“Gorgeous,” the girl said.
Her mother watched her with bated breath.
“Delightful,” the girl continued.
Her mother’s lips twitched slightly.
“How utterly sublime,” the girl confirmed, popping another galub jamun within her mouth, chewing it slowly, offering the last to her younger brother, who nibbled on it lightly.
Her mother placed a hand upon the top of her head, and the girl’s eyes slowly trailed towards the woman, for her eyes were so innocent, the kind of innocent which suggested she knew why she had been caught.
“Do you think you can treat I, your mother, this way?” Vonda asked.
“I can do so, because I am your daughter,” Jirot replied.
“I will tickle you.”
“I surrender, mummy, I surrender,” the girl said, placing her palm over her fist, bowing her head.
Indeed, for not in a thousand years could she defeat her mother, for she was too strong, too, beautiful, too wise, and she, too, was her father’s daughter.
“Let us wash our hands,” Vonda said as the girl licked her fingers.
“Mummy, you are daddy’s wife,” the girl accused.
“You are so funny,” Vonda said, pinching the girl’s nose, causing the girl to smirk playfully in return.
“Mummy, I am funny too?” little Jarot asked.
“You are funny too, but you are so merciful,” Vonda said, picking her son up, planting a firm kiss on his forehead, causing the boy to smirk playfully in return, for he was his sister’s brother. “Come, let us bathe, so we can bully your father when he returns.”
The girl had almost spoken up to face her mother, but she blinked, and she smirked, side eyeing her mother. “Mummy, I am your daughter.”
Vonda winked at the little girl, causing her and her twin brother to cackle in utter delight, for when it came to bullying their father, perhaps she was the only one who could match her daughter, and in some ways, even surpass her.
It was during this time that, somehow, it was not their father who bullied others, oppressing them with his ridiculousness.
Well, not him alone.
“I must step back,” Grey Spear said, clasping her spear in both hands, offering a greeting to the young Iyrman as Kitool had done so for the Meek Dragon. She was covered in a sheen of sweat, and though her scarf had managed to catch much of it, she could still feel the heat within her body, the pounding of her heart, which thundered within her chest, and more importantly, the ache within her arms and through her entire body.
“It was a good fight,” Chosen said, covered in streaks of sanguine, the Iyrman raising his blade. “It was not I, Chosen, who defeated you, but this blade of mine, a gift from my nephew.”
Navid’s eyes turned towards the half elf, and upon seeing how the utter annoyance on the half elf’s face turned to pride, he realised it was probably the same nephew, or at the very least, it was the half elf’s son.
Navid remained speechless.
“To think you both are so spoiled by your nephew…” Grey Spear joked.
Chosen laughed, for though he may have been able to face her with some effort, with this sword in hand, she would found it difficult to face against the likes of he, an Iyrman roughly a decade her junior, and yet still equally as powerful. “It is not that we are good to our nephew, though we wish to spoil him well, it is that our nephew’s heart is as all encompassing, like the sun.”
“This guy, he thinks he can speak so well of my son and I won’t beat him?” Adam grumbled, but the smile behind his fist revealed the fact that it was going to work exactly like that.
Navid wondered why they were all such comedians, and also, did the Iyr ever make jokes like this? As far as he knew, the Iyr’s joked were straight forward, the kind where they asked a question, and yet the answer was always death, steel, or blood.
Something was wrong.
Something was off.
The Grandmaster’s senses told him that it was the case, but what?
What was so wrong?
What was so off?
“How long do you intend to stay within the capital, Mo?” Navid eventually asked, letting the questions go, for if he thought about it too much at this time, he would miss the chance of a lifetime.
“We intend to stay here for the rest of the month, or so, I think?”
“I would like to meet your children, and, if it is possible, I would like to introduce my apprentices to you, if you are willing.”
Adam’s lips twitched slightly, and he side eyed the old man, in the way that denoted he was the father of a particular child, and the grandson of another troublesome one. “We intend to face a great number of warriors every evening, so perhaps you can bring your apprentices at that time, and in terms of the children, we’ll try to sort something out during this month, but even if I wish to show off my children, the Iyr is currently quite on edge.”
‘Ah!’ Navid thought, and suddenly it all made sense. This group of Iyrmen, they must have been those children, the children which, in every generation, would pierce towards the sky with their steel, the kind like Butcher Marmak, Wildheart, Deathfist, and so many other Iyrmen. ‘The Iyr has brought these Iyrmen to remind us all that their blades have yet to dull?’
“If you are willing,” the Meek Dragon began, holding a palm over her fist, her head bowed respectfully, “I would like to treat you and your family to a meal.”
“I would be honoured,” Adam replied, mirroring the woman’s greeting, smiling innocent as he did so.
“I will hold a banquet,” Miriam offered, having watched all the fights, with the understanding that it wasn’t just Adam who was a monster, but all these Iyrmen before her, each her age, in their mid twenties, and yet each who could go blow for blow against those a decade their senior, and not just typical warriors, but those who were not untalented, those whose mentors were great warriors. The fact that Jurot could defeat Pious Sword and Kitool, with greater effort, could defeat Meek Dragon was something which would have rocked her to her core, if the half elf hadn’t already swallowed the sky with his shadow.
“Oh! That would be great!” Adam beamed brightly towards the Amira, though she did not fall for his smile, not when she knew what he was capable of. Yet the half elf continued to smile, and as his eyes fell to the side for a moment, he closed his eyes.
‘500 seems low…’
[You are fighting from a position of great power.]
‘If I fight without my axe would I earn more XP?’
[Yes.]
‘Hmm…’ Adam hadn’t realised things would have been that awkward. ‘Well, what about Jurot and the others? I mean, they ended up facing others with magical weapons and people who were stronger than them, so…’
[…]
Pam remained silent as the half elf seemed to withdraw into another place, her eyes trailing towards her husband once more, and as she wrapped a hand around the Iyrman, she could feel the way his arms expanded, and she refrained from rolling her eyes.
“Are you all here to watch the fights to gain experience?” Pious Sword asked, smiling innocently, though his smile faltered slightly as the half elf’s eyes were suddenly upon him with such a glare.
“Yes,” Jurot stated. “They are here to watch the fights so they may gain insights.”
The Pious Sword smiled, and as his eyes fell upon them all, he bowed his head. “I can see you two are quite close. Are you married?”
“Yes,” Jurot said, standing a little taller, a little prouder.
“Oh my, to marry a great hero, may I ask of your name, niece?”
“I am Pam.”
“Are you an Aldishman?”
“Yes. I’m from Red Oak.”
“Oh? Red Oak? If you are married now, and so young, did you meet when he stepped out to adventure?”
“That’s right,” Pam replied, flushing slightly at how they had been caught with such ease. “He would come into the bakery and buy some food now and again. I would hear his tales, of how he was able to face off against all kinds of powerful creatures.”
“Do you live within the Iyr now?”
“I do.”
“Is it difficult?”
“It’s… different.”
Pious Sword’s smiled grew wide, knowing, and he bowed his head. “Have you only recently stepped into the martial world?”
“I…” Pam considered her words. “My husband spent thousands of gold on a magical sword I am not able to wield, and has offered me the chance to become an Expert.”
Pious Sword’s eyes fell to the Iyrman, who stood even taller, even proud, and with him still eager to fight, the Pious Sword decided against making the joke, just in case. “Noor Illuminates.”
“Thank you,” Pam replied, letting out that kind of sigh.
Jurot’s ears turned red.
‘If you’re going to flirt in front of me, at least give me another niece or nephew,’ Adam thought, annoyed he wasn’t able to flirt with his wife in front of everyone here too.