Chapter 147 - 148
He’d never met such a serious child in his life, though he couldn’t blame him. One look at the kid’s eyes had told him exactly who Alistar’s parents had been, let alone the fact that he now lived with the bookish lord of Distan. His disciple’s obsession with swordsmanship, with gathering knowledge and practicing the arcane was surely related to the life he’d led prior to his arrival at Caedmon’s household, which was precisely the reason why Tramon was so hard on him. Even if he wanted to live a peaceful life, it was inevitable that Alistar would have to face many terrible trials in the future, a fact that had been proven by the death of the poor lass that had worked at the lord’s manor up until a short while ago. Alistar had yet to even step foot on Loyarrian soil and he already had relatives that were trying to kill him.
Despite the boy’s predicament, Tramon was of the mind that so long as he matured into an adult without any mishaps, the schemes of those that might plot against him wouldn’t proceed as smoothly as their devisers might hope. Even though Tramon had been excessively drunk, the fact that the boy had managed to cut off the tip of his cane—and with a wooden practice sword, no less—wasn’t something to be ignored.
In all his years, he had never seen a youth that could use swordsman’s aura like Alistar, who could now manipulate the internal power source on the same scale as a top-tier adept. Such skills were unheard of within this kingdom, which said a lot considering that Civus was a realm where both swordsmen and their craft flourished more than in almost any other region on the continent.
It’d probably be best to give him a couple more stripes, he thought, suspecting that holding off any longer would only encourage the boy to take drastic measures in pursuit of higher credentials.
"I should’ve just stayed retired," he grumbled, spotting the distant, moonlit walls that surrounded Distan County with his infamously keen eyes.
He couldn’t wait to get home and lay down on his own bed. Perhaps he’d try reading the book on magic crystals that Alistar had left there the last time that he’d visited, a droning work that would surely see him asleep within a matter of minutes.
Another breeze brushed past, this one carrying with it the faint scent of blood and burnt hair. Smelling this, Tramon froze on the spot and narrowed his eyes, honing his senses on the road up ahead.
To the northwest?
Whatever the source of the foreboding scents, it originated from roughly 2,600 paces to the west of the county’s southern entrance. Struck by a bad feeling, Tramon trusted his reliable instincts and took off at a rapid run, easily a match for the useless horse that he’d abandoned a few days back.