But Sashalia knew she couldn’t let herself die just yet. Not until she found a way to repay the man who had given her hope when all seemed lost. She doubted Gaius even realized what he’d done for her. That clumsy smile, those huge hands—just the thought of them filled her with hope.
All these years, Sashalia had longed for the chance to not only repay him, but to become the kind of person who could stand beside him as an equal. Maybe, just maybe, then she would be able to...
“I chased him all the way here, but in the end I only ended up dragging him down...” Sashalia mumbled to herself, her shoulders hunched and trembling. She curled up as best she could by bringing her working right knee up to her chest, pressing her face against it to stifle her racking sobs.
＊
At the same time, in a different part of the village, Darke had just finished interrogating the two adventurers Gaius had captured. She sat just outside the home where they were being kept imprisoned, thinking over the information she’d gotten out of them. Something just didn’t sit right with her. They’d contradicted each other a few times, but after a couple rounds of thorough individual interrogation, they’d eventually begun to tell her a coherent story that made sense.
Still, she found it difficult to shake her doubt. Perhaps she was overthinking it all. There was no guarantee that the other adventurers were mounting a counterattack. But, in any case, Darke knew she had to tell Gaius and the others. She stood and made her way to Fog’s house to deliver the news:
The Ryburgh Adventurers’ Guild had roughly four hundred active members. Should Wyatt choose to send out a guild order, it was estimated that he could mobilize as many as three hundred adventurers.
＊
A few days after the “expedition,” the band of adventurers returned to Ryburgh, completely exhausted. Normally, most of them would rush to the guild to collect their reward, which they would then proceed to burn through in hedonistic pursuits. This time, though, all any of them wanted to do was collapse into their beds.
Wyatt was the only one that did not appear to be suffering from the journey. His tenacity in both mind and spirit never failed to amaze the guild members.
Upon returning to the guild headquarters, Wyatt had Cyril apprehended and sent to the hold where they kept prisoners. He would deal with Cyril later for hiding what he’d known about the kobold village. After that, he quickly took care of doling out rewards to the expedition’s participants and then withdrew to his office.
Wyatt began unfastening his armor with one hand as he used the other to remove the sword that hung at his waist and set it down on his desk. He sank into his chair, letting out a heavy sigh and deep frown he’d been holding in the entire way home.
He threw a nasty glare over at his bookshelf. When he spotted the book he’d been looking for, resting in its special spot on the shelf, he growled. He stood up and stalked over to it, yanking the book out.
“Iron Knight Iwanoshin.” Wyatt had carried this book with him for most of his life. The sight of the cover made so many memories come rushing back. All of them made him sick now.
“Graaaahhh!” With a roar, Wyatt grabbed the book by both covers and pulled it apart down the spine. Again and again, he ripped out fistfuls of pages and tore them to pieces, then picked up the pieces and shredded those as well. Panting and shouting, he stomped the scraps of paper, then dropped to his hands and knees, pounding the scraps on the floor with his fists.
His eyes were bloodshot and his breath came in growling, ragged pants. Wyatt suspected the guild members below could hear him, but he didn’t care. He needed to vent his rage. No, he needed to act like he was venting. If he didn’t go through the motions, he suspected that terrible, burning emotion would reignite in his heart and threaten to burn him up once again.
“Back then... Back then...!”
When Wyatt and Gaius had been interrupted during their duel, Gaius had run away to aid the village and Wyatt had attempted to follow him. But, between the need to regroup his men and tend to his wounded, Wyatt had been forced to put a stop to his pursuit before long.
“If there weren’t so many damned nuisances, I’d have...”
...Assuredly lost that fight. Not even Wyatt could deny it. He’d felt it as soon as they had crossed swords. But despite that—or perhaps because of it—Wyatt’s fury was still agonizing.
Deep breaths. Breathe in...and breathe out. Then take another deep breath. Wyatt forced himself to calm down.
“All right... That’s enough of that, Wyatt.” He punched himself in the shoulder again and again, willing his anger to die down until he was as calm as he’d pretended to be in front of the others.
Wyatt reminded himself of his original goal: sparking an armed conflict between the two factions of House Zigan. He’d lost twenty of his soldiers that should have gone toward furthering that cause.
He’d been soundly defeated by Gaius. His side had suffered much heavier casualties against an enemy that should have posed no problem. Worse, once word of all this reached Keighley, it was sure to impact her opinion of him.
This was a failure. A massive failure.
Even so, it was only a single failure. He still had another four hundred people at his disposal—twenty deaths was nothing in the long run. Losing to a backwards, primitive pack of monsters was sure to earn him some scorn and contempt—but that was nothing. It did not mean Wyatt was ruined.
It would take more than this to undo everything Wyatt had worked so hard to build. If he simply forgot all about Gaius Beldarus—if he could prevent himself from seeking revenge—then he could recover from this. He could move forward.
The last deep breath he’d forced himself to take now burst from his lips. He could feel the burning in his chest ebb away, little by little.