Chương 1608: [1513] – Y07.013 – A World of Trouble III

"I am never talking to daddy again," Jirot declared, turning around, all the while her father stood awkwardly behind her.

"Dear, I need to go see the Order, they're waiting for me…"

"Hmph."

"Dear, this is really important, it's for the Iyr, isn't it?"

"Mummy, you must tell daddy I am not talking to him." Vonda's eyes fell upon her husband, who seemed as meek as their sons, then down towards her daughter, who had excitedly waited for the twenty first in order to play with her father, since he had spent the fourteenth away. However, that father of hers, once more betrayed her heart, which was so small and tender, and thus, she had to bully her father, of course.

"I see. Darling, Jirot is not speaking with you today." Adam stood still, feeling the pain from even the lack of his daughter's actions, for only his daughter could trouble him so.

"Then… I'm going to do it! I'm going to beat them up before they leave!" Jirot's mouth dropped, the girl turning to her father, holding out her hand in the way she did when she finally had enough.

"Daddy! How can you say this? It is the Order of the Wings!"

"If my daughter is not going to talk to me, aren't they committing a grave sin?"

"Oh, daddy, what am I going to do with you?" Jirot said, holding her head.

"You are eating my head!"

"Dear, do you think I don't know Aswadic phrases?"

"If you hear what I say, then you hear what I say," the girl replied, huffing with annoyance. The half elf understood his daughter was showing him a great mercy, so he dropped down and held her close.

The half elf planted firm kisses on her cheek, and then did so for the rest of his children, even little Virot, who tolerated a kiss from his cheek, and even tolerated giving him a kiss, tolerated giving him a tight hug against his head, and even tolerated saying goodbye to him and tolerated waving towards him as he left.

'You have done well,' Jirot thought, inhaled a proud breath, for her sister was so well behaved, of course. As the half elf made his way out, his wife considered beginning her own training, but as she glanced down towards her daughter, whose eyes seemed so keenly aware of her mother and, seemingly, even her thoughts, the woman smiled.

"You are so lucky you are as wise as you are beautiful, mummy," Jirot whispered, smirking slightly.

"I am quite fortunate, aren't I?"

"Not as fortunate as me, mummy, because I am your daughter!" Jirot declared, cackling in victory, the girl rushing over to hug her mother's leg.

"Ah, I suppose you are right? Although, perhaps I am luckier, since I have such wonderful children?"

"They are my wonderful brothers and sisters too!"

"Ah, I suppose we are both lucky."

"Yes," Jirot agreed.

"Except, mummy, even though my kako is so wonderful, papo is always leaving her alone?"

"He is also working hard for the Iyr."

"Even if papo is working hard for the Iyr, papo must work hard for kako too," Jirot stated, huffing.

"When I see him again, I am going to give him a piece of my mind!" This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

"Hopefully not too much, for I like your mind as it is," Vonda joked. Jirot nodded, letting out a small sigh.

"I will forgive him."

"Just this once," many of those around her said at the same time as her, causing the girl to open her mouth, flushing lightly.

"You are playing with fire," Jirot warned.

"You are so lucky I am so magnanimous."

"Will our magnanimous Jirot join me for prayers then?"

"Ock! Yes, mummy!" Jirot grabbed her twin brother's hands, and as Virot made to complain, Jirot held up her finger.

"We are going to pray."

"Ock," Virot said, rushing over towards her babo, since her babo would definitely toss her up into the sky, rather than making her sit still for more than a minute, and quiet for even half as long. Meanwhile, as the children spent their day without their father, a little Damrot also spent the day without his, although he was distracted by the rushing as he was tossed into the sky.

He was a man of fury, a man whose body flushed a deep red, and as his axe tore through the air, his opponent could feel the great shift within the air, as though he was summoning the force of a Fireball through a single blow. It was not true, however, as the Iyrman fought Sir Dunnock, considered great not just among the Order of the Wings, but among a great many of the Orders.

Indeed, should she have wished, she could have claimed the title of a Grand Commander among any other Order, though what was the need of such a title when one dedicated herself to the finest of Oaths? It was this Oath which assisted her rise to stand among the greatest of warriors, and it was at the tip of this Oath that the young Iyrman, not even half her age, found himself.

It was this Oath, which carried with it such righteous fury, her blade exploding white hot, yet he was that kind of Iyrman, the one who could resist such righteous fury, this terrifying young Iyrman. As the pair continued to cross steel, the young Iyrman, fuelled by his rage, stepped ever forward. Not yet. That was his thought. Not yet. It was not about whether he would buckle. Not yet. No.

His thoughts were simply on one matter, and the question was, could he survive against Sir Dunnock, a warrior who would soon reach the title of Paragon, perhaps in the next decade, or the decade after? It was he, who wore tattoos upon his forehead, those of a blue circle, flanked on either side by three diamonds, who had inherited the name of his family, Rot, who fought against Sir Dunnock.

If it was one thing the Rot family did best, it was to endure under the might of a constant onslaught of Chaos, even as his vision grew blurry, his entire body covered in the sheen of effort. It was this Rot family, this inherited will, which allowed him to finally find it, a chance. The magical axe within his hand was not his own, a gift to his younger sister, but the little girl had borrowed the axe to him.

It was this axe which he had wielded for years, and with this axe, he had claimed a great number of victory. Phantom was its name, and it left ghosts in its wake. With it, he could heal himself for greater than most potions, but he wasn't sure if he had ever used such an ability, for its other ability was even greater. As the young man struck true, the magic of the axe exploded, not unlike one of the righteous smites of his opponent, those which flashed white hot through him.

However, it was not a simple blow, for as powerful as she was, this blow was greater than any she could rain, for Jurot had saved every single charge, each a greater blow than a greatsword, and it exploded against Sir Dunnock with greater might than even two Fireballs. Sir Dunnock stepped back, the kiss of iron upon her tongue, her nostrils also leaking the liquid sanguine, and should the young man have stepped forward, she may have found herself upon a knee.

Thankfully, Jurot was an Iyrman, and he did not step forward, for he had already claimed a great victory, and there was no need to humiliate one of the Order of the Wings. The woman reached up, and the soft warmth of her Oath filled her, regaining much of her strength, as though she hadn't just been struck with the fury of the sun.

"It was my honour to face you," Jurot said, sheathing Phantom, the young Iyrman bowing his head.

"I believe the honour is mine," the woman replied, while the rest of her companions remained shocked that this young fellow had managed to claim victory. Perhaps not officially, but no one could deny what they had seen before them.

"You are certainly your grandfather's grandson." Jurot's skin had returned to its typical tan, but his ears regained a red hue, while the shadow of a smile crept upon his face.

'To think he is a Master at his age,' Sir Dunnock thought, for it was his particular family which was probably among the most difficult to face, even for Oathsworn. Then she recalled who it had been to stop King Merryweather in his tracks at that time, and how the King had to wield one of his precious Fifth Gate spells in order to deal with him, not even defeating him, but banishing him away to another realm.

Indeed, for without this young man, it would have been difficult for his brother to claim the life of Sir Kris Huntmaster and his apprentice. The woman sighed, glad that, at the very least, the Iyrman hadn't inherited the wildness of his grandfather, who had slaughtered a mountain of nobles in the few short years he had stepped out onto the land.

'I must grow stronger,' Jurot thought, his body aching deeply.

'I was only able to claim victory for my axe was that great.'