Chapter 37: A Friendly Warning

Chapter 37: A Friendly Warning

Gare took Belle out for a walk, the father-daughter pair strolling along the streets, where reconstruction had begun following the recent collapse.

"A major brothel collapsed; rebuilding it will cost a pretty penny," Gare stroked his chin thoughtfully, "I truly feel for them."

"Borg should compensate for this," Fitch, jumping down from the rubble, glanced at Gare and touched the sword at his waist. "You ought to pay!"

"Hands off, I'm just out walking the baby," Gare lifted Belle. "Why should Borg pay? Half of this was Taber's doing. Be reasonable; this was none of our business to start with."

"This is not a place for you to be," Fitch stood five meters away from Gare. "Bastards are not welcome here. If you hadn't rashly entered, Taber wouldn't have acted."

"I'm really tired of you throwing that word around," Gare said. "His name is Borg. Call him by his name, don’t make me repeat myself."

Fitch, stepping on a stone and surrounded by the people of Violet, provocatively said, "I'll call him a bastard because that's what he is—a bastard."

"Alright, splendid, very brave of you," Gare chuckled and rolled up his sleeves, "You carrot-skin! I'm going to turn you into tomato juice! You better pray your brother arrives in time! Damn it!"

Forgive the Demon Lord's lack of vocabulary when it comes to swearing; verbal sparring was, for him, an unprecedented experience.

Belle encouraged with a "puff puff" sound.

"Is that so? Come on, come at me now," Fitch scoffed, "You little dwarf! Are you even grown up, brat? Look at your frail..."

Suddenly, Fitch was hoisted into the air, his feet leaving the ground before he could react, and with a great flip in the air, Gare slammed him to the ground, halting his words.

"Continue your speech," Gare, gripping Fitch's left ankle, dragged him along the ground like hauling rubbish. "A little dwarf? Yes, I'm not very tall, but I quite like my height. Any more objections? I hate repeating myself, especially to fools!"

Fitch was thrown so hard that his stomach churned, clutching the ground as he nearly vomited, "Stop... stop it! I am... I..."

"Stop?" Gahr mimicked Borg's ruthlessness, "You seem to enjoy it, so let's continue."

Fitch's sword remained sheathed; he felt his entire back crying out in agony, unable to withstand the brutal impact of the gravity slam.

"What are you doing!" The guard hastily drew his sword, "Stop it! Fugitive!"

"I'm educating the youngster." Gahr dragged Fitch up, lifting him, "Don't interfere! You're spitting blood? Swallow it back! Bloodstains are hard to wash out of robes. Listen, don't underestimate strangers, I've been wanting to beat you up for a long time! We won't pay a dime; you should ask Taber for compensation, go cry to your big brother, you sniveling worm! Crybaby! Tomato juice! Don't ever call Borg a bastard again, it's annoying and dull, call him by his name, got it? If I hear you call him that again, I'll slam you into a meat patty, mix it with hot sauce, and eat it, I'm serious!"

Dangling upside down, Fitch was truly on the verge of vomiting. He struggled and suddenly saw something, shouting, "Big brother! This guy has kidnapped me!"

"You're not worth kidnapping." Gahr flung him away, "Hey, hello, Taber."

Taber glanced over Fitch, turning to Gahr, "You've got more guts than Borg, perhaps that's why you're together? A pair of outlaws."

"There are too many reasons why we're together." Gahr gathered his young back into his arms, "Do I look like an outlaw? I've always thought I look quite obedient. You want Borg to compensate? Impossible, we won't pay a gold coin for this place, because it's not his fault."

"Who would expect a robber who twists words to take responsibility?" Taber's clean hands picked up the violet badge that Fitch had dropped, wiping off the dust, "You are a cancer to the kingdom, I won't let you pass."

"But you can't kill Borg either." Gahr said, "Why not let him go and pass the trouble to someone else? Unless you want to trap him for a lifetime."

"A lifetime." Taber lifted his head, "He won't live that long."

He really looked like Shago, but utterly lacked Shago's hooliganism, becoming stern and strict, even his speech never fluctuated too much. Gahr thought he had taste, very masculine indeed.

"Usually when people say 'damn', the opponent doesn't die. Your curses won't kill him, he looks fine, I hope he lives to two hundred, or even longer." Gahr said, "He's healthy and strong."

"In this world, the strong often die first," Taber said.

"Like Shago," Gahr said, "isn't that right?"

"There are too many examples," Taber frowned slightly, "What are you doing here?"

"Just taking a stroll. Relax, I said relax. You're always gripping your blade; your guard is too high." Gahr fished out a candy from his pocket and handed it to the somewhat impatient Bell, "Also, I'm here to inquire about something."

"You seek intelligence from me," Taber deduced sharply, "or perhaps to analyze weaknesses."

"I have no interest in you, and I certainly don't want to hit on you, so drop the talk about studying weaknesses, it's cliché." Gahr said, "I just want to know, how many puppet sorcerers are you keeping here? Here's a piece of advice, no matter how long you've been doing it, you'd better stop immediately. These guys seem to be frantically searching for strong bodies. Don't delude yourself into thinking you can control them; that's their forte, and they'll bite back. Continuing down this road won't bode well for your people."

"You're referring to the Sorcerers' Alliance," Taber's thumb gradually loosened, "We never deal with sorcerers."

"...Is that so." Gahr mused, "Then you'd better spread some of your vigilance to your rear."

"Sowing discord is also cliché," Taber said, "Hasn't Borg told you our principles?"

"He might have forgotten to mention that," Gahr replied, "I'm quite curious, actually."

"Never betray, never compromise," Taber slipped Fitch's badge back into his pocket, "We are the Violet, we never turn our blades on our own. Winter is coming, and you should consider how to survive here. Don't think your pass will be foolproof; the world changes in the blink of an eye."

"We'll be leaving soon," Gahr hoisted Bell onto his shoulder, "Honestly, your city gates may seem sturdy, but they can be shattered with one punch... they're too thin. Let's go, Bell, it's time to return, to find your..."

"What exactly are you trying to convey to me?" Taber said, "Stranger."

"Take good care of your Dawnblade, and watch your back," Gahr said, "Son of Shago, your greatest enemy will never be Borg."

"You're making excuses for him," Taber turned away, "Don't think your words can shake my resolve to guard you."

"Suit yourself," Gahr replied, "I don't care what fools do, my goodwill goes no further. If you insist on keeping your eyes on Borg, I can only say it's pointless, you can't kill him."

"I can," Taber said, "anytime I choose."

"You can't do it," Gahr turned back, his green eyes tranquil, "I said, as long as I'm here, no one can kill him."

Sunlight filtered through his fingers as Taber gripped the hilt of his knife.

A clear chill was carried on the wind.

Gahr returned to the inn with a bag full of candies, the sweetness so strong that even Borg could smell it across the table.

"Brush your teeth before bed," Borg warned.

"Then you'll need to remind me," Gahr flipped through the book borrowed from Vannie, "This story is bizarre. A Demon King that breathes fire? Not at all, that's a dragon's job. Besides, I think breathing fire with an open mouth looks silly, what if you have bad breath?"

"You should read something else. Don't they tell stories in the Abyss?" Borg was working on the mercenary group's accounts to prepare for negotiations.

"Forget it, do you think the Abyss is lively?" Gahr crinkled a candy wrapper, "The throne is built too high; once you sit up there, there's no one else, unless there's a meeting. Otherwise, it's just me."

"Sounds terrible," Borg said, "What do you do?"

"Play with birds," Gahr replied.

"Hm—?" Borg looked up, his gaze complex.

"Play—with Thornbirds," Gahr propped his chin, flicking the candy wrapper in front of him, "Basically, it's just playing with myself, very boring. Can't you look up more often? It's boring here too."

"Maybe I could join you," Borg said seriously, "Play with birds?"

"..." Gahr withdrew his hand.

"What about Sean? And the Serpent People?" Borg returned his gaze to the accounts, "You could ask the Hair-Curling Banshee to sing for you."

"They prefer to sing for Sean, that cursed charmer; he has those girls utterly infatuated. The Serpent People rarely leave the Wizen Forest; crossing the Lost Canyon is troublesome for them because the rough paths could hurt their scales. It's hot near the Abyss, and sitting on the throne for too long can make one's backside quite hot. Occasionally, Eno would fly over to play with me; he's a gentle soul, even though he's a dragon, he dislikes the heat too," Gahr squinted from the sunlight, "I rarely bask in the sun like this, going out is somewhat challenging for me."

"You call the shots there," Borg said, "Have them move the throne somewhere you can enjoy the sun."

"How many people do you think are in the Abyss?" Gahr said, "Only me. I'm too lazy to bother."

Borg paused again, looking at Gahr, "Shago said the Abyss is dangerous, monsters abound."

"Then he's a liar." Gahr leaned forward, looking at Borg, "And the Abyss isn't under my command."

"You are the Demon King," Borg stated.

"I am the Demon King," Gahr said with a hint of disdain, "A Demon King isn't a true god. Don't listen to Vannie's tales; those are just stories. If I were a true god, I'd be living in the realm of gods, surrounded by beautiful goddesses. I'm the Demon King, and I belong only to the Abyss."

"There's a mistake here," Borg lifted his head slightly, "You belong to me. Did you go see Taber this morning to compliment his 'flavor'?"

"It was a warning, telling him to stay away from you," Gahr smiled, "Since you're my prey too, you should belong only to me. Hunting games are coolest with two players, don't you think?"

"Absolutely fantastic," Borg looked at him, "Just you and me."

"Biting each other," Gahr revealed his small sharp teeth to Borg, "I want to do many things with you."

"We have a lot to do," Borg's pen touched Gahr's lips, "Regardless of whether the game ends, we can do anything, anytime. You're tempting me again, Gahr."

"Unintentionally," Gahr said without a hint of apology, "You don't seem to be moved. Maybe I should teach you about 'love.' Have you ever had your heart flutter, whether for a girl or a boy? Poor Borg, always mistaking competitive spirit for..."

Borg leaned in and kissed him.

"Your heart's beating fast," Borg said, licking his lips as he pulled away, "Do you still need to teach me, Professor Gahr?"

Gahr buried his head, and after a long moment, he raised his hand and gestured the middle finger he had just learned at Borg.

Their ears were all flushed red.