Chapter 71: The Implock – Chapter 65 – “Northern Hospitality”

∼ Northern Hospitality ∼

Chapter - 065

The sudden bite of cold splashing into his face sent the darkness reeling from Eric's mind, sputtering as he came to. Wrists aching, head throbbing, and freezing all over, he found himself straining against coarse robes that dug into his flesh. He was strapped to a chair. The stale cold air made it hard to breathe as each exhalation condensed with the hot.

"Oi, would you look at that? The sleeping beauty seems to have finally awoken," A snide voice said to the left of Eric, drawing his attention to a dark figure. The northern accent was thick in his voice.

"Aye, a pretty one she is." Another voice said with a snicker.

Eric was groggy, to say the least, and the room was just slightly too dark to make anything detailed out. But from what he could see with a blurry backdrop of softly glowing lights at the exit to what appeared to be a hall, Eric realized there were a lot more than just two people in the room with him.

"Wh-" He tried but found his throat dried and sore, coughing and spitting a glob of blood-mixed phlegm and saliva onto the ground. "Where am I?" He managed finally, though he had already a good guess.

"∼Where am I?" One of the men parrotted mockingly before suddenly grabbing hold of Eric's collar and leaning in close. So close that he could smell the man's rancid breath. "You know very well where you are. Purgatory, kid."

Then Eric made it out, although only faintly. A face disfigured, nose unrecognizable, and a mug as ugly as it had been before. It was the head goon whose face Eric had beat in.

Seeing Eric's recognition, a cruel smile started to spread across the man's marred face. However, before it even managed to reach his ears, the sudden crack of bone rang out in the room, followed by a pained yelp. Eric spat another mix of old blood and spit onto the cobbled ground, smiling bloodily down at the man that writhed on the ground. "Looky, you. Forgotten already? One would've thought I knocked some sense into you last time. Unfortunately, it looks like I can't cure stupid."

"You little!" The man screamed in a rather undignified manner as he clutched his shattered nose - if it even could be called a nose anymore. He scrambled to his feet with his free hand drawing the very same blade he had used to cut Eric's cheek, the other hand held to his face as blood ran through his fingers.

It was loud in the dank, dimly lit room, hollerings and laughter ringing off the walls as the man stalked towards Eric, clearly ready to cut him to pieces. However, a booming voice commanding such authority that it even made it hard to breathe rang from the doorway, made everyone freeze dead still. "So... just what's going on here? Am I missing the party or something?" The accent was even thicker than the goons'.

Eric's eyesight was now not as blurry as before, and as two figures followed in behind the owner of the voice with torches lit, he could finally see properly. He for the first time, laid his eyes on the man making everyone shy away. The figure of whom he'd never come to forget for the rest of his life.

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He wasn't terribly tall, but his thick muscular arms and broad frame more than made up for it. His clothes were that of a working man, but well-made and kept. Wearing grey-black pants, a vest with the chain from a pocket watch hanging out of the breast pocket alongside a pair of rimmed glasses. Underneath the vest, he filled out a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and atop his head, a flat cap.

But most distinguishing was the truly mighty mustache adorning his round but hard face and those steely grey eyes that looked down on Eric. Eyes of iron. A man of the north.

He turned to look around at his men, eyes creased. "This the man who went and made all y'pansies go running with yer tails tucked between yer legs?" His tone went up, going mocking. "He's but a bairn. Yet to have a lick of hair on him! And ye call yerself men?"

Eric sneered suddenly, spitting at the man's feet. "And if I wasn't strapped to a chair, I'd make you do the same - old-timer."

The stocky man paused, frozen in place with his gestures. The room went even quieter, to that of a deathly still lull. None of the men around dared even utter a sound, much less a word. He slowly turned to look down at the bloody spit that trailed into the cracks of the cobblestone. The caterpillar of a mustache with its corners tipped up pointily, twitched as he noted Eric's unwavering eyes daring to do something about. A glint of interest entered his expression before darkening ever so slightly.

"Young and arrogant. But a bairn." He sighed wistfully, turning to fully face Eric and stepping closer, his boots clicking crisply against the cobblestone. "You know what I dislike about yer rowdy kind with all me black heart. Ya ken, son?" He beheld a friendly, placid tone despite how his words made chills run down Eric's spine.

Eric didn't answer. He spared the man only a glare of defiance as the man came closer, leaning in with hands folded behind his back.

"Yer born in a little hamlet out in fucktown nowhere, and just because there are no other motherless wee 'uns that can beat yer little uppity arse, or any men with half a spine to teach ye some proper manners, ye think yer on the top of the fucking world."

He shook his head as Eric's glare only became harder, a smile coming to his face as he leaned even closer. "Oh ∼ don't get me wrong, son. Confidence and pride in one’s strength are quality traits in any proper laddie! But ye see, the problem still remains that bairns such as yerself, can't see beyond the little ant hill that shit yer sorry arse out. Just cannot see..." He shook his head from side to side, as if throwing around a word. "-the bigger picture."

"And that is why, I always make sure to give those kinds of lads a little... introduction into the way of the world. To teach ye, the fact that - while ye might be a king where you come from," His voice turned progressively menacing. "there will always be an emperor just beyond that little shitty ant hill of yers."

Eric smirked as the man was finally close enough, suddenly springing forward with as much leverage as the ropes holding him to the chair gave him, attempting to make this stranger taste his signature attack. However, things didn't go as planned. The man's hand blurred faster than what should've been possible, his large calloused hand palming Eric's forehead and throwing him back, tipping his chair over.

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