Daniel Garcia
Stories
5
Chapters
1,778
Words
262.2 K
Comments
0
Reading
21 h, 50 m
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“…Then what is it you’ve come to say?” Alekkai asked. Chief Hurun looked at him, “Do not die for this vengeance, young Alekkai.” “This is not for revenge—the Outriders are—!” The man was interrupted by the elder, “You can say such things, but I know what stirs you, young Alekkai. Words may leave your lips, but your eyes speak the truth; a thousand flames burn in your gaze.” “—” Alekkai looked at him before returning his gaze over the bridge. Rain continued falling harder…
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It was surprisingly large, and well-built with unique architecture, though it wasn’t inferior to anything he’d seen within Milligarde. The home was built in a dome structure, made of well-furnished wood with the floorboards being mostly covered in a thick, wooly fur of some sort of slain, pale white beast. There was an incense lit within the home, producing a refreshing aroma that billowed within the abode. It’s nicer than I expected, he thought. “Papa!” Rushing out from one of the rooms, a…
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“Vandread…he won’t die that easily. Trust me–he’s still there,” he said. The utter belief in these words lacked any trace of a lie or exaggeration, causing the fluffy, red tail sprouting behind the tan-skinned man’s back to wag. “Interesting. You’re a magic man, aren’t you?” Alekkai asked. “A mage, yes.” “Are you a capable warrior?” Alekkai asked further. “…I’d like to think so,” he nodded. Alekkai stared at him for a moment before glancing back, yelling…
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Though the man was seemingly immortal, he still feared for him. Perhaps he feared for himself and wanted the reliable fighter with him, or perhaps the child-like part of his brain didn’t want to be left alone in this dreadful situation. But alas, his frantic run led him to an obstacle– SMACK. As he was running blindly into the forest, he ran face first into a bulky tree, being floored by the sudden, harsh impact. “Ghh!” He winced. At the end of the day, no matter what spells he had at his…
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Beyond just the change of age, other, more tangible changes produced themself on his body: his voice had grown noticeably deeper, his height increased by a few inches, and his “baby face” had shaped into an adolescent, fair shape. It was a far cry from looking like an adult, but it was progress. Still, Vandread treated him like a child all the same. He rested his arms on the carriage windowsill, looking at the great trees of the forest that were as wide as a house and as tall as mountains; veiling…
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“Let me narrow it down for you,” the formless entity said, “White hair, gold eyes–anybody like that?” The moment that was said, he found the memory stirred up of his encounter with the odd, beautiful woman amidst the night in Elsia before. “Yeah…I recall meeting a woman with those features. She…was intimidating,” he answered. “Ha-ha,” the entity laughed, “That sounds about right.” “You know who that was?” “Mm. It’s a bit complicated, but just think of that woman as a…
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“The Hunting Party isn’t on our trail anymore, and we’re both alive–in this world, that’s a victory,” Vandread told him. He didn’t respond, only listening as the carriage rolled through the uneven forest trail, riding over protruding roots and causing the critters of the verdant region to scatter in its path. Days came and went, all spent traversing the stretch of the massive forest. It was larger than he could ever anticipate, especially since the carriage moved constantly, pulled at a…
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There was a spectrum of emotions flooding through his mind as he sat in the field that stunk of death, finding crimson having painted portions of the foliage. He didn’t know the man very long, nor did he share many nice moments with him, but he still felt grief and lamentation–he instantly blamed himself. It was due to his desire to become an adventurer that this person was sent on this journey with him, and why that person was now dead. Or, so he thought. Wriggle. Wriggle. “–” He looked up…
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Distant from the skirmish, but watching from a cliff far above the forest ground, the woman with divinely white hair watched, keeping her hands orderly behind her back as her eyes seemed to see past all of the fog and through the thickness of foliage. Crescentia mumbled to herself, “…Let’s see how you handle yourself, Emilio Dragonheart.” – The azure flames born of his dragonblood were instinctively amplified by his own natural aptitude for wind magic; this combination brought on a new realm…
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In terms of the swordsman rankings, the “Hero” rank was something in an entirely different realm; for each style, there could only be one hero-rank swordsman. That meant the man standing before him was a living legend–practically a god himself of the blade. Though he knew of the sigil, he hardly knew anything about the Two-Faced God itself. There were many thoughts flooding through his mind–though most, if not all were scrambled and discombobulated as he was left swallowed in fear. He was still…
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