Chapter 82: Lovesickness (1)
Aiyen had a dream.
Her first memory was of being ripped apart by scorching flames and sharp claws.
Cerberus, the three-headed dog of hell.
This dangerous beast emerged from the depths of an oil pit and breathed hot air and snapped its teeth at the uninvited who trespassed on its territory.
As Madame Eight-Legged, the goddess of depths, expanded her territory, the warriors of Balak were forced to follow her.
They were inevitably forced into a hunting ground dispute with Cerberus, and eventually succeeded in driving the original owner of the realm far away.
In the process, Aiyen was mortally wounded and dropped from the pack.
She thought she was going to die, but... still had a long life ahead of her.
Imperial slavers exploring the jungle found her dying, gave her minimal medical attention, and sold her into slavery.
Thrown into a cold cage by human beings without blood or tears. Aiyen feared death, or worse, doom.
Now it is self-evident that he will never come out of this cage, but will wither and die in agony.
His freedom to roam the vast depths is gone, and his honor as a proud warrior will be tarnished.
What will become of you?
Will you live a miserable life as a castle puppet for the greedy empire of Fatty? Or will he become a gladiatorial slave, doomed to fight demons until the day he dies, and end up as a mere piece of meat on the tables of gluttonous gourmets who lust after human flesh?
Aiyen's body and mind were weakened by his festering wounds, his rising temperature, and the fact that she hadn't had a sip of water in days.
As the proud jungle warrior fell to the ground, wings broken, dying a slow death.
A miracle happened.
A boy appeared with a white light.
He casually lifted the shroud of darkness over Aiyen's fate and cast a beam of brilliant light.
Her eyes were immediately drawn to his beautiful appearance, his combat prowess, and most of all, his brave and regal demeanor, which she had never seen before in her life.
Had there ever been a warrior of her age capable of such strength?
Not even among the strong and brave warriors of the Balak was there a man of such excellence, among an empire that thought only of them as cunning and dirty.
Through his fading consciousness, Aiyen watched as the slave traders who had mistreated him, treating him like an animal, cattle, were dragged away, all dead or with their limbs torn off.
That bloody night.
The boy took her out of the cage and sent her back to the home she'd always dreamed of.
And since then, Aiyen has never forgotten the boy's face.
Aiyen has consistently crossed the borders of the Empire with the sole intention of finding Vikir.
To invade the Empire was to risk her life.
She crossed the border, sometimes in groups, sometimes alone, to find the boy.
Living in a small community in the jungle, she had no idea there were so many Imperials.
But the boy was extraordinary, and she knew that if she kept searching through the crowds, she would find him one day.
One by one, Balak's other companions achieved their goals.
A man in Balak kidnapped a woman from the Empire to become his wife, and a woman from Balak kidnapped a man from the Empire to become her husband.
One by one, her companions succeeded, but Aiyen continued her hunt.
She was waiting. For the one that would one day miraculously arrive. It was inevitable.
While all the other girls her age had captured and paired up with suitable men, Aiyen stood firmly alone.
She didn't even look at other men.
Until one day.
Aiyen met a boy.
A boy, the same boy from the night before.
But in his arms was a different woman.
A woman. Aiyen felt a black fire boiling in his chest, a fire that burned only in the oil world.
But Aiyen was a cool headed woman, and she quickly tamed the flames within her.
She decided to dismiss the boy's past favoritism toward women.
It's not about the past that can't be changed, it's about the future they can build together.
The problem was, the boy didn't fit into her plans at all.
The boy had grown stronger since their last meeting.
He fought brilliantly against several of Balak's warriors, proving himself extraordinary yet again.
The more he saw of the boy, the more he wanted him. To own him. To have him as her own.
And that desire grew stronger as she watched the boy charge at Madame Eight-Legged, unfazed.
In Balak, brave warriors are treated as such. The boy deserved it.
So Aiyen turned to flee.
He wanted to save the boy, even if it meant being caught by the terrifying Madame.
...How could he even think of facing that monstrous creature?
His legs were shaking and he was breaking out in a cold sweat, but nevertheless, Aiyen pushed through his fear.
In a moment of crisis, she threw the lasso and succeeded in freeing the boy from the Madame's eight legs.
Aiyen then brought the boy back to the tribe, his body ruined by his fight with the Madame.
There was some backlash.
The cranky old bastards didn't like outsiders from the Empire.
Rumors that the boy might have ties to the Baskervilles, Balak's nemesis and arch-enemy, led many to suggest that he be executed.
It was Aiyen who steadfastly refused.
She argued that the boy had saved her life and that keeping him alive would benefit the tribe.
And her foresight was spot-on.
The more the boy recovered, the better for the tribe.
He went on hunts, brought back big prey, scolded traders who had always treated the natives poorly, and even provided cures for the plague.
Other than that, the days of living together in the village began to pass like a lightning bolt.
The days of pissing on each other, eating decoctions of bear genitals, hunting together, and bathing in the hot springs all blur together in a dreamy, milky way.
For some time now, Aiyen had really, truly wanted the boy.
It was a feeling that had long since transcended the simple concept of possessiveness.
... Just then.
"Sweetheart, get up."
Someone shook Aiyen awake.
She lifted her heavy eyelids and looked straight ahead through blurred vision.
She could see the straw woven ceiling.
Aiyen was now lying in bed, sweating profusely.
He was flushed, his temperature was rising, he was losing his appetite, he was sweating profusely, and he was dehydrated.
With difficulty, Aiyen turned his head to look at the figure beside him.
The Balak chieftain, Aquila, stared down at him with concern.
Aquila wiped Aiyen's face with a damp cloth and spoke.
"You kept looking for Vikir in your sleep."
"...It's so painful, Mother, could this be the Red Death?"
Aiyen said, gasping for breath.
Then Aquila squinted her eyes and examined her daughter's entire body.
Aiyen lay without a single thread of clothing on her body.
Her temperature was rising, and she was sweating profusely. Her whole body is flushed red.
But there are no obvious spots.
Aquila pondered.
"His symptoms are a little different from the other children with the Red Death...maybe it's ..., maybe it's not.
As she pondered, Aiyen frowned and clutched at her chest with her hand.
"The pain is getting worse, my chest hurts, my body is hot, and I feel like my heart is drying up."
"Hang in there, girl. Vikir will be here soon. He's the man you sent for."
"...I'm fine without him, he's not coming back."
But despite her words, Aiyen's anguish is palpable.
She turns to Aquila, almost pleading.
"Mother, I've never been so sick before, to the point where I blame you for giving birth to me. I shouldn't be like this, but the words 'why did you give birth to me' keep coming out of my mouth."
As Aiyen sobbed, Aquila held her close.
Not with the majesty of a chieftain, but with the compassion of a mother.
"My dear."
Aquila spoke softly to Aiyen.
"A long time ago. Me and your father planted a tiny little seed in the dirt."
It was the first time Aquila had ever told her father's story, and Aiyen listened attentively through her fading consciousness.
Aquila continued.
"Your father planted a seed in the soil and your mother watered it every day. Soon, the seed sprouted, and after a few months, it became a healthy, beautiful flower."
Aquila said, cupping her daughter Aiyen's face in her hands.
Aiyen looked up at Aquila with tearful eyes.
A warm, tender emotion rose between the mother and daughter that was hard to describe.
Finally, Aquila finished.
"And so we picked the flower, crushed it, squeezed the juice out of it, soaked it in tobacco, smoked it, and, in a dazed and euphoric state, had unprotected sex. That day you were born."
"...."
"Oh, and your father was executed by your grandfather the very next day for playing mean tricks with drugs."
Aiyen looked a little defeated after learning the secret of his birth.
" ...my body aches even more, Mother."
"Wait a little longer. If Vikir comes with a way to cure the plague...."
"Forget it, don't torture my hopes, he's not coming back! What slave in the world would come back when his leash is off...!?"
That moment. Aquila and Aiyen's conversation was cut off.
A commotion erupted from outside the door.
"Wow, they're here!"
" Vikir! Vikir is back!"
"A cure! He's brought a cure!"
Aquila, who had good ears, heard the shouts of joy from her tribe.
She turned her head, her face brightening.
"See, daughter, I did not tell you...."
But Aquila couldn't finish her sentence.
A bang!
In an instant, she was up and out of her seat, smashing through the wall.
As if she hadn't been sick before, she climbed down the tree and ran at full speed.
Aquila stares after her, mouth agape in disbelief.
"... Wasn't that a red death?"
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