Chapter 24 – The Drunk and The General
Shawn and Makara were escorted into a bustling field dotted with a myriad of small camps. The scene was a hive of activity: soldiers marched with purpose, blacksmiths hammered away at glowing metal, shaping swords, armour, spears, and shields with practised precision. The clamour of the forge, the rhythmic clang of metal on metal, and the organised chaos of soldiers preparing for what was clearly a major conflict filled the air.
The soldiers guiding Shawn and Makara were vigilant, their eyes darting around, keeping a close watch on the newcomers. They led the pair to a modest hut set slightly apart from the main activity. Inside, the atmosphere was markedly quieter, though the tension was palpable. The hut, though small, was functional and stark—rough wooden walls, a simple table, and a few chairs.
As they entered, the soldiers motioned for them to sit, placing the collected items—Makara’s weapon, sake gourd, and the royal-sealed scroll—on the table in front of them. The soldiers now tied their legs also and then stepped outside, leaving two guards stationed at the door.
Makara made himself comfortable with his seat with exaggerated grace, stretching out as if settling in for a casual chat. “Well, this is cosy,” he said with a wry smile, glancing around the plain interior. “Just think of it as a very exclusive waiting room, Shawn.”
Shawn, meanwhile, remained focused, his eyes scanning the room and the two soldiers stationed outside. He couldn’t help but feel a mix of apprehension and curiosity. He wondered about General Mong, the figure who would soon decide their fate. The guards outside continued their watchful vigil, their presence a stark reminder of the seriousness of their situation. The murmurs of activity from the surrounding field drifted into the hut, a constant reminder of the broader conflict that was unfolding beyond these walls.
As Shawn and Makara waited in the small hut, the minutes stretched on, each second thick with anticipation. Makara, ever the opportunist, eyed his beloved sake gourd, which lay on the table, taunting him with its proximity. With a sly grin, he began his attempt at a little mischief. His hands and legs were bound, but his determination was unwavering.
Makara got off his chair and made a leap trying to reach the table, and to his surprise, he reached the table in one swoop, but fell since he lost his balance due to his legs being tied, landing below the table. Then, using his feet, he gently kicked the table from below, which managed to tip the gourd just enough so that it started to tip over the edge of the table. The gourd’s mouth slowly faced downward, directly above Makara’s face. A single drop of sake began to slowly trickle from the gap between the gourd and its wooden cap, hovering tantalizingly close. Makara’s eyes were locked on the drop, his expression a mix of intense focus and eager anticipation. Each slow, deliberate drop seemed to defy gravity as it made its way towards him, promising a brief but well-deserved sip.
As Shawn observed Makara’s playful struggle for a drop of sake, his attention was suddenly diverted by an overwhelming shift in the atmosphere. His senses, finely attuned to the subtle nuances of his surroundings, picked up on a commanding presence that cut through the usual noise. The lively clamour of activity and chatter outside fell away, replaced by an eerie, almost palpable silence.
Shawn’s instincts sharpened as his eyes moved towards the entrance of the hut, peering through the wooden slats with growing curiosity. The heavy, purposeful footsteps that followed were unmistakable, each step reverberating with authority. His heart raced as he discerned the approach of a figure who exuded an undeniable aura of command and respect. As the silhouette drew nearer, it became clear that General Mong had arrived. The general entered the hut through the door, and his entrance was nothing short of awe-inspiring. He was clad in battle-worn armour, its surface etched with the scars of countless conflicts. Each mark told a story of resilience and experience. His imposing figure, tall and muscular, was a living testament to years of relentless training and battlefield triumphs. The general’s presence filled the room with an air of gravity and expectation, his stature alone demanding attention and respect.
As General Mong stepped into the dimly lit hut, his imposing figure seemed to command the very air around him. His eyes swept over the scene with a steely, assessing gaze—Makara sprawled on the floor, awkwardly reaching for a drop of sake from the overturned gourd, and Shawn, who was still sitting in his chair, his expression a mix of curiosity and guarded caution. The general’s attention was momentarily captured by the gourd, which, despite Makara’s efforts, had a single drop of sake dangling precariously on the mouth edge of the gourd. With a swift motion, General Mong reached out and deftly snatched the gourd from its precarious position with the the drop of sake is pushed back into the gourd.
“Who would waste a good sake?” General Mong remarked, his voice carrying a hint of amusement that seemed at odds with his formidable appearance. The comment, though light-hearted, carried a tone of authority and sharpness that cut through the tension in the room. Makara, who had been eagerly anticipating that drop of sake, looked up with a combo of disappointment and resignation as the general took the gourd.
Makara looked up, a mischievous grin spreading across his face, even as he tried to maintain his balance on the floor. “Well, well, well,” he said, his tone light and amused despite the situation. “If it isn’t the man of the hour. Care to join me for a drink?” General Mong’s eyes narrowed slightly, a mix of curiosity and sternness in his gaze. “You seem to be making quite the spectacle,” he said, his voice deep and resonant. “Though it appears that your attempts at entertainment have been interrupted.”
General Mong raised his hand in a commanding gesture, and instantly, the two soldiers who had been standing guard outside the hut stepped in. Without a word, they grabbed Makara by his arms and, with a forceful shove, pinned him against the wall beside Shawn. Makara let out a small grunt, his earlier playfulness vanishing in the face of the general’s stern authority. Shawn, caught off guard by the suddenness of the action, remained speechless, his eyes flicking between Makara and the imposing figure of General Mong.
The soldiers, having secured Makara, moved back to stand behind the general, their posture rigid and disciplined, reflecting the military precision that Mong commanded. The atmosphere in the hut grew tense, the air thick with the weight of unspoken words.
Shawn, trying to assert himself despite the intimidating presence before him, took a cautious step forward. His eyes locked with the general’s, and he offered a respectful nod. “General Mong, I am……”
“Save your pleasantries,” General Mong cut in, his voice firm and unyielding, though not entirely without a hint of patience. He eyed Shawn and Makara with a scrutinising gaze, as if weighing their worth in that moment. “I’ll give you one chance to prove you’re not spies or scouts.”
Makara, still on the floor from the rough shove, let out a soft chuckle, unfazed by the tension in the room. “Well, I suppose it’s time to get the party started,” he said with a grin, his voice carrying a playful edge even in the serious situation. “Nice to meet you, General. I bring a message from King Azure’s council members to the Tri-Kings.” He nodded towards the scroll on the table, using his chin to indicate it since his hands were still bound.
Shawn stood frozen in shock, his mind struggling to keep up with the chaotic scene unfolding around him. Makara’s antics, General Mong’s intimidating presence, and the tension in the air left him utterly bewildered.
General Mong’s piercing gaze shifted to the scroll on the table. With a curt nod, one of the soldiers behind him quickly retrieved it and handed it over. General Mong examined it closely, his sharp eyes catching the unmistakable royal seal stamped on the parchment. It was authentic—no doubt about that. The seal belonged to one of the highest-ranking members of King Azure’s council.
With a stern expression, General Mong turned his attention back to Makara. “What are the contents of this scroll?” he demanded, his tone laced with suspicion.
Makara grinned mischievously, unfazed by the seriousness of the situation. “Well, General, you’re welcome to break the seal and see for yourself.” His voice dripped with playful sarcasm, though there was a glint of seriousness in his eyes.
Shawn, still grappling with the whirlwind of events, caught the brief flicker of hesitation in General Mong’s stance. The slight hesitation in the general’s stance hinted at something Shawn hadn’t fully grasped—the immense importance of the royal seal. This wasn’t just any seal; it was a symbol of authority, power, and secrecy, reserved only for the eyes of the intended royal recipient. Breaking a royal seal meant for someone else, especially one from the highest echelons of King Azure’s court, was no trivial matter. It was an act of treason, and the weight of this decision pressed heavily on General Mong, and his reluctance to violate such a sacred protocol was palpable.
After a tense pause, General Mong’s stern expression softened slightly. “Well then,” he said, turning to the soldiers behind him, “untie them.”
Before the soldiers could react, Makara casually lifted his hands, now free from their bonds, and gave a mock bow. “Thanks for the offer, General, but I’ve already taken care of that.” He winked at Shawn, who stared in disbelief, realising Makara had been free the entire time. All those clumsy actions to drink from the gourd earlier had been nothing more than an elaborate ruse.
General Mong, surprised but not displeased, let out a hearty laugh. “It seems the messengers of the Azurian kingdom have quite the talents. Come on, then, let’s go meet the Tri-Kings.”
As the soldiers untied Shawn, he shot Makara a bewildered look, still trying to wrap his head around the man’s antics. Makara just shrugged and grinned as if to say, “What can I say? It’s a gift.”
With a newfound sense of unease mixed with curiosity, Shawn followed General Mong and Makara, who picked up all his things, especially his gourd. As they left the hut, heading towards their next venture: an audience with the Tri-Kings.
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