Kobold King: Volume 1

1. Auflage 2020
ISBN: 978-1-7183-6798-2
Verlag: J-Novel Club
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: Adobe DRM (»Systemvoraussetzungen)

E-Book, Englisch, 320 Seiten

Reihe: Kobold King

Gaius Balderus has led a storied life. From humble beginnings, he made a name for himself as fearsome warrior, a renowned general, adviser to kings and paramour to princesses. Gaius's very presence commands respect and fear, so much so that everyone is too afraid of him to allow him to reveal his softer side.
Gaius gives up everything and finds a chance to start again on the frontier of human civilization, where humans and monsters alike scrabble for existence in a hostile forest. When he runs into a tribe of kobolds, small furry creatures who are fleeing from human aggression, they immediately distrust him and everything about him. Can this gentle giant of a man come to peace with his past and win the friendship of the adorable kobolds?

Autoren/Hrsg.

Syousa.

Weitere Mitwirkende

Sime

Muhamed, Fatuma

Leseproben

Chapter 1: The Black Rose of Igris

Hetty, a first-year student at the Royal Knight Academy, stood watch outside the castle gates.

She, like the other students, took turns “volunteering” one of their days off to assist with guard duty, one of the beautiful, long-standing, and frustrating traditions of that great establishment of learning. It was a punishing practice that robbed students of their precious free time in exchange for free labor, but one that had its own benefits. Helping at the gates allowed a student the chance to see each and every person who came in and out of the royal castle.

There were more visitors than merchants and traders; there were plenty of high-ranking ministers, knights, court officials, and nobles to meet. “Speaking with royalty” was also included in the job description, though only rarely. For apprentice knights like Hetty, this was a golden opportunity to make the acquaintance of well-placed members of society, like members of the court. Students with dreams of climbing the ranks would find out when a particular noble or soldier was scheduled to visit, and would purposely volunteer for guard duty on that day.

The way they sold themselves under the guise of “apprentice work” could hardly be called a good thing, but for these young men and women with dreams of worldly success, doing so was a natural means to an end. And so, they dressed themselves in their finest clothes, did their best to look like diligent students, and held on to the fleeting hope that they might one day catch the attention of an aristocrat. And, it turned out, one person had in fact caught the eye of a royal while manning that chore of a post, and had gone on to become captain of the knights.

It is human nature to hold onto hope, even if the odds of their dreams coming true is less than one in a million or even a billion. And Hetty, despite this being her first day on the job, was no exception.

Her expression was tense, her posture ramrod-straight. She executed each and every salute with speed, each movement perfectly smooth.

...Or so she tried. Instead, her nerves turned every motion into a trembling, clumsy mess.

A young noble scoffed at her. An elderly diplomat gave her a crinkly-eyed smile. A rotund trader gave her some small words of encouragement. Through it all, Hetty continued to push herself to look as knightly as possible.

She looked through the gate to see Paul, her classmate and a fellow “volunteer helper.” He received guests and asked them required questions as they passed through, his expression slowly freezing into a blank stare. Each time he made an error in the process, a senior guard was close at hand to correct him. It seemed Hetty wasn’t the only one under strain.

However, after a repairman passed through the castle gates, the flow of guests seemed to suddenly dry up. Apparently people would come and go in waves throughout the day. With far fewer eyes on her, Hetty felt her tension wane, and she fought to stifle a yawn that threatened to escape her lips.

Seeing this, the older guard smiled and called out to her in appreciation.

“Just a little longer, miss. Then you can swap shifts with the lot back at the guardhouse. Chin up ’til...then...” The words trickled out as his face suddenly froze, and his gaze became fixed on the road leading up to the castle gates.

The knight stood at attention with blinding speed, his spine and spear perfectly straight. His face tightened into a tense expression, every part of him silently screaming “Don’t screw this up!” Hetty could even hear the man gulp for air.

She and Paul both stared blankly at him for a moment, until they turned to follow his gaze and realized why his demeanor had changed so suddenly.

Someone was approaching. A man clad in leather armor, with a cape around his shoulders and a sword at his side.

He stood nearly seven feet tall, and was so large that he might be mistaken for an oversized statue instead of a man.

His face was like a bad omen, his expression so stern that he appeared to be glaring. His mouth was drawn tight, as if barely suppressing rage. The figure he cut was more like a beast than a man; a lion, perhaps, or some other flesh-eating animal.

To top it all off, not only was his face covered in what looked like battle scars, some sort of tattoo was neatly incised into his left cheek. Not even the most generous interpretation would mistake him for an upright citizen.

Hetty’s feeling of dread grew so powerful that she nearly drew the sword at her hip out of reflex.

“Thank you for your service, Lord Beldarus!” the guard shouted in a too-shrill voice.

Lord Beldarus?! Hetty and Paul turned to one another when they heard the name.

That’s him! Baron Gaius Beldarus! Captain of the Knights of the Chain. The famous knight who had made a name for himself fifteen years ago, during the Five-Year War between Igris and a number of formerly friendly nations along its border.

Even Hetty and Paul, who had only just started attending the Knight Academy, had heard his name. “Slayer of Fifty,” “Gaius the Maneater,” “Beldarus the Bloody-Bladed,” “The Headhunter,” “Ally-Killer.” The man had many names, countless stories, and a fearsome reputation dogging his every move.

But his most famous alias stemmed from the cursed mark on his left cheek: “The Black Rose of Igris.” One rumor has it that the mark had been placed on him by magicians from the eastern nations in an attempt to suppress the man’s bloodlust. Another said it was a curse, a mark that spontaneously appeared as a result of the curses amassed by all the souls he’d slain.

He was no berserker; he was not a mindless killer driven by a vengeful spirit. No, he was a crystal-sharp distillation of human ferocity, cruelty, and madness. Everyone knew that about Baron Gaius Beldarus.

Hetty did her best to prevent her teeth from chattering, but she couldn’t keep herself from trembling.

She looked across the gate, and saw that Paul was also shaking, his face pale. He was the one who had told her that Beldarus would cut down any young knight who displeased him.

It was unclear whether Gaius was aware of just how terrified they were of him as he approached the gate, but as he walked towards them, he turned towards the senior guard and shook his head.

“Fine work as always. But you don’t have to call me ‘Lord.’ As of yesterday, I’m neither a noble nor a knight.” His voice was low, slow, and heavy with dignity.

But to Hetty and Paul, who stood gripped in terror, that voice scoured their very souls like a ghastly echo emanating from a grave.

“Yes, Sir! I crave your pardon!”

“I do need entry, if you please. I have business with the seneschal; I need to turn in the keys to my knights’ lodging.”

“Understood! If you could please fill out these forms... Bring that clipboard over here already! Hop to it!”

“Y-Yessir! Right away, Sir!” The lead guard barked an order to Paul, then whipped around to speak to Hetty.

“Hetty! See to Lord Beldarus’s belongings!”

“Er, I... That is, I’m no longer a noble...”

she moaned inwardly. Hetty willed herself forward on shaking legs. Lord Beldarus removed the sword hanging at his side and bent over to hand it down to her.

“You may find it a tad heavy. Do be careful with it.”

“Y-Yessir!” Hetty stammered a reply and reached out with both hands to take the blade being offered to her. The scabbard pressed down into her hands under the considerable weight of the sword.

Whether it was because of her frayed nerves, or because the sword was much heavier than she’d expected...

...Hetty did an impressive job in almost immediately fumbling the sword to the ground.

This remarkably cogent thought flashed through her mind as the sword hit the cobblestones with a great crash!

The blood drained from her face as she stared fixedly at her own feet. She could see the ornamental detailing on the sword, now cracked and shattered. There was no mistaking that the sudden impact from the fall was to blame for the damage.

Hetty released the breath she’d been holding and closed her eyes.

“Well, well, well... Did the blade get broken? Let’s test it out on your neck and see.” And with those words—fwoosh—her head came clean off. ...Or so Hetty saw in her mind’s eye.

As Hetty lamented the untimely end of her all-too-short life, with tears welling up in her eyes, she opened them to find Lord Beldarus stooped over, picking up the shards one by one.

“M-M-My deepest apologies for this dreadful offense, Lord Beldarus!” The guard dropped to his knees and pressed...