Chương 1648: [1552] – Y07.052 – Arisa VII

The half elf returned to the side, taking his place upon his seat once more, only for his twin children to monopolise his lap once more, each reaching for his collar.

"Did you-,""I saw!" the girl replied, her eyes twinkling so brightly, her smile even brighter, her grip even tighter. The half elf leaned in, nuzzling the girl, peeking down towards his son, who also smiled so brightly, the worries upon their faces no longer quite so obvious.

"Lanarot," Jurot called, reaching down to place a hand upon the top of her head, the girl peeking up towards her brother innocent.

"Brother."

"Even though you eat bread so well, your brother still praises you so well."

"Yes!" Lanarot declared, for who ate bread as well as her?

"Even though Adam fights well, you must praise him well." Lanarot blinked.

'Huh?' The girl wondered for a long moment, for her brother beat up the strong so commonly, it wasn't special at all, was it? A high five was good enough, wasn't it? Pam couldn't help but wonder that, in times like this, her husband held such great wisdom.

'Why are you so…' Ah. He was an Iyrman, after all. The little girl shuffled off her grandmother, Mulrot's eyes following the little one step away. Lanarot sauntered towards her eldest brother, perhaps, one might even consider, her first brother. The girl, after this arduous trek, climbed atop her grandfather's empty lap, and after grabbing his collar, the girl raised a brow.

"Grandfather, you are too thin. You must eat, or how you can kill?"

"You are right," the old Jarot said, quickly opening his mouth, for the girl shoved a fistful of bread into his mouth, threatening to choke the old Mad Dog. Little Lanarot also brought the bread to her brother's lips, as well as to her niece's and nephew's lips.

"Jarot, you must eat too, since you are too thin." The Faro saw her life flash before her eyes, but as her eyes scanned around the scene, then to the little boy, who withdrew from her aunt, she realised why.

"Kako…"

"Jababy will drink from his gourd," the half elf said, smiling awkwardly.

"Jarot, bread will make you as strong as grandfather!" the girl declared, leaning in.

"You must eat bread!" The boy retreated into his father's chest, the half elf brushing the boy's hair. How was he meant to explain to Lanarot the issue?

"Since you will not even eat from your aunt's hand…" Lanarot began, but she forgave her nephew, for how could she not? She then brought it up to Jirot's lips.

"Jirot, you must eat well for the sake of your brother."

"Yes, kako!" Lanarot let out a gentle huff, reaching up to her forehead, peeking out towards the twins once more.

"What am I to do with you? You are both so cute, so I cannot…"

"Kako, you are so beautiful too!" Jirot stated. Lanarot reached out a hand, allowing Jirot to take it.

"Jirot, do not worry! When I am ten years old, I will also be as strong as your father!"

"I'm twenty five, so you need roughly another twenty years."

"Huh?" Lanarot blinked, betrayed suddenly by her brother, by time, and of course, maths.

'When was it,' Tanika thought.

'Since when did he become this strong? Last year he was barely able to handle both of them even with a light rest between, but this time, even the Sleeping Dragon of Arisa?' Tanika had heard the Sleeping Dragon of Arisa's tales growing up. No one could consider her a weakling, save, perhaps, those who defied mortal logic, like the Dragon Emperors. From what she gathered, the old half dragon was probably closer to the Peak than she was to a Paragon.

The only person who could probably settle her down was King Merryweather, or, after stepping into the position of Lord Marshal, the Knight of Death. Love what you're reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.

"What are you thinking about so deeply, sand daughter?" Tanika's eyes darted to the side, towards the dark skinned woman, whose scales were perhaps even darker.

"It is nothing, Kal."

"What brings you so far from your dunes?"

"I have set out into the world to earn a name for myself."

"In a group like this? Even for you, it will be difficult distinguishing yourself." Salma looked to the younger Iyrmen. Even Taygak, a teen, held such a grave aura, but what of the other four? The three young men, the young woman, who were perhaps only a quarter of a century old, and yet… Masters? It was impossible, but certainly, they were so. Then there was that half elf, with that tattoo, that seemed so much like the Rot family's tattoos, but…

"You should not think too deeply," a voice warned, for he was the one who held scales of azure, and dared to speak so disrespectfully to any, especially any half blood.

"I have to wonder why someone like you is down here in the mud with us."

"My great grandfather also spent his days down here," Bael stated.

'His great grandfather?' The Sleeping Dragon remained silent for a long moment, trying to recall who he could possible be. There was no way… A crackle of lightning suddenly took everyone's attention. The Sleeping Dragon of Arisa crouched a leap away, her fingers tightly grasping the handle of her greatblade, though she had not dared to draw it. Meanwhile, Bael sat, holding up a small cup full of wine, sipping it as one might breathe air, completely relaxed.

'To think it's really one of his. The azure scales, I thought…' Salma remained completely tense, not just because one of his descendants stood before her, but because of the Iyrmen who almost wished for her to draw her blade.

"Sit down," the azure scaled half dragon, or so he seemed, said.

"Do you think I would bother with a weakling like you?"

"…" The Faro eyed up the pair who were half dragons, though one of them was certainly a dragon, the kind to disrespect one of the Emperor of the Seas' own.

'Just… what kind of figure is he?' He was perhaps a figure even more terrifying than the half elf, who would have been warned to not bother someone like the Emperor of the Sea?

"This father of yours will conquer the world!" Adam exclaimed, holding his twins within his arms, feeling their weight, or rather, how light they had become. His heart continued to ache deeply, and the tears threatened to slip out of his eyes, but he kept his children within his arms, swallowed them whole within his affectionate embrace, for though he was a fool of a father, he was a father first, a fool following long behind.

"If you wish to conquer the world, you should first deal with the Reavers," called the one figure, above perhaps any other, who could put the half elf in his place. Adam peeked towards his wife, but could he dare to speak up.

"Since my wife has asked me to deal with the Reavers, I will deal with the Reavers!" Jurot rolled his shoulders, stretching out his neck. Kitool sat upright too, for if they were going to deal with the Reavers, couldn't she show off to her nieces and nephews too? Chosen grinned wide, sipping the tea lightly, narrowing his eyes in thought. Tanagek could also feel the will to fight within his heart, however, he thought of Stonesword and how he fell to the Reavers.

"However, since this year is dedicated towards spoiling my children, as the Crazy Father, I will have to step out next year!" The half elf smiled warmly to his twins, and not just because his daughter was threatening him with her eyes, in a way that pained the half elf's heart, for it was so full of apprehension.

"It is time I stretched my body too," Mad Dog said.

"Shall I step out too?" Flame Brand mused, as though she was still considering it.

"Perhaps I should fight them?" Mulrot asked.

"You, who is not a Grandmaster?" her brother joked.

"Even if I am not a Grandmaster, you would have to think twice," Mulrot growled, narrowing her eyes towards Malfev, who brushed his beard.

"Is that so?" Malfev teased, feeling his sister's intent to stab him through the throat.

"Brat, will you step out too?" Jarot asked, looking to Gorot.

"No."

"Why not?"

"I will remain to play with the children," Gorot replied simply, the only answer which was acceptable to everyone here.

"Then I will step out," Fakrot said.

"Is there a need for you to step out?" Jarot grumbled, though all could hear the gentleness in his tone.

"If I do not go, my daughters will not respect me."

"They are good children, so they will respect you even if you do not step out."

"Then, I will to show off to my grandnieces and grandnephews." Fakrot smiled to the children, for it was the only answer which was acceptable to everyone here.

"Since I have stepped into the realm of a Master, I should show off."

"If you cannot even beat that brat, do not think about stepping out," Jarot said, pointing to Kal Fadi, daring to call him a brat before even the Faro herself, but what could she do? Butcher Marmak wasn't the only mad man to slaughter nobles, but Jarot was the kind who did so for fun, while Marmak only did so because so many nobles wished to bother him.

"It seems as though I must step forward," Fakrot said, finishing his tea. Vonda sighed, and she was about to speak up, but she paused. Perhaps if it had been anyone else, she would have spoken up, but since it was Fakrot…

'Please stop him,' the Faro thought.

"Kal Fadi, are you willing to cross steel with me?" Fakrot asked.

'He's asking politely?' Kal Fadi thought, certain the young Iyrman would have tried to oppress him.

"Lady, may I cross steel?"

"Do so moderately," the woman said, feeling the stress of the situation overwhelm her. However, it seemed that Rot was at least gentle.

"I have only recently stepped into the realm of a Master, and… I have some regrets I must deal with, so I thank you for the opportunity." Fakrot stepped out, opposite the Kal, who was so well known, even throughout Aswabayad to the east. Yet, who was he? Fakrot, son of Sarot, who was only lightly well known in Aldland. It was he, Fakrot, who had shamed his father, and the name of Rot. The Iyrman held Thirsty Sanguine tight in hand.

It was one of the Rot family's ancestral weapons, borrowed to him at this time so that he may not shame himself.

'If I lose with Thirsty Sanguine…'

'You have our permission to die, but you do not have our permission to fail.'