kneel down on one knee to do what he must have to do, loosened the pouch's binding, and when he was about to dig both of his open palm through the fortune, Severino grabbed his left arm, stopping him midway. Sean craned his neck to look above, and there he met the looming evil, clouding all over him; 'Before you proceed, I have a question in mind I forgot to ask.' Said by the Striker, the Captain of these despicable spawns.

Severino instantly saw in this man a greed that knows no bound. A driving force that lead every sane man into darkness of own undoing. A pouch of gold is a terrible temptation for any slave there is.

'Lets hear it m'lord.' Sean was in the verge of breaking away to draw his sword and take down the hostile. Fortunately, his composure somehow managed to get a gripped over his sense of danger, thus keeping his nerves barely under control against his uncompromising misgivings. Sean realized that he was spacing out for quite a while now under their penetrating gaze, when it came to him that he'd be long dead if this man had wanted me to.

He turn his body slowly and see to Severino's arm backing off. On a second thought, should I run? This was the third time he had stumbled upon the similar question. Absolutely not - if I don't want to be crucified as a reminder next to Mayborn. My only chance was long gone ever since the runner went onslaught.

'Very well.' Severino leaned back to his poise; 'Is there something that I should keep in mind, or perhaps bear any knowledge of... some thing that I should ever be aware of these young warriors?'

Sean rack his brain for the given momentarily pause. They watched him as he thinks for the best suited words, immersing his memory regarding the Striker's query for possible information he could remember at time; 'These young prospects had been through a lot, m'lord, proven and tested.' Sean spoke his mind in a manner similar to any merchant making fortune in a market; 'Every single one of them was deliberately left out alive but their executed people. A cruel practice employed by our masters to create exceptional warriors whom got nothing to lose but to gain on behalf of your cause. Such conviction was something that could not be taught, m'lord, and it won't be long until they rose to your rankings, though for the meantime, feeding them the essentials is a must, and so do taking away their humanity; to be a cold fighter, so myriad arts of war, loyalty and service, discipline...' yet again, Severino interrupted.

'They're my future and all, yes. I got it.' Severino clicked his tongue.

It seems that their Captain was rather not having anymore of Sean's blarney statements.

The Striker then shortly followed after; 'Nonetheless, are there further cases regarding this boy asides from his sack of hands, weapons and horses... things that should have come to my attention?' this man is already all over Matt huh? The way he briskly talk tells much more about what he was trying to learn. Well, I can't blame him for that, it's kind of a thing, and you monster, is understandable. Sean looks at Matt, took a heavy breath, and suddenly his heart began to ache; I must say that's quite a pitiful sight. Even though its a petty open wound, the blood keeps running down to his face. Am I about to do the right thing? Of all places and time, why would I, out of nowhere feel this sense of guilt now that I'm willing to forsake them for my own ends. But should I say it though? Or perhaps they already have knowledge about it, and its just another pernicious attempt to make me anyhow yield the wrong answer, hence, death.