Chapter 10: The Sorceress of the Lion Tribe

  "Do you have any idea how absurd this plan is, Aeron?" Richard’s voice echoed through the attic of the ancient Kroneous Tower. He slammed his bronze shield down as the first light of dawn broke. "Did you think I wouldn't know you were the one who caused that uproar at the palace?"

  Aeron paused his packing and turned to face Richard Tuckerham. "You didn't report me. That means you agree with what I did," Aeron countered. "So why try to stop me from saving the Princess now?"

  "No!" Richard barked. "My silence was born of empathy for your feelings, not agreement! But you must understand—there is no future for the two of you. The divide between a commoner and the Royal House is a chasm you cannot cross, Aeron!"

  Richard exhaled, forcing himself to be calm. "You must let her go. She belongs to House Ryul now. Let her be the bridge for peace between our kingdoms."

  "What peace can exist in a war that is already inevitable?" Aeron challenged. "Don't tell me you haven't heard the whispers. The world is bracing for the return of the Signers. When that news reaches the vassal states, who do you think they will choose? The legendary Signers, revered as gods, or the corrupt mages of the Council who only know how to oppress? Let me bring her back. I am confident I can defeat any legion of mages they send!"

  "You said you would not kill," Richard reminded him sharply.

  "I won't have to! I only need to appear and strike fear into them," Aeron replied irritably. "I’ve learned how to ignite the Holy Sword now. Rage is the key!"

  "And when you ignite it, would you slaughter everyone in your path?" Richard’s tone grew severe. "I’ve spent days in the royal library scouring texts on the Holy Sword Tonga. Do you want to know what I found?"

  "Just say it, Richard."

  "You have no hope of controlling that blade," Richard said. "Tonga possesses a soul of its own. Once you awaken it, it will seize your mind and rule you."

  Aeron’s jaw dropped. "You’re saying... that piece of wood has a soul?"

  "Yes. Both the Holy Sword Tonga and the Demon Blade Ogris contain ancient souls. Not of men or beasts, but the spirits of the constellations themselves. The History of the Lost Generation states clearly that if the wielder cannot suppress the blade's spirit, they become its puppet. Your collapse the other day proves that your inner strength is insufficient. To suddenly channel such vast energy would hollow you out. If you continue, you will become a mindless, bloodthirsty butcher before your own body disintegrates."

  Aeron turned pale, but his resolve did not waver. "Then I simply won't use it. I still have the strength of a Signer."

  "The strength of a Signer?" Richard laughed. "A common palace guard could cut you down the moment you step away from that sword. With your current skill, you can't even protect yourself, let alone a Princess."

  "Is that so?" Anger flared in Aeron’s chest at Richard’s mockery. "Then let’s settle it with a wager. If I can defeat you in swordplay, you let me go."

  "Gladly," Richard replied without hesitation.

  He unsheathed the sword at his hip and used the hilt to knock Aeron’s gifted blade toward him. Aeron fumbled as he caught it, the edge nearly slicing his fingers.

  "Just a slip..." Aeron muttered, embarrassed.

  "Hah!" He lunged at Richard with a frantic overhead strike. Richard didn't even flinch. With a simple flick of his wrist, he parried the blow, stepped inside Aeron’s guard, and delivered a light kick that sent the youth crashing into a wooden table. Water carafes shattered, drenching the floor.

  Aeron gritted his teeth and scrambled up, attacking with wild, unrefined fury. But Richard moved with surgical precision, neutralizing every desperate swing. He did not counter yet, letting Aeron exhaust himself until the boy was gasping for air and his arms were leaden.

  "Swordsmanship is about measured force," Richard said, suddenly swinging his blade and forcing Aeron to stumble back. "It is not about gritting your teeth and throwing your whole weight behind every blow."

  Richard’s eyes narrowed as he focused on his own blade. "After force comes form." He moved again, his sword tracing a series of strict, rhythmic patterns.

  Aeron was knocked down again and again. His arms throbbed from the impact of the Knight of Beche’s precise strikes. Yet, beneath the pain, Aeron’s eyes were locked on Richard’s movements, memorizing the flow, preparing for the next bout.

  "And beyond form..." Richard charged, "...is fluidity!"

  Clang! Aeron’s sword was wrenched from his hand, flying across the room and embedding itself in a wooden pillar. He stared in disbelief; Richard had transformed a simple thrust into a dozen shifting, deceptive arcs of steel.

  "You possess none of these three," Richard sneered, sheathing his blade. "The world is full of men with great strength, Aeron. But how many survive the war? Even if you find the Princess, how will you take her? How will you keep her safe?"

  If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  Richard placed a heavy hand on the young man’s shoulder. "Sometimes, the best way to protect the one you love is to let them go."

  Aeron said nothing. He stared into the shadows, his heart heavy with a silent, aching sigh.

  The next morning, the attic was tidy, the signs of the duel gone. But Aeron was nowhere to be found. When the King summoned him for a minor duty, the guards found only a farewell letter and an empty wardrobe.

  Aeron was already leagues away from the capital, riding his white horse toward the path taken by the Princess’s escort. He might be inferior to Richard in skill with a blade, and less wise than Prince Fastinga, but his faith and his love were absolute. He knew his chances were slim and the journey to Mantorias long, but he would not stop until he saw Chiryl’s face again.

  By late afternoon, as his horse grew weary, Aeron stopped at a small town far from the capital.

  Pulling his hood low to hide his face, he entered a bustling tavern where musicians played lively tunes on wooden lutes. He ordered a draught of ale and took the furthest table, quietly eating his dinner. He failed to notice a pair of brown eyes watching him from across the room.

  The watcher was also cloaked, a mysterious smile playing on her lips. Behind her, a two-meter-long object, wrapped tightly in soot-stained black cloth, leaned against the wall. Aeron noticed none of it, savoring his rest after a long day’s ride.

  At dawn, Aeron resumed his journey, but a complication arose. The town square was plastered with sketches of his face, offering a substantial reward for his capture. Aeron chuckled at the irony. In just a few days, his life had swung from one extreme to the other. To the capital, he had been a "Savior." Now, he was a "Fugitive."

  Fortunately, the incompetence of provincial officials worked in his favor. While they slept, he galloped past the town limits. Avoiding the main roads, Aeron stuck to the narrow, winding paths that hugged the edges of dense, mist-shrouded forests.

  The rhythm of his horse’s hooves was the only sound carried by the wind, yet he felt a strange rustling above—something gliding through the high canopy. Aeron realized he was being shadowed. Was it the Royal Guard? No, this person was far too skilled. Their movement left no trace on the forest floor.

  "A mage?" The thought sent a jolt of fear through him. "Or perhaps an assassin seeking revenge?"

  He realized with a sinking heart that he had left the Holy Sword Tonga back in the tower. He only had the Tuckerham family sword. Against high-level magic, a mundane blade was little more than a toothpick.

  Finally, his patience broke. Aeron yanked the reins, unsheathed his sword, and pointed it at the high branches.

  "Show yourself!" he shouted. "I’m not afraid of you, you wretched mage!"

  The forest responded with a chilling silence. No birds sang; no leaves rustled. The only sound was Aeron’s own breathing and the soft snort of his horse.

  "If you won't show your face, then stop following me!" Aeron bluffed, trying to sound menacing. "You remember what happened last time? Don't force me to kill you!"

  When no answer came, Aeron exhaled in relief. Perhaps they were afraid of Tonga’s power. He smirked and prepared to ride on, when a bolt of crimson light streaked from behind a distant tree, striking the ground before him.

  Boom! The explosion sent a shockwave through the air, throwing Aeron from his horse. He scrambled up, barely grabbing his sword before the horse whinnied in terror and bolted into the woods.

  "Damn it!" he cursed.

  "Are you truly the one who defeated Pentrius?" A voice called out. A figure stepped from the shadows, twirling a magic staff with arrogant ease.

  "Who are you?" Aeron gasped.

  Tossing back a mane of fiery red hair, a beautiful sorceress in robes of coarse linen approached him.

  "I am Ivyl Wall 'Teh’Sneto' of the Lion Tribe!" she announced. "I have come to fulfill the mission entrusted to me by the Prophet."

  "Look, I don't know anything about a mission," Aeron said. "I have important business. If we have no quarrel, then stay out of my way."

  Ivyl Wall gave him a strange, enchanting smile. "Aren't you the Signer of legend? Prove it to me first!"

  "Blastiga!" she shrieked. A flash of white light erupted from her staff, creating a massive gust of wind that sent Aeron flying five meters backward.

  Groaning as he hit the ground, Aeron clambered to his feet, holding up a hand to signal a timeout. "This isn't fair! You’re a mage, and I’m a swordsman! How can I fight you if you keep blasting me from a distance?"

  Ivyl tilted her head, looking surprised. Then, she smiled again. "Fine! I'll fight you hand-to-hand!"

  Twirling her staff and settling into a combat stance, Ivyl Wall lunged at Aeron with lightning speed.

  Thwack! After only two moves, Aeron was knocked unconscious by a sudden, expert strike of her staff.

  "Hungry?" Ivyl Wall held out a wooden stick with a roasted, fragrant sweet potato on the end.

  Aeron clutched his head and groaned, waking up to find the forest engulfed in a pitch-black night. He was lying beside a campfire Ivyl had built. Aeron didn’t hesitate; he snatched the potato from her.

  "I can't believe how terrible you are," Ivyl said playfully. "If I’d known, I would’ve caught you back then at the Flying Donkey Tavern."

  Aeron stopped peeling the potato and snapped, "Fine! I lost! Why do you want me, anyway?"

  "I’m not 'catching' you, silly!" Ivyl giggled. "I just want you to come back to the tribe with me. Our Prophet needs to see you. He says he will help you become a great man."

  "Oh! Thanks!" Aeron sneered. "But as I said, I have work to do. Everything else can wait."

  Ivyl’s smile vanished, replaced by a cold, steely expression that made Aeron’s skin crawl. "You don't have a choice, Marked One."

  "My name is Aeron!"

  "Fine, Aeron," Ivyl continued. "The Prophet said if you don't come to the Lion Tribe soon, 'the fate of the Oracle continent will diverge. War will last longer than it should, and death will sit at your table when blood flows from the eyes of the one you love.'"

  Aeron shuddered. The girl’s solemn face told him she wasn't joking.

  "Of course, I don't really understand what he means," Ivyl chirped, returning to her bubbly self. "But the Prophet is never wrong. I’ve followed you all the way from the capital, and I’m not going back without you."

  Aeron sighed, leaning against a dull brown rock. "Fine. I’ll follow you. But only after you help me do one thing."

  "What’s that?" Ivyl asked, her mouth full of roasted potato.

  "I need to rescue someone. She’s on her way to Mantorias."

  Ivyl looked surprised. "How far ahead is she?"

  "Nine... maybe ten days," Aeron answered.

  "What?!" Ivyl gasped. "That’s impossible! I saw your face on the bounty posters. You’re ten days behind, and you have to take the long way around to stay hidden. By my calculations, it’ll take you two or three months just to catch them! That’s way too long! I want to go home soon."

  "You have to understand, I have to save the woman I love!" Aeron snapped.

  His eyes flared with anger. Ivyl Wall bit her lip, staring at him with intense curiosity.

  "Hey... but... what is 'love'?" she asked, her eyes wide with genuine confusion.