Morroc Residence
"WHY DOES SHE HAVE THE SAME EYES AS I DO?!" Argos roared. He struggled against Spider's grip, but couldn't break free. The assassin cross seemed to sober out of his tipsy daze.
"So you've met her, then? You've met Daphne?"
"Who is she?" Argos demanded.
"First and foremost, I need to confirm her status," Spider said in a serious tone, sobering up. "Is she alive?"
The assassin seemed to calm down enough to stop struggling. Sensing this, Spider released his grip on Argos's wrists.
"She was alive last time I saw her," he said, not yet re-clipping his icicle katars to his belt.
"How long ago was this?" Spider asked.
"About an hour ago."
"So not too much time has passed since then," Spider murmured. "Good. We still have enough time to save her."
"Weren't we supposed to assassinate her?" Argos growled. "And you still haven't answered my question."
"Where should I begin?" the assassin cross asked. "She's the daughter of King Tristan XIII."
Argos stood frozen in shock. "We were about to assassinate the princess!?" he exclaimed.
"The late queen Abigail died giving birth to her," Spider explained. "Her existence was kept from the public for security reasons."
"This is news to me!"
"Technically, she didn't exist," Spider said. "But remember this: she was your hit. My mission, the orders that you heard from the guild leader's mouth, was to make sure you carried it out."
"And then what would have happened?"
"You're not supposed to know this, but my real mission was to kill you and arrange the scene by cutting tail," the assassin cross said.
Argos stumbled backwards into the far wall, not believing what he was hearing. The katars he were holding fell to the floor with a clatter.
"You can imagine what would have happened," Spider continued. "There would have been an uproar in the palace. Investigators would begin digging for information on who hired the assassin that did it. They would have dug into your past too, after seeing your corpse, and found out your story. Well, whatever they would find, your body would have served as a scapegoat, and war would have been averted, according to the guild leader."
Argos slumped to the ground, eyes fixed in one spot.
"There's still one thing I'm not clear with," Spider went on. "The guild leader said this was something only you could do. How could your corpse have prevented war from breaking out?"
The assassin remained silent for a moment. "Are you going to kill me?" he asked finally, in a small voice.
"That depends," Spider said in an equally small, but deadly voice. "Are you going to kill Daphne?"
Argos shook his head side to side. "My mother died when I was very young," he said. "But I was told later that she was a concubine for the king."
Spider's eyes widened. "So that would make Daphne your half-sister!"
"Yes, although I never knew she existed."
"I should have guessed it when I met you," Spider mused out loud. "You both had the king's unique red eyes. Now I see why only you could do it. If your body were found at the scene of the crime and made to look as though you tried to kill the princess, the investigators would have concluded that it was for personal gain. You would have been next in line for the crown, even if you were a bastard child."
"They would have ruled it an independent action, not as a hired hit," Argos nodded. "Then whoever requested the hit would be free from blame."
"Which brings us back to my question," Spider said. "Are you going to kill Daphne or break the assassin code?"
Argos grit his teeth; it should have been clear to him. Had he been asked this just a moment before, he would have chosen to kill Daphne without a second thought. Revenge was the first thing that was driving his life. There was no way he could have opted to live peacefully when that man was still alive, the one who had taken everything away from him. He swore he would become an assassin cross to be in the position to kill him...
But now he discovered that he had family; never mind that pompous fat lout sitting on the Prontera throne, the arrogant, self-righteous cur who threw out his mother when she was still pregnant with him. He had a half-sister who miraculously wasn't like that bastard of a man who he refused to call father. Just when it seemed that he was on his way to attaining the tools for revenge, fate had smiled upon him on a whim. Two paths lay in front of him in his mind's eye.
"I... I want to find out for myself," he said finally, sincerely. "Who Daphne is. What kind of person she is. I... I think I can forget about revenge."
Spider smiled.
"Heh," he chuckled. "It looks like there's hope for you yet, sport." He stepped forward and offered Argos his hand. His junior partner took it and stood.
"Do you happen to know who requested the hit?"
The image of a letter flashed in Spider's head.
"I've got a pretty good idea," he said darkly. "Nothing for certain; I'll need to send a letter to a certain contact of mine to confirm it."
"So what will we do now?" Argos asked. Spider looked at him; his face became grim.
"You and I," he said. "Are going to go through hell and back."
South of Prontera
A small squadron of peco-mounted knights and crusaders galloped southwest into the dying late-afternoon horizon. Each of these men weren't clad in armor; donning the heavy metallic plates would be equivalent to suicide while traveling through the desert, even in setting sun. The residual heat would not fade until hours after darkness blanketed the sands. Two of the riders in particular were side by side, chatting.
"Sir Grant, back during the training session earlier today," Reinbach said. "You asked me if I had any goals, to which I replied none."
"I did indeed," Grant said.
"Is having a goal really that important?"
"Well, I suppose what you're doing right now can be called a goal," Grant said. "Becoming a stronger knight and serving the king. In a sense, that is a very noble goal."
"Do you feel it is lacking something, sir?"
"Yes, I do. Recall your studies and education. I'm sure you, along with everyone else, were trying their best to excel."
"I didn't fare as well in my studies as well as I'm doing as a knight, I'm afraid," Reinbach said, somewhat abashed, rubbing the back of his streaked blonde head.
"Neither did I, which is why I'm engaged to Tabby," Grant said, laughing. "Sometimes I feel one of the reasons why she's my fiancée is because she compensates for my head."
The two of them chuckled quietly. Gradually, the settings around them changed from grassy fields to warm sands.
"It's expected of you to try to excel in your studies," Grant went on. "But in school, if that was all that you worried about, then it probably would have been a very lonely experience indeed."
"Of course," Reinbach said. "I was more interested in afternoon exercises, trying to maintain my status as the school's most athletic. But everyone I competed against, I considered a friend; if not, an acquaintance."
"Do you still keep in contact with some of those friends?" Grant asked. Reinbach shook his head.
"Most of them are in different apprenticeships, like the archer's guild or the acolytes. The few that trained with me in the swordsman apprenticeship aren't yet knights or crusaders."
"That's somewhat discouraging to hear..."
"Well... there's one person..." Reinbach said slowly, hesitant. "... She followed me around all the time in school and she sends letters from time to time."
"Ohhhh?" Grant said, drawing out the syllable in a manner not unlike his fiancée. "So this is why you declined Tabby's offer today?"
Reinbach coughed and looked slightly away to hide the flush on his cheeks. "Please don't make fun of me, sir," he muttered.
Granted began laughing, though not in a condescending way.
"To tell you the truth, you remind me of me when I was your age," the paladin said. "I used to be focused purely on training and thought I had no time for women."
"Then if it's not too much of a personal question, sir, how did you meet your fiancée?"
Grant began laughing even harder.
"I first met her in school," he managed between laughs. "She followed me around all the time."
Reinbach was suddenly seized by a coughing fit, to which Grant and the riders close enough to hear burst out laughing.
"You really are making fun of me, aren't you sir?" the knight asked, his face red.
"No, I'm being quite honest here," Grant said as the laughter died down. "Which makes it all the more funnier!"
It took a while for the renewed laughter to settle down again. Reinbach readjusted his traveling cloak, pulling the hood over his eyes.
"But honestly, school was some of the more nostalgic times in my life," Grant reminisced out loud, a faraway look in his eyes. "I don't know if this girl of yours was the same, but Tabby followed me around because I was somewhat of a delinquent when it came to studies. She fancied herself as some sort of class monitor, saying that I was ruining the reputation of the school's name."
"I never would have guessed that the two of you would have started out with that kind of relationship."
"Neither did I," said Grant. "During my days as a swollen-headed crusader, I thought I could beat anyone; I was arrogant and foolish. Then I met a wizard who trounced me so badly, that I was in shock for an entire day."
"Did you ever beat him?" Reinbach asked curiously.
"Haha, no," Grant said sheepishly. "After I lost, I decided to swallow my pride and ask the only other magic user I knew, Tabby, for training. I suppose that's where our relationship began."
"To hear the personal story behind the Chevalier Paladin Grant Graves," another of the knights said. "Now this is something you don't hear everyday!"
"There you go again, Ozworth, making me out to be some sort of hero. Before I knew it," Grant continued, "I realized that I was much more prepared for dealing against magic types, but by then, the wizard had disappeared. I didn't mind it that much, considering I found a valuable partner in Tabby."
Ozworth, a knight with cedar brown hair who had been promoted next to Reinbach, flashed his fellow knight-in-arms a grin.
"Hear that, Kristoph?" he joked. "A valuable partner, he found. Give or take a few months, that girl of yours will be at your doorstep!"
Reinbach had no time to respond; at that moment, a slew of arrows shrieked past them. A couple of arrows struck home, and one knight fell down, dead, an arrow sticking out of his chest.
"TO ARMS!" Grant bellowed, grabbing his shield and drawing a gleaming red Solar Sword from his side. Not wasting any time, the riders drew their weapons and raised their guards.
"Rear guard! Buy time for the rest to escape!" the paladin shouted. "Reinbach, Ozworth! The arrows came from behind, we're going to stay and defend! The rest of you! Take the fallen and injured to Morroc!"
The two knights nodded, eyes set and determined. Reinbach drew the Zephyrus given to him earlier that day, while Ozworth unsheathed a Battle Hook, a spear with a wickedly curving point.
"Those with shields, in the front!" Grant shouted. No sooner had the front line formed, a second volley of arrows rained down upon them. This time, they shattered against the shields.
"Chaaaarge!" the paladin roared, leading the charge up a small dune. The muffled sound of peco claws on sand filled the air. A third and fourth volley rained down upon them, felling a peco. The crusader mounting it collapsed into the sand.
About fifteen rogues had been firing at the knights from behind the dune. Just as the riders had reached the apex of the hill, they dove and burrowed deep into the sand.
"COWARDS!" Grant bellowed. "COME OUT AND FIGHT!" None of the rogues resurfaced. In the darkening desert sky, a faint shadow from behind them leaped from the top of a palm tree overhead.
"WITH PLEASURE!" a rough, wild voice half-yelled, half-growled. The riders spun wildly. In the dying vestiges of the sun, a silhouette of a man somersaulted and swung a massive slab of a broadsword in an overhand swing.
A huge, rusty Atroce Blade smashed into Reinbach's Zephyrus with a bone-jarring clang; the peco he was riding buckled from the sudden combined weight of the assaulter and his attack. The young knight felt his left shoulder give way, but instead of falling to the sand, he shifted his spear to a slant and pushed the attack to the side. Not wasting any time, Grant rushed forward on his peco to engage their attacker. With a backhand swing of his Solar Sword, the paladin attempted to debilitate their attacker; the man, knowing the weight of the Atroce Blade would never allow him to block in time, instead maneuvered around his broadsword and used the blade's thickness as a shield.
It was hard to gauge the man's age. He had coppery skin, black dreadlocks that flowed behind him like a lion's mane, and a few days' worth of stubble on his lower jaw. A long horizontal scar slashed across the bridge of his nose, and he wore no shirt, instead displaying his powerfully built torso under a thick bandolier meant for holding his Atroce Blade.
"Alexei Volkov," Grant growled. "The Prontera Chivalry will be glad when I bring your head to them."
Volkov began laughing in his rough voice.
"Grant Graves! My bounty will double after I kill you!"
Ozworth attempted to skewer Volkov from behind with his Battle Hook, but sensing this, the man ducked under the attack into a crouching position with a surprising degree of agility. The knight's weapon passed harmlessly over his head. Grabbing the hilt of his sword, Volkov extended his quadriceps with a powerful snap, slamming Ozworth's peco from behind with his well-defined back muscles and throwing the bird off its feet. Ozworth fell off his mount with a grunt and tumbled down the sand dune. At the same time, this allowed Volkov to put some distance between Grant and himself.
Having a mounted advantage is meaningless without a longer weapon, Grant thought. He jumped off the peco and rushed forward to re-engage Volkov, but Reinbach beat him there. With a fierce cry, he thrust his Zephyrus spear with his remaining good arm towards Volkov's throat, but the man simply side-stepped the attack and batted the offending weapon away.
"Heh! You want to play with the big boys, eh?!" Volkov, firmly grasping the hilt of his broadsword, used the momentum of his own body to initiate a huge sweeping arcing attack that Reinbach barely had any time to avoid. Instead of stopping, Volkov stepped past the knight and continued to spin around for a second arc aimed for his back.
A huge resonating clang rung out in the desert; Grant's shield had stopped Volkov from cleaving Reinbach in two.
"Reinbach! Go with the rest of the knights and try to find those rogues! Leave this one to me!"
But Volkov would not let Reinbach do as Grant said. He dropped his broadsword point down into the sand and grabbed Reinbach by the scruff of his cloak, shoving him roughly into Grant's shield, throwing the two of them off balance.
"So you think you're a knight? I'll finish you first!" He grasped the hilt of his broadsword, but Grant recovered quickly and attempted to slice off the man's head. Volkov managed to deflect the glancing blow with the steel wrist bracers he was wearing.
"Tch. No point in using that heavy slab in close combat." He ripped the Zephyrus out of Reinbach's hands; the knight cried out in pain as his injured shoulder was relocated, and fell to the ground.
"You can thank me for fixing your shoulder with this spear!" he yelled. He raised the spear and attempted to stab Reinbach, but Grant rushed forward again and bashed into him with his shield; Volkov stumbled backwards several steps, nearly falling over into the sand. He hurled the spear towards Grant, but the paladin quickly raised his shield and blocked the projectile, bouncing it back.
A reverberating horn's cry bellowed out in the desert sands. Volkov snarled. He rushed forward to Grant, snatching up the Zephyrus as he sprinted. Too surprised to react on time, the paladin attempted to slash downwards in an overhead swing, but the man simply danced out of the way and ran past him. He grabbed his Atroce Blade by the hilt and jumped off the top of the dune, sliding down on his broadsword as he went.
"Time to leave! Next time I'll have your heads!" He ran surprisingly quickly on the uneven footing of the sand, just as Ozworth managed to reach the top of the dune.
"Damn!" he cursed, watching Volkov disappear.
"Are you two okay?" Grant asked pulling Reinbach up by his uninjured arm. Both of them nodded. Just then, the rest of the rear guard came back; some of them were slightly injured; others had a few missing equipment.
"It looks like none of the rear guard are seriously hurt," Grant said. "They probably only attacked us for armor and weapons. What was the name of the knight who was shot?"
"Perceus Green, Sir Graves. He was just promoted as a knight this morning," one of the crusaders said quietly. They looked down sadly for a moment in silent prayer.
"Who was that?" Reinbach winced as he rubbed his shoulder, referring to their attacker.
"Alexei Volkov, a fallen lord knight," Grant said. "He joined the chivalry solely because he felt that knights were the strongest; as soon as he acquired the skills and promotion, he left and formed a vagabond band of mercenaries in this desert. He's a warmonger with a bounty of five million zeny."
"That was a lord knight?" Ozworth asked, disbelievingly. "With that messed up way of fighting?"
"Former lord knight," Grant muttered darkly. "He's been around rogues and stalkers so long, I wouldn't be surprised if he picked up some of their dirty tricks. His defection is the dark stain in the Prontera Chivalry's history; they've been wanting his head for a long while now."
Reinbach gazed into the darkening sands where Volkov retreated.
"Because of him, Perceus is dead…" he said. His brows were furrowed with frustration and anger.
"We've already lost a lot of progress," Grant said briskly. "We'll need to travel quickly to catch up with the group that's gone ahead." They nodded. "Someone will have to share a peco with Weiss; his mount was killed in that charge." A knight volunteered.
"Good. We ride."
"Sir Graves!" Reinbach said. "I'm very sorry for losing that spear…"
Grant rapped him lightly on the forehead.
"Weapons are replaceable; what's important is that you're alive. Do you have another weapon to use for now?"
"Yes sir, I do."
"Well that'll do for now. In the meantime, we need to head towards Morroc. We'll do most of our traveling during the nighttime, when the sun is down."
Reinbach saluted, and mounted his peco, mouth set in a thin line. Things were looking grim for them already, and the journey to Morroc had only just begun.
The next morning, Desert town Morroc
Daphne Trenton was quite overwhelmed.
She told herself that she was mentally prepared to be Rachel's caretaker, but she hadn't expected the girl to latch onto her so tightly on an emotional level. The child refused to be separated from her, always holding on to her hand, always demanding attention. In a sense, Daphne had expected something like this, but not to this degree.
"Momma!" Rachel piped. "How do you read this word?" She pointed to a word on a page of the children's book in her lap she was reading.
"That's 'cat', Rachel," Daphne said slowly and patiently. "You've seen them before, right?"
"C… cat," the child mouthed, staring at the page.
They were sitting on a bench at the town center; in fact, it was the same bench where Daphne had met Richard the previous day and given him a fake alias. The sun was relatively hidden by the clouds that day, unable to glare down at the bustling desert town. Daphne felt that teaching Rachel outside of the house wouldn't be a bad idea either.
Fortunately, it hadn't taken too long to teach Rachel the basics. She had absorbed the alphabet like a sponge, starving for information and full of questions. Both of them were very proud when she learned the ABC's within one afternoon.
She told herself that it was the only reason why the two of them were outside in the town center. No, there wasn't any other reason, none at all.
Well… maybe there was.
Her encounter with Richard had both completely terrified and intrigued her. When she told him that she didn't know anyone else with red eyes, that was only partially true. Her father, the king, had red irises, from what she remembered of her few and brief moments together with him.
Was he perhaps, a relative of hers?
She shook her head, dismissing the thought. That was irrelevant. Right now, she had to focus on raising Rachel. She felt a tug on her cloak, shaking her out of her thoughts.
"Momma! How about this one?" Rachel asked, pointing to anther word. "Wo… wold?"
" 'Would', dear," Daphne said. Rachel frowned, then continued to read out loud slowly.
Gradually, her mind began to wander around; thoughts about school, memories of promises and friendships. She wondered if her friends were doing fine; she hadn't been in contact with any of them since she left Geffen.
Well, it has been only a couple of days, she thought. Maybe I can send a letter tomorrow.
"Rachel dear," she said. "I've been thinking about going back to the orphanage."
"…Why?" The child didn't look very excited about the prospect.
"To help. You don't have to come if you – "
"NO!" Rachel shouted. "DON'T LEAVE ME!"
Daphne paused, looking into the girl's eyes. There was a hint of something in them… was it anger? Fear?
"I won't leave you," Daphne assured. "But there are children like you there, who need help. I want to help them."
Rachel angrily returned to her book, sulking.
East of Morroc
A ginger haired young boy, wearing a faded red hat backed up slowly against a red rock wall; his foot brushed against a bulky cloth bag on the ground next to him. A small pack of five wolves growled at him, advancing slowly. In an attempt to stave off the wolves, the young thief was wielding a dagger and a small tree branch at them.
"Ehehe…" the boy chuckled nervously. "You don't suppose… you want to talk about this first?"
One of the wolves barked fiercely. A thread of saliva dripped from its jaws.
"Hey! Look, a stick!" the boy said, offering the branch. "You like sticks, don't you?" He waved it enticingly in front of the closest wolf, then tossed it behind them. The wolves only edged closer.
"Oh come on!" the boy pleaded. "I've never even had a girlfriend yet! Besides, I taste really, really bad. You wouldn't want me as wolf food!"
The closest wolf lunged and snapped at the boy's arm, snaring it in its jaws. Before the rest could attack, several javelins rained down upon them, killing the wolves instantly.
"NOOOOOO!" the boy yelled. "I'MGONNADIE, HEEELLP – Oh."
Several peco-mounted riders sprinted forward, slowing to a trot as they neared the boy.
"Are you hurt?" a knight asked. It was Reinbach. He pulled out the javelin from the wolf that had attacked the young boy.
"WHEW! I'm saved," the thief sighed, wiping his forehead. He didn't notice the blood that he smeared onto his face. "Thanks, mister! I'm Aloys."
"It looks like he hasn't realized it," Grant said, snorting. He tossed Aloys a section of cloth, where it landed on his hat.
The boy looked at the paladin, confused.
"Hasn't realized what? …ACK! I'm bleeding!"
"You wouldn't have happened to see another group of riders head to Morroc, would you?" Ozworth asked.
"Oh yeah, those guys," Aloys said, wrapping his bleeding arm with the cloth. "Nice folks, they were. They saved me from wolves."
The riders looked at each other incredulously.
"How do you even survive out here?" Grant asked. Aloys laughed.
"You're naïve! A rogue never reveals his secrets!" He stood up, with his fists at his waist, elbows bent. The shoddily wrapped bandage fell off his arm.
"But… you're a thief…" Grant pointed out.
"So? You're a paladin…" Aloys said. He paused, noticing Grant's unique armor. "OH WOW, A REAL PALADIN!"
"Well," Grant said, taking the reins to his peco. "We'll be off to Morroc. You should take care of that bandage."
"Wait!" Aloys said. "Uh! Sir paladin! I'm… actually trying to go to Morroc. I'm lost, you see."
Reinbach pointed westwards; in the distance, the shimmering image of the desert town sat in the horizon. The young boy peered to the west.
"Oh whaddya know? It's right there!"
"Well, even if it's not too far, you probably shouldn't be moving around too much because of that arm," Ozworth said.
"I'll carry him," Reinbach offered. Grant nodded. The knight extended his arm to the young boy, and hoisted him up.
"That's settled, then. To Morroc!"
"Hey, thanks!" Aloys said. "Uh, my stuff! It's on the ground right there."
Reinbach commanded the peco to kneel and lifted up the cloth bag. "You carry a lot of possessions for a traveler," he said with a grunt. The riders plus one thief began trotting westwards to Morroc.
"I'm not traveling!" Aloys corrected. "I'm raiding other travelers!"
The knight's eyes darkened. "Don't follow such a path," he said, gritting his teeth.