Chương 4: Meeting with Puck.
The sun, a molten gold coin tossed carelessly into the azure sky, coloured the world in emerald and sapphire shades. Spring unfurled its bright canvas, awakening the earth from its winter slumber. But Damian walked beneath this glowing canopy with a heart as heavy as lead.
His steps were measured, his head held high, his mask of confidence hiding his inner turmoil.
- I'm so strong," he muttered to himself, the words in his mouth like ashes.
- How could I destroy him in just a few blows? - the thought echoed through him, a frightening refrain mocking his supposed strength.
He pushed open the heavy oak doors of the tavern, and the smell of ale and roast meat came over him in a wave. The loud laughter and clinking of mugs inside seemed to mock his internal struggle. Damian had never been in a place like this before. He wasn't here for the rowdy fun or the strong drinks that fuelled the merriment. At fourteen, he was too young for such things.
He stood awkwardly in the doorway, feeling like a sapling among the tall oaks.
A sea of faces, weathered and haggard, turned towards him, curiosity in their eyes, perhaps even amused by his youthful presence. He felt exposed, vulnerable.
"So... How can I order food here?" - he thought, his voice lost in the rumble.
The tavern was a place where men came to drown their sorrows, to celebrate victories, to escape the harsh realities of life. It was a refuge for the weary, a sanctuary for the broken. Damian, however, was looking for something different. He was only eager to satisfy his hunger.
The smell of beer, sweat, and roasted meat hung in the air, a symphony of odours that usually whetted the appetite. Today, however, his stomach twisted with a different kind of hunger - a gnawing emptiness left by events. He sat hunched over a shabby wooden table in the corner of the noisy tavern, trying to hide in the shadows.
The tavern buzzed with whispers. Two blows, they said. Two swift and brutal blows from the unknown warrior turned the seasoned mercenary into a mangled heap. Damian knew these rumours were about him, but he couldn't bear to look at anyone.
A loud laugh distracted him from his thoughts. A burly man with a face flushed with beer and excitement came stumbling towards him, his eyes glistening with admiration.
- Hello, champ! - he roared, slapping Damian on the back hard enough to make him cringe.
- The whole town is talking about you! They're saying two strikes! You tackled that guy like it was nothing! Come to our table, let's drink to that!
Damian flinched, his hand instinctively moving to the hilt of the sword strapped to his back. He wasn't looking for attention, not now. He just wanted to eat.
- 'My friend...' the man persisted, ignoring Damian's discomfort.
- I don't know what you're talking about, but it smells good in here. You can bring me something, I have money, don't worry," Damian shoved a handful of coins at him and his smile grew wider.
Damian met his gaze for a moment, his eyes filled with genuine admiration and respect. He nodded briefly, unable to utter a word because of the lump in his throat.
The man brightened, nodded, and strode away to fetch food.
Left alone again, Damian sighed, feeling the weight of the city's gazes envelope him like a shroud. He reached for the empty mug, the cold metal causing a fleeting sense of comfort. He wasn't a hero, he thought bitterly. Just a man who had done what needed to be done. And now all he wanted to do was dissolve into the shadows and be forgotten.
The fading embers of the day cast long shadows on the worn wooden tables of the tavern. A tired sigh escaped Damian's lips as he waited for his food, convinced that the day was finally coming to an end and so was the news. He felt an unfamiliar ache in his bones, a constant reminder of the battle that had happened recently.
Just as he was about to succumb to the encroaching darkness, the tavern doors swung open with a gust of wind that sent a shiver down his spine. A ghostly blue light, like caught moonlight, poured into the room, illuminating the dust specks dancing in the air. A thin voice, shrill and strained, broke through the hoarse noise.
- My friends, I want the bloke who humiliated the Merchant today!
The words were lost in a cacophony of drunken chatter and frenzied laughter.
The speaker, overshadowed by the clumsy customers, repeated with increasing desperation: - Friends! Friends! Friends! Just a moment!
His pleas went unheeded. Damian watched with detached amusement as something fabulous clearly demanding attention began to pace back and forth, his anxiety growing with each passing second.
He thought of the merchant's humiliation. What kind of man could have accomplished such a feat? A huge beast, undoubtedly wielding a massive sword that would cut through flesh and bone with ease. But the tavern was filled with rough-looking men whose faces were stamped with the hardships of a life on the road. Yes, they were all drunkards, but none of them had the imposing appearance he had imagined.
Then his gaze fell on a boy, barely older than a child, sitting alone in a corner. He held a small sword, the blade of which gleamed faintly in the dim light. There was a steely gleam in the boy's eyes, though young, a hint of something dangerous lurking within.
- Hello, my name is Puck! - The elf said.
Damian flinched in surprise and looked at the stranger apprehensively. He was scared and didn't realise what was going on. His voice trembled as he asked: - What... what are you?
The elf hummed thoughtfully.
- 'You're kind of skittish, so it's not you,' Puck replied.
- W-what's not me? - Damian stammered.
Puck continued: - Today, a strong and brave warrior appeared in the city, who in no time at all killed one of the best mercenaries of the cities. I am looking for this warrior!
The tavern fell into a sepulchral silence.
All the customers froze, watching the scene. Damian, overcoming his fear, stood up and raised his head.
- It was me! I am that warrior! - he declared, his chest swelling with pride.
- Mmmm, okay," Puck sneered, his voice like the tinkling of bells.
- Well, I'm Puck. I was wondering where you came from.
Damian squinted, suspicion darkening his face.
- Why would you do that? - He growled, his hand instinctively reaching for the hilt of his sword.
Puck jumped off the table.
A shadow seemed to fall over him, a hint of sadness creeping into his usually playful demeanour.
- I'm Puck," he began more softly, "and I'm Gats's best friend. He's... mine.
He paused, the weight of unspoken words hanging heavy in the air.
- But about five years ago," he continued, almost in a whisper, "he was gone. He died.
A shiver ran through Damian's body.
Guts? The legendary Black Swordsman? Was this a cruel joke?
Puck looked up and met Damian's gaze with a hard stare that belied his small stature.
- 'And then,' he said, 'a rumour spread in Elfheim - a whisper of the wind.
It spoke of the return of Gats' apprentice. Or perhaps not an apprentice..." he fell silent with an uncertain expression.
- I didn't fully understand.
He took a deep breath, pulling himself together. - I've been travelling for a long time," he confessed, "looking for this man. And now it seems. I've found him.
Puck looked at Damian, his eyes full of desperate hope.
- Will you be my mate?
The tavern was silent again, the only sound was the wind from the windows.
The fate of two souls bound by a shared past and a whispered prophecy hung in the balance.
— Chương tiếp theo sắp ra mắt — Viết đánh giá
Tình trạng nguồn điện hàng tuần
-- Xếp hạng
Quyền lực 
-- Đá
Quyền lực