Chapter 17

  “Have you been to the capital of Targia?” Earleon asked Zethir, who was following behind him.

  Zethir watched the man, his eyes narrowed as the heat blazed upon them. Taking a step forward, his legs ached in pain, but he paid them no heed. Instead, he simply moved his hand, brushing away the vines that were in his way.

  They were currently in a rainforest, on their way to the capital city of their kingdom.

  It had been a week since he woke up in Earleon’s cabin, and during that time, his body recovered enough to be able to walk and train.

  However, he couldn’t use his energy.

  “I have,” he replied absentmindedly, thinking about his body’s condition.

  ‘I thought that would be my last battle,’ he glanced at his torso, feeling his slowly beating heart. ‘I thought I’d finally rest… but alas,’ he sighed.

  After overloading his body with several energy cores, his energy network was more than fried. In culinary terms, it wasn’t just burnt, his energy network turned into ashes!

  ‘I don’t know what Earleon did, but somehow, my body is recovering well,’ he licked his drying lips. Feeling thirsty, he grabbed the water gourd tied to his waist and took a sip.

  Meanwhile, Earleon kept walking, not paying attention to what he was doing.

  “Then, you should be familiar with the city’s layout,” he said, but Zethir shook his head.

  “I’ve only been there once, and that was when I was four years old,” he said.

  “Oh… well, no matter. But,” Earleon suddenly paused, turning around to face him. Like when they first met, he was wearing a green robe and baggy pants.

  There was also a sunhat on his head, shielding him from the sunlight… that barely penetrated the treetops.

  “I have something to ask,” Earleon smiled lightly, to which Zethir nodded.

  “Right. I’ve been wondering, why did you accept that mission?”

  Hearing the question, Zethir understood that the latter was talking about the army hire.

  “I had someone to kill,” Zethir said, his hand moving to the left side of his waist, where a sword was tied.

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  It was Earleon’s sword that he borrowed for the time being. After all, his old sword shattered to pieces during his fight against the elite spearmen.

  “Let me guess,” Earleon rubbed his smooth chin. “Is it that royal blood, Fernando?”

  Zethir’s face went rigid for a second, but he quickly regained his calm. He wasn’t afraid of being accused of “treason.”

  After all…

  “How did you guess?” Zethir asked, caressing the hilt of his sword.

  Earleon shrugged. “Your record was pretty impressive,” he grinned. “In total, you killed eight nobility, and four royalty. Aren’t you afraid of being plotted against?”

  “I’m just a mercenary,” Zethir humbly nodded, averting his gaze.

  Earleon shrugged, turning around to continue their march.

  “Why did you want to kill him? All the nobles and royals you killed were because the mission was to kill them. But this time, it’s different,” Earleon said from the front, his voice slightly shaking as he traversed the unsteady forest floor.

  “Fernando was your client. You have no reason to kill him, and it would stain your record if you did.”

  Zethir scoffed, slapping the hilt of his sword lightly. “I’ve got my reason.”

  “Is that so?” Earleon hummed, not pursuing the topic further.

  Zethir also didn’t drag it out, remaining silent as they hiked. At the same time, he couldn’t help but think back to earlier, when Earleon told him that they’d go to the city for a task.

  ‘I didn’t know Falco knew… an angel? Is he an angel?’ Zethir gazed at Earleon’s back, seeing it flat. He was certain that Earleon and the black-winged figure from before were the same, but had no proof.

  He didn’t dare ask the man directly either. Not only that, it didn’t inconvenience him, so he had no reason to put his nose where it didn’t belong.

  Before they left, Earleon handed him a feather—the same feather that Falco gave him, and the one that he threw into that spearman’s eye.

  ~~~~~

  Several hours ago, at dawn.

  “Since Falco chose you, you will accompany me for a while,” Earleon said, giving Zethir a sword.

  Zethir listlessly accepted it, his eyes still glued to the feather he received from the latter.

  “We have a mission, and for that, we will travel toward the heart of Targia. Are you listening?” Earleon looked at Zethir while tidying up the wooden hut.

  Finally, Zethir snapped out of his stupor.

  “What mission?”

  “You’re a killer, right?” Earleon asked. “You simply need to kill,” he said.

  “You want to assassinate someone?” Zethir squinted at Earleon, before shifting his gaze to the sword.

  Unlike his old, ordinary iron sword, Earleon’s sword looked as though it was made with silver. Its surface reflected his gaze, and his crimson eyes stared back at him. Rubbing the blade, his fingers glided along its length unimpeded.

  “I can kill.”

  “I know you can,” Earleon snickered. “Falco wouldn’t have chosen you if you couldn’t. And besides… nevermind.”

  Zethir looked up at Earleon. “Who do I need to kill?”

  Earleon laughed lightly. “Wrong question. You should ask, ‘how many are we going to kill?’.”

  After dusting the wooden table, Earleon dragged the wooden chair and sat, before taking out an apple to peel.

  Zethir sat on the bed, waiting for Earleon to continue.

  Shooting him a glance, Earleon opened his mouth. “You’ve heard of the godly war, right?”

  Zethir nodded.

  The “Godly War” was a famous legend, and everyone experienced it at least once in their lives.

  Zethir experienced his first Godly War together with Daixi. On a balcony, they watched as colorful explosives set off in the sky, illuminating the dark night as though it was day.

  Neither of them understood it back then, but according to the legends, that phenomena was the gods fighting each other.

  “You should know that in preparation for the godly war, kingdoms would rally their armies and wage a world war for a week. Whoever wins the war would not only gain glory and fame, they would also be blessed with prosperity. Their harvest would double, their citizens would be healthy, their…”

  Zethir cut him off with a wave of his hand. “I know all of this already. What does it have to do with our mission?”

  Earleon smiled, but didn’t rush to answer. Having finished peeling his apple at this time, he took a small bite and faced Zethir.

  “Then, do you know that the godly war is rigged?”

  Zethir furrowed his brows, his face twisted like he’d just heard something ridiculous. Well, he had! Who in their right mind could manipulate a world war?

  Earleon grinned, shaking his head upon guessing Zethir’s unspoken doubts.

  “Before the godly war even happens, the winner is already decided. Just look at history, and the answer would be obvious,” Earleon moved his fruit knife, cutting the apple into fourteen slices.

  Grabbing the slice with a small bite, he showed it to Zethir.

  “This time, Targia is supposed to win,” he said, and threw the apple slice into his mouth.

  “But we will change that,” Earleon’s cloud-like pale eyes slowly darkened as though changing into thunderclouds.

  “We will make Targia lose by killing their army.”