"I'm the one who came to the Levados plains not long ago—because of what happened between you and Koolt. That's all I'll say for now. But now that you know, don't even think of running, you little Droko runt."
"I'm not running, fat Hazuul!"
"Stop calling me fat!"
Hazuul roared and swung his axe toward Nia, embedding it into a wooden pillar with a dull thud that echoed through the surroundings.
"You little punk! How dare you!"
Hazuul turned his head, scanning for Nia, who had vanished into the darkness. With a furious shout, he spun toward the rustling bushes.
"Lord Hazuul! Not there! Right beside you! Beside you!"
"What?"
"Keh heh heh. Too slow, fat Hazuul."
"Ugh!"
Nia's voice came from below Hazuul's waist. As Hazuul looked down, their eyes met.
The buckler on Nia's hand struck Hazuul's thick, fleshy belly. Hazuul's legs lifted off the ground, and waves of flesh rippled from his stomach to his jowls and cheeks.
"Lord Hazuul! Are you alright?"
Two men descended from the trees to check on Hazuul, who had been sent flying with a short scream and crashed heavily into a thick tree.
"Ugh... Not bad, little Droko."
Hazuul shrugged off his subordinates' attempts to help him up, waving his arms and standing on his own. He rubbed his aching side.
"Leave this to us!"
Three more men emerged from the darkness beyond the campfire's light and addressed Hazuul.
"I told you to stay out of this! I just got careless and took one hit!"
Hazuul bellowed in rage, swinging his double-bladed axe through the air to push his subordinates back.
"You're fast, Droko!"
Though his side throbbed from Nia's attack, Hazuul refused to show any sign of pain in front of his men. He shouted at Nia.
"Come on... Nia Calagon. A weak attack like that won't bring down this Hazuul!"
Before Hazuul could finish, Nia's form blurred and reappeared right in front of him.
"Huh?"
Hazuul blinked rapidly, trying to comprehend Nia's swift movement, his mouth agape in confusion.
"I know."
Thwack
Nia leaped up and struck Hazuul's head with the buckler once more.
The force, surprising for Nia's small stature, made Hazuul stagger.
His vision flashed, but the blow wasn't enough to knock him out. Hazuul's eyes glared at Nia.
But Nia's figure blurred again and vanished. Hazuul rolled his eyes frantically, trying to track the movement.
"Argh!"
A sharp pain shot through his side, and Hazuul let out a pained groan. He saw the shape of a half-spear, wrapped in leather, embedded in his side. Nia's hand, gripping the spear, kept moving.
Thud
A dull sound rang out.
"Lord Hazuul!"
"Ughhh..."
Hazuul's labored breathing was barely audible.
"Lord Hazuul has been defeated! Kill the bastard!"
Staggering, Hazuul lost control of his body, his vision blurring. His subordinates' voices grew faint in his ears. With bloodshot eyes rolling back, the massive Hazuul collapsed like a tree felled by a lumberjack's axe, unconscious on the ground.
The sound of weapons being drawn from sheaths followed, and five men charged at Nia with their swords. One by one, they fell with short groans. The last man, clinging to his fading consciousness, spat out a warning.
"Once you're targeted by the Carriage Dogs... our brothers... will hunt you until you're dead."
"I don't care."
Side Story: Dogs Chasing the Dragon - End
"Mmhehehehe... Kekekeke... Kahahahaha!"
From the black shadow beneath the high wall, uncontrollable laughter burst forth. It was a laugh that transcended mere joy.
Like a groan escaping against one's will under torture, but in this case, it was the opposite—Diverte, with his beloved sword, was overcome with laughter born from supreme delight, beyond his control.
"My love, Rheabella. The wind is cold today, isn't it? Do you miss warm blood? I do... I do... But not today."
Diverte rubbed his cheek against the scabbard containing Rheabella and carefully, slowly wrapped his fingers around it, whispering as if to a lover.
"Hee hee... Hee... Hihihihi... Today... Today... I just need to use a little, just a tiny bit of poison on Lord Ard's next opponent. Can't kill them, so just a tiny bit..."
Diverte covered his mouth with his palm to stifle the laughter trying to escape.
"Rheabella, my love. Show me the way. Show me that in our dreams, darkness is no obstacle."
A faint light emanated from the gem adorning Diverte's sword, tracing a dim path through the garden, where thick clouds obscured even the moonlight, leading to a distant mansion.
"It looks like rain... Like the day we first met... I can't let the cold rain touch you, Rheabella, so I'll finish this quickly."
*****
Long ago, Diverte was a sailor on a trading ship that sailed between the southern ports of the desert kingdom of Aroon—Harissa, Ixtarn, and the
Rondela Island.
Perched on the mast's crow's nest, he spent his time gazing at the undulating waves, savoring the scent of the southern sea.
From Ixtarn, Aroon's nobles would send servants to wait at the harbor daily to buy spices and silk.
From Harissa, the ship carried sweet dates and clear glass ingots. The ship was called the Viiosa.
Diverte was like the other sailors on the Viiosa—moderately lazy, moderately diligent.
He disliked carrying heavy crates of glass ingots and preferred napping in the crow's nest, away from the bosun's eyes, feeling the sea breeze.
The days passed uneventfully. He ate hard bread soaked in watered-down liquor, sang sea shanties while pulling ropes to unfurl the sails, and slept on the rocking ship under the stars.
Then one day, the Viiosa, heading to the southernmost port of the Reru lands on Rondela Island, never returned to Harissa.
Months passed, and rumors spread that the ship had been swallowed by storms and high waves on the rough seas.
Sailors fear dying not on land but sinking into the endless depths of the sea. Unfortunately, that fate befell the crew of the Viiosa, as word reached other sailors, merchants, dockworkers, lovers, and families connected to them.
As time passed and the voices cursing the merciless sea quieted, Diverte appeared at the Harissa harbor.
His hair was stiff and unkempt, his clothes tattered. His unfocused eyes wandered aimlessly. He dragged his feet weakly across the ground. The one who recognized him was a warehouse keeper named Amir.
Seeing a face he thought he'd never see again, Amir quickly approached Diverte.
Amir didn't ask what had happened to the others on the Viiosa. The despair radiating from Diverte's expression and body told him enough.
Thus, Diverte trudged slowly to a dark alley in the harbor, sat down, and stared at the old, stained mud walls, passing the time.
Occasionally, Amir would visit and ask about the sword Diverte clutched in his arms, but Diverte would only turn his head slowly, smile faintly with lifeless eyes, and remain silent.
Days later, in a rundown warehouse at Harissa harbor, filled with old crates and coils of timeworn ropes, Diverte sat in a corner.
In a spot where sunlight streamed through a crack in the wall, he sat with his emaciated arms embracing the scabbard, eyes closed. Amir watched him from a small wooden chair near the entrance.
Diverte's blue eyes, still lost and wandering, were filled with an emotion that could be sorrow or fear. With eyes that seemed ready to shed large tears at any moment, he silently gazed at the dusty, stacked wooden crates.
Still, Amir didn't ask about the sea, about what had happened to the Viiosa or to Diverte. Time continued to pass.
The old warehouse was so quiet that only Diverte's shallow breathing could be heard.
Occasionally, the creak of Amir's chair as he shifted broke the silence, but the warehouse, tucked away in a remote corner of the harbor, was devoid of visitors or passersby, filled only with a timeless stillness.
"Days passed in silence. Amir, pitying Diverte's increasingly gaunt figure, would sometimes watch him and let out a deep sigh. Yet an inexplicable anxiety—like walking a tightrope—kept him by Diverte's side."
Then, one day, thick raindrops fell on Harissa harbor, where rain was rare. Dark, heavy clouds covered the sky.
In front of the old warehouse door, raindrops splashed into puddles on the ground. Amir sat on his chair, listening to the sound, his shadow, his shadow cast under a small oil lamp hanging above the door.
Shaaaa—the sound of intensifying rain. The heavy downpour and chill made Amir hunch his shoulders and neck.
Then, in the distance, he saw a group of figures cloaked in thick capes.
The shadowy group approached closer to where Amir sat.
Raindrops hitting the ground. Running footsteps, the sound of a falling chair, Amir's blood mixing with the rainwater in the puddles.
Amir's faint voice and screams swallowed by the rain, the laughter of the dark figures, and then the sound of the warehouse door opening.
The sound of water droplets falling from rain-soaked coats filled the quiet warehouse.