Chương 1720: [1617] – Y07.117 – Hearts of Fire VII

She had always hated facing them. Not Iyrmen, but those who fought with their rage. As her spear struck his chest, able to drive into most, and with enough force even typical Masters would have stumbled, Chosen's muscles tightened. It was the greatest blow Chosen had received thus far, four blows with the might of seven, and yet he flexed his muscles and let out a gentle sigh. It was as though he was a steel wall.

"I should have expected one of the Ashen Lord's to wield a spear this well," Chosen said, then, raising his blade casually, he stepped forward. The beaming eyes of the children remained firmly fixated on their papo, who, even after taking such heavy blows, and even facing a woman twice his age, and not just any woman, but a woman who was the daughter of the Ashen Lord, and a woman who was greater than a Master. The swordplay of their papo was great, that was true without needing to be said, except…

Didn't he say he was going to use the swordplay of the Sen family? Chosen stepped forward, with the audacity of a man who was still in his mid twenties, the wild grin upon his face, his eyes like a beast, and even at the tip of the woman's blade, he did not shirk away, even as his body was painted crimson by the brush that was the woman's spear.

'When did the Iyr raise such monsters,' the half dragon thought, and even as her spear struck him through the shoulder, the Iyrman did not stumble, instead cleaving through her armour, leaving a mark against the dragon scales, even through the magic, for his blade was not any simple blade. Yes, perhaps if he did not wield such a blade she could have dealt with him easily, and yet even with that, it seemed as though the Iyrman was holding back.

"You seem displeased," Chosen said, allowing the woman a moment to breathe.

"I know the Sen family's sword isn't so simple."

"If you wish me to wield my family's sword, you should show to me the meaning of fear at the end of your spear."

"Are you not an Iyrman?" Chosen smiled, and as he raised his sword, he narrowed his eyes.

"It is enough."

"…"

"This sword gifted to me by my nephew," Chosen stated firmly, and then he formed a crescent with his blade, before darting forward with wild abandonment, while the woman spun her spear wildly, and as she brought it down, scratching across Chosen's front, Chosen did not falter, as the spear carved across his thigh, and then bounced off, while his sword pierced the woman's stomach, which was thankfully protected by her magical armour, though the force of his blow, greater than even her own spear, forced her off her feet, and she flew back five paces, stumbling and rolling for another five, until finally she was splayed out onto the floor.

The Sword of the Silver Son pierced the sky. A thunderous applause of tiny children broke the silence, the screaming and squealing of praise filled the air, and Chosen grinned wide, though he sheathed his blade and stepped towards the half dragon, offering a hand.

"I hate fighting Rage Dancers," the woman said, clasping his hand, allowing him to lift her up with his great strength.

"They always do," Chosen replied, and with that he returned back to the children.

"What is your name?" the woman called. Chosen turned, narrowed his eyes towards her, and with that, he waved and returned to the children who swarmed him.

"Papo! You are so cool too!" Jirot declared, bouncing up and down.

"So cool!" little Jarot confirmed, beaming up towards his papo. Chosen peeked down towards a particular red eyed child, who smiled so innocently, and Chosen let out a gentle huff of satisfaction.

"If you think I am cool, then I must be cool." If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

"Today I will allow you to have such an ego," little Jirot assured, holding his hand, the girl's eyes sparkling.

'Your joy is almost blinding,' Chosen thought, though he hugged each of the children.

"Since my son has fought, it must be my turn to step forward," Mosen said, standing, but as he did so, he peeked down at the children.

"However, though I wish to fight, do my grandnieces and grandnephews even wish to watch me fight?"

"Baba, you should step back this time," Jirot said, with sudden lucidity, the girl raising a hand.

"It is not time for you to fight. It is time for papos and kakos to show off."

"Since my Jirot has asked for me to step back, I will do so," Mosen said, for if the girl would go so far as to call him baba, it meant he could not disappoint the girl.

"Baba is so wise," the girl said, and her eyes slowly drifted off to Tonagek, who had thought about stepping forward, though remained seated from the girl's accusatory eyes. Then the girl turned to the one she should be looking at, except then she felt the grave aura of that one, she paused.

"Papo, do you wish to fight?"

"Okay," Jurot said, standing brimming with bloodthirst, for the Iyrman had wished to show off in front of his wife, and since his opponent was the giant half dragon, he could not help himself. That would allow Kitool to show off appropriately.

"…" the giant half dragon replied.

"It seems my son has no joy in his heart for this fight," Ash said, and with that he motioned his fingers to his daughter, who stepped forward, the second eldest.

"Cayla should satisfy you. She is between a Grandmaster and a Paragon. Even the Fariq of Black Mountain would have to think twice to draw his blade against her." Jurot bowed his head, though it left a sour taste in his mouth that he had stolen Kitool's prey, the Iyrman stepped forward, with his family watching from from one side, to the villagers watching him from the other.

The woman, Cayla, stepped forward, her hair, bright green, fell to her shoulders, but she hid her face away behind her helmet, and she drew her spear, clasping it tightly with both hands.

"You will find I am not so easy to defeat," Cayla stated firmly.

"Okay," Jurot replied simply. The half dragon couldn't help but think he was truly related to that older woman who had violated her younger sister with her rudeness. Jurot skid backwards, the spear striking the centre of his shield, but as he peeked over it, his face was crimson. It was so sudden, but the pair had already readied themselves, so it wasn't rude to begin the fight like this.

Cayla remained out of his range for a short while, the two clashing with the tips of their steel, but finally, Jurot had managed to burrow himself right beside her, and his axe forced her back. Their clash of steel was vicious, more vicious than the previous clashes, but that was how it went when there were two who could face Grandmasters, one because she was more experienced, the other because he could outlast Masters.

The woman's spear was wicked, threatening to take Jurot's eyes, and though she had managed to cut his cheek and neck, he, in return, almost caved her helmet in, the woman barely managing to withdrew her head, though it rocked her mind. Then, with a sudden clarity, her spear carved wildly against Jurot's neck, piercing the side.

She had struck true, to the point her blow, towards the end of their clash, would have killed an Expert, and yet, his skin remained red hot with rage, his eyes whitened by fury, and she stared at his face in sheer shock, until the shadow of the axe forced her to kneel. By the end of it, Jurot was a mess of blood, and though his body was almost like steel, he had brushed staring death in the face.

Yet, it was he, Jurot, the grandson of the Mad Dog, the grandson of the Rising Swallow, the brother to a monster who defied all reason, who was also a monster in his own right.

"It was a good fight," Jurot said, while the woman remained on the floor, staring up towards the sky, which seemed so expansive, which continued on to the depths of her blurred vision and beyond. Noting the woman was currently deep in thought, he left her on the ground and returned.

"Papo, you should fight more like nano," Jirot said, reaching up to hold his hand.

"You are so bloody!" Jurot blinked. Jirot had never said anything more brutal to him than this. He turned to look towards Adam, who blinked in return, understanding the words were so heavy.

"I wish to fight like grandfather," Jurot replied simply. Jirot side eyed her greatfather, and then looked up to her uncle, and she pet his hand gently.

"Mummy, will you heal papo's wounds?" Vonda smiled, raising a hand, and with her prayer, Jurot's wounds started to knit together.

"Thank you," Jurot said, though he waited, and waited.

"Papo, you have to flirt with kako now," Jirot said. Pam remained silent and still. Wasn't Cayla strong?

'Even the Fariq of Black Mountain would have to think twice to draw his blade against her.' That was what the Ashen Lord had said. So… Huh? Jurot sat beside her, crossing his arms, though he did not sit up tall. That was until a tiny hand grabbed his arm, and he turned to look towards the girl, who held a satisfied smirk upon her lips, and she held up her thumb, causing her elder brother to sit up taller.

"I can always trust you to fight well, brother," Lanarot praised, patting his arm gently.

"Yes."

'I cannot praise papo too much because it is time for kako to fight,' Jirot thought, and for her kako, the next warrior was the greatest. Her grandmother had defeated the other, but they were two Grandmasters, a Master against a Paragon, however? That was too much.

"I, as the strongest of the children, shall step forward," the woman said, her hair a bright purple, and she rested her spear over her shoulder "I must warn you, I have stepped into the realm of a Paragon." Kitool stood, but a voice broke through the air.

"Since my grandmother and brother have shown off, I suppose it's my turn," a particular fool said, his eyes clear, full of thoughts, his lips, a playful smirk, and he could feel it on his skin, the gazes of many, including his own children.