Chapter 1:

Boulogne, French Empire – 1560

"Comment ca vas?" said Thomas, as he stood in front of a mirror, "No, that's not right. Comment allez-vous? Hmmm…"

Since Thomas met Christine on his first adventure nearly two years ago, the two had developed a romantic relationship and eventually married. Thomas now lived in France in the manor that once belonged to Christine's father, Jean-Pierre. In his time living in France, Thomas had learned the language and adopted to its culture, though he never truly felt like he fit in to Christine's lavish lifestyle.

"Mon cher," called Christine, from outside the bedroom, "Are you ready? My uncle and his wife will be here soon."

"Yes, dear," said Thomas, adjusting his coat, "As ready as I'll ever be."

Christine entered the room and found Thomas rehearsing in front of a mirror. Christine wore an elegant white and blue dress with long, white gloves. Her hair was styled up into a beehive and her face was heavily powdered. Thomas, on the other hand, sported a long, black coat with a matching black vest, and a white linen shirt.

"Don't tell me you are nervous, Thomas," chuckled Christine.

"I'm terribly sorry if I appear that way," said Thomas, "It's just…I never met your uncle before and I haven't a clue what he'll think of me!"

Christine approached Thomas and placed her hands on his shoulders.

"It doesn't matter what he thinks of you," she said, "I love you, and that's all that matters."

Thomas turned to face Christine. He stared at her momentarily and smiled.

"You look stunning, by the way," he said.

"As do you," laughed Christine.

Just then, there was a knock at the door.

"Mademoiselle," said a servant, "Le Monseigneur's carriage has just arrived."

"He's here," Christine said to Thomas, "Come. Let us get this dinner party over with."

Thomas nodded.

Outside the mansion grounds, an elegant white and gold carriage driven by two mares came to a halt. The driver of the carriage jumped down and place a rolled-up carpet up against the carriage door, which he unraveled up to the front gates of Christine's manor. The driver then proceeded to open the carriage door, allowing a middle-aged Frenchman to step out.

He sported a powdered wig and a small goatee and wore a white doublet covered by a blue jerkin, with a ruff collar and ruff wrists. He also sported slops with knee-high leggings and flat shoes. Once the driver had helped him descend from the carriage, he did the same for the man's wife. The wife, who appeared no older than sixteen, wore a brown dress with heavy amounts of ruff and exaggerated shoulders. Her hair and make-up were styled similarly to Christine.

From the second floor, Thomas watched through the window as Christine's uncle began his walk down the long carpet.

"Good Lord," said Thomas, "Is that your aunt? She looks like a child!"

"Technically speaking," began Christine, "My aunt passed away years ago. My uncle has recently remarried."

"Well," said Thomas, "I suppose dating them young is the best way to ensure they outlive you."

"Come," insisted Christine, "Let us greet our guests."

Thomas and Christine headed downstairs to the foyer, where a servant opened the front door. The driver of the carriage entered first in order to introduce the couple:

"Ahem," he said, "Introducing: Le Monseigneur Thibault Séverin-L'Amoreux de Calais, and his lovely wife, Marie-Hélène Létourneau de St-Omer."

All of the servants in Thomas' and Christine's house stood perfectly still as the Monseigneur entered the house, accompanied by his young wife.

"Ah, Christine," he said, kissing his niece's hand, "It is so wonderful to see you again."

"Bonsoir," said Thomas, holding out his hand, "Un plaisir, Monseigneur."

"Christine," the Monseigneur sneered, "Why is this servant speaking to me? Hasn't he been taught his place?"

"He is not a servant," chuckled Christine, "He is my husband, Thomas Hunter."

"Oh," scoffed Thibault, "So he is the commoner you married? A pity Jean-Pierre's mind had been too far-gone to put a stop this, mmm, unholy union."

Thomas clenched his fist tightly, but ultimately maintained his composure.

"Ahem," Christine intervened, trying to ease the tension, "Supper will be ready soon. How about we take a seat in the dining room?"

"Good idea," said Thibault, "A whole day of travelling has left me famished. Why doesn't your serv – er, husband pour us some fine wine while we sit and discuss current events?"

Thomas gnashed his teeth.

"Not a problem," said Christine, swiftly summoning one of her servants, "Fetch us some wine, please."

As the servant went to get wine, Christine led the others to the dining room.

Later, the guests were served their meals; the first course consisted of soup, followed by a generously-sized pork roast.

"Magnifique," said Thibault, lightly dabbing his lips with his napkin, "In all my previous visits, you never ceased to amaze."

"Thank you," said Christine, "Wait until you try the roast. You know, pork was always my father's favourite."

"Ah, yes," lamented Thibault, "My poor beau-frère. He and I did a great deal of hunting together. I was greatly saddened upon hearing of his death."

"We all were," assured Christine, "He went peacefully."

"At least I no longer have to hear any more of his nonsense about magical swords, eh?" said Thibault.

"You and me both," mouthed Thomas.

"So tell me," began Christine, "How did you and your wife meet?"

Marie-Hélène opened her mouth to speak, but Thibault raised his hand as if to threaten her with a slap.

"Woman," he snapped, "I did not permit you to speak!"

Marie-Hélène lowered her head in shame. Thomas and Christine glanced at each other awkwardly.

"Ahem," said Thibault, "Excusez-moi. I met the young mademoiselle last year while meeting with Baron LaChance in St-Omer. She was his niece, but he had been raising her as his own. Smitten by her beauty, I paid the Baron a substantial amount to have her."

"I don't see how that's any better than my marriage to Christine," Thomas muttered under his breath.

"Thomas!" snapped Christine.

"I beg your pardon, young man?" said the Monseigneur.

"Nothing," said Thomas.

Christine chuckled nervously, "How about I get one of my servants to cut the roast?"

Meanwhile, outside the mansion, four cloaked figures emerged from the bushes surrounding the property. The servants patrolling the courtyard did not even notice the figures as they moved stealthily about.

As they got closer to the building, they split up; two men took the west side while the other two headed towards the back, but were nearly spotted.

"Who's there?" demanded a guard patrolling the rear.

He held up his lantern in the general direction he saw movement. Before he could react, one of the robed men approached from behind and covered his mouth while stabbing him in the spine with a dagger. One man hid the body behind a shrub, while another drew a grappling hook from his bag.

"Tell me, Thomas," began Thibault, "What did you do prior to meeting my lovely niece?"

"I-I worked in an antiques shop," replied Thomas.

"Oh. How, er, fascinating. I suppose I can see why you sought a better life here, hm? And tell me, what exactly did your father do?"

"He was a sailor. Prior to that, he served in the Royal Navy…"

"A naval officer? Christine, marrying a commoner is one thing, but an English navy brat? He is literally my enemy! Do you not remember their invasion of my hometown two years..."

The sound of Thomas' silverware crashing against the table echoed across the dining room. Without saying another word, Thomas slammed his napkin on his plate and stormed out the room.

"Your peasant husband is incredibly rude," noted Thibault.

"I'll go and speak with him," said Christine, "If you will give me one minute."

Christine stood up and headed through the same door Thomas went through.

"Hmph!" said Thibault, "If I wanted drama, I would have gone to le théâtre, non?"

Marie-Hélène smiled weakly at Thibault's joke.

In the lounge situated next to the dining room, Thomas slumped onto one of the couches and rubbed his head in frustration. Christine joined him soon after.

"Thomas," she said, "Is everything okay?"

"Does everything look okay?" the young man demanded, "I try, Christine. Really, I do. Yet, somehow, in the eyes of your relatives, I never quite fit in! Your father was the only person who respected me – The only one – And now, he's gone!"

"You may not come from a rich background," began Christine, "But…"

"Spare me the lecture about having a pure heart, or about being the hero who saved the world from Soul Edge. Take a good look where it's gotten me! Your own uncle doesn't see me as anything more than a commoner and he never will. This entire marriage was a mistake."

"Thomas, you don't mean that!"

"Maybe I do. In fact, I should have taken Soul Edge's remains and auctioned them off instead of disposing of them in the Tyrrhenian Sea. Maybe then, I would have been wealthy. I would have had something to my name!"

Without saying another word, Christine took a seat next to Thomas and placed a hand on his shoulder. She loved Thomas, and she knew he loved her back, but unless she could persuade him he was still worth something in her world, there was no way to truly make him happy.

From inside the dining room, Thibault heard a loud "Thump" upstairs.

"What in the world is that racket?" demanded Thibault, "Yoo-hoo, servant? I require assistance!"

The servant standing at the edge of the table approached Thibault and leaned in close.

"Can you please investigate that noise?" asked the Monseigneur, "I was promised a quiet evening!"

"Of course, Le Monseigneur," said the servant, "I will investigate at once"

"See that you do," said Thibault.

The servant headed through the double doors and into the grand foyer. From the ground floor, he examined the top of the stairs and noticed one of the rooms was lit.

"Incroyable," scoffed the servant, "I told the other servants they are not to enter Ms. Lemieux's room without permission."

The servant climbed the stairs and attempted to get a better view of inside the room.

"Henri?" said the servant, "Is that you? How many times must I remind you not to go sneaking about?"

There was no answer from the room.

"Stop whatever it is you are doing in there," ordered the servant, "Or I will be forced to inform Ms. Lemieux…"

Once the servant reached the top of the stairs, he peered inside the room. There was no one there, however, the window was open and a candle had been lit.

"Hello?" said the servant, looking around.

The servant approached the window, placing both hands on the sill, and looked down into the courtyard below. Suddenly, an unseen assailant placed a hand over his mouth and slit his throat.

Back in the dining hall, another loud "thump" could be heard, followed by a shatter.

"What is going on?" demanded Thibault, as he slammed his napkin down, "Are the servants having a party of their own upstairs, or what? I must see for myself what this infernal racket is!"

Thibault promptly stood up from the table and approached the foyer doors.

"Mon cher," said Marie-Hélène, "Are you sure it is wise to…"

"Woman," snapped Thibault, "What did I tell you before?"

"But this is not our house," the young woman insisted, "We shouldn't…"

"Know your place, wench!"

Thibault angrily stormed into the foyer and shut the doors behind him. He examined the large, empty room for a moment.

"Where are all the servants?" he asked himself, "Have they all…Oh my!"

Thibault turned his attention to the top of the staircase, where he saw the bloody corpse of the poor servant half-sticking out of the bedroom door. A cloaked, hooded figure hovered over him, holding a blood-stained knife…

Inside the lounge, Thomas and Christine continued their discussion. As they spoke, they did not notice a hooded man sneaking in through a door at the opposite end.

"Come," said Christine, "We really should get back."

"I know," said Thomas, standing up from the couch, "I'm terribly sorry for my behaviour tonight. I hope you can forgive me."

As the hooded man slowly approached Thomas and Christine, a bloodied maid came crawling through the door that he had left open. With her mouth full of blood, she had difficulty vocalizing words.

"It's okay, Thomas," said Christine, "I understand..."

Suddenly, the two heard a loud, high-pitched screech.

"What's going on?" said Thomas.

"My uncle's in trouble!" said Christine.

"Wait, that was a woman's scream…No?"

Christine shook her head.

"Thomas…Christine…" the dying maid had finally found her voice.

When Thomas and Christine turned to look, they saw that the hooded figure was now mere inches from them. He slashed at them with his sword, forcing them both to dive out of the way.

"Go!" ordered Thomas, "Get your uncle and aunt to safety! I'll deal with him!"

Christine ran through the door that led back to the dining room, leaving Thomas to fight the assailant.

"Great," though Thomas, sidestepping another attack, "If only I had a weapon…"

Thomas turned his attention to the nearby fireplace, in which an iron poker rested. As the assassin tried to slash Thomas again, the young man leapt over a nearby couch and grabbed a heavy cushion, which he used to shield himself from the blow.

"Christine certainly spared no expense on our furniture," thought Thomas, as he pushed the assailant back.

As the assailant stumbled backwards, Thomas ran to the fireplace and grabbed the poker, which he used to block the next few blows.

Meanwhile, Christine ran into the dining room and found Thibault gone and Marie-Hélène standing up, looking concerned.

"Where is my uncle?" demanded Christine, as she approached the young woman.

"The foyer," replied Marie-Hélène.

The foyer doors suddenly swung open, and a frightened Thibault entered the room, quickly closing them behind him.

"Mon oncle," said Christine, "What happened?"

"We must barricade this door," he yelled, "There is…"

The door suddenly swung open, knocking the Monseigneur down. The assailant entered the dining room and began making his way towards Christine. Reacting quickly, she grabbed the wine bottle off the table and hurled it at the assailant. Although she missed, the bottle struck the wall and shattered right next to the man's head, creating a distraction that allowed Christine to reach for the carving knife that rested on the table.

"RAAAGH!"

Christine charged for the man and slammed him into the wall, while stabbing him multiple times in the torso. Christine ended her assault once the man dropped his sword. Soon after, he fell to the floor, lifeless.

"Mon dieu!" exclaimed Thibault, "C-Christine, how…"

"Nevermind that," Christine said, as she collected the man's fallen sword, "We need to get you two to safety!"

Just then, a servant barged into the room, causing everyone to jump in panic.

"Apologies," said the servant, "But there are men in the house. They've already killed several servants. We…"

The servant looked around the dining room and saw the bloody mess made by Christine, causing him to turn ill.

"We know," said Christine, "We have to get my uncle and aunt to safety!"

"In that case," said the servant, "I know a place."

The servant escorted the three out of the dining room and through the foyer.

Back in the lounge, Thomas continued his battle with the assailant, albeit with great difficulty; the poker was a rather awkward substitute for his rapier. As the man attempted another slash, Thomas dodged the blow by hurling himself onto the nearby coffee table and rolling off of it.

While standing up, Thomas blocked another incoming blow. As the two men pressed their weapons firmly against each other, Thomas got a good look at the man's face; he was young, with long, stringy hair and strange markings adorning his face. The man uttered something to Thomas in a foreign language he did not recognize.

"What…Do…You…Want?" Thomas grunted.

Thomas kneed the man in the crotch and followed that up with a shoulder toss that left the man lying face-up on the floor. As the man reached for his fallen sword, Thomas plunged the poker into his chest, killing him.

"What the hell is going?" Thomas asked himself.

Thomas ran to the fallen maid who had saved his life, but she had already succumbed to the numerous stab wounds in her back. Thomas sighed and shook his head. Before he could rendez-vous with Christine, he would need to find a proper weapon.

The servant led Christine and her two relatives though multiple corridors to a safe room located in the east end of the mansion.

"Here," said the servant, "It's behind this shelf. Help me move it."

Christine and the servant worked together to push the heavy shelf, revealing a small, metal door in the process. Just then, another assailant appeared in the hallway.

"I'll take care of him," said Christine, brandishing her newfound weapon, "Just get that door open!"

"Right," said the servant.

Christine and the man charged for each other, the clash of metal echoing across the hallways.

"Could you please hurry it up?" demanded Thibault, "I have no intention of dying here tonight!"

"I'm trying," said the nervous servant, as he fumbled around with his keys, "There are many locks!"

"Try faster!" snapped Thibault.

As the servant struggled to open the door, Christine continued her fight with the hooded assailant. He rained blow after blow on her, constantly keeping her on her guard. While trying to slash Christine down, he inadvertently pinned her dress to the wall. Christine twirled, allowing the bottom half of the dress to tear and unravel, significantly improving her mobility.

"Ah," she said, "That's much better!"

The man dislodged his sword from the wall and tried to cut Christine down again, only this time, she stepped back and blocked low. With the man's chest exposed, she delivered a side-kick that knocked him back before slashing him across his torso. The man then collapsed to his knees before falling sideways to the floor.

"There," said the servant, "Got it!"

With the safe room door completely unlocked, Thibault pushed past both the servant and his own wife to open it himself.

"Finally," he muttered, pulling open the steel door.

To everyone's surprise, another assassin had been waiting inside. The man pulled out a dagger and pointed it straight at Thibault's throat, prompting him to raise his arms in surrender.

"Sacré-bleu!" cried Thibault, "P-P-Please, you don't want me! I-I'm worth nothing to you!"

"Don't hurt him!" begged Christine.

A loud gunshot suddenly echoed throughout the hallway. The assailant dropped dead to the floor with a bullet wound in his throat. Further down the hallway, a familiar figure brandished a smoking pistol.

"Thomas?" said Christine.

"If only all your dinner parties were this exciting," joked Thomas.