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CHAPTER THREE
🕑 Added 2024-12-05 04:18:59 +0000 UTCSeated on a bedroll under the open sky, in nothing but tattered shorts and bandages, Tatsuya stared unblinkingly at the dry woods and leaves crackling away in the fire, his mind slowly coming to terms with the previous night's events. Even the smell of cooking meat and spices—mingling with the sounds of nickering horses and low chatters of conversations—wasn't enough to draw his attention away from his thoughts.
The memory of the experience plagued him—the sensation of the insects crawling over his skin, one he would never forget— and he had to ask himself, was his life’s purpose truly worth it? In the span of a day, he had endured more horrors than most would in their entire lifetime, and it was his luck that the Wind Blades had enough healing potion on hand to prevent his death—and wasn't that a sobering realisation? Without their interference, he would have eventually succumbed to his injuries or infection (whichever came first) and died and, afterward, burnt to ashes and buried with the other corpses.
Tatsuya was no stranger to death—in this world, on this continent, Tartaria, especially, even children weren't spared from such horrors—and, unlike most, he didn't care what happened to him as long as he fulfilled his promise, yet it seemed the almost surreal spectacle surrounding this particular brush with death had thrown him for a loop.
Even though it had ended up working out for him, it still left a bitter taste in his mouth, a constant of his mortality—human fragility—more so than any other near-death experiences he had in fights or tortures he endured.
Eventually, the strain got to his eyes, and he found himself drawn to the man—lightly tanned, sandy-brown hair and strong features set in a heavy-set body—approaching him: Jao, the earth elemental and leader of the Wind Blades. Though Tatsuya didn't make it obvious, despite the lingering aches and stiffness, he was prepared to fight, and so too was this man, green eyes friendly but fingers tapping around the shaft of a war hammer strapped to his belt.
However, once Jao was a comfortable distance away, he spread his arms wide, implicitly showing he had no intention of attacking—and, even as Tatsuya quietly exchanged greetings and accepted the bowl of broth with gratitude, he didn't let his guard down.
However, he wasn't so paranoid as to resist help, and once the unsaid permission was granted, Jao knelt, and his strong fingers rose to adjust the bandage wrapped around Tatsuya’s face (as the man was the one to nurse him back to health), and create enough of a gap for his mouth before settling down beside him.
Tatsuya’s stomach growled appreciatively as he finished, having drunk the broth straight out of the bowl, but he knew it wasn't satiated yet; his gaze was drawn to the fire again, though this time, it was to the meat roasting on a spit. When was the last time he tasted such?
Jao laughed. “Don’t worry, you can have more broth, but wait so we can see if it will stay down.” The man caught Tatsuya’s eyes straying back, lingering for a few moments in thoughtless contemplation, and his demeanour became more serious. “Your body isn't ready for solid food yet. It will just come back up.”
“What do you want?” Tatsuya’s tone wasn't rude, merely curious, yet it seemed to affect the man all the same as he leaned in, uncomfortably close—enough to pick out the faint silvery lines of minute scars etched into his skin and the prickly unshaven whiskers.
A tiny, tiny insecure part of him—long since thought buried and forgotten in the recess of his mind—couldn't help noticing that, unlike him, the scars seemingly accentuated Jao's natural charm.
“Why don't you explain why you rescued our little Farah?”
Tatsuya was grateful for the question, even if it took him by surprise—which shouldn't have happened as it was expected to be asked sooner or later—because it dissauded him from treading that old line of thought, though he was able to hide the tell-tale reaction from his face skilfully, maintaining his composure with a control he usually reserved for his element. Not that it was needed, he supposed, as every inch of his body was swathed in bandages and, as an earth elemental, Jao had a truly broken passive ability: should the man need it, constant awareness of every twitch people made (due to minute vibrations) as long as a part of them touched the ground.
It made reading people easy, at least for those that trained the passive, and Tatsuya had no doubt Jao did. Even though it was a purely arbitrary rank, he was sure every member of the Wind Blades was a master of their elements in their own right, with or without specialties, or else they wouldn't have lasted this long.
“I—”
“Hold on.” A hand was raised, and although the man’s words were directed at Tatsuya, his face was turned toward the two watching them curiously. One in particular, Leia, the resident, bandaged, lightning elemental—a striking blond with untamed hair that mirrored her boisterous character—had no shame and was making her eavesdropping obvious.
Jao shook his head with a frown before returning his gaze to Tatsuya. “I think we should take this conversation somewhere private.”
Jao gestured for him to follow, and Tatsuya slowly complied, staying close to the man as they walked to the outskirts of the camp. The frustrated groans from Leia, loud and obnoxious, went ignored, but the subsequent sounds—chatter, as their interest shifted from him to more mundane topics—helped ease his tension and relax him somewhat.
As he was led to a tent, its front pulled open and back, he noted the absence of Farah and another member, Zoel—a dark- skinned, bald vine elemental (usually wearing a wide-brim hat of unknown make) with an odd seal for a companion—but the arching forms of vines over the treetops was enough of a clue as to why.
Within, cushions were arranged in a vaguely circular pattern, and as Jao took the nearest one that faced the entrance, he motioned for Tatsuya to sit. Ensuring the entrance was kept similarly in sight, Tatsuya did so—except his seat was a fair distance away from the man’s—and as he shifted his weight awkwardly, a sardonic chuckle escaped his lips. How far had he strayed from the air elemental’s teachings that an earth elemental—one of those famed for their rigidity in characters and the element they manipulated—could easily sit, legs fluidly crossed, while he was stiff?
The answer was as obvious to him as Jao’s confusion at his action, but a wave of his hand dispelled both, and before the man could take the reins of the imminent conversation and pose the question again, Tatsuya quickly tried to think up an appropriate answer.
Though the Wind Blades were out to get the king (for reasons only they knew), which meant they would have to deal with opposition from the various lords, including Kuro, the group didn't go out of their way to fight them. In actuality, they were known to flee the moment the attack dogs were sighted, and due to this behaviour, most thought them cowards.
However, Tatsuya was of the mind that they were pragmatic. Fighting the lords would be a bloody and drawn-out affair they would eventually lose, so it was easier to avoid them (unless impossible) and focus on securing that one golden opportunity to murder the king—which meant that should he disclose his goal, he would be sent packing.
He couldn't tell them the whole truth, but anything would be preferable to a straight-out lie; apart from Jao’s passive making such action difficult to execute without coming off as unnaturally stiff, he wasn't also in a great position to bargain.
It was true he had rescued Farah, and due to their negligence, he was almost burnt and buried (and definitely traumatised), but all debts were considered paid once he was given the healing potion. The product was not freely distributed in Tartaria, as it was embargoed by the royal family, along with every other sorcerer-made product—and he doubted the king had authorised his enemies to have any—so the group must have smuggled it in, most likely from said sorcerers, and that would cost more cowries than he had ever possessed.
Also, they had used a significant, if not all, portion of it on him, which was (unfortunately for him, yet honestly speaking) an equivalent enough exchange and levelled the playing field.
So, what could he do?
“Why did you rescue Farah?”
Tatsuya could beg, discarding his pride and dignity in pursuit of fulfilling his promise, but that had less chance of working than paying them off, and even the latter wasn't an option he could even consider since he currently lacked every basic living necessity. The alternative was to go after Kuro on his lonesome, but though he knew he was skilled, he wasn't so blinded by his hate (or delusional, he might add) to believe himself a better combatant than the bastard.
At this moment, he needed an answer that would not only satisfy Jao but also get them to help him; however, as he racked his brain, no viable idea came forth.
“I saved Farah’s life because I…”
Maybe he was going about this the wrong way. Getting them to help him directly against Kuro wasn't possible now, but what about later? What about indirectly?
His mind recalled an earlier question he posed internally: how would he integrate himself with the group? Sure, the option of saving a member and joining as a favour was gone, but what if there was another?
His thoughts screeched to a halt, a veritable eureka moment like those seen in the plays, and, he allowed a grin to form on his lips. However, although relief eased the weary droop of his face, reality demanded minute, uncertain shifts in his expression. He knew there was a possibility his idea might not work, but it was the only way he could think of that would allow him to remain with the group and prepare himself for his eventual fight against Kuro—and maybe, just maybe, if things panned out well, he would gain enough of their trust to persuade them to join in the fight when that time came.
So, even as he continued his words with false confidence, the reason he had quickly constructed—sprinkled with the truth, or, at least, half-truths to fool Jao—flowing out with an ease that belied his thoughts, he found himself hoping it worked. The die was cast, and either a new chapter of his life was about to unfold, or this was his end, and spirits knew he preferred the former.
