Nathanaël wasn't exactly welcomed by the clan.The people looked at him as if he were some ancient enemy who had wandered in from afar. Suspicion flickered in their eyes. But what surprised him most was that they looked at Azraüs with even greater disdain.
The young man received such hostile stares that Nathanaël could feel their aura pressing against him.
It was the first time he had ever witnessed something like that.He suspected that the aura was involved in various situations, but that no one knew how to see or use it. He had already seen people like Jin, overflowing with an immense amount of aura, use it unconsciously — and the result was always carnage.
Here, though, it was different. It felt like a collective will to repel and crush. A desire manifesting in spiritual form, invisible to most. It was strange... deeply strange.
Even though the real question should have been why such hatred was aimed at Azraüs, Nathanaël still asked the one that burned on his tongue.
"Why don't they like you?"
Azraüs didn't seem to care at all. He kept walking as if nothing was wrong, shrugging his shoulders.
"I dunno. Don't look at them, they're just cowards."
Nathanaël could tell — the feeling was mutual.
Reno showed him around, pointing out a few places he thought were worth seeing. In the distance, there was a stable, and beyond that, wide fields stretching across a hundred square meters.
Nathanaël admired the view behind the village — a vast, dry expanse where the wind blew hard, lifting great waves of dust. The ground was uneven, scarred by ridges and drops. The sun-bleached soil shimmered, and mountains rose around the village. Sharp and rocky mountains like he had never seen before. They looked more like fangs than mountains.
"The climate doesn't seem very kind."
Reno gazed into the distance, as if remembering that this place was never meant for comfort.
"The Cadillacs often hang around above the plantations. It's annoying, but it also allows us to catch some to eat. Since they're rather big, there's enough to make a good meal."
Of course, Nathanaël didn't understand everything yet. So Reno switched to Garid.
"Flowers?"
"No. The crops are grosberries. They grow well here. There's a flower that manages to bloom in these parts, but it's rare. There's a little girl who inherited one from her father. If she wants to show it to you, she will."
"Her name?"
"Peace."
Nathanael opened his eyes wide. Such a sweet name could not be given in a nation like that. It surely meant a lot to Nozras. And especially to the girl.
"Her father?"
"Gone for ages."
He had expected that. Men were scarce in the village — there were some, but mostly women and children.They were likely fighting… or already dead from it.That was life here.
"I see."
"Don't be sad for him. That's the soul of Nozras. When you really think about it, it's normal."
Nathanaël recalled Azraüs's words.
"We live for this. Even if we don't accept it, we still take part in it."
Then he looked at Reno's wide grin.
"I guess… that's just Nozras."
"That's right. I'll show you where you'll stay. Come."
Reno didn't speak Garid very well — his accent was heavy, and three quarters of his words were wrong — but Nathanaël understood the gist.
They walked for a while, looking over other parts of the village.With every step, dust rose up to their mouths — though it had trouble reaching Reno's, considering his height.The villagers wore veils covering half their faces.With their dark, wary eyes, they gave off a kind of grim elegance that Nathanaël wasn't used to seeing.
"There's a tent free here. The village is new, the clan too, actually. We haven't had the time to build proper structures yet, so for now, tents will do."
"The clan is new?"
"Yeah. Barely ten years old."
"You can build plenty in ten years. You're just lazy."
"Lazy? I don't know that word, but we focus on weapon crafting and teaching the young ones. You've heard of us, right? It's constant battle here. If no one can protect themselves, we all fall. Some would do anything to make a name for themselves."
Reno's voice grew heavier, and his face hardened.
"Why attack villages?"
"You really know nothing, foreigner. Sit down...I'll explain."
Nathanaël sat on what looked like a bed and listened closely. Reno sat on a perfectly cut tree trunk — if Nathanaël didn't know about the Emperor, he'd have wondered who could craft something like that in this world.
"As you probably know, the throne of Nozras has been empty for a long time. No one's managed to claim it. At the capital — we call it the Arena — powerful clans and lone warriors kill each other endlessly for that seat. But no matter how hard they try, no one sits on it.The reason: individuality. Haven't you ever wondered why, after all this time, no group has truly formed to take the throne?"
Nathanaël had already thought about it. He'd been thinking about it even more since the day he saw that group attacking Azraüs in the forest.
"Warriors fight alone and die before they ever reach the throne. So, clans were created to prevent that. The strongest tried to gather other fighters to move forward together. But no one followed them. Then they found another way…"
Nathanaël already knew what that "solution" was.
"Use force."
A sly grin crossed Reno's face.
"You're a clever one, kid. They beat and slaughter the weak to bring them under their banner, using fear to move forward as a group. Still, some warriors can't draw enough attention, so…"
"They leave the capital to make a name for themselves."
"Exactly. You really are sharp, kid. Warriors leave the capital and build their name, their reputation. They spread fear across Nozras, roaming the land and fighting anything that moves. Once they become famous enough, people start following them — and together, they aim for the throne."
Nathanaël glanced outside the tent.
Azraüs was swinging his club wildly, his movements chaotic and unrestrained — yet Nathanaël could sense the incredible control hidden beneath.
"Is that the case for your son?"
Reno looked outside as well.
"No. That fool thinks he can take on the world alone. No one wants to follow him because he's an idiot."
Nathanaël understood exactly what he meant.
"I see. So that's how things stand."
"Yeah. Not very glorious, huh?"
"Why don't you seem like the other warriors you mentioned?"
Reno suddenly lowered his head toward the ground.
"That's another story, kid. Rest now. You can come eat at my place anytime."
He stood up calmly and left the tent in a heavy silence. It was as if the mountain of muscle was forcing himself not to sound harsh all of a sudden.
"You're not gonna ask what I'm doing here?"
Reno slightly turned his head toward Nathanaël to observe him with a cold look. A look reflecting that of a warrior who had endured many battles. A dark look filled with the intention to kill and a shadowy aura charging at him like a bull.
"Later, kid."
Then Reno left, carrying with him a sense of heavy secrets and leaving Nathanaël under immense pressure. But he wasn't the kind to tremble before anything.
"So, Nathy — what'd the old man tell you?"
Azraüs stepped inside as if nothing had happened.
"Plenty. Mostly about Nozras's current state."
"That's all? He's quiet, huh. Don't worry, he'll warm up to you. After that, he'll tell you a lot more."
"Your father once aimed for the throne, didn't he?"
"My father? Of course. They used to call him the Ogre of Nozras. A real beast."
Once again, Nathanaël didn't fully understand.
Azraüs sat down beside him, crossed his arms, and lay on the ground.
"You know, I've never had a travel companion before. It's nice having you around. You'll come with me to the throne, right?"
Nathanaël was caught off guard by the words. He looked at Azraüs staring through the gap in the tent, at the sky above. That same feeling returned — the sense of a young man walking alone, driven by his ideals.
"Why not?"
The meal was, however, a disaster at the Gazor's.
"Pass me the salt, old man!"
Azraüs waved his arm like he swung his club, sending chunks of food flying from his full mouth with every word.
"Whaaat? You dare talk to me like that in front of a guest?!"
His father was no better. Every time he moved, gusts of wind swept across the table.
"I've always called you old man! What's the problem now?!"
"Your mother may have let that slide, but I won't!!"
"Oh yeah? And what are you gonna do about it? I'm pretty sure I'm stronger than you now."
"Wanna bet?"
"Okay."
Apparently, two people could make as much noise as an entire village. Nathanaël could barely eat without getting hit by accident...
"You punch like a wimp."
"I haven't even started yet."
…Or maybe it really was on purpose.
He looked down at his plate, hoping to salvage something and escape, but at that very moment, Azraüs planted his foot on it and launched himself toward his father on the other side of the tent. The food was crushed flat like a rag under that massive footprint. Nathanaël was beyond done.
"Just wait till I catch you!"
He couldn't believe what he was seeing. Never, ever, had he witnessed such a dinner. He decided to slip out, dodging the two idiots still brawling inside.
The chief's "house" was really just a massive tent, slightly elevated on wooden beams.
Nathanaël sat on the edge and gazed at the stars scattered across the clear night sky.
"Hey, Nathy! You coming? We're having dessert!"
Azraüs's voice rumbled from inside, still fighting his father.
"No thanks. I can't eat in there."
Nathanaël thought about going home, but he also thought that it would be betraying his hosts' trust. In any case, he had to be at least minimally polite, even if they were not.
"You like watching the stars, young man?"
This time, Reno stepped out of the tent. His massive body didn't have a single scratch, which was terrifying given the beating they'd just traded.
Nathanaël stared at him for a moment before turning his gaze back to the sky.
"Not really. I just think it looks beautiful tonight."
"It's true — sometimes the sky shows us wonders."
Reno looked up as well. His eyes softened, lost in the vastness above, but that faint smile never left his face.
"In Nozras, they say the stars will one day bring misfortune — that the sky will fall on our heads."
Nathanaël raised his eyebrows at the grim superstition of a people who already lived in endless bloodshed.
"That's a sad saying."
"Isn't it? I don't know where it comes from, but the warriors of this land couldn't care less. At least, not here in Guardua."
"Guardua?"
"You really don't know where you are, kid. Guardua's named after one of the five warriors who once sat on the throne after Nozras. A real monster of a man. Shame I never met him."
"Why didn't he stay on the throne?"
"No one really knows. What happens in the capital usually stays there. Only the strong live there — and they keep their secrets. Some say he was overthrown after a week. Others claim he was already weakened when he ascended, and his rivals refused to accept his victory. In the end, the southeast took his name, since he came from the region of Zour, not far from here."
"I see. So even sittingon the throne doesn't mean you get to keep it."
Azraüs came out of the tent, still chewing.
"Hey, can you teach him the language already? Once he learns, we'll head to the capital and beat everyone up."
Reno looked surprised by his son's words, and Nathanaël caught it immediately.
"I'll start tomorrow. We'll see how good he gets after a week. He seems smart so it shouldn't take too long."
Azraüs swallowed the last of a massive cadillac leg and looked up at the night.
"Alright then, I'm going to bed. Night, Nathy."
"Good night."
Azraüs scratched his stomach and jumped off the platform.
Nathanaël watched him leave in silence before turning to Reno.
"I think I'll get some sleep too."
"You're lucky, kid."
"Huh?"
Reno paused, folding his arms. His eyes softened with a faint melancholy, the tension around him fading like morning mist.
"Azraüs has never traveled with anyone before. People avoid him like the plague, and he hates company. The only ones he tolerates are the strong. Probably got that from his mother."
Nathanaël watched Azraüs walk toward his tent with a new kind of understanding. He hadn't known him that well before… but now, he knew a little more.
"Get lost, bird!"
And his personality, too.