Chapter 25: The Hunt [1]

A lot of the so-called wise men described perils as corridors of wealth. Calling everyone to embrace the danger and earn from it. Unfortunately, I beg to disagree.

These wise men in my eyes are fools beyond saving. They call shots as they sat on their comfortable couches. Sitting in their book-studded libraries, they hoot. In their castles and towers, they failed on one oh-so-important thing. They don’t know what they’re saying. You cannot talk about what you have not experienced. My descendants hear me - that is hypocrisy. Don’t follow such an example.

They hadn’t seen what true peril means, for they lay on the seat of their gold coins and comfort of their mansions. The buffoons claim they know it all. But I say they don’t.

Have they tried to brave the danger of death for a cause?

Did a bit of their blood spill for the weak?

After running through the trials of fire, I stumbled into a simple piece of truth.

Danger is danger. Death is death. No flowery words can create a border between each syllable nor alphabet.

You will not find opportunities for great wealth in peril.

Prospects come only if you live, not instant wealth.

The ones who call themselves wizened men sometimes are not so wise after all. Liars.

“Book of the Elk by King Erik the First, Chapter I, Royal Lessons, page 11.”

***

The ash-gray-haired boy closed his eyes. He fell prey to the calls of night owls. Unlike his sister, who was hugging a soft teddy bear, Klive embraced a thick wooden book, a weird sight to behold. It wasn’t something a young boy would love to cuddle in his sleep.

The night breeze blew, enticing the villagers to close their eyes and rest. A few hours had passed and the high-strung nerves of the villagers loosened as the night turned deeper.

With every passing minute, the steps of the villagers turned slower. They became sluggish. They became dull. The changes clear as the speed of the caravan slackened.

The villagers’ exhaustion also contributed a lot. The temporary calm and the rustling of the leaves and grasses sounded like serenades to their ears.

After soaking in a peaceful atmosphere, the villagers had lost their sense of urgency. Treating what they heard and experience before they left the village as a dream. Such was human nature. It was a coping mechanism to stress. After all, they were already quite far from the village, giving them a sense of false safety. At most, they would arrive at daylight. What’s there to fuss for?

“Mom? Dad? Sleepy.”

“How about we ask the soldiers for a quick break?”

“Yeah, yeah. We will only rest and close our eyes for a half hour. I don’t believe that the horsemen aren’t tired.”

“Look! Those in the carriages are already sleeping! While we are here walking our ass off.”

The murmurs and grumbles grew louder and louder. It spread like an unstoppable plague. When people find something in common with others, it was human nature to group together. It didn’t matter if they make sense. As long as they agree to something good enough, a good reason was only something secondary.

Finding strength in numbers. It was normal for humans. There were many instances of its happening in the history of the Eudoria.

“Can someone talk to the old chief? He will help us, right?”

“Right, I’ll talk to him. He could send our message to the chief horseman.”

The assigned villager walked towards the front of the caravan. He aimed to find the village chief to air the nagging villagers’ side. After finding the village chief, he expressed the wishes of the villagers.

The village chief couldn’t help but have a headache. His brow scrunching up. It seemed the villagers had forgotten the danger they were in. They almost had a close brush with death.

The old chief knew what beasts were wishing to claw their way to the village, and remembering the descriptions Auburn had given. A shiver ran to his skin.

Even so, the old chief still agreed to the request. He thought the villagers would stop bothering him as long as he agrees to let Sept know their wish. His old bones were also getting tired from their irksome murmurs.

Despite the resistance in his mind, he still agreed to at least tell the things to the chief escort.

Thus, he asked the carriage driver to move the carriage to the area where the chief escort was.

“Sir Septharion. I wished to talk something with you.”

The burly old man looked at the tired old village chief. He slowed the pace of his horse to match the speed of the carriage. He cast an amiable smile on the village chief.

“Oh, interesting. Please speak.”

The old chief felt more at ease after seeing the welcoming beam of the chief escort named Septharion. The village chief blurted out the request of the villagers. With every word he utters, the village chief felt better and better. He felt like he was released from all his burdens.

He found the smile of Septharion too bright for his eyes. He felt like he met his old grandfather. It was comforting. It was also like when he first met his wife. It was tantalizing.

With a few words from Septharion, the village chief felt relaxed. He even thought that only Septharion would be the only one capable of understanding his heartaches and misgiving. Like he was some kind of savior.

The old chief also expressed his disagreement. He feared they might get attack if they stop. The old village chief wished to continue to march. Knowing the villagers for years, the brief rest would turn into a long rest, delaying them in the end.

Soon, the village chief was already spilling his heartaches. Tears built its ways to his wrinkled eyelids. He almost bawled himself out until Septharion consoled him.

Septharion told him he should rest first while promising he would handle the rest. As soon as the old chief heard that, he stopped leaking tears.

When he heard the ‘don’t worry’ coming from Septharion. The old chief, for one night, felt at ease and peace for the first time in a decade. With some persuasion, the old chief entered the carriage, took a blanket, and slept with a big smile on his face. A few wrinkles vanished from his aged face.

After getting the old village chief to rest. The smile of Septharion bloomed like flowers in a beautiful spring garden. It was too wonderful to behold. “I see.”

Septharion then turned his head. He gazed at the tall scrubs and trees on their left side. A mysterious grin thrived on his face, turning deeper and deeper along with the night. He looked like a reformed old fox, ready to jump in his old sneaky ways.

As the village chief spilled his beans, a patrolling escort horseman saw everything. He had seen the sweet and understanding smile of Septharion. Then a shiver slithered down his spine. He immediately ran away, calling for the attention of the other escorts.

The guy told the story to the other horsemen. He also asked the others why the village head sought their leader. Soon enough, they finally found out the answer from one of the grumbling villagers.

Realizing what it was about, the horsemen shuddered. They closed their eyes in silence, praying for the villagers’ future.

Soon, an order came from the leader of the escorts.

“Take rest for half an hour.”

It gave the villagers a collective feeling of happiness and success.

A temporary one.