Chương 1522: [1431] – Y06.331 – Troublesome Children VI

"Slumber Claw is very strong," Konarot said, informing her father of what she was currently studying, fairly basic history, starting with the various dragons across the land. It was one of the best ways to teach history, the Iyr found, starting with the eldest dragons and speaking of the events surrounding the time of their activity. As the Iyr weaved the narrative of the dragons and their various events, the children would learn a time line, to be referenced between dragons.

There were many more dragons, far too many for the Iyr to include in such comprehensive detail, but the dragons across Aldland, Aswadasad, Drakkenlen, each formed the basis of their history.

"Jogak, not baba, his warname was Firestorm, he was very strong," Kirot informed, as though it were a matter of fact.

"There was Gangak, but not nano, Gangak the Blade. They were so strong, daddy, but we are learning before."

"Oh?" The half elf mused.

"Did you study ahead?"

"Sister read the books," Kirot confirmed.

"Ah? Well your elder sister, she…" Adam paused a moment, realising which sister she meant. The half elf's cheeks flushed lightly.

"Jirot?"

"Jirot," Kirot confirmed.

"Thank you for listening so well," Adam said, brushing the girl's hair tenderly, causing the girl to flush lightly. Karot revealed his drawing to the half elf, a rather impressive painting for a five year old, the boy already beginning to draw faces well enough, though there was an obvious difference between how well he drew his mother, which looked so much like her, and the way he drew his father, who was far simpler in detail, and also apparently had silver scales across the lower half of his face.

"I drew with mummy," the boy admitted.

"I assisted him in picking colours, but he drew it and painted it all himself," Vonda admitted.

"You are so talented, no, you work so hard with your art, Karot! I bought some from the Faro's granddaughter, but your art, isn't it priceless?" Adam admired the painting for quite some time, wondering if even he could match his son's art, which was genuinely beautiful. Karot flushed slightly, his tail swaying behind him, the boy glancing aside in embarrassment while his father admired his art.

He glanced up towards his mother, the boy beaming even more brightly as his mother smiled, his entire face red, his heart beating so rapidly in joy. Adam wondered what else he could do for his triplets, who were growing up so well within the Iyr. No, it wasn't his triplets which worried him, but Kirot, who had yet to claim her own identity, or rather, had no chance to claim her own identity.

'I'll have to work harder for you, my dears.' Larot sat opposite the fool of a half elf, glaring at the young man, all the while his aunt fed him, assisting him in drinking his soup. Once she was distracted, he picked up the bowl himself and sipped away at it.

"Well done, Larot!" Lanarot said, brushing the boy's hair.

"You are always so well behaved, I do not have to worry."

"…"

"Mummy!" Virot exclaimed, holding up a cup towards the woman, brushing her hair behind her ear.

"Milk please!"

"Quietly, Virot," Vonda said, but she poured the girl her milk, who tipped her head back slightly so her mother could feed her. Vonda paused for a moment, but decided to feed the girl, since she would not be so young forever, and perhaps one day would push her away from this. Once the girl let out a sigh, she began to babble towards her mother, as if she were a politician trying to gain her mother's vote.

"Okay?"

"Perhaps so," Vonda said, wiping the girl's chin, the girl flinching slightly each time, before raising her brows questioningly.

"What can we do?"

"What can do?" Virot agreed.

"Xarot, my boy, Xarot, come," Adam called as the boy walked over towards them, pausing a moment when he heard his father, blinking up at him sleepily. He smiled slightly, sucking on his dummy, but sauntered towards his mother, who lifted him up onto her lap, and planted a kiss on his forehead. Stolen story; please report.

"Damrot!" Adam called, his heart aching.

"Damrot, my boy, come here!" Damrot bolted his way to his uncle, blinking and finding himself in the middle of the air, with his papo looking at him with such a terrible frown, embracing the boy tight.

"Oh, my Damrot, how can you do this to me? You are so big now, and you run so well, and Xarot, do you see how he walks? He wasn't even crawling when I was gone, but now, now he's walking! Damrot, you must get justice for me!" Damrot smiled, hugging his papo's neck, the pair rubbing their cheeks together.

"Did you miss me, Damrot?" Adam whispered.

"Miss, papo," the boy.

"You can't be misgendering me like that, bro, it's the twenty first century!" Adam joked, a joke no one would understand, but a joke that made him laugh like a hyena, although only for a moment, the half elf pausing.

'Hold up, isn't it actually the twenty first century?'

"Adam, should I kiss my children more?" Jurot asked, noting the warmth between his brother and his son.

"You can if you want, though I think your hugging skills are pretty top tier," Adam replied.

'Top tier?' Jurot considered the half elf's words. It was true that compared to most people, perhaps even almost everyone he had ever met, no one could hug as well as he. His father had the ability, it was something he inherited.

"Jurot, she just woke up," Pam said. Jurot looked down, having instantly put his daughter to sleep, even though she had just woken up a few minutes ago.

'…'

"You normally don't make such a mistake," Pam accused, wondering why the Iyrman was so out of it. Was it just because he had been worried about the children?

'You look good with short hair.' Jurot recalled the words his wife had said upon his return, his ears twitching lightly, his heart uncertain, for though it held much joy, it also held an awkwardness, for it was simple to cut down a dragon, but to be a good father, a good husband, it was far more difficult.

'I wonder how much XP…' Adam furrowed his brows.

'Wasn't it like… six digits?' Once lunch was over, the half elf prepared himself, since there was still a half matter to deal with. Since their schooling was over, Adam decided to take his children along, and since they had remained here for some time, they knew where to go, leading their father forward.

"Hello there," Adam called, greeting the businessfolk, who had waited after lunch so the could greet the returning members.

"I see you're all doing well! I hope the Iyr is treating you well, I am sure they are, but if they're adding too much spice to your meals, let me know, I'll deal with them!" Though the half elf was joking, Rick and his companions, and more keenly, Bilal, could see the tension around the half elf, the kind of tension which had become familiar after the previous year.

"It is well," Rick said, greeting the half elf, who was beaming towards the children, kept at bay by the adults. Rowan threw a look to Jeremy, his eyes speaking all the words he needed to, though he motioned his head to the tiny greenskins.

"We are in the Iyr now," Jeremy warned.

"The Iyr is the Iyr."

"You can't be serious."

"If you don't want to die, you should be." Rowan glanced back towards the children, and as Jeremy leaned in, his eyes fell to the pair of greenskin monsters and the hornless red skinned one, who was certainly one of those. Hearing Jeremy's warning, however, he swallowed, feeling a chill run through him.

"You have a chance at a better life," Jeremy said.

"Keep your mouth shut, let him train you into an Expert, and hoard the gold he's so freely offering."

"I wish life was that easy."

"I'm an Expert, ain't I?"

"My dirty ass is an Expert if you're an Expert."

"The Executives are very keen on hygiene, so make sure you get that sorted."

"I will slap you so hard they'll be finding you in the next century," Rowan warned.

"Expert, in your dreams."

"You really think I'm not an Expert?"

"I ain't seen no armour! Your sword's alright, I suppose, but unless you got a set of plate, I ain't believe no nonsense like that."

"Rowan," Jeremy said, holding his gaze.

"I'm an Expert."

"Piss off."

"Remy," Jeremy called, motioning with his head, calling his cousin who looked so much like him.

"Tell 'im."

"Tell 'im what?"

"We're Experts."

"Ah, yeah, we're Experts."

"Piss off." Remy looked towards Jeremy, furrowing his brows.

"You didn't tell him?"

"I did, he ain't believin' it." Remy looked back towards Rowan, who held an incredulous brow.

"I thought that's why you joined?"

"I joined because you said it's the best job I can get and you'd get me in, I didn't join because you guys are dreaming."

"That don't matter anyhows," Remy said, leaning in to whisper.

"Listen to me now, in the Iyr, things work differently. You can't cause any of them trouble, and, I warned you yesterday, but my head's still pounding a little from all the swill, but whatever you do, do not hurt any of the kids. If they're a grown man, no, if they're older, eighteen I think, you can lay your hand on them if they want to fight, but anyone younger and you're losing your hand."

"What are you talking about?"

"It's the rules."

"The rules of the Iyr? I thought I was joining some business, not the Iyr."

"Rules of the business. You hit a kid before they get their tattoos, you ain't losing your hand, we're losing you, and we'll never be able to find you, cause the Iyr will deal with you."

"I'm not stupid enough to hit an Iyrman kid, you ain't got to worry about that."

"Alright, alright, but the same goes for the Executive's kids, because you ain't seen it yet, but he cut the head off a Grand Commander of an Order right in front of us."

"Piss off." Remy grabbed Rowan, wrapping an arm around his neck, dragging him back.

"Listen to me, you fucker."

"Remy, Remy, let 'im go," Jeremy said, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"It won't be long until he hears about everything, won't be long 'til he sees it, either."

'What in the Hel?' Rowan stretched his neck, narrowing his eyes towards his cousins.

'Experts? Killing Grand Commanders? He killed the Vice Commander with some help, they don't need to make nonsense up, the pricks.'