“Ahahaha!” Sir Royce roared with laughter, trying to hold back his tears. “I can’t believe you bullied a boy with your spells!”

Sarot approached his grandnephew, who had fought well. The Iyrmen clapped, grunting affirmatively towards one another.

“Yo,” Adam said, his voice full of magic. “Jurot.”

Mana: 18 -> 16

Spell: Healing Word

2D3 + 3 = 6 (1, 2)

Jurot twitched back to life, grunting in pain as he rolled over onto his back. He looked up to his granduncle, his eyes confused, trying to recall what had happened in the past few seconds as the memories came rushing back to him.

Quest Complete: Merry Jurot

XP Gained: +100

XP: 4650 -> 4750

‘Oh?’ Adam thought. ‘Cool.’

Jurot eventually stood up, inhaling deeply, flexing his muscles as he felt the ache within his wounds. He realised quietly he needed to be patched up.

“Thank you,” Jurot said, nodding to the older man.

Sir Harold bowed his head. “It was my pleasure, son of Surot.”

Jurot let out a near joyful snort, trying to hide his smile, before he returned back to Adam. He was still bleeding from his front, which was causing him to grow paler.

“Uh,” Adam said, placing a hand on the Iyrman’s shoulder. “You should take a seat.”

As Adam began to chant for the spell again, Jurot shook the Half Elf. “No,” the Iyrman said. “I would like to keep the scar.”

Adam sighed. “Iyrmen,” he grumbled, but left Jurot be.

Jurot sat down and began to work on dressing his wounds, a villager bringing him a kit to deal with his wounds.

“That was quite the fight,” Adam said. “Sir Harold is no joke.”

Jurot nodded his head.

Sir Royce continued to laugh at his companion. “Have you grown that old? I didn’t expect you to use those spells against a boy. Aren’t you embarrassed, Harry?”

Sir Harold set to bandaging his own thigh, all the while the Iyrmen were beginning to swarm their youngster who had fought so well.

“If I hadn’t used those spells, he would have been able to beat me,” Sir Harold said.

“I didn’t expect you to be such a sore loser.”

“I don’t want to hear that from you when you complained about the Half Elf for so long,” Sir Harold replied. “You should remember who he is. An Iyrman youth like him, he wanted to face me at my strongest, to obtain a scar he could show off. He’ll be able to show off quite a lot to the others.”

“Yeah,” Sir Royce said. “You had to use Banishment and that Smite of yours. What was it called?”

“If I had known I was facing against that kind of Barbarian, I would have prayed for Wrathful Smite.” Sir Harold sighed. “To think I had to use two Fourth Gate spells against a boy like him.”

“Ah, he’s one of those,” Sir Royce said. “I did wonder why you had to use those spells against him.”

“If he was still fuelled by his rage, he would have been able to stand even after that blow,” Harold said.

Royce looked to Harold, raising his brow. “Really?” That blow would have killed any normal man, and even an Expert would have had trouble taking the blow. Harold had used so many Mana Streams for the last attack.

Harold bowed his head, finishing with dressing his wound. “That boy is probably a candidate to become a Great Elder.”

‘A Great Elder,’ Royce thought, looking to Jurot. ‘I met the boy once before, but he was much weaker back then.’ “When I last met him, he was still years away from becoming an Expert. I don’t think he was being groomed either.”

“Are you certain?” Harold asked.

“Yes,” Royce said, his eyes falling to the Half Elf. “He might be more dangerous than we thought.”

“The Iyr has always been fortunate,” Harold said. “If he is part of their fortune, we shouldn’t act so easily.”

“Won’t it be fun?” Royce asked. “Spending the last of our days being hunted by Iyrmen? They’ll give us a good death.”

“No,” Harold said. “It doesn’t sound very fun at all.”

Royce scoffed. “You’ve become so boring during your retirement, Harry boy.”

“I’ve always been this boring, Royce.”

“At least you don’t call me Sir Royce any more,” Royce said, sighing. “Do you think those two will meet?”

“Who?” Harold asked.

“The Half Elf and Robby boy.”

“It would be an unfortunate meeting,” Harold replied.

“Unfortunate for who?”

Sir Harold remained silent.

“To think that the King’s Sword had to use Banishment against my grandnephew,” Sarot said, loudly so that the Iyrmen could hear it. “Our Jurot has grown up well.”

“Well done,” an Iyrman said, patting Jurot’s back.

“He even had to use that Staggering Smite of his,” another said.

“Two Fourth Gate spells?” another added.

The Iyrmen were swarming Jurot, giving him all kinds of congratulations. Did he lose? Of course. However, it wasn’t important that he lost. It was important that the King’s Sword, one of the greatest in the land, had sought to use two Fourth Gate spells and his Guardian Blade abilities to defeat Jurot, who had already taken a number of blows, all while he was not under his rage.

It was a good loss, one which would make a great story. The Iyrmen understood just how jealous his compatriots would be.

Well, all save for Adam, who was off in his own thoughts. He wasn’t beside Jurot to congratulate him, instead he was thinking, staring at the sky. The Iyrmen could see that there was a stupid kind of thought on his face.

‘It’s Nightval, right?’ Adam thought, staring at the sky. ‘Doesn’t that mean Noonval clothes will be cheap this time of year?’

“Young man,” an older Iyrman said, patting Adam’s back. “Do not think too hard, or you may hurt yourself.”

“Hurt myself?” Adam asked, out of his thoughts. “Surrounded by all these Iyrmen? Not even Sir Merry would dare to think about such a thing.”

The Iyrman chuckled, taking a seat beside him. On his forehead was a tattoo, a purple infinity symbol which was on its side, and red arrows heading outwards from it.

“Oh,” Adam said, recognising the symbol. “You’re part of the Ruv family, aren’t you?”

“That I am, young Nephew of the Rot family,” the old man said. “So you know of our family’s tattoo?”

“How could I forget?” Adam asked. “Wahruv was such a scary guy. It was hard to beat him.” Adam furrowed his brows, falling into thought.

Seeing that Adam’s thoughts no longer seemed so stupid, the Ruv Iyrman let him think in peace.

‘Hold on. Jurot struggled to beat Wahruv, but he managed to really hurt Sir Harold. It’s not that he’s changed much since then either.’

“What are you thinking?” the Iyrman asked, seeing Adam had come to a conclusion about his thoughts.

“Fate is scary,” he said, simply.

The Iyrman laughed. “So, you faced my grandnephew? How was he?”

“He was scary,” Adam said. “I shouldn’t have held back against him.”

“You faced my grandnephew and held back?” the Iyrman asked. “If it was some days ago, I would have believed you were boasting. It would have cost you.”

“I didn’t use my greater enchanted weapon whereas he used his,” Adam replied. “I wanted to show the Iyr that I was strong even without my magical weapon.”

“Your magical weapon is so powerful?”

“It’s not just a greater enchantment, it also has an ability similar to Smite,” Adam added. “I beat an Awakened Wolf within a single moment using it.”

“An Awakened Wolf?” the Iyrman asked. ‘This young man is quite something. I should try and steal him from Sarot.’ “Are you-“

Adam squinted his eyes at the Iyrman, causing him to stop. “Don’t ask.”

“What?” the Iyrman asked.

“I don’t plan on marrying any time soon,” Adam said.

“How many times have you been asked?” The Iyrman laughed, caught red handed.

“I don’t know. Ten? Maybe more? Jarot asked half the time.”

“Jarot? Your grandfather?”

“Granduncle Sarot’s brother,” Adam said. “After I beat Wahruv, he asked too.”

“So we were already refused.”

“What’s your name anyhow?” Adam asked.

“Sahruv,” the old Iyrman said. “Wahruv’s grandfather is my elder brother.”

“Ah,” Adam said, placing Sarot and Sahruv together. ‘What a coincidence. Was Sa a popular name during their generation?’

“Don’t think too hard,” Sahruv said, chuckling.

“Are any of the Family Elders or Heads here?” Adam asked. “It seems to be the younger siblings.”

“Those who come here are those who had been passed for the Family Elder and Head positions for one reason or another,” Sahruv said. “Those positions are not the kind we can shirk just for the opportunity to face Sir Merry.”

“I see a few younger fellows, well, you know,” Adam said, looking to the Iyrmen who were in their mid thirties or so.

“We’ve allowed some of our youth to come and face Sir Merry and Sir Royce,” Sahruv said. “It will be good for their future, and for some, it is to assist in raising their glory.”

“That’s such a complicated thing,” Adam said.

“Some of them harbour ill thoughts. Some of them believe they have no glory, others believe they will not amount to any in the future, and so they lose their burning heart.” Sahruv frowned. “It is our responsibility to make sure that they do not lose sight of what is important.”

“That’s even more complicated,” Adam said. “Glory is great and all, but it’s not really anything I like.”

“Even you fight for glory, young man.”

“Nah,” Adam said. “If I did, I’d fight in the East Noonval Tournament.”

“The Noonval Tournament of East Aldland?” Sahruv asked.

“That’s the one,” Adam said. “I’m not so good with names.”

Sahruv chuckled. “You are part of an Iyrman family. You should work hard to make sure you remember such things.”

“If it’s important, I’ll remember it,” Adam said, shrugging his shoulders.

“You have been invited to fight in it?” Sahruv asked.

“I’ve refused,” Adam said.

“Why?”

“I want to return to the Iyr for the festival,” Adam said. “What is first place in a tournament in comparison to spending time with my… family.” Adam has stopped the cringe before it had slipped out of his mouth. ‘Do I really want to live my life without mentioning my adorable sister once? I can have at least a little cringe, can’t I?’

“Do you think first place is easy?” Sahruv asked.

“First place is a breeze,” Adam said. “As long as I don’t have to face any Iyrmen.”

“There will be at least a handful of Iyrmen participating in the tournament,” Sahruv said.

“All the more as to why I shouldn’t participate then,” Adam said.

Sahruv laughed again.