Chapter 69: Complex Dragons

Chapter 69: Complex Dragons

My gaze kept returning to those tentacles, as if they were a mystery to be solved, revealingwhat? Updated from novelb(i)n.c(o)m

"Dragons are more complex than they appear, aren't they, Boss?"

"I was just contemplating the same thing."

"Especially Drevolan."

"Indeed."

"Did you notice what he didn't ask about?"

"Yes. He never inquired about the stolen weapon."

"You're smarter than they give you credit for, Boss."

"Hold that thought, Opal. Instead, tell me what you think it implies."

"That he already knew about the theft. Which means when we were setting the trap, we weren't doing what we believed we were. Although what we were actually doing, I couldn't speculate."

"Perhaps. Or it could imply something entirely different."

"What else?"

This was Alyssra's elucidation before I dipped my toes into military service. In the heat of battle, her words seemed more profound yet not entirely accurate; the enemy was relentless in hurling malicious spells at us, sometimes leading to casualties, and a few times, I barely escaped.

I despised that.

It didn't require an in-depth understanding to grasp the implications for an ordinary soldier: It meant that, every so often, one of your allies would collapse, lifeless and convulsing, with no discernible cause; it meant that, more frequently than not, someone would be struck down, either dead or injured, from what appeared as a faint reddish gleam; it meant that, even in the thick of hand-to-hand combat, there was a constant looming threat.

Fortunately, since the enemy was rushing towards us, they couldn't fling javelins at us, and the spells dwindled as the clashes grew. The first few moments after the lines meet is the most grueling part of a battle; to a warrior, it's more intense than the final decisive phase of the battle. The initial moments don't require strategic thinking; the combat gradually decelerates or appears to, until eventually, your fear begins to catch up. As I said, my memory of the initial clash is hazy, but the most vivid recall is the sound of numerous steel swords striking against wooden shields, along with the occasional metallic clash of sword against spearhead. It wasn't that numerous, it just seemed like it. Opal must have made a few witty comments. Sometimes, forgetting is a blessing.

I remember noticing that Aeldor, despite his injuries, was back on his feet, brandishing his weapon fiercely; I briefly saw Speransky, relishing what was probably his only joyous moment, an irony I had grown indifferent to. It's astonishing what you can adapt to given enough motivation, but irony, an old companion of mine, is only good when kept at arm's length.

I wasn't aware of any irony then, but now I can perceive the irony that, despite all my concerns, Thorne's remarks, and Drevolan's suggestions, I would have likely been done with the whole affair when the messenger arrived with my payment the day after my report to Drevolan.

That would have been the case, if only.

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