ALL NOVEL Chapter-172 History
A dying shockwave from the city rustled the wisteria flowers, the creek rippled, the tremor rattled the table and the glasses, and the rumbling soundwave followed soon. Across the garden, through the dense trees of the mountain, the shadow of a mushroom cloud rose above, with a ring of dust spiraling around. The intensity was beyond any Kyron or a Step-0 Asheva, this was the result of a Step-1’s rage.
The Governor wiped the spilled water and folded the cloth before putting it on the side. “His impulses are his biggest enemy, I hoped he would get better as he got older, but it’s turning out to be my wishful thinking.”
“Should I go over and help?” Ewan asked, glancing at the dispersing dust cloud far away. The attack must’ve wiped a chunk off the city, skyrocketing the death count. Even at Step-1, Kiev behaved like a child, breaking his toy when things didn’t go his way.
Though Ewan couldn’t contribute anything in this scenario that other Step-1 Severynths couldn’t, spoken words and the intent was still necessary to maintain the façade of concord.
The Governor shook his head and tapped his ring that barely hung on his loose skin. “Go take care of the mess, keep the body count to a minimum.” A cardinal-red shadow shuttled out of the ring, flitted past the garden, threaded the forest, and soared above the city, leaving a burnt and ripped trail in its wake. It unfurled its bony wings, shading the sun, and it roared, strings of drool coating its fangs, and its thorny tail rowing the wind—it was a Fire Wyvern.
Ewan gaped at the scaly creature far off in the sky, breathing down a rain of fire, and peeked at the nonchalant Governor. The Governor was never a Severynth, he walked a different path of Asheva—a Cerade, most likely—and had just tamed his Astylinds, imitating the Severynth’s ways. Alas, the core of a Severynth didn’t lie in taming the Astylinds but using the feedback from them to advance their path. Unless the Governor restarted from scratch, he couldn’t copy it. And his age wouldn’t give him that chance.
“Do you know the history of Drarith? Or of Ashocan?” the Governor asked.
“I’ve read the books, but I presume they’re wrong,” Ewan said.
“The ambiguity caused that error. The onslaught of the Astylinds ruined the kingdom’s already rusted structure, but its essence survived. And after the restoration, it thrived with a different name, Ashocan became Ashkaan,” he said, staring off into the distance, his eyes wavering.
“Four families ruled Ashocan before, and they also ruled Ashkaan at its peak. The crowned royalty always came from one of us. Morinfair was at our doorsteps, its resources were ours to use as we pleased, we controlled the trades, and we all prospered together. When the kingdom fell, it was the Radon family’s turn, but they gave birth to a monster, we were powerless against him….and he rose to the throne. I was a young man back then, not any older than you, and now I’m already an old man waiting for my last breath, how the time has passed…” He closed his eyes and only the wyvern’s distant howls rang for seconds, with the screams and cries of death trickling in.
“We feared the monster, so we betrayed the Radons and reclaimed the power. And the tool we used for that was the church and the slave rebellion.” When he finally broke the silence, his eyes didn’t falter anymore, and he looked out towards the city with a deadpan gaze. “Do you think today is our retribution?”
“It’s more likely that the other two families are using the same trick again to take Drarith, sir,” Ewan said.
“The Finnegan family is dead too, now only we and the Valbergs remain,” the Governor said.
The name ‘Finnegan’ jolted Ewan’s memories, his thoughts clashed, and the dots connected. His intuition gave him a glimpse of the conclusion, and it hinted at the cave. All the chaos, all the deaths, and the endless war, it was all for something in that cave. The Governor fished for it, Rainwald Finnegan sneaked in through the cracks, and the Valberg family waged war. The pawns at the bottom rung wondered what the bloodshed achieved in the end, while the puppet masters played their games.
“We were the initiators of that treachery, and we are also the survivors. We know the consequences of using religion to incite a rebellion, its pure carnage. This slave uprising is not the Valbergs’ doing, they wouldn’t risk it. That old scrooge used the church at the start, but it always was someone else’s weapon, and the Valbergs are also suffering the backlash now.”
“Sir, if I may ask, what is it that you’re all looking for?” Ewan asked.
The gate banged open, the door-slab smacked the wall and shook, and Kiev rushed in, his eyes red and tearing up.
“Grandpa! Make her shut up, I can't take it anymore, please…” He fell before the Governor, clutching his head, and sobbed with his head buried in his chest.
“Did you take the potion?” the Governor asked.
“It’s not working,” Kiev said, his voice dimming down.
The Governor sighed and took out a knife. “Here,” he said. “Make it quick, we have a guest over.”
Kiev grabbed the knife, fumbled with the grip, and stabbed the Governor in his heart. He took the blade out and shanked again, and again, and again…
Streaks of blood splattered on the table, some drops fell into the glass, and the wine-red gradually dissolved into the water. When he stopped, when the blood-soaked knife thudded on the wooden floor, all that remained of the ruckus was Kiev’s animalistic growls, Ewan’s speechless confusion, the Governor’s callous expression, and a bloodied glass of water.
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