Chương 1509: [1418] – Y06.318 – Troublesome Father III

"What a troublesome boy," Asa said, his shoulders heavy, his body cold, too cold. As the night fell across Floria, the chill continued to invade through him, though another chill descended upon the old man.

"I thought they killed you, old man," the voice of trouble said.

"I was close enough to death," Asa replied, allowing the troublesome fellow to sit opposite him, all the while he remained within the central fire, allowing the flames to tickle his skin.

'Is that how he endures the lack of his Spark?' Bael thought, the meditative form of the dragon, half dead as he was, still exuding the kind of oppressive aura that matched the figure who had once forced the fire giants away from the Upper Realm.

"How are you related to that Brat?"

"Brat?" Bael replied, his voice so full of playfulness, a knowing smile across his lips.

"Which brat?"

"…"

"What happened to your Spark?" Bael finally dared to ask, since he was the kind of figure who could dare to ask, even as close as he was to the old dragon.

"Perhaps I lost it, or perhaps, you were the one to steal it?" Asa joked, since Bael possessed something which should not be in his possession. Bael's laughter filled the air, the gentle rain falling across Floria, even as it fell onto the dying dragon before him, it sizzled into the air, the steam rising between them.

"Are you still upset your son, who you raised so adoringly, beat you senseless?" Bael asked, in a tone that wished for death, for even Adam would not speak so brazenly towards a figure like this.

"Beat me?" Asa replied, his own lips forming a wide smile, though he chose not to chuckle, all the while he narrowed his eyes.

"If that is what you wish to call it."

"Even though you're just a dying old man, I can still feel it," Bael admitted, all the while his hair stood on end, even as the steam covered the dying old man's body from his sight, the overwhelming pressure of the figure before him.

"Old man, let's fight!" Asa inhaled the vapours, which warmed up his lungs, letting out a long sigh.

'He is certainly that brat's descendant.' How many years ago had it been?

'You're too weak to handle him by yourself,' that foolish brat had said, resting his blade over his shoulder.

'Since he raised me so well, I should be the one to cut his neck,' that ungrateful brat had replied. Asa, back then, had fought so furiously, that even after his defeat, slipping through the Realms he did, almost having killed the pair, the flames raged on for centuries after. Bael gasped, waking up from his slumber, his entire body aching, his bones feeling the pulse set within, the kind of pulsing that was from a heavy beating, the warm rays of the sun prickling his skin like needles.

He sat up, glancing around, noting he was atop a hill, and though he had been unconscious, not even the gryphons which circled above dared to fly down. His eyes peeked around at the aftermath of the flames which threatened to burn down the entire forest, though had been so easily put down with the effort of a single sneeze.

Bael returned to find the rest of his companions waiting for him, each of whom noted the condition he was in, then their eyes turned towards Adam, only to realise the half elf was eyeing up Bael equally as curiously, so their eyes then turned towards him, except… You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version. Asa sat in his chair, sipping tea as Ara spoke to him, all the while he was completely normal.

There were no wounds, or even signs of a confrontation, but no one held any doubts who had beaten Bael so thoroughly, the sound of the storm having masked their fight, the flames could have easily have been thought to be an errant lightning bolt. Bael approached Asa, though passed him, reaching for the blade leaning against the side of the building, silver and pure, and as he lifted it, he paused. He raised the blade, noting his reflection against the steel, so polished that it was. The sword, finally, was empty.

'In a few centuries, I should be able to draw blood,' Bael thought, sheathing the blade once more, carrying it at his side more comfortably. He dropped down to one side, the ache within his body flashing hot, though he fought off the wince.

"He really beat your ass, huh?" Adam teased, unable to contain himself, holding Amal's cheeks with a hand, all the while his eyes glistened playfully. Bael let out a light snort, before laughing wildly, causing Amal to snap her head towards him, her eyes taking in his laughing sight, the girl then glancing up towards Adam to see how he was responding, only to smile and laugh, clapping her hands excitedly.

"We can stay another day, I need to buy some tea anyway," Adam said, his head swaying from side to side as he stretched his neck, before peeking down at Amal, who shook her head from side to side to mimic him, the girl giggling. Ashmir noted that he had yet to surrender the girl, but the girl had already surrendered herself to Adam, who spoiled her so eagerly with his attention.

'…' The half elf ended up taking the girl out to find some tea, though he was surrounded by Dunes and Jurot, to keep him out of trouble, Uli, to keep an eye on him. Adam spent quite a pretty penny within the town, procuring all manner of tea leaves, while others eyed him and the girl up from afar.

"What?" one of the Florians gasped in surprise.

"She is but a year old?"

"A year and a month or so," Adam confirmed.

"By the Divine, what are they feeding her in the Iyr?" the Florian woman asked, leaning in slightly towards Adam, raising her brows, causing Amal to squirm back into Adam's chest.

"Actually, she's from Aswadasad, and that's what I was asking," Adam replied.

"Must be the spice, or something?" The woman narrowed her eyes, but the girl was the kind of devilkin who enjoyed the fire, so certainly, it must have been the spice. Those of Ever Green, who moved slowly as though walking through the mud, and yet it was only because the pace of life was so in this town, the town of their King, the town of Ever Green, the Garden of Floria, once the Garden of Aldland.

Adam could feel it, though, that this sleepy town of Ever Green was not quite so sleepy within the shadows, noting all the older figures, many heavily scarred, some crippled, yet all exuding that kind of aura. He hadn't worn his armour, though he carried his axe at his side, while Kal Uli remained within his heavy armour, keeping away most untoward thoughts.

"Boo!" Amal pointed towards a book.

"Book! That's right!" Adam smiled, tickling the girl's cheek.

"Is that what you want? Book?"

"Boo!" the girl confirmed, and just like that, as though willing it into existence, the girl had a book. Adam thought for a moment, wondering if she could be allowed to hold the book herself, for it cost quite a bit.

'Ah, right. I'm rich.' Jurot picked up the trail of paper, upon Adam's request, which they would then burn rather than litter the rather clean roads, and though there were a handful of people who had stood to tell them off, the Iyrman's actions had caused them to sit once more. However, some had not stood, for they had seen his forehead, recalled the nightmares that his tattoos caused, and so remained within their seats, sipping their tea.

"Oo!" Amal gasped, holding up her hands, seeing the liquid crimson slipping across her palms, and the girl's face contorted. Lay on Hands: 45 -> 44 Though Adam's warm magic filled the girl, it did not stop her screeching, the girl's lungs exactly as one might expect for a babe who was so chonky, though as the moments passed, as Adam soothed her to his chest, she began to screech less. Then, in an instant, the girl's voice quelled.

"This doesn't mean she prefers you over to me," Adam stated. Jurot's lips twitched slightly. Dunes closed his eyes, for though he was equally as annoyed by their antics, he couldn't help but think the pair were so cute too.

Once the small group returned to their companions, they couldn't help but recall what kind of existence Adam was, as though he carried the babe within his arm, the big babe sucking her thumb, they contrasted such a sight with the figure who had cut the neck of the Grand Commander of High Garden's head clean off. John's eyes trailed over the half elf, who settled himself to one side, brushing the girl's cheek and hair, cooing over her.

For the longest time, a hint of doubt remained, but no longer could he doubt the half elf, for he was the Crazy Father.