Chapter 320: 303. Adam’s Request

“Hello,” Adam said, awkwardly. He was staring at the extended family of the Rot, many of whom he had only met once or twice before. There was also an Iyrman who held a baby, one who was younger than even Lanarot. The baby was carried in one arm, half of the babe within the large pocket of the Iyrman’s top.

‘Why are there so many people here?’ Adam wasn’t that close with most of them, and had expected only a handful of Iyrmen to be in the estate, considering there was work to be done.

“You’ve finally come,” Jarot said, motioning a hand for Adam to come with his one good arm. Churot was beside him as he almost always was, the young teen staring at Adam with a blank look.

“I didn’t expect to see so many people,” Adam admitted, stepping up to the old Iyrman to shake his hand, only to find Jarot ruffling his hair instead.

“Why are you acting so shy to your grandfather?” Jarot asked, still ruffling Adam’s hair, chuckling lightly.

“Whose my grandfather?” Adam replied, pulling his head back, staring at the old man with the very same blank look Churot had given to him. “What’s with all the people?”

“We are here to celebrate both of my grandsons’ birthdays,” Jarot replied, simply. “Even if Jurot is not here, you can accept the celebrations and gifts on his behalf.”

“Is that how that works?” Adam was still not wholly used to the way of the Iyrmen, even after spending months with them.

“Normally we would not make such a party for a man who has turned nineteen, but since it is your first birthday in the Iyr, how can we miss it?” Jarot replied, simply, before greeting Sir Vonda. The Priest of Life had been invited to the party too, since it was her birthday, and she was both a Priest of Life and a member of the Order of Life’s Rose.

“Right,” Adam said, trying not to sound embarrassed. “I should introduce myself then.”

“They will come to you as we celebrate,” Jarot informed, motioning Adam and Sir Vonda to take a seat at a table nearby. “Turot, come,” the old man called, ruffling the boy’s hair.

Turot smiled as his hair was ruffled, before he noted the look on his grandfather’s face. He quickly darted away, but returned with a shield which was metal plated. It was about the size of Adam’s torso, and it was a deep red, the colour of fresh blood.

“What is this?” Adam asked as Turot stepped towards him with the shield in hand.

“It is my gift,” Turot said, standing a little taller. “It was given to me by grandfather when I was born.” He held it out to Adam.

Adam stared down at the shield, not daring to take it. “A red shield?” Something about it seemed familiar.

“It was the same shield I used when I was your age,” Jarot said.

‘Oh,’ Adam thought. ‘Right. I remember now.’ He recalled how a party in one of the towns had named themselves after the shield they had seen.

“Turot has decided to gift it to you.”

‘Isn’t that rude?’ Adam thought. “Can I accept this?”

Turot’s eyes seemed to be filled with great pride. “Yes,” the boy said, firmly. “You are strong, Cousin Adam. You always enchant axes, and they are very good, but you have not enchanted your shield.” He handed the shield to Adam. “Our family uses the axe and shield.”

“Right,” Adam said, taking the shield from the young boy. He understood the point, even if Turot was unable to verbalise it properly. The Rot family’s weapons were the axe and shield, and though Adam had given up using a sword, he sometimes only used an axe and emphasised the weapon over the shield.

The latch was quite sturdy, and he could feel the leather against his arm. It felt slightly lighter than he expected, so assumed the metal was quite thin over the wood and leather. The sun shone down against the shield’s metal, and for a moment Adam though it was made of bloodsteel, same as the scale that Damokan had given to him earlier in the day. Yet, it seemed far more familiar than bloodsteel.

“Is this… crimsonsteel?” Adam asked, tentatively.

“It is,” Jarot replied, nodding his head. “How did you know?”

“I’ve worked it before,” Adam said.

“When you returned,” Jarot said, nodding his head. He remembered how excited Jurot had been when he had worked with red oak.

Adam nodded, unstrapping the shield from his arm. “Thank you, Turot.” Adam ruffled the boy’s hair. “What a great Cousin I have.”

Turot’s nostrils flared as he smiled, nodding his head. “Yes,” he replied, simply, causing Adam to laugh. He then shuffled over to Sir Vonda, holding out a small scale made of wood for her.

“Since this is Turot’s gift, I hope that you have gotten me something since it’s my first birthday in the Iyr, old man,” Adam said, looking at the one armed Iyrman as he placed his shield to the side.

“This grandfather of yours has the best gift,” Jarot said, his eyes holding the most playful look. “I will return to you your Phantom.”

Adam stared at Jarot, raising his brows in surprise. ‘Are you trying to kill me?’ Adam raised a hand up to him. “I refuse.” He made a motion with his hand as though he was pushing the gift away from him, though Phantom was nowhere to be seen.

Jarot narrowed his eyes at his grandson. “You are going to deny my gift?”

“I don’t feel like dying any time soon,” Adam replied, letting loose a soft sigh. He had given up Phantom for a reason, and he wasn’t sure how the Great Elders would feel if he accepted Phantom back just like that. ‘They might really kill me if I act up.

“How can they complain if I gift it to you?” Jarot replied, though he understood just how much it would annoy them. It wouldn’t be the first time he had annoyed the Great Elders.

“Even if they don’t complain, I think I should stop starting fights with the Iyr. I still don’t have their trust, so I need to behave properly.” Adam shrugged his shoulders. “That means I can’t take back Phantom, no matter how much I miss my baby.”

“Then what am I to give you?” Jarot asked. He had half expected Adam to refuse the gift, and though he was ready to fight Adam on the matter, he understood the limits of his jokes. ‘Just like my grandson,’ he thought, smiling to himself.

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“I do have something in mind,” Adam said, before pausing.

“What is it?”

Adam hadn’t paused for dramatic effect. He looked down to the Devilkin Iyrman who always remained by his grandfather’s side, the teen who had lost his life to a Blue Dragon, and the life of his parents too. “I want to teach Churot.”

Jarot’s brows furrowed, and an uncomfortable silence passed between them. There were so many things Adam could have asked for, but this was not something the old Iyrman had expected. “What will you teach him?”

“I’ll teach him magic,” Adam said, causing the nearby Iyrmen to fall silent. Even Sir Vonda fell silent midway through speaking with Turot.

“You will teach him to become a Scribe Mage?” Jarot asked, calmly.

“Yes.”

Turot’s mother, Mirot, who Adam had beaten up before, exchanged a look with Sonarot. Sonarot’s eyes revealed that she had no idea what was happening either, though it didn’t seem like she was too surprised. She was one of five individuals who knew Adam’s story.

The fact that this was his third life, which was in a world full of magic and creatures which did not exist in his first life, and was somewhat familiar to the second life he had lived, save for the fact that everything was so different, including the Iyr.

“It is not our way,” Jarot stated, placing his hand on Churot’s back. “The way of the Rot family has always been the axe and shield.”

“I know,” Adam replied, though he did not back down.

Jarot did not care that Adam wanted to teach magic to a member of the Rot family. However, this was not any member of the Rot family. This was his Churot, who he had looked after since the day he had been revived.

“You are a Scribe Mage, Adam,” Jarot grumbled. “Should you not keep such magics secret?”

There were no Iyrmen Scribe Mages, partly because the Scribe Mages kept their magics secret, and partly because there were so few who actually went out to adventure, so there was almost no way for Iyrmen to procure such magic.

“If I want to teach him my magic, I’ll teach him my magic,” Adam said. “As long as he wishes for it, I’ll teach it to him.”

“He will not learn,” Jarot said, firmly. “He will remain in the Iyr and live his life in peace.”

“He is…” Adam’s throat clogged up, wondering how far he should take it. Jarot’s face had darkened, and Adam understood why. Jarot still had regrets about his son, who had struggled to grow stronger, before eventually being killed by a Dragon. Even now, the old man regretted his actions.

“Churot is old enough now,” Adam said. “Aren’t you?” He looking to the boy, the Devilkin teen who had almost always remained with his grandfather.

There had been two times he had recently been away from his grandfather. Once was when his grandfather went to go face a great opponent. The second time had been when he had gone to speak with Adam the day before. He had come to Adam just as Lanarot had slapped him and tried to steal his sandwich.

“He will not learn,” Jarot said.

“There’s only so much you can coddle the boy, Jarot,” Adam stated, firmly.

“If I want to coddle him, I will,” Jarot replied. “He is my grandson, it is my right as his grandfather.”

“Turot is your grandson too, and yet, he will go out and adventure one day. He’ll fight, and he’ll gain plenty of experience, before he eventually returns to stake his claim to become Elder Peace.”

Turot puffed up his chest. “I will grow strong.” He nodded his head slowly, assuring his family, and the world.

“I will not allow it,” Jarot said again.

“Do you think he’ll be in danger?”

“There is no need for him to study,” Jarot replied. How could he let the only child of his precious Farot learn how to use magic? Even if he was a Blood Mage, he would not allow it.

“I want to learn,” Churot said, finally. His voice was like a shadow which had crept into the conversation, one which had only darkened Jarot’s heart.

“I allowed you to seduce my daughter, but not my grandson, Adam,” Jarot said, controlling his shaky voice.

For a moment, the Half Elf thought about fighting the old man. However, he remembered the first time they had met, and the fact that he had been quite easily beaten, even with quite the powerful blade in hand. ‘I really should have taken Phantom back.’

 

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