Broken Tower Saga: The First Swordsman

The sun rose like any other day, but today it was more notable than the regular days. The reason being, the clouds had showered all night, only taking rest in some succession. The rays of sunlight cast through the humble blockage in the window inside the old broken down building.

Wrik felt someone was pulling his arm. He opened his eyes to notice it was Saras—the adolescent girl who helped him and Byul the night before. After they were attacked yesterday, Wrik barely managed to save themselves with wounds all over the body, though not life-threatening. 

Saras had helped him to tend his and Byul's injuries and gave them a place to spend the night, though it was humbler than anything. They had slept on the ground, which was layered by some worn-out blankets. Fortunately, he had a couple of shawls in his spatial pouch or he might have to shudder in cold all night. 

"It's day already?!" he sat upright and saw Byul was still asleep beside him. He had told Saras last night to wake him up before the sun rose, but it appeared the girl did not follow it well or she might have left him be, sensing his exhaustion and injuries. 

The sun had already risen for a couple of hours. Surprisingly, nobody had come after the emergency message he had put. Well, he could not even tell when the message got through with the bad networking. He checked the cube and found there were a few messages in it.

Form Anton and Tanya—both of them said they will come as soon as in a couple of hours, while indicating there might be some delay. It appeared they had been through some problems as well.

Wrik then checked his recovery. None of his wounds were deep enough other than pain causing. He had already sewed the bullet wound, which still hurt a little, though it was ten times lower than before. As for the others, they healed well, but he could tell a few of them will leave marks for a few months. 

He moved to Byul to check on her wounds. He did not remove the bandage on the head, but applied his mana sense in it to find nothing wrong there, and as for the bullet wound, it was far worse compared to him. The only consolation there was that, it was not in a spot where it would cause more troubles.

"Are you going to leave soon?" Saras asked in the silence room. 

Wrik was about to answer, but noticed the few children peeking through a broken door. Saras looked back noticing his gaze and said to them, "'ight, I ain't got time for you folks to send you out. Leave."

Wrik looked peculiarly at her. She had talked with him in a fine accent that most of the people in the inside of the dome spoke, but now when she spoke with the other kids she used the regular accent of the slum. 

The kids of various ages left, giving Wrik another look. It appears they had a boundless curiosity for this outsider, but something appeared to have more importance than just staring at Wrik. 

"Are you the head of these children?" Wrik asked with curiosity. 

"No," Saras denied. "I'm just more capable and stronger than the rest, so they listen to me most of the time."

"I see," he said, and looked at the adolescent girl in front of him.

She was just like Byul, small and pale. Her eyes were brown and sharp, and she was quite an observant girl for her age. Though she was wearing an old cloth—it was not dirty by any chance, like the other children. Other than that, she had some maturity in her that could even impress him. Well, he was not a mature person for his age—at least; he did not think so.

"My friends will come soon if there is not any delay. I will leave then," he answered her question.

Saras nodded. "During a normal day, the security is even tighter here," she said, resting her bottom on a short, empty oil barrel. "Nobody would have the arrogance to attack during this type. After all, there were soldiers appointed even in the slum, and with a report, a few inquisitors will arrive, though it will take a few minutes. So all in all, you can rest easy for the time."

Wrik nodded, as he had the same conclusion. "Saras, what about your family?" he asked. "Are they here?" 

"Mother, Father—I don't have those," the girl said, "but I have an elder brother, though he was irresponsible most of the time. I have to take care of myself on my own."

Wrik did not say a word of consolation. After all, he was not good at it. And more, Saras did not appear to need any of his consolations.

"The other time, I mistakenly followed you through the marketplace in the dome, yet you clearly live here," Wrik continued.

"Oh, I have the permit to go inside the dome, though I can't live there," she said. "I work there in a shop during the day." 

Wrik nodded in understanding in her brief explanation. "You don't have to go today?"

"I can get there with the excuse of the rain last night," she said. "And it's probably a bad day for business."

Wrik stood up and started to stretch his body with some consideration to the wounds. He collected the cloak again and put it on above his shirt. His stomach called abruptly in hunger.

"I guess you are hungry," Saras said. "You can find food a block from here. Only two minutes of walk, though I don't know if the quality satisfies you or not." 

They had already finished all the food he had last night. Though the hunger was not prominent enough, he still needed food after all his body was injured and Byul needed it too when she woke up. 

"Did you eat already?" 

"No," Saras said. "I usually eat later, and now the vendor should be crowded with all the people that have to go to their work. You should go then, I heard, a sick body needs timely food."

Wrik thought and nodded. Even if he did not need food, he needed water to fill his thirst. Who knew when Anton would arrive, so it's better to fill his stomach. 

"Go straight right from here for two minutes and you will find it," she said. "You go, I'll look after her." 

"Thanks, Saras," Wrik said and left.

The water from yesterday had surprisingly drained through some muddy earth. He walked to the right for a while to remember he did not have any physical currency. He cursed himself and thought about borrowing some from Saras, but he shook his head immediately. 

The little girl already did enough for him and how could he tell she had tinz or penz to lend. He could only hope he could exchange something with the stuff he had in the spatial pouch, though most of the items inside could buy out the entire vendor stall.

Wrik found the kids on the way. They had not gone to the stall for the food, instead sat in the organisation under a big worn out oak tree. There were few seats under the big tree, but folks were sitting in a free spot, as well as waiting for something important to unfold before them. 

Most of the folk who were seated were humblest of the humbles. Mostly beggars, children in worn-out dirty clothing. There were few people on standby as well—they were of fairly better origin—with similar expressions of waiting for something to unfold before them. 

Curiosity rose in his heart, and Wrik went nearer to the crowd, not listening to his rebelling stomach. Just as he arrived there, the expression of the folk brightened. No, it was not finding him, but another person who appeared before the crowd, holding a lute. 

"Today's crowd is lesser than usual," said the man with the lute. 

Wrik's eyes widened a little. He had seen this man before. The very first day when he lost the way in the morning, he had met this person in the roof of an abandoned building. He recalled this man left him with some impression. Perhaps, it was the cryptic way the man greeted him. And the heirloom looking lute as well—anywhere it would catch people's attention. 

Other than the lute, he had another instrument. It was another old-looking flute, bound with his waist.

"So what kinds of tale should I share today?" the man wondered in the question. He directed it towards the audience, but the way he had implied it gave him the hold of the story he would like to share.

"Tell us a story about the ancient monarch." a kid among the crowd yell. And another few joined. 

"No, the story of the Mahasayer."

"I ain't gonna listen to anything but the tale of the Silver Swordsman." 

"ho ho, some interesting choices you folks have there," the man with the lute said and looked at Wrik. His eyes shone a little. "We have a new audience today. How about the friend who made his way here to tell us what story he would like to hear?"

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This chapter was meant to happen in about 70 to 80, yet the story progressed so far. I guess, I don't follow the outline entirely.

This chunk of chapter will be the end of part three. And now the only one part will be left for the volume one to conclude. I'm sure you guys could guess a little what's it about.