Worries Amidst Relief

Atop a small hill stood a mighty stone fortress. Its walls were ten meters tall whilst the large towers at each corner of its hexagonal base were easily double that height. Central to the structure was an inner hold with four equally tall and imposing towers. A steadfast iron gate marked the entrance to the castle, manned by several guards in plate armour and with a variety of armaments from short-swords to maces to polearms.

From their vantage point, the guards could look out upon the vast pastures and fields that painted the land an impressive golden-yellow. Here and there, small huts made of logs and, in some scarce places, stone bricks, were dotted. People seemed to come and go from their homes with smiling faces and springs in their step. They toiled in the fields all day, no easy task to be sure. Despite that, they retained a gleeful optimism that brought a smile to the guards faces.

"Hey, I was thinking. When was the last time there was any trouble here?" one especially tall and young guard asked his companion.

"Hmmm, I'm not sure. The local dungeon is managed by the Guilds in Mireberg and hasn't seen an outbreak in ten years I think, or maybe it was twelve? The few hunters in the village keep all the wild animals at bay, and the Lord retains friendly relations with all the other local nobles. As for the Voro," the shorter, more rotund man paused, a mocking smile growing on his face,

"Well, no-one's spotted one for what, three or four centuries? They may as well be a myth."

Sighing, the taller guard couldn't help but wonder in appreciation,

"How does the Lord do it? From what I heard from my cousin, the next region over is plagued with dungeon breaks and abominations running amuck constantly. How can there be such a difference?"

The short man took one hand from his halberd and scratched his long greying beard peeking through the opening in his helmet,

"I could mention a few things, like how it's because of our location. Our border with the Kiro mountain range makes us defensible. Or I could say it's because of the Lord's trusted advisors who help maintain diplomacy and trade with the other regions. But really, that's not the main reason."

The young guard turned to face his senior in puzzlement,

"Then what is?"

Turning back to face his companion, the older man grinned heartily,

"Power. Plain and simple. Do you know how strong the Lord is? I mean, what are you? Rank 2, maybe 3?"

Asking such a question was very personal and not the kind one would usually answer openly. However, the two had guarded the castle together for a few years now and built a good rapport. The youngster treated the short man as a trusted mentor, and didn't mind telling him.

"Rank 2 Level 7. I've been trying to push towards Rank 3 but unless I take some time off and go to the dungeon at Mireberg, I barely have any chance of levelling up. There's just nothing worth fighting around here" the young man sulked despairingly.

"Trust me kid, I get it. Just going from Rank 2 to Rank 3 took me the better part of five years, and I'm stuck at this Rank even now, at my age. Doesn't that just make it even crazier then," he paused, building anticipation, "that Lord Clark is at Rank 7."

The young man felt a bombshell go off in his head. Rank 7. 7! That made him as strong as most Marquises. So what was he doing in this backwater region, far from the Capital, and with only the title of Baron no less? That made no sense at all!

"Hahahahaha," the stout man chuckled at his friend's bewilderment, "I know what you're thinking. It's kind of an open secret around here. Supposedly, Lord Clark had some sort of disagreement with Duke Clarington."

Those words only added to the man's confusion. Duke Clarington? But there was no Duke Clarington; the only Claringtons were the...

As realisation hit the young man, his eyes dilated like saucers and his spine shivered in shock.

His reaction only made the older man burst out again into rapturous laughter again.

"Clarington....as in, King Clarington?" the youngster gulped.

"The one and only. Of course, he was just a Duke back then. From what I heard, the two used to be good friends, fighting on the frontlines against rival kingdoms and such. But something came between them, although I'm not sure what. In the end, Clarington became King whilst Lord Clark ended up here" he chuckled.

The man could barely contain his astoundment. He had always known that his Lord was powerful. Just his presence alone when he visited the Guard Captain once had made him freeze in fear and respect. And yet, he had thought the Lord was maybe high Rank 5, perhaps low Rank 6 at a push. But no, he was far, far stronger.

The man's thoughts thundered wildly as he realised why things were so safe around here. After all, who would dare to cause trouble with a Rank 7 around? Just the thought of some bandits attacking the town in ignorance made the guard feel pitiful for them.

Suddenly,however, the duo were brought out of their revelry by an ear-piercing shriek, coming from the castle. They weren't concerned though as this was but one of many that had stung their ears over the last day and night.

"It looks like the birth is a tough one. I hope the Lady pulls through, for Lord Clark's sake" the young man prayed quietly. His companion said nothing but gave a nod in agreement.

- - - - -

A window was open at the top of one of the towers of the inner hold. Peeking through the window revealed a small but elegantly decorated bedroom. A large canopy bed dyed with red fabrics and contrasting black wooden pillars was central to the room. Facing the bed, the walls featured a broad painting of a serene mountain landscape surrounded by sprawling meadows. A refined vanity, drawers and carpets also filled the room, but they were not the main attraction.

Atop the bed was a woman, her face contorted in pain and frustration. Her hair was auburn, drenched in sweat, and frayed. Eyes tightly shut; her teeth clenched from the pain. Only a light white garment covered her generous figure, sticking to her skin from hours of sweat. Comforting, her outstretched hand was being clasped tightly by a handsome man.

His hair was tied into a long ponytail and jet-black, seeming to absorb the surrounding light. The man's chiselled facial features were marred with concern and even fear, something many people would find hard to believe. His pair of eyes, like dark abysses, were fixed on the woman's strained face as he urged,

"You are doing so well Maria. Please hold on a little longer. Our boy will be here soon."

His words seemed to bring the woman some brief comfort as she managed to squeeze out a short smile before being plunged back into agony.

The rest of the room was not empty. Several women in servant's clothing attended the poor woman's every need. Fresh towels were soaked in water and placed upon her forehead. A senior woman talked with her every second, encouraging her to keep pushing.

An oddity amongst the room; however, was a young man, appearing no older than twelve. He had short, spiky white hair and glistening blue eyes. With one hand facing the woman, he continually muttered under his breath. His words seemed to urge the movement of a strange power as his white robe fluttered madly and the servants avoided getting too close. A peculiar glow surrounded the woman's figure and appeared to seep into her skin. With each second that passed, the screaming eased until all that could be heard was ragged breathing.

Standing and approaching the boy, the dark-haired man sighed in relief,

"Thank you for your help, Cain, I don't know what we would've done without you. I owe you one."

To his words the boy craned his head until his eyes met the man's and a cheesy grin spread across his face.

"It was my pleasure, anything for an old friend," the boy winked playfully.

Those words seemed to hold conflicting feelings for the man as he forced out an awkward smile.

"So can you tell me what's wrong with her?"

The question made the boy's features drop in an instant. A gloomy shadow fell over his face as he seemed to age decades in a short moment. The man also grew serious at the reaction. If this old monster had such a reaction, it couldn't be anything good.

Looking around nervously, the boy beckoned with a finger for the man to come closer until he was bent down almost parallel to the ground. Whispering in the man's ear, the boy warned,

"The issue isn't Maria's but the boy's. He has some of the strongest Death energy I've ever seen. Even Liches don't compare."

Given such a comparison, the man understood the gravity of the situation and his features crumpled in anguish.

The Liches were powerful existences. Living sorcerers who forsook the Gift of the Gods and embraced Death energy. Using it, they forfeited most of their original powers but instead, gained immortality. With extremely dangerous procedures, they could split their souls, hiding them in a phylactery: a kind of special container. As long as they remained hidden and intact, they could suffer entire body obliteration and, given enough time, could make a full recovery. Despite giving up the Gift, each Lich could fight toe-to-toe with a Rank 7 whilst still possessing unparalleled vitality.

Cain was trying to suggest that his unborn son, not even old enough to pick up a sword or receive the Gift, was stronger than a Rank 7?

"That's ridiculous Cain. How could the boy match up to a Lich without even being born?" the man's gaze turning stern.

Raising his hands in the air, the boy explained,

"Don't misunderstand. The boy's Death energy is off the charts yes, it was so strong that even my life energy struggled to supress it. That being said, whether the boy will be able to use the power or not will be seen. Right now, during birth, the energy is flaring up subconsciously, but it should quickly settle down now that I've helped. You have to be very careful, Winston. If people get wind of his abilities, things will not end well for you" the boy asserted firmly.

The man gritted his teeth but nodded. He knew well the treatment that those with Death energy received. After all, he himself had killed countless such beings.

Looking at his dear wife and thinking of their future son, Winston couldn't help but worry. Maybe the energy would settle down as he got older, and things would solve themselves. He desperately wanted that to be true, but he doubted things would be so easy. He had learnt on several occasions that things often ended up more difficult than they first seemed, but very rarely were they easier.

Worries ran rampant in his mind, dreading the worst. Despite that, conviction ran through Winston's mind as he affirmed himself.

It didn't matter how difficult things got or what price he had to pay. He would protect his son. He would make sure he didn't stray from the right path. He would make him into a strong and good man.

With those thoughts, he returned to his wife's side. Everyone present worked diligently to ensure things went smoothly, but after Cain's intervention, there was little that needed doing. A few hours later, their child finally came into the world, much to Maria's relief.

Eventually, the room cleared. Only the parents remained as Maria was cuddled into Winston's arms and their new son into hers. With tender eyes, the duo watched the boy look around curiously in his new environment.

His head was bald but tiny black hairs could be seen trying to sprout from his scalp. Eyes, dark and beautiful, just like his father's. His facial features seemed to resemble a mix between both of his parents. The boy cooed from time to time in glee at the two giants' funny expressions.

"What shall we call him?" the man whispered lovingly into his wife's ear.

Smiling broadly, the pale woman replied,

"I know just the name," her eyes fixed affectionately on the boys,

"Nox. Nox Clark."

The man smiled,

"It's a good name."