It took roughly half an hour for Olberic to take the members of the militia through their regular drills. It was a normal routine for him by that point, and he scarcely minded it. For a few brief minutes, he was able to pretend that he still had a reason to swing his blade beyond mere necessity. He was passing his skills on so that the next generation might one day understand them, and that was something that Olberic could take pride in. After many difficulties from the past involving his sense of purpose, he felt almost uncomfortably fine with slipping into the mask of having a reason to fight once again.
However, training did not come and go without any issues in Olberic's eyes. The two soldiers that Olberic put the most time into training were the members of the patrol that had gone searching through the hills of Cobbleston that morning. They were both competent fighters in their own ways, yes, but Olberic could tell that if they combined their prowess in combat, they would be able to create something far greater than the sum of their parts. Offering such advice to the young men came with a twist of bitter jealousy to him.
Deep down, Olberic knew that he was in no position to envy those who were so much younger than he was. It was an immature action, and he didn't want to indulge the darkest shadows of his daily life. However, the way that the two young men fought together reminded him all too much of his past with Erhardt. One of the two fighters had light hair and dark eyes while the other had brown hair so deep that it bordered on being black. Everything about them in personality was different from what Olberic had come to understand during his connection with Erhardt, but the similarities still overwhelmed him.
He and Erhardt had fought together for many years, and that was one reason that the betrayal on Erhardt's part had come as such a bitter punch to the stomach. Olberic had trusted Erhardt more than any other, sharing secrets that he would never dream of telling to any other. Erhardt had accepted them all with a carefully-constructed smile and eyes that made it clear he could be trusted with anything. In the end, such faith was misguided as Erhardt raised his blade and used it to slay the one person that had brought them together in the first place. Erhardt had never appeared so out of his element and lost prior to that moment, but Olberic couldn't hep but feel if perhaps that had all been a figment of his imagination. For all he knew, Olberic was simply trying to convince himself that Erhardt was still a good man as a way of lessening the deep stab of betrayal and denial that had come the moment that Erhardt swung downwards to take Alfred's life.
Olberic watched with distant, shaded eyes as the two young men made their way towards the hills of Cobbleston once again, no doubt off to test their skills against any rogue ratkin that just so happened to get in their way. Olberic was completely silent, unable to bring himself to say a word. He could see such innocence and hope for the world in the eyes of those two young men, and it reminded him all too much of the care that he had come to recognize in his own gaze from when he was young. Erhardt had once possessed that same optimism as well, though it had always been jaded in retrospect. Were Olberic's reminiscent moments being altered through hindsight because of Erhardt's betrayal? Perhaps it was simply a figment of his imagination that he had planted in his past images because he was too afraid to confess the truth of the matter behind Erhardt's treachery.
The sound of footsteps against the cobbled ground below pulled Olberic out of his thoughts, and he forced his stony expression into a mask of effortless passiveness to keep anyone from intruding on what was passing through his mind. "Sir! Me next, please!" came Philip's cry as he dashed towards Olberic. His smile was so full of youth and life that it almost hurt to see, like a star of innocence that glowed so bright because it was undoubtedly going to flicker out soon.
Olberic shook his head in response to Philip. The young boy didn't show any signs of picking up on his moment of tempestuous thought, and for that, Olberic was thankful. "You are not ready yet. You need to work on your form," he instructed simply yet sternly. Philip sagged in response, and Olberic's expression softened. "Do the drills as I showed you, and you'll be sparring soon enough. You have talent, lad."
Philip's face lit up even more than previously as he dashed towards Olberic. "I do?" he questioned. His eyes were practically glowing with the radiant light of hope, and it seemed almost strong enough to overwhelm the demons that lived inside of the darkest recesses of Olberic's mind.
Olberic nodded to the young boy. "Not many boys your age take to the sword so quickly, and I've trained my share," he assured Philip. He allowed one hand to rest on the hilt of his blade as he fell into a slightly more relaxed stance, though his eternal sense of tension still remained.
"Crivens! Thanks, sir!" Philip cried out, and Olberic gave the young boy a fraction of a smile. Philip turned away and looked at the ground with something akin to shy anxiety. "My father... He's, you know... Gone, sir. Died in the war."
Olberic's shoulders remained knotted with tension as he recalled the stories that he had heard years prior of what happened to Philip's father. The man had been yet another casualty of Hornburg's fall, yet another victim to the actions of Erhardt. "So I've heard," Olberic told Philip carefully, choosing each syllable with excessive deliberation to ensure that they were correct.
"Mother's looked after me ever since. All on her own, sir," Philip murmured, his eyes falling shut. "But soon... Soon I'll be a man grown, and it'll be my turn to take care of her!" The love that gleamed in his gaze when he looked up to Olberic was almost overwhelming, and Olberic recalled that same emotion overwhelming him when he was younger. It had been under different circumstances, but it was present all the same.
"She is a lucky woman to have a son so brave," Olberic said, painting on the facade of maturity and dignity regardless of his past concerns with thoughts of romance and love. That hardly mattered anymore. He was in Cobbleston, not Hornburg, and the people that he may or may not have loved once upon a time were no longer any of his concern. Such was part of his mask as Berg, a simple mercenary rather than a knight deprived of liege and purpose.
"So you see why I've got to get stronger, sir!" Philip chirped. "I have to protect Mother and everyone else in the village! After all she's done for me, I owe her that much!" He appeared to be less of a child in that instant and more of a poet and a dreamer seeking a better future. The entire world rested in the palm of his hands as far as Philip was concerned, and he intended to do everything he can to prove himself worthy of it.
Olberic, on the other hand, felt as if his world had been taken away, and he was left to deal with the aftermath for nearly a decade. He had once had someone to protect as well. He had looked after Hornburg, its king, and its people with everything he had, but the outcome of such a duty was clear as could be. Everything had fallen apart, and there was nothing he could do to reverse the flow of time to remedy such a series of events. He would have to live with the hopelessness and weight of his own failures for the rest of his life, and he would never be able to change such an undoubtable truth.
"Sir?"
Philip's voice drew Olberic out of his memories and into the present once again. Hornburg was gone, but Cobbleston still stood. Philip was still there with him, and Olberic was Berg now. That was what he had to keep reminding himself of when he considered the rest of his life. The past, for all of its beauties in Olberic's memories, was not something that he could be trapped in forever.
Olberic cleared his throat to cover for his moment of dissipated confidence. "It's nothing, lad. Just old memories. Keep at your training, and you'll be a strong man before long," he assured the young boy.
"I will, sir!" Philip cried out, saluting to Olberic with all of the precious innocence that lived in his small body. Philip pivoted on his heel and dashed away after that, leaving Olberic alone in Cobbleston's town square. He didn't realize how oppressive the silence was until after Philip was already gone, but by that point, it was already too late.
Olberic shook his head. He needed a distraction, and he needed it as soon as possible. He could do a round of the town, and that would be fine to keep himself occupied mentally. As long as he was doing something, he would be fine. The flashbacks were particularly brutal that day for some unprecedented reason, though Olberic had an awful feeling about it. His dreams had long been premonitions of terrors to come, and even though he lacked the ability to see what was to come in the future, he could sense when there was something about to go wrong. It was a strange power that he had come to understand in the loosest sense of the word, and Olberic had learned to trust such an instinct. It would overwhelm him if he wasn't careful with it, but he knew better than to dismiss his concerns outright.
Olberic was halfway up the stairs leading to the upper area of town when he heard the scream that rent the air like a stray fragment of lightning. A chill ran up his spine as he realized that his fears regarding his dreams were coming true all too soon with stunning brutality. Olberic reached for his sword as the slamming of footsteps against the stones below echoed in his ears.
Olberic soon learned that the newcomer was none other than the light-haired young man who had reminded him so much of Olberic for some unholy reason that morning. "Brigands! We're under attack!" cried the young fighter. His sword hand was shaking, like the blade was on the verge of falling out of his hand. As soon as he saw Olberic and realized that the warrior had heard him, the young man dashed up the stairs once again, knowing that the savior of Cobbleston was bound to follow. Sure enough, Olberic did little in the ways of hesitation as he dashed up the stairway. He was already pulling his sword from its sheath, knowing that it would undoubtedly need to be utilized in the coming battle. He had vowed to protect Cobbleston, and so, he would. No brigand or thief would ever be able to stop him from fulfilling what meager purpose he still had left in his life. That was something Olberic was going to make sure of.
By the time that Olberic arrived, there were three other young men from the militia gathered at the path that led into the hills. They were squaring off against three bandits that wore torn clothing and expressions twisted into snarls. "Bah! These dirty peasants don't know their place!" came the shout of one of the brigands. He held an imposing axe that glittered dull and ominous in the morning sunshine. It had clearly known the taste of bloodshed many times in the past, and the owner of the blade would not hesitate to coat the weapon in crimson copper once again.
"We've got more strength! Surround 'em!" came the voice of another brigand as he pointed his axe in the direction of the militia fighters. Even in the face of such a threat, the young men held their ground, swords primed in case they had to lash out. They had been trained many times before, but nothing could have gotten them ready for what a true taste of steel could bring when the battlefield released its reign of terror.
"Stick a blade in their backs before the boss finds out swineherds slowed us down!" the third brigand shouted. He was quick to dash forwards along with the other brigands at his side. All it took was a quick clash of blades for the brigands to be repelled a few feet as cuts opened in their upper arms. The watchmen had been swift yet merciful, but the brigand that had goaded them onwards roared in pain regardless before continuing to speak. "Damn it all! These swineherds know how to fight!"
Olberic was at the scene of the fight a moment later, his sword raised in preparation for the fight at hand. He hadn't fought against another human being in so long, having grown used to sharpening his blade against only monsters and whetstone. One of the watchmen cried out his name, but Olberic barely seemed to notice thanks to the influence of the fight at hand. He spared them only a single glance over his shoulder. "Good work, men. You did well to hold them off," Olberic told the watchmen with a muted sense of pride that could only be found in moments of intense combat. "But I'll take over from here."
Olberic's words were both a promise and a threat, and the leading brigand seemed to notice such a fact. "And who in the hells are you supposed to be?!" he exclaimed angrily. His damaged pride didn't allow him to shout the words without desperation and anguish leaking into his tone. He appeared to be ready to rush towards Olberic then and there, but what little sense of reason he had continued to hold him back.
"He's a bleedin' fool if he thinks he can take us all!" another brigand cried out. He had completely recovered from the previous hit that he had taken at the hands of the Cobbleston militia's soldiers. Olberic didn't give him the time of day, neglecting a response in favor of simply leveling his blade in the direction of the brigands once more.
"So ye's got a fancy blade, eh? I know yer sort, hedge knight. I've cut down my share o' yer betters," one of the other brigands said in a drawl so heavy that it was almost difficult to understand. He allowed his axe to fully reflect the sunshine as if the blade would act as proof of the men that he had killed in times of the past.
"I'm telling ye... This one's trouble," came the voice of one of the brigands. His voice oozed caution and confidence simultaneously, like he was sure that not even all the power in the world would be able to keep the brigands from overwhelming and defeating Olberic.
"You both have the right of it. I'm but a common hedge knight with no name to speak of," Olberic told them, and it didn't taste as much like a lie as it would have under different circumstances. He had lost his name and title years ago when Hornburg fell, and those accolades meant nothing to anyone at present, and he wasn't about to pretend otherwise. "But if you've come looking for trouble... You've found it."
"Stow it or I'll cut out your tongue!" a brigand shouted sharply, priming his weapon to punctuate the threat. He sunk into a combative stance, a sign that the battle was set to begin soon afterwards.
"Enough prattle! Let's skewer him!" the leader of the trio cried out. From there, it didn't take long for all three of the brigands to surge forward in Olberic's directions, blades at the ready for the battle that was to come.
Olberic allowed his sword to guide him into the first strike. He blocked a blow from a rusted axe before delivering a sharp jab at the arm of the one who had held the blade. The brigand stumbled backwards in response, and another one of the enemies came up on Olberic while he was focused on the first assailant. It didn't take long for Olberic to do the same to the second one of his attackers, knocking the axe from his hand with one blow that hardly lacked any skill. The bandit cried out in anguish as he began to grip his fingers, which were starting to bleed from a notable cut near the base of his knuckles. He scrambled to recover his axe so that he could continue fighting, but it was clear that he had already been sufficiently rattled by the situation.
The leader of the trio tried to come down on Olberic while he was distracted, and Olberic took a step back to keep from being hit. He swept his sword down low, knocking the man's feet out from under him. The cut that resulted from the strike sent the leader of the brigands crashing down to the ground, and he let out a snarl as he thrust his axe in Olberic's direction. It was easy for the former knight to step out of the way of the hit and then deliver another jab in the direction of the man's shoulder. That was enough to convince the brigand to give up for at least a few fleeting moments.
The other two bandits were back and ready to continue fighting, and Olberic jumped out of the way of a pair of axe swings before slashing his sword through the air. Both of the men suffered from notable cuts on their arms, one on his right and the other on his left. They were left to nurse their injuries soon after the fact, and Olberic thrust his sword forward, sending one of the axes back to the ground. It didn't take long before the other man dropped his axe and turned on his heel.
From there, Olberic stood tall and proud as he watched both of the underling bandits run for the hills of Cobbleston, trails of blood tracing in their wake. Olberic saw no reason to follow them, understanding that he had a job to do. Protecting Cobbleston had to be his first priority above everything else, and all other concepts of justice could wait.
The leader of the three bandits was still on the ground, and his axe was laying before him. Olberic placed one foot on the blade of the weapon before sliding it backwards towards the other patrolmen that were still standing near him. None of them had dared to interfere in the fight, seeming to understand that they would only hold back Olberic when push came to shove. Olberic was the strongest of the bunch, and in a battle where stakes were life and death, they had to trust him to handle the situation.
"You..." the bandit snarled as he looked up at Olberic. In return, Olberic watched him with a passive, detached glare. "Ye can handle a blade, aye, but this ain't the end of it. When the boss hears 'bout this, yer a dead man, ye hear?"
Olberic's eyes narrowed, and he didn't give the brigand the pleasure of seeing any other reaction. "We'll see about that, won't we?" he questioned. He took a step forward, pointing his sword in the direction of the brigand. The bandit growled in response, ready to fight tooth and nail for his life even when he lacked any weapons to fight with in the face of an experienced fighter who could cut him down in the blink of an eye.
"Help! My boy!"
"Let me go, you ugly-ngh?!"
The familiar pair of voices reached Olberic's voice despite their origin point being somewhere else in Cobbleston. That was Philip and his mother. He would know those voices anywhere. Olberic grunted and glanced in the direction of the stairway back to the center of town while still keeping an eye on the brigand that was standing before him. The bandit began to sneer, and Olberic felt his stomach drop into his feet.
The brigand hauled himself to his feet and smirked in Olberic's direction. "Goodbye, hedge knight," he said simply before turning on his heel and dashing away into the hills. His previous injuries did little to hamper his escape. Part of Olberic was tempted to chase after him, but he knew that he had a mission still, and he wasn't going to be able to accomplish said duty if he gave in and allowed this temporary lapse in judgement control him.
Instead of giving chase, Olberic dashed down the stairs of Cobbleston to the main area of the town. He could see a large crowd of villagers, all notably terrified and shaken from the events that had just taken place. One of the men was on one knee as he tended to a cut that had formed across the front of his lower leg. The headman was nearby, one hand placed firmly on the shoulder of Philip's mother. There were tear tracks on her face, and her cheeks had grown pink from crying. She was inconsolable, her eyes wild with fear and shattered instincts.
"Oh, Berg, sir!" Philip's mother cried out, her hands shaking violently as she approached him on trembling legs. "They... They took him from me! My poor Philip... He was trying to protect me, but those... Those animals...!"
"Damn it all!" Olberic shouted before he could stop himself. The attack from the hills had been a distraction. The bandits had Cobbleston surrounded from the start, and they were going to get what they wanted one way or another. In the end, their solution of choice had been to take a hostage to ensure that the town surrendered to their needs and wishes of extortion. Olberic cursed himself for not seeing through it sooner. He should have known that there was something wrong thanks to his expansive history with combat, but he had been too near-sighted to notice. He should have done something to protect the rest of the town, but because he had failed, Philip was gone.
He had been too near-sighted to notice Erhardt too, whispered a voice in the back of his mind. He should have done something to protect Alfred, but because he had failed, Hornburg was gone.
"Forgive me, sir..." came the weak voice of the man on the ground. Olberic's senses snapped into place and finally gave him the chance to recognize the man in question as the captain of the militia of Cobbleston, and his expression was torn apart by guilt and terror. "There were so many of them, and-"
"It doesn't matter now! We have to save the lad!" cried one of the patrolmen that had watched Olberic's encounter with the bandits near the entrance to the hills outside the town.
"We know where they are now," another patrolman pointed out as he inclined his head in the direction of the upper portions of the town. "They're holed up in a cave deep in the mountains."
"Then let's go!" came the voice of the first patrolman. "Gods only know what they'll do to him..." He and his companions began to start up the path to the hills of the town. Olberic watched their retreating backs for a moment.
"Wait."
Upon hearing the simple word from Olberic, the patrolmen turned, his face painted with shock and anguish. "But, sir! We have to do something! They might kill the boy!" one of the patrolmen shouted. Out of the corner of his vision, Olberic saw Philip's mother flinch, and the tears in her eyes seemed to appear with renewed vigor before starting to stream silently down her face. She held back a sob, and her body wracked with the motion.
"If you leave now, who will protect the village if the thieves return?" Olberic pointed out. When none of the patrolmen had an answer, he continued. "No... You would be playing right into their hands."
"Gods have mercy," one of the patrolmen said softly with a shake of his head. "Is there nothing we can do, sir?"
Olberic took a few steps in the direction of the stairs leading towards the edges of town. "I'll go after the boy," he replied.
"Alone?!" came the agape shout of shock from one of the patrolmen. "But, sir, even you-"
"You stay and guard the village at least until you're sure they're not coming back," Olberic cut in, his gaze hardened with fierce determination. "I'll bring Philip back safely. That much I swear to you."
"Chief?" Philip's mother asked in a quiet, broken tone as she turned in the direction of the headman. Her body shifted with another oncoming sob, but she did her best to keep it from being too noticeable. Olberic saw it anyways.
The headman of the town was quiet for a long moment before he made solemn eye contact with Olberic. "You are the boy's-our only hope. Can you do this, Berg?" he questioned, speaking every word with all of the weight in the world.
Olberic simply nodded. "Consider it done," he replied. He turned on his heel to walk away, but he was ultimately cut off by a familiar voice reaching his ears once again.
"Please, sir! Bring him back safe!" Philip's mother exclaimed, practically begging with Berg to return her son to her arms. The desperation in her gaze could not be understated, and it cut Olberic right to his core.
"You have my word," Olberic told her simply. Philip's mother allowed her shoulders to sag with relief, and the area fell silent as Olberic began to make his preparations to set off and save Philip from the reaches of the brigands.
The road to Cobbleston was, all things considered, much more dangerous than Cyrus had anticipated.
It wasn't as if Cyrus was particularly aware of how the travel was between different regions of the continent, but he did know that seeing so many bandits crowded together around Cobbleston was odd. Many of them appeared to be retreating to some unseen nest hidden deep within the mountains, nestled among the grayed stones of the Highlands grounds. Cyrus found himself holding tightly to his staff in case he had to unleash a magical spell at a moment's notice. Ophilia hid the Ember farther beneath her cape than she had previously, her paranoia palpable enough to make Tressa agitated beyond what was natural for her.
By the time that the group had arrived on the stairs of Cobbleston, Tressa seemed ready to practically explode with relief. Ophilia placed a comforting hand on Tressa's shoulder as she began to navigate her way through the town. It quickly became apparent to all of them that Cobbleston was not the peaceful place that they had been anticipating, and the town itself seemed to practically breathe panic and fear.
The townspeople of Cobbleston were buzzing amongst themselves, whispering in fear and paranoia. Cyrus could not hear the words being said, but given that there were bandits that had been fleeing from the area of Cobbleston, it was easy enough for him to put the pieces together. The brigands had invaded Cobbleston only to be repelled, and that was why everyone was so nervous. They were trying to pull the pieces of their lives back together in the aftermath of what they had assumed at the time would be the end of everything they had come to know and love.
Cyrus' gaze continued to flicker throughout the town before his eyes eventually settled on one person who didn't appear to be like the rest. The people of Cobbleston were all simple folk, going about their daily lives in a sleepy, monotonous routine, but this man held a strange sense of purpose. His sword gleamed in a foreign way that sent a strange sensation running up Cyrus' spine. There was something off about this character, and Cyrus wondered if perhaps this man would be the one able to offer details about what all had taken place as of late.
Olberic's shoulders were tense as he gathered together a handful of supplies, and his face was practically knitted into a snarl that was barely contained. His strong sense of justice could be sensed a mile away, and Cyrus allowed himself to be pulled in by it. Even after Tressa let out a nervous yelp at the idea of Cyrus approaching someone who appeared to be so openly hostile in the face of adversity, the scholar pressed on.
"Excuse me," Cyrus greeted simply as he tapped one finger against Olberic's shoulder. The man turned to face him, and Cyrus continued with a smile that was as open and personable as possible to keep Olberic from growing distressed and lashing out at him. "If you don't mind my asking, what is it that has transpired here? It appears as if something has gone wrong here in Cobbleston."
Olberic was tense at first, refusing to respond before releasing a sigh. "We were attacked by brigands from the hills, and they took a hostage in the form of a young boy," he said simply.
"That's awful!" Ophilia cried, one hand flying to her mouth in surprise. "Please... Let us help you. There has to be something that we can do."
Olberic remained silent for another long moment before he nodded and gestured for the rest of the group to follow them. He had thoroughly examined them in the breath of quiet and decided that they were trustworthy, it seems. "Come. I'll explain as we start moving." With that said, he began to walk towards the top area of the town. Cyrus, Ophilia, and Tressa glanced to one another briefly, and while none of them said a word, they all understood what was to come next. They followed after Olberic a few moments later without hesitation.
The four AM update trend is impossible for me to escape, it seems.
I have to confess that I really do enjoy this chapter. There's something about Olberic's first chapter that's just so much fun to work with, and I think that it has everything to do with the somber, melancholy tone of everything that's happening. It's just an interesting thing to weave into the storytelling, and I love it.
One thing that I'm really looking forward to is the pending interactions between Olberic and the rest of the team by this point. There's going to be more banter between them as they move towards the bandits' hideout in the next chapter, so you can expect to hear a lot of neat conversation there. Since there wasn't all that much time for Olberic to explain anything this chapter, everything is going to be mentioned next time as this chapter presses on.
Here's another fun thing: this story is going to start getting more frequent updates! I'm going to have a gap in my typing schedule starting over the next two weeks or so, and that means that I'll have more time to work on this story. It'll be replacing Alternative in my daily typing cycle, and I can't wait to show off everything that comes with it. This story is going to be under that frequent update cycle probably until the end of chapter one, though that is subject to change. It's the plan for now, and I'm going to roll with it unless something comes up to get in the way of that.
Anyways, it's time for me to get some rest since I'm running off an hour and a half long nap at this point and really need to crash. I'll see you all next time as we continue with the third part of Olberic's chapter one! Until then, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Feedback is always appreciated. Have a nice day, everyone!
-Digital