Castello Shall Rise Again

by Thesidewallflower

Castello was once a great nation on the Island of Eire but it was destroyed. Nearly 35 years later, Escanor finds Castello in Britania but things are different. The world believes him to be dead and he believes Castello to be his salvation but the people of Castello are different; murder, betrayal, and hardship have changed them. (Summary might be changed later)

4. Chapter 4 - Friends, New and Old

He awoke to the crackling of a fire and a raging headache. A forest canopy spread out above him and beyond that is the star-riddled sky. The light of a campfire flickers across him, and crickets chirp in the distance. He's no longer in Leroy's camp. Gingerly, Daymond moves into a sitting position and notices a knight sitting across the fire.

"Finally awake, are you?" The knight asks; he sounds as he looks: gruffly. Dark eyes stare at him through short, uneven, grey-brown hair. A large, still-healing scar rests over his right eye and another on his mouth. The light of the fire gleams over his armor, highlighting the damages to it. An equally damaged, bucket-shaped helmet sits nearby.

"You're the Knight that won the Tournament." Daymond states.

"I'll take that as a yes. So, you were in attendance?" He responds. "Yes, that was me. But, I'd have preferred no one to know that."

"Umm, but why? Wasn't that the point of the tournament, to reward the strongest fighter?" Daymond says.

"I have my reasons for my secrecy, but I don't know you enough to trust you with such delicate information about myself. I hope you understand." He says, avoiding the question.

"Of course, I didn't mean to pry into anything personal." I guess the tournament meant something more to him than sport. "But, would you mind telling me your name? And what happened to the rest of my group?"

"Godfrey, Godfrey Becket." The Knight answers. "As for your group, I don't know. When I found you, you were alone."

"Alone?" Daymond rubs the back of his head; he most certainly was not alone. "How'd you find me?"

"Felt a surge of magical power, thought someone was in trouble, so I followed it. All I found was you passed out in the dirt. I assume theirs more to this than I'm aware?"

Daymond tells him of Melenie, Linwe, and the kidnapping of Leroy and his crew. Godfrey is silent, listening to Daymond recall the events of the past few days; it matches a few rumors he's heard recently, and none of them are pleasant.

"Was this Leroy fellow a Gaul?"

"Huh? Yeah."

"Are most of his crew Gauls as well?"

"Yes?"

"Hmm," Godfrey bites on one of his nails in thought. "they sound like a pair of human traffickers. I've been hearing rumors about them for a while; they hunt down Gauls then hand them over to Germania for bounty."

"Human traffickers?"

"It would explain the scuffled dirt; they must've dragged your friends with them. But you said they started acting strange, that sounds like mind control, but no mind control I know causes those symptoms." He sighs, stands up, and starts pacing. "They're probably headed back to your ship. But based on what you've said, this Leroy fellow will give them a bit of hassle and delay them a bit. So, we should be able to catch up."

"We?"

"Mmhmm," Godfrey hums. "I've got nothing better to do, and I doubt you can defeat them on your own. We can set out in the morning."

I wouldn't bet on it. "Thank you for the help."

"By the way, what's your name?"

"Uh," Well, I can't tell him my real name; I'm supposed to be dead after all, and Escanor isn't a popular name in Britannia. "Daymond."

"Daymond, huh? You don't look it. " He stretches and starts to walk away. "I'll go get some more wood."

He watches Godfrey vanish into the tree line and then casts his gaze over the rest of the camp. The bucket-helmet still sits near the fire, and a green-and-burgundy bag, presumably Godfrey's, leans against a tree. He can't help but think that the bag's colors clash with just about everything except itself. It's almost criminal to wear something of such drab coloration , Daymond shutters.

Something gleams in the corner of his eye, and he turns to inspect it. It's a sword; the flames glint off the shiny white metal of the blade. Blue leather wraps around the hilt of the sword under the copper-infused gold hilt. It's a much grander piece than what Godfrey used in the tournament. Magic emanates from within, it's a sort of sacred treasure, but he can't fathom what power it holds.

Remembering his sacred treasure, he scans the camp for Rhitta, but the ax is gone. That means the human traffickers spirited away with it, or it's still back at camp. Although, he doubts the traffickers have the strength to pick Rhitta up, much less handle her, at least not correctly. Galand couldn't even wield her. He could effortlessly call Rhitta to himself, as he did before, but on the chance that they did manage to drag Rhitta-Daymond shivers at the thought-he doesn't. Guess it's time for a hike through the woods.

"Really? Is Daymond the best you could come up with, or does it have sentimental value?" His head snaps up and searches for the source of the voice, but Godfrey hasn't returned, nor did it sound like his gruff tone. It sounded like Loduciel, but Loduciel died fighting the Demon King-controlled Meliodas. Then again, I'm supposed to be dead right now, but I'm not, I don't think. "Would you stop looking around like an idiot and answer the question?"

Where?-the sword. Immediately, Daymond swerves to look at it; it's glowing with white light, likely a byproduct of the Goddess Clan's 'Ark' ability. The sword wasn't a sacred treasure, just a vessel holding a Goddess's soul. "Daymond was my brother's name; is that you, Ludociel?"

"Yes, my soul is currently residing within this sword."

"You didn't die when your body vanished?"

"Neither did you, by the looks of it."

Well, he's not wrong there. "How did you survive?"

"Any Goddess who holds a Grace is incapable of dying. Tarmiel, Sariel, and I are nigh immortal, Mael too when he had the Sun Grace."

"Perhaps that's what kept me alive."

"No, you died, your body incinerated. What you were isn't what you are now."

"What does that mean?"

"You were human, but now you aren't. I'm not sure what you are now."

Daymond frowns; he feels human and looks human. There's no way he isn't human, is there? Being the strongest man alive while being a human was the pinnacle of his pride, is the pinnacle of his pride. "Very helpful."

"Ah, yes, sarcasm. Godfrey is very fond of it."

"What led you to stay with Godfrey?" Daymond can't imagine anyone putting up with Ludociel for long; the man, or archangel, is too annoying and bossy.

"Godfrey's a traveler, and I'm looking for my brother, so we made an arrangement. He asks about my brother, and he can use me in combat whenever he desires. However, he has yet to ask, not sure why; I'm a much better specimen than that ruined metal he calls a blade."

"Why don't you just do it yourself?"

"Is that an actual question?" He sounds somewhat annoyed, and Daymond finds it mildly amusing. "Do you know how hard it is for people to take a talking sword seriously? The human race is a superstitious one. Don't laugh!"

"Sorry." He can't help his brain conjuring up the thought of Ludociel flying into a bar and demanding the barkeeper give him information. The barkeep takes one look at the sword and bolts out the door, the archangel flying after him into the street, still demanding information as the other villagers watch the scene unfold.

"Glad to see you two getting along." Godfrey's voice pipes up, and the man steps into the fire's light. "Lord Ludociel doesn't take kindly to strangers."

Lord? Godfrey ungracefully drops the sticks he's gathered next to the fire. "What were you talking about?"

"Oh, uh," Daymond blanks; he can't tell the knight what they'd really been talking about; that would reveal who he was, and the world has no more need of Escanor.

"Daymond was looking for something he lost, he couldn't find it, and I told him it probably was left behind with his friends."

Daymond looks back at the sword, grateful for the handy coverup, although he can say he's surprised; Ludociel had proved to be quite manipulative during the Holy War. Godfrey raises a peppered brow at the sword and turns to Daymond. "So, what was it?"

"My weapon, I had it before I passed out."

Godfrey plops down on the log and begins tying the sticks into bundles. "We can check in the morning, but don't get your hopes up; those traffickers probably took it to make a profit on it."

"So, the ax magically flew off the wall?" Meliodas asks, staring up at the gaping hole in the wall. Merlin hums in response; the answer is brazenly apparent to anyone with eyes, especially at the sight of the broken mortar.

"Any idea what did this?" King asks, floating next to Merlin.

"No, the magic that summoned the ax vanished within moments of its departure."

"You can't locate the ax itself?" Gowther inquires, accessing the damage done to the wall where Rhitta slammed through it.

"No," Merlin purses her lips. "There is no magical trace of Rhitta. It's almost like she doesn't wish for us to find her."

"Judging by the speed of the magic disappearing and the ax's movement," The doll struck a pose. "it's quite possible Rhitta's destination wasn't that far away."

"Speed?" King says, turning toward the pink-haired sin.

"Yep. Rhitta had enough force behind it to tear through this wall and moved fastest enough that citizens say they saw a 'falling star.' The faster Rhitta moves, the more magic is consumed. Since Rhitta moved at a rapid rate, for a short period-"

"So, Rhitta's still around?" Ban interrupts.

"Possibly."

"Then we can send the knights to find her!" Arthur's eyes shine, and Merlin smiles at the child-like innocence in those amber orbs.

"Don't worry about sending the knights; we'll find Rhitta on our own." Merlin insists.

"Yeah! Although, I'm more concerned about who would steal Rhitta and why." Diane exclaims, and Merlin slightly disagrees. While the fact someone stole Escanor's ax prickles her, she's more interested in the power that broke Rhitta from her magic bindings.

"Doesn't matter, when I find 'em, they're going to pay for defiling Escanor's monument in such a way," Ban growls, and Meliodas instantly agrees.

Insects flutter in the scarce breeze, moving from one leaf to the next. One brave, or perhaps foolhardy bug lands on the upturned muzzle of a giant black werewolf. Bright yellow eyes trained on the tiny lifeform for a few seconds, then quick as a whip, the Beastman shakes the bug off and snaps its teeth around it. He swallows the extra protein whole and sniffs the air. The scent of his prey catches his attention, and he bolts off. The underbrush proves no match for his strength, and several small critters scurry out of his path.

He loses the scent at a stream, but bounds over it, hoping to pick it back up on the other side. Unfortunately, his prey is smart enough to use the water to hide. The logical path would be to go downriver; the current would help with speed, but going against the stream is more unpredictable.

The beast turns his head upstream and takes off, stopping when he finds the scent again. It's stronger now; the prey must be close. Meticulously, he quietly stalks the forest; his prey is also a hunter. Fleeing animals will alert them to his presence. He climbs the tree that the scent leads too, and finds his prey inside.

It's a girl with her bow drawn, concentrating on a deer a few paces away. Her long almond hair is swept back in a braid, ending at her middle back. She wears a leather tunic with a linen undershirt and brown breeches. An outfit very unbecoming of a proper lady.

"Gwen." The werebeast growls in a deep rumbling voice. Gwen yelps and accidentally lets go of the arrow; it shoots forward and strikes the deer in the side.

The deer takes off, and she turns to the beastman. "Amarok! Don't scare me like that!"

Amarok chuckles, the best a giant wolfman can chuckle, and grins. "Where's the fun in that?"

The girl huffs. "Leave me alone!"

"I can't do that, my lady. If the queen knows you've wandered off again, she won't be happy."

Qwen groans. "I can take care of myself."

"The queen worries about you. We should get back before she sends Decokas after us."

"She'd send Erkas after us."

"Isn't that worse?"

"Yeah," Gwen sighs. "Let's go."

True to his word, Godfrey led Daymond back to the campsite at the crack of dawn. Splotches of torn earth mar the land, and Daymond shudders, remembering the horror of last night. Ivan's erratic movements, and even Conway falling victim to the traffickers. "Not much here," The knight mentions, kicking a blackened, burned branch with an armored boot. "the place looks picked clean."

Daymond ignores him, focusing on the magical energies around him, the natural magic of the world. His own is the easiest to spot, bright and warm; it no longer sparks like a raging fire but a calm sun hanging in the sky at noon.

Godfrey's magic swirls like a storm, guarding the human in its eye but also calm like the gentle lapping of the waves upon the shore. Ludociel's is also present-the familiar magic of the Goddess race, paired with his Grace and something else, almost seem welcoming. He's glad to have one familiar face, er, being to confide. However, he notices that Ludociel's power is weak, and he wonders why that is so. He still can't remember anything beyond his final moments, who the other sins are, and himself. And Daymond, possibly.

Finally, he feels Rhitta's steadfast and pleasant magical aura. He turns in the direction of the magic and frowns. Rhitta juts from the ground with her handle resting on a bush. Godfrey will recognize her at first sight; she's as famous as he is. Checking that Godfrey is still looking at the other side of the camp, Daymond approaches Rhitta and crouches down next to her. Now would be a prominent time for a memory to surface and help him out of this. He takes a deep breath. Merlin was a mage; she'd know a way out of this. He racks his brain, trying to force himself to remember a spell that would help.

He wraps his fingers around Rhitta's hilt, and a solution comes to him in the form of a spell Merlin once taught him. He runs a hand up Rhitta's handle, muttering the spell as he goes. Golden threads of magic weave and swirl around the holy ax, transfiguring it into an elegant dark-gold sword. Sorry, Rhitta.

The Lion Sin straightens, raises the newly made sword, and exclaims. "Found it!"

"A sword? No, that's a sacred treasure. How'd you come across that?"

"Is that Rhitta?" Daymond blinks, waiting for Godfrey to react to the question, but he doesn't. Daymond realizes, with a bit of apprehension, Ludociel used telepathy. That's creepy and invasive . "Tell him it was a gift; if he thinks you stole it, he'll take it back to Camelot."

"It was a gift from my uncle for my 18th name-day." He's pretty sure that is wrong, but he doesn't have the memory of getting Rhitta so, he could be telling the truth. Do I even have an uncle?

"Must have a rich uncle then." Godfrey deadpans, taking his excuse with a grain of salt. "We should head out if we hope to catch those traffickers."

Monstaro clambers up the grassy hill; the weak breeze buffets his purple hair, blowing a portion of it into his amethyst eyes. It feels good, pleasant, and fresh, just what he needs after a long day of working in his forge. He should be there now, but his brother hasn't come home. He often comes here to watch Raferi train Erwin's 'dragons.' A hulking bipedal one roars to Monstaro in-what he assumes is-a greeting. Its tiny forearms flex, and it lowers its head to the blonde trainer, who affectionately swats the beast's leg. "Howdy, stranger, coming to collect your brother again?"

"Yeah." The blacksmith laughs sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck, smearing it with soot and ash. Behind the muscled human, a catlike black dragon growls and swipes at the green bipedal giant. The green dragon bares its fangs at the black one, and Raferi points to his brother; the older demon sits halfway down the slope, arms resting on his knees, facing the dragons.

The black dragon doesn't back down, hissing at the towering monster before it. The green one opens its maw and unleashes a terrifying roar; the catlike dragon rears on its hind legs and spits a wad of condensed darkness into the other's mouth. The forest-colored dragon promptly chokes on it and hacks. The perpetrating dragon sits on its haunches, making a sound of amusement. "Umbra! Stop baiting Nahele!"

Monstaro blocks out Raferi's scolding and joins his brother, plopping down in the grass and gripping his shoulder lightly. "Monny?" Monstaro asks, gently shaking the older demon's shoulder. "Can you hear me?"

Monspeet turns to look at Monstaro, a glassy look in his amethyst eyes. An image flashes in his mind, a younger version of the man before him, smiling as the day is long, but the ink drags it back into the void.

Monstaro sighs, perhaps begging Erwin to resurrect his brother hadn't been the best idea. But he couldn't bear to lose any more of his family. I hope you get better soon, brother. "Come on, Monny, get up."

He stands up and helps guide his brother down the hill. "Time to go home, Mon. Bye, Raferi!"

"Bye, boys!"

Daymond sighs and heaves a rock into the ocean with all his strength; the water splashes high into an impressive arc and slams down on an angry dockworker that starts cursing. The Razing Drake isn't at the docks, workers say they saw it last night, but by morning it vanished. Godfrey went to the markets to gather information; Daymond pictures Ludociel ordering Godfrey around, telling him what to say and ask. A brief smile crosses his face; Ludociel would do that he's too presumptuous for Daymond's liking.

He reaches down and picks up a sizable rock, runs his finger across the rough surface. He was too late to save his friends, and now he's alone in a world that no longer needs him. Escanor's dead, to everyone, but his legend lives on. Maybe he should just live as Daymond? Find a way to return Rhitta to Camelot, and live as a bartender. A peaceful and quiet life. A lonely life. He swallows then slams the rock into the water, dousing another dockworker who starts yelling at him. He ignores the angry words and clenches his fist.

"Pissing off the locals already? We've only been here half an hour." Godfrey pipes up, ignoring Daymond's misty eyes.

He lets out a chuckle. "I guess so."

The knight laughs. "Right well-"

"Es-Daymond." The unexpected interruption draws the pair's attention to the talking sword. "I require your assistance."

Daymond's eyebrow quirks at the tone, and Ludociel scoffs. " Fine , I humbly ask for your help; is that better?"

"What could a sword possibly want or need?" Daymond inquires.

"I need you to throw me."

"Excuse me?" Surprise reigns on his face.

"I can sense my brother about 150 miles from here, so I need you to throw me that distance. Are you capable of that?"

"I can try."

"You can sense your brother at that distance?" Godfrey asks.

"Yes."

"Ok," Daymond says and takes Ludociel from Godfrey. He pulls his arm back and steps forward, using all his strength to chuck Ludociel as far as possible. "Have a nice flight."

Within seconds, Ludociel becomes a speck in the sky, rapidly fading from view. The knight clicks his tongue. "A part of me is going to miss that bossy Goddess; another part hopes I never see him again. But, I do hope he finds his brother." Godfrey remarks, and Daymond instantly disagrees; no part of him will miss the dictatorial bigot, but even he deserves to find happiness. "Anyway, we should head out."

"Head out? To where?"

"North; shopkeepers say they saw a ship leave the harbor in the early hours of dawn headed that way."

"That could have been any ship," Daymond interjects.

Godfrey shakes his head. "Only one ship left today, and you said the Razing Drake isn't here." Daymond nods. "There is no way we're going to catch up to a sailing ship; the best we can do is follow its trail."

"Why are you still helping me?"

"I said I'd help you get to your friends. Besides, I have nothing better to do, and I could use the company."

"Thank you."

The knight laughs, the sound reverberating off the sides of his helmet. "Thank me when we find your friends." He readjusts his sword strap and claps Daymond on the shoulder with a smile.

Sariel yawns, blinking into the harsh sun, stretching his arms above him. "Morning."

Groaning, he begrudgingly sits up. His wings and several other joints are stiff from his sleeping position. Grimacing, he flexes his wings as he answers Tarmiel with a growl.

"Looks like someone didn't sleep well!" Tarmiel laughs, unable to resist teasing his friend. "See, this is why I sleep on my stomach and not my back."

"Bite me." He aims a halfhearted punch at Tarmiel's arm, and the larger Goddess laughs some more. Sariel's eyes land on Mael; the younger Goddess has perched a little bit away from them, staring forlornly at nothing. "How long's he been like that?"

"Longer than I've been awake." Tarmiel sighs, picking up a cup full of dark liquid. "He regrets what he's done."

"Doesn't help that his last family is missing."

"We'll find him."

"You're too optimistic."

"It's not like Ludociel's dead, Sariel." Tarmiel sips his drink. "He still has his Grace."

"Speaking of Graces, Mael seems to be missing his," Sariel observes. "I swear that thing is cursed."

"Don't say that!"

He huffs and changes the subject, motioning to Tarmiel's drink. "What's that?"

"The humans call it coffee."

"Coffee?"

"Coffee."

"What in the holy name of the Supreme Deity is coffee ?"

"I believe it's a drink," Tarmiel deadpans. "that I'm currently drinking."

"I thought I was the jerk of the group?" Sariel mumbles.

"Role reversal." He replies smoothly, taking a loud slurp of his coffee, and Sariel's eyebrow twitches.

"I will splash that coffee all over you." Tarmiel stares, prompting Sariel to lunge at him.

"NO! Don't touch my coffee!" Tarmiel exclaims, pulling the coffee out of Sariel's reach. A portion of the liquid slips over the edge, landing on the small Goddess. He yelps and leaps away from Tarmiel, activating his Grace. The wind rages around him, drying the hot liquid in seconds.

"Sariel, are you alright?!" Mael dismays. The commotion knocked the young Goddess out of his stupor and drew his attention back to his companions.

"Sari's just dramatic ." Tarmiel sings. With an angry cry, Sariel throws himself at the three-headed man, knocking the wind out of the both of them. "You're like one of the human's tiny angry dogs!"

Mael, dumbstruck, stares at the scene unfolding before his eyes, mouth slightly agape. In his indecision on whether to step in or not, the magical force approaching the trio goes unnoticed; until it slams into the ground a few feet away from them. Mael immediately whips around, and Sariel reluctantly stops trying to throttle Tarmiel, the pair perking up like dogs.

"I traded one pair of idiots for another, but at least you're here, brother."

"Brother!" Mael brightens, feeling Ludociel's energy emanating from the sword embedded in the ground in front of them. "How did you get here, and where did you come from?!"

"Rude, think you could throw him back?" Sariel half-jokes to Tarmiel.

"I can try." Tarmiel jokes back, taking a step forward and raising his hand toward the sword.

"NO!" Mael cries, moving to protect his brother, but the sword yanks itself out of the ground. He swings around and slaps Tarmiel with the flat of the blade. The three-headed Goddess cries out in pain and clutches his smarting red cheek.

"What was that for?!"

"Don't you dare try to touch me, or I'll cut you next time."

"It was a joke!" Tarmiel defends, rubbing his cheek. "But Mael has a good point; how did you get here?"

"I was thrown."

"Seriously?" Sariel asks. "Who were you with?"

"An ex-cultist zealot by the name of Godfrey."

"What happened to you after the war, brother?" Mael cuts in.

"My soul found this sword a few days after my body vanished. A thief found it in the ruins of one of our temples, sold it to a market vendor, who sold it to a knight of Benwick, and used it to harvest fairy wings. Godfrey came along and killed the knight. He recognized me as a Goddess, and I asked him to find you, brother."

"Benwick is pretty far from here; how did you cover that distance?"

"Godfrey loves to wander, doesn't stay in one place, probably because of the cult thing. Tarmiel, Sariel, what happened to you two?"

"My soul went back to its original host."

"The dead man?"

"No, the dead man's staff and Arbus was his name. I went to make sure the humans buried him like I asked; not long after, Mael found me."

"Ditto, I checked on Solaseed; she's doing well. Joined Mael and Tarmiel soon after."

Tarmiel smirks. "And you were getting quite cozy with the little human girl. Maybe you're planning on returning her lute as an excuse to talk to her again."

"Shut up!" Sariel snaps, a scarcely noticeable redness to his face, as Tarmiel laughs and Mael hides a small smile.

"Brother, what did you do in my absence?"

"Oh, well, aha." Mael scratches a finger against his jaw, deciding to leave out his drunken depressionized state. "I asked Gowther if he knew where Sariel and Tarmiel might be, and he offered to help me find them. We parted at the last town."

"Gowther's the one who cast that spell."

"Yes, but Gowther also saved me once." Mael protests.

"He's also the reason you needed saving."

"He's genuinely sorry for that, brother," Sariel grumbles at that, and Mael ignores him. "and he's trying to atone for that."

Ludociel humphs but keeps his not-so-nice opinion to himself; being with his brother is enough, no matter what circumstances brought them together.