Chapter 319: Noble Fight.

Chapter 319: Chapter 319: Noble Fight.

Now, contrary to popular belief, Khobi Frost does not go looking for trouble. It’s more that trouble just has a way of finding him .

​For once in his life, though, that turns out to be a good thing. Although really, that’s a matter of perspective.

The men that he knocks out cold probably don’t see it that way. One of them sags into a nearby decorative plinth like a crumbling house and whatever precious artefact that was balanced on top of it makes an ungodly crash as it shatters on the stone.

Khobi winces as the plinth falls too, stone cracking heavily on stone; he’s definitely going to get blamed for that.

​Well, what was he supposed to do?

​The moment he saw Rogard covered in blood like that, his body had just moved on its own.

​"Oh, hey Khobi," Rogard trills conversationally as he backs up towards him; blonde hair mottled with drying blood and one hand stained a fresher crimson and clutching at a nasty, steadily darkening rip in his shirt down at his hip.

The sword in his other is tipped with red, and gleaming in the way that only sharpened swords do. "What’s up?"

​"What do you mean what’s up ?" Khobi growls, wiping a hand across his stinging split lip and then jabbing it across the bloodstained courtyard to the ragged collection of guards facing off against them, looking rather worse for wear.

One of them is cradling an arm like it’s broken. Two of them were already unconscious when Khobi got here. "What the fuck is going on?"

​Despite the blood, the deep blue of their uniforms is unmistakable.

​"...Ah, my father and I are just having a little disagreement is all," Rogard replies airily, waving away his concern and then wincing as the movement twinges whatever wound has been dripping blood all over him.

​As if on cue, more men swarm in on the courtyard, all in that distinctive blue uniform and looking decidedly fresher than their companions. Six of them have fucking crossbows.

​"Some disagreement," Khobi squawks, flinching as two low, warning bolts come streaking towards them and send them both flying for cover.

They fly wide over their heads and shatter on the stone behind them, sending splinters flying. "Is it always like this??"

​"This is new," Rogard admits dryly, peering up over the low stone wall they’ve taken shelter behind and grimacing, "Oh, great." Apprehensive, Khobi lifts his head, and his expression darkens as he realises why Rogard’s make such a face.

Because there’s someone else stepping out from behind the wall of crossbowmen; someone with golden hair and amber eyes and an expression of boiling disdain that Khobi remembers well.

And he looks furious. Not quietly furious either; this man has a fury about him like a wild summer storm, swirling and tempestuous and bent on destruction. It sets Khobi’s nerves on edge.

​"What is the meaning of this, Ryouta?" Rogard’s father demands, shaking his hand in the direction of his son; a piece of paper clutched so tight in his fist it’s crumpled beyond belief.

And from the spite in his voice and the way he regards it like it smells nasty, Khobi figures that there’s something written on it that he’s not so happy about.

Apparently so not happy that he’s ready to fucking kill his son over it.

And while Rogard clearly means for it to be reassuring when he informs him that his father doesn’t really want to kill him so much as teach him a lesson --maybe maim him, just a little -- Khobi really isn’t.

​"I know you can read, father," Rogard simpers back, and they duck again as a third bolt cracks into a nearby pillar.

It’s hard to know if they’re just trying to scare them, or if they’re just dreadful shots.

Honestly, Khobi hopes it’s the first.

Obviously both are bad when you’re on the wrong side of the bolt, but while expert marksmen are something to be feared, there’s something almost more terrifying in the unpredictability of one with dreadful aim.

"You tell me. It’s written right there."

​What’s written there? Khobi’s expression says, but for whatever reason, Rogard doesn’t answer.

​The guards are getting closer; edging in under the safely of crossbolt fire.

Khobi can hear their boots scraping on the loose stone.

​Ah shit, his eye’s watering. One of the assholes got a good swing at his face before Khobi smacked him one back, and while it didn’t connect cleanly, the guy was wearing some fucking heavy gauntlets so it smarts pretty nasty and is definitely going to bruise.

​It looks like Rogard’s not bleeding quite so bad anymore.

​With a sigh, Khobi chances a peek up over the low wall into the courtyard and in the seconds before a volley of bolts goes hissing over his head he sees two guards with crossbows and another five with swords inching in on them.

​And this is Rogard’s old man not trying to kill him??

​"This level of disrespect I would expect from him, but you, Ryouta?" Rogard’s father snaps, and the disgust in his voice makes Khobi’s blood curdle.

This is his fucking son he’s talking to! Khojin Frost’s not his father, but he raised him like he was, and Khobi knows he’d never speak to him like that.

"Going behind my back like this?" He’s shaking that bit of paper again, glaring at it like he wishes it would burst into flames.

"...If Gurdet thinks that this changes anything, then he’s even more of a fool than I ever gave him credit for. Believe me when I say that this changes nothing, Ryouta."

​And with that he takes the paper in both hands and rends it in two; tears it right down the middle, and then again, and again, until there’s nothing left of it but sad little flecks of paper floating away on the wind.

And Khobi’s not sure he’s meant to see, but as Rogard watches them go, he suddenly looks really sad. And that hurts, hurts so much that now it’s Khobi that’s steaming with unbridled fury.

Because what the fuck is wrong with this guy? Where does he get off on making his own son make that kind of face?

​So when Khobi hears footsteps beating on the stone as the guards start fanning out, he dusts himself off and starts rising to his feet; crossbowmen be damned.

He has no idea what the play is here; what they’re planning, and what their intentions are with Rogard once they’re within range, but he doesn’t want to find out.

​If they want Rogard, they’re gonna have to go through him first.

​"Hey, Rogard," he states, loudly, red eyes gleaming as he faces down the ring of bolts slowly closing in.

And from the way his expression darkens, it becomes clear that Rogard’s father hadn’t even realised he was there to hear.

"I know he’s your dad and all, but if he keeps mouthing off I’m seriously gonna hit him."

​"Go right ahead."

​He doesn’t get the chance.