SWY 137

Chapter 8. Ailun Castle

The journey after leaving the cave went smoothly. They did encounter moving corpses from time to time. Bit never more than three or four, at most seven or eight, which they could handle without much difficulty.

Occasionally, they came across other survivors, but most of them avoided Sharhan and Lestel at the sight of their imposing physiques.

Only a few desperate souls, their bodies nothing but skin stretched over bone, had charged at them out of desperation, only to lose their lives in the attempt.

They hadn’t intended to kill them, but with nothing but malice left in them, the survivors had attacked recklessly, leaving them no choice. Each time it happened, it left a bitter taste in Sharhan’s mouth.

In more peaceful days, they too must have been ordinary folk of the territory.

“Let’s go on foot from here. Leave Thunder and Lightning behind.”

It was when they arrived at Afrol Village, the closest settlement to Ailun Castle. Seeing the makeshift barricades built from random materials, Sharhan dismounted from Lightning and said so.

“That’s probably best,” Lestel agreed.

It reminded them of the situation in Verden. While Afrol wasn’t as bustling as the commercial city of Verden, it was still the largest village within Serman’s territory. With a large population came a greater likelihood of both survivors and moving corpses.

To starving survivors, Thunder and Lightning would look like valuable meat worth dying for. For the safety of both the horses and the people, it was better to let the horses go free.

Killing off survivors who came for the horses wouldn’t be hard, but Sharhan had no desire to cut down his starving people without hesitation.

They unloaded their supplies from the saddles and carried them on their backs. The two horses, perhaps sensing they were to part ways again, looked up at them with tearful eyes and neighed sorrowfully.

“Don’t get caught. Run fast and stay alive. I’ll call for you when I can.”

Neigh…

Lightning’s whimper in response held a note of affection. Sharhan patted his muzzle and side, expressing all the care he could before stepping back.

“Go to the forest. There’s more to eat there. Be careful.”

Lestel finished saying goodbye to Thunder as well. Only after the two horses had wandered off did Sharhan and Lestel vault over the barricade and enter Afrol.

The streets were littered with junk and corpses. The stench was overpowering, and the ground was sticky with blood, flesh, and filth. The two of them walked cautiously, avoiding the scattered remains underfoot.

Clatter.

A noise made them look back. Someone was peeking out from a house to their left. Through a cracked door, a face appeared, sallow and yellow from hunger. Judging by the youthful features, the child was no more than thirteen.

Sharhan and Lestel silently swallowed their sighs and kept walking. It seemed many were hiding inside their homes, peeking through windows and doors, but they paid no mind and did not stop.

What Sharhan was aware of, however, was the subtle, persistent brush of Lestel’s hand against his. Sometimes Lestel would tap his fingers, gently scratch at the back of his hand with his thumb, or let their hands brush together. But he never fully reached out.

He had been doing this for days now. His desire to touch was obvious, but ever since Sharhan had firmly declared a ban on excessive physical contact, Lestel had held back, teasing him with barely-there touches. It was both endearing and frustrating.

‘Maybe I should go easy on him now.’

Sharhan was reaching his limit too. Every time Lestel’s hand brushed his, his heart raced, his body yearning for more. A few times, he had nearly lost control and initiated contact himself. He had held back, knowing he was the one punishing. But any longer, and he would feel like he was punishing himself instead.

With a short cough, Sharhan subtly nudged his hand toward Lestel’s. Their knuckles touched. Lestel rubbed his hand lightly a few times, then let go.

‘Did he not notice I did that on purpose?’

Sharhan tilted his head slightly and tried again, deliberately brushing Lestel’s hand. Again, Lestel only grazed his palm with his fingernail before pulling away.

Sharhan glanced sideways and realized Lestel wasn’t doing it intentionally. He simply hadn’t picked up on the signal.

This guy, who’s usually annoyingly perceptive, is dense only when it matters.

Given that Lestel was trying to be contrite, Sharhan couldn’t very well scold him for being too obedient.

With a scrunched nose and a sigh, Sharhan finally clicked his tongue and grabbed Lestel’s hand outright. Lestel flinched and looked at him with wide eyes, but Sharhan, feeling awkward and shy, kept his eyes straight ahead and continued walking.

Only then did Lestel smile silently and lace his fingers between Sharhan’s. Their palms pressed together, sweaty with nervous warmth, but neither let go.

“Let go of my hand for a second.”

“Why?”

“I’m thirsty. I need a drink.”

They had entered Afrol in the morning, and it was now well into the afternoon, yet they hadn’t had a single sip of water. Lestel reluctantly let go, visibly disappointed.

While Sharhan drank, Lestel unfastened his own waterskin and gulped down several mouthfuls. He had been holding back too. Seeing that made Sharhan chuckle as he reattached the waterskin to his belt and looked up at the sky.

‘Another three or four hours until sunset.’

They needed to reach the vicinity of Ailun Castle by then. Barring interruptions, it was doable.

“If you’re done drinking, let’s get moving again.”

Lestel wordlessly held out his hand. Sharhan took it without hesitation.

***

As they neared the castle, their pace quickened. Nearly breaking into a jog, they moved rapidly until the towering structure of Ailun Castle finally came into view. Without either needing to speak, both Sharhan and Lestel came to a halt.

“There are people…”

Sharhan choked on his words, unable to finish. In front of the castle gates, survivors were gathered, pleading to be let in. But the gate remained firmly shut.

They had heard rumors that the marquis had locked the gates after escorting some important guest inside, ignoring the pleas of his own people. But seeing it for themselves was far more harrowing. Sharhan’s face twisted with disgust.

“Let’s get closer.”

The cries grew louder as they approached.

“Please, save us! Open the gate!”

“At least let our child in!”

“You bastard of a lord! You had no mercy collecting taxes, but when we need you most, you slam the gates shut?!”

“Why are you letting us die, Lord?! You’re supposed to protect us!”

“Please! Let us in!”

The desperation in their voices was nearly gone. Rage was all that remained. They pounded on the gates until their knuckles bled. Parents cradling dying children sobbed for someone, anyone, to let them through. Their cries rang hollow against the unyielding walls.

“There are more than I expected,” Lestel muttered.

There were far more survivors than they’d seen from a distance. Hundreds, at least. Some huddled beneath tents set up in case the gates opened, while others braved the cold in rags or thin clothing. Tent or not, everyone looked the same, worn down, hollow.

Some sat on the ground, too weak to stand, staring blankly at the gate as if waiting for a miracle.

No one reacted as Sharhan and Lestel passed through. A few looked up, perhaps hoping to beg for food, but turned away when they saw the weapons.

Between these fading people, Sharhan and Lestel walked until they stood before the gate.

“Don’t bother trying to get in.”

A man who had been pounding the gate with the most fury called out to them. Turning, they saw a man in his late thirties with a thick beard and sunken cheeks. He cursed loudly, “That bastard marquis! What kind of lord lets his own people die like this?!”, then disappeared into one of the tents.

“We have to find a way inside,” Sharhan muttered.

They couldn’t see Iris, let alone rescue her, unless they got inside. As he bit his lip in frustration, a voice called out.

“Young master?”