Everything about Alystren, from his head to his toes, screamed to Northern, "See me, I am shady as hell."
It was perplexing that he couldn’t figure out what exactly the old joker was thinking.
But Northern wasn’t in a rush.
"You see, I’ve decided to live my life by following my gut and instincts," Alystren said. "That way, I’ve managed to survive deadly situations. My gut and instincts have brought me this far, boy, so I’m unapologetically myself. I just hope my son understands that one day."
Alystren sighed.
Shin immediately patted his shoulder. "I’m sure the young lad will e to appreciate your nature and find value in your philosophy."
"Right? I know, right?!" Alystren’s tone rose excitedly.
As Northern listened to Shin, the more he spoke, the less he resembled the father Northern once knew.
’What the hell is that? He sounds so nice, I think I might puke.’
Amid the lighthearted atmosphere, Alystren grinned, gathering everyone’s attention with his words.
"That’s that, but do you want to know something right now?" He grinned widely, leaning towards Northern.
"If you’re willing to share, I guess..." Northern replied shyly.
The old joker slapped his thighs as he sat cross-legged.
"My gut and instincts are telling me you need to learn my unique bat style called Vikora."
Northern tilted his head slightly. "That’s quite a unique name. Is it a heritage?"
"Uh? Heritage? No! No, boy, it’s nothing that grand. It’s just a kickass bat style my decrepit family with forgotten histories passed down to me."
"At first, it seemed useless, but under my genius intellectual introspection, I found its flaws and rewrote it. Then I learned it better."
His countenance fell as he continued, "Sadly, though, since I rewrote this bat style, no one has been able to learn it. I’ve tried teaching it to some renowned drifters, but it was no use."
He spoke with a dull tone.
"You’ll probably not get it either, but there’s no harm in trying."
Shin smiled brightly. "I’ll do my best to hone your bat skills to their peak, identify your flaws and shortings, and then we can start working on those."
Northern’s lips curved up, a dangerous yet tender smile forming as he said, "Thank you."
An unheard voice, thin as nylon, suddenly cut through the air.
"Uhm, me... too..."
Everyone turned their faces to Ryan.
"He’s been listening this whole time?" Alystren asked in stunned surprise.
Shin nodded, wide-eyed. "It seems he even sat up and crossed his legs, and we didn’t notice."
"Wow, how is he so sneaky..."
"I have no idea..."
Northern shook his head in dismay as the two of them kept babbling on.
He leaned back and thought about what had just transpired.
He wasn’t sure Alystren would jump into the conversation at all.
The truth was, while he wanted to check if Shin had changed his mind about teaching him the Kagayama style, Northern was also curious to learn Alystren’s kick style.
From the old joker’s behavior, Northern predicted he would eventually jump into the conversation and, if things went well, might even want to teach him by the end of the day.
But why would anyone want to teach him?—Northern was confused.
bat styles were guarded jealously. Sharing them meant revealing the patterns of your attack and defense.
Once someone knew your patterns, they could potentially break them.
But that was just the beginning—breaking your defense and offense was the least they could do with such knowledge.
In the hands of a genius, such information could be a lethal weapon used to destroy the drifter themselves.
That’s why many families guard the secrets of their bat styles, which was probably why Shin had refused to teach him.
Shin had insisted it was dangerous.
It was a big deal to teach another drifter your bat style. Being a man as shady as Alystren, Northern didn’t expect him to agree to it.
But then again, the way Alystren spoke about his bat style made Northern wonder, ’Perhaps it’s not his main style.’
Then again, Alystren said it was unlearnable.
Maybe he was confident Northern wouldn’t be able to learn it either, possibly due to something he had done to it.
’Crap, I hate how I can’t tell.’
Trying to figure out what Alystren was thinking suddenly seemed harder than counting a bag of tiny grains.
Northern resisted the urge to scratch his head and leaned against the wooden wall of the cart, sighing.
At last, the cart finally stopped, and the driver opened the door, announcing, "We’ve arrived at Elmuish."
"Oh? We have? That felt fast."
It hadn’t been a fast journey, but perhaps it felt that way because of the busy pany, particularly the old joker he was traveling with.
With light steps, Alystren jumped out of the cart, straightened his back, and stretched his muscles.
He raised his arms high to the sky in jubilation and shouted, "Wele to the Wooden City, Elmuish!"
’Really, the wooden city?’
It sounded funny at first, but a second later, Northern was stunned to discover that Alystren was pletely correct.
Everything about the city was wooden from beginning to end.
Even the knights moved with a graceful yet imposing presence, their armor a testament to the craftsmanship of Elmuish.
Their uniforms were a blend of functionality and artistry, constructed from darkened wood reinforced with contrasting bands.
The chest plates were carved from thick timber, intricately engraved with the insignia of Sassex—a majestic tree whose roots intertwined with runes of power, glowing faintly with soul essence.
Wooden pauldrons rested on their broad shoulders, polished to a smooth sheen, reinforced with another layer of wood, giving them a manding and durable appearance.
Their gauntlets, fashioned from flexible wooden segments, allowed for both dexterity and protection, each fingertip capped with sharp wooden claws.
The knights’ greaves were similarly constructed—sturdy, resilient, and strapped with leather beneath for fort—allowing them to move with the agility of trained warriors despite the weight.
Over their armor, they wore deep green cloaks, symbolizing their connection to the woods, and trimmed with golden threads, denoting their high status in the kingdom.
Their helms, carved from the same dark wood, were fashioned into fierce, bestial shapes—some resembling wolves, others eagles—giving them an intimidating aura.
Slits in the helms allowed their sharp eyes to scan the surroundings with vigilance, while beneath the wooden visors, glowing runes pulsed gently, enhancing their perception and alertness.
Strapped to their backs or sides were long wooden spears or swords, their blades made of enchanted wood, sharper and more resilient than steel.
Even their shields, round and solid, bore the emblems of their ancestors, with intricate carvings etched into the wood.
And when Northern took a look at the city itself?
’Wood, wood, wood, wood, wood!’
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