1 The Gallant Fool (1/2)

”Dean, get down!” Luca yelled.

I wasn't usually cool with my kid brother giving me orders but this time was an exception. After all, Luca probably just saved my life.

I ducked just in time as a spear tip pierced the space where my head was only a second ago. Glancing up, I saw the spear's charred blade mere inches from my face. Wispy black vapor spilled out of its edge, and the sight of it sent a cold shiver running up my spine.

”Dean, keep moving!” Luca yelled again.

His warning was like a splash of cold water on my face. It saved me from giving in to the sudden fear that was clawing its way into my brain, reminding me that there was no room for panic. This was a time for action.

I dodged a second spear thrust aimed at my head, and in the next motion, I drew my falchion from its sheath strapped to my belt with my right hand and then sent it forward in an arc. Thanks to its own charred edge, the blade sliced through the spear wielder's leather vest and cut into the thick skin underneath as easily as if I was cutting butter.

A howl of pain reached my ears, but my falchion's momentum continued, slashing through thick skin and soft fleshy parts and out the other side in a spray of blood.

As soon as I finished my first slash—the falchion's own wispy black vapor trailing in a line through the air—I twisted my wrist one-hundred-eighty degrees and sent the sword back down the path it came from.

Blood and guts spilled out of the x-shaped wound I finished cutting across my attacker's stomach, and with a final gasp for life, my enemy tumbled forward and crashed onto the dirt by my feet.

Precious seconds ticked by while I just stared at the dead body.

It certainly wasn't my first kill and it most definitely wouldn't be my last, and yet I couldn't repress the sickening feeling forming in the pit of my stomach. I couldn't stop my hands from shaking. Another fairy was dead because of me.

Yeah, you heard right. I, fifteen-year-old Dean Dapper, was a fairy slayer.

Make no mistake, the ugly face staring back at me with its lifeless, bulbous eyes probably didn't deserve the guilt I felt for killing it. Certainly, the pointy, crooked nose that someone had broken one too many times, and the cracked, yellowing tusks peeking out of the misshapen mouth made this creature so repulsive it was hard to feel any pity for it. But I did. I couldn't help it. My brain was just wired that way. Although I knew if I hadn't taken its life it would have taken mine. Probably in the most gruesome way, too. Hobgoblins were mean like that.

Yeah, you definitely didn't mishear me this time either. I said hobgoblin. They're real. They're actually a race of fairy, which, believe it or not, is just as real as you or me. And just like in the old fairy tales, there are many kinds of fairy. Some so beautiful that the sight of them would turn untrained mortals into sappy, love-struck fools for the rest of their short lives. Others so ugly they're literally the stuff children's nightmares are made from. However, no matter what they look like, whether fair or foul, most fairies are rotten to the core. They're petty and cruel creatures who have enormous egos you couldn't fit into a house if you tried. They think anyone who doesn't look like them is an inferior being, and that goes double for humans like me and Luca who possess no fay blood inside us.

Now, you might be wondering why two human teenagers were out and about killing fairies. The short answer was that we'd been roped into fighting in a war of succession that's been ongoing for almost five hundred years. Tonight was no exception. Luca and I, along with the hundred-man unit we were part of, were in the middle of invading the fairy fort of a rival clan whose defenders also numbered roughly a hundred. As fairy fort's go, this one was rather tiny. It was just a broken ring of white stones gathered at the top of a low, circular, barren hill.

While I contemplated on the mess Luca and I were in, a second hobgoblin soldier charged me. This one had a tall, lean frame that would have given it an intimidating aura if only the grey-tinted leather armor it wore wasn't a size too big for it. Dark brown skin pulled taught over an angular face that had comparably uglier features to the one I'd just defeated. Long and unruly braided hair trailed behind the hobgoblin as it quickened its step toward me.

The hobgoblin raised knobbly arms and lifted a battle ax with both hands. Long, spindly fingers wrapped tightly around the wooden handle. The charred ax head blazed. Wispy black vapors leaked out of it.

Still, the threat of impending bodily harm didn't worry me much because I knew the ax would never reach me. Luca would arrive first.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Luca sprint forward.

He was a blur of movement that caught the enemy unaware, and with a single swing of his shadowblade—a heavy-looking broadsword mounted on an iron crossguard and hilt—severed the hobgoblin's head from its shoulders.

I clapped in appreciation while I watched the head thump down to the uneven ground.

”Nice assist, Luca,” I said, genuinely impressed at how easy he made killing monsters look.

Luca swiveled his head in my direction.

His wavy hair, red like mine but much longer, almost shoulder-length, framed the sun-kissed face with the refreshing smile plastered on it.

Now, a casual observer who didn't know my little brother might have thought his smile genuine, but I knew better. I could see it in the depths of his brown eyes. They had a haunted look to them. Clearly, they possessed the same soul-crushing sadness reflected in mine.

Luca was only fourteen, but at five feet and nine inches, he was taller than me. He was also more muscular. You would expect as much seeing as how he swung that broadsword around pretty often. In contrast, I was three inches shorter, thinner, and had fairer skin than him. My red hair was cut short and styled in the same side-parted haircut as your typical action hero.

Luca and I both wore the same armor, a low-quality leather vest and shoulder pauldrons dyed in the Trickster Pavilion's midnight blue colors. We wore wool pants and old leather boots that showed too many signs of wear and tear. In fact, the only equipment we carried worth stealing was our shadowblades, my falchion and Luca's broadsword. As they were both bronze tier, they'd naturally fetch reasonable prices at any auction house. It was one thing to be thankful for. The clan may treat us with disdain but at least they gave us good weapons to fight and die with.

”Can you stop spacing out… this is a battlefield, you know,” Luca complained.

”Sorry… my bad,” I replied.

Luca shook his head at me before glancing back to where we came from. ”We're too far out…”

He was right.

South of us, our unit had formed an offensive line that stretched the bottom of the southern hillside. Ahead of them, the fairy fort's defenders formed their own defensive line to repel our siege. As their position was elevated, they obviously held the terrain advantage, which meant our side would have a rough time pushing forward.

Luca walked over to my side.