Once a vibrant youth, the knight wore the scars of countless battles on his skin of flesh and skin of steel, a weathered face, worn by time. His hair, once a vibrant copper, now white as snow, cut short, eyes of cold blue. He wore a blade at his side, longer than a typical blade, slightly slender, but it was the kind to bring such beautiful death to the world.

The knight stood beside his companions, as well as the Commander of the outpost, who stared out towards the familiar and unfamiliar carriages, the familiar and the unfamiliar faces, the familiar, wholly so, aura of viciousness which emanated from the group.

“Halt!” exclaimed Commander Theodore Barrenhill, stopping the carriages in their tracks. “State your business!”

A figure stepped out, though quickly, another figure also stepped out. The first was a woman who wielded a bow, but to call her such was disrespectful. The other was a figure adorned in full plate and a smile.

“What lovely we are having, Commander Theodore Barrenhill,” Mork greeted, smiling warmly, as the gentle rain tickled his armour.

“What lovely weather indeed, Brother,” Theodore replied, hoping Mork had stepped out to allow the day to pass by smoothly.

“If it isn’t a bother, we would like to step into the fort to rest from our weary travels, and to speak of a few small donations from a few commoners of Red Oak,” Mork said.

‘Hmm?’

The group rolled in, welcomed tentatively by the soldiers, while Mork dealt with the matters of the donation.

‘Donations from the commoners?’ Theodore took in the commoners within his sights, noting the oldest man was looking at him, and the Commander nodded, causing the fellow to nod his head quickly and turn away quickly in apprehension.

Meanwhile, the older knight held Sokikez’s gaze, the pair staring into one another’s eyes for a long while, before the older knight stepped forward.

“Good evening,” the knight said, bowing his head respectfully.

“Good evening,” Sokikez replied.

“I am Sir Valen, of the Three Hundred Blades.”

“Sokikez, the Raining Bow,” she replied.

“It is my honour to meet with you, Raining Bow, I have long heard of your great abilities,” Valen said.

“I, too, have heard your tales, Sir Valen,” Sokikez replied, bowing her head slightly in respect.

“Who is that guy?” Adam whispered.

“Sir Valen, Third Blade.”

“Oh? Third Blade?” Adam noted how old the man was, probably in his seventies, maybe in his eighties.

“He has remained within the top twenty of the Three Hundred Blades for forty years, top ten for thirty.”

“Whoa…”

“He announced his half retirement over twenty years ago.”

‘This guy has been casually chilling as the Third Blade for twenty years?’ Adam almost whistled, but decided against drawing attention to himself. “So…”

“There will be no trouble,” Jurot said, seeing as how Sokikez and the old man were talking.

“If he’s the Third Blade, how strong must he be?”

“The top three are assumed Paragons,” Jurot said.

“There are more Paragons than I thought.”

“Officially, there are few, but there are at least twenty hidden throughout the land, most within the Orders, some adventurers who retired, many others who are thought to have passed.”

“I’m feeling a little better about their chances against the Reavers.”

“Aldland and Aswadasad must deal with internal and external politics while they face against the Reavers,” Jurot said. “Though the Iyr is smaller than even Red Oak, the Kez family will fight for the Rot family as the Rot family will fight for the Kez family. How eager is West Aldland to support East Aldland?”

“Yeah…” Adam didn’t agree with the Iyr in its entirety, but it was a place where he knew his children would be raised best, even if he himself was an emperor with limitless wealth. Meanwhile, what was he doing to help the Iyr in return?

Valen sat opposite Sokikez, the pair speaking of a great many tales, for it was rare to meet someone like Valen, and it was rare to meet someone like Sokikez. Eventually he invited the Lion King to share some tea, while the soldiers eyed up the trio, each of whom were out of reach, even in their lifetime they would be unable to kiss even the dirt beneath their boots.

‘So he is the one they call the Crazy Father,’ one of the younger knights thought. ‘He does not look special at all.’

‘What an ominous aura,’ another thought. ‘Sir Carter was right.’

As the day passed by, the group continued along their ways, with well wishes from the Third Blade and the Commander, one glad for the company, the other glad for the gifts. The mules and wagons would assist them in their labour for the roads.

As the group approached each of the villages the next few days, they greeted the Chiefs, stayed politely, spent their silver and gold, until they finally approached that particular village.

“I see you’ve finally returned,” the younger Merl greeted.

Adam blinked, looking down towards her stomach, though quickly looking away to Merry, the boy holding onto a blanket, while the half elf awkwardly tried to recall how to speak.

“Yes,” Nobby replied.

“Yes? You punk, you should be greeting your wife properly, and look at Merry, he’s been waiting for his daddy this entire time!” Adam snapped, before turning towards Merl. “I’m sorry about him, but you know his heart is good, and…”

Merl’s tears formed within her eyes, though they were quickly hidden away within Nobby’s chest, all the while the half elf stood there, frozen.

‘Oh no…’

Once Merl was done cleaning up her tears she greeted the group once more, who congratulated her, before entering into the village properly.

‘This is the business?’ Rowan thought, finding it looked more like a village than a business.

“Nobby, you stay here, we’ll take Maharan to the business,” Adam said, pressing a hand onto his shoulder.

“Okay, mister boss.”

Adam smiled, patting his shoulder gently, before leaving the village towards the business, heading across the river towards the familiar sight of the…

“Jurot?” Adam called.

“Yes,” Jurot confirmed.

Where once a fortress imposed upon the land, a greater fortress imposed greater upon the land, the islet expanded more like an island, the fort easily double, perhaps triple its size, a five story tower now looming over the entire fort from the back.

“Did we slip through the Realm and come back a few years later?” Adam whispered into his brother’s ear.

“No,” Jurot replied, staring at the fort. “We are the Iyr.”

“The Iyr is so scary,” Adam whispered to himself.

“Yes.”

“Okay, don’t sound too proud.”

Jurot’s lips formed the shadow of a smile.

“Yet he hired us?” Vasera joked.

“Easy money,” Rook replied.

“There’s no such thing as easy money.”

Rook turned to look towards Vasera, who cackled with delight, leading the carriages into the fortress, where they found countless Iyrmen manning the fort.

An Iyrman, the kind that trained like Kitool, leapt down from the walls towards them. “Where are Taygak and Amal?”

“Taygak,” Taygak called, confirming her attendance.

“This is Amal,” Adam replied, and upon seeing the Iyrman reach out for the girl, Adam’s eyes darted to Jurot, informing his brother he was ready to fight, but Jurot shook his head, motioning a hand to pass the chonky girl along.

Once the Iyrman confirmed the children had arrived, they allowed the group to settle their carriages to one side, before leading them in to the second layer of the fortress, which Adam was more familiar with, the small fields and rows of trees welcoming him back.

At least a hundred Iyrmen called the fort their home, though all of them were at least in their late twenties, men and woman, those with flesh of grey, flesh of red, flesh of pink and brown, those with hair that was dark, those with hair that was light.

“You have finally returned,” an Iyrman Adam was certain he had seen previously, but didn’t quite recall, said. She was older, and wore little though it was raining. She carried a greatsword on her back, and carried the aura of a woman who was eager to kill, bored of not doing so. She was a half head taller than Adam, and was easily ten Amal’s heavier. Even from where Adam stood, he could feel the oppressive aura she gave out, and though he had come across a great number of fine warriors, she was the kind who would be able to cut him in half, or at the very least, die trying.

“Stop it,” another called, an older Iyrman with grey skin, a long spear on his back, as well as a familiar tattoo. “Do not forget, this is their home we are merely borrowing.”

“A home we paid for, built, and defend,” Mitol stated, flexing her powerful muscles in return.

“Enough of that,” called a voice from right behind Adam, and as he turned he found a bald woman standing beside Kitool, rubbing the top of the young lady’s head.

‘Oh, come on!’

“Mitol, Ravar, I will process them, you may return to your business,” Shaool half threatened, though Mitol did not step back. Instead, the woman stared down at the group, her eyes shifting between them all, before resting upon Taygak. After a bow of the head towards Taygak, Mitol stepped away.

Adam raised his brows to Jurot.

“That is Mitol.”

“She doesn’t like me?”

“Immovable Statue is just so,” Jurot explained.

“To everyone?”

“Yes.”

“Ah.”

“The other is Ravar, Okvar’s uncle, who is known as The Leaf Spear, and though his epithet is calmly spoken, he is equally as powerful as grandaunt, for they are also members of the Ten Paragons,” Jurot explained.

“Oh! Three of the Ten Paragons?” Adam asked, for the last time he had seen two of the Ten Paragons act, it was when his grandaunt had exploded the Platinum Shield, and his granduncle, Dogek, had almost killed one of the Grand Commanders. ‘Whoa.’

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PATREON LINK

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Three of the Ten Paragons! I wonder if someone can name the ones we've seen so far.