Chương 1650: [1554] – Y07.054 – Arisa IX

It had been many years ago.

"Father, they are saying uncle is so strong?" the boy half asked, pondering the words.

"Your uncle is strong," the man replied.

"Why do you speak as though you are asking a question?"

"Uncle is strong?"

"Did you not hear what I just said?" The boy blinked.

"No?"

"I said your uncle is strong."

"Big uncle is strong?"

"Big uncle is strong."

"Small uncle is weak?"

"Small uncle is too soft hearted, so they say he is weak."

"Father is strong too?"

"Your father, he is stronger than small uncle, but weaker than big uncle."

"Oh," the boy said, nodding his head, with the understanding that his father was stronger than small uncle, but weaker than big uncle.

"Um, father, I must go and play with big uncle."

"Are you bothering him?" The boy blinked. He smiled, and with that he scampered away to find his uncle, who was currently shouting at an Iyrman.

"How dare he covet the position of Chief? I will cut his neck cleanly!" the old man said, his face contorted as though he were a vicious beast, for he did not care about anyone coveting a position, but the fact he could cut someone's neck. The boy blinked, glancing up towards his aunt.

"Is uncle causing trouble?"

"Your uncle always causes trouble," his aunt replied, with an expression that said she wondered why she married a fool like him. Thankfully, they had already sent for someone to deal with the old man, someone who would beat him appropriately.

"Uncle is, um, uncle is bad look for cousin Mi."

"You are right, you are right," the woman said, reaching down to brush the boy's hair.

"I hope little Su is as wise as you."

"Cousin Surot is so wise, aunt, so wise, and he plays so well!"

"He must be so, for you watch over him so well," Mulrot said, smiling warmly at the little Fakrot. It was then a shadow emerged upon the shared estate, where one of the few Iyrmen who could deal with the vicious bastard known as the Mad Dog appeared. Jarot had been eager to draw his axe, for who did the Dutiful think he was? Just because he had beaten him a few dozen times, did he think he would continue to lose a hundred times?

However, before, perhaps the singular figure who was considered a rising star in a previous generation, could draw his blade to meet with the Iyrman, an old woman appeared.

"It is Baktu who has blessed me with such a wonderful husband, children, and grandsons, but why is it that when I am called, it is only for you?" the woman grumbled, though she had already brought out the treats from her pockets, half kneeling down to her greatson, who plucked a tiny red ball from her hand, the boy popping it into his mouth.

"Fakrot, you cannot cause as much trouble as your uncle." The boy blinked. He smiled.

"Have you not greeted your nephew?" The old woman grumbled, reaching out to poke her grandson's forehead, and she opened that same hand to reveal a small treat for him too. The Mad Dog accepted the small ball from his grandmother's hand, the woman brushing his hair gently, then offering her granddaughter a small treat too.

"Fakrot, you are here?" Jarot asked. The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

"I am here," the boy said, standing taller, clasping fists on either side of him, daring to stand up to the Mad Dog.

"You did not reveal yourself."

"Uncle, how I can reveal myself, you are so strong?"

"Why are you so good at talking? It must be from y-," Jarot began, only to stop as his wife jabbed him in the side of his muscular neck, but he was thankful for it, for he had almost made a mistake that would have changed his name from the Mad Dog to the Stupid Dog. The Mad Dog held out his large hand, allowing the boy to clasp it, and after a moment, he thought about tossing the boy up, but he was to small for that, so instead he lifted the boy up onto his shoulders. However, as he did so, the Mad Dog stopped.

Staring up at him were a pair of eyes that did not allow him to step away. How many times had the old man been defeated already? With Surot upon a shoulder, Fakrot upon another, he dared to step away, only to find a tiny hand upon his trouser, and the annoyed glare of a two year old girl.

"Mirot, you must show me mercy at this time," Jarot said.

"No," the girl replied calmly. Thankfully, Jirot lifted her greatdaughter up, the girl squirming for a moment, but how could she defeat someone who always defeated her father, so she snuggled up to the woman's bosom.

"Fakrot, you must grow up well, and take care of me when my hair is white as snow, my blood as cold as ice."

"Uncle," Fakrot said, placing a hand upon his uncle's head, ruffling his hair.

"I am already a big boy now."

"Ah."

"I will take good care of cousin Surot," Fakrot assured, for of course he would, wasn't he five years old now? Ah, he was so big, wasn't he? It had been over four decades. Indeed, the Mad Dog, even back then, had a soft spot for the children. Not just his own, but even his families, and the Iyr knew, all those of the Iyr. There was no doubt within Fakrot's mind the children would be smothered in affection within his arms, for he knew their greatfather's affection too.

'Surot, too, in his own way…' Fakrot thought. The young Iyrman's ears turned red, for it had been so long since someone had spoken of his father in such a manner. That was right, the young Iyrman had thought. He had managed to follow after the footsteps of his father, a generational talent, even within the Iyr, but that was only because he was with someone like Adam. Yet. His grandfather, and his grandaunt, both of them reached such great heights at their age, all without Adam.

The name of Mad Dog, the name Flame Brand, they appeared and disappeared as quickly, but their steel had engraved their names in the hearts of many warriors. Why? It was because of that. It was because they were able to shine that brightly, so quickly, and then disappeared, and they did not disappear because they died, but because…

It was unknown why his grandfather had disappeared, and many had assumed he had died, which quickly dissipated when the Azure Terror was killed almost two decades ago, almost two decades after he had retired. Even Jurot was uncertain. Then there was Flame Brand. How many Orders sent their warriors to deal with her? Even together, they dared not draw their blade against her, instead, they forced her away, exiling her until after the turn of the millennium.

Had the pair continued their rampage, their names would have surpassed even Hadi Tanagek, his mother's greatfather, who had put the Mad Dog in his place a few times, although that duty sometimes went to the Fev, Vis, and the various other families tied to him by marriage. At this time… Jurot looked to Taygak. That Taygak. She had already defeated quite a few warriors, each a decade her senior, and she had yet to gain her tattoos.

She was but a teen, turning fifteen this year, even so, she had fought those in their early twenties and had claimed victories. She would be the first figure in the entire history of the Iyr to become an Expert before she claimed her tattoos. Jurot tensed up. The twenty first century would be a century that would be forever known in history.

It was this Iyr which terrified even the Faro, she who could command ten thousand soldiers with a simple word, and ten thousand more with a quill, and ten thousand more with her anxiety. Except, she probably hadn't realised. Jarot had even buried the thought within his mind. Yet, as his eyes fell to his sister, they trailed to the side, towards those with red skin, red eyes, and with such affection as they fed those whose lap they sat upon. If one Adam could bring this much Chaos to the world, what about five?

No, it was eight, wasn't it? Even is his sons were meek, should they want to, any one of them could pierce the heavens. Except, it wasn't just those eight. How many had come under the shade of the one known as the Crazy Father? If Taygak was the precursor, someone who would only know him for a decade before she stepped out as an adult, what about those who would know him from birth?

What about those who would be conscious of the world only after he had already slain the Grand Commander of High Garden, and had defeated almost a half dozen other Grand Commanders and Fariqi?

"Jurot?" Pam called, for that smile upon his lips, the glistening within his eyes, she had never seen it before. Jurot sipped the tea lightly, calming his heart.

"I wonder if Damrot can keep up."

"Do you think I wouldn't spoil him?" called the words of a fool, for in this one moment, he was a genius. Jurot's eyes darted to meet his brother's. There he saw an annoyance, but also something else. Wait… Did Adam… This entire time?

"Although it is my aunt Mayvis, my mother's sister, who has replaced Dogek as one of the Ten Paragons," Fakrot said.

'How many monsters is he related to?' Kal Fadi thought, not yet understanding the prelude to Chaos sitting nearby.