Whispers of the Storm King's Illness
"Crul's forge? You'd do well to steer clear of that place...."
"Hate to say it, but.... he's Ardragonkin. A Red Dragonkin, at that."
"Hmph, a washed-up tribe, and yet he's here. Takes guts."
"Exactly. Zen Kingdom's allied with the White Ghost tribe, but I can't for the life of me figure out why they'd let him in."
Adel stepped out of the forge and asked the market vendors about it.
"If you don't want to get on anyone's bad side, stay the hell away."
And as if they'd rehearsed it, they all said the exact same thing.
"Get on whose bad side? Zen Kingdom doesn't discriminate by race more than any other."
Adel casually asked a vendor selling grilled pastries on the roadside.
"The Storm King hates discrimination.... probably 'cause he's not pure human blood himself."
The vendor flashed a friendly grin as Adel popped a few pastries into his mouth and set down a gold coin.
"Ayy, spot on. That's why even a Red Dragonkin can stick around. But you think everyone's cool with that?"
"Even the Storm King has to play it careful."
"Careful with who?"
A beverage vendor next to the pastry guy slipped into the conversation.
"One for me."
Adel placed another gold coin in front of him. Goods traded in Leran Market were top-tier expensive, so the folks who came here had deep pockets. Besides the specialty sellers, plenty of roadside hawkers counted on tips from the wealthy—and no one knew the kingdom's underbelly like they did.
"Whoa, thanks much!"
The beverage vendor snatched the coin and handed over a chilled drink.
"See that big building back there? That's the White Ghost tribe's crew, followers of the white dragon Basip who triumphed in the Dragon War."
Adel turned to look where the vendor pointed. In an alley just off the market stood a massive structure, proudly adorned with stark white horn decorations.
"Zen Kingdom might be a meritocracy with no racial bias, but they wouldn't let those guys plant a flag that big."
"Yeah...."
Adel got the picture.
"They're keeping tabs on Crul."
"Bingo. Word is, the White Ghosts keep asking him to craft stuff for them. But why the hell would he help the bastards who wiped out his tribe?"
"Hmph...."
"So they park right next door, tightening the noose. No one dares commission him."
"The Storm King says nothing? Doesn't seem like something he'd ignore."
The vendors exchanged glances, scanned the area, then spoke up.
"Even the Storm King's got limits."
"Why's that?"
"Hrm...."
The vendor who'd been chatty moments ago suddenly clammed up. Adel slipped him a small pouch of gold coins on the sly.
"Ahem, just rumors, mind you. But they're swirling around the kingdom, so everyone's in the know but zipping it...."
"Spit it out already."
The vendor glanced around again.
"Rumor has it the Storm King's come down with some mystery illness."
"Pfft, no way."
"Right? We think it's bullshit too...."
"But?"
"He hasn't shown his face in ages. You know the central Nine Kingdoms are all at war, yeah? And the Storm King's holed up in the palace?"
He waved a hand dismissively.
"It's weird as hell. He'd be the first to lead his Crimson Banner mercenaries into the fray."
"Huh, now that you mention it...."
"See?"
"Anyway, whispers say his condition's tied to the White Ghosts. That's why he turns a blind eye no matter what they pull."
The Storm King's sick? No way....
Adel couldn't wrap his head around it. In his previous life, when he'd met Lugal Shazan, the man had brimmed with more vigor than any of the Eight Armies.
Something must've happened that I don't know about.
Not impossible. He'd spent five years in the desert without realizing his own potential. And he'd only left the continent after Hien's death, when Sirin took over as chief—years later.
I met the Storm King about eight years from now, when the continental war had taken shape.
Even if something had befallen Lugal in this unknown stretch of time, it wouldn't be strange.
If his life really hangs in the balance because of the White Ghosts, even the Storm King couldn't act rashly.
And recalling how hale he'd been in their past encounter, maybe the White Ghosts had helped him recover.
"Shh, shush!!"
That's when the pastry vendor frantically clamped a hand over the beverage guy's mouth.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
A group of Ardragonkin with gleaming white scales passed perilously close, traversing the market.
"Out of the way, all of you."
"They swarm like bugs whenever the market opens."
"Human greed knows no bounds...."
Their pristine white scales and sneering red eyes evoked slimy, sinister serpents. They shoved through the market crowd with brute force.
"Look at 'em. Treating the venerable Leran Market like some flea circus? This is where mercenaries and adventurers trade treasures they've risked their lives for!"
"Tell me about it. Ugh, those bloodshot red eyes—bad luck for the day."
"...."
Adel frowned slightly at the passing White Ghost dragoons.
If even the Storm King puts up with that, then....
Something felt off. The Storm King he remembered wouldn't tolerate other races strutting like they owned his turf, no matter how precious his life.
Are you really closing your eyes just to stay alive, Lugal?
If so, it'd be disappointing. The heroic figure he'd admired had only revealed itself after escaping death's grip, once his safety was assured.
[Nothing to blame him for. Kings or sages, everyone fears death. Martial artists aren't exempt from dread.]
True. I get that, but....
Adel shot a sidelong glare at the White Ghosts.
Guess I need to look into it.
That's when the White Ghost warriors who'd been walking turned, heading straight for Adel.
"H-heek?!"
"They heard us?!"
"Shit.... we're screwed."
The vendors paled as the group closed in. But the warriors ignored them entirely, eyes locked on Adel.
"Hey, you."
A voice came from behind Adel too.
"...?"
He turned. Another White Ghost warrior loomed over him—bulkier than the others, with blue markings at the edges of his pure white scales. And his eyes were black, not red.
Those markings.... one of the five elite dragoons in the White Ghost tribe. They're here too?
"You're the human from Crul's forge, right?"
The elite spoke. In an instant, the front group surrounded Adel.
"Don't know why you went there, but don't go back. Hope it was just a wrong turn."
The black eyes bored down.
"Best heed this. Human. It's a warning."
But Adel just smirked up at him.
"Warning? Whatever. Mind your own damn business."
He waved dismissively, turning away like it was a chore.
"Scram."
"What the.... arrogant prick."
The White Ghost warriors were dumbfounded by his attitude—something they could afford only because they didn't know who Adel was.
"Enough."
The one who'd spoken first blocked the others, who looked ready to pounce.
"Sharp eyes, huh?"
Adel straightened slowly, meeting his gaze. Shing—the half-drawn Nazas slid back into its sheath.
"What's your name?"
"And who the hell are you? Don't Ardragonkin know manners? If you're curious, you introduce yourself first."
"This bastard...!!!"
Slash—the shouting White Ghost warrior's cry cut short.
Thud.
Before he could even draw his sword, his head hit the ground first.
Whoooosh....!!
A faint gust swirled from Nazas's blade as if drawn from its sheath in warning, then vanished.
"...."
Despite their comrade's instant death, the remaining White Ghosts instinctively stepped back instead of charging. Holding ground rather than rushing showed they had skill.
Puuk!!!
But Adel's blade was already piercing the next target.
"Graaah!!"
Adel lunged faster than their retreat, stabbing into a warrior's thigh.
Shraaak....!!
Nazas's razor edge pierced clean through like stabbing cotton, emerging from the other side without resistance.
Crack. Cruuunch!!
Adel twisted the hilt; bone splintered with a grinding screech, flesh tearing wetly.
"Gaaaaah!!!!"
No matter how valiant the Ardragonkin warrior, pain leveled them all.
"I gave you fair warning."
"This prick!!"
"Kill him!!"
The survivors leaped over their clutching, half-legged comrade, charging Adel.
Adel yanked the blade free and dove into the spear-thrusting warrior's guard, reverse-gripping the hilt's base and smashing upward.
Thwack!!
It cracked perfectly into the warrior's jaw.
"Gack!!"
As the head snapped back, Adel used the staggering body as a shield, shoving it aside to ram his sword into the next one's flank.
"Gurgle, glurk...."
White dragon scales soaked red with blood.
"Kyaaak!!"
"Everyone, get back!!!"
Nearby vendors screamed at the blood-soaked Ardragonkin collapsing.
"Your name."
"...Skutum."
"Take them and go. All but that one might survive a healer. Your kind's tough. Figure out the rest."
Adel pointed at the headless corpse.
"Burn this into your memory, Skutum. This is how you give a warning."
"...Did you have to make such a scene?"
"You can stand in a pool of blood and still speak straight. You struck first."
"...That confident? You have no idea how many White Ghosts are in this city."
By now, the market clamor had died; White Ghost warriors filled the street, glaring at Adel.
"That confident?"
Adel smirked at Skutum.
"Bring it."