VOLUME 1 - FEAR THE DRAGON : 1 • LARICE

A DRAGON HUNTER SHE WAS, but dragons were the very last thing she would want to face in this world. The irony spoke itself. Larice Whitewind had long wondered until now if joining the dragon hunters in Shavath was but a mistake—the same thought that bothered her, again and again, every single day when she had her early morning hunt. She thought she had an answer … but the answer was nothing more than another question.

Larice sheathed back her rapier, grabbed the leg of the deer, and dragged it through the ancient woods of Shajara Forest. Dark and old elm trees rose high with their thick branches widely spread out, and their rustling oval-shaped leaves blocking the light from the morning skies. She trailed over the soft, mossy soil while avoiding the root lumps—ferns and wildflowers brushing on her legs. The air smelled of a fresh, pungent, stark scent. If only she could spend in this peaceful forest the rest of her life … she’d be very willing to … but sadly, she could not.

Larice Whitewind would never rest until she had the truth in her grasp—the truth of why those dragons burned her village … and her parents alive. The fear and trauma kept on haunting her wherever she went. She needed answers. So she had to stay in Shavath for a bit longer to gather some clues about that dragon.

Striding down the ground slope, Larice found the forest road. But then she caught laughing voices of men ahead. She slowed down when she glimpsed three bearded hunters from a distance, all in dark and leather garments. Her grip on the deer tightened when she saw the men at fun, wishing she had people … or friends … or family like them whom she could laugh and talk with. But unfortunately, the world itself was cruel, and so were the people. She hated everyone more than they all hated her.

Larice was about to go around and ignore the group when she spotted a young girl between the three men, sobbing on her knees with ragged clothes and ruffled hair.

“A cook’s daughter, eh? You really thought you can hunt only with this?” one hunter said as he picked up the tiny blade with a wooden handle.  

“Ain’t that a knife in your mother’s kitchen?”

The men laughed again.

Larice shook off and continued her walk. That did look more like a knife than a hunter’s weapon.

She decided against finding more trouble again with the dragon hunters. Archon Quarth had enough of her offenses from these past few months. One more report and he could expel her after this and send her to the Monases. Any women could be thrown into the Monases to weave fabrics for the rest of their lives—but not Larice. She wouldn’t want that at all. So she better mind her own business from now on. Besides, that young girl deserved to have a brief lesson for running out of Shavath on her own.

“Please … give it back … my sword …” The child wiped her tears with her tiny hands, leaving small traces of dirt on her cheeks. “I’m … I’m training … I wanna’ be a hunter—“

“Fool!” one hunter snapped at her. “Only men are to be hunters, for the empire’s sake. You hear me, kid? Only men and men only! You ladies do your jobs of serving our meals and cleaning off our breaches.” He waved off his hand. “You run along now, girl … back to the kitchen to where you belong.”

Such ridiculous words forced Larice to take an abrupt stop, dropping her deer and turning around with a scowl furrowed on her face. How could he dare say that?

When the young child caught a glimpse of Larice, she cried, “Help me, please!”

All eyes traveled to Larice the moment she approached—her face showing grimace. The three hunters shot their eyebrows in amusement, leaving the child behind to face Larice.

“Another little girl we have here, I see,” the one with the red beard said.

“I’m no little girl,” Larice replied as her hand found the hilt of her rapier. “If you want no trouble, drop that small blade and leave.”

The three men made themselves exchange glances before letting out big laughs. Their loud, irritating voices disturbed the serenity of the forest.

One hunter, holding the child’s sword, said, “Is this ye’ want?” He twisted a smirk. “Then take it!”

Larice flashed her eyes wide as she found the small sword bolting at her like an arrow. With a quick head turn, the sword hissed, until its sharp point drove past and pierced through the dark trunk behind her instead.

“Now leave us,” she said.

One of them snorted bluntly. “You giving us orders now, lil’ girl?”

Larice shut her eyes and took a deep breath. “If you won’t leave, then we’ll go.” She approached the helpless child when the hunters pulled out their swords all of a sudden.

“She’s got a rapier, Pips,” the tallest one took notice. The other two shifted their eyes down to where they found Larice’s sheath locked on her belt.

“So she’s a hunter,” Pips said.

“Perhaps.”

“I’ll have that pretty sword first.” The other hunter angled his silver blade, aiming at her face. “And then you can leave.”

Larice glared at the hunters, feeling a twitch of irritation in her muscles. She had no choice but to give these stupid men a lesson.

She unsheathed her rapier and drew her stance. Its long, narrow blade extended with soul-cutting point and edges, handled by a hilt carved with the scales of a serpent. 

“Handsome blade,” the red-bearded guy spoke. “Now hand it over.”

Larice walked forward in a sharp manner. Her rapier—Grey Viper was worth much more than all of their lives combined. Were they that stupid enough to think she would give up the sword that her mentor passed unto her before?

Never.

“Is this what you want?” she mocked. “Then take it.”

The hunters snapped, and then sprang forward, charging with their silver swords at hand.

Larice slid one foot backward and inhaled a big amount of air through her gritted teeth.

[Serpent Style] [Second Form]

Larice dashed to meet the three men rushing at her. “Triple Fangs.” It all happened in a single blink as her long rapier found each of the hunters’ swords. She advanced through the opening and slashed … then swirled and slashed … then leaped and slashed … as if she was dancing …. as if she was cutting mere pieces of wood into half.

Larice blew past through the men like a gust of wind.

She sheathed back her rapier and walked towards the child, leaving the hunters in shock of their broken swords. Gray Viper was an ancient weapon from the far country of the elves in Asveneas. Its blade was made of Elyfean steel, bathed and blessed by the Tree of Genia. Countless wielders had swung it for thousands of years until Riqui the Swordmaster died and passed it unto Larice. Only fools like these three hunters would go against the ancient blade using plain, silver swords.

“Stand up,” Larice ordered the child, whose skinny face looked much younger than ten. The girl helped herself up, rubbed her nose, and wiped her tears.

“What …” The voice of one hunter came behind. “The hell was that?”

“That swordsmanship … I’ve never seen anything like it, no. Who taught you that style, woman?” the other asked, brows furrowing in curiosity, but he was only ignored.

Holding the arm of the girl, Larice turned around and dragged the child with her, past the stunned hunters, towards the dark trunk of an elm tree where the small sword buried itself. She pulled it out and gave it to the young girl. Then she took her deer and left the hunters without a word.

While walking along the forest road, the child spoke up with her soft, shaking voice, “Tha … thank you … My … my name—“

“Don’t say it,” Larice interrupted, not paying any glance. “None of this would’ve happened if you just stayed in Shavath. What were you thinking?”

The child pouted her lips. “But … I want to train.”

Larice exhaled through her mouth while she studied the young girl. She recalled her own self back when she was just as little as this child. Fortunate she was that Riqui took her in after her parents died. He trained her in swords … in hunting … and raised her like his own daughter. If only Riqui was still here, she would’ve let this young child train under him.

But he’s long gone now.

“Live strong,” Larice muttered. “Women like us who don’t belong in higher classes will only get trampled on if we don’t stand both feet on the ground. The world is cruel. And so is everyone.”

“My mother’s not cruel.”

“Your mother won’t be with you forever,” Larice said bitterly, reflecting on her memories. “Learn to live alone.”

Trailing the forest road, with the sound of birds chirping and rustling leaves, helped Larice channel the serenity of the environment towards her mind.

But then, seconds later, she sniffed a bitter scent in the air along with the sound of men’s voices coming up ahead.

Then she saw it.

A campfire blazed from a long distance—with hunters sitting around, some skinning and some roasting their hunted hares.

She froze, feeling rooted on the spot—her eyes wide open.

Fire …

It’s a damn fire …

Larice trembled, hair lifting on her nape and arms. She could not bear the sight … the smell … and the sound of the dancing flames. Sweat broke from her forehead down to her neck as she drew quick breaths in and out. Her heart pounded faster and faster along with her blood flow. She didn’t realize crying until her vision blurred. The image from one of her darkest memories appeared in her mind; the memory that changed her life as a child.

She was tiny … young and happy. How excited she was to tell her parents of the bird she hunted from the Winterwoods. But when she returned to her village … only death and destruction had awaited her.

The biggest fire she had ever seen devoured her entire village—thick, black smoke ascending to the pale, gray clouds. Amidst the coldness of the northern winter, the fire dominated, drowning everything it touched in the ocean of flames. Hell as it was. Larice dropped everything—her bloody bird, her little dagger … and her emotions … as she glimpsed her parents … their bodies all black and burning.

Then she caught a sound above—huge wings flapping amidst the dark smoke. She couldn’t look up from her dreadful shock, but she heard it. The deafening screech of a dragon echoed in the sky.

A dragon …

The dragon did all of these …

Larice came to realize how deadly, how destructive fire could be. After that, she lived her life avoiding her fear—that even a small one from candlelight could cause her a panic attack.

“My arm …” The child’s hurtful voice pulled Larice back to the present. “It’s freezing …”

Looking down, her firm grip had expanded her frost on the skin of the child’s arm. It’s coming again—the curse. She quickly let go, spun around, and bolted away from the campfire. Her boots left traces of white, crystal frost on the ground; every step froze the soil, rocks, and roots she ran on. She couldn’t control it. She could never control the curse every time her fear took over her.

Larice hid behind one of the elm trees and leaned her back on the dark trunk, her breath bursting in and out of her mouth. She swept a hand across her face to get rid of the tears mixed with her sweat. Every experience felt awful for her.

A short time it took for the young girl to come beside Larice. Her tiny face looked confused. “Are you scared of fire?” she asked innocently.

Larice pressed one palm upon her chest to calm herself down. “Come here …”

While melting down the frost on the child’s arm, she kept on asking questions. 

“But you’re a dragon hunter …”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Larice replied in a low voice. “Let’s head on now.”

She just remembered that she had to go to Librad early this morning while all hunters had gone out hunting in the forest. At this time, she would have more time reading books and searching for any clues connected to her village. But after all these previous months, she found none in almost all books in Librad.

There was one place, however; a secret room where only the top-ranking hunters could enter. She heard about it before.

The Ardrad …

Larice had a strong feeling that the clues she’d been searching for were all stored in there.

Their conversation along the road amped up when the young girl mentioned Erlind.

“Wait … you’re the niece of Erlind?” Larice asked in disbelief. Erlind was an old hag bookkeeper of Librad who kept on giving pain in her ass all the time. But then she figured; she could ask if the child knew anything about the Ardrad. So she did.

“The red door,” the young girl responded. “Auntie Erlind opens it using a brown key. I see her do it when she’s with those tall hunters. Their capes are color blue … and there are two of them.”

“The Archon Hunters,” Larice replied, nodding. They’re the highest-ranking dragon hunters in Shavath. “So where is it? Where’s the key?”

The innocent girl gazed up to the morning skies for a moment. Then she said, “I don’t know. I think it’s somewhere on her table.”

“Table?” Larice stormed her brows. “The front desk, you mean?”

“Yes,” the young child replied, hopping over the roots on the side of the road. “Why do you ask?”

Larice had a sudden surge of excitement in her blood. Now that there was a new morning routine for all dragon hunters in Shavath, she could use this time to sneak through the empty Librad and search for the key.

She could finally find out the dragon who did it … and avenge the deaths of her parents and her village.

She vowed to herself she would make that dragon … that demon pay for everything he did.

But one thing troubled her, haunted her from trying to achieve this.

It was her fear … 

Her greatest enemy …