Chapter 42: The Fools of White Winter

Lanxer drained the bowl of flavored stock to wash away the lingering acidic taste of the vitality-restoring potion in his mouth. His stomach groaned as though there was a demon growing inside, an old and familiar enemy. The royal physician told Lanxer to cut down on the potions. The old woman diagnosed Lanxer’s chronic stomach pain to be born from the number of potions that he consumed on the daily basis. She said that he needed to stop drinking those health potions, otherwise, there would be no cure.

Lanxer always gave her the “I will,” as his reply but he never did.

Those red acidic solutions were necessary evils. Lanxer needed them. If he could stop consuming them as a substitute for his daily meal, he would. However, he can’t and that’s a fact.

“Prince, won’t you have some oatmeal? I make it lukewarm and diluted.” Kahar, the head of Lanxer’s personal servants suggested as he passed the empty bowl to a maid standing nearby.

“No,” Lanxer promptly shook his head, checking the hourglass on the table with a quick glimpse. He pretended not to notice the mouthwatering fragrance of Kahar’s special oatmeal. It had a special fragrance, a warm smell of a distant southern land that he loved, untouched by frigidity of snow and ice. It was his favorite. Yet, Lanxer knew that he would throw up to death if he tried to swallow that bowl of oatmeal down his stomach.

The excessive usage of potion had an effect on his stomach, an effect that cannot be reverted by spells or any potion. Never again, Lanxer would experience the joy of chewing on things, the thing that was tough and a challenge for his jaws or hard or crispy, anything solid. If he were to try, forcing himself on them, he would have an intense bowel pain that would last for days. He would throw up until he was but a wrinkled husk. It happened to Lanxer and all of his secretaries and advisors, and any rich fool who consume potions as a substitute for food over a long period.

Knowing that Kahar has prepared the food as watery as possible for Lanxer to consume.

“Prince, you have only recovered recently. You cannot go back to those potions again,” Kahar admonished, “What you need is a proper meal.” He has kept repeating this same line for the last twenty years, with less hope each year. His weatherworn grey hair was the years he spent serving Lanxer.

“I know,” Lanxer did not argue. He had no wish to punish his sickly pale body more than he has already done. Yet, he had no idea how he could do it otherwise. He quietly nodded his head, signaling the maids in waiting to fix him his coat. They promptly put the thick white of Lanxer’s royal coat on his body. The royal insignia, three swords and an impaled gold dragon fluttering on the back of the coat swiftly passed through Lanxer’s peripheral vision. He has never liked that insignia. It’s ugly and ominous.

The moron that drew that insignia and the moron that adopted that insignia as their family crest should die, oh wait, they did.

Lanxer could not understand why the people who called themselves children of the dragon would use an impaled dragon as their family crest. They were fools, and yet, their blood runs thick in Lanxer’s veins. He, too, was just as much of a fool as they were. Lanxer thought that he has become the man his teacher was, cranky and sarcastic, always.

You, too, in the end, are just another fool just like your entire family. That foolishness runs deep in your blood.

That was the final words of Lanxer’s late teacher when he quitted his job as the court educator.

Lanxer missed him. He missed being called “a fool” by that old man. He missed that crisp slapping sound during classes. The old man would slap a scroll on the back of the head of the princes and princess if they were distracted or being lazy in their class. He would talk down to the queen and the king’s concubines if they dared to criticize his teaching method. He would criticize every decision that the Great Temple has ever made.

“Your Majesty, by Sinintee’s cock, you are a fucking moron.”

“Of course, I’m smarter than you, Your Majesty. That’s reality. You have to accept it.”

That cranky old man was the only person outside of the royal family of White Winter who can say something like those, repeatedly, in the king’s court without getting himself and his entire family publicly executed.

That old man was a strange person. In the king’s court where every man relied on lies and excuses to keep their head intact, he was the only man who dared to voice his true thoughts without fearing the retributions. He was a brutally honest man as well as being brutally arrogant. He was not afraid of upsetting anyone even if that person was the king.

That old man was a man of many talents, a philosopher, a spellcaster, an alchemist, a mathematician, a civil engineer, a Master of War and many more. Without that old man, Lanxer’s father would have never been the king of White Winter. He was the one who told Lanxer’s father to separate Lanxer’s education from the rest of his siblings, fearing that the foolishness of his siblings would have infected Lanxer.

However, in the end, there is no cure for foolishness, not even the best kind of education can do that. That foolishness, it ran deep within Lanxer’s veins.

As people age, they would grow wiser, not Lanxer, not the fools of his family. Even his great ancestor, the Dragonslayer, the great Craxus himself was but a fool, making the barren and cold land of Kingscrown as the capital city of his empire, not some rich and fertile southern land.

Lanxer sighed, hinting a faint smile on his lips, “Your prophecy has come true, teacher”. Every time, the word “fool” was mentioned, Lanxer would be reminded of the old man.

The familiar roughness of coat’s interior brushed Lanxer’s neck, a familiar feeling. His mother has sewed this coat from the hide of the biggest fur seal to keep him warm throughout his first campaign. He was thirteen at that time, yet so much smarter and stronger than he’s now.

For decades, he has worn it. He has never gone to any campaign without this coat. Though, the coat has become significantly tighter and heavier over the years, probably heavier than his own body, wearing it has become increasingly difficult.

His mother has sewed him many new coats over the years. For every campaign that he went to, she would make a different coat for him. There was the one she made from the mane of a snow lion, and the two from the feathers of swans and eagles. There was also the one she made from the priced hide of mash unicorn. She would nag him to do away with the fur seal coat for it was old and weathered, unfitted for a royal prince of his status.

However, Lanxer would always tell her that he preferred this fur seal coat. It was his lucky charm. He believed that it has kept him alive.

Along with the fur seal coat, the maids girded Lanxer’s personal weapon around his waist. A thin sword, a rapier, slim and lanky just like Lanxer’s body, fragile, looked like it would break into pieces if it met with mails and other weapons. It’s an unusual weapon, a strange sight in the Northern Realm. It’s different from the thick and long traditional swords of the Northern men, or the single edge blades favored by the elves and the dwarves. However, Lanxer knew it from the scrolls and from his teachers, this weapon was common in the elves’ continent, extremely popular with the high elf’s nobility and even among the elves. It was not a weapon designed for war and combat. It was a weapon created to settle disputes.

The maids lifted the hem of the tent’s entrance, opening the door for Lanxer. A bitter river wind that carried a bit of white mist rushed inside the royal tent and Lanxer founded himself shivered. The lit braziers inside his tent flickered, sizzled and cracked when met the white mist.

Lanxer has layered his willowed body in the thick of exotic silk garments and his heavy fur seal coat until no sunlight could reach his skin, yet, he still felt the autumn river winds of White Winter with his bones and marrows.

He envied Kahar and the maids for being able to dress so lightly without feeling the cold. Once, he was like that, young and invincible, swimming in the mid of a freezing winter without a care in the world. He missed those days.

I hope it’s warmer after we cross the border.

Lanxer left his royal tent and the comfort of the fire, walking. Lanxer wished to experience the warm snow of Zard with his body. He has yet to see it. He has only known and loved the spring of Zard.

Fifteen years ago, he has been to Zard as a representative of the royal family. Zard was in the green of spring and life.

He was mesmerized by the ocean of green grasses that stretch to the horizon, beautiful pastures with blooming wildflowers. He was enamored by the sights of the wild Zardian horses running in herds across the plain.

Their breed was rarely seen outside of Zard, they did not do well with the cold of the northern region. They were a local breed in the Great Plain of Zard, valued by the nomadic tribes for their strength, stamina, and speed. A Zardian warhorse, well trained and has adapted to the cold weather of White Winter would cost a fortune, twice the amount of coins needed to raise a small army. Yet, in this place, they were abundant, a sight of mundane.

The farmers of Zard freely grew their fields with golden Amiga wheat, berries, and Kamara tea trees. Those were the luxury in White Winter, only the like of rich merchants, nobles and royalties could possess them.

Lanxer was shocked. He knew rich and colorful lands as Zard existed, but only in the scrolls in the royal library and the songs of the bards. He has heard that when the warm snow fell, the land would become warmer in Zard, the exact opposite of White Winter and all the lands that Lanxer has been to.

Brimming with nostalgia, Lanxer exited his personal tent, covering half of his face with his spider silk scarf to prevent the white mist and cold air from entering his lungs. He could not afford to allow himself at the mercy of pneumonia again. The court physician had to hold a three weeks ceremony to rid Lanxer of that disease. For three weeks, he was bedridden, barred from his works. Never again would Lanxer made the same mistake.

It’s almost noon and yet, the outside was still white with the dense river mist. The sun still hid within the thick grey cloud, a perfect weather in Lanxer’s opinion. This dense mist was also perfect.

Lanxer walked with his usual weighty long strides, his royal guards with him. The outside was so much colder than the inner of his royal tent, and Lanxer felt the cold ground itself within his bones and marrows despite all the clothes he wrapped around his body. He straightened his back as he walked, fighting off the weight of his clothes. He walked with a sense of urgency in each step without dragging his feet.

The royal guards opened the entrance to Lanxer’s working tent for him. The familiar clinking sound of abacus stones hitting each other, the constant arguing and rhythmical coughs were the royal salute to welcome Lanxer back to his icy royal seat.

Inside this tent, Lanxer was the only one who had a working table and working chair, the rest of the people working inside the tent were on the floor, with only the carpet to shield their asses from the cold ground. They could not bother to work on tables and chairs for the furniture would have reduced their working space. They did not bother to stand up to greet Lanxer. Lanxer did not bother to demand them of such either.

They were men who were possessed by parchments, seal, quilts, and abacuses. They were Lanxer’s secretaries and advisors with the exception of Krady, the Kingdom’s recently installed Master of Coffer.

The air inside the tent was about as cold as the outside. There was no lit brazier founded inside the tent out of the consideration for all the important documents being kept inside. However, the tent was brightly lit by an artificial light source born from magic, Divine Light of Eogaill, conjured by none other than Lanxer’s personal court magic caster, Levy.

She recast the spell periodically to keep the tent illuminated for the men to work. She was a rare talent, a magic caster among magic casters in term of aptitude, born with the blessings of all four patron-deities of Escana: Sinintee, Niwdar, Wonten and Eogaill within her blood. Being born with two blessings was rare, three even rarer, but four was unheard of. Lanxer only discovered her by accident. She was the best of his bodyguards and a useful aide.

“What’s the situation?” Lanxer inquired Hados, the head of his intelligence network and the head of secretaries. He stood next to Lanxer’s working table, paled and lanky, thick with animal furs to protect his corpse-like body from the cold air. His wrinkled corpse like frame was not so different from Lanxer. When standing together, the two of them would create quite the amount of topics for the royal courts to talk about.

“They will open the gates at midnight. Hyrios has left the garrison with only 3000 men. It won’t be a problem.” Hados made a fist on his mouth to shield his white vapory coughs, moving one organized stack of papers on the table toward Lanxer with his personal stamp.

Lanxer was glad that his ploy worked as he has planned. He had no wish to fight Hyrios in the western border. He knew he needed all the advantages in the world to fight a man like Hyrios. Fighting Hyrios on his home ground, even with a vastly outnumbered army, it felt like a suicidal endeavor to Lanxer.

According to the intelligence he gathered, that lad has grown up a tiger among men, fierce and mighty as Lanxer thought he would. The 39 nomadic tribes of the Great Plain called Hyrios “King of the Plain” despite he was still a Warden of the West, servant to the king of Zard.

The last time Lanxer met Hyrios, he accompanied the previous Chancellor of the Left, his uncle, to pay respect the king of Zard and delivered gifts in his birthday party as members of the White Winter royal family. The king of Zard held a three-day festival at the time, inviting all the powerful figures in his lands to celebrate his birthday with him. He hosted tourneys and trials for three days to entertain the guests.

Lanxer remembered all the important people whom he has met in that three-day festival in the capital. Hyrios, twelve at the time, a cub, not yet a man, he was hard to forget. Deep amber eyes, boyish and innocent, yet hinting a swell of power, intelligent and unwavering confidence beyond his age. His coppered long hair braided like the thick mane of a grown snow lion, but red and yellow like a lit pyre.

He stood out among the ranks of wardens, princes and nobles and all the powerful figures of Zard. He attracted attention with everything he did. He brought a fully-grown smiling tiger to the king’s court against his father’s will, scaring quite a number of people. Yet, the way he did it, the manner which he acted made the king of Zard loved him, granting him the permission to bring his giant cat anywhere with him.

He and the other boy, the one people called the young dragon, they were always together like brothers, perhaps, more than that despite not sharing the same blood in their veins.

Yet, the two of them could not be more different.

One was strong whereas the other was fast. One was big, broad and muscular with an indomitable physics just like bears of Madukat where the other one was tall, lean and graceful like the people of the plains.

People said that the gods do not bless a man with two gifts. Yet those two, one a tiger cub, the other a hatchling dragon, they were blessed all the gifts in the world to enter the annals of history as legends and myths like Craxus once did.

They were just as fearless as they were gifted. The king had the kids of the wardens, the nobles and his own sons to have their kid’s competition. While most would throw the matches to let the princes competed among themselves, those two boys did the exact opposite despite being told not to by their parents.

They showed no regard to the pride of the princes. They dominated their competitions effortlessly.

The king would rule them equal again and again at the end of every competition.

In the end, they had to settle their score with a bow.

With his recurve bow, the tiger cub clipped the wings of a fluttering moth. The hatchling dragon did not want to lose, hitting a target beyond 400 steps with his great bow.

The king ruled them equal this time as well and they happily agreed with that judgment.

Yet, even when they had each other to contest, even when they have bested the princes, the hunger to test their limits was not sated. Had they not meet each other, perhaps, they would have stopped there, bored, believing that nobody in this wide world was their equal in contests.

Their competitions were boys, too small of being worthy trophies. The two of them did not consider themselves as boys. Cubs they were, however, tiger and dragon in the making.

The two of them participated in the tourney of the sword incognito, wearing identical featureless bronze armors. Until their parents caught them due to the cue from the giant cat of Hyrios, the pair were dominating the adults as they did to the princes.

Watching them at the time, Lanxer felt a sense of admiration, envy and dreaded. The future of White Winter was the grim of snow and ice as long as those two boys existed. If the king of Zard at the time or the future king had the ambition for hegemony and conquest, with a tiger and a dragon at his side, uniting the continent would not be a dream.

Despite the nostalgia, Lanxer mechanical grabbed the stamp to work on the documents. “What about the state of their granary?” He asked, not bother to look at what Hados was doing with the scrolls and parchments.

Lanxer’s hands were a blur, stamping his personal seal and flipping the documents with the mechanical efficiency of any dwarven gadget. He did not bother to double-check the documents, trusting on Hados’ ability to not commit any mistake. Lanxer doubted that even his great ancestor Craxus could stamp these documents faster with his legendary lightning sword arms.

“It’s…”

“Barely enough to feed our men for the next three months,” Krady’s reply came from the far end of the tent. He was sitting on the ground, burying his face into the documents he recently acquired from his tax officers and Lanxer’s intelligence. Around him stood mountains of scrolls and parchments of different natures, the mirror image of the state of Lanxer’s working table. “We might have to sack neighbor region to feed our troops,” emotionlessly said Krady, his quilt was mechanical and precise like a dwarven gadget, writing texts while he was reading some tax documents at the same time.

Lanxer could hardly recognize Krady, his childhood friend and student of the same teacher from the emotionless tone Krady adopted. It was as if he has transformed into a different man.

Unlike his cousin, general Rogan, and his brothers, Krady was no man of valor and sword even though he came from the line of military harden men.

Krady has been known as an effeminate man who easily cried even after becoming an adult. He shook if people gave him a sword and fainted at the sight of blood. He was a target of ridicule for the valorous men of his families and even among the circles of nobility within the capital.

Among Lanxer’s circle, Krady had the least of presence. He spoke softly and did everything in a tranquil silence, without so much of a noise. He shared the love of reading with Lanxer. He loved poems more than the sword and shield. He loved debating philosophy topics more than mounting the bridle or holding reins. He admired the dwarves for their ability to create complex gadgets to serve the mundaneness of life instead of relying on the prayers to the gods and goddesses. However, he admired Math above everything. The numbers, the addition, and subtraction, the divide and multiplication, they were Krady’s food and water and at the same time, the much-dreaded topic of any man of Krady’s family.

Yet, that cowardly and easily cry Krady has just suggested sacking as the answer, his answer for the current problem.

“I will consider it,” Lanxer replied. He, too, has considered that option. If the granary did not provide enough ration for his men to march to the capital of Zard, he would order them to sack the region. “Any eagle from the north?” He asked Hados.

“Not yet, probably tomorrow.” Hados coughed, clearing his throat, trying to find his breath from the coughs. He cupped his fist, hitting his chest, trying to stop the copious coughs.

“Go see the army physician, leave it to me. Come back when you feel better,” Lanxer voiced his concern to Hados, feeling guilty for passing his pneumonia to his most trusted person.

“I’m fine,” Hados shook his head, insisted. He unplugged a vial of red vitality potion at his belt, his fourth since the morning and drained it in one gulp.

Lanxer knew that would be Hados’ reply. He knew that unless he put Hados to the point of swords, Hados would keep working like that.

He, too, was on a special potion diet just like Lanxer for the last ten years, a potion dependent, not so different from the rest of the people inside the tent. All of them have been on a potion diet as soon as they started working for Lanxer or after a while. Levy started around the same time Hados did, Terry a week after that, Connie two months. Even Krady has recently adopted this potion diet while fully understanding the nature and the side effect of this strange diet. Together, they consumed a year worth of potions by an army within months.

Without adopting a potion diet, there would be no way Krady could do his job. In fact, none of them could, had they not adopt a potion diet. They need the potions to keep them sharp and awake, not to make mistakes. They need the potions to combat the fatigue of working on papers and parchments for over twenty hours a day, sometimes with no rest or sleep for two or three days in a row.

A proper meal would take too long to prepare and consume. A proper meal would have left them tired and sleepy when they are full. A proper meal would take away their focus. However, a vial of vitality potion gave Lanxer and his people none of those problems.

The only drawbacks of those acidic potions were the chronic stomach pain, the inability to digest solid food and their cost.

As Lanxer mindlessly stamped the documents, he thought that he was probably the only prince and Master of War in the history of the kingdom to bring his kingdom’s Master of Coffer to a campaign, probably the only one in the history of this world.

Krady, too, he was probably the first Master of Coffer who was dragged into a campaign while being forced to revamp the new tax system for the kingdom and doing the grain distribution for the army at the same time.

Lanxer remembered how blissful Krady was when he was appointed as the Master of Coffer of the kingdom. Finally, he has received a post that was worthy of his talent, finally a job that did not ask of him to wield a sword or wear heavy armor.

Then, that ignorant blissfulness turned into the gray of ashes the moment Krady saw the state of the kingdom’s coffer. He had the look of a man who wanted to give up on his long-held dream immediately, as soon as he saw those documents for the first time. He had the look of a man who understood exactly why the previous Master of Coffer hung himself. He had the look of a man who understood why Lanxer and the many of people working for him were potions dependent.

As Lanxer was stamping the documents,

“BROTHER, COME OUT, YOU HAVE TO SEE THIS.”

A voice so loud that it threatened all the mountains inside Lanxer’s tent to collapse roared like a thunderstorm. A voice like that made Lanxer wondered why all the men of his family had such loudness in them and why can’t they be as quiet and soft as Krady.

Lanxer knew exactly what kind of look he had on his face. He needed no polished mirror to look. Hados, Levy, Krady and the rest of Lanxer’s secretaries all had the same look on their face, the face of dread and terror, the face of resignation, the face of people who were telling, “Here it comes,” inside their mind.

“BROTHER, YOU HAVE TO SEE THIS.”

The tent’s entrance was forcefully opened with the force of a whirling storm. Bitter winds entered the tent uninvited, with them, the white of river mist and a half-naked fool, soaking wet from top to bottom.

“STAND RIGHT THERE,” Lanxer’s voice thundered faster than his thought. He found himself equally loud as the half-naked fool. He has always hated his own loudness. The only times his voice become so loud were when he’s on a battlefield, barking orders, and times like this, dealing with this unreasonable fool.

“What? What?” The fool froze on the spot, hands in the air, his pimpled face surprised and confused. His long golden hair, wet, dripping water. His primed muscular frame, taut, developed from years of training, glistened from the artificial light of magic.

“DO NOT MOVE A SINGLE STEP,” Lanxer threatened, still trying to comprehend why would the fool who stood before him half-naked and wet like that in this bitterness of a weather.

“What?”

“You are about to damage those documents.” Lanxer pointed his finger at the collapsed mountains, the scrolls, and papers that the wet fool was about to step on.

“Oh? These? They are just papers. Who cares?” the fool casually replied.

They are papers that stitch this entire kingdom together, fool.

It was the reply like this that made Lanxer realized the despair of his teacher had while dealing with the people of his family. This was the reason why the old man rather spent the final years of his life away from the court, at peace with himself and the world, stopped fighting against the inevitable.

Lanxer secretly cursed his entire family, his uncles, and aunts, his father, his grandfather, and great-grandfather all the way to his great ancestor Craxus. He wished that they all had a tenth of the brilliance of the hatchling dragon and the tiger cub. Just a tenth of their brilliance, Lanxer would not ask of them any more than that. Had they just a tenth of the brilliance of those two, Lanxer and his circles of secretaries and advisors would not be mocked as the walking corpses of the court.

Had it been the case, Lanxer would not be so stressed and cranky like his late teacher in the last decades. He always felt like he would explode at any moment, unhinged and unstopped like wildfire. Yet, he had to restrain himself every time. He was not his teacher. He could not say something like,

“Third uncle, quit your fucking post as the Chancellor of the Right, right now. You can’t even do a subtraction correctly. You can’t do anything correctly. I can put a horse manure on your seat and it would do a better job than you. Look at the state of the coffer.”

Or, “Father, you have to pass your crown to someone else right now, someone who is not as stupid as you, someone who is not a member of this family.”

Of course, he could never say something like those. Only the old man had the disposition to say something like those without fearing the consequences.

This was why Lanxer has repeatedly threatened his father to quit his job as the Chancellor of the Left and Master of War if there was another fool of his family went with him to another campaign. The position of Master of War did not include the responsibility of babying fools on the battlefields.

But in the end, this fool, the biggest fool of the fools of Lanxer’s family came with him in the end. His father told him to bring this fool along. He needed merits.

Lanxer has never understood the fools of his royal family, especially this one. “Patocli, get out of this tent, right now. I’m busy. I don’t have time to play with you,” said Lanxer.

“No, no, no, you won’t believe what I have brought back. Come on. Let’s go outside. You have to see it.”

Patocli, the biggest fool of Lanxer’s family animatedly waved his arms, spilling water everywhere while Lanxer’s secretaries frantically scrambled on the ground to save the documents from the water. Those documents were not even their responsibility and yet, they handled them with more dedication than Lanxer’s brothers and uncles.

“I don’t have the time to play with you. Go play with your royal guards or something.” Lanxer sternly commanded.

“It’s noon and you have already buried yourself in those moldy smelling papers. That’s why you are always sick. Come with me brother.” Patocli grabbed Lanxer’s by the wrist. His hand was bigger than Lanxer has remembered, also stronger, wet and cold. He pulled Lanxer out of the tent before Lanxer could do anything.

Patocli dragged Lanxer with him while the royal guards and Lanxer’s secretaries could do nothing to stop. If Lanxer could not stop this fool, nobody in the world can, not even his foolish father.

“Patocli, you realize that I am very busy, do you not?” Lanxer sighed. He figured that the sooner he’s done with Patocli, the faster he could return to his works. He stopped resisting.

“But you have to see this brother,” Patocli replied. He dragged Lanxer through the white mist and the soldier barracks until the two of them reached a large gather of soldiers.

It was a huge gather, too huge of a size for Lanxer’s liking. These people should stand guard and doing what they were assigned to do, not forming a circle like this, not making noises and arguing like this.

As soon as they saw Lanxer and Patocli, “Warchief,” the soldiers saluted Lanxer in hurry and formed ranks. Lanxer recognized that most of the soldiers came from the fifth and the sixth Company from their uniform. However, he also saw soldiers from the other camps mixed in, even Regan’s men and Patocli’s royal guards.

Lanxer made mental notes to berate their leaders for this indiscipline.

Patocli dragged Lanxer to the middle of the gather. There stood Regan in full armor, the second cousin of Lanxer and Patocli and general of this army.

“Lanx, look at what the kid has brought back. This is impressive.” Regan cackled with excitement, slapping his unnaturally big hand at Lanxer’s back.

Lanxer felt like his lungs have threatened to come out of his mouth if Regan did that again. However, he said nothing, tracing the source of everyone’s attention with his reddened sleepless eyes.

A great serpent lied dead on the ground, wet and bloodied.

“A Menace constrictor,” Lanxer inadvertently gasped through his silk mask.

“Oh, you know what this creature is? You know everything, don’t you?” Regan cackled, pumping fist with Patocli, “See? I have told you if anyone knows what this creature is, it would be him.” The two fools snickered among themselves like boys. Yet, Regan was of the same age as Lanxer.

Regan did not notice the restlessness of the men at the sight of the dead serpent. They had never seen a creature like this within the kingdom’s territories. They wondered what it was and as usual what omen it represented. Perhaps, Regan did realize that and just left the job to Lanxer, being the lazy and stubborn fool he was.

Lanxer came closer to the serpent, admiring the creature for its size and length. Its scales glistened like obsidian.

“These creatures are extremely common in the warmer regions of Zard, especially in the floodplain of the Sandanphon River. They vary in sizes and shapes. While their kind can live in either water or land, this serpent spends most of its time in the muddy and deep water, large riverbed. It has this pair of whiskers. Earth Menace Constrictor and Forest Menace Constrictor do not have those. These whiskers are unique to the River Menace Constrictor… It must have swum a long distance from the floodplain to here.”

Lanxer inadvertently traced his fingertips across the serpent’s body, feeling the hardness of its scale.

“River Menace Constrictors are often many times bigger than their counterparts, but they lack the ability to change their scales color to match with the surrounding environment. Though, this River Menace Constrictor is smaller than the ones I have seen…”

Lanxer trailed off the moment he noticed the wounds on the serpent’s body. A single long gashing wound started from the serpent’s throat to its belly. As he analyzed from the wound on the serpent’s corpse, Lanxer felt his stomach grumbled, “You said you killed it, Patocli?”

“Oh, oh, I did, I did. I killed it on my own,” Patocli proudly pushed out his chest and pumped his fist against it.

“This kid is amazing, right?” Regan laughed.

Lanxer did not laugh. “How did you come across this serpent?” He asked.

“I was having a pissing contest with my guards in the bank and then I saw it swimming in the river. So I try to catch it.”

Lanxer inadvertently touched his stomach, trying to stop the great demon living inside from a rampage. He felt like the demon inside his stomach would burst out at any moment if Patocli kept giving him that kind of answer. “Why would you do that?” He calmly asked. He could not make sense from the Patocli’s actions, he never could. That’s why he hated this fool the most out of every fool of his family.

“I know, right? This thing is strong. It wrapped its body around me and pulled me down the river. It was trying to drown me. For a moment, I thought I was going to die.” Patocli answered disconnectedly while pumping fist with Regan again.

Lanxer watched the pair of fools with eyes full of scorns. However, of course, the pair could never understand the disdain within Lanxer’s expression with their numbed skull.

“But then, I remember the dagger father gives me. I used it to kill this thing.” Patocli drew the dagger he used to kill the great serpent from his waist belt. It was the replica of the missing fabled blade that Craxus used to kill a Demon Lord. Lanxer has expected nothing less.

Its blade was the length of the fabled blade, being a replica, resembled both a sword and a dagger, thick with shiny wave patterned dwarven steel. Its hilt and guard lit up in the majestic gold of the serpentine scales of the last dragon. Jagged wing and barbed tail curved from both ends of the handle to form the knuckle guard. A crescent ruby lodged on the guard, eyes of the dragon, fire and power.

“Father is going to be very pleased with this news,” Patocli proudly waved the blade in the air as the soldiers stood around him muttered their admiration.

Lanxer had enough of the foolishness of his cousin and his brother, “Can someone give this fool something to wrap himself before he is going to freeze to death?” He had to wrap up the matter as fast as he could and returned to his job.

One of Patocli’s royal guards immediately parted with his coat and wrapped it over Patocli’s naked torso.

“Surely, you joke, brother. This water is much warmer than the one at home.” Patocli cackled in his boyish voice, not quite cracked yet.

Lanxer commanded the soldier to escort Patocli back to his tent and sent him away as he complained. After that, he ordered the crowd to dismiss.

When it was just him, Regan and Regan’s men, Lanxer gave Regan a dead glare, a glare that contained all of his built-up stress and frustration.

The bravest man of the kingdom, matchless in valor and arms, that man raised his arms in the air, surrendered, “My bad.” He did not bother to make excuses, knowing that any excuse that might escape his mouth would trigger a storm of thunder and fury from Lanxer.

“Go to my tent and ask Hados for the documents I’m working on. Have them delivered to General Regan’s tent,” Lanxer gave the order to one of Regan’s bodyguards.

Without saying another word, Lanxer led Regan back to his own tent, his bodyguards behind them.

“You are dismissed. I’m having a private talk with the general,” said Lanxer as soon as they reached Regan’s tent. After that, he entered the tent like he owned the place with Regan quietly followed him.

The air inside the tent was equally bitter as the outside, yet, Lanxer felt that his entire body was adequately heated, burning on his suppressed fury. Regardless, Regan wordlessly lit his braziers, all three of them without being asked, out of concern for Lanxer’s body. Lanxer secretly wished that Regan showed that concern by acting smarter instead.

“How old are you? Why are you siding with Patocli on something like that?” Lanxer asked, sitting down next to a lit brazier, Regan next to him.

“My bad,” Regan apologized.

“This is foolishness. He could have died, and for what? A mere serpent? This is why I am against having him participated in this campaign. Had it not for your vote, I would not have to bear this burden.” Lanxer icily said, his anger suppressed and checked.

“Calm down. The lad is already seventeen. He’s old enough to fight a war. He can take care of himself. He’s old enough to be his own man. Remember? You and I, we had our first campaign when we were thirteen.”

“We are different,” frosty was Lanxer’s reply, ending the subject.

“He admires you, don’t you see? He wanted to be like you, more so than me. He wants to prove his bravery to you, more so than anyone else, Lanx.” Regan sighed.

“Never for a moment in my life have I done something so stupid like that. The thing he did today, it’s no bravery. It’s foolhardiness. Do not encourage his foolhardiness. It would get him killed.”

“Let’s not exaggerate. As long as you keep him by your side, what could have happened to him?”

As Regan asked that question, his bodyguard brought the documents that Lanxer asked with his quilt, writing utensil and stamp. Lanxer waved the man away, working on the documents again. He waited until the man’s footsteps could not be heard. “Hyrios happens.” He said grimly.

“Hyrios again? Spare me. I bet that he’s not so different from …who was that clown again? I forget his name, the clown who called himself The Invincible. You crush him with your head and I crush him with my arms. It’s the same story, always. One Hyrios, two Hyrios, three Hyrios, it makes no difference.” Regan could not bother with the formality any longer, put his back flatly to the ground. He was the same lazy and stubborn fool that Lanxer knew.

“You have always trusted my ability to judge people. Why do you refuse to believe me when it comes to Hyrios?” Lanxer sighed, mechanically stamping the documents.

“This Hyrios, you keep repeating his name as if he is a Demon Lord. You fear him even though you keep talking to yourself that you do not. What has he done? Maybe he cut the head of a thousand outlaws, but so what? People spoke of his name highly because of that one time. Either you or I can do that with a single sentence. Anyone who possesses power can do that. He’s not so different.” Regan rolled on the carpeted floor, resting his chin on his palm, smirking.

“You did not listen to my story when I told you.”

“He’s a child genius. He’s unmatched with the bow, the sword, the horse, correct? But so what? He’s one man.”

“You are one man. I am one man. Our teacher is also one man. But are we?” Lanxer asked with more weight in his voice this time.

“You are obsessed with this kid. I have told you. You made him into a Demon Lord inside your head. He’s not, I can guarantee that.” Regan dismissively waved his hand, completely unconcerned.

Lanxer could not help but sigh. Without a doubt, Regan had the same foolish blood ran inside his body, just like Lanxer, his family and his great ancestors. So, Lanxer asked, “Do you know how long I have prepared for this moment? To invade Zard?”

“Five months…? This is about the kingdom’s coffer, right? Krady has told me.”

“Fifteen.”

“You were still quelling the serf rebellion in Neversummer at that time.”

“Fifteen years,” Lanxer corrected. He has finished with stamping the documents that were his uncle’s responsibility and moved to another stack of papers, letters to mercenary armies and allies regarding the overdue installments.

His feathered pen scraped along the paper under the flickering orange glows. Lanxer asked them to be patient and promised that the installments would be paid soon, within the length of five months, a small lie. When that time came, he would pay them, but not in full. He would apologize again, playing the delay game again until the kingdom’s coffer gains enough stability and power.

Regan was awfully quiet, no longer quipping as usual.

Lanxer secretly wished that the lazy fool has understood what this campaign meant to him. “You have never seen this land, right? I did, fifteen years ago. While you, my father, and your father were looking at the north and the west, I have always been looking at this land. I have waited, planned and moved my pieces for fifteen years just for this moment. This land has all the answers to solve all the problems that plagued our kingdoms until now.”

“It’s useless to talk to me about that stuff. I do not understand complicated stuff. The old man has already tried, well, he has given up on that.” Regan shrugged his shoulders, immediately trying to avoid the complicated topics.

“That’s why you are a lazy and stubborn fool. You did not even try to understand his lectures. You refuse to.” Lanxer clicked his tongue, giving up on changing Regan’s mindset on the spot.

“And you are a capable fool. He said that you, being a capable fool would suffer the most out of all of us. You did.” Regan quipped.

“I wish he’s still here. I miss being called a fool by him,” sighed Lanxer in melancholy. His teacher was the only one who can make his father stopped being the fool that he was, being his father teacher as well.

“Me too,” Regan agreed.

The two of them found a small moment of tranquility, reminiscing of their memories with their teacher. Both of them sighed in unison, ending that tranquility and that melancholy mood.

“You have never been to the floodplain of the Sadanphon so you would never understand. It was a dreamland to me. While our people can only eat tree roots for breakfast and dinner, the people of this land have the luxury to worry about what kind of meal they would have for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

The thought that they would have nothing to eat, starved, resorting to tree roots, grasses, bugs, mice, to pass their days, it has never crossed their mind.

This land is generous to its people, very much so.

They can grow anything on their fertile land, anything they desire. Their hunters and fishermen can rely on the generosity of their land to be rich. Their farmers know how to farm unlike ours. Our farmers, they only know how to go to war and commit banditry.

They have seaports, proper ones, many time the size of the ones we have in Neversummer.

The Golden Triangle Region, it has gold mines. The Bears of Madukat have mined those mines way before the beginning of the One Hundred Year War, and still, they mine them until today. With that kind of gold, we won’t have to worry about paying our allies to keep watch on our borders. We don’t have to worry about our coffer run empty.

Don’t let me begin on the other region. I can talk for days.

Know that, it is always warmer in this land than any land within this northern realm, even in winter. You can go south to the elf land of Murkwood and still the weather is not as tolerable as this land. This land is blessed by the gods themselves. Even the old man has said so. Its weather is strange, unlike any land in this northern realm.

I have been trying to tell my father and your father about this land, but I have failed. They only see small gains. They cannot see the bigger picture. That is why I have to plot a plan on my own, for fifteen years. Only now that I have the ability to make my ambition true.”

Lanxer’s enthusiasm could only be stopped by his darkening sight. He put down his quilt and chucked a red vial into his mouth.

“You should put a quit to those potions,” Regan commented. It was the same advice that people gave Lanxer for years.

Lanxer took a deep breath and sighed, “That’s like telling my father to stop being a decadent fool,”

“Is that so?”

“That is so,” Lanxer shook his head in resignation and resumed with his previous works on the letters.

“So how is that story related to Hyrios?”

“Fifteen years ago, I have made two name lists. One is to record the name of the people I can use, the other lists the name of those I have to eliminate. Guess which one Hyrios’ name is written on?”

“I can’t imagine that he is still alive until now if you wanted him dead.”

“His name and the hatchling dragon’s name are the first two names on the list of people I have to eliminate. Yet, that tiger lives strong to this day.”

“Tiger?”

“Of course, you don’t know that name. Nowadays, people know him as the Headhunter. But back then, the king of Zard called him the tiger of the plain. He keeps a tiger as his pet.”

“Oh, the yellow cat my father used as his coat?”

“Yes, but twice bigger. Its fangs are also longer and wider, almost as long as your sword.”

“Oh ho ho, that pet of Hyrios would be a fine gift to my father.” Regan cackled as his blue eyes lit up with excitement.

The nonchalance in Regan’s voice worried Lanxer, “Try to understand that kid has tamed that beast when he was ten.”

“Horse manure,” Regan cursed.

“No, I’m not lying. My source is reliable. That kid managed to tame such a beast at the age of ten, on his own. He can do things that normal people could not. He’s the only one on the list of the people I have to kill who is still living in this moment.”

“Perhaps, he’s just being lucky,” quipped Regan.

Lanxer had it enough. He slammed his quilt and paper on the carpeted floor, “That’s why the old man called you a lazy fool. You refuse to think through. You refuse to understand things when they become complicated. I talked to you so much about Hyrios because I understand your character. You don’t believe it until you meet the person. However if you met that tiger unprepared, you will die, definitely. I'm not worried about you losing me a battle or two, but if you are killed by Hyrios, that would be a different story. You would make it impossible for me to win this campaign...” His voice no longer contained with subtlety and calmness. He thundered on Regan and choked into a coughing fit.

“Sorry,” Regan apologized immediately, sat up and pat his large hand on Lanxer’s back, “I will be careful.”

“Yes, do that for me,” that’s all Lanxer could manage to say as he faked his coughs. That’s the only method he knew to convince the stubborn fool to listen to him.