Chapter 188 - 186: Checking In.

Chapter 188: Chapter 186: Checking In.

Oddly, the only person who doesn’t seem to share his concerns on the matter is Khobi.

It’s not accurate to say that he’s unaffected; in fact, from the way he’s been throwing himself into his training today it would almost be fair to say that he’s quite affected, but in a different way from the rest of them.

There’s always an element of ferocity to sparring with Khobi –it was unavoidable, and one of the best and worst things about fighting him –but today his efforts feel much more deliberate, and while Montrel appreciates a good barefaced taunt as much as the next of them, he would love to avoid getting his face caved in just because Khobi wants to show off.

​Which, intentional or not, is clearly what he’s doing.

​"It’s fine," Khobi states, as Jaga steps away from the ring so that Khobi and Gandy can take their turn.

The way he cracks his neck makes Montrel very glad that he’s not in the ring with him just yet. He hasn’t had his nose broken in a while and he’d really like to keep it that way.

​"Let him watch."

​Through the rain, Loac watches; irritated, and thoroughly unsatisfied.

​Again.

​(Perpetually.)

...

​Over the years, it has been unfathomable to Vogrid Vector the consistency with which the guards tasked with keeping tabs on Loac Trent continued to fail in their duty.

He was one very distinctive man, who left a trail of scraps, carnage, and whores in his wake; one had only to listen but a little to the goings on of the castle to know where he’d been or was sneaking off to, and with whom.

Not that he would ever disclose such information to them. Men had to keep busy, after all.

​As with today; he finds him exactly where the rumours said he would find him. In exactly the last place anyone would ever think to look.

If he’d been tasked to, Montrel never would’ve found him.

​Vogrid doesn’t bother announcing his arrival, and a sidelong glance from Loac is all he gets in acknowledgement that he’s there.

​He doesn’t greet him. They’re not friends, and neither of them have any interest in pretending otherwise.

It’s one of the few things that Vogrid appreciates about him.

​"You’re filthy," he states, eyeing his bedraggled appearance with distaste. It’s a gross understatement.

Vogrid has seen Loac in his share of inappropriate states, but this is a new low, even for him.

There’s not an inch of him below his waist that’s not caked in cracked mud, and while his shirt is faring better it’s still sopping and dirty beyond salvage.

He’s not even wearing his shoes anymore. It’s not a good look but at least he won’t be tracking mud through the castle.

​Loac makes an annoyed sound under his breath.

​"What do you want?" he drawls stonily, leaning heavily against the pillar beside him, "Let me guess. Gurdet sent you." The implication that he’s just there as Gurdet’s dog is just barely veiled, and Vogrid’s eyes narrow as he adjusts the glasses balanced on the bridge of his nose.

​"...If you must know, he heard about your little scuffle this morning," he states coolly, "He sent me to check on you."

​Loac scoffs. Not because he doesn’t believe it; because he doesn’t believe that’s all of it.

​"Did he, now?"

​"His Majesty was deeply concerned –"

​Loac cuts him off before he can start.

​" –No he wasn’t."

​Cut the bullshit.

​"You’re right," Vogrid sniffs, after a beat, since there’s no point in pretending otherwise, "He wasn’t. He wanted to know if you won."

He scans him, taking in the muddy clothes, the tension coiled in his frame, and the scowl. "...I take it you didn’t."

​Loac looks away, which is as good as an answer.

​"...I was about to."

​"A no, then." With the rumours, he’d suspected as much.

Men such as Loac thought a lot of themselves and their enduring strength.

Skills, like swords, rust if not maintained. Rogard had learned that the hard way; it was about time Loac did, too, no matter how fearsome he might be.

​"...So why are you still here?" he inquires, because his continued presence here begged the question.

​"Why are you?" Loac shoots back, sullen, but more irritated than Vogrid would normally have expected, "...Since Gurdet already knows what happened."

​Vogrid says nothing; doesn’t bother deflecting. He’s not wrong. Gurdet Hector likes asking questions he already knows the answer to, and the one of the few things he likes more than catching someone in a lie, is being proven correct.

​Loac does raise a good point, though. Gurdet had to have known that he’d lost.

That was this morning, after all, and that might as well be old news to a king such as him.

And whilst it was feasible that he’d sent him all the way down here just to rub it in, Vogrid has to wonder if that was all there was to it.

​More likely, he was fishing –for what, Vogrid can only guess –and it irritates him that Loac saw it first.

​They never have much seen eye to eye, even when they were younger.

It doesn’t seem like Loac really expected an answer, and Vogrid doesn’t have one to give him, and an uncomfortable sense of disquiet settles between them as Loac peers out into the rain.

It’s slowed just enough that the soldiers, in all their filthy misery, are clearly visible –and performing...beyond expectation, it would seem.

Vogrid is no stranger to these grounds or these drills, and despite the hangdog expressions on a lot of the men –no doubt from getting to bed late, and drunk –there’s vigour in the air that isn’t always present.

​Well, perhaps Drogger had finally managed to whip them back into shape, after all.

​That doesn’t seem to be Loac’s purpose here though.

​It would be one thing if he was watching the comings and goings to see who’s slacking off, or if he was assessing the drills for technique, but he’s not.

He’s honed in on one group in particular.

Quite intently, in fact. So much that it feels as though he’s completely forgotten he’s there.