Chapter 4: The Path Ahead

All it took was a momentary distraction, perhaps a fraction of a second, a few seconds it did not matter. Death came nonetheless, in the form of a large beam with an intense energy, that Sylvan felt was almost malicious in it's origin. The beam shaped in a crescent like one of the phases of their moon cut through the woman or more specifically evaporated her, boiling her alive and instantaneously that she turned quickly into a puddle of blood bursting infront of him and staining his person and cloak all over, like he had killed a whole army and then decided not to wash himself after.

The smell was putrid, the sensation was warmer, it was disgusting. But his attention was elsewhere, his thoughts running apace as he understood then and there. It was his fault. His questioning cost her the most important thing she could offer--her life, distracted she let down her guard to answer him, all because of his self-doubt over some warning that some entity he wasn't even sure of what her alignments were take hold of him. He understood it as well after all, He had fought, hunted and survived alone for days, weeks heck even months now.

One moment could mean the difference between life and death. And he had given another that burden, the burden of distraction. Eyes widened, Sylvan immediately picked up the staff that fell infront of him. She had no more body, perhaps at least he could return this staff as the last testament of her life. Sylvan had no love for strangers, most especially Qins for what he and his kind suffered when they first got here.

But a pointless death was something no one deserved, not even for those strangers he so eagerly avoids. She had no name, he didn't know. She was now however part of the list of the dead that he must avenge. It was his duty, his responsibility.

Fear was replaced with anger, anger then turned into hate. And Hate? That was what made Sylvan that he was today, that was what makes him sharpen his focus like a blade. Sylvan glared at their opponent as he pulled out his sword. No time to stumble, it was now fight or die.

"And to think I even bothered talking to you" Sylvan said. "That perhaps we had it wrong, that we mistook a man for a beast, but now I see we weren't"

Right foot positioned forward, and then dashing forward Sylvan aimed to lunge at the knight who was more beast than human. When their quarry did an odd thing, it tossed its sword upwards, Sylvan out of instinct turned his gaze upwards and perhaps a fraction of a second, a few seconds? He saw the sword hang in the air, It did not matter for his instincts told him to get away, that what happens next is going to be dangerous. It seemed like the blade of fate was going to cut his string, his life and his story. Like the norns from norse myth, the young man opened his lips hoping to warn whatever was left of their party to brace for impact. But before the words came out, the sword fell down almost immediately as if it went on fast forward.

The shockwave threw Sylvan in the air, spinning, reeling his body out of control as he was unable to brace for impact. He could not tell which way he was looking if it was towards the sky, or towards the ground. It did not help that they were in a place of perpetual white. Soon the spinning stopped and his gaze focused but with it he felt intense pain as well. His body collided with a large tree back first, Sylvan gasped as he felt a rib or two go. He could not breathe from the impact and from the sudden pain that took ahold of his senses, his sword arm loosened its grip as he dropped his sword and fell down.

The snow that covered the tree's branches and leaves fell on Sylvan like a blanket, as his back was leaning on the tree and his legs sprawled forward. Sylvan coughed out blood and blood trickled from the side of his lips as breathing felt painful like he would implode with every breath he took. His right hand clumsily and slowly touched the snow covered ground beside him or around him trying to find his sword, while every inch of him was doing its best to make sure he stays awake.

Sylvan listened as two remaining men spoke to each other as if they knew each other. Were they accomplices? Did the Delva set this up? More questions flooded his mind, or rather he flooded his mind with questions just so he would not pass out from the pain, his sword hand continued to grope the snow around him until his hand could feel the steel that was colder than the snow. It was his sword. Silently the raven haired youth slowly tightened his grip upon it's grip as he used his left hand to dust off the snow that fell on him and covered his lower extremities. Their conversation went on, perhaps they were unaware of his consciousness or survival.

But it had worked for him, for their attention was towards each other. He could pull off a surprise attack and just maybe survive this hellish ordeal that claimed nearly a hundred lives. However, it would not claim his. He would defy it just like how he has defied fate countless times even during his life as a slave. Using his left hand as anchor and pressing his weight on it as it held the tree's bark, he silently and slowly stood up as the wave of pain washed over him again and again. He could feel the sting of his ribs and yet he must stay awake and fight. He sluggishly trudged towards the duo when to his surprise they started fighting. He could only make out a bit of the conversation due to his focus being divided between staying awake, trying to deal with the pain and how to survive against them or now in this case, whoever is left standing between them.

Dark Sword? The Knight is a fugitive? He took that weapon and ran? The mad man...

The short and intense duel they had reminded Sylvan of his very first trial on this world. Being asked to kill someone, someone he didn't know but someone he could very well relate to more than anyone, because the people in the plane with him? They were his people they came from the only world he knows that should exist, not the people in this...world. The memory served only to illicit more of his silent fury much to his chagrin, but on the bright side, it made his senses sharper, his hate became his fuel.

No sooner that the young man had gotten close that the fighting had ceased, both had struck their killing blows towards each other, and he the bystander was the unanimous victor. The cold winter wind blew, but now only silence remained once again. Sylvan fell to his knees as he stabbed the back and then the hand of the fallen knight severing it, not taking any chances as he has seen the man stand up from worse attacks.

Sylvan panted his forehead resting on the blade that was struck towards the ground. His breath white from the cold.

"Just what is this madness?" he exclaimed in rugged breaths, still unable to comprehend what happened and why it had to happen in the first place. Hands tightening upon the sword grip, Sylvan screamed in frustration as he felt his second wind now die down. He turned his attention towards the deadly sword that now lie defunct, turned into stone like it was simply a decoration.

But he knew what it was, it was a weapon that could kill dozens if not hundreds of skilled warriors. Sylvan stared at it for a moment, contemplating if he should bring the cursed artifact or not. His better judgment had told him to bring it with him lest it happened again so he slowly reached out the stone sword and slid it on the side of his sword belt.


He finally stood up and the winter winds blew silently once again. It almost felt like it was comforting him, offering him assuage that this nightmare had ended, turning towards the forest he started to drag himself towards the direction whence they came. He would need to take one of the chocobos to be able to cross the raging river and ride back to town, to tell them of the news and claim his reward.

The ride back to town was harsh with his broken bones being aggravated as the chocobo ran, riding a chocobo wasn't really the best for an injured person and he had a mind to tie the other chocobos with him but after remembering that they had brought with them almost a hundred chocobos, he had settled into taking only one back home. He could not remember the ride for he slipped in and out of consciousness, the sword being heavy as the world itself didn't help matters either.

He heard a loud Wark! sound, Sylvan turned into attention as he woke, he had once again drifted to sleep. He was now near the town, luckily he had woken up the exact moment he crossed the gates, and there he saw the faces of the townspeople. First filled with joy and expectation, but when no other rider came behind him, their expression turned to dread and anxiety. Before he could even alight the lord of the town approached him.

Eyes of full worry, lips almost quivering. Sylvan worried he would go mad if he would not piece the report in a gentle light. Hiding his pain he lifted his head up high and looked around.

"The deed is done, if you want proof the body rests on the other side of the river." his fist clenches as he held the chocobo's reins. "But I am the only survivor..." He said regretfully.

"The beast was strong..." Sylvan broke off as he remembered that it was a man, or rather was a man. "But your brave hunters gave us the chance to fell the beast"

He partially lied of course, but in this town that had no hope, honouring their hunters was the best he could do. What else could he tell them? That they were massacred helplessly? and by sheer luck he was alive? Nay, that would only serve to cause panic, so he swallowed his pride and lied, even though he didn't want to. If hope was the only thing that could keep them alive, then so be it.

The news was brief and the people's reaction suspended as Sylvan waited for their questions and prepared for any violent reactions, deep in his thought and preparation he had failed to notice that Geisler soldiers had made it to Vhetlaug and that mistake had cost him, instead of just minding and explaining his problem to the people. Now the soldiers had come out of nowhere, where there was one asking, now it was two from the sum of 15. At least he had counted 15 from where he sat upon the Chocobo's back.

However unlike the people their anxiety was mixed with tenseness, aggravation. Sylvan could feel it, or perhaps they did not even bother to mask it, strength in numbers. What made it worse for the weary raven haired youth was that despite hiding the stone sword under his cloak one soldier was able to take a good look at it. The sword, the cause of all these problems and his current headache. Patience growing thin, Sylvan put a hand over the hilt of his sword that was hidden on his cloak.

He had the thought of cutting the soldier down and breaking away with the chocobo, he came here after all to escape the eye of the general populace, and yet as his sour luck would have it, he now attraced not just a town's attention but soldiers from God knows where. Sylvan closed his eyes as he took a deep silent breath and exhaled slowly, he remembered one of his principles in life, to as much as possible never doubt yourself because it leads to panicking.

Because if you panic, your vision narrows and your thought processes too, and then you'll be stuck, or worse you'll be dead. Perhaps he can attribute his survival alone on this world on that mindset, and therefore he would not die or be caught here just because he went against his own personal tenet. However it did not stop him from cursing mentally as he took no note of places in this world, having grown disgusted and disillusioned with it.

He was in a pinch, and cutting down the soldier's head was very very tempting. However two questions were asked, he would answer one to buy time to think of the answer to the more important question of: "Where are you from?"

"Across the river and then further towards the clearing, you'll see what you're looking for, the bodies of the fallen will lead you to it" he answered curtly. "It is the body of the beast that the lord of this town had sent us to kill"

Sylvan chose his words carefully, he did not say pay or hire for he did not want the soldiers to get privy into the payment details. All he wanted now was take the money and go elsewhere, broken bones or not. Too many people to his liking, one may recognize him, pushing his mind further he tried to find answers in his memories, he did exchange a few conversations with passing merchants or travellers alike asking for direction. Maybe, just maybe he could use something from those conversations.

"Down South," He bluffed. "Ramoa" he managed to follow-up.

Sylvan celebrated mentally as he was able to pull out a location from one travelling merchant that was heading towards haremfield or Rockfell. Hopefully their inquiries would come to pass now.

Luck. Sylvan seems to have the shittiest of them all. He had just bluffed his way out of attention when the guards scrambled towards the nearby barn and dragged back what seemed to be a soldier, an enemy soldier of theirs based on her different uniform. She reasoned out that she wanted to live, but when pressed for further explanation perhaps to try and change the minds of her captors and would be executioners, she suddenly spoke no more she kept her silence and wore her dignity admirably. While he had admired both the Geisler soldiers and her. Sylvan could not help but grimace. The knights could've had their way with her, humiliate her, rape her or whatnot, but they did not as such sylvan stayed his sword hand. They had offered her the gift of a swift death.

However he had a gnawing feeling that it would've been better if they had killed her the moment they saw her on the barn, rather than display her impending doom infront of the townspeople and lord. For now everyone felt obligated to do something, even him. He knows not the story between the two warring factions, but she had no will to fight, she can be taken as a hostage and be exchanged for whatever they can think of, but no they had to execute her--to show an example? To exude dominance and to spread fear? Aye, acceptable tactics in war, his home country the Philippines had fallen and experienced the same tactics as well.

Once again the past had come back to haunt him, it wasn't long ago that his people (the earthlings) were helpless and just wanted to live, and yet the damned Nyanquins of M'hirr had them kill each other and fight in the pits. He has no stake, but his experiences and being able to relate to the woman was what made him want to spur into action. But he knew, he could not endanger the people just because he had no stake in this. The executioner raised his blade and momentarily looked at him.

Was it a challenge? Did he expect him to stop him, did he not like the action he was to do for his kingdom? Sylvan did not know. He had resolved himself to bear the guilt and the shame of letting the helpless die for the greater good of the many. Vhetlaug's fate lay on his shoulders and it was one thing he did not carry lightly. Things would take a turn for the worse when the town lord lost his composure and assaulted the knight out of pride.

Sylvan sighed heavily.

From the frying pan and into the fire itself. he thought.

He watched the whole event unfold, and took note of their behaviours, listening intently. When all was said and done, Liza merely looked at him, and Sylvan looked back unflinching yet unsure why. And then it hit him.

The town was doomed no matter what, they could simply execute her outside and march back to clean the slight their lord had received. Now they were inevitably dragged into a war they can never win and yet he racked his mind to think of ways to get out of this. He alighted from his chocobo, giving up the high ground and walked towards the soldiers and spoke loudly as if he had no injury

Choice: Step in and Do Something

"Noble Knights of the Baron, lend me your ears! If she is from a noble house, then I offer a ransom in return for her freedom" He spoke unknowing that Baron was a name, he had thought it was a title but still it served to lift up their lord liege's name by adding THE before his name, meaning great respect.

"Your lord would be proud of your loyalty, but would you not honor him more by showing the people of this town his magnanimity? I apologize for the town lord's behavior, too many deaths had come to pass all in one day."

Sylvan hated talking and most importantly kissing ass, he was never the type to kiss ass. But he had to swallow part of his pride if he and the townspeople were to survive. He had hoped they would allow him to ransom her, for she was the town's last hope. She had caused this problem, therefore she must solve it...ALIVE and on their side.

"Accept coin paid in ransom, both as tribute to your baron and as a sign of goodwill and let the prisoner free, I ask of you"

And once again Sylvan found himself inside his mindscape as the arrows rained. He had stood motionless like a passenger in a car, watching everything unfold. Once again he was in the place of pure white snow. But one thing was for sure, he knew he wasn't in Vhetlaug or in the North of this world. The barren land of white was a place he knew all too well. However one thing had changed ever since he'd last been here, dreaming openly. The snow had stains reminiscent to dried blood and the snow that fell stopped, there were no winds as well.

Sylvan was puzzled, blood shouldn't have been there normally. Not that he was aware that it was the picture of his mind, he felt uneasy. His gaze would return upon reality however and infront of him Vhetlaug's only hope was shot by arrows because she was trying to stop the fighting. She coughed and her blood stained the ground as she looked at him one last time. Another one dead, and it was senseless. The City Lord was furious at him and had thrown his payment near his boot like he was dirt, but Sylvan merely looked at him. He understands that he may feeling undignified, and yet he couldn't help but scoff. Everything was just so chaotic...so useless.

He knelt infront of the slain woman and took the necklace that she had dropped.

Acquired Key Item: Soberano Family Memento (Necklace)

"You were foolish up until the end" he whispered. "And you have doomed us all"

"I do not know what you want me to do, it is beyond me...save for telling your family where you died...so senselessly." Sylvan finished as he stood up while holding the necklace in his hand. He had a mind to bury her, but then he realised it was unfair for the soldiers who had fallen as well, even the hunters he was it during the hunt and whose bodies may never be buried and only fed on by carrions. He didn't bury them why should he extend the courtesy to her? Not to mention his wounds still ache.

He looked at the fallen Liza and then back at the gates of Vhetlaug. He must speak with lord Clayden and talk some sense into him. If his city is to survive this incoming army's wrath, now that his gambit did not work as the person he had hoped to use to save them got killed by her own doing, he was to at least try one more time.

If Lord Clayden, then still rejects him. Then he would have no choice but to leave Vhetlaug to its fate. Pride if not discarded would be the biggest hubris of them all.

He had no stake in their affairs after all and he would not have one now. He knew nothing of this world, the places, even the map. All he knew came from simple conversations and observations. He would still return the memento her clan, but perhaps not personally anymore.

All he wanted to do was go North and perhaps avoid those who would chase him. He would not go out of his way to do a favor from a person that had doomed a city whole. Most especially a dead one. If she had lived, then Sylvan would've sent her riding back home to ask for reinforcements, but alas she died too soon and so foolishly.

Sylvan was vexed, he hated people who dragged others to their own problems, but what he hated more were people who were readily accepting of their fate without as much fighting against it.

Sylvan tied the necklace around his left wrist, he didn't want to risk losing the precious memento by merely placing it in his bag and he did not want to wear it around his neck as it would disrespect her memory. He knelt down and closed Liza's eyes, and offered a short prayer not only for the fallen rockfell soldier, but for all those who died that day as well. He turned around and his cloak was buffeted by the brisk wind flapping behind him, he put a hand over his chest. It still ached his broken ribs, but there were more important things than that right now. Namely, saving the city of Vhetlaug or save what could be saved from it. Sylvan took a deep breath steeling himself as he went towards the city once again.

It wasn't long until he found Lord Clayden in what seemed to be the city square where everything went on earlier. The lord's personal guards stopped him even though he said it was important, he was being turned away but Sylvan stood his ground. Soon enough his persistence paid off and Clayden turned around to face him, Sylvan remained quiet however and let the old man speak first, but what happened next surprised the young man, he was grabbed by the collar of his cloak and then headbutted--making him fall on the muddy ground.

Sylvan groaned in pain as he hit the ground,the headbutt was painful as Lord Clayden possessed strength that his appearance seemed to hide, but the force of impact on hitting the muddy floor made his chest hurt more than the physical assault thanks in no small part to the stone sword he carried as well. He slowly used his elbow and hand as anchor trying to stand up slowly.

Sylvan coughed as he was questioned with hostility. His face facing the ground his cloak, armor and clothes drenched.

"Is this how you treat those who want to help?" Sylvan asked the old man. "Your hunters are dead, and I am alive. You think that sits well with me?"

Sylvan groaned once again, as he pushed himself upwards, slowly standing up. He raised his head to face the much taller man.

"I wanted to help, but the plan I was gambling on failed as she died" Sylvan looked into the man's eyes. "But it doesn't mean I'll abandon this city, consider this an act to honor your hunters"