Morroc Orphanage
Daphne scrubbed and scrubbed, but despite all her efforts, it didn't get any lighter; that stubborn old bloodstain refused to come off the wall.
"I don't think it can be helped, Mrs. Reeves," she said, panting. "It's not coming off at all."
The old woman gave a feeble grunting sound and tottered forward with a brush and a bucket of water. Her veiny hands, splotched with liver spots, trembled as she held the bucket; a little bit of water fell on the floor.
"No, I don't think that's going to help. We might just have to cover it." Daphne sighed, then stood up from next to the offending bloodstain. She was wearing a simple brown cotton dress and a cleaning apron; her witch's uniform and cloak were at home.
"I suppose we should do something about the floorboards next."
In the corner, Rachel was reading her children's book out loud. A couple of orphans looked at her from afar curiously, but none of them seemed to have the will to muster up the energy to approach her.
Even though the bloodstain refused to come off, Daphne had to admit that the orphanage looked much better than before. After dusting the meager furnishings and throwing out hopelessly unsalvageable items, the rooms looked much more hospitable, albeit empty. The main problem was the floorboards. They were splintered and cracked; many of the children had cuts and scars on the soles of their feet from less-than-careful steps. The young witch highly doubted that a simple rug would be able to solve the problem.
Hopefully, she would be able to find a nearby carpenter and perhaps borrow tools for a couple of days. A sander would be able to scrape away splinters somewhat; it would only be an interim solution until she managed to obtain wooden planks to replace the floorboards.
She hadn't brought a lot of zeny with her when she left her home in Geffen. Most of the aid aimed towards improving the orphanage would have to be donated. And unfortunately, nothing could be done about the floorboards for now. Perhaps she could have the orphans do some sort of activity to brighten their moods in the meantime…
A few minutes later, she had managed to gather the orphans in the main room; it made for a surprising change; she had never seen so many people in one room of the orphanage at once.
"Children! How would you like to visit the town center today?" she called, hoping to elicit a response.
A few orphans stirred. Most of them just looked as downcast and depressed as ever. None of them said a word.
"It would be good for you," Daphne continued. "A nice walk to the town center, to get some fresh air…"
"The town center!" Rachel piped, pumping her fists into the air.
Mrs. Reeves shuffled her feet and returned to her usual seat at her desk; a couple of orphans left and returned to their own rooms.
"None of you?" Daphne asked. She was at loss for words.
Gradually, the children returned to their usual spots; some of them in their rooms, others, half-heartedly playing simple hand games or wandering aimlessly in the hallway. Before long, the main room of the orphanage was back to the way it was before everyone had gathered: empty, listless and lifeless.
Daphne had never felt more discouraged in her life. Never more had she wanted to drop to the floor in tears and simply wish for someone to whisk her away, or shake her awake from that awful nightmare. She didn't know what was worse; the fact that she couldn't do anything for these children or that they didn't have enough energy left to even hope for happiness. A powerful headache began pounding on her temples and her eyes stung with tears, but she willed herself not to cry. With a heavy sigh she slid to the floor next to the bloodstain and hugged her knees to her chest.
She felt someone sit next to her. Without a word, Rachel had knelt next to her and wrapped her arms around her in a hug. The two of them sat together, taking comfort in each other's company.
Outside the desert town Morroc
"Don't follow such a path," Reinbach said grimly. "There's no honor to be found from raiding and stealing."
Aloys looked up at the knight, his ginger hair fluttering slightly. He opened his mouth as if he were about to say something, but decided against it and closed it. Instead, he clammed up and faced towards Morroc, sulking.
"Reinbach," Grant called. "There's something I need to tell you."
"Sir Graves!" a crusader called. "At the entrance!"
Grant squinted his eyes and peered towards the entrance of Morroc. He could barely make out the shapes of several men.
"I'll tell it to you afterwards," he said, returning his gaze to Reinbach. "It looks like our friend Volkov and his gang decided to throw us a little reception."
"Volkov?!" Aloys yelped. Reinbach looked at the thief, bemused.
"What is it?" Grant asked.
"H-he… he's gonna kill me!"
"Volkov? Why would he want to do that?"
"I stole from him!" The young thief's face was drained of color, making his ginger hair stand out even more. He pulled his faded red cap over his eyes.
"WHAT?"
"I… I didn't know it was him, honest!" Aloys stammered. "I found out who he was after all the rogues started chasing me!"
Reinbach ripped open Aloys's cloth bag. There, among various knights' equipment, was his gleaming green Zephyrus spear.
"My spear!" he shouted. "Aloys stole our equipment back from Volkov!"
There was a murmur of surprise and disbelief among the riders.
"Well done, lad," Grant said. "You won't complain if we use this equipment to fight Volkov?"
The young thief shook his head wildly.
"Have it back for all I care! If he sees me with that, he'll eat me alive!"
"Quickly, now" the paladin ushered. "Before they have a chance to fire their arrows." The knights and crusaders gathered around the cloth bag, reclaiming their stolen equipment. Reinbach hefted up his Zephyrus once more, glad to feel the increasingly familiar weight in his hands.
"Crusaders in front!" Grant called, steering his peco to the front of the riders. He had his shield and Solar Sword in hand. A rapidly approaching cloud of arrows began their descent upon the riders. Reinbach felt the young thief in front of him tremble violently, then snorted as Aloys grabbed his newly emptied cloth bag and yank it down over his head.
"Charge!" Muffled claw-beats of peco-claws hitting sand filled the air, quickly replaced by the sound of arrows whizzing past and crashing against metal. Reinbach winced as an arrow glanced off the arm of his chain-mail armor – surely there would be a heavy bruise – but he continued to usher his peco faster, towards the growing figures of the bow-rogues and Volkov. He could distinguish his features now, including that scar across his nose. A strange feeling of rage bubbled up from inside Reinbach.
"NOBODY STEALS FROM ME AND LIVES!" Volkov roared when the riders drew close. He hefted his Atroce Blade from his back and barreled forward, swinging with inhumane strength and speed.
"HE'S 'ZERKED!" Grant bellowed. "CAREFUL!" The paladin rushed forward and charged his peco into Volkov. The three of them tumbled and fell in the sand; Volkov's attacks were temporarily halted.
Reinbach recalled from his training about a state of body and mind that some lord knights were able to enter, berserk. It took years to master properly; anyone who forcibly tried to enter the berserk state would notice an increase in violent tendencies and mental trauma. But the end result was still the same: any berserker, forcibly induced or properly mastered, would experience an explosive increase in strength, speed and stamina and would not stop attacking until their muscles refused to perform any longer.
They were close enough to attack the rogues. With a shout, Reinbach raised his spear over his head and swung down at the nearest rogue; the rogue attempted to dive into the sand but the zigzag spear point of the Zephyrus reached him first, knocking him out. The rest of the rogues scattered and burrowed into the sand as the other knights tried to take them down.
"Keep your eyes peeled!" Ozworth yelled. "They can resurface at any moment!" No sooner had the knight said this, the rogues burst out of the sand, brandishing daggers. Instantly, Reinbach raised his stance, ready to attack or defend.
Grant and Volkov were engaged in a furious and intense battle; the former lord knight swung his Atroce Blade so quickly that the machine-gun staccato of his broadsword striking the paladin's shield peppered the air. Grant was on the defensive; raising his shield was all he could do to guard against the rapid attacks. Sparks flew, dust smoked. His current shield wouldn't be able to withstand the onslaught much longer; much less his aching shoulder muscles. The paladin tightened his guard and slowly pressed forward, struggling to push Volkov back.
If I can destroy his footing, he thought, that would give me some extra time. When Grant had pushed Volkov close enough to the unconscious form of the rogue that Reinbach felled, he focused his remaining strength into his muscles and forced Volkov backwards in one concentrated push. The berzerked lord knight stumbled backwards, crashing into Reinbach. The knight spun around.
The young knight took this opportunity to skewer Volkov to debilitate him. With a fierce cry, he thrust forward and buried the spear point into Volkov's right shoulder; it only served to enrage the former lord knight further. Snarling, Volkov swung wildly with his remaining uninjured arm. Surprisingly, the lack of two functional arms did nothing to deaden his attacks.
Reinbach felt an odd sensation across the left side of his face. Something like hot liquid trickled down his cheek. Aloys was shaking uncontrollably now; sensing that Volkov was nearby.
"Reinbach! Step back!" Grant yelled. "He's out of your league!"
But something inside Reinbach wouldn't listen to reason. Whether it was the rage of losing fellow knight in arms Perceus, the pain from having his shoulder dislocated, the humiliation of having his spear stolen from him, or a combination of all of those, he wasn't sure. His vision was starting to turn red, an uncontrollable snarl growing in the back of his throat –
The arrival of a squadron of Pronteran knights and crusaders shook him to his senses; it was the rest of the riders who had gone ahead to Morroc.
"They have reinforcements, boss!" one of the rogues yelled. "We should -" A spear point suddenly erupted out of his chest; the rogue died before he could finish his sentence.
Volkov seemed to awaken from his trance-like furor. He quickly glanced around, surveying his remaining forces and the situation.
"WE'RE RUNNING!" he roared. The surviving rogues immediately dove and burrowed into the sand and out of sight. With a quick turn and a whirl of dreadlocks, Volkov sprinted on and disappeared over the closest sand dune with amazing speed, as though his footing wasn't even bothered by the sand. Reinbach made to follow him, but Weiss, a crusader, placed an armored gauntlet on his shoulder.
"You're injured," he said, shaking his head.
"Kristoph," Ozworth called, removing his Battle Hook from the dead rogue's back. "Are you okay? Your face…"
Reinbach turned to face him. He felt queasy.
"What? What about my face, Olin?" the knight reached up to touch his face with his gloved fingers and looked at his fingertips. They were stained red.
"You should really take care of that," Ozworth said. "It's bleeding like mad."
"He did take an Atroce Blade to the face," Grant said, striding over to the two. "When did you arrive here, Margaret?"
Caitlin Margaret, a female knight who had led the rest of the squadron ahead to Morroc, was removing her bloodied Gungnir from a dead rogue. She was a pretty woman with blonde tresses and bangs so light that they appeared white. Being the closest knight to being promoted to lord knight, she had the highest rank in the group that moved ahead so she naturally had to take charge.
"About half an hour ago, Sir Graves," she saluted. "We've been waiting at the outskirts of the town." She caught sight of Reinbach's bloodied visage.
"You should get that taken care of, Kristoph," she suggested. She strode over and handed him a plain white cotton handkerchief.
"Thank you, Lady Margaret," Reinbach said. He dabbed the wound on his face gently, wincing as he did so. Why hadn't he noticed this earlier?
"Hmm?" Margaret said. She pulled the white cloth bag off of the quivering lump in front of Reinbach.
"AHHHHHH NOOOOO!" Aloys yelled. Startled, Margaret flinched backwards slightly, but regained her composure when she realized who it was.
"Oh, it's you," the young thief noted. "Hey, don't scare me like that!"
Margaret blinked a couple of times, surprised to meet the young thief again so soon.
"Uh… so you've managed to find your way back to Morroc, I see," she said.
"I sure did!" Aloys piped. "These nice people saved me from wolves too!"
"If you stole our equipment back from Volkov," Grant said. "How did you manage to be ahead of us?"
"Ahahaha! Ahaahaha! Well! If you're being chased by rogues and wolves, you sure can run fast!" he laughed sheepishly. The knights and crusaders exchanged speechless glances, while Aloys kept laughing.
"Well, this time might have been an exception," Margaret said sternly. "But try not to live that kind of life." She handed him a small round brown bag of coins. "Regardless of the method you use, we can't really leave you here without some kind of payment for returning our equipment."
"Oh hey, thanks!" Aloys said. "Old woman Reeves would love this!"
"Old woman Reeves?" Weiss repeated. "Is that how you are supposed to refer to your mother?"
"She's not my mom!" Aloys shot. "She runs the orphanage where I live!"
An awkward silence fell upon them.
"I-I'm very sorry," Weiss muttered.
"Well if it's not to much of a burden," Margaret said quickly. "Would you mind taking Reinbach here to the orphanage so he can take care of his injury?"
Morroc Orphanage
Beads of perspiration were forming on Daphne's brow as she bent over the bubbling cauldron of stew. Not too far from her, Rachel sat in a chair at an archaic wooden relic of a table, kicking her feet and quietly singing her ABC's.
"… We're feeding fifteen people," she murmured. "About three pounds of meat should do it." She sprinkled salt into the cauldron just as someone knocked on the open doorframe of the orphanage kitchen.
"Just a minute," she sang. She gently dropped some pre-chopped vegetables into liquid as to avoid splashing, then stirred with a large wooden ladle. "Now, what can I do for -" Daphne let out a small scream.
Spider was leaning against the splintered wooden doorframe of the kitchen, wearing his brown traveling cloak. For a wild moment, Daphne thought about her wand that was left at home.
"Tch," Spider said to someone outside of the kitchen. "You talk to her. I'll go write that letter." He stood up and left. Rachel looked confusedly between Daphne and the kitchen doorway.
Daphne realized how ridiculous she must have looked, armed with a wooden ladle against an assassin cross, as her rapidly beating heart slowly began to calm down. Her eyes widened when Argos walked into the kitchen.
"Richard," she whispered urgently. "What are you doing here? What are you doing with that man!?"
"He's my partner," Argos said. Before Daphne could interpret what this meant, he placed something on the table and slid it towards her. Rachel eyed the plant curiously.
"You're an assassin too!?" she gasped. "What is that? What are you going to do to me?"
"It's a shining plant," Argos said simply. "There's a reason why you're going to need this."
"Why?"
"Falsely induced death," the assassin explained. "That plant will produce an herb that will awaken you from such a state. There will come a time when the Pope's men will come here looking for you. You're a wanted woman, Daphne Trenton."
"… So you figured out who I was," Daphne said, her eyes narrowing. More than ever, she wished the ladle in her hand were her wand. She felt extremely vulnerable and unarmed, with an innocent child whom Argos could kill in the blink of an eye.
"So…" she said slowly. "Why would I need to trick someone into thinking that I'm dead?"
"You can't keep running forever," Argos said. "Just before the Pope's men find you, either my partner or I will stick a dagger in a critical point in your body. You will stop breathing. Your body will grow cold. But your heart will beat ever so slowly, softly. They will believe you to be dead."
Rachel began poking the leaves of the shining plant.
"But if they think that I am dead…"
"Correct. Prontera will blame Morroc for your death. War will ensue shortly after."
Daphne shook her head angrily.
"How dare you suggest such a horrible thing! Forging war of all things!"
"War will happen whether we like it or not," the assassin continued. "You know this well yourself. Sooner or later one side will find a reason. And it was probably the Pope who hired me to kill you; even if I refuse, then he will hire another one until you finally die. The Pope is a relentless man. If your death will trigger a war, then trick them into thinking that you are dead and flee the country. Either way, war will happen, but one alternative keeps you alive."
Daphne dropped the ladle and slumped to the floor; her red-ember eyes fixed to Argos.
"Even if you say that," she whispered. "The king is the one with the power."
"The king?" Argos scoffed. "That useless feeble-minded man who lies on his deathbed as we speak? Our father holds no more power over Prontera than the common civilian does. You know this. The real power lies in the hands of the Pope."
"Our father…?" Daphne repeated. "Richard, could it be that you…"
"After your supposed death," Argos continued, ignoring her question. "Prontera will release a statement confirming your death. She will begin to mobilize her forces and gather her armies. She will wait one week and then Morroc will be razed to the ground. Before that happens, you must return to Prontera and call an end to the madness. As the crown princess, you can do it."
"Surely, you also can do it also," Daphne said fervently.
"I'm just an illegitimate child between the king of Prontera and a Morroc concubine," Argos said, shaking his head. "I represent everything that both sides despise. If there's anyone who has the political power to challenge the Pope, it is you, after you have supposedly died and the information of your existence is released to the public. Only after you have been revealed as a princess do you have the ability to stop him."
"I'm sorry," Daphne said, rubbing her temples. "I need time to think."
Morroc Orphanage
Reinbach followed Aloys into the decrepit-looking building, a sense of foreboding growing in him. He wondered whether it would be completely sanitary to dress his face wound here. An old woman at the table mumbled something feebly at them as they entered.
"Hey old woman Reeves!" Aloys said. "I brought some money!" He dropped the bag of coins given to him from Margaret and turned to face Reinbach.
"This is where you live?" he asked Aloys.
"Yup!" the boy responded. "But since we're poor, most of the time I'm outside in the desert trying to - " he stopped in mid-sentence, catching himself.
"So you had such a reason like this..." the knight said quietly. "You didn't have much of a choice."
Mrs. Reeves pointed to the kitchen with a bony finger, as if telling the two of them to go there. They strode towards the kitchen; Aloys carefully stepping around the splinters of the floor as he walked.
"Hey who are you?" the thief asked. Reinbach stepped into the doorway of the kitchen and caught sight of Daphne and a young man his own age.
"Daphne!? What are you doing here?"
The young witch's eyes darted to the doorframe behind Argos. Her hand flew to her mouth as she recognized the knight standing in the doorway.
"Kristoph!?"
Argos turned around and looked at the two newcomers. A knight with short, streaked blonde hair and a thief with a red hat. Not worth my time, he thought.
"Think about our offer, Daphne Trenton, and what rides on the stake," the assassin said. "And take care of that plant." He turned and walked past Reinbach and Aloys, not even sparing them a glance.
Reinbach scowled at Argos as the other teenager left.
"Daphne, who was that?" he finally asked, walking inside the kitchen.
Daphne shook her head. "I- I can't say. More importantly, Kristoph... your face..."
Reinbach's eyes suddenly turned distantly neutral, but his gloved hands balled into fists. Not noticing this, Daphne grabbed a section of cloth and rinsed it with water in the sink. She stepped towards Reinbach, reaching up to dab his wound with the cloth. Rachel turned her attention from the shining plant to the two newcomers.
"I've come to take you back to Prontera," Reinbach said in a serious voice after a moment's pause. Daphne immediately stepped backwards, a trace of fear growing in her eyes. She recalled Argos's warning about the Pope.
"What?" Rachel said. "Did the Pope hire you?" she asked tremulously. The young man ignored the question.
"It's not true, is it?" Reinbach asked, stepping forward. "Those rumors that the King being poisoned... I know you've always hated him but–"
"Enough!" Daphne snapped. "I don't know where you got these ideas but to think of me poisoning my own father!"
"I'm sure if you appeal to the court, then they'll drop the charges," Reinbach continued. "All those rumors are groundless, the fact that you're running away just makes them seem true."
"I'm not running away!"
"You won't have to stay in this hovel–"
Daphne stepped forward and slapped Reinbach in the face, breathing heavily. At the same time, Rachel jumped out of the chair and ran between the two of them, as if to shield Daphne from the knight. Blood began to seep from the reopened wound on Reinbach's face.
"Leave momma alone!" she shouted. Reinbach's eyes widened at this.
"...Momma!?" he asked, shocked. He turned his attention from Rachel to Daphne.
"How dare you call this orphanage a hovel, you arrogant, filthy, brutish–"
"Who is this girl?" Reinbach asked.
"That's none of your business," she shot back.
"Who was that guy?"
"That's none of your business!" Daphne repeated.
"What about that plant he gave you?"
"None of your business!" the young witch repeated stubbornly.
The two of them glared at each other, ignoring Rachel, who was angrily attempting to beat Reinbach's knees into submission with her fists. It was as if an invisible wall sprung up between them, magnifying their tempers.
"Fine," Reinbach said, turning to leave the kitchen. "I'm leaving."
"Fine," Daphne echoed, crossing her arms over her chest, Rachel copying her. "See if I care."
Reinbach stepped out of the kitchen, with Aloys following closely behind him.
"So," the little boy asked. "Was she your girlfriend?"
"Shut it, you," Reinbach growled.
Morroc Residence
"Yaxely," a voice whispered from the window. "Yaxely, are you there?"
Spider stuck his head out the window of his house and looked around.
"Hama?" he asked. "Where are you?"
"Never mind that," Hama's disembodied voice said. "There's something you need to know about this mission."
"What is it? And will you please come in my house? It's creepy talking to a floating voice. My neighbors will think I've gone mad."
"Not enough time. Can't be seen talking to you either," Hama explained.
"Well then out with it," Spider replied.
"My sources have confirmed that there will be complications with your hit," the man said. "The Pope's sent men to escort Argos's hit to Prontera. The two of you will have to move things ahead of schedule."
"Wait what!?" If the Pope ordered men to escort Daphne to the capital, then why would he request her assassination?
"Chevalier Paladin Grant Graves was chosen for this mission, along with precisely 16 knights and crusaders," Hama said.
"WHAT!?" Spider stood up straight, hitting the back of his head to the window. He winced.
"Have you heard of him?"
"...Yeah."
"Good. Since they conflict with your client's request, you'll have to silence them. Any other questions?"
"... Hama."
"What is it?" Hama asked.
"Do you know by any chance who requested the hit?" Spider asked, praying silently. He was risking a lot by asking that question. The assassin's code, an unbreakable and tacit law for all assassins, required among many things, that an assassin never ask questions regarding their client. To do so was virtually taboo.
"... Yaxely. You know better than to ask that."
"Yeah I know," Spider said. "I was just really curious as to who would request the assassination of the princess."
"... So you knew that much, eh?"
"I did indeed."
"You know I can't answer that. I'll pretend that you didn't ask that question," Hama said. "For old time's sake."
"Sorry, and thanks, Hama." Spider buried his face into his palm and sighed.
"I'll be going now."
Several questions were burning in Spider's mind. His head was spinning, and it wasn't because he banged it against the top of his window frame. Was Grant actually going to take Daphne back to the capital? If the Pope didn't request the hit, then who did? And most importantly, how were they going to get out of this mess?