Rise of Tyrus

From a distance, the shack appeared so fragile that even a gentle breeze could send it crumbling to the ground. Its decrepit roof had rat-sized pockets and walls covered in moss, dirt, and more holes. Even the door seemed like it would break under a bit of force from just a mere push by a rodent, or even from a person simply breathing on it.

A gust of wind blew, sending a flurry of dead leaves dancing through the air as Tyrus reached the top of the steps. It took most of his focus to keep himself upright and not fall over. Walking and running was fine for the most point after absorbing some more mana, but the dull pain still lingered. A step upward sent a stab of renewed pain in his head, and each breath felt as though he was inhaling needles. After leaning against a tree, it lessened, leaving him feeling grateful.

“You alright there?” Mitha asked from behind.

He nodded. “Just need to catch my breath.”

“Just checking. Don’t hesitate to ask for a hand or support. We’re in this together now, thanks to you and Lord Igneal.”

She gave his shoulder a soft pat and trotted to the rickety entrance. She joined Wyford, and they both gazed at the basin with the red markings. Mitha took a step back, her lips thinning.

“You think it’s blood?” Mitha asked.

Wyford shrugged. “I’d like to believe it’s red wine, but what do I know? Best not to dwell on it. What matters is that I already checked the interior and boy is it a grotesque sight. Come and see for yourself.”

With a raised brow, Mitha followed Wyford into the shack, the floorboards creaking under their feet. Now that both of them were gone for the time being, Igneal, who had been scanning the erratic scenery with a grimace, trotted past Tyrus.

“Walk it off. You’re not in much pain. A kick from the unblessed is nothing to you, a sorcerer, that I’m sure of.”

Tyrus lifted himself off the tree, watching Igneal enter the shack. His tone sounded as cold and unthoughtful as always, but the contents of his words were quite weird. For a moment, Tyrus even considered that Igneal was actually a tad concerned about his well-being. It was a ridiculous notion, especially since it was Igneal, so he brushed it off as wishful thinking and a bit of brain damage. Igneal must’ve been worried that a sorcerer’s image was being tainted or something along those lines, especially in front of Wyford and Mitha.

Sighing to himself, Tyrus made his way to the entrance, stepping over logs and thick roots. The stench coming from the basin was revolting, and he was positive that the red dye was blood. The rotting baskets next to it also supported the idea, even going as far as emanating a stench similar to rot. Tyrus’ well of curiosity was bottomed out at this point, so he didn’t dare open it and check inside.

“I don’t smell any beasts in here too,” he muttered. “Should be safe.”

Entering the shack, Tyrus let out a low grumble. Animal furs and bones were strewn across the floor inside, and the furniture, like the table and chairs, was shattered. The intrusive roots from outside have made the shack their home, bursting through the ground like veins. A small bed that could barely fit a single adult rested against the wall, and on it, a few dead rabbits with missing organs. Nearby was a fireplace, the ashes of old, and the wood used turned into nothing but dust. It was a place way worse than his previous home. While small, at least it didn’t reek and was somewhat cozy.

Tyrus found an intact chair and sat. Right as his bottom touched the seat, a wave of exhaustion poured out of him. The blood that had been thundering in his ears slowed, and the pressure he hadn’t noticed on his legs eased, spreading a sense of relief throughout his weary body.

Oh, this feels amazing

“This place is worse than the slums back in Lindell!” Wyford remarked, pinching his nose. He walked over to an empty shelf and swept a finger over it, dust coating his fingers. “At least the rats seem to have abandoned the place. Lucky them.”

Mitha kicked aside a few bones and propped up a rickety chair. She tested its sturdiness by plopping down a boot, a cloud of dust billowing into the air. After a few good shakes, Mitha relaxed and plopped herself with a deep sigh. “Finally, some sweet relief! So, what’s the plan, Wyford? Wait it out in this dinghy of a place until the clock runs out?”

Wyford found a spot for himself and sat down, leaning against the wall. “I wouldn’t mind the wait. Our best bet is to stay quiet and avoid the gazes of the beasts. I’d rather not face those lizards and the flying horror outside. We can’t risk getting ambushed again, Mitha. But with Tyrus and Lord Igneal on our side, completing this exam should be a cinch.”

The man let out a heart chuckle until it transformed into a dry cough. “‘Scuse me. Carrying a sword while running for that long isn't very refreshing. I’m only in my twenty-fifth year, yet my legs feel like they belong to an old geezer.”

“It’s because of all the alcohol you consume,” Mitha retorted.

“Hey now! I’ll have you know I only drink one bottle a day. And I’d prefer to call it a liquid meal, thank you very much.”

Wyford paused, his eyes sweeping the place. Igneal was busy picking up bottles, sometimes spitting in them, as he muttered something about cleanliness. After finding a vial with a clear liquid, he took a small sniff, his lips curling in distaste. He then chucked it into the nearest corner. The cup made a rat-rat as it rolled.

“Lord Igneal?” Wyford called.

“What is it?” Igneal replied, not even bothering to turn around.

Wyford cleared his throat, a faint trace of hesitation in his voice. “Forgive me for asking, but I’m quite curious about the relationship between you and Tyrus here. Branch Leader Selena has recommended you two for the exam, and it seems like you two are... close?”

Tyrus’s ears perked up. Is that what Wyford thought? That he and Igneal were close? He couldn’t have been further from the truth. They had just met yesterday and were practically strangers. To consider someone close, they’d have to share some sort of bond or be friends at the bare minimum.

Igneal’s personality wasn’t a favorable one, and Tyrus had little desire to build a relationship with the noble. He’d be happy enough if they were just acquaintances, even though Igneal was an absolute pain. Igneal was a condescending, prideful, and self-centered guy. He had the personality of a self-absorbed peacock, strutting about with an air of superiority and constantly preening his feathers for admiration, oblivious to the irritation he caused others with his pompous demeanor.

Well, that was what Tyrus used to think before Igneal saved him.

Thanks to Igneal, he set fire to an entire village and bought the rest of the group enough time to escape. Not only that, but he saved Tyrus in the nick of time and even lent him his own shoulder! And it was his own choice as well! It was quite surprising such a thought even crossed his mind. He achieved all of that, all the while expressing a strong reluctance to assist Wyford and Mitha. It showed that he wasn’t that heartless. Either that or he was carefully plotting something.

Tyrus couldn’t say for sure, and neither did he have the energy to ponder any further. It was possible that Igneal was just pretending and waiting for the right opportunity for whatever reason. Or maybe his pride was hurt and was trying to make up for it? Just thinking about it was making his head hurt!

I won’t mention any of this to them. Best they believe Igneal saved them out of the goodness of his heart.

When no one answered, Wyford gave Tyrus a sheepish smile. “Well! We can save that topic for another time. I’d say introductions are in order. We promised you that. I’m Wyford, Wyford from Lindell. And that ray of sunshine is Mitha from Lindell.”

“Tyrus,” Tyrus said. “Tyrus from...”

His voice trailed off. Where was he from? He had no clue, other than that he was probably from the Beastfolk Kingdom. Obviously, he would not mention that to them. It was weird enough that they omitted his Beastfolk nature or even spared a glance at his tails and ears. They must’ve not cared in the slightest or were hiding their disgust.

There was also him not having a permanent home, only wandering around like a lost puppy. The only place he could think of that actually made sense was Valiedge, his most recent home.

“Valiedge,” he finished.

Wyford nodded. “Well met, Tyrus. Of course, we already know of Lord Igneal.”

"Naturally," chimed in Igneal. He glared at a pile of bones and stepped over them before walking to the group. “You would rarely find a soul ignorant of my name. Unless they lived in a secluded cave.”

“You are the son of the great Family Head Lockhart, Lord of Flames,” Wyford added. “A noble with a bright future ahead of him, no doubt.”

“A bright future is an understatement. Taking over what is rightfully mine from my father is just a matter of time. Like a sun, my future shines brightly with nothing but triumph and accomplishment.”

Mitha arched an eyebrow. “That’s very... descriptive, Lord Igneal. May your path remain clear and steady as an arrow.”

Igneal puffed out his chest, his arrogant grin plastered right back. Tyrus could only mentally shake his head at the display. Just like that, Igneal was back to his regular self. A simple piece of acknowledgement and he’s already in high spirits. It’s as if it takes little for the noble to regain his ego.

“Regardless, I would like to extend my formal appreciation to you once again for your support. Without you two, Mitha and I would’ve been in the stomachs of a croc! If there’s anything I can do to repay you, just say the word and I’ll make it happen.”

“Hold on,” Tyrus cut in. Slowly but surely, his health was returning to normal, minus the chest pain. “Why did you guys lie to Jericho like that? And why did you goad him into attacking you? He could’ve cut your throats there and then. I didn't think you two were actually scared.”

Mitha snorted. “Oh that? It's because we were playing a role. The greater the level of persuasion, the higher the likelihood that the oaf would control himself. It seemed like he was the type of person who would wait for the opportune time to harvest his crops. Also, we had to sprinkle in some lies alongside the truth. I had reservations about revealing all the details to him, you know? It was all to buy enough time for us to escape—until you and Lord Igneal came along. From there, it was smooth sailing. Mostly.”

"It's worth noting that I came up with this idea," Wyford stated. “In case you hadn't noticed, I'm the one who brings both brains and brawn.”

Mitha sighed. “Once the bandits took you inside the building, I continued my work on the restraints, loosening the rope.” She raised her wrists, and a red mark was visible. “My skin went through a lot, but the result made it all worthwhile. Following that, Lord Igneal ignited several buildings in the rear. The bandit who was watching us panicked and deserted us to go warn the others.”

“Shortly after, we made our getaway and pillaged a nearby hut to gather our weapons, where we successfully fought off a couple of oncoming bandits. Lord Igneal popped up from those tight slits and demanded where you were once he saw it was just us two. I pointed at the building and said that’s where they took you, and he ran like a bat out of hell.”

Tyrus eyes widened. “R-Really?”

Igneal scoffed. “An exaggeration on her part. I couldn't let someone of your abilities meet a pitiful demise. An Augmentation Sorcerer with a lighting affinity is a remarkable find. It would be a pity for you to perish without accomplishing your goals. That would be unpleasant not only for you, but for me as well.”

Well, that was a roundabout way of saying, ‘Dying sucks when you have so much to live for’. Either way, Igneal was right. It would be a shame to die before getting rich and living a lavish life he always dreamed. And to summon sheets of ice and fire storms with just a flick of his hand. Achieving such dreams seemed far away, but he was determined to reach them.

Tyrus squirmed in his seat. A prickle of pain from his face had him wince. The injuries on his face had slipped his mind. Without a mirror, he had no way of telling just how bad the wounds were. He more or less got nicked at least two times in his fight with Jericho. Now that he was out of battle mode and his thundering blood coursing through his body calmed, it felt as if he stuck his face too close to Igneal’s flames.

“That Jericho fella sure did a number on you,” Wyford said. “The cut’s ain’t too deep, so it won’t scar. If you don’t mind me asking, what happened in there?”

To save on time, Tyrus summarized his encounter and battle with Jericho. He told them about his goal of learning more about Scourge and what they were up to in the Wasteful Wetlands. When his plan failed and Jericho was ordered by Sezor to kill the intruder, that was when they fought one on one. Tyrus stalled briefly, watching how Jericho fought and wondered whether he would spill any more information. Contrary to expectations, he said nothing more and was focused on spilling blood. From there, he explained his cuts, his head breaking through floorboards, and how Jericho was about to kill him until Igneal intervened.

“And through all that, all I received was this.” Frowning, he pulled out the flying dagger from his ring and showed it to everyone. “I picked up his pseudo-artifact because, well, I deserved it after everything I went through.”

Wyford was silent for a moment. He shared a glance with an awestruck Mitha. As if they were having a mental conversation, they both nodded and shifted their gaze to a frowning Tyrus.

Mitha leaned forward, staring intently at Tyrus. “...It is as we suspected. Your story only confirms our suspicions.”

“What?" Tyrus asked. “What suspicions?”

“I don't want to get into all the boring details of our capture, but basically, Scourge patrollers, with Jericho's help, followed and caught us. Back then, we thought they were just a bunch of small-time thieves and underestimated them. We got restrained and led to the fishing village.”

“Well?” Igneal interrupted. “Stop stalling and spit it out already.”

Mitha's eye twitched, yet she maintained a serious expression. “What I was trying to say is that Branch Leader Selena preached about safety. Sir Geroth, a royal knight, mentioned he would give his all and then some in protecting us. I don’t know about you two, but I haven’t seen hide or hair of them ever since. Multiple times they could’ve-no, should've-intervened, yet they’re absent.”

“What Mitha is trying to say here,” Wyford began, “is that something terribly wrong has happened to the overseers. I think it’s safe to say that we might be on our own in this hellhole of a place.”