∼ Gambit ∼

Chapter - 083

‹ Eric ›

The cold bite of the Boreas wind surged through the city streets as sure as the sun that hung silently above every waking day. It rustled the black cloth underneath Eric's studded leather armor, the expensive material doing wonders to keep the chill at bay despite being so thin and flexible.

Eric had been working as Freya's escort and bodyguard the last couple of days now, and although the job hadn't demanded much for him physically, he had never been more on edge. Crowley's daughter was... strange. Scary even. But as much as Eric battled the uneasiness from her unladylike speaking, playful nature, and uncanny cunning, he didn't truly find himself loathing his current predicament. At least, not as much as he had expected. Because Eric reaping all the benefits.

He wasn't just spending all his time guarding Freya, playing manservant to the eccentric mistress. Most of his time was actually taken up by training. Of which he had seen jaw-dropping results. To have multiple teachers who had not only specialized in their classes but also reached a point where they neared their second advancement was a privilege afforded only to nobles or those lucky enough to be apprenticed by the famed knights of Argon.

Pulling up his status, he could hardly comprehend the growth.

Most of his skills and masteries were very basic, making them relatively easy to level. Especially under the guidance of someone who had furthered the exact same skills far beyond the elementary levels. But the focal point of all his training, signifying his biggest growth as a fighter, was that Tarence had taught him a footwork technique. The [Gray Step].

Tarence would not disclose its origin, and whenever asked, seemed to be a source of great grief. So he did not push it - especially since the old man was already doing more than enough by simply imparting the knowledge of something so valuable and sacred. Though Eric had barely managed to attain any competence in the technique, it already had an incredible impact on his ability to fight. Whenever he followed the technique's motions, it felt like each of his steps would crackle the ground underneath, transferring momentum and force to the rest of his body, allowing him to move and attack unlike ever before.

In the case of Tarence, the ground beneath did, in fact, actually crack - leaving indents with each step whilst using the [First Step, Impetus] of the technique. But as much as that baffled Eric, it was truly stupefying when the man used the final form of the technique, the [Fifth Step, Solace]. The ground simply... conformed to his movements. Not leaving the slightest crack, or causing the slightest tremor or rumble. Yet, the earth, no matter its hardness or rigidity, was deformed and distorted underneath the power of his feet, moving with the silent and invisible power of a mountain behind them.

That was the best way Eric could describe it. However, all he truly knew and needed to understand was that receiving even just a single blow from Tarence's fists whilst he adopted this form, would leave Eric dead on the spot. On to meet his ancestors before he would ever have the chance to realize it. Eric could not comprehend why such a man, and other men of nearing competencies in strength, followed his orders. Calling him sir, and acted deferentially. It only made this whole situation that much more unnerving.

"The Western Heartlands or maybe a little more north. Towards Mayne, perhaps..."

Eric slowed, brought out of his thoughts as he turned to face the raven-haired girl who had just spoken. Freya was wearing a thick black coat with white furs collaring her slender neck and running the cloth's fine outline. It contrasted her raven hair, putting her a step above even the noble beauties walking the streets in their over-the-top ostentation of wealth and superiority.

"I'm sorry?" He paused before awkwardly remembering to add. "-my lady..."

"-From where you are. Of course." Eric's step nearly faltered for a second. However, relief soon took him as Freya elaborated. "I've been trying to place your accent. But I'm not quite sure between which of the two it is from. Haven't been beyond the city’s walls much, you see."

He hesitated, wondering if he should lie. But looking into those cyan-green eyes of her, he knew that'd be a grave mistake.

"Western Heartlands," Eric admitted, though keeping it just vague enough. Whilst Aemsburg was northwest of Boreas, uncannily right in between her guesses, it only technically laid in the Western Heartlands, a region of Moravia decorated with endless forests such as the Heartweald.

The country, Moravia, was generally just called The Heartlands, though a small part of Cassia shared some of that region. It is called as such since it lays within the heart of Argon. Arguably the safest and least dangerous place you could find which is also why Heartlanders are generally thought of as weak and feeble by those on the outskirts of Argon. Which often, wasn't a wrong assumption to make. Compared to some of the places in Argon, Eric was a mere ant.

"So∼ what's a young man from the fringes doing here in Boreas, working for my father no less? You never did mention how."

"Needed work. Food and a roof over my head." Eric answered simply.

"Really now?" She smiled.

"I had nothing to my name. It's not a lie."

"If you simply needed bread and shelter, a capable man such as yourself would have no reason to join in my father's... escapades."

"So what is it? The fighting? The adrenaline? Stuck in a sticky situation? Or are you just a bad apple who can't help himself to a more honest life?" She asked the questions playfully, but Eric couldn't help but sense a dangerous underline to her every word. She always seemed to hit way too close although playing it off as guesswork. Eric decided not to answer, keeping his head straight and on the road though he could feel the prickle of her stare in the back of his neck.

But she quickly drew back feeling the sudden somber air. "-I'm sorry, I did not mean to pry... My apologies."

Eric would've kept his tongue at that, not wanting to interact with the scary girl any more than necessary, but the glare Tarence sent him clearly said that it was not proper for him to do so. So he hesitated awkwardly for only a moment. "It's okay... my lady." He said awkwardly. "I'm just not generally one to speak of myself."

"I know..." She muttered cryptically. Turning his head and looking into those eyes, Eric felt his breath catch. Was that pity he saw? What exactly did she see in him that made her express so? A chill ran down his spine that made Eric continue on, eyes pinned to the road and not daring to look back at her for the simple fear that his walls seemed to do nothing to hinder her inquisitive gaze.

In Eric's thousand-yard stare as he and his men escorted the young daughter of Victor Crowley himself, he barely noticed the small boy who was chased into their way before Eric almost ran him over. "You little bastard! You dare steal from my plate? Get back here, you-!" A wretched woman bellowed, storming out on a patio of a shop nearby in all blubbery glory. However, as she caught sight of the black-dressed group, the color drained from her chubby face.

The boy in dirty clothes was clutching a piece of bread to his chest. Although his clothes were in a bad state, they weren't those of a street urchin. Very malnourished - the child appeared to be just a poorly-treated kid. Looking at the man who hid further in the shop, resembling the kid, Eric with his considerable experience with the situation allowed him to understand. She wasn't just calling the boy a bastard for no reason.

The kid, who didn't know better, turned around only to see the towering and intimidating figure of Eric looming over him. He dropped his bread in fear, and in his haste to back up tripped on a protruding cobblestone. The moment before the poor boy would've cracked his head against the hard surface, his momentum was arrested. He blinked. The terrifying man was holding him aloft, a hand making sure his head was upright. Instead of giving back the now dirty piece of bread, Eric handed him some salted meats from a side pouch. "Don't let them see it, or it will get worse." He whispered, making sure the frightened woman who had run back into the store didn't see.

There was a moment of silence before the frightened boy nodded slowly. "Off with you then," Patting him on the shoulder, Eric watched as the boy scurried away. But as he himself got back up from his crouch, it was his turn to be startled as he was met with Freya's eyes right behind him.

"You're quite the curious one."

Eric coughed awkwardly, creating a little distance from the beauty by backing up slowly. "How so?"

"That boy... you were very caring." She tilted her head as if a puppy. "I can see that you are kind. Not exactly hoodlum material. Or maybe it's just that you can... relate with him?"

Ice ran in Eric's veins. "-Don't know what you're talking about," He denied offhandedly, trying to play off his concern. But in that instance, Eric felt his heart lurch as realization struck him. He had just lied to her.

Freya suddenly took a few more rapid steps, coming close and nearly making Eric stumble on the very same cobblestone the boy had. Gone was her playful demeanor - replaced with it, a cunning that not even Crowley's or Zechariah's could match. Her cyan-green eyes pierced right through Eric who felt as vulnerable as a naked babe under her gaze.

"You're afraid." She said, head tilting. "Like someone who's running from something."

Eric was frozen in place, not knowing how to react.

"-Kidding," She smiled abruptly, then skipped past him as if nothing had happened. Eric nearly gasped, having felt like her grasp on his lungs had just been let go. But he made no sound. This girl... She was too keen. Too dangerous. What exactly did she know..? -Did she know about him?

Caught up in his thoughts, Eric looked to Tarence to see if he had overseen the strange interaction. However, the older man was nowhere to be seen. Until he spotted him down a dark alley, speaking with a younger boy donning the clothes of The Stained Tooth. A messenger. Eric could only sigh in relief, casting a strange look at the back of Freya's back. Or was that on purpose?

As Tarence returned with an envelope in hand, the messenger running off and disappearing deeper into the alley, Eric nodded stiffly. "What is it?"

"Orders from up top, sir." Tarence handed him the envelope.

"For me?" Eric's brows rose as Tarence handed it to him.

Tarence merely nodded. Opening it, Eric retrieved the letter inside. But as he read, his face contorted into a frown.

"Something wrong, Will?"

Nearly jumping as he hadn't noticed Freya creep back up, his nerves shook but not outwardly showing. Something he definitely was getting better around this girl.

"I'm sorry, my lady. But it would seem I have to leave. Your father has assigned me elsewhere for tomorrow."

"To do what?"

Eric's mouth thinned as he looked over the letter. "Guard a caravan heading down the Spine."

Freya pouted, almost as if wanting him to challenge her father's order. But she relented, crossing her arms and looking away, very unlike her actual maturity.

"I see..."

Konge

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