‘Avoid the alleyways,’ was one unspoken rules of Lune.

Dunnford walked through the street of Lune, alone. Though the street was different from how he last remembered it, the scrambling of people when the skystorm neared remained the same. The peaceful and orderly street in the morning was a chaotic mess when dark clouds loomed, indicating the skystorm’s approach. Some ran like their lives depended on it, pushing through other passersby to make their way. Dunnford knew better, so long that it was yet to rain, there was still nothing to worry about.

Through the frantic street, Dunnford finally reached harbor 2 of Lune, the harbor closest to the skystorm when it arrived. A harbor most crowded during normal days, yet most desolated during skystorm days. The harbor was the best in Lune, their piers built with the finest woods that could withstand the storm and refined smoothly by the best of carpenters. The architecture was designed to be most friendly with ships; and harbor 2 was a special spot where only ships rich in treasure could afford to have a spot. During this occasion however, no ship was within Dunnford’s sight. The most desolated harbor during the skystorm…

But that place will still be set up, Dunnford thought with conviction.

***

Darkness.

‘…e …p,’ a voice, female.

‘…ke …p,’ again, same voice.

‘Wake up,’ the voice said.

In that darkness, Dunnford could tell that his breathing was disrupted and he gasped to wake. He opened his eyes to see the skies, then rose up in a quick motion, standing up immediately; and his hands went to the side of his waist, wanting to hold on to his sword, only to find that the weapon wasn’t there.

What… happened…? He surveyed his surroundings and saw the open field of grass. He then turned around and Dunnford saw Ignes and Ray. The both of them stared at him.

‘Looks like swordsmanship is ingrained in your body,’ Ignes said, impressed. She held with her a wooden bucket facing down. Dunnford looked at the grass to see that it was wet. She had dumped water to wake him up.

Dunnford’s head stung. An unfamiliar feeling. He had almost forgotten the feeling of pain. The throbbing sensation that followed the sting was by no means pleasant. Dunnford groaned.

‘How long was I…’ Bong. Bong. The bell rang twice, indicating the time. That meant he wasn’t unconscious for long.

‘I held back,’ Ignes said with a smile.

Dunnford’s hand reached his temple. He could feel the pain but not his own hand’s touch. ‘How did you do that?’ he asked.

‘I could have hit you harder.’

‘Not that. The attack, how did it go through my invulnerability?’

Ignes stared at Dunnford, seemingly thinking on answering the question. She then averted her stare to the side. ‘You’re not ready for it,’ she said. Bucket still gripped in her hand, she stared at the direction where she took the bucket. ‘Though… I can teach you it. And your master too.’ She smiled at Ray. ‘You have good potential.’

‘Having good potential isn’t enough,’ Ray dismissed the compliment.

‘That’s why you need to train to make use of said potential. I can give you the training you need.’ Ignes teased the “can”, implying that she wanted something in return. ‘But it depends on Dunnford. Let’s talk.’ She pointed at a direction, gesturing only for Dunnford to follow her.

She started walking away, Dunnford walked to catch up with her.

‘Offer her anything you could think of to convince her,’ Ray said to Dunnford.

Dunnford nodded.

‘What do you want?’ Dunnford said beside her. ‘If it’s money, then—’

‘My husband died,’ Ignes said with a serious expression on her face. Nothing about her gesture or tone indicated sorrow, but Dunnford knew that Ignes always exceled in hiding that particular emotion.

Rather than offering his consolation to her like he normally would, he uttered a question, ‘Who did the sword saint face?’ This was more important than grieving over the death of the sword saint.

The sword saint was supposed to be the strongest swordsman in all of Lune. Strong enough that he earned the title, which was limited only to 3. Stronger than Ignes. If anything, the news of his death was more alerting than causing sadness. His death meant that the enemy the sanctum was facing was beyond formidable.

‘An immortal,’ she then said the name with spite, ‘Kokuri.’

‘The one in the stories?’

‘The one in the chronicles.’

‘She’s real?’

‘The history of Zenia is real, Dunnford. The 3 swords She used are real; isn’t that enough proof that the chronicle is real?’ There was anger in her voice as she responded to Dunnford’s disbelief.

‘I do not doubt the chronicle, Ignes. I do however doubt if his opponent was truly Kokuri. Couldn’t this opponent be someone who poses as Kokuri?’

‘Kadas cut off her neck. This was witnessed by other followers of the sword. From afar, many claimed that the head talked, the headless body moved on its own, and the head reattached back as if Kadas had never cut her. He’s also dead. Sadak too.’

Kadas… Sadak… Dunnford gripped his hand into a fist. He knew how fleeting a life could be, especially when one was involved in battles. But no matter how many times Dunnford had lost someone he knew, he could never get used to losing people. It always felt crushing.

Ignes closed her eyes and sighed. ‘Sorry. You did make a valid point. However, regardless on whether this Kokuri is real, she’s an enemy who could kill my husband. Left alone, she could perhaps destroy Lune. Especially with the monster worshippers backing her up.’

‘You want my aid.’

Ignes nodded. ‘You’re a good swordsman. You could use Elemental Magic and have Special Magic, a dependable ally to have. Lend the sanctum your aid; and I promise by Zenia’s name that I’ll teach you and your master everything I know.’ Her expression seemed to plead for Dunnford’s help. ‘How about it?’

The enemy Dunnford would face would be one who was strong enough to kill the sword saint. An enemy, who could kill Kadas and Sadak, who—last Dunnford remembered—were on the same skill level as him. Rather on questioning whether he wanted in on this, the question should be: could he even contribute in this matter? Regardless, whether or not he would be involved, wasn’t a question at all.

***

Many things had changed in Dunnford’s absence from Lune.

At first, Dunnford was surprised when he couldn’t spot Drizzle at the usual pier. However, convinced that the madman remained a madman, he looked around to search for his “temporary open-roofed tavern”. Little did Dunnford know, in the time that he wasn’t in Lune, the pier which used to be the furthest to sea was no more. There was a new pier that jutted out the most toward the sea, the place which would be nearest to skystorm when it appeared in the horizon. A place where only madmen would set up a “tavern”. And as he had expected, he spotted Drizzle there.

Dunnford walked on the pier, he knocked on the wood with each step he took.

Drizzle was the name of the “tavern” the madman set up. When asked about his name, he never answered the question, so people called him Drizzle. Though people questioned his sanity at times, no one questioned the fire wine he sold. When skystorm days arrived, he would undoubtedly have the best fire wine a person could get in Lune.

From afar, Dunnford could see Drizzle. That crumpled haired man over there, sitting on a wooden barrel with his legs crossed and hands dangling, looking absently above toward the darkened skies with his mouth open, that was Drizzle.

The end of the pier was a platform with small barrels for stools and big barrels for tables. The people there had a jug of fire wine in their grip, each and every one. They sat with their backs stooped and faces lying on the surface of the large barrel. Though the sword followers weren’t wearing their white uniforms, the build they had attained from years of following the path of the sword and their sword hilt bearing the symbol of the sanctum, lying on the wooden platform, revealed their identity.

Dunnford didn’t expect them losing their leader could result this badly. They’re lifeless…

‘Drizzle,’ Dunnford greeted him as he stepped foot on the platform.

‘Dunn-y,’ he greeted back. Though he never remembered Dunnford’s name, he appreciated how he was still able to recognize him.

Dunnford’s presence on the platform earned him stares from the spent sword followers. He saw the empty barrels of fire wine stacked at one edge of the platform, they were doing worse than Dunnford had expected. Kadas… you didn’t prepare your squad for this… Who would have?..

At the corner of the platform, sitting at a small barrel with her forehead touching the large barrel, Dunnford spotted a pale skinned woman. Countless wooden jugs were beneath where she sat; and one empty jug was hooked with her fingers. Judging from her initial profile, Dunnford believed that she was the person he was looking for.

He approached where she sat. ‘Are you Brig?’ he asked.

No response.

Dunnford tapped on the large barrel.

‘Huh?’ she said with a sluggish voice. She toppled her head to fall on one side and looked upward with one eye. Her face was flushed and her crimson eye hardly focused on him.

‘Are you Brig?’ he repeated the question.

‘Whu mite ya be?’ She lifted her jug of wine and tilted it to splash her face, but the jug was empty. She rose up. ‘Driz! One mah plees.’ She held the empty jug at Drizzle.

Drizzle, instead of filling the jug, took a barrel full of fire wine, toppled it to the side, and rolled it toward Brig. ‘Ah ’preciate it.’

Before Brig could reach for the barrel, Dunnford stepped in. She clicked her tongue as he did this. ‘I’m Dunnford.’

‘Naish to meet ya. Shoo. Shoo.’ She wanted the barrel of fire wine.

‘I’m here to bring back the hawk squad.’

Brig snorted. ‘Ah must be hearin’ thin’s, eyre wine—too much.’ She looked up to see Dunnford. Her eyes had a good look at Dunnford’s expression and into his eyes. She raised an eyebrow. ‘… Yer serious?’

He was.

‘Bah!’ she threw her empty jug at him. ‘Go scram.’

Dunnford stood his ground and confronted Brig. He wasn’t backing down on this one. ‘This isn’t what Kadas wanted.’

Her drunk crimson eyes turned to a fierce glare. Finally, some life in you, Dunnford thought. The other followers of the sword must have heard him, because their stares had also turned into glares.

Although Dunnford couldn’t feel it, he could tell that someone threw a jug at the back of his head from the way his head tilted slightly forward and how the jug clattered when it fell. Dunnford looked over his shoulder to see a man leaning on a barrel for support. His face was red from the fire wine and anger.

‘Wat do ya know?’ he protested.

‘Ya, vhat do ya know?’ someone else shouted.

‘Who are ya even, ta know wat Kadas wants!’ shouted another. Soon, there was a crowd of voices storming the place. Better to talk to angry men than lifeless ones. Not ideal, but it’s a good start.

Someone picked up his sword and stood up. He unsheathed his sword and threw the sheathe away. His footsteps were wobbly, but he held the sword with a tight grip. Before he was able to take a stance and challenge Dunnford however, Brig stopped him. ‘Lemme,’ she said.

Dunnford shifted his gaze toward Brig. She stood up from her seat without any difficulties. Her back slightly stooped and her head was tilted down. She was shorter than Dunnford and perhaps 2 or 3 years younger than him. Her hair was like a thin; white mane, and her cold crimson eyes that peered through the gap of her hair were murderous.

She threw a sharp right hook at him.

Dunnford couldn’t tell how hard that blow was, but he knew that it was at least hard enough to make his head turn to the side.

Dunnford faced her again. ‘Kadas—’

A left hook this time. Same result.

When Dunnford straightened his head forward, he could see Brig gritting her teeth, frustration all over her face. ‘Toss me tha sword!’ she gestured to the man who had unsheathed his sword. He tossed it to Brig.

She held the sword with both hands and swung the sword at Dunnford with strength, like one would swing an axe. She had aimed the sword at Dunnford’s neck, but instead of seeing his head chopped off, the sword she swung broke after contact.

Her eyes widened in surprise. ‘Zenia!’ she said under her breath. ‘Toss me another!’ she shouted. Like a good squad member, those drunk followers of the sword obeyed Brig and threw her another sword. She unsheathed the newly received sword with a quick motion and again swung like the sword was an axe. Same result. The sword broke.

‘Kadas wouldn’t want this…’ Dunnford said.

‘Another!’

She swung with new swords countless times until she realized her effort was futile. She almost broke all the sword they had.

‘Ya and yer cursed Special Magic!’ She threw her broken sword to the platform. The broken blade pierced the wood instead of bouncing off to the sea.

‘Why do you lift the sword?’ Dunnford decided to ask Brig of Zen’s 3 questions. The questions that were ingrained in every sword followers’ minds during practice.

‘Shut it.’

‘Why do you fight?’

Her crimson eyes glared at him. Her glare was still murderous, but as much as she wanted to do anything to Dunnford, she had—by herself—proven that she could do nothing to him. ‘Fine! Ya want answer! I fight for Kadas. All of us do!’ she dropped and sat down on the small barrel. Her hair covered her face and one hand reached her eye. She let out a low laughter full of sorrow. ‘And he’s dead…’

Silence overwhelmed the air. A different silence from when Dunnford came here.

Dunnford picked up the barrel full of fire wine which Drizzle had rolled toward Brig. He set up the small barrel in front of Brig and sat there, leaning forward with elbows on his knees.

‘Kadas was… a hopeless fire wine addict,’ Dunnford let out a laugh with sorrow. ‘I remember how he almost replaced water with fire wine; and the only thing stopping him was his poor money management. Though, despite this bad side of his, he has himself a good side. Sure, he was unruly and rebellious, but he has himself a good side. A good side, which I’m sure he showed to all of you.

‘I know, that despite his financial troubles in the past, he never resorted to dishonest means to earn money. His fist is light and he would throw it without thinking twice, but he always had a reason to swing his fist. I know why he fights. He fought to protect the people he held dear. That’s what he wants.

‘Ignes told me how he died against Kokuri. He fought Kokuri because he wanted to protect all of you. That’s what he fought for. He wouldn’t want all of you blaming and killing yourselves, because you weren’t there by his side when he fought Kokuri.

‘… If all of you truly fight for Kadas, then fight to protect. Another storm is forming from within Lune, the monster worshippers are up to something here. I intend to see and put this certain matter to a finish. I would be glad to have all of you to join me. However, with or without you, I still intend to go through with this. What’s your choice?’

Dunnford looked at them with hopeful eyes. But there was only silence.

The hole you left is too deep, Kadas, he thought. He couldn’t reach them. There was nothing he could do here. Dunnford stood up and walked away from them, about to leave the Drizzle.

‘Who are you—to him?’ Brig asked.

Drops of rain started falling from the sky.

‘A friend.’

Silence.

Dunnford looked over his shoulder. He perceived that their eyes were no longer lifeless. He had managed to breathe life into them.

‘Yer only goin’ to get yerself 3 or 4 of us today, includin’ me. Others too spent. And most swords broke,’ Brig said.

‘That,’ he said, ‘would be plenty.’