Chapter 7

Advent of the King

Since Fujin had overturned his jet-ski, Agricola had not returned, and it was likely the fall from great height had killed him. Subsequently, the Esthari offensive lost all coordination. The emboldened White SeeDs led the Unlikely Army's counterthrust. The tonberries were well rested and now junctioned with the POWs, dually exacting vengeance for fallen kin as much as comrades-in-arms. The Esthari lost the second harbour within minutes and could not hope to regain it. All their Lunarians were already slain, in addition to most of their true solders. A single NCO had stepped up to take command, in doing so marking himself for one of Gilgamesh's arrows. After his death, the colonial force was headless.

What followed over the proceeding hours cost the Esthari so dearly in numbers and resolve that the veterans of the siege would forever fear White SeeD and its allies, and the tale of the Unlikely Army would endure for millennia. The colonial troops lost almost all stomach for fighting. Every charge became half-hearted, every sword or spear thrust without vigour. All their plasma weapons were exhausted in unsuccessful attempts to overwhelm shields. Eventually, the Esthari retreated out of range and opted to keep a perimeter. They had all but waved a white flag.

The advent of the Uncrowned King was heralded by the sunrise. The first airship carrier appeared on the horizon, followed by the second, and then the two merchant vessels. The very sight of them caused the colonials to unanimously retreat from the base, leaving their legions of dead behind. Thalassa and Fujin felt their exhausted GFs return to them in the same instant. The gigantic ships sailed into the harbour unimpeded, their open decks wall-to-wall with thousands of armoured chocobo riders. They were interspersed with the seventeen hundred wraiths that had left the base, who were eager to avenge Kronos and those others fallen of their captain's stalwart three hundred.

Courtesy of Leviathan, White SeeD knew which ship the Uncrowned King was on. Relm and Noctis were there to great Steiner and his consort Beatrix as they led their people down a broad gangplank, all atop their chocobos. The entirety of Edea's SeeD took a knee, including Shadow.

King and queen were wearing three-quarter suits of armour atypical of the Centran knights and barons of old. Steiner was a broadfaced and thickset man well over six feet tall, wearing a platinum helm with the visor down. Noctis had inherited much of his height, and the two were only dwarfed by the nearby Gladiolus. Beatrix had opted for the slanted silver tiara which covered a damaged eye and held down her chestnut hair. While Steiner had a nondescript bastard sword, Beatrix had the jewel-hilted Save the Queen, once gifted to her House by a travelling Paladin of the Holy Dollet Empire.

Behind them were an even four men and women in matching armour. Now with a considerable enough force to take back their ancestral homeland, the royals had reformed the Knights of Pluto, it seemed. Yet traditionally, the Knights of Pluto had been nine. They were lacking a captain.

'Mother! Father!' Noctis said. 'We did it! At great cost, but we held the harbour!'

'Welcome to Mysidia!' Relm said delightedly.

'The crown will be eternally in the debt of Edea's SeeD!' Steiner said. 'And all of its allies! Though it is a debt we will bear proudly! Please, rise!'

'There is no debt, Sire,' Thalassa told him. 'It's the least we could do for the people who sheltered me in my youth.'

'Thalassa,' Beatrix said. 'We knew you were something special when we found you. It never ceases to amaze us what you have become. Edea's SeeD will flourish under your leadership.'

Steiner was examining the swords in Noctis and Relm's hands. Right on cue, Gilgamesh was shouldering his way through the White SeeDs. Beatrix and the Knights of Pluto looked at him warily, but they had all been acquainted with the outworlder before, and none reached for their weapons.

'Your Majesty!' Gilgamesh said ecstatically, pulling Ragnarok from his cloak. 'It's time I returned this!'

'Many thanks, Gilgamesh,' Steiner responded, as he took it. 'It is only fitting I wield this blade, even if it has not drawn blood since held by King Adelbert.'

'Good luck with that, Sire!' Gilgamesh said, before a chortle. 'An idle blade grows ever dull!'

'It's still sharp!' Steiner remarked, having touched a fingertip to it.

Beatrix's attention had been drawn to the swarthy-attired Shadow moving through the White SeeD ranks, leading Reaper. She gave the sellsword a curious look before her face dawned with realisation.

'Sir Clyde!' Beatrix exclaimed. 'You fought for us, too?'

'Of course, Your Majesty,' Shadow said. 'Even in exile, I never stopped serving Mother Centra.'

Steiner dismounted his chocobo and opened his arms. The two men embraced, before Shadow kissed the hand of Beatrix.

'You exiled yourself, Father,' Relm pointed out. 'Everyone told you not to go. That what Baram did to Mother and Rune wasn't your fault.'

'It was the honour of the thing,' Shadow said as he pulled away. 'Yet I assure you, Your Majesties, Baram paid dearly for what he committed. To think I once considered the man a brother will never cease to bring me shame.'

'You found Baram?' Steiner asked. 'We always tried to reach you, Sir Clyde, yet the moogles could never find you!'

'That was deliberate,' Shadow said. 'Interceptor could smell them miles off, and their squeaks carried just as far across the emptiness.'

'I feared as much,' Steiner responded. 'In any case, I think I would rather not know what you did to that cutthroat!'

'He cut off his limbs and fed him to a grand mantis,' Relm offered.

Steiner winced, though made a murmur of approval.

'If only I could have sketched it,' Relm added darkly.

'If there was anyone who deserved such a fate,' Beatrix remarked, 'it was Baram. I would not have stopped there! At the very least, I trust Princess Thamasa and Prince Rune can rest somewhat easier, now.

'A new era is dawning in Mother Centra,' Beatrix continued. 'One of restoration! It is nearing the hundredth anniversary of the Calamity, and we are determined to have Steiner's coronation on noon of that day, at Lenown Castle.' This information made some of the White SeeDs and POWs gasp with wonder. 'The moogles are spreading tidings of this across all the old shires! Until then, we must show solidarity in the face of the Empire! They still encroach upon our home!'

'The Calamity,' Noctis pondered. 'The anniversary is in two weeks, correct?'

'Aye, son,' Steiner replied. 'A single fortnight marks a hundred years since the fall of the Kingdom!'

'Two weeks to drive the Esthari from Yorn and Serengeti?' Prompto piped up, referring to the two shires - formerly city-states - that had been rebranded 'North Centra' by the Empire. Mysidia had been in the former. 'Piece of cake, Sire!'

'We simply need to take Palamecia,' Thalassa said. 'Though I have to agree with Prompto on the difficulty of that!'

Steiner turned to Shadow again. 'As you can see, Sir Clyde, I have reformed the Knights of Pluto. Yet the Nine still require a captain. I intended to appoint Noctis, though in the interim, I would be honoured if you will fill this role! As would the Knights themselves!'

The eight Knights nodded almost instantly in agreement, needing no encouragement. 'Sir Clyde!' some of them said, with a wide armed salute. Yet Shadow said nothing.

'Sir Clyde, you can do more for Princess Thamasa's memory this way,' Beatrix urged. 'She would not have desired you to spend years out as a pariah in your old bandit country, selling your sword for petty tribal or pirate conflicts, laying traps and spearheading every ambush because you believe you have nothing to lose.'

'Yeah,' Relm said. 'Even if you are a lousy father, I'm all grown up, now. What say we just let bygones be bygones?'

The mercenary sighed slowly but laboriously.

'Fine,' Shadow said after a moment. He mounted Reaper and joined the eight Knights, drawing his sword. For the first time, he completely removed his cowl, revealing piercing blue eyes and sandy hair atop his scarred but handsome face. 'Until the Restoration, I will serve as Captain of the Knights of Pluto.'

Agricola was storming out of the hospital, an orderly at his heels to present him with his hastily printed discharge papers, which the Major unceremoniously dumped into a recycling bin.

The hidden tempest that had swept dozens of his soldiers into the raging seas had afterward been directed towards him, and he had been torn from his Carrion and onto the roof of one of the compound buildings. Agricola had caught one glimpse of the infamous White SeeD Ship before hitting that rooftop. Just before breaking both of his legs, one arm and several ribs. Though had that rooftop not 'broken' his fall, he would certainly be dead. Agricola had awoken after an undetermined amount of time and called for a medevac.

He had no illusion that the Cyclone had returned to the field, having been absent since the death of her lover in Galbadia. It was said that Fujin had been maimed by the Knight of the Empress during the city battle, though Agricola doubted that would impede a master of wind. Not while she had her GF, in any case. And after Almasy's death, Fujin would be craving imperial blood.

It had taken two battle mages to completely heal Agricola's injuries, though he had received the news he had been dreading as dawn's light began pushing through his ward's windows. The Uncrowned King had arrived, somewhat earlier than had been expected – those blasted GFs! – and the conscript army had abandoned the hard-earned ground in the base! Agricola could hear battle raging throughout Mysidia as he strode through the lobby. He needed to get out there yesterday, or the colonial troops would be driven from the town, or otherwise be throwing their arms up faster than a Dollean in a trench. The sight of a dozen conscript soldiers cowering in the lobby only enraged him further.

Agricola approached them, eyeing their weapons. Most were wielding pickaxe gunblades, though one was holding a gladius, in the spirit of the true 'Homeland' upon which they stood. They all looked at him offhandedly, though reluctantly saluted when they realised who he was.

'Give me your sword!' Agricola said to one, pointing at the gladius.

The conscript looked at the others.

'Now!' Agricola spat.

'Y-yes, sir!' the conscript stammered, offering it shakily to him by the hilt.

In a quick flick of his wrist, Agricola drew the entire length of the blade across the conscript's neck, causing him to drop and thrust both hands to the gushing wound with a gargled cry.

'This is what will happen to anyone I see cowering from those nomads!' Agricola announced, gesturing to the spluttering soldier. 'They are not an army! Their civilisation was wiped out a hundred years ago, and its descendants will meet their end in this Province before the anniversary of their Calamity! I will confront that so-called Uncrowned King myself!' He looked pitifully at the downed conscript, whose face had already gone white. 'Thankfully, I am merciful,' Agricola stated. He pressed his boot onto the conscript's chest to steady him, then knelt with the gladius angled down, plunging it into the dying man's chest.

When the conscript went still, Agricola withdrew the gladius and turned it over. His own had been destroyed by Dincht. Which angered him, as it had belonged to his grandfather in the First Sorceress War. The same grandfather that had ensured his mother's survival during the Cry, at the cost of his own life, when Agricola had been just three years old. The gladius had been well cared for, of course, re-tempered by Don Juan back home. Only for that shimmering gunblade to cut it cleanly in two!

The Sepultura was also gone. Agricola's holster had been unsnapped, and it must have fallen from it when he had been knocked off his Carrion. Gorgo had not been interested in taking it for herself, apparently ignorant as to the revolver's value. Intriguingly, there had only been two bullets inside, and Agricola had fired one of them at Dincht. Even though six-guns were rarely favoured by Esthari, Don Juan sold all manner of ammunition in his store, and Agricola could only speculate as to why the gun had not been fully loaded. Likely, Chrysanthe had never intended to use it.

That revolver could have been sold for a small fortune, especially in the Homeland, it being one of two immediate bonuses Agricola had received for siding with Gorgo. The second had been of a more intimate nature, doing well to embolden the Major's resolve as he had returned to the siege. He knew Gorgo was married. But what young, unmarried man would not jump those bones if given the opportunity?

'It is imperative that we secure the town hall and escort Governor Gorgo to Palamecia!' Agricola dictated now. 'Then, we will retake Mysidia! With me, all of you!'

The Major marched for the hospital doors, and the soldiers obligingly followed as the glass doors automatically parted. They were instantly met by two nomads riding chocobos, who were chasing down dozens of fleeing soldiers.

Agricola knew that although the Centrans were adept riders, their battle experience was limited to squabbles among own tribes or against the southern bandits. Or descendants of the hordes that had wiped out their Lost Kingdom. The teaching of arms had inevitably been watered down over the past century, any wars before their Calamity now outside of living memory. Their charges would be swiftly blunted against a coordinated modern army, despite the Planet's return to melee warfare. Agricola firmly believed that, without White SeeD's assistance, the Centrans would have trouble conquering even the smallest island in the Albatross.

One steel-plated Centran seemed to recognise him as an officer. He nudged his chocobo in Agricola's direction, riding him down with a spear. Agricola's rich jousting experience serving him well, he feinted and caught the wooden shaft between his arm and mended ribs, pulling the rider roughly from his saddle. As the rider hit the ground hard, Agricola turned and ran at the other chocobo, which was advancing toward his soldiers. He cut deeply through the big bird's hide as its rider was lunging at them, causing it to rear and topple. Then he got within the first rider's spear and ran him through as he was on his knees. Gunblade shots signified the death of the second.

At the sound of his commanding voice, Agricola's ranks rapidly swelled to a company-sized contingent as he led them along one of the raised blue highways. It was half a mile from the hospital to the town hall. With somewhat of a coordinated small army, Agricola was able to thwart any more chocobo riders he met with relative ease. The force swelled to five hundred strong, and was increasing further with every passing of the highway's junction. It had reached the size of a large battalion by the time he reached the town hall, the pale blue road winding down to an old open square whose foundations had been laid two thousand years before.

Dominating the centre of the square was the restored statue of Emperor Axtius, looking to what had been the uncharted north with his gladius in hand. Axtius, the one who's lineage was still having profound impact upon the Planet two thousand years after his death. Axtius had desired his line to last for millennia, but the way it had done so was likely not as the ancient emperor had expected. His sole surviving heir, Adel, had only died twenty years ago. His granddaughter, Ultimecia, ruled from her mother's migratory throne in Esthar, and could still do so for a similar length of time to her mother. Both Sorceresses had almost succeeded in Axtius' bold vision of uniting the entire Planet under one banner.

The square was now full of Esthar soldiers, signifying that it had not fallen. He hoped the Governor was still inside. Knowing Gorgo, she would not put herself in harm's way unless she had to. She was not honour bound to fight for her people as Euthalia would have been. Agricola's main concern was that with such a concentrated force in the vicinity, White SeeD would assume Chrysanthe was still here, and the town hall would be top of their list of targets. Despite this, he had time to organise a defense. As close to satisfied as he was going to be, Agricola entered the town hall alone, retracing his steps back to the office where he had unwittingly stumbled onto Gorgo's power play.

The guilt, along with the pleading look on Chrysanthe's face, had gnawed at him more than the loss of over twenty-five thousand soldiers under his command. At the very least, it was reassuring to know he had a conscience. Gorgo, on the other hand, had seemed immensely satisfied before she had straddled him atop that mahogany desk. As he presumed to open the office door, Gorgo met the Major's eyes with her stony grey ones. He entered without a word. The Governor seemed pensive, but her face lit up upon his entry, and the smile was genuine enough to touch her eyes.

'Julius!' she said, rising. 'I'm glad you're okay!'

'Hey, it will take more than an albino, one-armed cyclops to put an end to me!' he boasted. 'I survived a joust with Dincht, too!'

Agricola lifted his undershirt to show Gorgo his wound, which he had instructed the battle mages to leave deep enough to scar. It would stand as a testament to his joust with the Riptide. A milestone in what he had hoped would be an unfolding legend.

Gorgo sashayed around the desk toward him, the short journey giving him varying views of a body he now was highly familiar with. She placed both arms around his thick neck and tiptoed to plant a kiss on his lips. He returned it, his broad hands inching down her lower back.

'You really are something, Julius,' Gorgo told him.

He knew better than to be wholly besotted by her seduction. Gorgo had been highly promiscuous throughout her married life, and Agricola was now at the bottom of a long list of infidelity.

'As are you, ma'am,' he returned.

It had been the first time Agricola had been with an older woman, even though all the lines and creases on Gorgo's face had been surgically smoothed. She could pass for his own age. Agricola eased Gorgo out of her bodysuit for a second time, and took her again, right there on top of the desk. This time their positions were reversed, and she allowed him to double her over that desk before they were through. When they were done, the Major sat on the edge of the desk and made a show of lifting her supine form onto his broad lap. They were both panting deeply. Gorgo took her packet of menthol cigarettes from the edge of the desk, offering him to one as she had done the afternoon before. Agricola declined again.

'You'll save our Province, won't you, Julius?' she asked him after a moment.

He leaned back to avoid the grey smoke spiralling up his nostrils. Despite her youthful image, the rasp of her voice betrayed her years of smoking.

Our? he thought, though he responded, 'I will, ma'am.'

'You can call me Gorgo,' she said.

I would rather not, he thought, only just realising that was her first name. And not just because that name had a negative connotation. He had little doubt Gorgo would petrify all the invaders if she had the power of the infamous Queen of Shalmal. And she would leave them where they had turned for a thousand years, savouring the terrified look on their faces.

'We don't have much time,' Agricola said, as the noise outside the building increased. 'We need to evacuate you. ASAP.'

He did not care much for ruining the moment as he rose, forcing her off him. He ignored her moan of longing, making his way to the office's bathroom and locking the door behind him.

Agricola looked at himself in the mirror. A sinking feeling came to his chest as Chrysanthe's desperate expression crossed his mind again. Taking back Mysidia was much easier said than done, and he had already accepted his betrayal of Euthalia had been in vain. Agricola knew he was no match for the Riptide. Nor the Cyclone. Nor any one of those junctioned White SeeDs. He doubted he could appeal to their better nature and make them face him with honour. He would not last two seconds in single combat with any of them, no matter how adept a swordsman he believed he was.

When he emerged from the bathroom a minute later, Gorgo was still sitting naked on the edge of the desk. She stubbed her cigarette out and picked up her bodysuit, making her own way to the bathroom, raking one hand over Agricola's torso as she passed him. Gorgo took her time, and Agricola observed the satellite feeds on his phone as he waited. He received confirmation that a motorcade was in place to evacuate the Governor and was also alerted of a substantial enemy push towards their position.

Gorgo emerged, back in her bodysuit, which left little to the imagination in any case. The pistol she had threatened Euthalia with had been left carelessly on the desk, and it had fallen to the floor during their intimacy.

'You're going to need that,' Agricola told her.

Gorgo looked at his empty pancake holster. 'What happened to that revolver?' she asked.

'I lost it,' he responded dismissively, then gestured to the plaz. 'Please, ma'am. We must go.'

On the way down, Gorgo insisted they take the elevator. As soon as the doors closed she wrapped herself around him, kissing him hungrily, and he felt obligated to return each one.

'We'll rule this Province like king and queen, Julius!' she breathed, between lip locks. 'I'll tell Decidus I want a divorce! It's been a long time coming!'

Agricola said nothing, wasting no precious seconds as the elevator descended, pressing her up against the wall. For the first time in his life, he wished an elevator would break down between floors. Although he did not believe a single one of Gorgo's words. When they got to the lobby, he left the Governor in the company of two dozen soldiers. Gorgo gave the Major a longing look as he walked to the exit, which the soldiers picked up on, having already noted the length of time he had spent upstairs. Agricola did Gorgo the decency of holding the gaze, if not reciprocating it, before breaking eye contact.

The Major emerged into total chaos. The Esthari were beleaguered by chocobos moving through their formations like a golden flood, and White SeeDs - including Dincht - were darting either side of Axtius' statue so fast that Agricola could barely catch their movements. Any modicum of an organised defence of the square was shattered, and the conscript soldiers were bolting from the area in throngs.

Agricola's eyes were drawn to eleven particular chocobo riders. One of the chocobos was of the rare charcoal breed, and its fair-haired rider was also clad in black. Agricola recognised him from the warning posters all over the Province. His name was Clyde Marston, and he was one of the most famous bandits of the lawless southern lands.

The largest of the riders, a behemoth of a man, was wearing an impressive three-quarter suit of silver armour with the visor down. and holding the onyx Ragnarok sword of House Christophe. The Uncrowned King. In tandem him was a fiercely beautiful woman with chestnut hair and a white cape over chrome armour, wielding the equally notorious Save the Queen. Beatrix of House von Heiligeberg. Those two Houses had been bitter rivals over the centuries, the crown wrested between them across numerous rebellions and civil wars. Though they were the only Houses to survive the Calamity, and they now stood unified.

The remaining eight riders were fitted in more mundane but matching platinum three-quarter suits of armour, engraved across their breastplates with a symbol any history buff would recognise. The Knights of Pluto reformed.

It was all over, Agricola knew. He would not surrender. He would not defect, like those cowards Adrasteia and Artorius. His legend had been stunted to a short story, and he would mostly be remembered for leading a bitter and unsuccessful siege. Though he could still have the hero's exit he had always wanted. He could still go out with a bang. As those eleven riders separated throughout the square, Agricola drew his gladius and stomped forward, his eyes locked on the Uncrowned King.

'Christophe!' he called. 'I challenge you to single combat! If you value the legacy of your forebears, come forth!'

Christophe regarded him, bringing his chocobo to a halt. When Agricola saw that he was answering the challenge, he stood his ground. The Uncrowned King dismounted, hefted Ragnarok in a high guard and advanced. Though his eyes were drawn to something moving behind Agricola and went wide. Agricola heard a chocobo rushing behind him and felt a strange numbing sensation as his legs crumpled.

The Major hit the ground and tried to pull himself back up, but his legs did not seem to work. He felt a sticky wetness across his back when he reached behind, and was horrified when he realised what had befallen him.

'What are you thinking, Your Majesty?' he heard a berating voice snap. 'He's hardly worth risking the Kingdom's rebirth for! Get back on your chocobo, at once!'

Agricola looked to see Marston drop from his black chocobo, and the bandit turned to look at him. Christophe remounted. Marston merely gave Agricola a look, completely absent remorse, as he walked to where the Major lay. Agricola still held his gladius and raised it defiantly. He tried to address the man who had crippled him, spitting words through a mouthful of blood.

'Wholly… without... honour!'

'You mistake me for my King,' Marston answered coldly, before killing him.