Ash. The Legends of the Nameless World. Progression Gamelit Story, Kirill Klevanski [great reads .TXT] 📗

“Blackbeard.”

“Yeah?”

“You fought a dragon before, didn’t you?”

Silence fell. Blackbeard, frozen, didn’t even bother to remove the comb from his beard. The stern look in his eyes reflected a momentary fright, which was soon replaced by sadness. That was how it usually was when you remembered something you’ve been trying very hard to forget.

“Alice,” Mary hissed, her eyes flashing angrily. “Now’s not the time or the place.”

The girl covered her mouth with her hand, aware that her innocent question had probably reopened some old wounds. “I... I’m sorry, Blackbeard.”

“Ah, it’s fine,” he replied with a shrug and removed the comb from his beard. Taking a sip of water, he looked longingly around the cave. “And you, Mary, calm down. There’s nothing wrong with questions. Well, I might as well tell you, the mood is suitable for a horror story by the fire. So, kids, want me to spin you a little tale for good night?”

The Stumps nodded reluctantly. They knew that Blackbeard had once traveled as a guard before joining the squad. It wasn’t exactly the same as being a mercenary, but it was close in meaning and spirit. Three or four years ago, he was invited by the Alliance of the Seven Guilds, who decided to go after a dragon and its riches. Blackbeard had never told this story before, but everyone knew that it didn’t have a happy ending.

The firelight danced in his dark eyes, and the play of shadows made his face look even more rugged and sadder than it was.

“I was called by an old friend, Rango the Fanged.”

“Isn’t that the one who spat in the duke’s face?” Lari asked.

“Yeah...” Blackbeard smiled. “That’s the one. He was a nutjob who performed all kinds of crazy stunts... But that’s not the point. I was young then, and... Esh, why are you looking at me like that?”

“Just... Forty isn’t that young...”

“I’m thirty-four!” Blackbeard roared.

Ash choked on his water and waved away the help. Clearing his throat and wheezing, he looked at him and the rest of them in surprise. No one smiled, winked, or gave any indication that this was a joke.

“I told you that the beard makes you look older!” Mary giggled, which was more surprising than the fact that Blackbeard was actually in his thirties.

“Oh, come on!” He protested, stroking his beard. “Shall I continue, or do you wanna make fun of me some more?”

“Yes, go on!”

“Be quiet then!”

“But how—”

Alice put her hand over the mage’s mouth before he could say anything else. However, she jerked her hand back with a cry when Ash licked the inside of her palm.

“So,” Blackbeard continued, “there were about four hundred of us from all the seven guilds. They gathered in a week, took a short course on dragon slaying, and advanced with nothing but song and dance. Most of them were fresh out of school, still novices... There were only three masters, and even they weren’t that good. No one, of course, listened to the experienced fighters who kept repeating that a dragon can be more terrifying than an entire army of demons.” He paused to drink again, wiped his lips with his sleeve, and grimaced as if someone had replaced his water with tart wine. “It took us half a month to reach the lair. We were so disorganized... People were promised so much coin that everyone rushed to battle without a second thought... And he... He...” He waved his hand and turned away. “My task was to keep the left flank, but I couldn’t hold it... I... I got scared and stepped back, and Fanged... Fanged died in the first wave. I didn’t even have time to blink when I was thrown back like ash in the wind... I barely remember anything after that... Screams, blood... Two huge yellow eyes... I remember running without looking back, leaving my weapon behind... Only seventy survived, but I was the only one who made it to the city. The rest died from their wounds on the way...”

Alice sniffed softly. The others were as white as the snow that circled the cavern walls. Many schoolboys, mouth agape and eyes wide, listened to the stories of experienced Ternites, about dragons, demons, monsters, and dreamed of gaining fame in a battle against one such creature. But, as history had shown, only few survived such an ordeal.

Only a thousand skilled and experienced adventurers, led by no less than a hundred masters, would be able to defeat a dragon. In the entire history of the nameless world, only one person had done something like that, but they had already become an exception for any rule that governed this world. And it was he now that listened to Blackbeard’s story.

As the rest of the Stumps laid out their sleeping bags, Ash stroked his staff thoughtfully, watching the magic flame dance. Once upon a time, he, too, had looked into a pair of huge, yellow eyes...

Chapter 49

10th Day of the Month of Afir, 312 A.D., Eastern Territory

A fter hundreds of battles, in which Ash played jump rope with death more than once, the mage had developed a sixth sense for danger. As soon as he noticed something unusual, he immediately entered the state of combat-readiness. A sense comparable only to that of an animal. It didn’t fail him this time either.

In a heartbeat, Ash was on his feet, a ray of sunlight dancing in his hands. The staff made of Aramia wood responded to his summons and poured out its fire magic. The mage looked like a snarling wolf, ready to leap. However, compared to his opponent, he wasn’t even a cub; but an ant, a speck of dust in the sand.

At first he thought he was dreaming and that he was trapped in some horrid nightmare, but after a moment, when the heat