Chapter 2
Efran

The sunshine gleamed over Efran's freckled half cheeks, and a half was buried in hays. Squashy but a little bit itchy. He grasped onto his rough bed to sit up and stretched his arms in front of the bright window.

"H-Hungry?" a soft woman's voice gently pierced into his ears. He glanced over his shoulder and saw an angel holding an apple–clad in the thin white dress was a freckled white skin of a thin-boned girl with a fine height. Wavy dark chocolate hair contrasted with her light purple iris–a Malvado signature eyes, a clan who can tear one's flesh on a single flick of fingers. They lived in North Trost, but their blood spread like a plague down to Flostania.

"Y-Yes," he stuttered as he peered at the corners of the barn before picking up an apple. He sat back on the straws with crossed legs and eyelashes fanned up to peek at Malvado's reaction and then back his stare into the apple he held with both palms.

This isn't poisonous, right? Or some sort of, when this special apple came to my stomach, then she could control my stomach to force me to obey her orders?

But he must not show some doubt in her front. It would alarm her his suspicions and might just crumple him straight ahead or drain his blood. Where was he anyway? Did something happen last night? Well, he had never slept in a barn before, so clearly, something happened. His dreams–they were not dreams but reality.

He was about to bite when he thought of an excuse. "Where is she? What's her name again?"

"Xie-no-rra," she answered, fingers touching her struggling throat, then grasping into her violin laying on top of hay.

Isn't the name supposed to be Riri?

"Is she here?"

"Did you miss me that much?"

The huge wooden door creaked open, vomiting sunlight through the dried pack of leaves as a figure of shadow entered–the Rajir woman who wore a black bamboo hat with a half veil and sleeve gloves in her crossed arms.

"Sorry for the late introduction. My name's Zao Xienorra. Rajir surnames were introduced first before the first name," she then tapped the Malvado's shoulder, "And this is Caesura Mortuguese. Don't make her talk too much. Her throat is not well."

He scanned the barn. From the angular plank ceilings, slat walls, and wooden posts dividing the empty spaces full of dried grasses. No single animal here except them.

"Where's the cute wolf I rode last night?"

"Don't worry about it. Worry about your job that has to be done before the sun settles down."

Efran frowned against her eyes. "Sounds déjà vu."

Xienorra tilted her head up to the ceiling, "Kirovah Ichor. I hate the feeling of being stalked."

"Now you know what I felt last night," Efran murmured.

"I'm not stalking."

Before his green eyes tried to follow the raspy voice, a tanned boy with silver hair fell in front, landing with soft crackling dried leaves. He swiftly slid out a paper somewhere in his ragged brown tunic and lent it to Efran. "I'm just waiting for my grand entrance. Cool, right, Efry? Call me Roh."

He ignored the cringe nickname as he reached out for the paper and opened it. Beige canvas with black wax seal of tiger's head. Written on the head title: Legionnaire Identification Document

"You have four documents to edit," ordered Xienorra. "My friend adviced to don't replace our names. Only the physical features."

"You mean documents to forge," he corrected and scanned the papers to see if he counted them correctly. "Where's the other four?"

Xienorra gazed deadly at Roh.

"Thieves can't work well with his stomach empty. You should've given me a bit more piloncitos," he shrugged as he bit the apple in his hands, too late when Efran realized that his apple was missing.

"Though I already expected that it won't be that easy. We can run through trees and Caesura can ride with her wolf."

Efran sat on the ground and placed the papers around the scattered hays against the sunlight. Slowly, he gently wiped his thumbs on the written inks, replacing the word black hair with brown, adding letters to complete the word freckles, and changing the big build into lean. His palms were like a flesh typewriter.

"Won't they find out? They know their soldiers' faces, of course–"

"Only the faces of officials and Razuha soldiers. Pawns for them are just meat shields that names aren't meant to be memorized."

"Harsh."

"We are living in a harsh world, kid. That's the reality."

"What about this Jack Herer on this paper? Won't he file a complaint if he realized someone replaced him?"

"Jack Herer must be very grateful for his doppelgänger, instead. He could sleep all day without charge of his absence and salary. My friend will take care of him and his papers. Stop worrying about him."

Roh complained, "If your friend can take care of papers, why do I have to steal papers?"

"To make it look stolen, and my friend won't get involved just in case things went bad."

Roh sat on the pack of hays and let his body sink in, catching his nape with his palms. He sighed while staring at the wooden ceiling.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" Xienorra was staring at him with her low tempered narrow eyes.

Roh gave her a confusing look. "What?"

"The pipe. You bought the right pipe, right?"

Roh almost jumped upon realization. "Of course!" He then lent a plain wooden tobacco pipe. But Xienorra just crawled her stare at it and into Roh's puppy eyes, flapping for mercy.

"The tiger carved pipe is too pricey," Roh defended.

Xienorra shut her eyes to refill patience. "But I gave you the exact polincitos, didn't I?"

Roh shrugged his shoulders, still trying to act innocent. "Some...happened...to drop...on the river. I'm so reckless..."

"Go back and get that at all costs! Steal if you shorten on piloncitos!"

"But what's the difference? Pipe is still a pipe! What are you doing with this, anyway? Smoke tiger pipe while on the mission?"

"That's the only request of our generous friend for our cover up! It's cheaper than actually purchasing his service instead!"

Efran blew the milky fibered paper and sniffed the musky scent, followed by a sigh of pleasure. He missed his old life already. All attention was gathered to him.

"If you're hungry, we have plenty of apples, too, than papers," Roh commented, eyeing him with full sympathy.

Efran stared at him madly. "After you stole my apple?"

Roh shrugged his shoulders and zoomed out his stare to the whole team. "So, what's the plan?"

"Get that pipe first!"

~

Efran hated his ginger hair and freckled skin being dried out in the sun–the main reason he didn't want to join the military. Yet, he was here now, wearing a black combat suit and heavy boots. Besides the dagger resting in his waist, he was carrying a satchel filled with cotton, needles, stitches, and a bottle of alcohol while riding with a horse, along with the soldiers escorting three carriages full of gold. These are the taxes collected from towns and cities to remit to the palace.

"Are they sure a storm would come? I can't even see a single cloud," he murmured out of the clear blue skies shining through the town hall made of cobblestones. Their horses stopped, and the swordsmen went down from their horses to transfer sacks of piloncitos to the carriage. He was lucky to roleplay as a surgeon, so doesn't need to do laborious jobs.

"Mzerlish lived in the sea, sailing ships as part of their life. They and their ancestors never missed when it comes to predicting the sea and weather. This was their tribe's expertise despite their small territory."

Efran didn't expect someone would answer him. He glanced at the soldier next to him. Black hair pushed back from his forehead, crimson eyes, and coal skin coating his lean, muscular, not-so-tall body. A Firaijan race who seemed on his age.

Xienorra discussed that their empire had collapsed in the hands of Levithia Republic's advent technology: giant floating birds dropping huge rocks full of gunpowder, paper human wings, chained crossbows and shooting irons–that's how they described those gadgets and artillery.

It's already ten years ago, and that's what every nation was now fearing for–to end like the Firaija empire, the emperor of flames that had now turned into ash. Their mission will have a huge contribution for the incoming world war preparation–to solve the civil war inside first before facing the outside.

He pretended not to hear anything. He doesn't know what to reply. Xienorra warned him not to make any scene so his face won't be remembered clearly.

Their plan was to wait for the bandit ambush, stash out his uniform, follow their base, and report to the client. Whether the gold was protected or stolen, it was none of their business.

"You're a new recruit, right?" The Firaijan boy continued their conversation as they started moving.

Efran scratched his name and made an awkward chuckle. "Yeah, right, how did you know?"

He then quickly regretted that he shouldn't ask questions that would extend the conversation.

"You're slouchy, skinny, and lousy," The Firaijan said, eyes straightly on front, as he fixed the bow slung on his torso, bumped over his wrinkled red scarf embroidered with a symbol of fire–a Pyrozu, men who can summon and control flames. Combined with a bow, they could create burning arrows, and they were called Pyro Archers.

Is that an insult? Or a doubt on his cover up?

"Oh, thank you."

Thank you? He's not really good at social skills!

"I mean," he tried holding back his words until a desperate sigh came to his mouth. "Whatever."

After the hours of sunbathings, the buildings were replaced by giant trees trying to hide them from the blue skies.

They had just entered the Fyera forest–a forest lived by Pyro spirits. Travelers always wait for the storm to guide them before entering. However, no one could tell if the myth was true. The news spread a decade ago that anyone who dared to cross the forest was being burned alive. Unless the skies were willing to extinguish the fire for you or you had the power to create water out of mists.

Efran thanked the trees for their shadows, just hoping the myth wasn't true because maybe flames crawling on skins were worse than being dried from the sun. Not until the trees began dancing around the sudden howl of the winds and the colorful skies started to fade out. In just a moment, dark clouds filled the skies, and cold drops of water landed on Efran's pale hands gripping the rod. Lightning started striking the skies, screaming, roaring thunder.

Efran turned his gaze to the blue-scarfed soldiers, who were now folding their hands together to build a dome of water protecting them from the rain. There were two on each octa squad escorting each carriage, six in total. They invested too much in Aquazu.

"Maybe it's the wind she's basing on. We can't see the clouds from a long distance, but if the wind was fast enough, then it could bring an unforeseeable storm. Plus, the wind won't run fast if there's no storm," he turned to his fellow, "Am I right?"

His new friend shrugged its shoulders. "Don't ask me, but her," he answered, eyes pointing to the tanned old lady in the middle carriage wearing a white scarf with an air symbol and a star on her shoulder–showing its lieutenant rank. She was holding a birdcage with a dove and colored rolled papers inside.

Next to her was the two-star scarfless bearded man–their captain. It has axes gripped in both of his hands.

Like the other carriage, they were surrounded by two Aquazu Soldiers, one Pyro Archer, a normal archer, three swordsmen and one surgeon. An octa squad formation that consists of swordsmen, marksmen, mage, and surgeon.

"Now we're safe from the Pyro spirits. You don't need to worry anymore."

Efran suddenly felt a tingling sensation in his stomach. His skin hairs rose, as if a thousand enemies surrounded them–but they weren't cloth fibers that he feels.

"Something was off."

Gio peeked at the Mzerlish lady. "Are you sure? Our sensor doesn't say anything."

Efran looked around. Thunderstorms were still raging outside, and the gusts were willing to tweak the trees from their roots. While inside the dome, everything seemed a little silent, but he still felt unsafe. Until his eyes widened in realization. What he did feel weren't clothes, but the raw fibers of plants!

"Drop your body, everyone!" he shrieked out.

Suddenly, a tree trunk entered the water dome, grabbing their Aquazu and squeezing it into pieces. The dome had faded away, replaced by the crimson blood misted in the rain. The trees he thanked were about to grind them all into pieces.

Efran Fritz
The Forge Priest

MVCabusas | The Invisible King