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Chapter 186: Zenom Saintred (2)
🕑 Added 2025-05-12 16:44:04 +0000 UTCWorld: MSS - Loading...
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It was snowing.
Fat droplets of snow fell with all the weight of a storm, covering the ground. Clouds blotted out the sun, casting an eerie orange hue that left long shadows despite it being the middle of the day. Still, multiple footprints left deep grooves in the Church courtyard, keeping the snow from piling up more than an inch deep at a time. The sound of wooden swords being tested against one another rang through the air, occasionally broken by the grunt of pain.
Zeto swung his sword in a sideways swipe, instantly lifting his sword and taking Zeph’s counterattack on his shieldarm. Scraping his shield against the thrust, he lunged forward with a stab that should have struck Zeph’s heart, covered by a leather jerkin.
The smaller boy –now fourteen summers old– twisted with all the feline reflexes of a cat and dodged the thrust by a hair’s breadth. The stab caught the leather jerking by the corner and bounced off, both from the momentum of Zeph’s own spin and Zeto’s instant hesitation. Once Zeph finished swinging, his broadsword stopped an inch short from Zeto’s neck.
The two boy’s heaved with exertion.
“One.” Zeph said smugly.
Zeto glared at him, more annoyed than angry. “If it was real steel, it would have pierced your armor.”
“If we were dueling with real steel, I would’ve been wearing steel armor.” Zeph countered.
Letting out a frustrated sigh, Zeto glanced at Maestro Jihal. He was busy helping another pair of boys, Zane and Zee. “You can’t move like that in steel armor.”
Zeph lowered his sword, helping Zeto up to his feet. The two boys walked over to one of the stone benches, clearing away the snow. “Have you heard, Zeto? About the magical armors that adventurers wear? Or dwarven made armor, light as snow even makes you quick as a fox, but it can turn aside a full-grown man’s sword strike?”
Zeto didn’t like that Zeph changed the topic. But he didn’t say anything, choosing to nod to the younger boy’s musings. “Yes, I’ve heard.”
“They say that some adventurers are stronger than Knights. Because of those gears. That it’s what allows the western beastman and northern orc hordes to fight on equal footing with the Turinan Knights.”
Zeto didn’t reply, choosing to take off the leather jerkin. It was drenched in sweat and the cold air threatened his soaked tunic with frostbite. But for the moment, the boy reveled in the frigid blast of air that buffeted him from all side. “I’ve heard tales that they have arts of their own. Similar to what the goddess of Light, Flame and Shield have granted us. Powers of their own from their own heretical gods that allowed them to survive so far.”
Zeph shook his head, all doglike and threw droplets of water spraying everywhere. Once he finished, he was looking at the sky. The boy ate opened his mouth, letting some of the snow fall in.
Zeto quickly looked to see if anyone else saw, but Zane was too absorbed in Maestro’s teachings.
Ever since about a year ago, Zeph had hit a growth spurt. He was by no means the largest boy, but he wasn’t the small boy that was used to being bullied by Zane and his cronies either.
It wasn’t just that. There was an invisible strength about the boy now, spurred on by his budding talent as a swordsman. Whereas most boys were still struggling to master the basics –the sword and shield– as Maestro Jihal insisted, Zeph was the only one allowed to train with a weapon of his own choosing. Usually, it was only once Knight training began that a boy was allowed to choose their personal weapon. A mace, a flail, whip, anything.
Naturally, Zeph chose the broadsword.
The first emperor of Turina had used a two-handed sword too.
“No more of that adventurer talk, Zeph.” Zeto worried, but Maestro was still busy. “You know Maestro Jihal will have your hide if you hears you talking about that again.”
Zeph continued, unpestered. “I hear adventurers are free. Unbound by nationality or what village you’re born in. They’re free to go where they please and live where they please, as long as they’re strong enough.”
“Zeph.” Zeto’s tone carried a warning unspoken.
“That you form parties with people whose hearts align with yours. Even if they’re a beast–”
“Zeph.” Zeto hissed with all the seriousness he could muster.
Zeph shut up, but his eyes were still fixed on the sky.
Zeto hated it when Zeph got like this. Ever since the boy started being allowed to go into town to run errands, he started talking nonsense. About adventuring and wondering what it was like outside of Turina. What had gotten into him?
Once they became Holy Knights, they could see as much of the world as they could while helping people, doing good works for the church. Defending the weak and helping the downtrodden, that was what Holy Knights did. It baffled Zeto on why Zeph would want to do anything but become a Holy Knight for the Church.
“It’s snowing so much.” Zeph said at last.
“...Yes.” Zeto agreed, for no reason other than to agree on something that Zeph said. “It’s supposed to snow more.”
The two boys sat, watching the other boys spar.
“Help! Help!”
Immediately, everyone stopped what they were doing, instantly at attention to every detail.
The church courtyard was covered with waist-high metal fences which surrounded the entire property line. Encircling the Church, the Dorms and the Cafeteria, they met at a singular point where two stone pillars stood upright –creating a gateless entry. It was through this gateless entry between the imposing pillars that the villager stumbled in.
Zeto recognized the man from his few visits to the village for supplies. He was balding with a large gut, the village brewer if he wasn’t mistaken. The man was soaked from head to toe with sweat, a furboot haphazardly strapped to his ankles with hemp rope. He wheezed as Maestro Jihal approached. Steam wafted from the man’s back, rising languidly through the air.
“Man, what is up with you?” Jihal’s voice was a serene calm, cutting through the tension that the man brought with him.
“ –sters! Monsters!” The man gasped out, clutching at Jihal, practically falling into the man’s arms. His eyes were fever-red, yelling out one more time, “Monsters!”
The tension immediately resurfaced.
Zeto felt every single muscle in his body go taut like someone just pulled on his spine.
It could only mean one thing.
A Monster Wave.
Zeto had learned about this. Sometimes, very rarely, an extremely strong monster would emerge. Perhaps a raid that failed which wounded a monster just enough to have it relocate, causing disruptions in the local ecosystem of monsters. Or the birth of a powerful monster that displaced all the others. Regardless of the reason, Monster Wave meant one thing to a small village like this.
Death.
Maestro Jihal didn’t bother asking for details. He dragged the man over to the stone bench where Zeto and Zeph were sitting. The two boys moved aside. Kneeling in front of the man, Jihal barked his orders. “Zee, bring water and wake the priest.”
“What about me, Maestro Jihal?” Zeto asked.
“You and Zeph have the best legs. You listen and I’ll give you your orders.”
Zeto felt a nervous pulse of jitteriness hit him from the feet to his head, traveling up and down his back. He swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded.
Maestro Jihal turned back to the villager, “Tell me exactly what happened.”
“T-The Connell and h-his son. The Woodc-c-cutters. Only the s-son came back. Father s-s-stayed back to hold back monsters.”
Zeto couldn’t tell whether the man was shivering from the cold, exertion of running up the hill or shock.
“Connell’s son. He saw something?”
The man nodded to the Maestro. “Y-yes.” He closed his eyes. “M-monster wave.”
“...He can be trusted?”
Something hard entered the man’s eyes. “Yes. B-best eyes in the village.”
“The villagers? They’ve been notified?”
He nodded again. “Ran through the village, screaming.” The man closed his eyes. “They’re all packing now. B-but not enough time. We need help, Sire.”
Just as he finished, the crunch of footsteps on snow made them turn around. The Priest came rushing out, holding his robes above his knees. His nose was red, from both alcohol and the cold.
“What’s going on here?” The priest demanded.
“A monster wave. We need to send help to the nearest city.” Maestro Jihal said calmly, “First, we need to send down some people to help the villages with their evacuation. No doubt, they’re trying to stuff everything they can onto their carts with no regard for time.”
“I can do that.” Zeph volunteered.
“I as well, Maestro.” Zeto said not a moment later.
“Take Zane with you and some of the other boys.” Maestro Jihal stood up, “Zee,” The lanky one-eyed boy straightened, “Take the horse around the back and ride as fast as you can to Viscount Ludd. Tell him that a monster wave is coming. You’re the best rider, Zee. It’s more important that you get there at all, rather than getting there fast. In this snow…”
Then remembering something, Maestro Jihal twisted the dimension ring on his hand. He brought out over a dozen swords. Real ones, well oiled and sharp. Sharp enough to cut.
Zeto and Zeph shared a look.
He handed them off to each of the boys.
“Light be with you.”
“Yes, sir.” Zee didn’t even look at the other boys, running towards the stables –more of a shack– around the back.
Zeto, Zeph and Zane sprinted down the hillside, sword in hand. The combination of imminent danger, a danger they’d never faced before and only heard tales about, and the feel of real live cold steal in their hands fueled them like never before. Zeto felt like the wind, as his speed picked up more and more –the wind cutting into the soft skin on his cheeks.
To Zeto’s surprise, Zeph kept up with him easily. The boy didn’t even look winded, his eyes focused and determined.
It took less than a minute for the two to outpace Zane, leaving the boy behind covered in the snowstorm.
Within ten minutes, the two were at the village.
Zeto breathed a sigh of relief.
“Zeto, look.” Zeph pointed in the distance.
Zeto struggled, straining his eyes and trying to look at what Zeph was pointing to. But he only saw snow, pure innocent white as far as the farmlands stretched and as far as his eyes could see.
“Over the hill, over there.” Zeph muttered. “There.”
Zeto saw it then.
Zeto had never seen a monster before. This was his first encounter with a monster.
Small amorphous blobs of white, green and orange. They didn’t crawl as much as roll down the hill at breakneck speed, creating small snow dusts that billowed out behind them like a cape. There were so many of them rolling down the hill and Zeto immediately sucked in a breath, trying to count how many there were.
“At least it’s slimes.” Zeph commented.
The two worked quickly, descending to the base of the hill and finding the villagers already packed and lading their belongings onto wagons. Wagons that were hitched to whatever farm animal were ready on hand, donkeys, cows and even horses for the mildly wealthy. Zeph and Zeto helped the elderly and children first, loading onto wagons.
There were cries of confusion mixed with hopelessness. There was no adventurer out here in the remote frontiers of Turina. They’d have to rely on the local noble, Viscount Ludd to come with his contingent of knights.
“Zeph! Zeto!” One villager asked, “What did your Maestro say?”
“He’s already sent a message to Viscount Ludd,” Zeto lifted a child onto a wagon, “But we still have to evacuate.”
“Where?!” Another woman demanded.
Zeto bit his lip, not sure.
“It’ll be fine.” The man, obviously her husband, put a hand on her shoulder. “They’re boys, they are.”
“Zeto,” Zeph walked up to his friend, finding a momentary break in the ensuing mass panic. “There’s something weird.”
Zane had arrived and the burly boy was already helping the last dregs of the now refugees, slapping a few of the animals and sending them towards the Church. Maestro Jihal would take care of the rest.
“What? We need to go now, Zeph.” Zeto looked at the distance. Those monsters were close, some of them having already reached the boundaries. He turned, seeing the last wagon leave.
“...Where are the servants?”
“The what?”
“The servants!” Zeph rounded on the older boy, his eyes holding anger and desperation in equal droves.
“What are you talking about, Zeph?”
Zeph’s hand grabbed onto Zeto’s arm like a vice. His cheeks were colored crimson and his voice rose to a fever pitch. “The servants, the beastman and the orcs, Zeto. The farmhands.”
“Let go!” The sudden touch sent a sliver of panic sliding into Zeto, causing him to jerk away from the grip. He was already wired with tension, fear beginning to taint the corners of his mind –anything that could seem as a restriction to his movements, both mental and physical, were unwanted.
“The Light be damned!” Zeph cursed. “Those villagers just left them behind! Look!”
At the boundaries of the town, Zeto saw what Zeph was talking about.
A few droves of beastman and orcs were running on foot. No shoes either, just barefoot. There were perhaps two dozen of them. To Zeto’s horror, he saw more than a few of the orcs and beastman carrying babies.
Both human and demi-human.
“I have to go save them.”
This time, it was Zeto would reached out and held onto Zeph.
“What are you doing?” Zeto felt anger like never before well up from the recesses of his heart, all the months of frustration from Zeph’s lofty dreams and strange ideas focusing into a singular point that converged upon today. “This is proper protocol, the servants were left behind on purpose. They’re there to buy time for the villagers, we have to go now!”
Zeph hesitated and looked over his shoulder, watching. Zeto did the same, releasing his friend.
A few of the slimes had already reached the servants, dogging their heels. Zeto watched as one orc turned around, pitchfork in hand. He cried out and jumped on the slime, piercing the creature. It shuddered, a strange vibration going through the whole thing and for a second, Zeto thought it was dead.
The creature then flattened itself against the earth and plunged itself further up to the pitchfork, riding the implement into the man’s face. The orc man screamed. Zeto watched, horrified, as his flesh began to melt –eyeball floating up into the slime’s body and bits of tongue bubbling with acid rending.
More of the slimes were arriving. A pack of locust-like creatures that would dissolve, melt and devour. Dozens, upon dozens upon hundreds of them.
Zeto turned to see his friend.
Zeph was gone.
He was running.
Comments
Draddock
I concur... I'm mostly speed reading through this, and don't really care... I care about Lock!
Cameron C
I’m enjoying the story but unsure how I feel about flashback chapters in general. Also, all the Z names to track is a bit difficult for me. I know that’s a lame thing to admit, but thought I’d comment at least. I enjoy the really powerful voice you have in our main protagonist - and this being a conversation would have been fun for me. But maybe I’m the only one there. *shrug*
Mordock 24
I’m thinking Zenom is Zeto, and Lock might remind him of his buddy Zeph
