1. Rage
A young man walked down a certain mountain pathway from the edge of a cliff featuring a big healthy tree. His long black hair swayed in the wind and his brown shirt stuck to his skin due to the intensity of the wind.
His movements were unhurried and his steps cautious — Signs of the many times he had gone down that steep path.
The sun stood high, signaling the time of noon. The ambient temperature felt scalding, one of the reasons the boy had decided to go down the path.
He had successfully completed hours of intense sword practice, which remained the reason for the sword strapped to his back.
Grunting as he took careful steps down the steep path, Tristan made sure to repeat all that he had done the past day.
At least he tried to.
That approach proved just as annoying as always. It didn't matter how many times he had gone through that same sequence, difficulty remained the order of the day.
He went there every day and spent hours training so he could maintain his high level of skill, for he was known as the best fighter in his town.
"Tch. I tell them to do something about this place but no one listens." His youthful features contorted in a mixture of anger and helplessness. He hated the trouble he had to go through to get up and down the mountain.
"The pride of the town, yet they don't get things as easy as a mountain path done," he snarled, mocking the efforts of the small town of Medrial.
Within their large kingdom of Telgidi, a settlement like Medrial could only find importance if it either had impressive natural resources or great talent in combat practitioners, blacksmiths, and swordsmiths.
Medrial lacked impressive amounts of the former but possessed the latter. Tristan was that latter.
Being an orphan for as long as he could remember, he had found himself dedicating his life to the arts of combat right from the age of 12.
Now at the age of 17, he was considered the best among the bests. Having mastered the ways of a sword, bow, and dagger to the level of a master, he garnered respect even from the adults at such levels.
Still, how could he not have gotten so good that he could mop the floor with three men? Training was all he did after all.
After his first public fight, the town's lord had taken him in as his child, from that point onward Tristan trained under the best their town could offer until he honed his skills to near perfection.
Training had long since become his lifestyle. The only thing he knew apart from that was reading and writing.
Furrowing his brows when he stepped on some loose soil, Tristan muttered a curse when he found himself unable to gain proper balance. He stumbled and rolled down the path until he arrived at the base of the cliff which from that point had proper pathways.
His rather unwanted mode of transportation had left a trail of dust and pulled bits of rocks and sand down with him.
He found himself in a small heap of sand and small stones, now at the bottom of the steep pathway.
Grunting in utter annoyance, he straightened his figure and inspected his body. Thankfully, only superficial injuries had been sustained. They were nothing compared to what he had experienced in his life as a fighter.
That didn't make the event less annoying, however. But what could he do? He had never piped down his complaints ever since he started hiking the mountain three years earlier. Thankfully he never went too high up,
Dusting his simple two-piece attire of the specks of debris that had layered on them, he heaved a sigh, muttered a few words, and continued down the path before him.
From his position, he could sight the town's short buildings. Much had changed after his fame grew and attention arrived on that small settlement.
One of those improvements would be a better state of housing. Only those who had been present from its early years would understand the lousy state that place had been in.
So much had changed.
Considering the distance he stood compared to the town, Tristan instinctively understood how long it would take him to reach its walls.
After arriving at the base of the mountain he would need to traverse the path created within the small bundle of trees close to the town's wall.
It didn't feature that many wild animals, and even if he did he knew enough to escape alive.
His journey remained silent and filled with mostly thoughts. He pondered concerning his future whilst the cool shades of the trees loomed above him.
His years of adulthood had begun, he could take a wife, and marry her to bear children, but he desired more. Far more from life than what those simpletons he called family desired.
An ugly expression formed on his features when he considered just how low those individuals settled. He was far better than them so he deserved more from life. And he would get it.
Marching down the path with an expression of utter blankness, Tristan arrived at the town's back wall. It was only 4m in height and of relatively sturdy gray blocks.
Having trained his agility to a high degree, scaling the wall and arriving inside the town remained too easy. He had lost count of the number of times he had done so. So much so that he had a technique.
It took Tristan a short while to reach the streets of the town of Medrial.
Humans participating in various domestic activities unfolded in his gaze. Little children waved at him in excitement. Even if he ignored them to continue his journey home.
He ignored the greetings of certain adults and the eyes of young females his age. However, none felt offended by the cold shoulder he expressed.
It was public knowledge that the favored child of the town had grown proud and often ignored friendly gestures from the townspeople.
And truly Tristan considered himself more highly placed than those people. He saw no reason to stoop low and return their gestures. Heck, he found them irritating.
Who were they to think they deserved nice actions from him? They were only using him for their gain after all.
"When I leave this damned town I'm never returning," he chanted to himself maintaining a cold expression whilst the people of the town raised their heads at his passage.
A few ten minutes had to pass before he arrived at his destination. A big red building unfolded in Tristan's hard gaze and the figures of two men standing guard at the entrance of the black gate did not faze him.
"Young master Tristan." Both males bowed at his arrival. He didn't seem in a good mood so the gate was opened hastily.
"Young master Tristan. I see you've returned from your training session." A finely dressed middle-aged man rushed forward the moment the 6ft tall young man marched past the gate into the mansions courts.
"What do you want Sestien?" Tristan glanced at the butler shortly; continuing on his march to his chamber, not minding the fact that his pace remained a bit too much for the man.
"Lord Ior has ordered me to inform you of the guests arriving in a few hours. A bath and attire have been prepared for you. A feast will occur tonight," the man explained trying his best to match the pace of the vexed giant. When was he never angry?
"Who are these guests, and why do I have to attend the feast? You know I hate social gatherings," Tristan frowned, slowing down a bit.
"They are from a noble family. Talks about marriage will occur tonight." Sestien revealed in sobriety, whilst he watched Tristan's face contort in seething rage and slight shock.
"What!"