SWDnovel Chapter 224: Khaos
Chapter 224: Khaos
"Hmph. Your son replaced my quenching water with sap," Throm stated bluntly, his eye twitching. "My best hammer is currently glued to my anvil. I cannot move it. I cannot work."
"And my pig looks like a massive, walking strawberry!" Old Man Higgins yelled from the back of the crowd. "The other pigs are laughing at him! Animals can mock each other, Borum! I have seen it!"
Borum sighed, putting his knife away. "Where is the boy now?"
"Right here, father."
Khaos walked out from behind Throm’s massive legs. He was completely covered in mud, soot, and pink berry juice. He held a small wooden toy sword in his right hand.
"Explain yourself, Khaos," Borum commanded, trying to sound stern but failing miserably.
Khaos looked at the angry crowd. He evaluated his odds of escape. He realized the crowd was too thick to run through. So, he deployed his ultimate defense mechanism.
He dropped his toy sword. He fell to his knees in the mud. He covered his face with his tiny, dirty hands and let out a loud, highly theatrical sniffle.
"I just wanted to help," Khaos cried softly, peeking through his fingers to gauge their reaction. "I thought pink was a pretty color for the piggy. And I thought the sap would make Mr. Throm’s hammer stronger. I am just a little boy trying to learn."
The crowd immediately softened. The angry murmurs turned into collective, sympathetic sighs.
"Well, he does have a point," Old Man Higgins scratched his chin. "Pink is quite a festive color. It makes the pig stand out."
"And he is just trying to be helpful," a village woman added, stepping forward to wipe the mud off Khaos’s cheek. "Look at him. He is so small and precious. You men are being entirely too harsh on a curious child."
"Harsh?" Throm repeated, completely bewildered. "My hammer is glued to the table!"
"Then buy a new hammer, Throm!" the woman scolded him. She picked Khaos up in her arms. "Do not worry, sweet boy. We know you meant well. Would you like to come to my house for some warm milk?"
Khaos nodded eagerly, wiping away a fake tear. "Yes, please."
As the woman carried him away, Khaos looked over her shoulder at the defeated crowd of men. He gave them a slow, arrogant wink. His violet eyes gleamed with absolute victory.
Borum burst into another fit of booming laughter, slapping his knee heavily. "I tell you, Throm! He is completely invincible! He fights with pure charm!"
"He is a sociopath, Borum," Throm grumbled, trying desperately to peel the sap off his fingers. "Mark my words. One day, that boy’s charm will not save him. One day, he will meet someone who does not care about his cute face."
The Arrival at the Gates
The afternoon sun began to dip below the surrounding mountains, casting long, golden shadows across the Nameless Valley.
The village was finally experiencing a rare moment of peace. Khaos had eaten his fill of warm milk and stolen sweet buns. He was currently sitting on the very top of the wooden palisade wall that surrounded the village. His little legs dangled over the edge as he chewed thoughtfully on a green apple.
He was busy planning his schedule for tomorrow. He needed to figure out how to untie the local merchant’s horses without waking the guard dogs. It was a complex logistical puzzle that required his full attention.
Suddenly, a strange noise broke his concentration.
It was a slow, steady rhythm.
Tap. Pause. Tap. Pause.
Khaos looked down the long dirt road that led into the valley. A solitary figure was walking toward the village gates.
The stranger wore a simple, unadorned grey robe that dragged slightly in the dust. A wide, woven bamboo hat completely obscured his face. In his right hand, he held a tall wooden staff with several small, tarnished brass rings attached to the top. The rings jingled softly with every single step he took.
Tap. Jingle. Pause.
Khaos stopped chewing his apple. He narrowed his violet eyes. The boy possessed instincts that went far beyond his young age. He could sense things the normal villagers could not.
The village was usually full of noisy, chaotic energy. But this man carried an aura of absolute, terrifying silence. The air around the stranger felt heavy and suffocating.
The mysterious monk stopped walking. He stood exactly twenty feet away from the wooden gates. He did not look left or right. He simply raised his head slowly.
The wide brim of the bamboo hat tilted upward.
Khaos stared directly down at the stranger. The monk’s face was completely scarred, covered in pale, burn-like marks that stretched from his chin to his forehead. But it was his eyes that made Khaos drop his apple.
The monk’s eyes were completely solid white. There were no irises and no pupils. Just twin pools of absolute, empty white light.
The monk stared directly at the little boy sitting on the wall. Despite being completely blind, the stranger seemed to see straight through Khaos’s muddy clothes, past his cute, chubby cheeks, and directly into the core of his soul.
"I have walked across three broken continents," the monk spoke. His voice was raspy, dry, and ancient. It sounded like two stones grinding together. "I have followed the scent of the shattered sky."
Khaos did not smile. He did not deploy his innocent quiver. For the first time in his four years of life, the little menace felt a genuine thrill of danger.
"You smell bad," Khaos stated bluntly, gripping the wooden edge of the wall.
The monk did not react to the insult. He simply gripped his wooden staff tighter. The brass rings jingled sharply in the quiet evening air.
"A vessel of flesh," the monk whispered to himself, though the words carried clearly to the top of the wall. "Hiding in the dirt. Unaware of the cosmic blood that runs through its tiny, fragile veins."
The monk raised his scarred hand and pointed a single, long finger directly at the boy.
"Tell your village chief to open the gates, child," the monk commanded coldly. "The era of your peaceful ignorance is completely over."