(A/N): fever… still here… loading… 5 percent… 10 percent… 20 percent… 35 percent… 50 percent… 50 percent brain damage…
I can't leave my house for crying out loud! I'm bored out of my skull!
Anyway, here's another chappie… (If someone's actually reading it! Lolz!)
And by the way, if by some miracle you're actually reading my fic. Please drop by a review or a comment or whatever. So as to officially make my fic have, 'in plural form gg', readers. (That would mean I'll actually have more than 1 reader, and 2 readers mean plural form, and plural means I can change it from 'a reader' to 'readers' hehehehe lolz!) Besides, my lone reader stopped reviewin', I think he suddenly loss interest hehehehehe!
Please don't mind these, guyz, I'm so bored I'm actually talking to myself! Lolz! Acckk! Whacko!
ACT XI: The Gate Crasher: part III
The bare fist impacted on Sefryenion's chest, and the impact was so hard that it threw the crusader a few feet away. Sefryenion was down to one knee, puffing and coughing hardly. A small amount of blood went out from his coughs. He looked at his armor; indeed there was a crack. His guards could only gasp at their great Sir Sefryenion coughing and panting on the ground.
"ENOUGH!"
Another voice came from the gate. It was a fat blacksmith that just came out. He had a short, black, well combed hair that doesn't seem to be moved by the wind. He was similar in height with the crusader. What differentiates him from the rest is that he had an aristocratic movement and his massive body signified to lack work or exercise.
"Mast'r, watch out! Dat's Makenor!"
Kraveck instantly knew who he was. It was the first time he'd seen him but his battle antics was well-known. Despite his fat exterior, he possesses an immense strength that could only be seen within a few blacksmiths. He became fat solely because he is a son of a rich blacksmith and got to eat whatever he wanted. Right now, he is living in Lazrigs because he, Sefryenion and Crove are very good friends and battle partners. Before the war had ended, they became the most feared trio in Midgard. Mekenor had always been the humorous, logical thinker while Sefryenion concentrated mostly on fighting. It was Crove that was balanced with both analytical thinking and a very excellent fighting ability.
"Sefryenion, that's enough! This is getting nowhere." Makenor commanded. "And you!" looking at Kraveck. "You proved your point... Come with me."
Sefryenion rose with an unsatisfied look and headed inside the castle along with the guards. Kraveck turned around to give a 'wait for me here glance' at Valcan and followed the blacksmith inside.
Inside the gate, he was surprised to see the castle being much larger than expected. They crossed a large yard and a series of defensive garrisons before reaching the front door. Inside the castle, Kraveck was much less surprise. Indeed there was a magnificently great, big hall and shimmering furniture was everywhere. But this was everything Kraveck had expected; he knew Lazrigs would be magnificent.
Sefryenion went ahead to the forger's room; to get the crack on his full-plate fixed. While Makenor continued to lead the way.
"Why do you want to see Crove so badly?"
"None of your business…"
"An arrogant prick… No wonder Sefryenion fought you."
Silence dictated from then on. A few minutes later, they arrived upon a huge door. Kraveck could tell this was the master's room because of the much more superior elegance in the decorations of the door.
The blacksmith opened the door. Inside, Kraveck was right. It was the most beautiful room in the castle. It was full of knight-ish decors (Paintings and statues of famous knights, weapons, armors and knighthood encryptions on different kinds of surfaces). But at the center of the back area, in front of a great transparent, glass window where the sun shines directly, there was a man on a desk. He couldn't quite distinguish who it was because the sun's rays were shining directly at his eyes.
"What business brings you here, stranger?" The man spoke in a courteous manner.
Kraveck replied with silence and started to approach the man. As he came nearer, he could now distinguish the man more clearly. It was indeed the legendary knight, Crove. Although he has never seen him before, he concluded it with the more majestic fullplate, manteau and gauntlets he had on. His fullplate was awesome; its grand design was different, for it was made only for a high knight-commander and its various elunium over-upgrades were magnificently sparkling.
As he was getting closer to Crove, he slowly began to identify his face. His long, straight, perfectly black hair was neatly tide behind his back and his face was white with a pure Pronteran skin tone. The closer he came, the closer he could see the knight's aristocratic face and… 'My goodness… He looks more like a prince than a knight!'
