One Who Waits 1 - The Nomad Boy Who Wasn't

[zakky]

It is said that courage is needed in everything you do.
You need courage to live, to move, and to love.
You need courage to face circumstance.
To make your choices. To live with the consequences.
You need courage to face your destiny.
But how much courage do you need to face a destiny that is not yours?

[zakky]

Prologue
A Nomad In The Northern Capital

The Nomad boy knew little of the world outside Morroc when he first set out into the unknown in the 1391st year of Starkad. He had no goal, no destination when he left: only a reason to be alone, and a promise that could no longer be kept.

This was the boy’s third winter in the wilderness. It was getting dark, and the cold was bitter. He had survived snakebites, wolf attacks, and bandits on his journey north. There seemed to be no end in sight—and for the first time in three years, he felt like finally giving up.

The boy stopped walking for a moment, feeling the pain that his worn-out shoes failed to spare his feet from. He weakly clutched his tattered gray cloak, uncommitedly trying to get whatever warmth he could from the damp fabric. He looked beaten. His voyage was going nowhere. The only reason he was alive was that no one—or nothing—had killed him yet. As he resumed walking, he wondered once again about the time when he would finally stop, lie down on the ground, and not get up again. He wished it would come soon, if only to end this hollow cycle of pain and regrets.

These and other troublesome thoughts quickly became forgotten as the boy climbed onto the crest of a low ridge and saw, for the first time in his life, the bright lights of Prontera Fort City.

• • •

Mikieru Makimachi frowned.

The snow had been falling mightily on Prontera Fort City for the past three days, making his job as a Constable of the Prontera Chivalry anything but exciting.

As if my job wasn't sour enough, he thought, his eyes on the incessant rain of white. First a demotion, now this…

Through his round-rimmed dark glasses, he idly watched people scurrying in the darkening streets while he sat in a food trailer on the sidewalk. He still hadn’t gotten used to life in the big city. He used to be one of the best Clerics in the Prontera Chivalry, renowned for his courage and fighting prowess. His current occupation was an infamy for him, especially since he knew he did nothing to deserve it.

Mikieru was a war veteran at 27. He had served as a field lieutenant during the three-year Frontier War, a chaotic period when the Black Nomads of Morroc began an ethnic purging in the Desert and killed thousands of Northerners, White Nomads, and Orients. The Northern Alliance, which consisted of the Fort Cities Prontera and Payon, fought to prevent the anarchy from reaching their borders, and Mikieru was one of the first volunteers.

It was during the third year of the war when he and the rest of his Company were blamed for the failed and mistaken raids on friendly encampments, which were in truth due to the faulty commands of their superiors. Despite their sincere vindications, he and his fellow field lieutenants were pronounced guilty and recalled from the frontlines.

Back in Prontera, some of Mikieru’s fellow lieutenants plotted to exact vengeance for the dishonor that had been done to them. Garrione, a Knight whose ascension to Lord Knighthood was derailed by the accusations, led the scheme. Repeatedly, he asked Mikieru and the rest of the humiliated soldiers to join them in a plot that promised to be fail-safe.

The Cleric refused. While he shared their sentiments, he was not willing to shed any more blood than they already had. Mikieru even threatened Garrione that the authorities would know about the uprising if the Knight did not back down. Garrione agreed—but only to secretly launch an assassination attempt on several key military leaders soon after.

The attempt was largely unsuccessful, but Garrione and 150 of those loyal to him were able to steal away some of Prontera’s finest Peco Mounts, armor and weapons, as well as several top-secret military documents from the Alliance desert HQ. The traitors then rode away into the night, not to be seen again for two years.

Mikieru was innocent, but some suspected he and Garrione shared the same motives. To avoid any further scandal, the Cleric chose to resign from his military position and instead took a local job as a Constable. He was to spend his days and nights patrolling the streets of Prontera, maintaining the peace. Mikieru somberly considered his military career over—and it confounded him to know that he had not done anything wrong.

The disillusioned Cleric sighed. He looked around him, taking in the wretched blight of the run-down Dolter district. Much of the rest of Prontera mirrored the disfigurement he saw here—a city that grew too quickly for its walls that they had to be torn down and rebuilt several times. To date, the crowded Fort City covered almost 1,000 square kilometers and had more than one million citizens—too crowded for the Cleric’s tastes. He knew very few, if any, of Prontera’s citizens would want to live here if it weren’t the crossroads of countless trade routes in the North. He, in his case, was here only for the reason that he had nowhere else to go…

A running figure flashed before Mikieru's eyes, breaking his thoughts. His eyes followed the runner, then another, into a small mob forming in an alley behind the trailer. From the sounds coming from the crowd, he could tell that a fight was going to break out.

Another fight, he thought, getting up and making sure his Mace was at his side. We've been getting too many these past few days. He left the trailer and walked towards the crowd, leaving his sandwich unfinished.

“Make way, Constable coming through,” he called, slightly wincing at the word ‘Constable’ as he pushed his way towards the front row of the crowd.

“Damn it, a Constable,” he heard someone mutter.

“Just like them to ruin the fun,” muttered another.

Mikieru stopped in the front row, beside a large man in a trench coat who eyed him shiftily. At the open space in the middle of the crowd, three male figures stood still. There were a few burning barrels in the vicinity, so the Cleric had to squint to see who they were.

Old Occultists, he thought, recognizing the black bandanas on the two larger figures.

The Old Occultists were a group of misfits who claimed to be the real keepers of peace and order in Prontera, citing the inadequate efforts exerted by the Prontera Chivalry to tone down crime and discontent in the Capital City. Mikieru would have agreed with them if it weren’t for the fact that the Old Occultists actually caused more crimes than they claimed to preclude.

The Old Occultists did not recognize the laws of Prontera. Instead, they operated on a Martial Law system. As well as having their own rules, they also had their own ways of enforcing them. These included blackmail, extortion, thievery and, oftentimes, violence.

Mikieru squinted harder, trying to see who the third figure was. From behind his dark glasses he saw a lean boy, no older than 13, wearing tattered traveling clothes. While the sight of the urchin wasn't unfamiliar to him, Mikieru found it strange that the boy had, together, the tan skin of a White Nomad and blue hair only found in Northerners. A half-breed? Unlikely—it had long been known that, although all Nomads and Northerners were undeniably Human, genetic differences prevented reproduction between the two races. Also strange was his presence here; Prontera had closed its borders to all Nomads after the Frontier War abruptly ended in a stalemate three years ago.

The two Occultists glared at the boy. They stood a few meters on both sides of the boy, offering him no escape. One Occultist had a Smasher in hand; the other had a Broadsword. In the boy's hand was a small bag containing zenny.

“What is going on here?” Mikieru asked the man beside him.

“Just like you to ruin the fun, Constable,” the large man replied, annoyed. “This Nomad was found walking the streets with a hood over his head, and somehow these Occultists guessed what he was. They also found some zenny on him, so now they’re negotiating.”

“Negotiating.”

“Yes.”

“Occultists do not negotiate.”

“No.”

“Which means the boy is going to get killed.”

“You can see it that way; it’s fine with us. The kid’s gonna get worked in any case, so we might as well have some fun while we’re at it. Do us a favor and let the Occultists do the job, eh?”

Mikieru looked back at the boy. The boy's eyes were wide—confused, but not scared. It was obvious that the child did not know what was going on and who his two tormentors were.

The Occultist with the Smasher spoke up. “This is your last chance, brat,” he hissed, pointing the mutilated club at the boy's chest. “For passage and your continued breathing, pay up.”

The boy fidgeted, and answered with a quivering voice: “No.”

“Fine,” the second Occultist snapped. “We’ll do this the hard way.”

“You’ll be sorry you messed with the law, kid,” declared the first Occultist. He withdrew his Smasher and positioned it to strike.

The boy's face tightened as he recognized the hostile stance the first Occultist assumed. Slowly, he put his zenny bag back into his belt and took out a small knife, with a straight edge and a 4-inch blade.

“Let me go,” the boy warned, assuming a passive defensive stance. The knife was in his right hand, blade down.

The Occultists sneered. “Go to hell, Nomad whelp.”

Mikieru swallowed. He had seen Nomad children dying in the crossfire during the Frontier War. It was a sight that he did not have a partiality for, and he was not about to see it happen within the sheltered borders of this Fort City. He reached for his Mace and opened his mouth to call a halt to the fight.

At that instant his eyes met the boy’s, and he stopped. Mikieru’s hand touched no Mace; his mouth uttered no sound. The boy was not afraid—his eyes made Mikieru feel, strangely, that everything would be all right.

Then the Occultists attacked. The first Occultist leaped forward, his Smasher drawn back above his head in the prelude of a vicious downward smash. The men in the crowd gasped; the women screamed. Too late, Mikieru grasped the handle of his own Mace; he knew that the boy’s knife wouldn't be able to parry the Smasher.

Mikieru watched as the boy lunged forward, crossing his forearms above his head, catching the Occultist’s arm at the apex of the Smasher swing. The shocked Occultist stopped in his tracks, wide-eyed. The boy threw the Occultist's mace arm down to his right, and the man lost his balance and tipped forward with a grunt.

The boy's right arm was drawn back; the Occultist's throat was exposed; the knife was poised to strike. Mikieru watched breathlessly as the boy threw his arm forward.

A loud crack echoed through the alley.

Instead of slicing the Occultist's throat, the boy's right hand curled into a fist and hit the Occultist between the eyes in a perfectly executed high punch. The Occultist flew backwards and landed on his back, unconscious.

“Whoa,” Mikieru muttered, impressed at the boy's counter-attack.

The second Occultist stood wide-eyed, disbelieving the way his superior was floored by a mere Nomad boy. Shaking, he drew his Broadsword and held it with two hands. “You little stink-bug!” he fumed. “I'll kill you!” He charged at the boy, sword at his side, poised to deliver a thrust.

The boy quickly turned and assumed a fighting stance. Seeing that he couldn't block the sword thrust, he sidestepped, evading the sword blade by inches. Fuming, the Occultist swung his sword in a wild backhand slash. The boy ducked, calmly, waiting for the blade to pass over his head. Then he saw the opening.

The boy leaped and slammed a closed fist under the Occultist's chin. The Occultist, knocked off the ground by the boy's uppercut, let go of his Broadsword. After delivering the uppercut, the boy twisted in mid-air, lifting his left leg and landing it in the Occultist's midsection in a turning back kick. The Occultist flew backwards, hitting a wall and falling on his face.

The boy landed on the ground, instinctively poised to meet another attack. The second Occultist made an effort to get up, but lost consciousness halfway up on his feet. The crowd made sounds of awe.

The boy stood up. The entire fight had not lasted thirty seconds. After making sure he had all his belongings in his pockets, the boy pulled the frayed hood over his head and started walking, quietly, into the dark alley.

“All right everyone, break it up,” Mikieru called, motioning to the crowd. “Nothing to see here… anymore.”

“Are you mad?” a drunk man called from the mob. “Y’can’t have a Nomad in the Capital!”

The man made a move to lunge at the Cleric, but stopped when he saw the rest of the mob did not share his sentiments. The rest of the crowd dispersed, the men satisfied, the women relieved. Not a few turned to look back at the Nomad boy who defeated two Old Occultists with his bare hands.

“Er, never mind,” the man stammered, withdrawing from Mikieru’s stare. “The, er, Constabulary is gonna hear about this incident anyway, eh?”

When most of the crowd had gone, Mikieru turned to survey the scene. Two unconscious Occultists lay on the ground. A shady silhouette was walking into the alley.

Intrigued, he followed the boy quietly, neglecting to make field notes of the incident.

• • •

The wind was cold in the alley. The boy mournfully clasped his traveling cloak, trying to keep warm. He had all but forgotten about the fight that took place only minutes ago. He was now thinking of what to do with his remaining money; whether to spend it on a room for the night, to buy some warm food, or to save it for tomorrow. He had been pondering the same choice long before the fight.

As he rounded a corner, he stopped, wide-eyed. In front of him, hunched beside a refuse bin, was a little girl of about ten, clutching a small bundle. From the sounds he heard, he could tell that the girl was holding a baby—a sibling. Seeing him, the girl tried to hush the baby. The boy's heart ached as he saw the freezing tears on the girl's face. These children had been caught in the worst part of the snowstorm and got lost.

These are orphans, the boy thought. Just like… like…

Coming closer, the boy knelt and touched the girl's face. It was as cold as ice. Quickly, he took off his coat and wrapped it around the two children. He threw his arms around them and pressed, instinctively trying to save their lives. The girl readily leaned her head on his chest, willingly accepting any semblance of help, even from a stranger.

Even from a Nomad.

The boy felt like crying. He did not pity the girl. She made him remember an event in the past… an event he had tried for years to forget.

The boy heard a sound in the alley behind him, but he did not turn to look. If he were to be attacked, he would not defend himself. Whether or not he was going to die in this alley on this very night did not matter to him. The lives he was protecting on his chest was much more important, much more precious than his own.

“Kid.”

The boy slightly turned his head to the side, in a gesture that indicated he was listening.

“You do not deserve to be out in these alleys.”

The boy turned to look at the speaker.

“Come with me,” the tall man said, offering a gloved hand.

The boy hesitated. The man stepped closer, and light reflected on the silver cross hanging from around his neck. The boy saw the cross—and knew that he could trust this man.

The boy carefully stood up, making sure the girl followed suit. He kept his arms around her even as Mikieru took him under his long coat. Together, they walked out of the dark alleys into the wide lighted streets of Prontera Fort City.

• • •

To be continued

[zakky]

“My goodness, where have you been? We were looking everywhere for you!”

The young women who answered the door at the orphanage frantically ushered the young girl and her sibling into the warm foyer of the dilapidated facility. One of them remained at the door, thanking the Cleric profusely.

“You have our deepest gratitude, Brother!” she stammered. “I will have to send word to call off the search for them. You have saved us a great deal of trouble!”

Mikieru nodded, brushing off the misguided gratitude. He moved a flap of his long black coat slightly, gesturing that he had one more child under his coat.

“Ah, and as for him… er…” the woman’s voice trailed off when she saw the color of the boy’s skin. She looked at Mikieru warily and swallowed when she realized he was waiting for an answer.

“Er… that is, I… I believe we’re full up these days, it being winter and all,” she stammered. “I am not sure if we could accept any more…”

Mikieru sighed and turned to walk away, gently nudging the boy to follow him.

“I… I will talk to my supervisor about it… I mean him… I will let you know if…”

The tall Cleric looked over his shoulder and nodded as politely as he could, fully knowing that she was not going to do the things she said. The orphanage was not about to take a Nomad in.

Mikieru walked slowly, making sure the boy kept up with him.

“So,” he ventured after a moment. “What is your name?”

The boy looked down, as if trying to remember. “Shin-ju,” he uttered.

“Shin-ju?” Mikieru repeated, raising an eyebrow at the Payonese-sounding name. “Shin-ju what?”

The boy hesitated. “J-just Shin-ju, sir.”

“You do not have a family name?”

Mikieru saw the boy close his mouth. He was not going to get an answer.

“I understand,” the Cleric concluded. “Then I will call you Shin-ju from now on.”

At the words ‘from now on,’ Shin-ju looked up.

“My name is Mikieru Makimachi,” the Cleric introduced himself. “I am a Constable of the Prontera Chivalry. Now tell me, Shin-ju: where did you come from?”

“From… from Morroc,” Shin-ju answered.

“Is that so?” Mikieru bit his lip upon hearing the name of the Frontier Capital. “How did you get here?”

“By walking.”

“You walked here?”

“I didn’t walk here, sir. I wasn’t headed in any particular direction… I didn’t even know the name of this place until you mentioned it just now.”

“That is well. This is Prontera, and it is fair warning to tell you that Nomads are not welcome here, as those two clowns tried to show you a while ago. Then again, you are not a true Nomad, are you?”

Shin-ju looked up. “Why?”

“Your hair. It’s blue. Nomads never grow blue hair.”

“That’s true. They said the same things to me back in Morroc three winters ago.”

Three years ago? Mikieru thought as the boy continued.

“Could I help it if I was born like this? The Black Nomads never listen to me, though. Those men never listen to anyone outside their race. It’s… it’s the main reason why I left. It’s funny to think that it’s like I left Morroc only to go back to it. It’s exactly like Morroc in this place, only with the sides reversed. People judging me by the color of my hair or skin, and people wanting to kill me for that reason… it’s like I never left.”

Mikieru couldn’t help but smile at the boy’s elucidation. “How old are you, Shin-ju?”

“I’m thirteen, sir.”

“As I had guessed,” Mikieru said, walking carefully down a sloped sidewalk. “I’m twenty-seven, and here we are, talking like we’re both eligible for retirement. How’s that?”

Shin-ju smiled for the first time. “I… maybe it’s because you get to think a lot when you’re all alone out there.”

“Three years of being all alone out there, huh?”

“Yes, sir.”

Mikieru laughed quietly as they rounded a corner. “Then I got just the thing for you. When I think, I get hungry… and if you have been thinking so hard for three years, I could only imagine the appetite you must have.”

Shin-ju’s smile faded when he realized Mikieru was taking him to a food trailer.

“Er, that really isn’t necessary, sir,” Shin-ju stammered, although his mouth watered when he smelled the scent of cooked food for the first instance in a long time.

“Do not worry about it,” Mikieru answered softly, beckoning the boy to take a seat at the food counter. “Call it a reward for making my job a little easier to swallow today.”

• • •

Mikieru dolefully eyed the stack of bowls. He had underestimated the boy’s appetite. Already, Shin-ju had eaten through five bowls of rice and two plates of spring rolls.

“Eat slowly,” the Cleric solicited, as worried about his money as he was about the boy getting indigestion by eating so much after starving for so long.

Shin-ju put down his fifth bowl and took a sip of hot tea. “Thank you, sir,” he said, quite happy.

Mikieru nodded, then asked. “Shin-ju?”

The boy looked up.

“Do you not get tired of wandering?”

Shin-ju thought for a moment, then nodded slightly. “Yes, I am tired,” he said.

“Then you would not mind staying in Prontera for the meantime?”

“I… I’d like to stay in one place for once… but I can’t keep sponging off you like this forever.”

“Of course not. You will work for me.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“As what?"

“As a janitor, for starters. I work at the Chivalry HQ, on the northwest side of this Fort City. We are a little short on maintenance crew right now, and the fact that it is wintertime does not help things. You ought to smell the place. In effect you will be supporting yourself. At the same time, you will get to meet people. Who knows? If all goes well, you might save up enough to go to school.”

“School,” Shin-ju repeated, smiling at the word. “That sounds… good.”

“It is set, then,” Mikieru said, pleased. “It will be a bit hard at first, but you will get used to it. I got your back.”

• • •

A heavy crash sounded behind them.

Mikieru and Shin-ju froze at the sound. Slowly they turned to see what made it.
Behind them stood a huge armored man, holding the handle of a very large Mace, its head planted on the ground. The man was wearing a black bandana and had a glass eye. Around him stood seven other men, also wearing black bandanas. Two of them, slightly hunched and slightly bruised, stood behind the rest. All of them stared at Shin-ju with murderous eyes.

“Occultists,” Mikieru muttered.

“Is this the brat?” the Head Occultist boomed angrily, veins pulsing in his bald head.

“Y-yes, sir,” said the first bruised Occultist.

The Head Occultist stepped forward. “No one messes with the Old Occultists!” he shouted at Shin-ju. “You’ll pay with your life!”

Shin-ju stood up and faced the mob, prepared to fight them if they attacked.

“Hold on,” Mikieru calmly said, his back still turned to the mob. Shin-ju, surprised, looked at him.

“What the hell?” the Head Occultist roared.

“You want this boy?” Mikieru turned slowly. “Sorry, but he is… my Apprentice. If you want him, you will have to go through me first.”

“Hah! The idiot Priest!” the Head Occultist guffawed, seeing Mikieru's silver cross. “You think you can beat me, preacher? What’re you gonna do, feed me your breadcrumbs until I choke?”

Mikieru smirked. “What do you say we arm-wrestle for him?” he said, pointing to a broken wooden table in the alley behind them. “If I win, you leave him alone.”

“Stuck-up little punk! When I win, we take the boy… but not before we dump your self-righteous carcass in the middle of the street!”

Shin-ju looked at Mikieru, dumbfounded. Mikieru looked tall and strong, but the Head Occultist was one-and-a-half feet taller and several hundred pounds heavier than him. The Head Occultist's arm alone looked three times larger than Mikieru's own. There was no way Mikieru would win in an arm-wrestling contest with this person.

The other Occultists prepared the table while their boss and Mikieru waited. Shin-ju looked on from behind Mikieru, worried. A small mob started forming around the scene. The owner of the food trailer hurriedly closed his shop.

When the table was ready, the Head Occultist immediately took his place and threw his right elbow down on it. The other Occultists stood behind him, grinning in confidence and amusement as Mikieru calmly stood up and walked to his place.

“Don’t worry. I'll pray over your carcass," the big man mocked. “Hope you get a cool spot in hell!”

The other Occultists laughed. Mikieru said nothing.

Mikieru took his place at the table and placed his elbow on the table. His gloved hand touched the Head Occultist's gauntlet. Immediately they clasped hands.

“Shin-ju,” Mikieru said without turning. Shin-ju looked at him.

“You give the signal.”

Shin-ju hesitated, but obeyed. He took a spoon that the shop owner had left on the counter.

“When the spoon hits the gutter,” he said slowly.

He threw the spoon upwards. The Occultists watched it rise, then fall. The Head Occultist and Mikieru waited for the sound to come. The crowd waited with bated breath.

A tiny ring came, followed by a resounding wooden crash.

“What the f—?!” the Head Occultist screamed.

Everyone around the two arm-wrestlers gaped at the big man as he tipped sideways off his seat, his legs flying well above his head. Mikieru sat motionless, elbow on the table, gloved hand empty.

The Head Occultist crashed to the ground beside him and rolled on his back. He sat up and looked, dumbfounded, at Mikieru. Mikieru was smiling. His elbow was still on the table, forearm upright. There was a dent on the table's surface—it was shaped like the back of the Head Occultist's gauntlet.

Amazed, Shin-ju looked at Mikieru, trying to find the reason behind the surprising victory. He saw a bluish-white glow at the palm of Mikieru's black glove.

He recognized it right away—it was Blessing!

“Always think twice before underestimating a man of the Church,” Mikieru told the Head Occultist. “I have ways to raise my strength to a point above even yours.”

The Head Occultist stared at Mikieru in frustrated disbelief, nursing his sprained elbow, as the other Occultists struggled to help him on his feet.

Facing the Occultists, Mikieru took off his glasses.

“NOW GET LOST BEFORE I PUT YOUR SORRY ASSES UNDER ARREST!”

The Occultists froze when they saw his eyes—one iris a deep blue, the other an Elfish green—and immediately they recognized who he was.

“Holy crap—it’s the Kitsune!” screamed the Head Occultist.

“RUN!” his subordinates screamed.

Mikieru, Shin-ju, and the crowd watched in amused satisfaction as the Occultists scampered away, their red-faced leader staggering in tow.

Mikieru, for the second time in the day, asked the crowd to disperse. Shin-ju watched Mikieru's tall frame moving about, arms raised effortlessly, voice calmly addressing the crowd. He saw in Mikieru what the Cleric’s superiors found dangerous in him—a genuine goodness.

Mikieru turned his uncovered eyes to Shin-ju. The boy was beaming, very impressed. It had been too long since Shin-ju last looked up to anyone. And now, here stood a man whom he had just met for the first time tonight, and whom he was already intensely proud of.

“Sorry about that,” Mikieru joked. “After you have stayed a little longer in this Fort City, you will realize that it's the same as the wilderness in many, many ways.”

“I know,” Shin-ju answered. “But the wilderness doesn't have you.”

Their eyes met for a moment—Mikieru’s green-and-blue visage and Shin-ju's lonely gray stare—and that was the final seal of their friendship.

[ChainerDimentia]

Yay Mikey have posted the first arc here! Welcome to ROE Mikey~
- His username is Mikey in ORB Official Ragnaboards

[zakky]

Chapter One
Trust Me

Mikieru smirked as he rode his Peco Mount through the streets of Prontera Fort City. It was April, the threshold between spring and summer, and the rain was pouring. The Constable was on his usual shift. His beat was a particularly wide avenue that began at the city’s south gate and tore a straight path through three districts before terminating at Prontera’s Central Park. It was the Northern Capital’s front door, and traders concentrated their dealings here. The bustling commercial atmosphere and the scores of mercantile inns that thrived along the street earned it the fond moniker “Merchant’s Alley.”

Mikieru was soaking wet, but he did not notice. The bad weather made him remember a day, three months ago, when he met a unique Nomad boy in the same street in weather just as bad.

It was half-past seven in the evening when Mikieru rode halfway through the sprawling Fort City into the Chivalry HQ. The day was uneventful. He had settled two commercial disputes and a tavern fight that morning, but the rest of the afternoon was one big yawn. The Old Occultists had kept a low profile after realizing Mikieru was patrolling Merchant’s Alley and the Dolter District, and were currently carrying out their shady operations elsewhere in the city.

The Chivalry HQ was designed like a fort, with a gatehouse, two fortified battlements, and a keep that served as the main office hall of the Constabulary. Originally the HQ was meant to house the leaders of Prontera’s military arm, but the Frontier War had forced the army to move to a more strategic—and less hospitable—location in the Sograt Desert Garrison. The undermanned Constabulary moved in only a few years ago, and management of the place proved to be very unwieldy for most of the overseeing Prefects.

It was owing to this fact that Mikieru wasn’t surprised when he failed to see any sentries in the Gatehouse, the battlements, and turrets as he rode in under the downpour. The gates were wide open, practically inviting unauthorized entry. A quick scan of the drenched, empty grounds made no indication of unlawful individuals—in fact, there was no sign of any individuals at all.

The Cleric rode into the Peco Stables and dismounted. He tied his Peco into its stall and proceeded towards the nearby changing room, taking off his wet coat.

An audible expression of disgust escaped his lips as he pushed the door open.

“Jake. Rick. Marcello.”

Annoyed, the three disheveled Knights looked up from their small poker table. They didn’t seem pleased to see him.

“What do you think you are doing, leaving your posts like this?” the Cleric admonished, wiping himself dry with a towel.

“Hey, nothing’s gonna happen, Makimachi,” Jake sniffed. “No one’s attacking the HQ.”

“That is not what I mean,” Mikieru replied. “You know as well as I do that no one is allowed to leave their posts at any time during duty hours.”

“Heh,” Rick snickered, drawing from the deck of cards on the table. “Not like we’re AWOL or anything, right? It's ain’t no big deal.”

Mikieru glanced at them while fixing two mugs of coffee. “Here I am, soaking wet, being told by three Knights playing hooky that my job is no big deal.”

“Look,” Rick snapped. “Even the Head Prefect hasn’t reported to work all week.”

“Neither has most of his Senior Staff,” Jake added.

“Exactly,” Rick finished. “Nothing's going to happen, Mikieru. Why doncha give yourself a break?”

“Forget it, guys,” Marcello drawled without looking up from his hand of cards. “Reckon it must be hard to give yourself a break when there’s so much tension weighin’ you down.”

“Better to live tense than to die relaxed,” Mikieru muttered to himself.

“Wha'cha say?” Marcello asked, going out of his way to turn his head towards the Cleric when he asked the question.

“Nothing,” Mikieru answered. “Where is Shin-ju?”

“Who?”

“Shin-ju.”

“You mean that Nomad-bastard?”

Mikieru turned, raised his arm, and smashed his gloved fist down on the poker table, denting the table surface and scattering coins, cards and cigarette stubs. The three Knights dropped their cards and sat up, blinking.

“Don’t you dare call him that in front of me.”

The three Knights saw Mikieru's intense blue-and-green stare from behind his dark glasses—and said nothing. Mikieru took the two mugs of mocha he prepared and walked out of the changing room without another word.

A few moments later, Jake recovered enough to ask, “What the hell’s wrong with that guy?” He picked up coins and cards from the floor and resumed their card game.

• • •

Mikieru walked through the torch-lit halls, mugs in hands. As he passed by the Knights’ common rooms, he saw many other Knights who were supposed to be out on patrol or watch duty. They were joking, laughing, and drinking beside warm fireplaces. Others were playing cards. Several others were sleeping, snoring loudly.

Mikieru looked away in irritation.

There was a door at the end of the hall with the word “STORAGE” painted on it. Mikieru pushed it open and looked around the tiny room.

A bucket stood in the corner by the door, with a mop in it, its handle leaning against the wall. Waste pipes ran along the ceiling, some dripping. The walls were sooty. A broken closet stood at the left wall, with a worn futon and pillow under its vanity counter. Several boxes were stacked in the right and back walls.

Mikieru looked at the highest stack of boxes, near the small high window.

On the top box sat Shin-ju, leaning against the wall. The boy was looking out the window, idly watching the rain fall.

“Hi, Shin-ju,” Mikieru greeted.

Shin-ju turned to face the Cleric. “Good evening, Senpai,” the boy answered, reaching out as Mikieru handed him a mug of coffee.

Shin-ju watched Mikieru as the Cleric took a large box and sat on it. Shin-ju had learned a lot about Mikieru during the past three months.

Mikieru had trained at the Prontera Academy when he was 13 and trained as an Acolyte until he was 18. The highlight of Mikieru's young career was when he was sent, with a party of Knights and Swordsmen trainees, to the Mjolnir Coal Mines. They were to investigate a mysterious disappearance of coal miners in the lower levels. They had found that the miners had been cursed by a Dark Priest, a powerful undead creature that created its minions from living beings it encountered. The Knights weren't equipped to fight, and were soon wounded.

Mikieru stepped up and, with his unusually-advanced Blessing skill level, used his amplified speed and strength to take down the formidable Dark Priest itself. Mikieru emerged unscathed from the violent battle.

Mikieru had taken charge of the party, healing the wounds of his companions and rescuing the surviving coal miners. Later, when the Church learned of Mikieru's single-handed victory over the Dark Priest, the Clerics gave him the nickname “Kitsune,” a Payonese word that meant ‘fox,’ in distinction of his isolated courage. At the age of 18, Mikieru was ordained a Cleric and immediately began to serve in the Prontera Army.

Shin-ju then looked at Mikieru's eyes and smiled. Above all Mikieru’s achievements, the one he admired most was the way he rose above the people's prejudice. When Mikieru first came to Prontera, the people were suspicious of his green eye. Green eyes, as had long been known in Midgard, only occurred naturally in Elves. They accused him of being an Elf-bastard; yet now, they respected him as one of them.

The color of his eyes did not hinder him one bit, Shin-ju thought, looking at his own brown skin. One day I’ll be exactly like him.

Then Shin-ju realized that Mikieru had been quiet for several minutes, and he felt the impulse to begin a conversation.

“Senpai,” he called brightly. “How was your day?”

“Terrible,” Mikieru answered.

Shin-ju's smile faded. Mikieru never used that word to describe his day before.

“I think I am beginning to hate my job,” Mikieru continued, staring at the ground at his feet. “I cannot see any point to it anymore. I thought keeping the peace would make a difference… I resolved three disturbances today, but what about the hundreds of other crimes in Prontera that slip through the cracks? I do what I know is right… and despite my sincerest efforts, I fail to make a difference.”

Mikieru sighed. “It is during times like this when I think my very existence is a mistake.”

Shin-ju looked away. Seeing Mikieru so down was unsettling for him.

“Hmhm…”

Shin-ju looked up. Mikieru was chuckling, looking away.

“What's so… funny?” Shin-ju asked.

Mikieru looked up at Shin-ju, trying to hold back his quiet laughter. “Here I am, ranting about how inane my job as a Constable is… to a janitor who sleeps in a utility room and hardly gets paid.” The Cleric laughed in self-depreciating humor. “Sorry for being so stupid. I was thinking of myself too much.”

Shin-ju smiled. “That’s OK, Senpai. Before I met you, I felt the same way.”

Mikieru’s smile faded as Shin-ju turned his eyes to the raindrops outside the window. “I’m only thirteen, but I’ve already seen what people can do to each other… I’ve already seen how helpless good can be in the face of so much evil. I’ve given up on my fellow human beings years ago. I was convinced that people were evil by nature, and there was no place in this world where I could find peace. And then I met you.”

Shin-ju looked at Mikieru. “You made me realize, Senpai, that all this evil is no reason for us not to be on the good side. It is all the more reason for us to keep doing what’s right, because it’s the absence of people like you that allowed all this evil to exist in the first place.”

Mikieru stared at Shin-ju blankly for a moment. The boy’s wisdom was well beyond his years, and even now Mikieru hadn’t gotten used to his multifaceted explanations.

The Cleric took a sip of coffee. “You know what I think?” he asked after a moment.

Shin-ju cocked his head slightly as Mikieru continued.

“I think you think too much.”

The two friends laughed brightly. In that instant, the gloom of the day past was dispelled in the sound of each other’s laughter.

“Seriously,” Mikieru said, taking out his money pouch, “There is no need to go all mysterious on me, not at your age. You are supposed to be enjoying yourself while you still can.” He took 500 zenny from the pouch and handed it to Shin-ju. “Go out and have a good dinner. Get something heavy… a bacon cheeseburger from The Cat In Gloves, for instance. You will not last long like that, being so thin and thinking your head off at the same time.”

Shin-ju looked at the money in his hand. “You sure it's OK? You're not coming with me?”

“I am not going to get wet again today. Not a chance.”

• • •

The Cat In Gloves was one of the favorite eating establishments in northwest Prontera, where most of the population consisted of working middle-class citizens. The restaurant was large, having a common room that accommodated over 100 people and an outdoor seating area that accommodated 100 more. It was a favorite dinnerplace of families of younger Novices training in the nearby Novice Training Grounds when their parents picked them up after the schoolday. Tonight, raining cats and dogs, everyone was forced to cramp indoors. The common room was especially loud.

The clamor immediately died down to a hush, however, as everyone watched a blue-haired Nomad boy place an order for a bacon cheeseburger at the counter.

Shin-ju had placed his order five minutes ago, but the man at the counter was meticulously checking the coins that the boy had given him. Through a magnifier, he shot distrustful glances between the coins and Shin-ju.

Shin-ju swallowed. He peeked over his shoulder and saw the same distrustful look on every pair of eyes in the tavern.

The man at the counter handed Shin-ju a bag. “Here’s your order,” he said cheerlessly. “Now get outta here ‘fore everyone loses their appetites.”

Shin-ju’s eyes were wide. “Do you say the same thing to all your customers?”

“Beat it!”

Shin-ju hurriedly left the tavern’s common room and stood under its entrance canopy. Sighing, he looked at the pouring rain.

“And I thought the weather was cold,” he mumbled to himself.

He waited for a few minutes for the rain to weaken, but gave up after it showed no signs of letting up. He lifted the hood of his raincoat and started walking back to the HQ. He took a quieter side road, away from the main street, in order to avoid any other confrontations.

Shin-ju took notice of a water channel beside the road. The water was roaring. The water channel was a part of a drainage system designed by Prontera's engineers to keep water runoff from Mt. Mjolnir from flooding Prontera. Beginning from behind Prontera, a main water channel split into three, one running along the west side of Prontera, another on the east side, and the last one under the Pronteran streets. The channels redirected the floodwaters to pass harmlessly around and under Prontera.

Shin-ju observed the churning water level. It was high, almost reaching the five-foot wire fence that separated the street from the water channel.

Sure is a storm, Shin-ju thought. If the rain gets any worse, Prontera is still gonna get flooded.

Shin-ju looked ahead and noticed four figures standing on a steel bridge over the water channel. As he passed by, he realized that they were girls, around his age.

Novices from the Training Grounds, he thought, recognizing the seal of the Academy on the girls’ raincoats and umbrellas. All of the girls were looking upstream, observing the water channel.

“Come on, guys, let’s go home!” the smallest girl, who had wavy red hair, pleaded over the roar of the water.

“We can’t!” replied their leader, a Payonese-looking girl with black hair clipped behind her head like a peacock's tail. “We need to pass our report tomorrow!”

“Yeah,” noted the tallest girl, who had long dark-blue hair. “Architect Angelo is gonna flunk us if we didn’t. I’d hate to spend another year in his class!”

“I told you we should have come here earlier!” the red-haired girl screamed again. “I'm getting wet!”

"We didn’t have a choice! It’s been raining all friggin’ week!” their leader called. She then turned to the fourth member of their group, a timid-looking girl who had short blonde hair. “Hey, Joanne, are you taking notes?”

Joanne nodded. “Um, yes…”

“Good. Let's just go and get this over with!”

Shin-ju walked past the bridge, watching the girls over his shoulder. The blonde-haired girl noticed him and turned to look at him. Quickly, Shin-ju turned away and walked on. Neither of them noticed a very large log floating in the water, rushing towards the bridge.

Shin-ju spun at the resounding crash of the log hitting and breaking the bridge’s solitary steel column. Losing its support, the bridge buckled and snapped at the middle. Umbrellas went flying.

Shin-ju stared at the scene in disbelief. The bridge hung by its end, its broken midsection in the churning water. Then when he heard the girls’ screams, he dropped his burger and sprinted towards the bridge.

The red-haired girl was screaming for help. She was the closest to the street, but the steel bridge was slippery and she couldn't climb up.

“Hang on!” their leader screamed as she held on to the arm of her blue-haired friend. The blonde-haired girl, ‘Joanne,’ was desperately holding on to the bridge railing with half her body in the churning water.

Shin-ju arrived at the end of the bridge. “Don't move! I’ll pull you out!” he shouted. The girls stopped screaming and stared, wide-eyed, at the blue-haired Nomad boy.

“He’s…” one of the girls began as Shin-ju took off his long coat.

“…a Nomad…”

Shin-ju held his coat by the hood and threw it across the gap, its bottom landing on the broken end of the bridge. “Use the railings!” Shin-ju shouted over the roaring water. “Climb up and grab the coat! I'll pull you across!”

The smallest girl hesitated, but obeyed. Slowly, and painfully, she crawled towards Shin-ju. After what seemed to be an eternity, she reached out and grabbed the end of Shin-ju's coat and held on as Shin-ju pulled her onto the street. She sat on the pavement in stunned relief.

Shin-ju threw his coat over the gap again. “Your turn!” he shouted. The blue-haired girl obeyed immediately, climbing, clutching the coat, and was pulled across the gap by Shin-ju. At that moment the bridge creaked loudly. The two girls remaining on the bridge screamed.

“Hang on! Don't let go!” Shin-ju screamed desperately, throwing his coat over the gap one more time. “Climb up!” he shouted at the leader.

The leader gritted her teeth as she climbed up and reached for Shin-ju's coat. As she grasped the coat, the worst of Shin-ju's fears came true—the bridge gave way. The hinges broke away from the stone pavement in loud crushing sounds. The leader managed to hold on to the coat, and Shin-ju quickly pulled her in. The two of them fell to the ground in a heap.

The blonde-haired girl screamed as she fell into the violent current.

“JOANNE!” the first two girls screamed in horror..

The blonde-haired girl was pulled under the water, then emerged screaming before going under again.

The leader looked on in stunned helplessness as her blonde-haired friend was swept downstream. “No…” she whispered, too horrified to move. She knew that, in the history of Prontera, no one had ever survived after falling into a flooded water channel.

• • •

To be continued

[zakky]

“Hey!”

She thought the words were coming from a dream.

“HEY!”

She moved her eyes to look around her. She saw rain hitting the pavement heavily, her two friends screaming and tearing at each other, and a blue-haired Nomad boy gripping her shoulders.

“CAN YOU HEAR ME?”

Reality struck her like a thunderbolt, and she bawled hysterically on Shin-ju's chest. The boy pushed her away and shook her vigorously.

“LISTEN TO ME!” Shin-ju shouted.

The girl stared.

“Do you know where the Chivalry HQ is?” he asked her breathlessly.

The girl nodded blankly.

“I want you to run there as fast as you can! Tell the Constables what happened! Tell them to help! Do you understand? DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?”

The girl nodded again. This time her mouth was closed and her eyebrows knotted in fearful determination.

Shin-ju jumped to his feet. “GO! NOW!”

The girl got up to her feet and started running blindly towards the HQ. Turning downstream, Shin-ju sprinted, trying not to lose sight of the girl in the water.

The girl was struggling to keep her head above the water. Judging by the way she was flailing her arms, Shin-ju could tell that she couldn’t swim. He had to do something before she went under one more time—he knew it might be the last time he’ll see her.

No other choice, Shin-ju thought desperately. I’ll have to do it…

Shin-ju picked up speed and leaped using his left foot. As his right foot landed on the top frame of the wire fence, Shin-ju gathered all his strength to jump—as high and as far as he could—into the churning waters.

The blonde-haired girl saw his figure in mid-air, looking down at her, before the water pulled her under one more time.

• • •

Mikieru stopped in his tracks. He had been walking through an upper level hallway that overlooked the HQ gatehouse. A young black-haired girl was staggering through the gates, an expression of pain and anguish plastered on her face.

“Sentries!” Mikieru called out.

For a moment he waited for anyone to emerge from the gatehouse or the battlements to answer the distress call. No one was there.

“SENTRIES!” The Cleric called out again, this time angrily.

By this time, the girl had fallen onto the hard, wet grounds, and Mikieru wasted no time in leaping over the hallway’s railing. The Cleric fell three stories and landed heavily on his feet. He ran towards the girl and gently lifted her off the ground, his large shoulders covering her face from the rain. Slowly, she opened her eyes weakly.

“Help…” she managed to say.

“Are you all right?” Mikieru asked. “What is wrong?”

“Please… help…” the girl was gasping now. “My… friend… water… can’t… swim…”

“Your friend? Where is your friend? Tell me.”

“Friend… call… con… Constable… help.”

Mikieru couldn’t make out what she was saying until one word escaped her lips.

“…Nomad.”

Mikieru’s face tightened. Slowly he leaned forward and whispered: “Where?”

The girl sighed as she closed her eyes again. “West Water Channel.”

Mikieru took her in his arms and carried her into the Stables. He threw a towel over her after he lay her down on a haystack and ran to his Peco-Peco's stable. As he rode out towards the HQ's exit, he saw the large alarm bell that Sentinels used to announce an emergency in the city. Mikieru took out his mace and, as he rode by, landed a perfectly-timed smash. The bell tolled loudly. Jake, Rico and Marcello rushed out of the Stables, bewildered, coming out soon enough just to see Mikieru and his Peco-Peco ride at full-speed out of the gates.

• • •

Shin-ju lifted the blonde-haired girl to the surface of the water, and she drew in a ragged breath. Shin-ju found the water surface too turbulent—he couldn’t stay above for long. The girl held on to Shin-ju tightly as the water swept them downstream with incredible ferocity.

Shin-ju tried to swim towards the side of the channel, but the sloping stone banks offered little friction. He couldn't climb up the banks and he couldn't reach far enough to touch the wire fence. I’ve got to do something before we reach the lake, he thought. He knew that the west water channel terminated at a lake in the fields south of Prontera. The plants and vines there would be a deathtrap for both of them.

While Shin-ju desperately tried to think of a way out, he saw the cone of Prontera’s southwest turret approaching. They were already well past the central districts of Prontera and were going to reach the lake soon. Shin-ju knew he had no other choice…

“Joanne… Joanne!” he called.

The girl looked at him, her eyes red.

“I need you to do something for me! At the count of three, blow all the air out of your lungs!”

The girl froze.

“Trust me! It's our only chance!” Shin-ju pleaded.

The girl reluctantly nodded.

And the two of them looked ahead.

“One…” Shin-ju started.

The girl fidgeted.

“Two…” Shin-ju continued.

The girl held him tightly.

• • •

“Trust me, Joanne…” Shin-ju whispered.

• • •

“THREE!”

The two kids blew out all the air they had in them, and they sank under the surface.

In the silence of the water, they drifted downwards. Shin-ju closed his eyes, moving his feet, waiting for them to touch the bottom of the water channel. There were several drifting pieces of wood in the water, scratching their backs and knocking them around in their descent. Soon, they could hear nothing but the gurgle of the flowing undercurrent and the pounding of their own hearts.

When his lungs were about to burst, Shin-ju felt his feet touch the surface.

NOW!

After a moment, Shin-ju came flying out of the water, a bluish-white aura enveloping his body and the girl’s arms around his neck. The boy looked down as he descended, one of his hands leaving the girl’s back and reaching out for the top frame of the wire fence. He caught it—but he lost his footing on the slippery banks. His hand hung on the pipe frame defiantly. The girl was unconscious. With half of their bodies in the water, the current threatened to pull them in again.

Shin-ju's lungs were aching. There was a bloody gash above his left eye, caused by some rough-edged wood that he barreled through on the way to the surface.

No… Shin-ju whispered, losing consciousness. I… wasn’t… strong enough…

Slowly his fingers slipped from the frame, until they finally let go.

• • •

Mikieru rode along the banks of the West Water Channel, eyes desperately looking for any sign of Shin-ju. He had been tearing downstream for five agonizing minutes. He was running out of time. The Cleric prayed quietly that he would not greet the next morning by fishing out the corpses of two kids from the lake.

He was about to reach Prontera’s southwest turret when he saw, downstream, a glowing patch of water. Mikieru stared for a moment. He recognized the hue of the glow.

Then he saw the glowing patch explode into a plume, with the all-too-familiar form of Shin-ju flying out. He watched as Shin-ju caught the pipe rail on his way down and almost fall back in.

Shin-ju had jumped out of the water.

• • •

Instead of feeling water rushing up to meet him, Shin-ju felt a firm grasp on his wrist. He opened his eyes and saw Mikieru’s gloved hand. The Cleric was leaning over the wire fence and pulling him in.

The Cleric took the two kids in his arms and laid them under a tree.

“She is breathing, Shin-ju,” Mikieru said, leaning over the girl. “She will be all right.”

Getting no answer, Mikieru looked at Shin-ju. He had lost consciousness. Mikieru stared thoughtfully at the sleeping boy.

He is certainly no Acolyte, he thought. And yet he knows of the Holy Arts. How?

Later, a few other Constables and an emergency crew from the hospital arrived at the scene.

• • •

An exhausted, shirtless Shin-ju sat on the ground outside the Prontera hospital, a towel draped over his shoulders. He shivered—he was burning up with fever. He winced as he pressed a bandage to his head wound. He thought of what he had done in the Water Channel and vaguely wondered if it really happened—and whether or not the girl survived.

“Hey.”

Shin-ju looked up towards the Emergency Department’s entrance. Mikieru walked out with a mug of hot milk and dry towels. “I thought you would need these.”

Shin-ju weakly took the mug. “Th-thanks, Senpai,” he answered, “but can I have a place to lie down, too?”

Mikieru glanced into the hospital lobby regretfully. Shin-ju understood right away.

“Yeah, yeah… I know,” Shin-ju sipped the hot drink. “No pets allowed.”

Mikieru said nothing. After watching the downcast boy for a few moments, the Cleric walked over and, to the boy’s surprise, took a seat on the ground and laid the dry towels on the ground between them.

“Here,” Mikieru offered, tapping his thigh with the back of his fingers. “Lie down. I’ll hold the bandage for you.”

Shin-ju was stunned for a short moment before he obeyed smilingly. He let go of his bandage and positioned his arms in a more comfortable position as he lay his head on his Senpai’s lap.

The boy closed his eyes and began to feel the tension leaving his muscles. Mikieru stared ahead.

“Shin-ju,” Mikieru called quietly after a long moment of silence.

Shin-ju opened his eyes slightly.

“Tell me who taught you the Blessing.”

The boy swallowed—not out of tension, but of a poignant remembrance. Slowly he explained.

“A Priestess taught me… long ago, in the Desert. I was the oldest boy in that orphanage, and I had to haul water, fix the roofs, stack the straw… the heaviest tasks. She taught me a simple way to enhance my strength a little so I could finish my chores before dark. I… I developed the skill on my own after I left.”

Mikieru nodded. “And the name of this Priestess?”

“M-Matilda,” Shin-ju answered. “We called her Mother Matilda.”

The Cleric’s lips tightened. “Perhaps she did not know…”

“She knew,” the boy interjected in defense of the Priestess. “She knew that teaching the Holy Arts to those not of the Church was prohibited by its laws. But she seemed to put a lot of faith in me—enough to teach me the Blessing, and she even…”

Shin-ju’s voice trailed off, as if severed by a painful thought.

“I’m sorry, Senpai,” Shin-ju said. “I only used it because I had no other choice.”

Again, there was silence between the two. Shin-ju closed his eyes, if only to keep the fear in his chest from rising.

“Shin-ju,” Mikieru began in a meaningful tone. “I have been thinking about what you said to me earlier tonight. You believed that the mere absence of good people allow all this evil to exist.”

Shin-ju kept his eyes closed as the Cleric continued.

“I believed the very same thing in my Acolytehood. Since then, however, I have gotten so caught up in my own struggles that I had forgotten this simple truth. And you, in a single night, reminded me of what I had taken for granted for so long.”

At this, Shin-ju opened his eyes. Mikieru was looking ahead, staring into the wretched blight of the rain-drenched Fort City beyond the hospital grounds.

“You opened my eyes, Shin-ju,” Mikieru intoned. “You made me realize what was missing… in my life and the lives of all these people… these wanderers with no direction, who spend their lifetimes choosing the lesser of two evils day by day. What we need… is you.”

Shin-ju’s eyes widened.

“It goes well beyond what you are gathering at this point,” the Cleric said, reaching into his inside coat pocket. “These people do not need vigilantes saving them from thieves and murderers and flooded Water Channels. They need young people like you to look up to… to show them the right directions to take… to show them what goodness is all about.”

Mikieru drew out a bracelet with a small cross and ten wooden beads. Shin-ju swallowed again. This was an Acolyte’s Rosary, the token that Priests gave aspiring Acolytes as a symbol of Apprenticeship—and Mikieru was giving it to him.

Shin-ju took the rosary in his fingers and held it over his head, staring at it intently.

“Are you up to the challenge, Shin-ju?”

Shin-ju’s eyes turned away from the bracelet in his fingers. “Do you really believe I’m capable of all that?” he whispered in reply.

Before Mikieru could answer, a nurse came out of the lobby.

“Excuse me,” she said, glancing at Shin-ju, “She’s asking to see you.”

• • •

Mikieru walked behind Shin-ju as he followed the nurse into the lobby, up the stairs, and into a small hospital room. The girl was awake. She was lying in a warm bed with white sheets. Her hair was ruffled and her lower lip had a small cut, but she looked fine—she was alive.

Two adults, who Mikieru guessed to be the girl’s parents, her three friends, and another nurse stood at her bedside. Her father held her hand. When the girl saw Shin-ju, she smiled faintly and raised her other hand slightly, motioning him to come closer.

Mikieru stood by the door as Shin-ju approached. The father reluctantly moved aside as Shin-ju reached her bedside. The mother cast a worried look at the shirtless Nomad who slowly held her daughter’s hand with both of his.

“What’s your name?” the girl whispered.

Looking into her eyes, the boy answered with a name that she would never forget for the rest of her life.

“My name is Shin-ju.”

The girl smiled, tears forming in her eyes. “Thank you… Shin-ju.”

Mikieru looked around the room. He noted the grateful, almost mischievous smirks on the faces of the girl’s three friends. He saw the nurses trying hard not to grin. He saw the frowns on the faces of the girl’s parents slowly give way to approving smiles.

Then Mikieru remembered Shin-ju's last question, the one he wasn’t able to answer.

This, the Cleric thought, is a good start.

[zakky]

Chapter Two
Wycrow The Merchant

“Thanks, pal. You’re the best.”

The young Merchant thanked his sleepy-eyed buyer as cheerily as he could in the midnight chill. It was May, the middle of summer, and the fact that the weather was supposed to be warmer now than during the rest of the year did little to coax the Merchant from under his hood.

He knew that people were looking for him, even here in the Capital of the Northern Realms. He knew better than to be indoors at an Inn somewhere—to stay at one spot was too dangerous. He had only stopped here one night ago. At first he vended on the streets in one of the northerly districts. Now, on his second night, he was at Merchant’s Alley, fervently hoping to get lost in the crowd.

Fatigue was setting over him. He hadn’t been able to catch much sleep, not with the constant worry of being found. He knew that no place was safe for him until he managed to get to Payon. There, he would be safe. There, he would be able to get help.

The Merchant closed his eyes, thinking of a dearly loved one. Even the thought of her tortured him now. Until he reached Payon, she would be in danger.

Napolde…

• • •

The Merchant’s eyes shot open. He wasn’t sure how long he had been half-asleep, but he hadn’t noticed the long silence until it was too late. Already, the small street where he vended was deserted.

Damn! the Merchant thought, frantically getting up and gathering his wares into a red bag on his cart.

“You didn't think you could escape us so easily, did you, Wycrow?”

The Merchant did not look behind him. He knew he had been found.

“Leaving the Machine City was a big mistake,” the voice continued. “Especially after you promised you’d hand it over two days ago.”

The Merchant closed the zipper on his bag and straightened.

“Oh, running away again?” the voice laughed. “You can’t escape us, Wycrow. Hand over the relic and we’ll let you and your Elf-***** go.”

The Merchant dropped his bag on the curb, and the six masked men behind him waited for him to surrender.

“If you do anything to her…” the Merchant warned.

The six men knotted their brows.

“…tell Garrione he’ll never see it again!”

Quickly, the Merchant took his cart by its handles and flung it wildly. The Cart hit two of the men and narrowly missed their leader. Grabbing his bag of wares, the Merchant jumped up and ran through the opening created by his Cart.

Fuming, the leader screamed at his subordinates. “Get up! After him!”

The Merchant ran through the empty streets, red bag on his back, with the six men in pursuit. One of them threw a dagger at him and as he tried to enter an alley. The dagger struck the wall in front of the Merchant's face, stopping him in his tracks.

“It’s hopeless, Wycrow!” the masked man screamed. “Give it up!”

The Merchant hesitated, but decided to run through the alley and into the slums. Cursing, the other men resumed their pursuit.

Merchant ran through filthy alleys and up over the roofs of the shanties until he reached the West Water Channel. He slowed as he approached a bridge in the Channel. He was exhausted—the escape had lasted five minutes. He ran into the middle of the unlighted bridge and ducked, hoping to lose his pursuers in the darkness.

“You always were a hard bargain.”

Shocked, the Merchant turned and saw three of the men waiting across the bridge. Behind him stood the other three. He was trapped.

“You leave us no choice,” growled the leader. “Kill him!”

His five subordinates screamed and rushed towards the Merchant, daggers in deadly aim.

Desperately the Merchant looked over the railing. The past few days have been sunny, but water runoff from Mt. Mjolnir was still flowing in the Channel.

I have to do this! the Merchant thought, steeling himself for the plunge.

“What the—?” the leader muttered, dumbfounded, as the Merchant jumped over the railing and fell into the water. “Is he trying to kill himself?”

The Merchant surfaced and, using his bag as floatation, kept his head above the water as the current swept him down.

“After him!” the leader screamed. His five subordinates made the move to jump into the water, but a high-pitched whistle stopped them before they could jump over the railings.

The Occultist leader looked in dismay at the lantern lights headed towards the bridge. Some Constables had heard the commotion and were trying to see what was going on.

“Damn, it’s the Constables. Everybody split!” the leader whispered. The six masked men ran away in different directions.

The Merchant held on desperately to his bag as the violent current tried to pull him under. His strength was failing fast, and it was only a matter of time before he passed out.

• • •

Shin-ju yawned.

The rising sun reflected in the lake’s rippling water, stinging his painful sleepy eyes. Blinking, he turned to his side and cast his fishing pole towards an area of the lake that didn’t shimmer so much.

Shin-ju was in the evergreen fields south of Prontera. The Constabulary had tasked him to head into Merchant’s Alley to buy Yellow Potion, since the crime lab’s medical supplier hadn’t showed up the previous week. There seemed to be a shortage in Al de Baran, where most of the precious yellow herbs were grown—Shin-ju had no luck finding any Yellow Potion in the Alley either.

Shin-ju had decided not to return to the Constabulary until he found some Yellow Potion. That was the reason why he decided to wander outside Prontera’s massive walls and catch some fish for breakfast—he wasn’t given any pocket money when he set out yesterday morning.

Lazily, the boy lay on the grass with one arm curled under his head. Being outside the city gave him an unexpected feeling of nostalgia. He was surprised to realize that, although he had only been working as a janitor for five months, he had almost forgotten what it was like to be on the road, away from people and the cares of society.

His pole gave a jerk. Judging by the strength of the pull, Shin-ju knew the fish was big enough. Expertly, he pulled out the one-pound trout, unhooked it, and put it in his basket.

That's two, he thought. One more and I'm all set.

He cast his fishing pole one more time. Before the line entered the water, something shiny caught his eye. It was strange to see something that shone in a dark part of the lake.

Shin-ju stuck his pole into the soft ground and walked towards the object. He rolled up his pants and waded in the shallow water. Bending over, he reached for the object and drew it out.

It was a small glass vial, still corked, containing a thick yellowish liquid.

Yellow Potion? Shin-ju thought, surprised. What’s Yellow Potion doing here?

The boy looked into the water around his feet and found several other corked vials strewn along the muddy bank.

Shin-ju waded along, collecting all the vials he could find. The trail led to a nearby corner of the lake, under the shade of a tree. He waded into it and gathered more vials into his shirt.

Then he stopped. On the shore, slumped on his face, was an unconscious tan-haired man. A red bag lay open in the water, with vials scattered around it. Shin-ju dropped the vials he was carrying and rushed over to the man's side. He checked for the man's pulse and found it beating weakly. The man was breathing.

What happened to him? Shin-ju wondered. At that moment the man stirred.

“Hey, you OK?” Shin-ju asked. The man mumbled something incoherent.

“Mister, are you all right?” Shin-ju pressed.

“Back… hurts…” the man whispered. “Don't touch me…”

“Mister, you gotta get out of the water or you’ll get sick.”

“I’m OK… don't worry… just let me lie here for a while… I’m too tired…”

“OK. I’ll gather up your belongings while you—”

Shin-ju never finished. The man jumped up to his feet at the sound of the word “belongings.” Shin-ju backed off, surprised.

“Where is it? Have I lost it?” screamed the man, patting frantically at his coat pockets.

“I, uh…” Shin-ju began after a moment’s hesitation. “I found a few vials of Yellow Potion… they might be yours. They’re in the water over there…”

At that, the man dove into the water and searched on all fours. To Shin-ju’s puzzlement, the man ignored the vials of Yellow Potion and instead drew out rocks. Every time he drew one out, however, he threw it over his shoulder like some worthless bauble. He seemed to be looking for something else, although Shin-ju wondered what could have been more important in Prontera than some fresh Yellow Potion at this point.

Then, as abruptly as he started, the man stopped. Shin-ju watched as the man drew something out of the water with both hands. Then the man got to his feet and slowly turned around to look at Shin-ju.

Their eyes met for a moment. Then the man closed his eyes and fell into the water.

“Hey!” Shin-ju yelled, jumping in the water. “You’ll drown!”

The man was unconscious when Shin-ju reached him, but his hands were stubbornly clinging on a smooth gray rock.

• • •

To be continued

[renzeiken]

w00t! Guys you have to read this! This fic is goooooood!

[zakky]

The campfire crackled, filling the air with the smell of smoked fish. The man’s shirt and coat hung on a low tree branch nearby, drying. Shin-ju sat beside the fire, fanning it and watching the man’s sleeping form.

Shin-ju had not divested the man of his rock. The most he had allowed himself to do was to take it from the man’s hands and lay it beside his unconscious form where he would immediately find it upon waking. Still, it intrigued the boy why the man paid no attention to the precious vials of Yellow Potion in the water.

At that moment, the man woke up. He quickly sat up and found the rock. He scooped it up and held it in a bundle with both hands. Shin-ju heard the man sigh in relief.

Then the man surveyed his surroundings. He saw the campfire, the boy cooking the trout, his clothes hanging on the branch, and his bag of wares at his feet.

“Morning,” Shin-ju greeted. “Breakfast?”

The Merchant stared at Shin-ju’s blue hair. “Uh… sure.”

Shin-ju picked up one of the trouts by the end of the thin twig stuck through it and handed it to the man, who took it and eagerly began eating.

“Say, mister,” Shin-ju started, “what were you doing in the water?"

The man looked down, thinking of the night past.

No, he thought, I don’t want to involve anyone else in this…

The man looked up and laughed sheepishly. “Aw, sorry I gotcha worried, kid. I guess I got drunk last night and fell into the lake.”

“You were drinking… out here? All alone?”

The man felt a bead of sweat trickle down the back of his head. “W-well, actually, uh… I was with the rest o’ my caravan from Alberta. We didn’t reach Prontera in time before the gates closed, so we decided to camp out here,” he stammered. “The guys must’ve played a joke on me, leaving me out here. I’m gonna kill those jokers!”

The man began laughing loudly and awkwardly. Shin-ju nodded slowly, almost believing.

“Well anyway, thanks for helpin’ me out, kid… what’s your name?”

“Shin-ju.”

“Shin-ju what?”

“Just Shin-ju.”

“Really? No family name?”

Shin-ju looked away. “I’m afraid not.”

"Aw, I totally understand. I mean, why give your name to some drunk y’ just fished outta the lake, right? Anyway, lemme introduce myself. I’m Jared Wycrow. I’m on a business trip from the Machine City, Al de Baran.”

The Merchant leaned forward, offering his hand. Shin-ju shook it reluctantly.

“I, uh…” Shin-ju began. “I thought you said you were from Alberta.”

Jared froze. “Did I… did I say that?” the Merchant laughed again, scratching his head and pretending he had lost his bearings. “I guess I’m still a little woozy from last night’s session. I am from Alberta. I just used to do a lotta business in Al de Baran, I guess.”

Shin-ju glanced at the sky and decided he wasn’t going to wait for the Merchant to explain himself.

“Listen, Mr. Wycrow,” Shin-ju said as he finished his trout. “I’m sorta running out of time here. I need to buy twenty vials of Yellow Potion right away, so could I make a purchase from you and be off?”

“Ah, sure, kid!” Jared answered, opening his bag of wares. “1,000 zenny per vial.”

Shin-ju stopped. “1,000?” he blurted out. “I thought the shelf price was 720 zenny.”

“Supply and demand, Shin-ju,” Jared explained. “You can’t take market fluctuations lightly, y’know. The equilibrium price should roll with the punches.”

The boy didn’t answer right away. “Huh?” was all he could say.

Jared looked up. “Aw, maybe I didn’t mention it earlier. I’m a Merchant, and my expertise is Trade.”

“Uh… Trade?”

“Yeah, Trade,” the Merchant replied, standing up as if about to give a lecture. “Trade is the buying and selling of goods and services. Trade occurs all the time ‘cause people need and want things that others produce or services others perform.”

Shin-ju bit his lip stupidly while the Merchant continued.

“People must have such necessities as food, clothing, and shelter. They also want many other things that make life convenient and pleasant. They want such goods as books, bikes, and oil. They want such services as Peco carriage rides, theater shows, and the Kafra mail service. As individuals, people cannot produce all the goods and services they want. Instead, they receive money for the goods and services they produce for others. They then use the money to buy the things they want but do not produce.”

Shin-ju half-heartedly pushed the wad of money in his hand towards Jared. “Uh, OK… so I guess…”

“Wait, lemme finish,” Jared interjected, clearly enjoying himself. “Trade has contributed greatly to the advance of civilization, my friend! As Merchants like me travel from region to region across the face of Midgard, we helped spread civilized ways of life! We the Traders carried the ideas and inventions of various cultures over the age-old trade routes. The mixing of civilized cultures made Midgard the great continent it is today.”

The Merchant brushed his tan hair aside as he looked down at Shin-ju. “So, you were saying?”

Shin-ju shrugged. “So I guess I gotta haggle.”

Jared laughed, liking the boy more and more by the minute. “Kid, you’re really something else.”

• • •

“You managed to survive, Wycrow?”

Jared and Shin-ju wheeled around. Four men in capes and leather armor stood in the field. Each of them wore a red bandana.

“Aw, crap!” Jared gasped, instinctively patting the coat pocket where he had put his beloved rock. “It’s them!”

“Occultists,” Shin-ju observed quietly, recognizing the bandanas.

The four Occultists fanned out around Jared and Shin-ju, blocking out any opportunity of escape.

“They’re after me,” Jared and Shin-ju said together. “…They’re after you?”

“Hey,” one of the Occultists said, pointing at Shin-ju. “Isn’t that the Nomad-bastard who beat up Crush and Sly?”

“Sure looks like it!” one of his companions answered. “That’s the blue hair they were talkin’ about! So he’s in cahoots with Wycrow, eh?”

“Two birds with one stone,” hissed the third Occultist, who seemed to be the group’s leader. He removed a gemmed ring from his finger as he turned to the fourth Occultist. “Tell the boss that Wycrow been found outside Prontera. Make sure the news gets to him.”

“Right!” the fourth Occultist answered, taking his superior’s gemmed ring. He turned on his heels and sprinted towards the City Gates.

Jared glanced at Shin-ju as the three thugs closed in on them. “Why are the Occultists after you?”

“I got into a fight with two of their members four months ago,” Shin-ju explained, assuming a passive defensive stance. “Mr. Wycrow, can you fight?”

Jared swallowed and shook his head.

“I guess it’s up to me, then…” Shin-ju said, steeling himself for the imminent battle. He wished, regretfully, that Mikieru were with him at this moment.

• • •

Shin-ju assessed the two armored Occultists who approached and the caped Occultist who stayed back. He determined that the one who stayed back was their ringleader, but he couldn’t assess what weapon he was carrying. He was sure, though, that the two Occultists who approached carried two-handed Broadswords and knew how to attack together.

“Shin-ju, there are three of them!” Jared whispered. “We gotta run!”

“We can’t,” Shin-ju whispered back. “We’re surrounded. Just stay behind me, Mr. Wycrow.”

Shin-ju walked forward, an intense look in his gray eyes. He stopped when he was standing between the first two Occultists.

“I think I know why you’re after me,” Shin-ju announced. “But what grudge do you have against Mr. Wycrow?”

The caped Occultist smirked. “We’re only participating in his area of expertise: Trade."

Shin-ju squinted defiantly.

“I’ll show you. I am going to propose a trade right now.” The caped Occultist stepped forward. “We want Mr. Wycrow, and you want to stay alive. If you hand him over, we'll leave you alone.”

“You haven't answered my question,” Shin-ju deadpanned.

The caped Occultist's smirk faded. “All right, damn it, I’ll tell you. Mr. Wycrow has something we want, and we have something he wants. We're only pursuing that trade.”

Shin-ju eyed the two swordsmen who flanked him. “Then that’s no reason for you to draw your swords.”

An angry look came over the caped Occultist's face. “Look, Nomad-bastard, either accept our trade offer or we do this the hard way.” The two swordsmen raised their swords, eyes on Shin-ju.

“If I were to guess,” Shin-ju said, shifting his left foot behind him and assuming a passive defensive stance, “You’re holding someone hostage.”

Jared stared at Shin-ju, stunned by the boy’s intuition.

The Occultist leader knotted his brow. “How did you—”

“I know the look of someone who hurts his enemies by hurting the people they love,” Shin-ju answered simply. “I’ve seen it too many times. And I see it now in your eyes. This is not Trade—this is demanding ransom!”

“SHUT UP, BOY!” the caped Occultist shouted, pointing a gloved hand at Jared. “Our last offer stands!”

“How’s this?” Shin-ju said, preparing to state the obvious. “If you can get past me, he’s yours.”

Shin-ju raised his hand in a receiving gesture, simultaneously a sign of acceptance if the Occultists refused his terms, and a sign of challenge if they agreed.

“Fine,” the caped Occultist answered. “You asked for it, fool.”

Instantly the two Occultists with Broadswords charged towards Shin-ju, swords aimed, eyes with murderous intent.

“SHIN-JU!” Jared screamed.

In a flash, Shin-ju leaped forward towards the first of the swordsmen, ran low, skidded under the sword blade, turned, and jumped in the prelude of a flying roundhouse kick, aimed at the back of the swordsman's head.

Suddenly the first swordsman lurched his head forward and bent down to roll on the ground. As Shin-ju's foot swung in, it met the padded shoulder of the second swordsman, who jumped in to block the kick.

“What the—” Shin-ju thought, astonished.

After blocking Shin-ju's kick, the second swordsman delivered a backhand swing of his broadsword, aimed at Shin-ju's exposed neck. Quickly, Shin-ju pushed off the swordsman's shoulder pad to execute a backflip, evading the sword swing by inches. Shin-ju flipped backwards once more and knelt down, disbelieving that his attack was thwarted.

“You seriously did not believe it would be that easy, did you?” the caped Occultist sneered as he watched the battle from afar. “Hilt and Skull both know that to separate them is the only way they could be defeated. And with their level of skill in fighting together, they're not going to be defeated by anyone.”

Shin-ju gritted his teeth.

“You should have accepted our trade offer, Nomad,” the caped Occultist mocked as Hilt and Skull regrouped for another attack. “We would have kept our word, you know.”

At that instant, the two swordsmen attacked again in the same way as before, fanning out then charging in.

Shin-ju stepped towards Hilt, the first swordsman, to meet his attack first. As the sword thrust came, Shin-ju sidestepped, turned and threw a back-fist aimed at Hilt’s jaw. Again, Hilt carelessly leaned forward and rolled on the ground, while Skull came in and parried Shin-ju’s attack.

Skull thrust his sword towards Shin-ju’s chest. Shin-ju leaned backwards, planting his hand on the ground to deliver a rising high kick. This time, Skull rolled backwards. Shin-ju lost his balance and fell on his back. As Skull moved out of the way, Hilt leaped over his partner to deliver a two-handed downward smash.

Shin-ju rolled to his side quickly, avoiding the blade as it hit the ground, embedding itself six inches into the soil. Shin-ju rolled backwards and knelt, watching the two swordsmen regroup.

They’re too fast, Shin-ju thought desperately. If this keeps up, Jared will be…

Shin-ju glanced back at Jared, who was hiding behind a tree, watching the battle worriedly. Then he noticed something on Jared that he had not noticed before—a small-gemmed pendant hanging around his neck.

“Kitsune-Senpai…” Shin-ju thought slowly, reminded of Mikieru’s silver cross.

• • •

Mikieru sneezed.

Rubbing his nose, he thought it was strange that the rainy weather didn't affect his health at all, while a sunny day such as this irritated his nose. He forgot about it as he reached the storage room where Shin-ju stayed.

“Shin-ju! Get up, sleepyhead!” Mikieru called from outside the utility room. Getting no response, he turned the knob and looked inside. “It is not Sunday. You cannot sleep in like it was—”

Mikieru stopped. The room was empty.

“Hm?” Mikieru looked around the bare room. “He has not returned yet?”

“Makimachi?” a voice called from the hallway.

“I am here,” Mikieru called back, still looking into the room.

“Your Peco-Peco’s ready. Patrol shifts in 15 minutes.”

“Yes, I will be there.”

Mikieru took one last look at the empty room before he closed the door, wondering where Shin-ju was.

• • •

Jared shivered as he watched Shin-ju desperately avoiding Hilt and Skull’s dual attack strategy. The sight of the two swordsmen bearing down on the young boy was too much for him. Now, he stared at Shin-ju's kneeling form in front of him, breathing heavily.

I didn't want this, Jared thought. I didn't want anyone else to get involved…

Then he saw Shin-ju look at the gemmed pendant around his neck. He saw intense concentration on his eyes—concentration that turned into understanding a moment before Shin-ju turned back to face his attackers.

Shin-ju got back on his feet and shifted his left foot behind him. Then he raised his right hand in front of his face in a praying gesture. His eyes were closed.

“Give it up, boy,” the caped Occultist called. “It is hopeless.”

Shin-ju maintained his passive defense stance, his eyes still closed.

The caped Occultist turned to Hilt and Skull. “Finish him.”

Hilt and Skull fanned out and charged one more time.

Shin-ju opened his eyes and lunged towards Hilt. Hilt swung his sword. Again, Shin-ju skidded under the blade and turned and jumped.

The boy is getting desperate, the caped Occultist observed as he watched Shin-ju's familiar tactic. Hilt rolled forward and Skull moved in to block Shin-ju's kick.

Suddenly Shin-ju spun, planted his feet on the ground—and vanished from Skull's sight.

“What in the—” Skull growled, shocked that his shoulder pad met no impact.

“Ch--?!” the caped Occultist managed to spit in surprise before a loud crack resounded across the field.

Skull flew forward and landed face down on the ground as Shin-ju’s flying roundhouse kick hit him behind his head.

“Divided, they fall,” Shin-ju noted simply as he landed on the ground.

Cursing, Hilt sprang to his feet and thrust his sword towards Shin-ju’s spine.

Twirling, Shin-ju dodged the thrust, grabbing Hilt’s sword arm and yanking it forward. Hilt lost his balance and tipped forward. Shin-ju leaped into the air, spun once, and landed an elbow strike at Hilt’s nape. Hilt’s face slammed into the ground as Shin-ju landed on his feet, panting.

Jared and the caped Occultist stared at Shin-ju in wonder. His speed had increased dramatically, allowing him to catch Hilt and Skull off-guard and separate them. Then the caped Occultist saw Shin-ju's hands.

They had a bluish-white glow.

Blessing? the caped Occultist thought in a rage. Impossible!

“Awright, Shin-ju! That was awesome!” Jared yelled, pumping his fist in the air.

Shin-ju rushed towards the isolated Skull with break-neck speed. Fuming, Skull lunged forward and delivered a wild backhand slash. Shin-ju leaped over the swing, somersaulted three times in the air, and landed a flying heel kick on Skull’s forehead. Landing on the ground, Shin-ju delivered a full-moon roundhouse kick that hit Skull's bowed head. Skull flew sideways and skidded on the ground, knocked out.

Then Shin-ju lunged at Hilt. Wide-eyed, Hilt held his Broadsword forward in defense. Shin-ju was running so fast that Hilt could only see the dust rising off the ground where his feet landed. Hilt had never seen anything approach him in such speed—there was nothing he could do as Shin-ju ducked under his sword, grabbed his ears and pulled his head downwards to meet the boy’s rising knee.

Shin-ju’s knee hit Hilt between the eyes, knocking the swordsman off the ground. Then Shin-ju executed his favorite move—twisting in mid-air and landing a spinning back-kick in Hilt’s midsection. Hilt flew backwards and tumbled on the ground. He rolled a few times before lay still, unconscious.

Shin-ju fell on one knee, catching his breath. Using the potent Holy Art at such a young age taxed his stamina greatly.

The caped Occultist stared, wide-eyed, as Hilt and Skull lay unconscious on the ground. Then he looked at Shin-ju.

Who is this boy? he thought. How did he learn Blessing at his age? And where did he learn to fight like that? I've never seen that fighting style before.

Shin-ju looked up and stared at the caped Occultist.

“Impressive,” the caped Occultist announced. “I do not know how you learned a Priest skill at your age, but congratulations. You managed to defeat Hilt and Skull. I personally thought it was impossible.”

The caped Occultist pulled back one side of his cape. “My name is Sarth,” he continued. “What is yours, boy?”

Shin-ju slowly got up to his feet. “Shin-ju.”

“Well, Shin-ju, I’m sorry but you’ll have to face me this time,” Sarth announced, drawing out a long wooden staff from under his cape. “I have a mission and I will accomplish it…”

Sarth planted his staff on the ground and looked through its carved head.

“...even if I have to kill a prodigy such as you.”

Jared took one look at the head of Sarth's staff, which was carved into the shape of two bat's wings—and realized, horrified, what Sarth was trying to do.

“SHIN-JU!” Jared shouted. “This man is a Sorcerer! GET OUT OF THE WAY!”

Shocked, Shin-ju jumped sideways and guarded his face with his forearms as the air beside him swirled and exploded, spreading tongues of flame in all directions. The explosion was strong enough to knock Shin-ju off-balance and fall on his back.

Sarth, after missing on his first try, shifted his position while keeping his staff in the same place. Once again he stared at Shin-ju through the staff head and summoned another fire spell.

Shin-ju jumped to his feet and tried to jump backwards, but was too late. A second ball of fire exploded directly in front of him.

“Aaack!” Shin-ju rasped as he flew backwards, forearms crossed in front of his face, jacket sleeves scorched.

Shin-ju landed on his back and rolled on his side. Jared came out from behind the tree and ran to Shin-ju’s side.

“Shin-ju!” Jared yelled. Shin-ju lifted his head, struggling to get up.

Sarth smiled menacingly as he lifted the end of his staff off the ground and took a step forward.

• • •

To be continued

[zakky]

Shin-ju struggled to get back on his feet.

He was in a huge disadvantage against Sarth. He had little stamina left after casting the Priest skill Blessing. He had never fought against a Sorcerer before. And he was wounded.

Shin-ju stood up and faced Sarth, shoulders slightly hunched. Sarth stopped moving forward.

Why didn’t Sarth finish me off while I was lying on the ground? Shin-ju pondered. Why did he approach?

Shin-ju watched intently as Sarth cautiously put the end of his staff down, beside his feet.

I get it… he can only cast his fire spell up to a certain range, he thought. After that he’ll have to get closer to his target. He looked at the scorched grass in front of him. If I were to guess… his range is thirty meters.

• • •

Sarth grinned, seeing Shin-ju's eyes move between him and the scorched grass. He's guessed it, he thought. He probably knows the spell's weakness. What he doesn't know...

Sarth placed his staff in front of him and peered through its head.

…is that it's also its greatest strength.

• • •

Jared looked on worriedly as Shin-ju steeled himself for another attack. Shin-ju planted his feet in the ground, clenched his fists, planned his angle of approach... and nodded to himself. He was ready.

In a flash, Shin-ju leaped forward, raising his right hand in front of him in a praying gesture. His hands glowed bluish-white.

BLESSING!

As Blessing took effect, he sprinted towards Sarth, dust and rocks flying off the ground where his feet landed.

Sarth waited until Shin-ju entered within range. Then, squinting his eyes, he cast his fire spell.

NAPALM!

The air in front of Shin-ju swirled and exploded into a fireball. Shin-ju timed it exactly and sidestepped, evading the blast radius. He resumed his sprint, eyes fixed on Sarth’s staff. He was twenty meters away from the Sorcerer.

Sarth grinned, baring his teeth in delight, as he shifted his position and cast another fire spell.

Too fast! Shin-ju thought in a flash. He had not expecting Sarth to recover so quickly.

Sarth yelled as he cast another fire spell. Shin-ju jumped hastily, avoiding the next, much larger fireball as the air behind him exploded.

Shin-ju noticed, too late, that the Sorcerer’s Napalm spell increased in power as the target came closer to the caster!

Shin-ju was ten meters away from Sarth. As he approached Sarth from the air, he drew back his right fist, glowing brightly, in the prelude of a punch aimed at Sarth's jaw.

Sarth knelt, laughing in glee, as he aimed at Shin-ju on the boy’s descent.

“No!” Shin-ju rasped, disbelieving Sarth's recovery speed. He threw his right arm forward and guarded his face.

The air between them exploded into a fireball that was much larger and stronger than the previous two. Shin-ju flew backwards, his body limp.

Shin-ju had been hit.

Sarth guffawed as he watched Shin-ju's body rise and fall backwards. “Pitiful! VERY PITIFUL, SHIN-JU!”

“Shin-ju!” Jared screamed, running forward to catch the boy’s body as it flew towards him. Jared fell as he caught Shin-ju, the two of them landing heavily on the ground.

Jared laid Shin-ju on the ground. The boy’s eyes were closed. His jacket was torn and scorched. His arms were badly burned. His mouth was opened slightly, as if the last memory of pain was preserved in it.

“Shin-ju! Hang in there!” Jared yelled desperately. Shin-ju wasn’t breathing.

Tears formed in Jared’s eyes. He stared at Shin-ju’s limp form at his knees. He closed his eyes mightily, cursing himself for getting the young boy involved in his affairs. “I’m sorry, Shin-ju…” he whispered.

Sarth gasped. The last Napalm spell took more of his energy than he expected it would. He fell on one knee, smiling in satisfaction at the sight of Jared cursing himself over Shin-ju's lifeless body.

“Such a spirited defense on your behalf, Wycrow,” Sarth announced. “I don’t know what came into him to fight for you like that, but it was for nothing. Now you know that you should have met our demands long ago.”

“Why…?” Jared whispered to himself, fighting back the tears. “Why’d this have to happen?”

“How many, Wycrow?” Sarth asked, slowly getting on his feet. “How many more people will you throw in front of you before you give Garrione what he wants?”

Jared didn't answer, but looked up at Sarth with defiant, teary eyes.

“Surely you will not give the relic up so easily after Shin-ju died for you,” Sarth continued, now on his feet. “But I haven't any time to waste."

Sarth approached to put Jared within his range. “I will get that relic even if I have to kill you right now.”

Jared stared at Sarth as the Sorcerer approached, then slowly looked down at Shin-ju.

“I’m sorry, Shin-ju,” he repeated, closing his eyes. “I’m so sorry...”

• • •

“So,” a soft female voice asked, “Found it yet?”

• • •

Shin-ju opened his eyes and exhaled.

Jared opened his eyes, surprised, and saw Shin-ju's face. Shin-ju's eyes were open, turned upwards in reminiscence. The boy’s mouth was closed, painless.

“Shin-ju!” Jared yelled, relieved.

Shin-ju sat up and shot a stunned Sarth with a determined look. It was almost as if Shin-ju had suddenly realized an obvious truth for the first time.

“I haven’t found it yet…” Shin-ju whispered to himself.

“This is impossible!” Sarth stammered, wide-eyed, as Shin-ju rose to his feet slowly. “I killed you!”

Shin-ju stepped forward easily. He approached Sarth in a relaxed pace, his eyes fixed on Sarth's frozen form. He stopped just outside Sarth's range.

Shin-ju managed a weak smile.

“Tenacious little punk,” Sarth cursed. “You just don't know when to quit, do you?”

Shin-ju raised right hand in front of his face in a praying gesture. It glowed bluish-white.

“Fine, damn it,” Sarth yelled, planting his staff on the ground and peering through its carved head. “Let’s see you get up after this one.”

“Shin-ju, be careful!” Jared shouted.

Shin-ju leaped forward and sprinted towards the Sorcerer, leaving a trail of rising dust. As he entered Sarth's spell range, he felt the air in front of him swirl. He pivoted his front leg, spun to his side, and ducked. The fireball exploded behind him.

Shin-ju clenched his fist and held it behind him, as if preparing to deliver a particularly powerful punch. He was twenty meters away when he felt the air in front of him swirl, much more forcefully than before. At the last moment, Shin-ju leaped upwards. The fireball exploded under him.

Sarth knelt as he watched Shin-ju fall towards him. Peering through the head of his staff, the Sorcerer began to summon another fire spell. You’re falling towards me in a straight line, Sarth thought. There’s no way you can dodge this one!

Shin-ju fell towards Sarth, his fist still drawn back. Sarth yelled as the air between them swirled in incredible force. Jared watched breathlessly.

Just before Sarth’s spell came into effect, Shin-ju opened his fist—and conjured a small ball of light over his palm.

NAPALM!

The fireball exploded with frightening force, shaking the ground and knocking Jared off his feet.

Suddenly, Sarth spotted Shin-ju falling towards him, the tongues of flame branching out behind the boy and giving him a powerful, frightful silhouette.

Shin-ju’s position had somehow changed in mid-air!

“It can't be—!” Sarth screamed.

Shin-ju landed on the ground and quickly assumed a low attacking stance. Swinging his right leg, he swept both of Sarth’s ankles and his staff at the same time. The staff went flying, and Sarth tipped sideways, grunting, his legs flying over his head.

In the same swift circular motion, Shin-ju planted his kicking leg on the ground and lifted his other leg upwards in a rising high kick. The kick hit Sarth in the midsection, launching him backwards.

Then Shin-ju went down on all fours and launched himself backwards in a reverse somersault.

“D-damn it!” Sarth managed to mutter, watching Shin-ju soar in front of him as he flew backwards.

As Sarth landed on his back on the ground, Shin-ju completed his somersault, fell, and planted both of his feet in the Sorcerer's gut in a finishing deathblow move. The rest of Sarth's body rose upwards, froze for a few seconds, then fell limp.

“Awesome…” Jared muttered, relieved.

Shin-ju stepped off Sarth’s midsection and stared at him. Sarth’s mouth was open, but he wasn’t breathing. Shin-ju knelt over Sarth’s body, curled his right hand into a fist and let it fall on Sarth’s chest.

Sarth coughed, sputtered, and resumed breathing. The Sorcerer was still unconscious.

Shin-ju got up and turned to Jared, smiling. “Are you OK, Mr. Wycrow?”

Jared grinned. “Shin-ju, that was am—” he stopped as he watched Shin-ju pitch forward and fall on his face, unconscious.

“Hey, Shin-ju!” Jared shouted, rushing over. “You OK? Shin-ju!”

• • •

Shin-ju woke up to a view of tree branches hanging high over him, silhouetted by a blue sky that was showing hints of orange. He felt grass on the palm of his hands and cool wind blowing through his hair. He was alive.

Shin-ju painfully got up on his elbows and looked around. He was in the threshold between the Pronteran Plains and the forests. To the west he saw the sun hanging over the horizon, silhouetting the towers and parapets of Prontera Fort City, a very long distance away.

“Hey, you’re awake!” Jared called, rushing over to his side. “How’re you feelin’?”

Shin-ju looked at Jared, then at the campfire crackling beside him. “Where am I?” he asked.

“We’re just outside Izlude Cape,” Jared answered. “Sorry I couldn’t take you to the hospital. I think the cities are a little unsafe for both of us at this point.”

“How long was I out?”

“Nine, maybe ten hours. You sure had me worried.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. You saved my life,” Jared gratefully answered, helping the boy sit up against a tree trunk.

Shin-ju accepted Jared’s water canteen and drank greedily. Wiping his lips, he glanced back at the silhouette of the Fort City. “Mr. Wycrow,” he asked, “where are we going from here?”

Jared stopped. “We’re… we’re going to Payon. It’s the only place we can go to from here.”

“Payon?” Shin-ju asked, facing the Merchant when he heard the name.

“Yes,” Jared answered, straightening with a smile. “The magnificent Payon Fort City. You’ve never been there before?”

Shin-ju shook his head. “No, but I’ve… I’ve heard of it. What’ll we do there?”

“The Old Occultists operate only in Al de Baran Machine City and Prontera Fort City. Their operations are too shadowy to be carried out in Payon. The people there are… well, let’s say we Merchants don’t see it as a land of opportunity as much as we see Prontera. The people are generally more lawful and more honorable. Would y’believe they actually ban contraceptives there?”

The Merchant laughed uneasily at his own joke, but Shin-ju didn’t hear it. The boy’s attention was fixed on the first sentence that came out of Jared’s mouth.

“Why are the Old Occultists after you?” Shin-ju asked with a straight face.

Jared stopped laughing immediately. He looked at the boy and wondered what to say.

“I can’t tell you, Shin-ju,” Jared stammered finally. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry… I want to tell you, but…”

Shin-ju raised his hand in finality. “It’s OK, Mr. Wycrow. I think I know.”

Jared closed his mouth in understanding. During the battle, Shin-ju had guessed that the Old Occultists were holding someone special to Jared as a hostage for something. Jared, however, wondered if Shin-ju heard anything about a certain “relic”…

“Thanks, Shin-ju,” the Merchant whispered. “And please, from now on… call me Jared.”

Shin-ju smiled. “I’ll do that, Jared.”

Jared turned to look eastward. “I’ve a friend in Payon who could help us. He’s the only one I could trust on this matter…”

The boy nodded.

“I’m sure you’re gonna like it there. There’s a catch, though… It’s a six-day hike to Payon if we go by foot. You up to it, Shin-ju?"

For the third time, Shin-ju slowly turned his head to look at the silhouette of Prontera Fort City.

• • •

“So,” a soft female voice asked, “Found it yet?”

• • •

Shin-ju reached into his pant pocket and drew out his Acolyte’s Rosary. He still had not given Mikieru an answer. Not that he was ready to give one now, but a part of him desperately wanted to crawl back to Prontera and into the company of the man he trusted the most. At the same time, however, he thought of the voice that asked him if he had found what he was looking for—and felt, for some reason, that leaving Prontera and following Jared into Payon was the right thing to do.

The boy returned the Rosary into his pocket and took one last look at Prontera, whispering a silent apology to his Senpai.

“Shin-ju?” Jared asked, puzzled by the boy’s silence.

Shin-ju turned to Jared. “OK, Jared,” he said, smiling. “Let’s go to Payon.”

[-Hao™-]

Whoa, dats some nice fan fic... I like the cleric, Mikieru, the most... Hes got style

[babee_angel]

/ok
i like it already ^^
more please
heehee

[renzeiken]

Hahaha. Great work Mike, even though im just re-reading this its still great.

[Zaan]

Okay, this is pretty good. Don't change the font, I can't really read it :<

[-Hao™-]

Pls continue dis fic...

[zakky]

Chapter Three
Mikieru’s Inkling

Sean Garner was a Prefect in the Prontera Constabulary. He supervised a squad of Constables who mainly patrolled the northeasterly districts of the Fort City, a generally peaceful section. A skilled and intelligent Knight, he rose quickly through the ranks of the Constabulary, earning his Prefect’s Pin after serving only two years as Constable. He was the youngest Prefect in the force, only being 26 years old, and had a reputation for being a discipline freak.

It wasn’t a flaw. Sean held a black belt in the Payonese swordfighting style known as Komichi Na Ryuuki, and spent his morning shifts teaching Combat part-time at the Novice Training Grounds. Instead of having the usual service-issued two-edged broadsword strapped onto his belt, he carried with him his own Katana blade—the curved, one-edged sword originating from the Oriental continents. Among his peers, there was no other Northfolk who could handle the near-perfect sword with better skill.

Today was a Wednesday, and part of his daily routine was to teach two Combat classes in the morning in the Academy before heading to the Constabulary for lunch at the cafeteria. His patrol squad worked the swing shift, so he wasn’t expecting to officially be on the clock until four hours from now.

One could imagine his surprise when, halfway through his hamburger, he received an urgent request to meet his friend, Constable Mikieru Makimachi, at Interrogation Room 3.

• • •

“Hey, Mike,” Sean called, seeing Mikieru standing outside the door of Interrogation Room 3. “What’s up?”

Mikieru turned to face the Prefect. “Hello, Sean,” he answered. “I need you to do me a favor.”

Sean took one look through the Interrogation Room’s glass door and sighed. A man sat alone in the room, his hands on the table. He had a black coat, a red bandana, and a bloody nose. Despite the pained look in the man’s closed mouth, his dark eyes stared defiantly into space.

“OK, Mike, spill it,” Sean exhaled. “What did you do this time?”

“I was looking for someone in Merchant’s Alley when I saw this guy steal a trader’s Peco-peco right from under the poor guy. He began riding north, up the avenue, almost running over some kids. He was obviously in a hurry, but for sure it was not for stealing the Peco. Occultists aren’t petty thieves by pride.”

The Knight nodded dubiously. “And where did he get the bloody nose?”

“I dismounted him as he passed me by,” Mikieru answered with a shrug.

“How?”

“With a backfist.”

“Good grief, Mike! The guy could sue us for excessive force!”

Mikieru shrugged again. “What, you would much rather I used my Mace instead? Sean, the fact of the matter is that he stole a Peco and he is going to be booked for it.”

“If that’s just the case, why did you call me?”

“Because I have a hunch,” the Cleric answered, holding up a clear plastic bag containing a gemmed ring and several vials of Yellow Potion. “I found these on his person. I believe this guy is an Occultist messenger and he’s carrying very important information.”

“And, one more time, you need my Pin to justify an investigation based on your hunches. Is that it?” Sean said, a hesitant look pasted on his face. “It’s my neck you’re risking, Mike.”

“When was I ever wrong, Sean?”

Sean took the bag from Mikieru’s hands. “I hope you realize that there’s a first time for everything,” he whispered, pushing the door open and stepping into the room.

• • •

The man in the black coat shot a violent look at the man who followed Sean into the Interrogation Room and immediately pointed an accusing finger.

“That’s him! That’s the guy, Prefect!” he shouted at Sean. “He’s the one who did this to me! I demand that I get retribution for this—”

“Stow it, buddy,” Sean said as he took a seat across the table. “I’ll do the talking.”

The man muttered a curse, his eyes on Mikieru as the Cleric stood by the door, his hands calmly clasped behind his back.

“So,” Sean said, preparing to take notes. “State your name for the record.”

The man said nothing.

“What, now that I ask you to talk, you have nothing to say?”

“He goes by the name of Tragg,” Mikieru said quietly. “He is a repeat offender.”

“Shut up, chink!” the man yelled at the Cleric.

“You shut up, or I book you on insulting an officer,” Sean said calmly, writing down the thug’s name on his notebook. “Now tell me this. Why did you take that Peco?”

Tragg sniffed, wiping his bloody nose with a cloth. “I needed a ride,” he said from behind the fabric.

“Given you needed a ride, why were you in such a hurry?”

“The hell do you care?”

“You almost ran over some kids, that’s why.”

“It ain’t my fault Prontera doesn’t have enough day-care centers.”

Sean put the plastic bag onto the table and pushed it towards Tragg, the gemmed ring in full view of the thug.

“Can you explain the ring?” Sean asked.

“It’s mine,” Tragg sniffed.

“Sure it is,” Mikieru interjected. “I recognize the ring. It is worn by Occultist captains as a sign of rank.”

“Exactly,” the thug countered. “I’m a captain.”

“No, you are not. Captains wear their rings on their left middle finger and never take it off unless to authenticate a messenger’s message. The ring fell out of your coat pocket when you fell off the Peco.” Mikieru stepped towards the table. “And you, my friend, are a messenger.”

Tragg bit his lip, his eyes set on Sarth’s ring.

“Such a hurry, too. It must have been a very important message. Care to tell us about it?”

The thug shook his head. “I’m not talking to you.”

Sean cleared his throat, shooting a ‘please be quiet’ look at Mikieru. “Well then,” the Knight continued, “maybe you can tell us about the Yellow Potion instead. There’s a city-wide shortage of the potion and yet I see… fifteen, twenty, twenty-five vials of the potion here.”

“It’s mine,” Tragg answered blankly. “I hoard. I’ve had them for months.”

“That is if Yellow Potion does not rot after three weeks,” Mikieru said.

“The hell do you know, chink?” Tragg yelled again.

“Quiet!” Sean demanded. “I’m not going to repeat myself, Tragg.”

“He was going to Al de Baran,” Mikieru told Sean. “Or rather, he was returning to it. That is the only way he could have taken possession of so much Yellow Potion at this point in time.”

“I ain’t talking,” Tragg said with finality.

“What were you, an Occultist, doing in Al de Baran?” Mikieru asked, leaning forward and putting his hands on the table.

“I want a lawyer,” the thug answered.

“What is the message you are carrying?”

“You can’t touch me.”

“Who are you meeting?”

“I said you can’t touch me!”

“Answer me.”

“Kiss my ***!”

“That’s enough!” Sean shouted, exasperated at the two. “Mike, he’s right. Aside from the theft, we don’t have much on him. We can’t hold him much longer.”

“You hear that?” Tragg bragged to the Cleric, leaning back and smiling. “You can’t touch me, Priest.”

“Maybe,” Mikieru said quietly. “But you and I both know this is far from over.”

“Go to hell,” Tragg answered defiantly. “I know who you are. I know what you’re trying to do. You ain’t got nothin’ on me, punk, so might as well give up trying.”

“Only one favor,” the Cleric said, leaning his face further towards Tragg’s. “Tell your boss that Mikieru Makimachi sends his regards.”

“Heh,” Tragg snorted. “Yeah. I’ll betcha Garrione’s gonna like that.”

Sean’s eyes widened. “Garrione?” he spat. “Who said anything about Garrione?”

Tragg shot a shocked look at Sean, then back at Mikieru. The Cleric had a grim smirk on his face—in the false confidence he had instilled in Tragg, the thug had unwittingly given out the name of the Old Occultists’ main leader.

Mikieru straightened. “We’re done here,” he said simply, taking a set of handcuffs from his pocket. “Thanks, Sean.”

Sean stayed in his seat, watching as Mikieru took a cuffed, cursing Tragg from his seat and led him out of the Interrogation Room. As the door closed behind the two, the Knight looked at his notes. The writing of an Official Report was to follow the interrogation, and he wondered whether or not to include the revelation of Garrione’s name in it. He knew that doing so would put him under a lot of hot water from the Constabulary higher-ups, and he would be hard-pressed to explain himself and how a Constable managed to squeeze the information out of an overconfident Occultist.

The Knight closed his folder and got off his seat, shaking his head all the while. He wondered why bureaucracy made him a Prefect while Mikieru remained a Constable.

• • •

[zakky]

Five days later, in the forested Midgard Highlands

• • •

Shin-ju gaped in awe as he and the Merchant Jared Wycrow passed through the main gates of Payon Fort City. The sight he was expecting to see kept playing in his mind over the past six days of hiking, and yet what he beheld as they passed under Payon’s giant Torii was more wonderful by far.

The clean, curved-roof houses were adorned with colorful banners, flags, and kites. Lighted lanterns hung over the streets, offering friendly illumination over the bustling shopping stalls as the mid-afternoon sun began to set. Its fair-skinned denizens were adorned in beautiful silk robes, no two alike. Lively, tinny music played from bandstands and impromptu sidewalk collections. Children ran through the streets, pinwheels spinning in their hands. Entertainers flaunted their magic tricks and dancing skills in front of adoring audiences.

”Jared, this place is amazing,” Shin-ju said, bashfully accepting a pinwheel from a man wearing a fox mask and a kimono.

“Yup, it sure is,” Jared admitted, receiving a balloon from the masked man. “It’s the Midsummer Festival of the Highlands.”

“A festival? We’re in the middle of a festival?”

“Uh-huh,” the Merchant concurred, his hand making a sweeping gesture as they walked towards the city over a bridge. “I’m sure you’ve noticed that the people who live here don’t look like Northfolk.”

Shin-ju nodded. The people here had eyelids that folded inwards, giving their eyes a strangely beautiful slanted look. They were also slightly shorter than Northfolk, and the bridges of their noses were curved and graceful rather than angular and firm.

“The Payonese first settled here in the Midgard Highlands 250 years ago. Those Orient migrants were the ancestors of the people you see living here now. They came from the cities of Amatsu and Kunlun, far across the ocean in the distant continent of Khan.”

“Really?”

“Yup. Since then, the Payonese villages became united under a family of warriors—the Yamagachis—and Payon as we know it came to be. It was around the same time that Prontera came to be ruled by the family of our King Tristan III. It didn’t take long before the Kingdom and the Shogunate began diplomacy talks and formed the Midgard Alliance as we know it today.”

“W-wait a minute,” Shin-ju said, wrenching his eyes from the colorful revelry around them to look up at Jared. “An Alliance? Since so long ago?”

“Yeah,” Jared acknowledged. “Why?”

Shin-ju turned his eyes away in thought. “If Prontera and Payon made peace so easily back then, how come they couldn’t come into terms with Morroc?”

The Merchant laughed uneasily. “Well, these days it sorta goes without saying that Nomads aren’t exactly the friendliest people in the world,” he answered. “But between you an’ me, Shin-ju—the real reason is sex.”

Shin-ju narrowed his eyes at the Merchant. Jared had been in a joking mood for the better part of their six-day hike, and more than a few green jokes had chiseled their way into Shin-ju’s psyche.

“I’m, uh… I’m sorta serious here, Jared.”

Jared laughed again, this time gleefully. “Naw, I’m not kidding, Shin-ju,” he apologized. “Reproduction between Northfolk and Nomads are impossible, even though both races are human. Northfolk and Orients, however, don’t seem to have any trouble getting it on. You’ve seen a lot of crossbreeds between the two races, I’m sure.”

“Um, not really,” Shin-ju replied, his eyes on the darkening blue sky. “So is, uh… is sex also the main reason for this festival?”

The Merchant chuckled loudly.

“Now that would be really something, wouldn’t it?” he mused. “Naw, it’s not like that at all. It’s the end of April, and in Khan they celebrate the coming of Midsummer and the beginning of the harvest season. Midsummer comes in July here in Midgard, though, but the Payonese traditionally celebrate it now, knowing that their cousins in their mother continent are also celebrating it somewhere over the horizon.”

A gust of wind blew the pinwheel out of Shin-ju’s fingers. In a frantic moment, the boy instinctively turned around and watched it fly away towards the east.

The two had been walking on a pathwalk on the crest of a ridge, overlooking the ocean in the east. Shin-ju slowly laid his hands on the railing, watching the pinwheel disappear into the one blue of the sky and the water. The wind wafted from behind him, throwing some of his blue hair over his eyes.

“Somewhere over the horizon,” Shin-ju repeated dreamily, “your kin celebrate with you?”

Shin-ju turned around, all of a sudden feeling the fatigue that he failed to sense in the six days of hiking behind him. He turned his eyes upward to look at Jared, but stepped back in surprise as he looked into the eyes of a Payonese—a stranger. A few other Payonese in the pathwalk were casting curious glances at the blue-haired Nomad boy.

“Hey, Shin-ju!”

Shin-ju looked through the moving bodies in front of him at Jared, who was waving his balloon in the air.

“Come on, keep up with me! My friend’s Inn is over this way.”

Shin-ju turned his eyes downward as he pushed, almost apologetically, through the moving crowd.

• • •

“Here we are,” Jared simply said, smiling.

“Ronin Rest?” Shin-ju recited, looking at the signboard over the Inn’s main door.

“Yup, the one and only,” Jared answered, opening the wooden sliding door. “Take off your shoes and leave ‘em in the rack over there. Don’t worry, no one’ll take them.”

Shin-ju obeyed as Jared took off his own shoes. They stepped into the lobby in their socks.

The lobby was simply furnished in traditional Payonese fashion. Instead of seats, there were soft pillows laid on the straw-mat floors, set around low square tables. Beautiful flower arrangements stood in the middle of the tables. Wind chimes hung over the corners of the rooms. The walls were bare, save for a few small works of Payonese art, some depicting plant life, others depicting great warriors. Shin-ju liked the place immediately.

“Take a seat over there, Shin-ju,” Jared said, pointing to a pillow near a rear corner of the lobby. “I’ll call my friend first.”

Shin-ju obeyed. He squatted on the pillow as Jared approached the front counter.

“Konnichiwa,” Jared called.

Shin-ju cocked his head. Konnichi-what? he thought.

“Yes, I am coming,” a soft male voice came from a back room. A few seconds later, a tall man stepped out. He had long, straight black hair, a firm jaw, and piercing black eyes. He was wearing a Hakama, a traditional Payonese costume only worn by men and women of great honor. Looking at him from a distance, Shin-ju judged the man to be almost forty years old.

The man stopped as he saw Jared over the counter. He smiled in recognition. “Jared Wycrow,” he said simply.

“Akira-sama,” Jared said, smiling and bowing.

“It has been so long, Jared! How are you?” the tall man said, coming forward and shaking Jared’s hand. “You have gotten fatter since the last time we saw each other.”

“Well, y’can’t be a good Merchant on an empty stomach, y’know,” Jared joked, looking around the lobby. “So you finally got your Inn. Congratulations. It’s beautiful.”

“It is all thanks to you, Jared,” the Innkeeper said. “I am only 38, but I can already settle down and maintain a peaceful job. To think I doubted you when I first met you! But you do have quite a way to make money grow…” he stopped, spotting Shin-ju sitting in the corner. “Who is that? Is he with you?”

“Oh, right,” Jared said, turning to Shin-ju. “Akira, this is Shin-ju, my… uh… apprentice. He’s helped me a lot on my way here.”

Shin-ju felt awkward in the presence of the tall, noble man. He smiled uncertainly as the man approached him.

The tall man knelt in front of Shin-ju, placed both his hands on the tatami floor, and bowed his head slightly. “I am Yamakuno Akira. Welcome, Shin-ju-kun, to my inn. My sincere thanks for taking care of my good friend.”

Shin-ju nervously followed Akira’s posture, placing both hands on the floor and bowing his head.

Then the Innkeeper saw the burns on Shin-ju's forearms. “Shin-ju-kun, where did you get those burns?”

“Oh, those?” Jared interjected frantically, forgetting that Shin-ju’s arms were still unbandaged. “It-it was an accident, see… uh… we camped while we were traveling on the way here. Shin-ju wasn’t, uh, used to crossing the country, and he fell asleep while, uh, he was tending the fire. It was a good thing we camped near a creek.”

Akira’s eyes turned from Shin-ju’s arms to his eyes, and Shin-ju nodded too quickly.

“I see,” Akira said. “We must treat them right away, or else they will get infected.” Akira turned his head to call over his shoulder. “Yoriko! Bring some ointment and bandages here right away. We have an injured guest.”

Shin-ju heard a very small female voice from the backroom. “Hai.”

Jared took a seat across Shin-ju at the table. “Uh, who’s Yoriko?” he asked Akira, trying to change the subject.

“She is my daughter,” Akira answered with a smile. “I adopted her. I took her in only two years ago. She is about the same age as Shin-ju-kun, and…”

The Innkeeper stopped, noticing the strange combination of Shin-ju’s tan skin and blue hair.

“…And there are other things they have in common, as well,” he whispered.

Shin-ju looked at Akira blankly, wondering what he meant. Just then, Yoriko entered the room.

Yoriko was a thin girl, with fair skin and long black hair. She wore a blue kimono and white socks, and carried a small medical kit. She approached the three men with delicate, soundless steps, and her eyes were downcast. Shin-ju thought she looked like walking towards a judge to hear her sentence as a punishment for an unknown crime.

Akira moved to the head of the table, vacating his pillow seat for Yoriko. Jared secretly spied Shin-ju as the boy stared at the young girl approaching him.

Yoriko wordlessly sat down on the pillow seat beside Shin-ju and lay down the medkit on the floor, without turning her eyes to the boy. She carefully opened the medkit and took out a small container of ointment.

“Yoriko, meet my good friend, Jared Wycrow,” the Innkeeper told his daughter. “He is the reason why we have this Inn. Oh, and also meet his apprentice, Shin-ju.”

“Honored to meet you, Yoriko-chan,” Jared said, bowing his head at the girl.

Yoriko turned towards Jared, eyes down, and bowed her head. Then she turned to Shin-ju to bow, but froze when she saw Shin-ju’s arms. She noticed, not the burns, but his tan skin. Slowly she raised her eyes to Shin-ju’s face.

• • •

Yoriko had green eyes—a trait only found in Elves, and never in Humans.

They were the same—they were both different.

Shin-ju and Yoriko both suddenly felt the impulse—the need¬¬—to talk, to confide, to understand—and to be understood—by each other. And it only took one look in each other’s eyes.

• • •

“<Oi, Yoriko,>” Akira said in stern Payonese, interrupting their stare. “<Do not wait for the burns to fester.>”

Embarrassed, Yoriko turned away. “H-hai,” she squeaked, opening the container of ointment. She gently held one of Shin-ju’s forearms with one hand and carefully applied the ointment with the other. Shin-ju winced as his burns flared, reacting to the ointment.

“Slowly, now,” Akira said. Turning to Jared, he continued their conversation. “So what brings you to the Highlands, Jared?”

“I’ve come to cash in on the Midsummer Festival, what else?” Jared answered with a laugh. “Y’can’t keep a good Merchant down! But besides that… I also need to speak to the Daimyo. There’s a request I need to make.”

“I see.”

“Can you arrange for an audience soon? Being a former high-ranking Payon Knight, I was hoping you could pull some strings…”

“Say no more, Jared. I can arrange an audience tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Jared asked, surprised. “Really? So soon?”

“Yes. I am no longer just a field Major,” Akira said proudly. “I am the new Shousa, third in rank after the Shogun himself.”

“That's incredible!” Jared exclaimed. “Congratulations!”

“Thank you,” the Innkeeper answered as humbly as he could, bowing. “I will have to go out tonight to set the audience’s schedule, but I shall check you in your rooms and have dinner first.”

“Sounds great. Shin-ju and I’ll just share a room… and if it’s OK with you, can we settle the bill with Yellow Potion? I really don’t have much money on me right now.”

Akira frowned at the Merchant’s attempt to haggle. “You know, you are little by little reminding me about why I doubted you the first time I met you…”

• • •

At that moment, Yoriko finished treating and bandaging Shin-ju’s forearms. She raised her eyes to his, and the boy smiled.

“Thanks,” he whispered. Yoriko didn’t answer, but turned away hiding a smile.

Akira rose. “Be sure to come down for dinner, Jared. Meeting you again is a cause to celebrate.”

“Sure, we will,” Jared answered, rising. “But I hope you don’t mind if I take a nap, first?”

“Of course not,” Akira laughed. “Come over to the counter and I shall check you in.”

“Shin-ju, d’you wanna rest a while, too?” Jared asked.

Shin-ju had been watching Yoriko close the medkit, rise soundlessly to her feet, and walk into the back room. He looked up with a start when he heard his name.

“I, uh… I mean, sure, but… uh…” Shin-ju stammered, “I need to do a few things first. Can I go check out the Festival a bit more?”

Jared couldn’t feel but think the boy was up to something.

“OK, but don't get lost,” the Merchant cautioned. “I’ll just be here.”

“Thanks, Jared!” Shin-ju leaped up and walked towards the door. He put on his shoes, turned to Akira, and bowed. “And thank you very much, sir.”

Akira returned the bow and watched Shin-ju walk out the sliding door. Then he turned to Jared, a thoughtful look in his eyes.

• • •

Shin-ju went straight to the Kafra Mail Service Station, a little down the street from Ronin Rest. It was a mail service by Kafra, Inc., which offered one-day mail delivery using trained Falcons to deliver letters to different parts of Midgard.

The Mail Station was small and humbly furnished. It had a main service counter and a few armchairs for people to write on. Quickly Shin-ju requested for a sheet of paper and pen, took an armchair by the window, and began to write.



Kitsune-Senpai,

First of all, I’m OK. I hope I didn’t worry you too much by disappearing all of a sudden. Certain things happened between now and six mornings ago. I’ll explain everything when I get back, because I don’t have enough zenny to pay for two sheets of paper. At this point, I just wanna say that I’m fine.

I’m in Payon right now. I'm traveling with a Merchant named Jared Wycrow, and we’re staying in an Inn called Ronin Rest. We went here because Prontera is dangerous for both of us at the moment. The Old Occultists are looking for both of us.

But everything will probably be OK, because the Innkeeper is a friend of his who used to be a soldier like you. He’s now a high-ranking official in the Shogunate here (I didn’t catch the name of his rank, sorry). I don’t know what they’ll do, but hopefully it’ll fix everything and it’ll be safe for Mr. Wycrow to return to Prontera soon.

Guess what, I’ve gotten stronger. I could use the Blessing in a battle now. It actually saved my life. Like I said, I’ll explain everything when I get back. I just want to say… Thanks, Senpai. I’m sure you’ll be proud of me when I show you what I can now do with the things you've been teaching me.


Shin-ju looked out the window, trying to think of something else to write to Mikieru.

Across the street, he saw Yoriko drawing water from the Inn’s well. He watched her hair floating in the wind. He looked at her misty green eyes. He watched her small frame lift the heavy bucket of water, hold it against her chest, and carefully walk into the Inn, making sure she didn’t spill any of the water. Gingerly she closed the sliding door with her foot.

Shin-ju’s eyes lay fixed on the sliding door for a few moments, thinking of the girl. Then he finished his letter.



As for me, I’ll probably be staying here for a while. There are some things I’d like to find out. I hope you don't mind.

Take care,

Shin-ju

[zakky]

Chapter Four

The Eternal Enigma

Yoriko hesitated to hand the plate she washing to Shin-ju.

The boy had been volunteering to help wash the dishes since their first meal together the previous night. Neither Akira nor Jared seemed to mind the boy’s sudden eagerness to be of help to the Inn, though they did exchange a meaningful glance at each other every time the two kids disappeared into the kitchen.

Shin-ju cautiously took the plate from her hands, his eyes fluttering from the plate to her face.

She raised her eyes to his and managed a nervous smile. Strangers always threw a feeling of unease over Yoriko—having a boy her age standing beside her for longer than a few moments scared her to death at first. As Jared and Shin-ju had more meals at the Ronin Rest, however, Yoriko little by little grew accustomed to the sight of Shin-ju drying the cutlery for her.

He returned the smile. She took another plate and started washing it while he dried the one in his hands with a cloth.

The kitchen was quiet, save for the sounds of their hands working in unison to clean plates and cutlery.

“Do you get lonely?” Shin-ju asked quietly. It was the first words spoken between the two since the ‘Thanks’ the boy gave the previous night, after Yoriko treated his burns and wounds.

“Oh, no,” Yoriko answered in her serene Oriental tone, immediately understanding what Shin-ju meant. “My Papa takes good care of me, you see.”

“Do you go to school?”

“I would like to, and I think my Papa knows. When the Midsummer passes, he is going to let me move to the Archers’ Village north of here. How about you?”

Shin-ju shook his head. “Nope. My boss doesn’t have enough money to enroll me. And the people in Prontera don’t like me very much, either.”

“I see… I am sorry to hear that.”

“Yeah, but… it’s to be expected, I guess.”

The girl nodded at this statement.

Yoriko finished washing her plate and passed it to Shin-ju, who took it from her hands and started wiping it with a small towel. She took another greasy plate and placed it in the water.

“I do like Payon, though,” Shin-ju continued. “The people here are much less likely to judge me by the color of my skin… but people are prejudicial wherever you go, though.”

“Um,” Yoriko agreed quietly.

“By the way, did you always live here?”

“N-no, I did not,” the girl replied. “I only began living here two years ago, when my Papa adopted me.”

“Where did you live before that?”

“I do not remember.”

“Really? You don’t?”

Yoriko stopped washing the plate she was holding and looked up, as if in deep thought. “I… I do not remember. My earliest memory was when I was wandering in the forests to the north... you have heard of that place? The Forests Of The Moon?”

Shin-ju looked into her eyes blankly for a moment before shaking his head. “I haven’t heard of this place, but please go on…”

The girl nodded. “That was three years ago. I did not know where I came from, but it did not matter to me. I did not know about birth or death. I did not know about pain or suffering. I was content. I was happy living in the forest.”

“I see.”

Yoriko continued. “After about a year I was found by my Papa. He was the leader of a small group of Payon Knights at that time.”

“What was he doing there?”

“I am not sure. I think it was because there was a sighting of a number of Highland Elves in the area, and he was sent by the Shogunate to see if the report was true. They did not find any Elves, but they did find me.”

The plate lay in the water in the sink, forgotten, as Yoriko turned to Shin-ju.

“And, Shin-ju-kun, it was terrible, they said I was an Elf-witch, because I have Elven green eyes and human ears at the same time. See, Elves have pointy ears, but since I did not have them, the other Knights realized that I was a Demi-human. I remember it clearly—they said that I should be killed. But Papa stopped them, saying that I did nothing to deserve death.”

Shin-ju decided to ask. “But why did they want to kill you?”

“Do you not know? They say that Elves are demons, because they are all born with powers and abilities that are not found in Humans. Humans, you see, have to learn to use magic. Elves are already born with the ability to use it, just like demons. It was only then that I was exposed to the fact that, in this world, there existed the two extremes of good and evil—and I, in their sight, was evil.”

“That’s terrible,” Shin-ju admitted.

“Yes! And then, Shin-ju-kun, Papa took off his cloak and put it around me, see, because I did not have any clothes on.” Yoriko crossed her arms over her shoulders, emphasizing her words with her hands. “Then he picked me up and carried me back to Payon. He adopted me soon after that, and I have been a serving girl in his Inn ever since.”

Shin-ju nodded.

Yoriko stopped. She looked at the forgotten stack of plates beside her, and then at Shin-ju's attentive gray eyes. Embarrassed, she turned away and lifted a plate from the sink, washing it carelessly.

“I-I am sorry,” Yoriko stammered. “I lost myself.”

Shin-ju smiled, turning away and wiping the plate in his hands. “No, please go on.”

“You are very kind, Shin-ju-kun,” the girl said. “But… I find it strange.”

“What is?”

“This,” Yoriko said, eyes down, her finger pointing back and forth between Shin-ju’s chest and her own. “I-I have only met you yesterday, Shin-ju-kun, but I am telling you so many things about myself, as if I have known you for… for as long as I can remember.”

Shin-ju shrugged, smiling sadly. “That,” he said, “is to be expected too, I guess.”

Yoriko looked at Shin-ju, wondering what he meant.

“I know how it must make you feel,” Shin-ju continued. “I doubt there are any other Demi-humans besides you in this city. It must be terrible being different from the others… being alienated from everyone else because of the color of your eyes… it’s an endless sequence of sadness and self-pity, and I’ve been through that myself. That’s why… that’s why I feel the same as you do.”

The girl nodded.

“I’m sorry to have prodded into your history, Yoriko-chan… but to tell you the truth, I’ve been looking for the truth behind our kind for three years. Three years may be a pittance for some people, but it seems like a lifetime if you spend it wandering the desert wilderness.”

Yoriko’s eyes widened.

“I’ll be honest with you,” Shin-ju whispered. “Do you know what guided me during my wandering? A voice. A tiny female voice… and very strange things happen whenever I follow it. I heard that voice again six days ago, and look… it led me here. It led me to meet another Demi-human… you, Yoriko.”

Yoriko couldn’t help herself. “Do you… do you think this is Fate?”

Shin-ju thought about her question for a short moment, then shook his head as he turned back to the plates. “I’m not sure,” he answered. “But if I don’t find out what I can while I’m still here, we’ll never know, right?”

• • •

“Yoriko,” Akira's soft, deep voice called from the lobby. “I will be going ahead to the Palace to prepare the hearing. You will take Mr. Wycrow and Shin-ju there. Do not be late.”

“Hai,” Yoriko answered, washing the rest of the dishes with a notable impatience. Turning to Shin-ju, she said, “Shin-ju-kun, please leave the dishes to me. I left a Gi* in your bedroom upstairs. Please change into it, because the guards will not let you into the Shogunate halls if you are dressed like that.”
* Gi - A uniform similar to the ones used in Martial Arts dojos.

Shin-ju looked mournfully at the scorched sleeves of his jacket and at the bandages on his arms. “OK,” he answered. “I’ll see you later.”

Shin-ju walked towards the door, but hesitated before going through the threshold. He had an urge to stay with Yoriko, but for reasons apart from wanting to find out about Demi-humanity. It surprised him—what could have been more important than that?

He looked back at Yoriko and caught her peeking over her shoulder at him. Embarrassed, she looked away and hastily continued washing.

He felt had to say something. “Er… Yoriko-chan?” he started, scratching the back of his head.

“Hm?” Yoriko answered, turning to him.

“Uh… well…” he stammered, “After the Shogunate… I mean… After Jared’s audience in the Shogunate, would you like to, um, well…”

She stared at him with wondering eyes.

“…would you like to go out with me?” he finished, biting off the tip of the question. “We could talk a bit more, and we could check out the Festival too if you like.”

Yoriko smiled, sweetly surprised.

“Y-Yes,” she answered. “That would be nice.”

“Really?” Shin-ju asked, surprised.

Yoriko nodded, trying to suppress her smile.

“Great,” the boy finished, smiling. “I’ll see you later!”

Shin-ju jumped out into the lobby, and Yoriko turned to her dishes. Then both of them took a deep breath before moving again.

• • •

Shin-ju looked uneasily at the make of the Greater Court hall. Jared was similarly edgy, expecting only a Lesser Court audience to be prepared for his request. Instead, the Shogun’s second-in-command—the Taishou—opted to elevate the audience to a Greater Court affair at the last minute, wanting to hear about the Merchant’s plight himself.

The Greater Court hall was not excessively large, but the high ceiling, precise pine woodwork, and dark oak paneling made Jared and Shin-ju feel subdued. Suits of Oriental armor stood on each of the four corners of the long rectangular room, adding to the inhibiting mood the room gave to foreigners.

The Merchant squatted at one end of a long, large table, with Shin-ju and Yoriko squatting behind him on both sides. The Daimyo, highland lords loyal to the Shogun, listlessly sat on the long sides of the table. They were garbed in their ceremonial Hakamas, the sight of which added to the tension of the wait.

After what seemed to be an eternity for the three, the sliding doors at the end of the room parted to reveal the Taishou. Akira followed closely behind.

Without turning an eye to the new arrivals, the Daimyo placed their hands at the edge of the table and bowed their heads deeply. Jared and Yoriko followed suit, and Shin-ju tried to imitate the action as best he could.

The Taishou and the Shousa returned the bows quietly, then assumed their places at the end of the table, indicating that the Court was now in order.

Jared rose. “Taishou Inomori Oruku,” the Merchant greeted, bowing deeply.

The Taishou nodded in return.

Turning to Akira, Jared bowed again. “Shousa Yamakuno Akira.”

Akira returned the bow.

“Speak, Jared Wycrow,” the Taishou ordered.

“Hai,” Jared answered respectfully. “Taishou, I have been driven out of my hometown, Al de Baran Machine City, by brigands belonging to the Old Occultists. They have seized my assets. They have destroyed my home office. They have kidnapped one who is dearest to me.”

Shin-ju eyed Jared quietly. This was the second time the boy heard the Merchant claim his hometown to be Al de Baran, although Jared had insisted a few more times that he was from Alberta.

There is more to Jared than meets the eye, Shin-ju thought.

Jared’s voice quivered as he continued. “I could not make my request in Prontera, as the Occultists had intercepted me on my way there. I had no other choice but to seek help here, in Payon Fort City. I ask that the Taishou, in his peerless wisdom, to lend me a number of soldiers—three hundred will suffice—to aid me in reclaiming my possessions and rooting the Occultists out of Al de Baran.”

“The Old Occultists,” the Taishou drawled in a deep gravelly voice. “Long have they been a thorn in the side of our Northfolk brothers.”

Jared, Shin-ju, and Yoriko waited with bated breath for the Taishou to continue.

“Yes,” the Taishou said finally. “You are not the seek aid from the Shogunate with this problem, and the good faith that the Shousa places upon you attests that you are worthy of the Shogunate’s trust. Yes. I shall help you.”

“Truly?” Jared said, very relieved.

“I will send a contingent of Payon Knights from the Sograt Garrisons to root out the Old Occultists in both Prontera and Al de Baran. Such as an act respectful of our Alliance with the Capital.”

“Thank you, Taishou! Words cannot express my gratitude for your kindness!” Jared said, bowing.

“I only ask this,” the Taishou continued. “What have you done to merit such hatred from the Occultists?”

Jared looked up and opened his mouth, but no word came out.

“Tell me,” the Taishou said, “Why are the Occultists after you? If they were merely interested in your assets, they would have left you alone when you escaped to Prontera. But they did not. Instead they chased you and even took a loved one as a hostage.”

Shin-ju and Yoriko looked at Jared. The Merchant was shaking.

Akira looked on, motionless, allowing his superior to ask all the obvious questions.

“You have something that they want,” the Taishou concluded. “What is it?”

Jared looked down. “I… I can’t…” he closed his eyes. “I can’t tell you…”

Akira was shocked. In the two years he had served as Shousa, he had never seen anyone refuse to answer a question asked by the Taishou. Slowly he turned to his superior, expecting the worst.

“Do not worry,” the Taishou said calmly. “I know.”

Akira, Jared, Shin-ju, and Yoriko looked at the Taishou, surprised. Slowly the Taishou turned to the Daimyo.

“Please leave us here,” he asked. Unquestioningly, the Daimyo bowed, rose, and left the Greater Court, closing the sliding doors behind them.

Everyone stared at the Taishou as he reached into the folds of his Hakama and took out a smooth bluish rock, with rounded edges and three smooth sides. Jared froze.

The Taishou laid the rock on the table in front of him.

Shin-ju couldn’t hold himself back. “What’s that?” he asked.

The Taishou leaned forward, smiling, his eyes twinkling. Then he solemnly opened his mouth and spoke.

“Have any of you ever heard of the Legend of the One Who Waits?”

• • •

To be continued

[renzeiken]

Okay. We'll be waiting.

[-ChocnuT-]

whoa!! where's the next page??

[zakky]

06.30.2006
7.57pm (GMT+0800)

Hi, everyone.

I was on the verge of completing my fic's third book in the Philippine Ragnaboards when it was taken down by a group of jacktard hackers two months ago. There's nothing I can do about it, especially since the guys up at Level-Up Philippines don't seem to have any plans of putting the Ragnaboards back up.

So I've decided to move to ROE and make it my fic's permanent home. I update simultaneously in Writer's Arcadia and Fanfiction.Net, but this is where I'll probably hang out the most. I hope no one minds.

I'm planning to post uptades every week on Thursdays. Hope to see you around then, and I hope you'll find the story to your liking. ^_^

~Zack

[nefasturis]

Originally Posted by zakky

06.30.2006
7.57pm (GMT+0800)

Hi, everyone.

I was on the verge of completing my fic's third book in the Philippine Ragnaboards when it was taken down by a group of jacktard hackers two months ago. There's nothing I can do about it, especially since the guys up at Level-Up Philippines don't seem to have any plans of putting the Ragnaboards back up.

So I've decided to move to ROE and make it my fic's permanent home. I update simultaneously in Writer's Arcadia and Fanfiction.Net, but this is where I'll probably hang out the most. I hope no one minds.

I'm planning to post uptades every week on Thursdays. Hope to see you around then, and I hope you'll find the story to your liking. ^_^

~Zack

Redkinoko here. That makes the two of us man. Anyway, good to see your works again.

[zakky]

Hi, guys. Chapter Three is up (points seven posts up).
Hope you like it. Chapter Four will be up next Thursday.

~Zack

PS. Redkino! You hang out here too? I'm not seeing you around a lot anymore. What's up?

[zakky]

Updated!
Posted the first half of Chapter Four (six posts up).
I'll post the next half this Thursday.

~Zack ; )

[nefasturis]

I got info from guys inside LU! that Ragnaboards will be back up in a weeks time. I'm not sure if I'll be continuing writing for that board though.