Broken Tower Saga: The First Swordsman

|PART FOUR: A SWORD IS DRAWN|

Do you think I only do fishing in here, when all of you raise war in the tower for the thousand years? Do you think I am here because of my will when the very place I should have protected turned into a prison?

You are wrong. All of you are wrong. 

I can solve many of the problems with only a swing of the sword, but If I left my shackle and walk into the tower again, I very much fear you won't have anything left to fight for. For that reason alone, I can not and will not pick up the sword until the seed I left grows into a tree that can shade you all. 

— The First Servant of Maha. 

House Kavan was far less catchy compared to House Sanyal. No, it was not about the grand lightings, embroidered walls, paintings, or the food, all these similarly reeked of class and dignity, but even with all that, the party was idler compared to the other day when Wrik went to House Sanyal to attend their ball.

Maybe because he was only with Byul and Davin today, feeling lonely because the others were not here. But even with all that, there seemed to be far fewer people here than the other day, and the decoration was more earthly—not too extravagant and eye-catching. 

The building was structured like the traditional old one, which he was more accustomed to, though all the appliances were the same. The white limelights in the ceiling radiated lights to the glass window and silver wall and the entire hall. Slow, soothing music was paying the whole time, not too great for the dance as the dance floor was vacant. There was an open crystal stair in the middle of the hall, reaching to the upper floor. They were on the first floor now.

Wrik and the other two had been here for half an hour, and like the other day, involved little in the business of the nobles. He did not know most of the people here, so he chose an empty balcony on the sides to read the book he had brought with him.

A slow, chilly wind blew from the east side and hit his face gently. It was not soothing in the slightest. Even though the air inside the dome was fresher compared to outside, it was still stiff and unsympathetic. In one word, it was unpleasant.

Wrik opened the chapter he had left off. After his meeting with the bard the other day, he investigated the origin of the story and found a lot of books about it. Most of them were in Elgin scripts, and as for the translation, there were none.

He had skimmed through a couple of them, but had found no mention of the people of the story other than Lord Salvatore and the epidemic. What horrified him the most was that this epidemic caused the current climate in Gala.

It was approximately 712 years ago; the incident took place and the after-effects still remain. He could not help but sigh. Other than the appearance of an infected legion and the destruction they caused, he found not too much information. There should be some connection with the epidemic with the Infector, but he found none in the books. Perhaps it was too much of a truth to be left behind in books. 

"Is the party too boring to read a book?" a female voice sounded beside him.

Wrik raised his eyes from the leather-bound book and saw a woman in her prime. A blue gown hugged her figure, leaving her long fair arms bare. The dress was not that revealing or extravagant, but she looked gorgeous in it. There was a bright silver necklace on her neck with a couple of rings on her finger—none of them showed it was wedding rings. 

Her face glowed with the bright light of the limelight, and her eyes peeked at the title of the book. He had no experience in guessing a woman's age, and here he failed as well. Her exterior showed she was in her early twenties, but he was far older to believe that; and more, the aura she was radiating indicated that.

"The Peculiarity of the Infector Calamity," she said, raising an eyebrow. "I have read that, but did not strike me as an interesting book."

Wrik arched his eyebrow as well. The title was written in cursive elnin, and not many could read that. With just that single sentence, she proved she was educated in those subjects than most of the people, and might as well be a Mahasayer. Apparently, the nobles did not just announce the names of mahasayer of their family, making it quite harder for him to guess. 

"It is evidently not," Wrik said with a nod. "Full of craps, barely hold anything that I did not find elsewhere." He squinted his nose, remembering the language he used just now was not noble. "Sorry." He gave a dry apology. 

"Feel free to talk in whichever you find yourself comfortable," the lady said, "Even I feel tired acting nobly all the time."

"You haven't introduced yourself yet," he said and squinted his nose again. The lesson he took from Tanya seemed to teach him nothing. "I'm Wrik Evernight."

"I know," she said and held her safe hand for a handshake. "Anastasia."

Wrik shook hands with her and got back to skimming through the book, not minding the fair lady beside him. 

"I guess that party is not interesting to you," Anastasia said. "To read such a boring book here."

"At least it will add up to my knowledge a little," he said, not leaving his eyes on the book. 

"A friendly advice," Anastasia said again and another slow wind blew through the balcony. It swayed her dark hair, and she looked back to the dance floor in a corner. "You are new to this field, try to make a few connections if you can."

Wrik raised his eyes from the book now and saw a manservant appearing with glasses of drinks. 

"Are you one of the people I should be making connections with?" he asked bluntly and took a glass of wine from the tray, while the lady took a non-alcoholic one. 

"You can consider that," she said, sipping her drinks. "At least, then you might get help to know information that you are looking for." 

That meant, she knew about the assault on him and his companion. Or else why would she mention it now. Wrik drank a sip and found the sweet-bitter taste flowing through his neck to the stomach. Wrik was far from being addicted to the intoxicating taste, but if he appears in balls each week, it would not be far that he would become addicted to alcohol.

"Says a lady, who had not introduced herself entirely," he said and gave her a scrutinising gaze as if scanning everything he could find about her.

He noticed a few more things this time. He saw her light blue eyes that held a dangerous glint. He saw her stiff shoulder, probably from overworking, but she still had the aura that put her in line with Sophia. But most importantly, the resemblances he saw in her face stroke him, and the other person coming their way strengthened his gut feeling.

"I reckon you have already met my brother?" she said, gesturing to the noble-looking man in a luxurious getup.

An arch appeared in Wrik's eyebrow, and he sighed inwardly. 'Guess, I can't avoid it,' he thought and nodded to the newcomer. It was none other than Theiron—the heir to the house Kavan. The person they had a dispute with in the little war.

"That should give you a little about my introduction," Anastasia Kavan said. 

"Sister, why did you call me?" Theiron asked, and his tone indicated he was the younger one of the siblings. 

"I call you to introduce this gentleman to me, but you are too late," Anastasia said with a sweet smile to her brother. "Now that the introduction is not needed. Apologise to him." 

Theiron's face stiffed, and gave his sister a look, asking if he really have to. 

Anastasia did not open her lips, but only smiled brightly as a dimple formed in her right cheeks.

Theiron laughed hollowly. "I apologise for the incident on the test," he said dryly, though it contained some fear within him, though it should be for the appearance of his sister.

"There is nothing to apologise for," he said dryly, finishing his glass. "You did what you thought would be good for you and your team." 

"If only that was true," Anastasia said. "You might not believe me if I say this, he did not have much choice at that time."

Wrik nodded, not going in that direction. He could guess someone must have pushed Theiron to join up with Scythe, but that did not matter anymore. After all the matter was already transpired, there was nothing that could undo it. 

"Enjoy the evening," Anastasia said, and readied herself to leave. She took a couple of steps and looked back. "On another note, the conflict in the test in any way is not  responsible for what happened the other day."

Wrik saw the Kavan siblings leave, and a frown appeared on his eyebrow. If the backer of Scythe did not assault Wrik and his group, then who did? It was turning into quite a mystery, and he had far less clue to solve it.

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Next Chapter: The Reason.