94: Black Prince
"I feel like I'm being made fun of." King John II said as he mounted the white charger.
"Of course not." I replied, mounting my own small brown hackney. "That's the horse that suits your station and valor."
"I'm your prisoner, you know?" He retorted with a chuckle. And I don't want to compare my bravery with yours after that last charge of yours. What on earth were you thinking?"
"It was the only path I saw to victory." I replied simply.
"You'll be a good king one day, Edward." He said suddenly. "Hopefully not of France, though!"
"We shall have to disagree in our hopes, then." I said.
"With things as they are… to be honest I don't know if any of the nobles left will bother to offer up ransom money for me. So it might be you after all." He sighed. "I'd hope you leave this whole 'Black Prince' business behind you at that point, though. My peasantry are simple, peaceful people. They didn't deserve the treatment you gave them in Aquitaine."
"I know." I said, and not for the first time, I wondered what might become of my soul.
It's so cold.
Not for the first time, I wonder why I was summoned like this. I was a villain, in Aquitaine - but was I this villainous? Was I this cruel?
It's so cold. This armor, so frigid it ought to freeze to my flesh, had I any. Cold, all the way into my aching bones - but those, too, are absent.
There's nothing. This armor is empty.
But I have my orders. And so, as a cloud of Wyverns approaches-
The invocation for my Noble Phantasm leaves my 'mouth' in a hideous rattle of steel. "...Now, John in France, and lately John of France. Thy bloody ensigns are my captive colours." That bard truly placed some wicked words in my mouth. I knew all too well who it had been that started this century of conflict. "Heaven aids the right, in this [Hundred Years' War]."
Wind drives the creatures to the earth, as a storm of arrows fills the air. My horse charges, and then I am among them. Steaming blood freezes against my armor as serpent after serpent is hacked to pieces. My shield drives back those who come from the left; my sword those to my right. Those ahead are crushed beneath my horse's hooves.
My back, I spare not a thought for. [John Chandos] is there as always, one of my few joys in this strange return to this mortal coil.
He and I carve our way through the beasts. Many more escape, but so be it. Saint George is present as well - the role of one such as I is merely to soften the target.
Blows find me. A claw tears at my side, and my smoky body begins to leak from my armor. A mouth finds my left shoulder, and the ruined joint ceases to bend. A tail rattles my helmet, and the cold ache in my head runs hot. But still, I fight on.
Eventually, the tidal wave of foes dies down. I 'breathe' heavily, atop a mound of bodies - it seems I will survive one more day.
The sun sets-
There was not a patch of green to be found, by the end of it all. What had once been a grassy field was reduced to a mass of thick mud, stained burgundy by the blood of thousands. Piled as far as the eye could see, planted with a forest of arrows, some ten thousand frenchman, commoner and noble alike, lay dead upon the ground.
My men were exhausted, wounded, and all but out of ammunition. But we had won. That had been their third division - by the usual custom, the last. So all that remained was to take what prisoners we could and rejoin my Father.
It was at that moment that the fourth division - four thousand fresh troops, came into view. At their head, King John II's banner, the Oriflamme, unfurled, signaling the intention to take no prisoners. A great sigh of despair fell over the army.
-The sun sets, and standing amidst the bodies, as though he had always been there, is what can only be Vlad III Tepes.
"I see you, too, have been cursed by history." He notes. "Is there no blood in your body? How disappointing."
I have little to say to him. Especially in my current state. But I have my orders, so quietly, I send John away. So long as he is present, I won't have the mana to invoke my last Noble Phantasm.
{You will die.} He whispers. I know that. I don't really mind. The life I should have clung to was never this one.
(It's so cold.)
I discard my sword, and switch my shield from my useless left hand to the right.
"Hoh? Playing for time, are we?" The vampire chortles. "As if something like that would protect you!" His body begins to twist, spears of blood sprouting. And in this position, the only possible plan is-
Panic was beginning to set in. Some men began to flee as French arrows darkened the sky. And in this position, the only possible plan was-
"John." I spoke, and my friend turned to me. "Get forward."
"...Pardon me, your highness?" He asked, sweating.
"Get forward!" I cried, spurring my horse. "You shall not see me turn my back this day; I will be ever with the foremost! Advance! In the name of God and Saint George, advance!
-I charge.
"[Kazikli Bey]!" Berserk Lancer roars. Spears erupt from his body, from the bloodstained mud, from every dead dragon and wyvern littering the ground. My horse dies, and I pitch forward, leaping, beating back the first three stakes before a hundred more puncture my armor-
"[Chevauchée]!" I scream, and space twists.
"-Have you ever been to Notre Dame, Edward?" King John asked as I set the plate before him.
"I haven't." I replied.
"I'd say it's the greatest Cathedral in all of Europe, save perhaps the Basilica in Rome." He said. "I've forgotten most of what the architects bragged about, but apparently they pulled some serious architectural miracles on it! And, oh, the bells and organs. It really is the closest a man can get to-" He let out a hacking cough.
"You're still ill?" I asked, patting his back.
"Indeed." He said with a small groan. "I… believe I'll be dead before the year is out. Really wish I could visit Notre Dame one last time, but I'll have to make do with your wretched Saint Paul's."
"I'm quite sure I heard Saint Paul's was bigger." I replied.
"Bah, bigger! If all you want is size, you wouldn't object to me burning it down so you can build-" He broke into another cough.
"...Why did you come back? You were in France, after all. Even if you couldn't find a ransom, surely matters of state trump the laws of chivalry." I asked.
"Oh, I just missed the Steak and Ale pie." He answered, and I sighed. "Though… if I had to give another reason… maybe I just didn't want to be outdone in bravery by that kid who charged my army at Poitiers."
A brief silence followed.
"Edward… protect my people, will you? When you become King, I mean."
The vaulted ceilings, the stained-glass windows, the perfectly crafted icons and statuary - all is just as beautiful as King John had reported.
What remains of my armor crashes into a row of pews as both Vlad III and myself arrive in Notre Dame.
Immediately, the most beautiful organ music I have ever heard resounds, and the Vampire begins to scream - then someone joins with vocals, and the screaming stops.
Through my dimming vision, I see Vlad III stagger forward, towards the altar. He crosses himself once, his legs crumbling to dust under him as he falls on his face, clasping his disintegrating hands in prayer. "Kyrie Eleison." He whispers, tears rolling down his face - and then he dissolves into a shower of golden dust.
I join in his prayer, though I have no hands remaining to clasp - and then I see a girl, with blonde hair gazing down at me, the spitting image of the Dragon Witch.
"Forgive me." I manage to rattle out. "My sins."
Forgive me, for our whole war was hubris from the start. Forgive me, for what I have done to a people that never did me any evil. Forgive me, for it was my crimes and my father's that saw you burned alive.
A white banner is draped over my vision. "Go in peace." She says.
It's pleasantly warm.
Class: Rider
Alternate Classes: Berserker, Saber
True Name: Edward "The Black Prince" of Woodstock
Alignment: Chaotic Good
Armaments: Sword, Shield, Horse
Manifestation Cost: Medium
Bio:
The Infamous Black Prince, son of King Edward III, instigator of the Hundred Years' war. A man of tremendous martial talent, his army pillaged the lands of Aquitaine on his Father's orders, and did great evils to the French people. Nonetheless, when he later captured King John II of France, he treated him with respect and kindness.
Parameters
Strength: C+
Endurance: B++
Agility: D++
Mana: C
Luck: C
NP: B
Class Skills:
Riding: D
Magic Resistance: C
Personal Skills:
Earned Spurs: A-
A variant of the [Battle Continuation] skill. Drawing upon an instance in which an endangered Edward was denied reinforcements by his own father and went on to triumph in the battle, its effectiveness steadily increases the more desperate the situation becomes, even boosting his physical parameters. However, if Edward receives any outside aid while under this skills effect, the skill's boosts are immediately lost
Innocent Monster: A
Edward's heartless cruelty in the Aquatinian campaign earned him the appellation "Black Prince" - his armor is freezing cold, and only black smoke rests within it. This gives him a bonus to endurance, but his spirit origin still rests within his smoky body, so he is by no means invulnerable.
Tactician's Command: B
Noble Phantasms:
Oh Pure White Lily, Thou Art but an Idol: Hundred Years' War
Rank: D+
Type: Anti-Army
Range: 1~40
Maximum number of targets: 1000 people
An invocation that recreates the extremely good fortunes of the English in the early parts of the Hundred Years' war. Great winds knock flying enemies and projectiles out of the air, thick mud ensnares those on the ground, and arrows are fired at all targets. Particularly effective against French foes.
Incidentally, while this Noble Phantasm was strong enough to deflect musket fire when Edward fought Lancelot in previous loops, it could not deflect his cannon.
Advice of a Friend: John Chandos
Rank: C
Type: Anti-Unit (Self)
Range: -
Maximum number of targets: 1 person.
The shade of Edward's close friend and comrade, the brilliant strategist John Chandos, who fought by his side at Poitiers. His whispered advice grants Edward the Strategy skill at C-rank, and his sword automatically defends Edward from all attacks from behind.
To Plunder Where one Pleases: Chevauchée
Rank: B
Type: Anti-Army
Range: 1~30
Maximum number of targets: 200 people.
A style of hit-and-run raid, devised to force one's foe to fight on the raider's chosen territory. Edward can reposition himself and a number of foes to a battlefield of his choosing within range; the maximum distance traveled increases the fewer targets he brings, and the closer he is to the targets when movement starts. Of course, this Noble Phantasm is incredibly mana-intensive, so much so that Edward is forced to deactivate all other Noble Phantasms before he can use it.