Chapter 30: The Mysterious Lady [2]

Upon arrival to the caravan, Klive squirmed, woken up by the surrounding cries. He slowly opened his eyes with his cheeks puffed. He looked around and discovered that his precious book was nowhere in sight.

Shifting his head left and right, he met the young villagers who ran away from the wolves beside him. The young villagers wailed so much that Klive felt a headache. Tears dripped freely from their eyes as they released their pent-up emotion. After all, they almost thought they were dead.

Seeing Klive already awake, Septharion put the ash-gray-haired boy in a carriage. The burly old man let out a long sigh and remembered the strange events he just witnessed. He felt like he had lost another few years because of anxiousness. A cocktail of emotion drowned him in a mere moment.

The old lady. The book. Little Klive.

Septharion could only glance at the little lad with glassy eyes. He then warned the little boy to not go anywhere and wait for his siblings.

Behind his mind, Septharion dwelled on the fact that he would need to everything that transpired to Levo… and of course to the Annis. He shuddered and cold sweat dripped from his back. He had to plan early on how to avoid the full-blown wrath of the madam.

Septharion stared at the wailing villagers. He put a palm on his face, looking troubled. He must finish what he has started. Guiding his steed, he moved towards the group of crying mutts. After these, he must also check on the sleeping middle-aged face, Davin.

Soon enough, Klive saw Liszt galloping towards the caravan. His eyes brighten after seeing the old wooden book in his arms. He immediately waved towards his brother.

Liszt dismounted from his steed and ruffled Klive’s hair. “It’s a good thing that you’re safe.”

“Book.” Klive tilted his head. He opened his hands towards his older brother. The little lad acted as if nothing dangerous had happened. There was not even a shred of fear in his eyes.

Bam.

Klive felt a little sore bump appearing over his head. He flinched after seeing his older brother’s sharp gaze. A painful bump grew on the top of his head. He lowered his eyes and looked at the ground, a bit of tears building in his eyes.

“Sorry… Brother.”

“Fine, at least you know your mistake.” Liszt picked up his little brother, making Klive ride along with him. “But you’re going to get a nagging from Ciera… and mom.”

Klive trembled, looking troubled, panic slowly creeping on his fluttering eyelids. In the eyes of Klive, his mom was like a dragon while his little sister was the little dragon. They’re far more dangerous than the Death wolves he just met.

Still, the little boy could only nod. After all, he knew his wrongs. If not for the old lady, he would be nothing but a corpse now.

“Hmnn.”

Klive and Liszt rode back together. Klive’s other hand holding onto his brother’s clothes, the other on the bump on his head.

The guards had already informed Ciera. As soon as they saw Klive in the arms of Septharion, they immediately ran to inform the angry little lady.

Klive immediately hid behind Liszt, trembling after seeing Ciera’s sullen face. His brother only glared at him before pushing him towards the little dragoness. Klive could only bite his lips and puffed his already deflating chest.

With a silly smile, he thought of ways to calm her. Searching his memories about his dad’s tactics.

“Sister, er, I’m sorry.” Klive used his secret weapon, something that perfectly worked against his dad. A cutesy face.

But this time it failed. A sniffing Ciera threw a sharp look at him. “You.”

Bam.

Klive held his forehead in pain. He was sure a new sore bump would grow on it soon. It felt more painful than the bump given to him by Liszt. His eyes turned watery and he couldn’t help but snivel.

“I’m sorry Sis-.” Klive sniffed. After all, it was a very painful bump this time.

Before he could even finish his sentence, an embrace shrouded him. Klive’s eyes widened and felt guilty. It was warm. Warm enough to make him want to cry. Still, he held his tears. After all, he was already 6-years-old. He was a big boy and his father told him that big boys don’t cry… much.

Klive remembered the dark monsters that were about to bite him a few moments ago. HE couldn’t help but grip the dress of his sister. Then he burst out with a loud cry.

Liszt watched his younger brother and sister crying. He then gazed at Klive and sighed. The little lad had a lot of explaining to do once his mother hears of the news.

***

The soldiers called Septharion ‘Uncle Sept’ within the knight’s camp. The bushy-beard old soldier was part of the Knight Levo’s inner circle. In short, he was one of the most powerful men among Levo's subordinates.

According to some soldiers, he might be in the ranks of the madam. A man feared by many. The veteran soldiers even claimed that behind the old man’s smiling facade…

Was a devil in disguise.

The buffed old man guided his steed towards the crying young villagers. His armor chimed as the scent of iron flowed along with the night breeze.

This night had never been good to him. His plans were wasted and disassembled. He met a mysterious old lady who hated his guts. He was also dead tired. His plans backfired on him.

With a sigh, he caught sight of the crying eyesores. Their snots and tears meeting halfway as they gripped the pants of the soldiers. These young ones had their knees buckling and shaking.

The brief outburst of strength from running away from the Death wolves vanished. The young ones pasted themselves on the ground, exhausted.

After the sprint of their lives, most couldn’t even speak coherent words. Babbling with every word character they utter as they laid near to a campfire. Huffing and puffing, tongue waggling, tears falling because of their newfound dreadful experience.

It was a pleasant sight for the old man. At least, he achieved his aim for the brats. After his failures, he learned how to appreciate the beauty of little things that could go right.

Stepping down from his sturdy horse, Septharion smiled. “How are you brats?”

Rattled by the deep voice, the young villagers shifted their heads. Their eyes seeking the source of the sound. When they saw Septharion, their moist eyes turned even blurrier.

Septharion signaled the soldiers to help the young ones to get a seat. The soldiers, understanding the signal, moved faster than the wind. They settled everything in a jiffy. After all, some of their deepest secrets were at stake tonight. Thus, every order must be done with no faults. Mistakes wouldn’t be tolerated. They must dodge any chances of a one-on-one talk with the silver-tier knight Septharion.

Out of the over five hundred plus villagers the Knight had ordered to move to Gisvold, about 153 young ladies, young men, and some young-at-heart stood before him. These young ones were the so-called wasted resources of the village.

The lazybones the Madam told him to teach a lesson.

“I hope you’re feeling good right now!” Uncle Sept grinned. He gave another signal to the soldiers. Soon, 153 wooden mugs appeared before them The caravan had enough warm milk for all the people tonight. The source of the milk was a strange artifact the Madam had picked during their earlier travels.

Uncle Sept touched his beard and smirked. The soldiers’ zeal and speed very touched him. “Efficient.”

Campfires were lit up in the middle of the night, the soldiers turned into butlers for the night. The smell of milk wafted through the air. It caught the attention of the lazy bones, their stomachs grumbling.

One by one, Uncle Sept filled the mugs with warm milk. He ordered the soldiers to distribute it to everyone until every villager had a good mug of warm milk. After chipping in a bit of salt, it became Uncle Sept’s favorite drink.

Uncle Sept took a sit in front of the villagers. He then raised his cup.

“Cheers,” he said.

The confused villagers could only follow the lead of Uncle Sept. They raised their mugs in the air before taking a sip.

“Do you know that this is my second cup for tonight?” Uncle Sept raised his head and looked at the villagers. He swept away the remains of the milk on his lips.

The villagers simply look at him, not knowing what to do. Their face expressing a ‘What the hell is he talking about’ look. Even so, they took a liking to the milk. It warmed them up a little. The butterflies in their stomach were gone.

“The truth is I’m responsible for what you experienced.” Uncle Sept put down his mug, stretching a little to warm up his body up. He tapped his lap and grinned. “So did you enjoy the thrill of being a hero?”

“Pshh.” A batch of warm milk drowned the poor grasses, spluttering all over the meadows.