Dragkablod Rising Entwining flames

Chapter Five

Ignatius

The information he had gained from the old man hadn't been enough to fully confirm his suspicions of Haco. He needed a more solid lead than what he currently had. He was basically where he had started with the meager information he currently had.

Sighing, he dropped the parchment from his hands. All the various possible leads he could think dotted all over it, every single one crossed out. There was nothing to work with. Absolutely nothing. He had to do something to prevent this from happening again. But what could he do? He couldn't go and accuse Haco for buying or stealing illegal goods and using them to drug Enya. Haco's position as Warlord Baskara Abellona's apprentice strategist protected him. There was no way Ignatius could do anything without any proof and a higher social standing other than being the adopted son of the king's Monster Hunter and a trainee for the Clan Choosing Ceremony.

Ignatius rubbed the tiredness from his eyes.

There was nothing to do except go on from here.

With no evidence to accuse Haco, what else could he do?

Ignatius just had to face the fact that he had nothing solid enough to blame Haco for Enya's ailment.

Maybe he should focus on the Choosing Ceremony. It was—

The front door opened and heavy footsteps thumped on the floorboards of the small house.

Ignatius internally groaned.

Of course, he would come back just for the ceremony.

"Boy, come out here." The rough voice of his adoptive father echoed throughout the house.

Rising to his feet, he left his room, his small sanctuary that always did little to protect him from the wrath of his adoptive father.

In the main room stood the white haired man in his fifth decade. A horrid scar running through his milk-white eye.

"Have you been training, Boy?" He said gruffly.

"Yes," Ignatius replied. He kept his gaze on the floor, not wanting to look the scarred, battleworn man in his lone burning orange eye. In the depths of his remaining eye, Ignatius could always see that searing heat that lay dormant. That fury for the beast that had scarred him for life and killed his first son. The person he was named after by his adoptive mother in her grief for the child she had lost and gained.

"Sparring room, now."

The "sparring room" as his adoptive father called it was no little more than the cellar under the house. It was where no one could hear him scream when he was beaten by the cold, cruel man before him.

Obeying the man that had once locked him down there, he did as he was told. Grabbing his blade from his room, he headed into the sitting room.

Nudging the fading red and gold rug aside—it ends fraying—Ignatius pulled open the hatch to the cold cellar.

The worn steps dug into the soles of his boots as he descended into the gloom below.

A faint light shone behind.

Reaching the bottom of the cellar, he let his adoptive father light the lanterns.

As light filled the dank cellar, he could see the rusting shackles still hanging from the beam above them. Ignatius knew that his adoptive father had left them there as a reminder of the last time he locked down here for three days, no food or water.

His adoptive father must have seen him look at the shackles because he asked, "Thinking of running away again?"

That memory was still burned brightly in his mind. Everything that had happened that night was something he would never forget.

"No, Ignacio, sir."

"Good." Ignacio said. "I would hate to have to beat some sense into you again, Boy."

Ignatius gritted his teeth. Ignacio treated him like he was some dog that had to be beaten in order to obey its master. But in a way it had worked. Ignatius was the dog. However, there was one thing that all dogs do when they have been kicked too many times. They eventually learn to bite back.

"Draw your blade. Let's see how much you remember from our last lesson."

The last lesson they had ended him with a split lip, black eye, and bruises everywhere. It had been more of a beating lesson than a training lesson. But he didn't dare open his mouth. Only a pummeling would come from it. And he wouldn't risk a whalloping that would leave him sore for a week. Not when the Clan Choosing Ceremony was in less than three weeks.

Their blades hissed as they both withdrew them from their sheaths.

Facing each other, they both sprung instantaneously, blades aiming for the other.

Metal screeched and muscles strained as they both pressed blades against one another, trying to gain the upper hand over the other one.

Ignacio's eye was emotionless. As it always was when he was fighting...or beating him to a pulp.

"Watch your footing, Boy," Ignacio said.

That's when Ignatius found him on his back. Ignacio's blade at his throat, pricking his skin. A drop of warm blood slithered down the side of his neck.

"Looks like we have a lot of work to do."

Ignatius knew that neither of them would leave this cellar until Ignacio was satisfied.

Despite despising him, Ignacio, for some unknown reason, wanted him to get accepted into the best position.

Even though Ignatius was one of the best in his group, apparently it would never be enough. It seemed like no matter how hard he trained and let himself get beaten, it never seemed to be enough. Nothing would ever be enough for Ignacio.

Getting back up, he trained with Ignacio until his legs and arms were shaking. Till his callouses had reopened up and there were several nicks and bruises all over his body.

They only quit when Ignatius dropped to his knees, buckling over from the bruise forming on his abdomen; a pommel strike did not feel good, especially when it wasn't his first one.

"We train again at dawn." Was the curt dismal he got.

Ignatius dragged himself up the stairs, recovered the cellar door, and collapsed on his bed.