Chương 1254: [1171] - Y06.071 - The Start of Noonval V

Elder Zijin hadn't expected to meet with anyone that day, especially not the domineering presence of a particular Iyrman. However, he offered his snacks, and allowed her to take her seat, those amber eyes glaring up at him so confidently.

"Elder Zijin!" she declared, pointing her green finger towards him, as though he did not know his name or title.

"You are the Elder!"

"That is right."

"So you are important!"

"In some ways, yes."

"I am an Iyrman!" She pointed to herself, as though he had no idea who she was, but considering how much he had aged due to her, he certainly knew of this particular Iyrman.

"Yes."

"So I can speak with you!"

"Yes."

"I know that," Jirot said, reaching up to her chin in the same way her elder sister would when playing dragonchess, a finger curled in front of her chin and lip. She closed her eyes, falling into thought for a moment. She let out an exasperated sigh, the girl glancing up towards the purple sky. Elder Zijin allowed her to get distracted, since the girl was able to bring herself back home by herself. He assisted her by sipping his tea, causing the girl to jolt lightly.

"Elder Zijin!"

"Yes?"

"My name is Jirot. I am daughter of daddy and mummy. Daddy is always working. Mummy is always working. I want to work too!"

"You are still a child. Your work is to play and go to school, once you are of age."

"I want to go to school now, Elder Zijin!" Jirot declared, her eyes narrowing into a half glare.

"Okay."

"I want to go to-," Jirot began, though quickly stopped as she processed what the Elder said. She blinked. She furrowed her brows towards the Elder, who smiled.

"We will test you this week and next week you will begin your formal education." Jirot blinked again.

"Okay."

"Jarot, do you wish to go to school too?" Elder Zijin asked.

"I am too old," the Mad Dog stated.

"…"

"…"

"How embarrassing," Jirot whispered, rubbing her face, glancing up at her greatfather with a smirk upon her lips. Once the little Jarot As the Mad Dog hoisted himself up, grunting slightly as he righted himself upon his metal leg. He ruffled his Churot's hair, and as the twins helped one another, sharing their snacks, he caught Zijin's eye. He bowed his head, the Elder bowing his head in response.

'How could I deny you when the Mad Dog would have killed me?' Zijin joked within his mind. He let out a long sigh once they left, leaning back within his chair. The little girl had appeared so confidently before him, ready to argue, but she left so excitedly.

'Should I delay my retirement?' As the Elder dealt with one child of the Iyr, another was currently deep in her thoughts. Taygak remained silent as her half elf cousin made his rounds to the various businessfolk, checking upon them as he always did. Those tense shoulders, his strained smile, they continued to grow with each passing moment, only broken by the innocence of the children's gifts to him, much to the chagrin of the parents. As the nerves began to fill her, the teen stepped aside, drawing her blade.

The tingle of magic ran through her fingers, the magic of a Greater weapon, a weapon she had been gifted by a Ray. To be gifted such a weapon, a Greater sword, by a Ray of Hope of all things, it was a story in and of itself, a story very few all across the Iyr could dare to claim. She had done nothing to earn such an honour, however.

'Is this what it is to be an Iyrman?' Taygak thought, swinging the blade in front of her once with all her attention, but once her blade fell, so did her motivation. Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.

The young Iyrman approached her cousin, who was checking the carriages within the Front Iyr, his eyes both admiring the wood of the carriage, while also checking the various hinges, hooks, and even the leather which would be strapped to the magical steeds, and if push came to shove, to himself.

"Cousin Jurot," Taygak called.

"Cousin Taygak," Jurot replied, his eyes slowly drawing towards the young woman.

"I do not like it," Taygak stated in their tongue.

"This armour, this sword, this shield."

"You must wear it," Jurot replied.

"Yes. I wish for you to write it down." Jurot remained silent for a long while from her words. He stared at the side of the carriage, the girl waiting beside him. A small smile appeared on his face, not quite the shadows previously, something far larger, still barely noticeable.

"Okay," Jurot stated.

"Okay," Taygak replied, stepping away from the Iyrman.

'Jaygak, do you see?' Jurot thought, for Taygak was an Iyrman. Then the Iyrman thought of the situation.

'Hmm. She is still a child…'

"Will you write it down?" Kitool asked, stepping from the darkness.

"I have promised, so I must."

"Okay."

"…"

"…"

"It feels too soon," Jurot admitted.

"You sound like Adam."

"Is this what he has felt when seeing them? I have felt it with Lanarot. She was once like Damrot, so small, unable to speak her feelings. Now, she speaks to me. She tells me I must eat my bread in Aswadasad, and brush my teeth, and even wash my hands. Damrot is now, what Lanarot was. Lanarot is now, what Taygak was. Taygak is now…"

Kitool placed a hand upon his large back, which seemed to cast such a wide shadow in front of the children, and yet they had no idea that the back which blotted out the sun, stood in front of another mountain which covered the sky.

"Taygak is wise. She knows she is still a child. She, of all the children, will cause the least trouble. She knows of her role."

"Her… role?" Jurot asked.

"She is still a child. When she is tattooed, she understand the freedom which comes from it, but until then, she must abide by the rules."

"Yes." Jurot inhaled deeply, feeling the relief run through him.

"It is our responsibility. We must return her to the Iyr safely."

"We do not have the liberty of failure."

"It will be difficult for harm to meet Taygak." Kitool wondered if Jurot worded it that way specifically, though knowing him, it was what he meant anyway.

"Yes."

"The carriage is prepared," Jurot said, staring at the carriages, his eyes trailing the lightly carved designs. They were the simple designs the Iyr often placed upon their carriages, familiar, of home. Kitool remained silent for a long moment, her eyes trailing the carriages, seeing the same carriages, feeling the same feelings of familiar and homely, but her thoughts were not like those of the Rot, but of the Ool.

"Yes." As the pair of Iyrmen reminisced upon their childhood, the times they had stepped out of the Iyr, even the times when their parents took them out when they were teens, Adam did what Adam did best.

"What? This little old thing?" Adam asked, rubbing his tattoo.

"The Iyr thought they might lose me to the Aswadians so they tattooed me."

"It looks kinda like Executive Jurot's tattoo," Ginny said, her hazel eyes staring curiously up at the half elf.

"It does!" Adam laughed at the young girl.

"Since my family is the Rot family, my tattoo was inspired by them."

"You ain't… you're not an Iyrman, though?"

"No, I'm not an Iyrman, I'm just me." Adam flashed a smile towards the children, whose eyes remained fixated on their Executive's tattoos, each whispering their own theories and conspiracies. The half elf, rubbed along the bracelet, not the first he had received from the children, and more than likely, not the last. His eyes then fell to the teen, who he had barely recalled in quite some time.

"Hey, you," the young man called, with sun kissed hair, bright blue eyes, which did not match the Ool's appearances one bit, and yet the boy was certainly called Ool.

"Fazool?" Adam replied, narrowing his eyes slightly at the teen, and seeing how annoyed he looked, Adam realised he had said the name wrong for sure.

"Wazool?"

"Yes…" The teen glared at the half elf, though not with as much audacity as one might have expected.

"I have been informed of your great feat."

"My great feat?" Adam asked.

"You defeated the Grand Commander of… High Garden, is it now?"

"Yeah."

"You should speak with more…" Wazool fell quiet, dropping the matter as quickly as he had brought it up.

"Sir James Greatwood. Every boy from Aldland knows that name, regardless if they live within the alleys, or live like a Prince in their manor."

"Yeah? How many Princes are there in Aldland?"

"Many," Wazool replied confidently.

"Each of the Dukes and Duchesses have many children, each considered a Prince or Princess, and their children could also gain such a title, if they are considered the heirs of the family instead of their parents, for one reason or another."

"Ah…"

"The Iyr, if it is as wise as it seems, must have covered the story. Many will not believe someone like you, with your youth worn upon your face, even though you are a fae, could have defeated the likes of the Grand Commander, a powerful figure who was officially recognised as a Paragon within Aldland. It is typical of fools not to see the truth before their eyes, no matter how obvious it is."

"That's just how it is."

"You have a greater power than I realised, it is no wonder you were able to face against the Marquise. However, though some may continue to underestimate you, there may be others who are beginning to paint a portrait of you that is clearer than the murky portrait one might expect."

"You don't have to worry about me, I know my place in this world, for now, and I know not to stir up trouble while Taygak is with us."

"Why did you choose the Iyr to give yourself to?" Wazool asked, his eyes meeting up the half elf's. Adam remained silent for a short moment, trying to understand what Wazool was really talking about. Adam had his own assumptions about the young man, who was no doubt a fallen noble who the Iyr was watching over, and there was something almost familiar about his appearance, not that Adam put too much thought into it.

"The home that I once had is dead," Adam said, his words blunt, his eyes overwhelming the boy.

"And to it, so am I." Wazool's blue eyes dropped down, the teen staring at the floor. The teen turned, stepping away into the darkness of the Front Iyr with a heavy heart, weighed down by the broken expectations, and the dreams which weighed so terribly on his shoulders.

'Poor kid,' Adam thought.