“You are always in such a rush to die, Adam,” Jurot said, having heard what Adam had done. “Aggravating the Great Elders is a simple matter, they will not try to harm you because of some words, but others are not so kind.”

“Old men like those two revel in that sort of banter,” Adam said. “Sir Royce swung his maul at me the first time we met, so I know he’s a guy that likes to have fun. Sir Harold? Well, maybe I shouldn’t mess with him so much.”

Jurot couldn’t help but wonder just how low, and high, Adam’s intelligence went.

Sarot finally returned that evening from working. “Are you going to face Sir Merry soon?”

“Soon,” Jurot said, his lips unable to control the smile which crept on his face, like a storm he could not control.

“Good,” Sarot said. “I will watch you.”

Jurot crossed his arms, his heart filling with excitement. Who else could claim to have faced Sir Merry in their generation? Jurot would have such a story to tell, and his Granduncle would be there to watch. ‘I will need to fight well.’

“Since you’re here, maybe Jurot should tell you the story of our journey, including the two Dragons we came across,” Adam said, looking up to the old Iyrman.

Sarot exchanged a look with Jurot, before the corners of his lips twitched. Jurot’s eyes told him everything he needed to know.

“You really faced two Dragons?” Sarot asked, staring at Adam.

“You’re about to find out that everything I told you was true,” Adam said, allowing Jurot to tell the tale.

Sarot remained quiet, listening to his grandnephew. He was completely focused on the tale, listening to Jurot’s story. How he had completed his task to become an Adventurer and the quests thereafter. How he had managed to land a strike against Balrog, who had been a thorn in his heart for some time. The travel south to meet Lucy and to acquire an awakened forest. The journey north where he met the Knight of Death and Vandra. The return where he faced another Dragon. His own little adventure where he slew quite the creatures. Then, finally, the Gryphon and his meeting with Sir Merry.

Sarot basked in the story for some time. The Iyrmen who had poked fun at Adam’s boastful dreams could no longer be so quick to dismiss the Half Elf’s words, for they had been verified by Jurot himself.

Sarot remembered the first time he had met Jurot. He had been a babe, not more than a month old. He recalled how his older brother, Jarot, had held the boy in his arms, lifting the boy up high to declare how he would conquer the world before Mulrot had slapped the man across the back of his head.

Jurot had looked so much like his father, and even now, it was hard to differentiate the two of them.

The boy had been so light in his arms, Sarot would have sworn with all seriousness he could have tossed Jurot to the sky.

‘How fast you have grown, little grandnephew.’

Adam sipped his tea, tasting the light taste of strawberry. “So,” he said, having waited until Sarot was done with his thoughts, “do you want to hear it?”

Sarot opened his eyes and stared at the Half Elf.

“The tale of how I go my ass beat by Jarot and how I managed to beat Grandaunt?”

Sarot listened intently, sitting up straight. It was a different kind of listening, for Adam was not a storyteller in the same way that the Iyrmen were storytellers, and he was listening to Adam’s story for another reason entirely.

“She was really scary,” Adam said. “If I had known I could have faced her as an Expert, I would have done that instead.”

“To face against my sister, even if she had been kind to you, and beat her, it is a great honour.”

“Honour?” Adam said. “Do you know how scared I was? She was terrifying. Even after fighting her, I still faced against Wahruv, and he was scary too! Why are you Iyrmen such damn monsters?”

“Right!” Lucy agreed. “You Iyrmen are such hunks, why did you have to be so scary too? Why won’t you let me conquer you, damn it?”

Sarot’s eyes turned to Lucy, and for a moment, they held a darkness, though it quickly disappeared.

Adam wrapped an arm around Lucy’s neck and brought her in close. “Don’t mind her. She’s long given up thoughts about conquering the Iyr.”

“She is a Devilkin,” Sarot said. “There are many Devilkin from old who had tried.”

“I’m no Devilkin,” she said, loudly. “I’m a De-“

Adam squeezed around her neck, cutting her off. “Stop being an idiot, Lucy.”

Lucy’s nostrils flared and she wrapped her arms around his waist to try and wrestle him down.

Athletics Check

D20 + 6 = 19 (13)

Adam managed to keep himself stuck to Lucy, without her lifting her up to slam him down into the ground.

“Devilkin are Devilkin,” Sarot said. “You are no doubt a Demon.”

Adam stared up at the old Iyrman, his brows raised in alarm. “Come on, now. We’re trying to keep that a secret.”

“It is known,” he said, simply.

“It is?”

“Every Iyrman here can tell, and there is no doubt Sir Merry and Sir Royce know as well.”

“They do?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.” Adam stared up at the old Iyrman. “You do understand that it’s a secret, right?”

“Yes.”

Lucy gave up trying to wrestle Adam, who eventually let her go. “I’m the Demon Lord, you know,” she grumbled quietly.

“The Demon Lord?” Sarot looked to Jurot.

Jurot shrugged his shoulders. “I believe so.”

“You have brought so much danger to the Iyr, grandnephew,” Sarot said, looking to Adam. “You must be responsible for her.”

“Well, we can just pretend she’s a Devilkin for now.” Adam sipped more of his tea. “If the Iyr is in danger because of it, you can just throw her away.”

“Hey!” Lucy gasped.

“What else do you expect?” Adam asked. “If the Iyr is put in danger because of me, I fully expect them to throw me away too.”

“Yeah, but… but…” Lucy tried to find a way to rebuke Adam, but he was in the right. “You’re hardcore.”

Sarot had only heard bits and pieces about Adam, but he was as troublesome as everyone said. “The Iyr will not throw you away, Adam.”

“I’m telling you that you should.”

“The Rot family will not allow it.”

Adam chuckled. “Well, that’s nice, but like I said-“

“Adam,” Jurot said. “There is no need to speak further on the topic.”

Adam wondered if he should joke about it, but he decided against it. “Sure,” he said. “Thanks.”

Eventually Sarot retreated, allowing the youth their time without an old fogey like him ruining their fun. However, he had left for a particular reason, and that was to show off about his grandnephews to the rest of the Iyrmen. ‘Two Dragons,’ he thought. ‘It seems our Rot is on the rise.’

It was meant to be Jarot.

He had been named after their greatest ancestor, a man who had peaked during the time of the First Blackwater Crisis, which was the tale every Iyrmen grew up learning about. Every family had someone who did something, but Jarot had made a name for himself independently from it.

‘Rukh King,’ Sarot dared to think. There were no Kings and Queens in the Iyr, but it was a joke between Iyrmen to call certain members a King or Queen, though only in relation to their accomplishments. Though, that had not been the Rukh King’s greatest accomplishment.

Unfortunately, his brother had lost all the vigour during his prime years when his nephew had been killed by the Dragon. By giving up his arm, Jarot had permanently crippled himself to no longer reach the peak, though he had still grown stronger since that day.

‘What a troublesome grandnephew we have accepted,’ Sarot thought, already knowing that Adam was going to be something which would burn their family.

“Your granduncle-“ Adam began, before he was cut off.

“Our granduncle,” Jurot stated, firmly.

“Right,” Adam said, rolling his eyes. “He seems like a cool guy.”

Jurot took a moment to understand that cool meant something very different to Adam. “He is a cool guy.”

“I think he likes me,” Adam said.

“You are his grandnephew, of course he likes you,” Jurot said, wondering about the depths of Adam’s intelligence.

“Aren’t I his Grandnephew?” Adam asked.

“In an official capacity, but we are speaking as family, and it is fine for you to accept that you are his grandnephew,” Jurot said.

“Really?” Adam crossed his arms, glancing aside, somewhat embarrassed.

“Granduncle has always been very relaxed,” Jurot said. “He is very unlike uncle.”

“Uncle?”

“Uncle Fakrot.”

“Who is Uncle Fakrot?” Adam asked.

Jurot furrowed his brows. “You have met him before.”

“I have?”

“Yes. He is the twins’ father.”

“Twins? Cirot and Sirot, you mean?”

“Yes.”

“Oh! Sarot-“

“Granduncle,” Jurot correctly.

“That’s his son?” Adam said, surprised. “Now that I think about it, he did refer to them as his grandnieces.”

“Uncle Fakrot is Granduncle’s only child,” Jurot said. “Grandaunt passed away some time after he was born.”

“Oh,” Adam said. ‘Seriously, you have to make it so awkward? Iyrmen, man.’

“Granduncle Tarot has many children,” Jurot said. “Five, though one has passed, and two have married out of the family.”

“Oh,” Adam said. “Who did Jarot marry?”

“Grandmother,” Jurot replied, simply.

Adam shook his head. “Jurot. I’m not that stupid.”

Jurot narrowed his eyes. “Grandmother Mulrot.”

“Yeah, but which family was she from?”

Jurot tilted his head, for he knew that Adam had already been told. “The Fev family.”

“Do I know anyone from that family?” Adam’s forehead twitched. He was sure he had heard of the family’s name before.

“Just grandmother,” Jurot said. “Granduncle Tarot’s wife is Grandaunt Otkan’s youngest sister.”

Adam raised a hand. ‘Tarot. Jarot’s little brother. Otkan. Otkan’s little sister. Married.’ Adam wasn’t used to including their relationship as the title between names, so was finding it slightly difficult to keep track of things.

“Oh?” Adam said. “Really? How did they manage to make a marriage like that go through?”

“What do you mean?” Jurot asked.

“You guys are already so handsome, how could you also marry into a family like the Kans? This is ridiculous!”

Lucy, who had been listening casually, perked up. “I can’t believe you haven’t introduced me!”

Jurot remained silent for a long while as the pair fumed. ‘I am surrounded by idiots.’

“I wonder if I could marry into that family,” Lucy wondered aloud.

“Don’t,” Adam said.

“Why not?”

“Aren’t you the Demo-“ Adam glanced around quickly, before leaning in. “The Demon Lord?” he whispered.

“So? I bet the children of the Rot and Kan family are going to be at least Gold Rank in terms of hunkiness and strength.”

“Yeah, but, you’re missing out the most important thing,” Adam stated, seriously.

“What’s that?”

“I don’t want to be related to an idiot like you.”

Health: 65 -> 58

‘Idiots,’ Jurot repeated in his mind as Lucy started battering Adam. “Adam, you have not told me about Sir Royce’s fights with the Iyrmen.” Jurot had been interested in hearing about the way the Knight of Death fought.

The Knight of Death was one of the few Aldish who could clash with Sir Merry, the previous King’s Sword, without losing his life so easily. Sir Royce was known as the greatest Knight of Death to date, especially considering he had managed to face off against Kintalia, the Silver Storm.

Adam furrowed his brows. “He didn’t fight at all the past couple of days.”

“He did not?”

“No,” Adam said. “He didn’t. I think I would have noticed if he did.”

Jurot frowned.

“I don’t think it’s because of me, though,” Adam said. “There’s no way he’d be so petty as to not fight in order not to let me have fun.”

Jurot nodded his head.

“Right?” Adam said, suddenly unsure. “Right?”