Girl With The Golden-Cat Eyes 13 Onward, Into The New World 3

They also hadn't bothered to warn him that this plague of an extended family member was coming out, but lucky enough, he managed to blend into a group of soldiers resting after the terrible battle.

Nothing, however, could have been done when he stormed back. Like always, his non-existent dignity had been insulted and he was going to rain fury about whomever it was. Now he had to listen to his rant while being a.s.saulted by the stench of the dead. Randol only stared at him with tired and resigned eyes. He was tired, hungry, and d.a.m.n it, why did he have to deal with this blight upon the empire?

Unlike this pariah, Randol held the beliefs of the Imperial Family close to his heart, and while he may have... deviated from his duties slight, he was not s.e.xual deviate who desired the young and wasn't above cradle s.n.a.t.c.hing.

And where were the ladies who had earned his ire? His eyes turned to the only cleared corner within the bailey. They both stood there gathering a few pieces of dried meat to munch on, alongside Desmond and Mai. Cyril was the only one who wasn't attempting to make herself inconspicuous. She stood out among the beaten and filthy soldiers who were all too pleased to let her get her cut of the rations first. h.e.l.l, they were practically trying to hand her theirs.

Randol had to suppress a groan as a.s.sem finally noticed when she had let out a songbird-like laugh. Two of the larger soldiers were acting like fools and attempted to show off by picking up a barrel of ale. He may have been able to do so if he was in a normal state. He was weary from battle and tired, thus, the barrel swayed before he lost hold of it. It fell off and broke against one of the bench tables and shattered. Ale rushed over the table before it splattered over a soldier who was resting on the bench.

It probably would have ended in a fistfight if the lady hadn't broken out in laughter. Soon, everyone was laughing and the bulky soldier apologized to the other in embarra.s.sment.

"You there!" a.s.sem's roar stilled the laughter as he strode over, sighing maid in tow. "You b.i.t.c.h! You think you can just--" The Earl's hung flung backward as a thick wooden mug exploded across his face, smas.h.i.+ng his nose.

All eyes looked to the now unconscious n.o.ble, then to Cyril. The action had been swift and had taken them by surprise. She had grabbed a mug off a table next to her and flung it at the man.

This time, the maid broke out in laughter.

× ♥ ×

Priscilla clung to Cyril's left arm as the G.o.ddess held onto the s.h.i.+re horse's reins. The rustle of the dirt beneath its hooves that only thing that disturbed the deathly silence that hung over the group. While her arm was fair, soft, and almost too feminine, it felt more rea.s.suring than a thousand knights could ever feel. The warmth, the tend pat with her other hand.

The visions returned with a vengeance, and they all felt it.

The dead. Each student, each knight... Each goblin. When they had first mounted up onto the horses left at the stables at the edge of the forest, they had all been fine. It was only once the entrance had long disappeared did the visions strike. The beginning was like a murderous monsoon of hate and death, as all their dead walked out from behind each tree. As blood began to drip from the leaves onto them, so warm... So... Real.

It had only lasted a few seconds before Cyril could react, but it had done its wish. They were all terrified. Randol was still pale and shook slightly on his mare. He kept his eyes on the horse's mane, careful to only look up to once and a while. Desmond kept his eyes on his brother's back, and Mai... The poor beast girl clung to Desmond's chest, still crying. It became apparent that Mai was not as mentally strong as they all thought. It had caught her off guard, her mind not prepared for the brutal and harsh scenes it slammed her with.

Priscilla... She shook like a leaf, but after Cyril had fought that dragon for them. She did not cry. She felt the fear deep in her bones. Down to her very being, but she had grown today. She had seen a dragon and saw its end. She would coward, but she would not turn - so she told herself; and for the next five miles, Cyril spent every waking moment, like a vigilant hawk, tearing apart any wisps of static. While winter was coming, the air around the small line of horses felt like summer as her anger stabbed, torn, and obliterated them when she found them.

For five miles... the curse and Cyril played a dangerous game of Cat and Mouse.

After two painful hours and five miles, they brought through the treeline and plots of farmland welcomed them. Sunlight kissed them, and the visions had no other place to erupt from. Maybe on the treeline, but that would be a waste of its mana. Something that had been nearly drained as it tried to fulfill its mission and Cyril would rip it apart. She had also learned had to consume mana, thus, for every ten attempts, Cyril could completely destroy seven of them and deal a blow to the curse on each of them.

She wasn't sure if that was how curse-breaking worked, because she didn't actually write that part of the lore. Jax had. He had a knack for being the "good guy", even when he wasn't, but that was in the past and Cyril pushed the memories down into the depths of her heart. She had to remind her self not to think of home because home was pain.

She had to focus on the now. At least, until she sorted her situation out first. Unlike before, she was sure she would have time to do it.

"There it is!" Priscilla finally chirped. "Quinn's Wood. It is the way-point between the Northern Keep and the Gully Point."

"Gully point?" Cyril forced a chuckle. "What kind of name is that?"

"Its a port," Priscilla said. "It's a hub between the western border and the empire. It's quite a popular city."

"Is there anything between Quinn and Gully?" Cyril asked.

"A lot of hamlets," Priscilla muttered. "The northern lands are not well thought off in the Empire. It's too close to the forest. A lot of monsters roam up here. The south is quite peaceful, so you'll mainly find adventurers up here more so than commoners. Knights also come up north to test their mettle against the stronger monsters too."
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"Hmm." Cyril mused. "I see. Where would a dragon fall on the scale of monsters these people fight?"

Priscilla turned around and stared into the maiden's lovely molten eyes. She examined each of her eyes, perplexed. "Really...?" Priscilla said after a few moments of just jumping from each eye to another. It had been so amusing, that Cyril's anger had simmered at it and she chuckled for real.

"Yes!" Cyril's voice rose in joyful defense. "Dragons weren't the biggest baddies before. There were tens of bosses to fight, and dragons were only a small portion of the lineup!"

"By the sun!" Priscilla exclaimed. "She's not joking!"

Slowly, but surely, the darkness had pa.s.sed as they stepped foot into a small piece of civilization.

Quinn's Woods was a large village with a population of just under five hundred. In Cyril's eyes, that was a d.a.m.n town! Desmond had to point out that there was no real set number to be defined by, only whatever the central government deemed them to be. Quin's Wood was only labeled a village, and probably would always be labeled as such. The village had only grown from a hamlet by the road and into what it was nearly only ten years ago. There was a need to have a waypoint for the constant flow of goods and human resources as Quinn's Woods was sat on a vital crossroad.

Before Desmond could go on about the historical facts of the quaint little settlement, Mai shoveled a spoonful of mashed potatoes into his mouth. She no longer avoided the shadows, but she also made sure to stay in the light. As such, they sat around the largest table the only tavern in town had. While the village had a huge population, the town was quiet and alone bard who strummed a lazy, but catchy tune as he sat on a table pressed up against the large tavern wall.

A few women pa.s.sed by with buckets in hand, and a few even eyed Randol with bashful stares just before they reeled at the sight of Mai. None of them paid any mind to them as wooden plates of roasted duck and venison were laid out before them. The tavern's owner personally brought out slightly cold mugs of mead that, while bitter, was okay to Cyril. When in Rome, do as the Roman's do. Unless... Well, use your head in that regard she thought.

She sipped at the mug sparingly, aware that she hadn't felt the urge to eat, or do any of the other... bodily functions the others had to do. Not that she didn't appreciate not having to crouch behind bushes. It made her wonder what would happen if she did eat. She ripped a leg off the whole duck and nibbled on it. The taste was flat, and a small pink tongue ejected the small morsel she had chewed.

"I-Is something wrong with the duck..." The tavern owner seemed to have materialized out of thin air, the group unaware that he was just off the side hoping none of the high-born patrons would be offended by his humble cooking.

"It tastes... flat," Cyril responded, her golden eyes rose to meet the man.

"Err..." He looked to the others at the table.

"It's acceptable," Desmond said as he finished a sip of his mead, his love only nodded in agreement.

"Food is food," Randol said as he sat up, his eyes fell on Cyril.

"What?" Cyril looked confused at why he was looking to her.

"What's... flat about it?" Randol asked, not intending to fight, but purely out of curiosity. It was far better than a soldier's ration on a battlefield, but it was certainly far below the palette of a n.o.ble.

"I..." She bit her defensive retort and just stated how she felt. "I was just expecting the food to taste... more spectacular...."