The Exalt Cultivation Fantasy

Act 3: Empire's Stand - Chapter 584: Where Oscar Went To

Act 3: Empire's Stand - Chapter 584: Where Oscar Went To

"Where is Dad?" The young Gloria asked in Declerd's arms. She whipped her head around, lowering her head in disappointment each time. Declerd wanted to soothe her by patting her back, the same way his master, the great hero, did, but the young miss grumbled louder, pounding her small fists onto his shoulders. She screamed out, "Dad! Where, Dad!"

"Where is he?" Renn asked. "He promised!"

"Young master, the Lord is currently outside. I promise he will come back. Let's be patient and wait here." Declerd felt a headache coming. After the devastation of the siege, the estate was reduced to rubble, and they were freed by sweeping Exalts. Due to their status, they were granted a place in the Imperial Palace to rest, but his master never came back. The other soldiers refused to answer his questions, leaving him worried the worst had happened.

"Whatever happens, I will take care of you both. Arlen and Eris are making breakfast. Shall we eat for now? We'll leave a plate for the Lord in case he comes back." Declerd sighed in relief when the children assented. He couldn't help but wonder where his master had disappeared off to.

…….

A small breeze swayed his unkempt hair, prickling over his forehead and neck, but Oscar remained still like a statue, unable to rouse himself even to move to tidy his hair. For a whole week, he sat here and waited. The ground was sinking underneath his knees, a gray, blackish soil clinging to his ragged, bloodied pants. His hands, clenched tightly, sometimes had bits of dried blood flaking off. What was he waiting for? Oscar stayed motionless as his gaze never moved from charred, crumbled ruins where a few intact blackened wood beams rested in a clutter—his home.

Sitting in the scorched fields, Oscar finally lifted his hands after a whole week, noticing the heavy amount of dried blood painted on his palms, fingers, and arms, the blood of Fred, Emily, and everyone else he lost. The thick scent of their blood mixed with the acrid fumes of his burned-down farm was what he breathed in for the past week, yet only now did he realize it. But he could not find the strength nor the will to react or feel discomfort. His heart had run cold, and his senses had dulled. He rested his arms limply to his sides, his hands dipping into the ashes.

'Oscar. My brother.' Erden was beside him and whispered worryingly.

'I remember when I first brought Fred and Emily here. My parents were so happy for me. My mom cooked a feast for us, and my dad…huh…just joked around, making us laugh.' Oscar said, coughing out dirt. 'When we slept tightly in that one house, the flames flickering on the hearth, I felt happy.'

'...I can't remember their faces. I can't remember what my mom looked like. I can't remember how my dad smiled. What did they look like? Why can't I see them? I see everything except their faces.' He could see the simple table where his mom's cheese stew was set out in the middle, the one bed tucked in the corner where they all slept, the small bookcase that his dad asked the carpenter to craft to store the small number of books they got him, and the farm itself. His parents became obscure and veiled behind a fog when he tried to remember them, their faces unclear.

The entire continent warred; he tried everything, struggled, and fought to protect, save, and secure to the utmost of his abilities. However, in the end, he lost everything. What did he accomplish? Nothing. Only loss and a fading memory of the lost. He began to understand why Gol-4 never stopped sharing the stories of his past, spending entire nights by the fires to talk about one of the escapades with one or more of his wives. It was the only way to remember, or the pain and the passing of time would eventually push them away to be forgotten.

'Forget them if you want. Simply move on. Death is death. You're still alive. I won't let you push yourself to die because you've given up.' Inside him, Demon's indifferent words failed to unnerve him as usual. 'If you want to give up, hand over control to me and stay back. I will fight on for us.'

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'Don't force me to oust you in the inner world, Demon. I will tear you apart.' Erden growled.

'And if Oscar decides to give up, stop training, and quit fighting? He'll be an easy mark. And that will lead to your death, beast.' Demon retorted coldly. 'If the past is impeding you, cut it off.'

'You!' Erden shouted.

'It is an unfortunate truth of our world, of all worlds, that death takes, never gives. And time is a cruel master that stands indifferently above us all.' Ignyres interjected, a few snarls thrown at something or someone. 'I have fought in the greatest war, but never once did I look at the tragedy of the ones who battled for us. Now, I see. It is quite sad to experience. But do not lose that fire in you, child. The flame within you, that beacon of your resolve and hopes, carries the embers you inherited from the ones that have passed on.'

'Useless. There is nothing to inherit. Fred and Emily have died, leaving nothing. Accept it or not, I do not care.' Demon spat out. 'Instead of moping around in your tears, go out and become stronger so this will never happen again.'

'I used to be an emotionless being who did not take a second glance at the bodies of my followers. I have lived through the ages. With confidence, I can say you lack true strength. Your words have no heat, not a speck of embers to your purpose. Merely a cold mind that can never blaze beyond. You will bring only ruin if you take control.' Ignyres rebuked Demon, and the two argued within his mind.

Oscar had enough, raising his voice to the outside world, "Shut up! Shut up!"

"...That's not the greeting I expected." An elderly and calm voice responded. Before him, Elder Saul flickered into sight and smiled warmly, flashing his gums with little teeth. His old wrinkles had deepened, forcing the eyes to droop lower.

"Elder Saul?" Oscar didn't move, not reacting to the elder's presence. What good would Elder Saul's words do now when he already lost so much?

"Here, some fruit, boy. I thought you might be hungry. Took me a while to find you." Elder Saul floated down and sat on the ground, not minding the burnt soil on his robes. He held out a colorful fruit to Oscar, the same kind he sometimes gave, a better gift than the nasty biscuits that Oscar seldom enjoyed with the good elder. Sighing, he forced it into Oscar's hands. "Eat. You've been here all week, haven't you? Don't worry about the farm; I can regrow it for you, and you can spend the rest of your days here if you want."

Oscar bit into the fruit, a sweet concoction of varying flavors bursting on his tongue. Somehow, the taste brought tears to his eyes as he remembered the moments when Elder Saul came to him randomly to uplift him by giving advice or listening to his worries—those long-ago days in the Pavilion when he was a simple Outer Hall disciple. The fruit was quickly devoured down to the core. The tears kept falling as his body quivered from the flickering emotion that soon overflowed. Like a dam being broken, it all came out, and he shouted out his grievances.

Why did Fred and Emily have to die? How could he fail to protect his men? Uncle Carlson didn't deserve the death he suffered. His parents should never have died. Oscar cried out for hours about everything that happened during the war, about the losses, the New Dawn, the sacrifices….His throat became hoarse again, and he couldn't wipe away the tears with his bloodied hands.

Elder Saul listened to him in silence and raised his hand, placing it over Oscar's head. "After all these years, you're still the caring lad I knew you to be. To be so lively and shout so angrily means you're still full of heart. Never lose that, boy. The heart is the most important." He jabbed his thumb into his frail chest underneath the robes. "You haven't lost everything. You still got your master, me, your friends who survived, and your wife. There's still so much to live for. So don't be so arrogant to think the world is over, you idiot! Now eat a biscuit."

"Your biscuits are terrible. Not even rats will eat them." Oscar felt warmth surging from his heart, and a faint smile curled from his lips. He wiped off the blood from his hands and took the biscuit. It was incredibly dry, like sand in his mouth.

An hour later, after rounds of talking with Elder Saul, who ranted about the battle at the Pavilion, the two suns reached their highest peak, showering the elder and Oscar in a warm, soothing light. The old Elder chuckled, his white robe dirtier than ever from soot and dirt. Oscar felt slightly better from the long time Elder Saul conversed with him, taking his mind off the losses.

"Oscar, I have a confession to make." Elder Saul rubbed his chin. He crunched on a dry biscuit.

"A confession?" Oscar asked.

Elder Saul said, "I killed Fred and Emily."