"...Of course it's important but I couldn't just leave him in the alleyway!…"
"...Oh! He's awake! This time, make your arrival less intrusive okay? Now rest, we've got a long day…"
Footsteps pattered next to him, "Are you alright?"
He was too exhausted to pry his eyes open, but his lips barely parted to respond. "Bernard… is that you…? Please. Fetch me some of that wine you had. I don't want to think anymore." He really preferred not to. He wanted his mind to be nothing but a shallow husk if Hell was going to torment him like this. Everything was far too fantastical for him to handle and he'd rather be wasting away in a dark cave, where at least then it was silent for him.
"Ah, I'm afraid I'm not sure who this 'Bernard' is, but I do know that having wine after a brawl like that isn't going to help."
There was a long sigh from Anselm before he fell back to sleep. It was like this for the next few minutes before someone else came over to him. It was that same gruff voice from earlier that attempted to enslave him with "Appas", the sort of devil fruit they ate here. This time though, the demon vendor sounded a lot less willing to tempt Anselm with his sustenance.
"Here," He handed a mug to the girl. "My wife said to give him this. It should alleviate the pain and restore his energy for a while. But he's gonna have some real bad headaches for the next few days. There's no waking up fine and dandy after getting a crate full of coal smashed over your head."
"Thank you. I'll make sure to take him to the nearest guard house once he's stable. I still need to ask some questions," A pair of soft fingers wrapped themselves behind Anselm's head, lifting him up to the mug, "Here. Drink it."
He swallowed the medicine in short, loud, gulps. It tasted strong, and left a tangy after taste. But not bad. It most definitely surpassed the horrific taste of those Hospitaller's medicinal mixtures of coriander he had to endure during a fever. He could only describe it as a slimy texture that tasted like nothing but salt and alcohol, which left a sour taste in his mouth for days on end.
But tastes of herbs aside, whoever was lifting his head knew how to care for him with such grace. It was quite gratifying if he had to be honest. Their fingers were as cool as ice and slithered their way through his shaved hair at the back of his neck. He truly thought an angel was there, nursing him, bestowing him this medicine.
He could barely murmur a 'thank you' as he laid back down.
The demon vendor chuckled with a snark. "How's that for being a demon huh? Ever heard of a demon enacting the chivalrous gesture such as offering you medicine? You're real lucky miss here was vouching for ya, 'else I'd just leave you on the streets for bad manners!"
Anselm groaned in his head. That demon vendor was becoming inconveniently irritating. He wanted to bite back but he staved back the reply. He was too exhausted to yell.
After a while, with the medicine rekindling his spirit, he slowly propped himself up from his spot before feeling an aching pain shoot up at the back of his neck. He grunted and rubbed it hard. It felt like his head was forced back into his shoulders. Damn that giant oaf!
He rose up faster than he expected to as well, and that's when he found out that he was relieved of his armor. His chainmail was set to the side and both of his spaulders were stacked to the ground, along with his other armaments. Brigandine, gauntlets, warhammer, shield, scabbard for his sword and dagger, even his satchel and baggage. Only his arming doublet and mail chausses were left on.
The weight being lifted off his shoulders was welcoming, but he still felt quite offended that he was stripped without permission.
Auburn eyes blinked away blurry spots, and he witnessed carriages pulled by drakes pass to and fro in front of him, their passengers and drivers giving him short, noticeable glances. This time, he preferred to not run away. No more of that.
He caught sight of some of the folk to be a family of human dogs, wherein the parent's three children jumped all over the moving landau, laughing and nibbling at their joyful father while their tails waggled back and forth.
Beastfolk be damned, such scenes made him contemplate where he actually was for the first time without superstition. For most of the hour he was here, he felt like he was sent to Hell. But then came the question of where the fire and brimstone lay. Where was the suffocating ash? Or the victims being tormented by their own sins? If anything, it was lively here. It reminded him of how homely Königsberg was, bustling with relative peace and prosperity. He remembered being stationed in one of the eastern towers, surveying it all while leaning on his spear: Children chasing after each other in the streets, neighbors and such waving hello, the chimes of church bells, the churning of river water. This place carried that exact same essence, except on a much larger scale.
Hell, as far as he knew, was nothing like this. It was supposed to be rife with hopelessness and despair. He was supposed to be rife with hopelessness and despair. But if that sentiment were also true, how did he come to share that warm comfort with the rosary? Or the girl that saved him from those thugs. Not only did she arrive like an angel but she also carried herself angelically, without any deceit behind her. Could such a thing truly be present in Hell?
Speaking of the girl, he turned his head to her and she was still glaring at him while he pondered, amethyst eyes peering into his.
"Hello again," She lifted a hand to show no hostility, "Please, don't be alarmed! I'm not here to cause any chaos of sort, I just need your help!"
Right. He was a knight after all. People would flock to him for any sort of inconvenience. He'd always have to deal with local disputes when part of a garrison, ranging from finding who stole who's cattle, to a rampant merchant scamming the locals. It was a large hamper on his ascetic lifestyle dedicated to knighthood. Dealing with the common folk was not his strong suit.
He guess he'd ruminate about Hell later, Anselm still remembered her face and what she asked of him before he burst into a manic craze and ran off. He'd make sure not to do that again.
"…I will… answer to your questions… if you heed to mine…" He replied to the girl, lightly patting his neck. The pain subsided for now.
She pouted to his sly response. "Hmph! Time's running out… Fine! Two questions."
"Was anything broken?"
"Broken? As in bones?" Anselm nodded yes. "Well, as far as I know, a few bruises and cuts. But everything looked intact to me. Your head though…"
Anselm waved that last part away. Good. Headaches he could endure. He knew of one brother who had a quarrel pierce through his pits and shatter a part of ribs. He had claimed that it was nothing but a scratch, but Anselm could remember his screams from the tent when the physicians began their work. He died two days later of an infection. Then there was another who had his hip bone crushed by a Pole's mace. He could not walk ever again and it took around three months for the man's pain to stop. Or at least, hurt less.
he last thing Anselm needed was being crippled in what may have been Hell or an entirely new territory he found himself treading in. Speaking of which, since this place was starting to look less like Hell and more like Prague but far larger, just where was he?
"What is this place called?" He flicked his head to the vast buildings, roads, and carriages pulled by reptiles, marveling at its epic grandeur, "Where exactly am I?"
The girl gave him a weird look, taking a moment to respond. Not because she had to think but she was simply baffled that the knight didn't know about this place. Everyone should know! Her eyes flickered to the demon vendor, who had even cocked an eyebrow at his question.
"...Why you're in the Royal Capital?" She replied weirdly. "Um… of the Dragon Kingdom of Lugunica."
Lugunica? I've never heard of such.
And 'Dragon' Kingdom… I may not be out of Hell just yet…
"No such thing has ever crossed me." He shook his head, "I've ridden from Pomerania to the coasts of Florence. Not once have I heard of this… Lugunica." It sounded Italian, if he had to guess. But he'd have to have heard of it. There were countless maps he and his brothers had gone over when they escorted the Holy Roman delegation down south, yet not once had this 'Lugunica' ever reached his ears. It seemed to matched the scale of Florence, perhaps even exceed its size. No way this was some unheard of land he happened to gloss over.
The girl opened her mouth but the demon vendor answered first, crossing his arms and leaning against his booth (Well, not a demon no more. As far as Anselm knew, Demons could not bear a loving child nor a loving spouse, so he refrained from referring to the vendor as such from now on). "How hard did they hit you on the head? This is really the capital of Lugunica you're standing in, kid. You'd have to have been living under a rock to not know what kind of place this is. Especially when you're in the deepest parts of it."
Groaning in more confusion, he rubbed his head. Dammit, this headache hurt! "How did I get here in the first place…"
The girl shrugged. "Hm. Have you-"
"Woah now, hold that thought," The vendor stopped her immediately then stared at Anselm, "The lady said two questions only, remember? Now you gotta answer hers. A knight should know when to honor something like that, don't you think?"
Anselm frowned. The vendor was obviously toying with him for the remarks made earlier. The vendor may have been no demon but he surely was as witty as one.
Alas, he was right.
"Bah. Fine, but don't expect me to stop prying for more answers." Anselm sternly put.
The girl then smiled to him. "Trust me! When this is all over, we can converse over this in a more private matter. But…" Her smile fell. She carried a hint of distraught in her eyes before covering it with a determined gaze. "I really need to get this insignia back. It's… important to me."
"Well, since my arrival here in this… Lugunica," The knight grabbed and lifted his chainmail over himself, recounting his memories of his time here as he did so. "I've seen no one in a rush carrying an insignia in their hands. That I can say."
"Well… have you seen anyone who fits this description? Nimble, blonde hair, very short, and also maybe red eyes if I saw correctly?"
He shrugged. No one of that description ever crossed him, he was too far in his crazed mind that he had been damned to Hell because of his sins before finding out that he wasn't. That wasn't to say that this internal burden was carried off his shoulders though. Not once had he seen any sign of the cross in Lugunica. This was still an unholy land he was likely stranded in.
Fortunately, the vendor vaguely knew someone who resembled the girl's description.
"Sounds a lot like Felt." The vendor commented.
She perked up. "Who?"
"Felt. 'Comes around here from time to time. Mostly known for her thieving and the likes. And if I'm right, you were her chosen victim for today. I can't be certain but word goes around that she operates somewhere in the slums."
"See?" Anselm said, now with his steel sallet on and his white cape furling itself over his back. Specks of coal stained a few areas near the neck. "She's made a name for herself. It's usually the notorious ones that get caught because they become cocky dogs and their crimes are spread by word." He shut the visor over his eyes and then propped a hand over his sword's pommel, "I rarely do this but I guess as thanks for answering my two questions about this mad land, perhaps I can be of service? I used to be a sentry, I've experience with me. I am also in need for some more directions and answers… and food."
The girl's eyes twinkled, and if Anselm's vision was right, her cheeks reddened a little. But she still kept hesitant. "T-That's kind of you but I think I can manage on my own! Seriously, it's fine! You should be at the guard house instead."
"I insist… I am also broke so I don't carry a choice in the matter. I have no affiliation with the local garrison here so it is this or I keep wandering the streets like a mad man." Contacting the authorities would be the right move, but alliances of late were unstable in Europe nowadays, so he preferred to lay low lest he saw another man with a cross marked on his jupon or tabard.
And he also felt like a lost child, which only made him feel quite pathetic. Even if he had trekked from the Baltic Sea down to the Mediterranean, he had to admit that it was lonely here and he yearned for someone familiar to pick him up from this vast city. Bernard. His commander. Friar Ingram from his childhood parish. Father (though that was with great reluctance). Even that Hermit who had prayed for him that day. Although, to be quite frank, he much preferred the hermit over the former choices.
Then he remembered.
Where was the rosary?
A deep chill fell within him, the girl and the vendor oblivious to his dread. He patted his armor, on the verge of dashing back to that alleyway until he felt the beads and the shape of the cross shift beneath his doublet.
He breathed. Thank Christ.
While he was relieved, the girl was persuaded to accept his offer after much chin rubbing and anxious contemplation. "Okay then! Having extra eyes can't be too bad. And I guess we can work out some sort of payment after this whole thing is solved?"
"A warm meal, answers, and a place to sleep is good enough… But yes, coin will suffice as well." He would accept anything at this point. His stomach was writhing and although he wasn't as tired before, his legs were still killing him.
Before she and the knight departed, the vendor butted in one last time. "Now hang on a minute! Can't you two atleast buy anything? Come on, my wife gave this knight medicine and I practically found a potential suspect for ya, we ought to be compensated!"
Unfortunately, the girl was broke at the moment just like Anselm (which was very disappointing to him upon this reveal), and shook her head no, apologizing with her silver hair whipping side to side. Anselm shrugged his shoulders in a "that's unfortunate" manner and made ready to leave. But it was the girl who frowned at his actions which made him consider compensating the vendor.
"He gave you good medicine you know…" She said, crossing her arms in hopes that Anselm would reconsider.
She also eyed the thickness of his satchel.
Fine, if it made everyone stand on good and equal terms.
He shoved a hand in it, revealing an iron salt shaker from his satchel which he looted from that women's house.
Rolling his eyes, he set it on the vendor's table, hoping it was worth something to that arse of a merchant. And it was, surprisingly. Thank God for Lithuanian craftsmanship. The heads of bears and wolves alike ordained its metallic surface, obviously more sophisticated than most designs. The vendor took it, with much reluctance though, and promptly shooed them off as they were stalling his business for the whole day.
When they had set off from the vendor and deeper into the city, Anselm realized that he neglected to ask the girl her name. When he went on manhunts for outlaws like he was doing now, he could care less about acquaintance's names unless it heeded great importance. Still, he couldn't help but feel a bit shameful about it. He seldom cared about his manners around others (He grew up a brazen child, he never had time for that!), but it still stung his heart little by little to venture off without knowing his temporary companion's name in this unknown land.
I should probably honor my oaths and mannerisms as a knight… It should hopefully bring less trouble in this strange kingdom…
After the thought of him truly being in Hell, manners ought to be known. In a way, this whole ordeal set him on a path of good behavior just like a strike from Father would.
But it will be hard. He admitted to himself.
What?
What a stupid remark. It shouldn't be. His shoulders slumped at that erroneous thought because his heart spoke with truth and genuine honesty. Was he really this pathetic? So stubborn that he could not uphold decent manners?
When he did ask for the girl's name, she stopped in her tracks and it seemed as if a shadow fell over her face.
Great, even when he tried, he could not uphold a kind gesture.
They had stopped before the stairways which lead down to lower sections of the capital. She looked off into the far horizon, where clay-tiled roofs stretched endlessly and the sky was beautifully vast. The wind was strong and a breeze blew through her silver hair in a serene way.
Hesitantly, she answered after a few still moments of silence.
"My name is Satella." She turned to him. "You may address me as such. N-no family name."
"…Right, Satella, 'tis a pleasure," The knight replied, tilting his helmet to her, "You can address me as Sir Konrad, a brother of the Teutonic Order. Deepest apologies for not introducing my likeness earlier."
There was then a glare given to Anselm. She looked surprised.
Shit. What if the Order is not favored here as well?
"…Have I offended you?" He asked cautiously, tilting his sallet to the side.
Satella broke out of her stupor, blinking a few times. "No! I-It's quite alright! I'm just… not used to introductions."
"Hm." Anselm nodded, then ambled past her. "So this insignia, just how important is it? Will we need any extra hands on the job?"
"Very important." She answered his first part. She checked her surroundings to see if anyone was near. Nothing. "If I tell you about it out here, it'll only bring more trouble than there is. When we catch the thief, I'll be sure to give you a full explanation. Also, about-"
"-About the extra hands, I don't think you'll have to worry!" Bursting from Satella's hair, a small floating cat had veered right into Anselm's nose.
Christ! All of Anselm's armor rattled together. It was that feline again! He backed further down the steps, gripping his sword, barely keeping himself from falling down the stairs.
"You again!" He shuttered. His voice echoed down the stair tunnel. "What is it you want, specter? A deal? Some fresh soul you wish to feast on?"
"Puck! What did I tell you!" Satella whined.
The whimsical spirit whirled around her silver hair, sheepishly rubbing his head, "What? Aww come on, everybody who sees me always makes these cutesy faces and rubs my stomach! I enjoy it but, it feels nice to experience a different kind of reaction for once."
Of course you do. You are deceit manifest! And perhaps even suck the soul out of naive children! Agh! Anselm thought.
Puck landed in Satella's cupped hands, licking his paws. It wasn't just a regular cat. It was a very… human one. The spirit carried a purple satchel around itself like a purse and even had a gold earring going through its ears.
"You can take your hand off your sword, Sir Konrad. He's harmless." She said.
"Hm. Keep it that way." Anselm coldly whispered, and loosened the grip on his sword.
"It is pretty weird though. A lot of people are fine with him around. But you look like a child whose seen the monster from his nightmares standing before him."
"Floating. Not standing." Puck corrected.
"Perhaps it is the monster from my nightmares sta-floating before me." Anselm replied.
"Really?" She raised the spirit up to her nose and nuzzled his. "Puck's been with me through thick and thin. I promise you, he'll do no harm on my watch."
"Fine. But just promise me that you'll keep your eyes on it for the whole duration of this search. I don't want it standing on my shoulders whispering to me all kinds of nefarious schemes that it dabbles in."
"Him. Not 'it'." She scolded, but there was a faint giggle behind it. "You're very easy to startle you know that?"
"Really?" He tilted his sallet to the side, genuinely taken aback. Now he took some serious offense to that remark. He'd been through a slew of ambushes and skirmishes, not once did he panic. By what right did she have the authority to judge his behavior when it comes to surprises? None! "Well, everyone's easy to startle. Now are we going to search for the culprit or what?"
"Oh! Yes of course, sorry. Let's get going before it gets dark."
As they descended further down, Satella trailing behind Anselm, Puck hovered right up to her ear. "I won't lie Emilia, I think I kinda get a kick out of scaring this guy."
"Don't get any ideas!" She whispered back.
"What was that?" There was a creak from his helmet as he turned it half-way towards her.
"Nothing!" Satella smiled. Traveling further down, she sought to ask him a friendly question. This was a very rare moment for her. Not many people willingly offered their services to her, especially a knight. Even if he was more unkempt and grouchier than most. And a little immature if she had to admit. But it was an opportunity to hopefully make a newfound friend. "So… I know that you're a knight and all. But this 'Teutonic Order'… I'm afraid I've never heard of them…"
Anselm opened his mouth, but before he could utter a sentence, something caught in his throat.
"German devils! All of you stink to high hell of sin! I pity you all! Do you not know that this is a place of the Lord?! Fools the lot of you!"
He swallowed a lump, remembering those mocking words of the hermit.
"…We seek justice… and do our best to heal, defend, and help others in the lands of Christendom." There was a twinge of trepidation in his words but they largely went unnoticed.
"Hmm… Christendom?" Satella murmured to herself, rubbing her chin. She looked at Puck. No clue either.
"And you?" He caught her off guard with his own question before she could ask Anselm what this "Christendom" was. "What family do you hail from? You seem to be part of the gentry, no?"
"Ah, um…" She was reluctant once more. "I… I would love to explain my whereabouts to you but again, I'm afraid we'll have to walk in the name of secrecy for now. Until my insignia is found and secured, then we can talk…"
There was no reaction from the knight, instead he grunted disappointingly while still looking forward. Good job Emilia, this was likely going nowhere.
"Over a warm meal and next to a fire of course!" She added, hoping to salvage the situation.
Much to her relief, he nodded to that. "…Sounds good."
After a few knocks, the door creaked open and they were greeted with a small old lady. Anselm loomed over her like a giant. He could barely tell whether her eyes were open or not, but she was a hardworking lady from the looks of it. A small rag laid over her shoulder while she rubbed her forehead, probably from intense cleaning.
She rose her neck up to face him. "Oh… can I help you?"
"You can." He answered, raising a finely detailed sketch of their suspect done by Puck. "There's a thief running about. They've caused quite a stir around here. Would you happen to know any person that looks like this pass by?"
She shook her head no. "Thievery is a common thing around here."
"This one is more well known."
"Even so, I'm afraid I can't be of much assistance sir… um"
"Sir Konrad."
"Sir Konrad, yes. Uh, I haven't left the house since this morning. Maybe the others could help and…" The old lady paused once she took notice of Satella standing behind Anselm. She gripped the edges of her door tighter, shuffling behind it. "O-Oh please I-I'm nothing more than just a poor frail lady! This isn't even my house! I don't know anything. Please!"
"What? What's the matter? Are you scared?"
"Please just leave me be! Oh, Oh dear…"
The lady shuffled back, slamming the door shut so loud that birds had flocked away.
As it was, dealing with locals was not his strong suit.
It was like this for the next few dozen tries. Asking the local populace was not as easy as Anselm thought it would be around here. It wasn't like in Prussia, where the communities were usually tight-nit. Farmers knew each other well enough to see if they were up to any criminal activity. But here, they either did not know who "Felt" was or refused to speak and shut their doors on them. Those who did speak were mightily intimidated when asked and never really gave any clear-cut answer. Weirdly enough, they were not intimidated by him, no, they actually preferred to speak with him. But it was Satella who made them shut their doors and lock it, which only made things more difficult.
By sundown, they were still walking in circles, and Anselm was at this point ready to start using more physical means to get information. Maybe brandishing his sword would do the job. Satella would obviously disapprove, but did she have any ideas? No.
With an improvised torch he made from a few pieces of ruined housing, he raised the flames up to a sign only to find out it was the same one they had passed earlier. He could not read anything here despite speaking the same language, which furthermore made this land fantastical and outright bizarre. But he could tell the sign was the same by repetitively encountering it multiple times.
"God's bones," He swore under his breath, continuing along a bridge. "I've never worked with such uptight citizenry. It's as if they're too frightened to even give us the right directions."
"I wouldn't say they're frightened or uptight… it's just that…" Satella bit her lips. "They're not fond of my presence. It's kind of why I always need you to ask first."
"Is that so? Are they afraid of the gentry or something?" He assumed she was part of that lot by the way she dressed.
Why not lock that little spirit of yours away? Maybe he's the reason why progress is slow.
She gave an uneasy sigh.
"…I should've said this earlier but, I'm Half-Elf."
The knight stopped in his tracks, the crackling torch was loud. Did he hear her right?
He turned on his heel to face Satella. There was a gloomy look on her face which made him take a closer observation.
He thought she was joking at first but then he finally realized it. Her ears! Pointier than his. Not only that but she was fairly pale compared to most women that if he were to dim his torch, she'd still glow in the dark. He wasn't surprised at this point, he saw walking dogs and cats. But still, Elves? They were nothing more than creatures from folktales! An irritating lot that went after cattle, food, and such. Now he was working with one. Did this mean he was in tandem with a pagan demon? Has he sinned? What was the church's consensus on the elven folk and their type?
Dammit. Dammit! This incessant thinking made his headache throb even more. It wasn't like she even resembled any of those traits of trickery. She reminded him more of those maids and shy farm girls from those villages.
His conflicted thoughts and delayed response made Satella's shoulders slump. She assumed the worst. "Mm. If… you want to run away, just do it. There's no shame in it."
His visor was closed, but Satella could see through the slit that he was… conflicted. "I… care not for your 'elfishness', Satella. It's fine. I speak the truth, I'm willing to work with you and capture this thief. And I cannot just meander on wherever I wish, I have little to no sense of where the roads in this city leads to." Elves and their schemes aside, she was kind and good to him the whole day. Yes, she was so reluctant to explain her origin and maybe she carried a tinge of cowardice that Anselm found annoying when it came to talking, but he would've perished in that alleyway were it not for her intervention. Half-Elf or not, he owed her a small service for saving his life.
Her vibrant eyes widened. A part of her suspected that his willingness to help was out of pity but she chose to believe that he was genuine. "So you actually mean it? You're not… disgusted or afraid of me?"
"No." He shook his helmet left to right and continued forward. "What is there to be afraid of? Now are we going? We've still got work to do."
There was a sigh of relief from Puck. "You've got terrible taste…"
"Now I don't know if he's either a dunderhead or if he really doesn't mind." She drew in a long breath. "But I'm glad…"
"It's a first." Puck shrugged. He yawned right after. "Welp, I'm getting pretty tired. I've expended way too much mana for today."
She rubbed him on the back. "Go on, get some rest. We'll take it from here."
"Alrighty then." He soon faded out, leaving just her and Anselm together.
Away from them, Anselm had made sure to be vigilant after this revelation.
Her being of the elven kind must explain her ability to manifest those icicles from before… If magicians are prevalent here, I should do well to keep my guard up. I trust her for now but… deceit comes in many forms.
While he thought of that, he realized that he only made it a few more yards before noticing that Satella was lacking behind. He turned around again. Now what?
"I have an idea!" She blurted out to him. She seemed… a lot more confident than usual.
He nodded and listened though. It's not like he was making much progress anyway.
She ran up to him. "The people here aren't really the best when I'm around, but the spirits… I'm more in tune with them then I am with people here. Let me see if I can communicate with them to get a lead!"
His eyes narrowed. He just began to trust her and now she told him this? Dammit. He would have to be very… very cautious of her now. "Do… Do what you think is best." He said nervously, Satella never caught onto his tone.
She nodded, clasping her hands together and entering a sort of meditative state. She murmured a string of unknown words, which reminded Anselm of how one would be praying, which she was pretty much enacting. All of it was familiar except that a miasma of blue light began to flicker around her and Anselm. Like fireflies, they illuminated the whole area with, shimmering like stars in the night sky. Whispers and small voices fleeted all around him.
And then he saw her, glowing in the dark like a pure bright star, brighter than the moon's light. He was entranced, and felt perplexed about how he should exactly feel about this. He was no doubt petrified but he stood his ground, both out of paralyzing fear and to not interrupt Satella.
The spirits were much help, Satella said. They had witnessed Felt pass into a certain direction. How that worked, Anselm did not know, and he also did not want to ask for an explanation. A dark cloud hung over him after witnessing her consulting with these spirits. Beautiful, certainly. But unholy nonetheless. He clung ever so tighter to his rosary after she was done.
This was a land of magicians. That was a fact. Magicians and sorcerers riddled this land. But he could not bear to take up arms against anyone, not even Satella. He was tired and hungry, there wasn't enough energy to put up a fight. The last thing he ate, he had thrown up into an alleyway. Satella also never really gave him the feeling of hostility as well. She had many chances to stab him in the back, take his things, or even sick that feline spirit of hers onto him but she didn't. But he couldn't take his chances, not now.
While hiding his suspicions, they eventually ran into a single loner trekking past them. His grip on his sword grew tight as he passed but luckily, there were no sudden moves. So, Anselm took it as a chance to interrogate him on the spot.
"You there." He said to him, "Seen a thief named Felt pass through here?"
"Felt?" The man looked like he'd heard something familiar. "Huh, all that's down there is Old Man Rom's loot house. If she took something from you, you could probably try and bargain for it at his place."
Anselm and Satella stared at each other.
"The problem is that we're broke. How are we going to negotiate a deal to get my insignia back without any money? It shouldn't even be that way, it was stolen from me!"
"What if we don't have to…" Anselm said, peering into one of the decrepit windows of the loot house. Nothing. Only darkness. "It doesn't even look like anybody's been here…"
He turned around and gave a look to Satella. She knew what it meant.
"You seriously wanna take that route?"
"You can stay out here and wait for me." He flicked his head towards the ring-handled doors. "It's a den of thieves. What more can they do?"
"Didn't I recall you almost being beaten to death by three street thugs the first time we met?"
"I was…" He looked down, trying to hide his shame in a sheepish way. "Not in the mood."
She sighed. "Fine, but be careful okay?"
"I most definitely will. I hope to at least die with a belly full of warm food so expect me to return in one piece with your insignia in hand." He went to push open the door before stopping. He forgot something. "Satella."
"…"
"Hey, Satella." He said louder.
Her shoulders jumped. "Huh?"
"Thank you for the medicine."
She smiled and nodded.
He entered the loot house, torch in hand and shield hefted in his left hand. It was dark. Far too dark for him to trust himself in an ambush. If the worst came, he'd have to rely on his shield first before unsheathing his blade. He'd drop the torch but hopefully it would stay alight when he did.
The place seemed to have lived up to his name. There was an enormous store of loot that he'd knew his brothers and maybe some of the footmen would love to ravage. Suits of armor they could sell or replace, porcelain dolls for their daughters, and treasures that could be sold off to rich merchants. Maybe he could snatch a few things after acquiring the insignia.
"Felt?" He said aloud. "I've come to bargain for that insignia you've taken."
There was a cold chill in the air now, a silence that brought a sort of dread in the air. He wondered if Satella was fine outside, it wasn't normal to leave ladies out in the dark alone, even if she proved to be fairly capable.
"...Would it please you to know that I'm not part of the guard-"
Suddenly, there was a squelching noise as he took another step. His chausses had stepped into blood. He looked down, took a step back. The pool of blood was so thick he could see his reflection in it.
"Hm."
A scuffle happened perhaps? His eyes followed the trail and he finally found the body. It was a giant of a man, who was now lifeless and limp, propped up against the wall. There was shock in his open eyes. He was not expecting to die today.
Felt must've had a disagreement with this man.
The boards creaked. It wasn't Satella. He'd hear the doors open if it was her.
"My my… it seems you've found my mess." A silky voice boomed towards him.
Twirling around, he dropped his torch, free hand bolting towards his sword. He pulled it out, producing a steel hiss as he did so.
There was a glint in the dark, then the wind screamed. A dagger was flung into his wrist, bursting through his chainmail and arriving out of the other side. His sword clanged to the ground.
He screamed, but nothing came out. Instead, his throat spurted out blood with a pathetic wheeze. His mail bevor had been delinked and now his throat was bleeding profusely.
Stumbling into a table, knocking down chairs, he fled for the doors. But his blood poured out like a red waterfall, tainting his white cloak and brigandine in a crimson color. His breathing was strewn and short, growing weaker with each draw. He collapsed, his already weak legs giving up.
A worried voice boomed from the outside. "Sir Konrad? I heard a noise… is everything alright?"
Satella… run. Lord Jesus Christ protect her! Lord… tell her to run!
There was a quiet humming in the room. Somebody stepped closer to him and caressed his cheek.
"Hmm… you look like you haven't eaten in a while… Such a shame. Though I still wonder what lies in that stomach of yours."
His ears were ringing, and he finally felt his heart slow to a halt.
The doors creaked open.
Then he heard nothing. His last realization, in that spurred moment, was that he never got to tell Satella his full name.
And that is chapter 3! Again, please review if you would like more or if you would like to suggest anything that would help make this bizarre story quite the adventure! Ideas, scenarios, thoughts, anything! Especially on Anselm, I truly hope he's an engaging OC for you. Thank you for reading!