|| Curse / Swear Words / Expressions ||

Scite (sayt) – meaning shit (Ex: Oh, scite!)

Wench – a wretched person, a wretched situation (Ex: What a wench.)

Bauchi (baw'chee) – meaning bitch (Shut yer' trap, ye bauchi.)

These are the words that Arthus uses. He only uses these words as an expression though, not as means of insulting someone.

| ~ |

Arthus

Once, a good man told me that 'a marked man remains marked until he is killed.'

For many years, I have put my faith in these words — faith for the purpose of revenge.

How many years has it been? Six? Maybe seven? Ever since he murdered my family and everyone in Mergrande, I've marked King Lazaddon big time. I wonder why I haven't had a chance to kill that bloody bastard yet.

Wench. Vengeance is such a drag and my patience is gradually wearing off.

Still, today's like the usual. No suspicious activity, no soldier spying on me, no fun at all. It's just another natural afternoon in the province of Varcova. I swear I'd probably die of boredom first before Lazaddon gets me.

My eyes feel drowsy because of subtle atmosphere of the forest. Well, at least I'm not alone. Reaching to my side, I pull out a black dagger from the sheath.

Shadespierce.

I smile as my fingers run along the cold metal blade. I admire the intricate curving patterns on its hilt. The sight of her gleaming tip seems as good as a deadly touch.

She's my only treasure left. I'd never let Lazaddon's filthy hands touch her again.

Withdrawing from my thoughts, I scan around.

Remains of bears litter the moss-covered floor. Giant trees tower above me, blocking most of the sun. The lovely chirping of holly jays echoes throughout the thickness of green. I close my eyes, enjoying the sense of calm.

Suddenly, I hear movement. To my relief, it's just a squirrel that scampered inside a dead log. Several wild butterflies flutter above the bear carcasses, waiting for me to go so they can feast on it. Butterflies are adorable except for these ones. They're carnivorous.

I put away Shadespierce and pull out my other blade — a broadsword. I never really use Shadespierce for simple things unless necessary. I feel she's too grand for anything ordinary other than fighting.

Now, back to the task, I gather fresh pelts from each bear. My cloak's splattered with their blood. I stuff the pelts into my knapsack. It's the proof that I've completed the job at hand. Hmm, how many pelts did that quest require again? Was it five pieces? Anyway, I greedily secure ten just to be sure. The leftovers can still be sold for fair coins.

I sigh. It's a good thing that I finished the hunt early today.

Nightfall is fast approaching and the forest is home to many dangers. I shudder at the idea of spending the night with dead bears. Hell no.

With my sword in hand, I follow the narrow trail among the shrubs and grass. I take notice of the marks I carved on the barks earlier. Before long, I'm out of the forest.

The sun's beginning to settle behind the snowy peaks of Frostheights. Shades of auburn and red paint the smoky sky. Darkness starts to eat away the remaining rays of sunshine.

I can see the feeble lights of Riverwood flickering from a distance. Wasting no time, I head for the direction of the village.

| ~ |

Riverwood is situated near a tiny stream that runs all the way down to the plains. Rows of small wooden cabin dot the side of a cracked-filled cobblestone road. Several evergreen trees array the place.

Up ahead, a goblin merchant is shouting, urging people to buy his rubbish-looking goods. Poor creature. Most of the time, only fellow goblins would buy wares from another goblin. Humans hardly get a good bargain out of those canny midgets.

Children are playing tag on the moonlit road. Adults are walking to and fro, fully occupied with their chores. Everybody seems to be so busy that no one notices me. Well, of course I'm glad that no one does. I'm just surprised because the last time I came here, they all greeted me with hostile glares and growls.

Still, looking around the place right now, I can't help but smile. It's pretty lively for a small village. This reminds me so much of the good times in carefree Mergrande.

Without further ado, I head for the constable's house for my real business.

| ~ |

I'm standing before a humble two-story chalet made of oakwood and birch. Compared to the others, the constable's house is rather neat. The night's dark but I'm sure dried pine leaves make up for the roof. I stand at the porch, trying to peek if there's anyone behind window.

"Hello?" I almost jerk myself when I hear a whimper. I completely didn't notice the German shepherd lying beside the door.

Taking a gulp, I raise my voice. "I need to talk to the constable."

Humming a tune, I wait for a while. Moments later, a stout man with an overgrown mustache and balding hair bursts out, slamming the door to the dog. Poor thing.

Adjusting his over-sized spectacles, his brows crumple when he sees me. It's as if I'm an object of suspicion.

"The adventurer, I presume?"

"Yes, sir."

"Ah. What do you want at this hour?" he asks, sniffing his plump nose.

"My payment."

He rolls his eyes. "What's your quest again?

"Wild bears are terrorizing logsmen in the forest so you asked me to slay them." Taking out the pelts, I hand them to him. They stink with the smell of blood.

He jumps on his feet that his glasses almost fell off. "Ah! Get those s-s-stupid things away from me!"

I toss the pelts to the dog that readily chomps on them.

"Those are all of them?"

"Every last one," I reply.

He then reaches for his pocket and takes out a small purse.

"How much is in there?" I ask

It takes him a while to respond. Wench. I've been in various situations like these. You're not ripping me off, old man. Taking a deep breath, I try to wear my fiercest expression. Then, to reap the tension, I greet his irises with a glare.

"Ten pieces of gold and silver," he finally replies, avoiding my gaze.

Bloody scite. The angry face didn't work but his price is still outrageous. Anger swells up inside me.

"You promised to give me twenty pieces of pure gold coins for the reward!" My tone comes out louder than I expected, making him yank on the spot.

"That was three weeks ago! The integrity of the quest declines with time!" He argues but I play deaf to his reasons.

He flinches for a moment as I clench my teeth. Cold mist begins to swivel on my right hand, and a small pyre flares up on the other. If there's one thing I hate besides King Lazaddon, it's getting the bad side of a bloody bargain.

Sure enough, you're toast.

But instead of yielding like I expected, the man suddenly laughs.

"If it isn't the legendary Merlin." He grins, clasping his trembling hands. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you. I've—

"Quit the talk and hand me my gold or else."

"Whoa, easy there, lad. Are you sure about incinerating me? I'm a citizen of this land. Remember? A single act of aggression will make Sothens deny you its protection. Do me harm, even if just a scratch and the Senterials are going to hand you over to King Lazaddon."

Scite. Senterials are the knights of the Sothens Empire. Of course, I don't want anything to do with them.

"I suggest you withdraw any form of sorcery at once," he adds.

The persuasive vibe in his voice forces me to reconsider my situation.

Truth is, I still have my neck thanks to Sothens. Lazaddon wouldn't dare cross boundaries. He obviously won't risk war over the cost of a lone young thief. Even so, I hate risking my freedom as well. It's embracing death with open arms.

Realizing anger won't do me good, I snarl at him as I dispel my arcane. A heavy sigh of relief escapes his mouth.

The purse disappears from his grip as I snatch it away. He continues to quiver while I fix him my ireful glare. "Cheeky bastard."

Laughing, he turns his back on me. "Another thing, Merlin," he says, sober all of a sudden. "There have been rumors of suspicious individuals in the village lately. If I were somebody famous as you are, I'd keep my blade always within reach.

I ponder on what he just said.

Suspicious individuals. Are they spies? Hopefully not. Wait. They have to be spies. But right within Sothens's domain? No, it can't be. Lazaddon wouldn't possibly sneak under Empress Nerilene's and her army's noses!

I'm too caught up with shock that I didn't notice the constable's amused face.

"Wiped that smug look off your face, 'aight?"

"Wait, why are you providing me this information?"

"Consider it the rest of your payment. Even are we now, laddie?"

I scoff, "Bastard."

"A dead man," he adds.

My eyebrows raise in question.

"In you I see a dead man. You're cursed to be a walking corpse. Sins are forgiven but freedom might just be a life you can never have."

Bloody corpse. I whisper in my mind.

The constable has pierced a mark in through my chest. His words slice sharper than any physical arrow, shredding my heart into bits. Even if he doesn't know who I am, or what sort of crime I committed to deserve this, he hit a piece of the truth. I'll never be free ─ not from the resentment of the orphaned families of the soldiers I killed. Not from the sense of vengeance I possess. Nor from the blame I carry with me.

In spite of the guilt, I give him a weak smile, "Even the dead deserves an afterlife. A different life it matters not as long as it is a life I can live."

He opens his mouth to answer but I quickly turn and walk away, never looking back.

To keep my mind away from the things that bother me, I've decided to hit the tavern, my hands tightly clutching the purse.

A drink and a good night's rest is all I need.

| ~ |

Question: What can you say about Arthus? Do you like his personality? Do you think it was right for him to steal the King's dagger?

Please show your support by commenting and voting if you enjoyed this chapter. Thank you. I also hope that you're going to carry on reading and add my story into your libraries!