Rulers of Veistanlu

My Hope

Before this, he must have had a better reality. A well-developed clan, a caring father, a loving mother, a warm home. Maybe siblings, too. However, years have passed since then. It had been such a long time, and all he could think of now was domestic duties. His body, capable of practically anything, had only known feet swirling around a mansion and hands flowing back and forth, searching for the tiniest dust from particulate matter.

He tried to find a well-paying job and one that suited him, of course. Not only that his current job gives him nothing but a single penny or two at every sunset, his Lord had an ineffable behavior— and that person of Nobility was the first reason he wanted to leave. The thing was, he was not alone in this ‘home’. If he had to escape, he would have to bring his fellow serfs, or his years of protecting them from their Lord’s wrath will come to vain.

Onyx’s body was capable of practically anything, and besides chores, he tanked every soaring glass bottle and hefty hands from his Lord, nightly. Everything, just to leave others unhurt.

He could unsheathe his sharp claws and slam the Lord's neck into the earth, putting an end to it all. He could use his extraordinary abilities to end their misery. But there was this one member of the clan that he fought alongside— after a time, his name faded into the depths of his hazy memory— who prevented him from doing so. All he ever remembered was this:

Humans can be fopdoodles. Even so, we mustn't lay a finger on them with the intent to kill, that member once, perhaps several times, had said. He was unsure if he was always told that in his forgotten past, since the same lines kept coming back to his present.

“Humans are fopdoodles,” Onyx murmured back, as if he were conversing with a real person.

Besides that, a boy as white as snow, tainted with blood redder than roses, somewhat kept his morals strongly intact.

While he was chopping off inches of grown grass with huge shears, a strong stench of butterscotch seeped in his nose, and his eyes shifted quickly to its direction. A pouring brown liquid glistened under the morning light from a bottle, to a bundle of blue flowers. Lord Dolian had a menacing grin, one that Onyx is too familiar with, while he declared death to his own blossoms.

He stared at him with stillness, his fists tightly curling the shear’s grip. No one would be happy to see someone muck up your hard work— especially Onyx, the one who nurtured the garden for years, a garden that's not even his own.

The same voice that reached him whenever he had the sudden rush in his blood to kill admonished him again. When Dolian threw the beer bottle on the lawn where Onyx was, leaving it to be disposed of by anyone but him, the voice admonished again— over and over.

Onyx dared to question, Why not?

**

Onyx had a displeased look on his face.

Horse hooted and clip-clopped over the stony thoroughfare, a slim chill in the spring air; Onyx's eyes opened to the sight of a bustling street in Velemau. The creaking of carriages and the cacophony of people forced his thin lips to straighten shut.

Onyx was very aware of his aversion to people. Was it influenced by Dolian? Was it a result of negative events he couldn't remember? Or did he not develop any relationship, nor did he make any effort to do so— and then rushed to pass judgment on it? He's always had it, and being in the middle of a crowd doesn't help matters.

His lean body flinched at a sudden bang on the floor that rang his ears. He stared at a wooden box in front of him, sitting on the muddy floor and the edge of the wooden carriage. The widths were hanging on different ends.

Now that he had his eyes on the box, the old coachmen with pints of mud on his worn-out tunic looked at him. He looked too disorganized to be a commoner, so he must be a serf like Onyx, but under another Noble. Suddenly, the old man ran towards him.

“Wait,” Onyx stuttered as the old coachman remained running towards him in desperation. Both palms waved into the air, signaling the man to halt on his tracks. He can loudly hear the smallest sobs from the poor man on the verge of crying— still, the man wasn’t listening to him!

Onyx dropped a sweat, and said, “Stop on your tracks, old man—” but before he could ever finish, two wrinkled hands that looked like he never took a break from laboring under the sun, grasped on Onyx’s right wrist. To make it worse for the serf, the old hands clutched on his bare skin, making Onyx feel his rough, unwanted palms.

Onyx’s hair behind his neck stood, and he offhandedly exclaimed, “Ew!”

When he realized what he had said, his hand flew to his mouth immediately, as he watched the man let go of his wrist. Shame seeped inside his system as he felt the cold stares from Nobles. The old man looked sad, and possibly offended, and small crowds started eyeing them— some amused, some pitied. He must’ve thought that Onyx found him rather ugly, or Onyx was disgusted with his unkempt appearance, but it wasn’t the case at all. Onyx, too, appeared his worst and was poorly dressed, and he had no rights to speak lowly of others when he himself was placed in the lowest class of the hierarchy.

“I’m sorry, I just don’t like physical contact, or any of the sorts,” he explained, his voice much softer, but loud enough to be heard by the nosy commoners. This time, he prayed that the man would understand to avoid further embarrassment.

“Ah, I’m sorry, too! I understand. It’s unmannered of me to touch without permission,” the old man showed a crooked smile, nervously scratching his cheek. Onyx sighed in relief; he was lucky to bump on a forgiving man. “I saw how you looked very mighty, and as you see, I desperately need help in carrying my— oh my lord!”

Mid-sentence, the box fell entirely on the floor with a loud bang, jolting everyone in surprise, especially Onyx, since he heard it more than twice as loud as everyone.

Even knowing that the old man was poor and would trade nothing in return, he already felt obliged enough to lend a hand, since he was guilty of his impulsive reaction when he was grasped without malice.

He could have lifted it himself, but he didn't. He ordered five guys who were already around the carton to lift each side as quickly as he could; the lengths would be carried by pairs, and one would hold the other width, while Onyx would hoist the width behind the carriage. The carton sailed into the air with ease when the countdown struck three. Onyx got on the carriage and hauled the box back deep into the open carriage to ensure it didn't fall off again, while the others just assisted to make it appear as if Onyx didn’t do all of the work.

“You are so strong!” The old man praised Onyx after the wooden box was back onto the carriage, but he’s still too embarrassed that he left.

“Weird because I didn't feel like I was carrying anything.”

“I think it’s the tall guy who carried it all.”

“Maybe it’s because we’re six people so it was an easy task to do, eh?”

But my wrist still felt very icky, as much as Onyx wanted to voice his displeasure with his shivering wrist, all he had to say remained in his head. He returned his gaze to his exposed wrist, which he held in the air with curved lips, and saw how much shorter his sleeves were. Pulling it towards his wrists, the sleeves wouldn’t stretch and remained barely past his elbows. He realized that not only was his brown tunic worn out, but he had also outgrown it.

He wondered, how was it possible for him to grow when hadn’t eaten any protein since meat was costly? For years, he had to make do with bread and cheese to conserve pennies. Plus, Dolian doesn’t even feed them at all!

“Ah, whatever. It still fits somehow,” he said, and was now conscious of the fact that his tunic embraced his whole toned torso tightly.

Fortunately, he received free bread and money from some of the people he helped as trades, and that was enough to drive himself to spare time on making things work without any physical contact and lending much words.

Moments later, he stumbled upon three men beneath an old lady in her stall. His attention raced towards them after hearing insults and threats to rob the lady.

“Hey, s**t hag. How about you lend us some juicy treats? If you do, we won't harm you at all.”

“Your fruits were harvested nicely and all, but it would only taste fuckin’ good if it’s free.”

Onyx placed his palm in his face, and gripped it. How had these ill-mannered kids even entered the borders of Nobility? He swore that this would be the last one that he’ll lend a hand to.

“These sorners,” Onyx mumbled, dropping his hand back to his side while approaching the troubled stall. “Let the woman sell in peace.”

He remembered the irritation that piled up from dealing with unreasonable, thick-faced people that only knew how to cause problems daily— and he let it all out with a grunt, similar to an animal’s. The men were unfazed, until their neck stretched high up to see who made the low, aggressive sound.

“Ah,” the word escaped from one’s shivering lips. “W-we’ll be just leaving.”

The one who spoke tugged away his partners with chills on their spine. They tried to act like they weren’t just speaking ill of the old lady, but they were scared. Onyx knew, as their prideful expression changed to a fresh face of fear for him.

The old lady exhaled softly, her shoulders falling from stiffness. Unlike the old coachman, this old lady was neat and clean enough to be part of a Noble family. With a shaky voice, she insisted, “Please pick from any of the food as my thanks.”

Onyx relaxed when he eyed the wooden container on the ground with various fruits and vegetables. He looked through it as though he was searching for a specific thing from the good offer.

Finally.

"Can I have some strawberries, please?" He asked. His tongue craved for the fruit for a long time, and wouldn’t miss his chance to eat it this moment.

"Of course. Let me prepare for it, son.”

His annoyance had subsided. It was a cycle; he would experience any emotion, and then it would die quickly, only to reappear when he was reminded of it. As the bright berries wailed as they dropped into the plastic, Onyx focused on its calming sound.

And then there was a roar of trumpets.

Shortly, Onyx’s ears deafened, his slump posture jolted straight by the unexpected blasting trumpets that floated across the kingdom. His palms pressed his stressed ears from the ongoing shrill accompanied by clopping of white, black, and brown horses.

“That s**t harmed my hearing,” he mumbled.

A newspaper folded like a closed paper fan from the old lady’s hand smacked against his wrist that still shivered. It was a strong swing for an old folk, but Onyx felt no pain, so he was surprised instead. She scolded, “I know you helped me, but those who curse will be devils as they die!”

Onyx was urging to say, I already have horns anyway, but in my teeth, to compare himself to a devil, but that would make an argument, and arguments meant more talking, so he remained quiet.

Without even asking about what was going on, the old lady lent him information after her scolding, “This means they have some good or bad news to announce.” It was only there that Onyx’s enhanced hearing was useful, since he could perfectly hear the old lady despite the blasting trumpets with his ears being completely covered. The old lady seemed to be used to the loud trumpets, since she wasn’t bothered at all, making Onyx think that his ears were weak compared to hers.

“Greetings to the citizens of Velemau,” A Knight pulled the reins of his white horse just meters away from Onyx.

To relieve the ache in his ears, Onyx gritted his teeth, letting his hands fall back on his sides as the trumpets ceased, and glided his foot sideways. He wanted to step away with disinterest, but the old lady stopped to listen to the announcement, the strawberries remained still in her grasp. Sighing, he decided to wait. After all, it’s not every day that he gets free food from scaring bad guys away.

“Over the last six months, there has been thirty-three assassination attempts towards His Royal Highness, Prince Alvar of Veistanlu,” the Knight shouted, followed by the negative responses and sad wails of the people.

However, Onyx felt nothing about the situation, but he couldn’t stop himself from questioning why.

“We are currently looking for a combat butler that may protect the Prince. Due to the exigency, all are allowed to participate in the selection, regardless of class. If interested, please register at the outer gates of the royal palace until tomorrow.”

“Excuse me, good sir. How much would the wage be?” a man meters away from Onyx asked.

“A hundred pounds, monthly.” Like everyone else, Onyx’s mouth opened with surprise after the Knight answered.

He was very ignorant about everything in the Kingdom— from events, news, history, even basic information such as its regions or the rulers— and it only took a disclosure of large sums of money to catch his interest.

“Poor Crown Prince. He must be having a hard time.” He glanced back at the lady, while the Knights prattled away. His mouth stretched a smile when he got hold of the plastic that he ate one strawberry right away. The old lady continued, “The last time I remembered he was being targeted was New Year’s Eve. Luckily, he fought well against those black-clad bandits.”

So that’s why it was so noisy that time. Onyx remembered the people’s cacophonies back in New Year’s Eve that hadn’t entirely sounded jubilant— there were some periods in time that the screams were a combination of terror and anguish.

However, questions like, “A non-Knight Noble can fight?” and “Why was it just now that they had decided to seek for a combatant?” spiraled in his head, and it was no doubt that he was curious. Curiosity kills the wolves as they say, so he shook his head and forgot every query.

"He's pretty damn smart that he's not dead yet." While his canine burst through another sweetness of the fruit, he added a remark about the Prince. “Thirty-three is a large number in that scenario.”

”What did I tell you about cursing?! My, my, you’ll grow a sharp tail out of your bumhole soon.” The old lady smacked Onyx with her newspaper again. Receiving no reaction from Onyx, she hummed, as if realizing something. “You should consider signing up, son. It seems to me that you are very capable of so much more. Everyone flinches on my NP chop, except you!”

Onyx wasn’t a fan of the newspaper chop at all, but he was surprised about the idea of some humans flinching with fear from a hag’s swing. He wondered, How fragile could humans be?

Onyx looked at the man with whom he had collided but paid no heed. His eyes were soulless, with no thought but anger behind them, his jaw clenched, and his legs wanting to run at the man dressed in maroon surcoat. Harsh words began to collide behind his mouth like, “s**t, what a waste!”, “Consarn it, I haven’t indulged much into the fruits I craved for so long!”, and more vulgar curses— but nothing ever came out.

The guy he ran into seemed to be a Nobleman, and despite his illiteracy on politics, it’s common knowledge that it's never good for a lower class to be pitted against an upper class because Nobles always gain victory and receive all the benefits. In the end, he could only stare at the Nobleman’s retreating back as he continued to walk away the alley.

Onyx suddenly heard a familiar, faint scream from the mansion. His wish to run was fulfilled— but he ran the opposite way from the Nobleman and the fallen berries.

**

Onyx sprinted with frustration, letting his ability of enanhced speed free with no one being around. He wasn’t supposed to be home yet, he thought. He never went back this early, and immediately.

Dolian was an all-out drinker in his friends’ residences, bars, diners, or even the streets— basically everywhere just to embrace the drunk feeling. His life was like a short candle around the size of the distance between the palm and the middle finger, short compared to the lengthy ones caused by a healthy lifestyle. For some reason, Dolian’s candle couldn’t just melt all the way no matter how hard Onyx had wished, despite the absurd amount of liquor running in his bloodstream.

Once he arrived by the garden which was at the entrance of the Wiesel’s Residence, it smelled of trailing dry metal. He followed the scent, and it led him to the living room carpeted with brown wool, and now stained with scarlet below a boy with bloody wrists. The boy was Quillan, crying and kneeling beneath a fat guy with beads of sweat all over his smirking face and a custom, well-designed hilt of a dagger clutched in his misshapen hand.

Onyx couldn’t place his feelings through words. All he knew was that he felt his canines growing angry that he hadn’t bothered to complain about how difficult it was to wash huge carpets, let alone remove blood stains.

If Onyx had the courage, he would’ve blown the fire from the wick of Dolian’s candle himself.

“I finally got to harm someone twice today. That is, without you around,” Dolian laughed, shaking the blood away from the knife. “So, you took advantage of my inebriated nights."

“Took advantage?! You’re the one who took advantage of us!” Onyx paused, drinking his own blood with a palm concealing his mouth.

Dolian threw the bloody dagger on the ground, and thankfully had not harmed Quillan in its fall. With an ugly smile, he complimented, “You are quite smart for a mere serf.”

“I get that a lot.” After Onyx threw his response, he heard another helpless scream, but from a woman.

He yanked the doorknob open and his eyes landed on a woman only with her undergarments on. He focused on the rope that confined the woman’s slim stomach to the brown cabinet.

He speedily studied her with a frown. Her brown hair was a mess, scattered all over the cold floor, and she had sad, painful eyes. Her voice cracked at every scream that seemed so blaring in Onyx’s stressed ears. He had not, however, appeared to find any wounds or a familiar scent.

Onyx scrunched his nose under a strong sense of loathe.

Under human logic, Onyx considered a plan to untie the rope. He crept behind the furniture to inspect the contents of the drawer, hoping to find something he could work around. For a first, luck was on his side, and he may be able to utilize an axe.

During his over focused movements, he picked up sounds of heavy footsteps with slight metal clanking getting filtered by the woman's voice. He pulled the rope behind the cabinet and swung the axe upward, its fibers loosen from the cut as it fell.

"We'll be getting out of here." He ran his hand on the hems of his tunic, then pulled the fabric off his body, handing it to the nude woman. All he had now was a black v-neck shirt.

"Dress up. It won't be long before Dolian—" his sentence was cut short when the woman grabbed Onyx's wrist and pulled his hand towards her. She failed due to the difference of their strengths, so she pulled herself at Onyx instead— and it clicked to him. He jerked his hand away, but he was a little late, as his fingers accidentally brushed near her exposed chest.

"He's harassing me!"

This was why he felt unsettled all morning.

His anger slowly rose, Humans are shitty fopdoodles, and he struggled under his shaky breath to let it be locked inside.

In a short while, his eyes assessed the situation— the woman remained having her false tantrum, his tunic scattered by the floor that made an amount of his flesh exposed— then shut it. The other senses remained open. He picked up fast sounds of footsteps up the stairs, and detected that there were at least six pairs of heavy ones.

The same scent of metal when he was out of the garden was getting more distinct with each second passing. Quillan was the only one who had been slit open. He also smelled faint vinegar, meaning Quillan was with Dolian, but why?

He opened his eyes, thinking that he had no time to wear his tunic. If he even attempted so, they would catch him dressing up midway, and that'll be more suspicious than it already was.

His obligingness was made as his weakness.

A plan struck in his head, but he couldn't prepare immediately; he wanted to make sure if he was right.

"I got you now—"

"Oh, hold on," Onyx said, swiftly pointing the axe's heel at the woman's bare neck. He didn't hold her elsewhere, since having witnesses would contribute power to her allegations against him for touching her when he didn't— but he was sure that she wouldn't move an inch, now that she faced Onyx’s threatening sharp tool.

"How scum of you!" Dolian had his hand around Quillan's neck, and a knife on the other. As soon as they showed up, Onyx went to see if Quillan was actually being held hostage to proceed with his plan of doing the same.

"Dolian, save me!" The woman yelled, her arms trying to cover her body in a desperate manner. It ticked off Onyx, everything sounded so staged.

"I got it now. Cut the act, since those Knights are showering over your grimy money so revealing your plan wouldn't matter," with a brow raised, he threw his response while the Knights behind Dolian had their spears held tight.

Dolian laughed menacingly at Onyx. He shouted, "You're so pleasurable that I want us to be good pals! I didn't expect that you planned to use her as a hostage. How did you even anticipate everything?"

"I will never be friends with a foozle."

"Well, this plan didn't look like it's made from a foozle, did it!?" Dolian only had a few seconds to look at Onyx's disapproved face before breaking another despicable laughter. "You have no way to run now! No one believes a mere serf. I have Knights behind me, ready to take you away. If you run, we have my lovely Cal to charge you of s****l assault. You gave us more excuses by taking off your clothes!"

He lost himself in a laugh, then continued, "You're making this so easy for me. I was expecting so much more from you. This is upsetting."

The sight of the corrupted Noble’s villainous smile, and the bribed chivalries with his same expression, made Onyx’s heart grow heavy. He said, "You can just disown me to get rid of me. I wonder why you chose the hard way."

Dolian's gaze became very pleased all of a sudden. It had made Onyx discomfited and confused that he gripped the axe's handle a little bit rougher, almost at the verge of breaking.

"It's all about satisfaction! Imagine that a person who only brought inconvenience for years will suffer for the rest of his life. The thought of you in jail makes me so excited—"

Even so, the voice admonished over his wrath, while Onyx had enough foulness entering his ears.

"By that—'' while Dolian was spitting unpleasant sentences and his hand was lousy from distraction, Onyx leaped at him, making sure that he wasn't too fast to grab the knife. He pulled the back of Dolian's shirt, avoiding even the smallest contact with his sweaty skin, and faced him to the Knights who now had Quillan as their hostage.

We mustn't lay a finger on them with the intent to kill.

By Dolian's ear, Onyx finished his sentence in a sharp whisper, "I'll make sure to enjoy your sight in jail, too."

Dolian was very pissed at his remark, yet he couldn't do anything stupid when there's a knife on his throat.

"Dolian!" Cal shouted in worry, this time, genuinely. "Let him go or I'll report this to the Prince himself!"

As much as the sound of Cal's squeaky voice makes Onyx more stressed than he already was, she had given him an idea. "Report it for all I care," he bluffed.

Onyx glanced back at the Knights and the three spears that's on Quillan. He negotiated, "Give me Quillan. I'll give you this stinking sot."

They were gripping on Quillan's body with hesitations to let go, leaving a bitter taste on Onyx's tongue.

"Are you stupid?! Give him back! My life over everyone!" When Dolian shouted, he got forcefully shoved over the six Knights, passing through Quillan's body. The frustrated Lord turned around to order the Knights to seize the serf once and for all, to get rid of the nuisance that he always had for years, tearing every immoral yet amusing plan of his.

But there was no one behind him other than Cal, her plump lips open in shock.

**

As soon as Onyx's hands had held on Quillan, he immediately dashed with him through the window and fell on his back. The impact had the least effect on him when they reached the ground, with Quillan tucked on his chest. His arms placed Quillan on his shoulder, and took the opportunity to run in the woods that surrounded the mansion before they all caught up on their swift disappearance.

"W-wait!" Quillan shouted while his small frame slightly jumped with Onyx's movements. "Lauren and Suji are still there!"

“Shit.” Onyx's eyes widened when he registered that the maids were left hiding inside, and he placed Quillan back on the ground. He looked down at him and said, "Go below the bridge. I'll meet you there."

"I want to help you, please! You never let me help." Quillan clasped his hands tight. He hoped that he'll be able to do a favor to Onyx, which he had never asked, not even once.

To his surprise, Onyx gave him an order before they parted ways.

The sun descended from its daytime peak and Onyx was found emotionally exhausted, dawdling across the dirt pavement. While he paid attention to the twigs and dry leaves crunching due to his weight, he remembered Cal giving him a shallow idea, and that was to make the Prince his ally, though it's easier said than done. One of the primary reasons he did not want to be engaged with the Prince was his notion that he was corrupt owing to the large number of individuals attempting to bury him— and it was foolish for him to reach out to the Royalty.

But it’s quite smart if I make use of him.

"He's pretty damn smart that he's not dead yet," his words from his conversation with the old lady escaped his dry lips.

He could unsheathe his sharp claws and slam the Lord's neck into the earth, putting an end to it all. He could use his extraordinary abilities to end their misery. With one brutal swing, Dolian’s life would be over— but Onyx knew that it wouldn't be enough to make up for all the misery and mess the Lord had inflicted on him and the others, something that only he could endure and fix.

Jail, a former bluff, and an idea that was once shallow, appeared with clarity in Onyx’s head. I'll take him to jail.

“If the Prince is actually smart,” he mumbled whilst running towards the main thoroughfare of Velemau along with his quick-witted mind. “Then he would help me.”

If the voice that stopped him from succumbing further in his debauched thoughts was absent, his only hope was present— and it was slowly making its way to cling onto the Crown Prince of Veistanlu.