Comments:

Laxard: You have no idea how correct you are about Laxard. Your query about Gerome may also surprise you.

55555goasha: MOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAR

Itioministralis: I appreciate your comments! And yeah you're right on the money about the common folk. It's a given that peasants that have a way of life beaten into them are gonna be rather hard to convert. It's a war for Lyle as much as it's a war against the nobility on the battlefield.

Lyle found it more than a little embarrassing that he flew off the handle so quickly, which in turn, forced Sybille, who was stronger than he thought, to hold him back along with their resident zombie Soren.

But, honestly, how could they blame him? How else was he supposed to react when there was a big-ass, giant, fucking rat that could possibly stand up to his chest not too far from him! Plus, it was just standing there! Menacingly! Now that he thought about he could probably smell the pungent smell of rat shit from here!

"How in the flying, french fried, titty-fuck am I the only one not about to flip out about there being a sentient rat in front of us!?"

"Seen their kind before. Dealt with their kind before." Sybille grunted, holding Lyle more quickly than he believed she had any right to. "Kemmler dealt with their kind all the time."

"I thought you said you hated him!"

"Hated his ways. Working with the Skaven was one of the few methods I agreed with."

"Skaven? That's what they're called? Christ on a cross, woman! That name screams shit-stained heels if I've ever heard of something like that! R-rudy, are you cool with this!?"

"Well…" Rudy began with trepidation. "Not really, since they're no better than beastmen in my eyes, but…before I met you, I thought more the same about Necromancers."

Lyle hated how much sense that made. "I get that, but it's a god-damned rat we're talking about here!"

"I-I'd already seen it when Soren and I had made contact with Miss Sybille Lord Lyle. It can only be shocking for so long."

"I'm standing-waiting right here-here."

"And it fucking talks-Good Christ almighty!" Lyle was doing his best to make sure his stomach didn't do flips. His knees were weakening as he spoke, and while he was trying to put up a solid and outraged front, it was hard to swallow down the sense of horror that he was feeling from being in the mere presence of this creature.

Fuck, the undead and everything else. Rats were never meant to be that big!

"Lyle." Sybille's voice cut in sharp and to the point. "Considering what you've told us about the Grimoire, time is of the essence. There are worse things to work with than a Skaven, and if we're to be free and save the peasants you, for some reason or another, value so highly, then enough with your childish outrage. Time is of the essence."

Lyle hated rats. Ever since he was a kid, he hated rats. The mere sight of them was enough to make his skin crawl, even before he'd heard of the negative connotations that came with being in his Uncle's 'family'. It certainly didn't help one time when one of his sisters decided to play a prank on him as a child and put a rat on his neck when he was sleeping. It was amazing how waking up to certain things could traumatize you as a child, especially when the aforementioned rat started scratching his face up a storm when he woke up screaming.

Not even his mom paddling his little sister for that bit of drama was enough to wipe away the fear and horror he felt that day…but Sybille was right in a sense. They really didn't have any time to spare.

So he tried to move the point along as quickly as he could. Maybe if they got what they needed from this rat, it could go back to whatever sewer it crawled out of…which only made Lyle wonder if they had sewers in Bretonnia or anywhere on this planet. "What…what do we need-look what is your plan here? I'm all ears. Let's just get to it if you're gonna lecture me like this!"

Seemingly satisfied with his response, Sybille unhanded him and made a 'come hither' motion toward the skaven. "Warpstone, Tat. Let's not keep our vaunted Lichemaster waiting."

Now somewhat more sure that he wouldn't be lynched on the spot, 'Tat' reached into the back of his mouth and jostled around for a little bit, confusing Lyle until he pulled something out. It looked shaped like a tooth, but teeth usually weren't green. They also didn't glow slightly as if they had some sort of radiation, or perhaps they drank a bit too much Mountain Dew.

Moving quickly as much as a rat could, Tat gave the warp stone to Sybille's outstretched, which she then deftly put to her thorned collar. "More's the pity they didn't kill you when they had the chance Tat, and toss your corpse into the river."

Tat only grunted in response, scratching the back of his ear while eyeing the female necromancer sideways. Regardless with a few quick swipes with the warpstone, a part of the thorn collar suddenly crumpled and fell off Sybille's neck and caught on fire in a green flame. Before Lyle could question just how this glowing piece of stone could accomplish this in such a short amount of time, Sybille swiped the warpstone right up the thorny collar on his neck, and it would up much the same as hers. Crumpled on the ground and lit up in green flames.

The Lichemaster couldn't help but breathe a huge sigh of relief, running his hands around his neck and enjoying the lack of constriction and thorns pressing into his breathing passage. He wouldn't have minded them as much if it led to some action with the damsel, but alas, it seemed like it was never meant to be.

"Now then." Sybille began, taking charge of the situation. "Soren, do be a dear and hand over those disguises. We'll need them-

"Mhhhhhmmmm!" The skaven hummed deeply, holding out its paw, staring pointedly at both Sybille and the warpstone in her hands. Rolling her eyes, she practically shoved it into his outstretched paw, and while Lyle would have liked as little to do with the oversized rat, he couldn't help but notice how smug it seemed at that moment.

Thankfully Soren didn't waste any time observing the theatrics and stepped and retrieved the peasant men-at-arms uniforms that Rudy had folded rather neatly next to him. For a moment, Lyle thought that it was rather interesting that Rudy had folded those clothes, only to realize that given how prim and proper Soren was, it was he who most likely made the clothes rather neat.

Regardless, with their necks now free of their bonds, Lyle followed Sybille's lead and worked to get their disguises on quickly. While doing so, the Lichemaster couldn't help but feel a stab of sympathy for any and all peasants unfortunate enough to wear it. His sister would have a fit if she saw or was forced to wear this crime-against fashion.

It was less of a uniform and more of a mishmash of different materials sewn together. Everything was itchy, and the musky smell it emitted didn't help in the silence. Even worse was how he was sure it didn't do much to protect the person wearing it besides acting as a layer between one's flesh and a weapon.

It lacked style and utility. A fail if he'd ever seen one. An atrocity to mankind if his sister were to bear witness.

Regardless, they'd do what they needed to do. Act as a smokescreen.

That only left one problem in his eyes. "What about the rat? How's he gonna blend in t-where the fuck did it go?"

"Tat's studied under clan Eshin in the east. He'll see you so long as he wants you to see him."

"And you're okay with this!?"

"I can live with it." Sybille shrugged, putting on the kettle cap and tucking her hair as deeply as she could behind the collar of the uniform, bringing up the facemask that came with it. "He can't hide very well from me. Now do focus, boy. Be worried more about the Grimoire and your precious peasants. If you don't hurry now, you'll lose both before you can curse Naggash's name."

Annoyed at her throwing his own method of persuading the older women back at him, Lyle instead shrugged, feigning indifference, while internally, he was trying to suppress the chills running down his back. If there was one thing worse than a rat you could see, it was one that you could no longer see in his view.

Lyle shook his head. Sybille was right. He needed to get his priorities straight. First, they bailed out, Ave, and then they would make a beeline for Riffen. If they were lucky, maybe the lords and knights would so fattened by their own feast they crushed their own horses in the process.

Unlikely, but a guy could hope and dream, couldn't he?

Still, Lyle was skeptical. "So after we find and nab Ave, we just…walk out? What's the exit plan here?"

"I have some horses and a carriage set up not far from here, Master Lyle." Soren drawled, "They will serve as an adequate getaway. With it being dark at night, the chances of success are optimal, in my humble opinion."

"Won't it look weird if four peasant soldiers are using a carriage? I mean, something tells me that these tin-heads aren't all too keen on letting them so much as breath in a horse's direction."

It was Rudy who had an answer. "Believe it or not, they do let SOME peasants use horses, my lord. But, the horses aren't as good as the nobles', and they're mostly used for scouting more than anything."

That genuinely surprised Lyle, though hearing about the peasants using less-than-optimal horse breeds made more sense than he cared to admit.

Even when the masses got privileges, it was still suboptimal at best.

Both he and Sybille had finished dawning their disguises entirely, even if they were uncomfortable. Now there was just one last matter to deal with.

Lyle looked at his fellow inmate. "Please tell me you at least know where Ave is."

Sybille's sour face didn't inspire much confidence. "This is your show, Lichemaster. I never planned on saving some peasant girl, so if you want to find her for that convenient of a lay, then you'll need to show you have some guile in you."

"Ugh…seriously?"

"Do not look to me to problems you wish to create, boy! She's your whore!"

"Ohhh! She ain't anybody's whore! And I don't wanna hear that word again!" Lyle near shouted in outrage. "Fine then! Rudy, your taking point on our exit!"

"M-me?"

"You're the only out of all of us that have both a convincin' accent and the looks of a normal human being...sans the eye, of course, but I stand by my statement. I'm gonna need you to be our frontman and mouthpiece."

"I…I don't know Master Lyle I. I've gotten us this far, but I still have an Artoisian accent a-and I-

"Rudy." Lyle said firmly yet gently, placing a gloved hand on the youth's shoulder. "You got this, bro. It's like you said, you and Soren have gotten this far, haven't ya? Speaking of which, Soren, who was it who did most of the talking to get you guys to this point?"

"Young Rudy Master Lyle."

Lyle's look to the unsure peasant turned wry. "See! What's the difference between now and then?"

"W-well, th-there's a lot more at stake, it seems?"

"Pfft. So?" Lyle shrugged, looking at ease despite the situation. "People face pressure all the time. Hell, I faced tons of pressure when I was leading the legion, but did I let it crack me? Hell no! At the end of the day, kid, all you can do is do your best and do the best way, y'know how. Don't worry about things like, 'Aw shit, I'm gonna fuck up'. All it'll do is make you more likely to do so. All I need is for you to give it your all. Nothin' more and nothin' less. You got it, kid. I know cause if Soren said you did it before, you sure as shit can do it again."

Rudy seemed ready to protest again until he gave himself a moment to breathe, allowing Lyle's words to sink in. He almost seemed to blush at the praise before closing his eyes and bowing up, letting the confidence puff up his chest. "I'll…I think I may know where to start, Lord Lyle! Some peasants were chuckling into their cups about prisoners, which is how we found you in the dining hall and even outside the castle…maybe if we have another chat with some other peasants…"

At Rudy's suggestion, the group of four (Five if you include the hard-to-spot Tat) exited the dragon pit, with Lyle noticing the lack of other peasants on their way to the main section of Castle Bastonne. Along the way, he couldn't help but notice small blotches of blood on some of the walls and floors. Not big enough to draw any significant amount of attention, but small enough to, at the very least, be noticeable.

Lyle was tempted to ask how many peasants Rudy and Soren disposed of to clear an easy path for them, but once again, he decided against it. Time and place. Then again, he also couldn't help but wonder what they did with the bodies.

"Slowly now." Rudy whispered behind him as he tempered down at their hurried pace. "A man at arms is more likely to get questioned by a noble if they are in a hurry. No need to give them a reason."

Lyle nodded, not seeing any fault in the logic. Rudy would know better than any of them, after all.

Sybille grunted but didn't complain, following just behind Lyle, who was behind Soren, who had done a masterful job at hiding his less-than-youthful extremities.

The four of them marched at a more sedated but consistent pace, making their way through the large yet twisting halls of Castle Bastonne. While on foot, they had passed by servants, a few knights casually chatting each other up, and often a mixture of the two that looked at ease with their surroundings, not at all perturbed by the presence of four armed peasants marching through the hall with purpose.

Are they still in the festive mood, or do they just care about peasants this little? Are they that confident about their canon fodder not having any vindictive moods? Even after they treat em' like shit?

Considering how poorly he'd seen the peasants get the short of the end of the stick, that theory was most likely not too far from reality.

These thoughts were only further inflamed when he saw a knight grab a nearby female servant who could only grasp and looked slightly panicked as he fondled her breast.

Lyle could feel his hackles rising and felt the urge to brain the smug armored prick right then there, only to feel Sybille place her hand on the small of his back, urging him forward.

He got the message. It didn't make him like it any more than he liked how much he'd fucked up to get to this point.

So instead, he kept his eyes straight, even as startled cries came from the girl. Bottling his anger, Lyle couldn't help but grind his teeth while his eyes couldn't help but dart at other occupants of these halls.

Fuckers' are all keeping their eyes to themselves. Useless cunts. Lyle couldn't even hate on them all too much. It was precisely what he was doing. If that was one of his sisters, then-

Gotta focus. You won't make a difference if your dumbass gets killed. The only way to stop this long-term is not going off the handle a second time.

So they focused on the job. He wasn't sure what Soren and Rudy thought of this, but he didn't care to find out then. He could only hope they could find some peasants to cajole so that his eyes wouldn't be any more offended than they already were by what they saw.

Mercifully, they didn't have to wait long until they came upon another group of men at arms lounging in the corner of the hall, probably so their presence wouldn't offend any noble or knight that happened in their general direction. With some tankards in their hands and the haphazard ways their heads were lolling, it was clear they'd had more than their livers could process.

Rudy most likely noticed it before they did and moved their group over to them with purpose. Even in their inebriated state, it didn't take long for the three peasants to notice them.

"Fffffug off…we ain't sharin'." One with a dented kettle helm slurred, giving their group a pointed stink-eye.

"Oh pleassseee-ughh." Another snorted, almost spilling their tankard. "Like you could handle anymore. They'd helpin' yooouuu at this point." This one had dirty chestnut hair that reached his shoulders, with a harelip that wounded any chance of him courting his dream girl. "Sides'. Probably spilled more than you've poured down your gullet."

"Fug off too."

"Sa'llright." Rudy amended, putting on a friendly smile and tone. "Already had our fill earlier."

"And your still standin'?" The helmeted one grumbled. "Shows what fun you lot have had."

Harelip rolled his eyes. "Don't mind him. His idea of fun is waking up in a pen full of pigs and praying that the knights don't find him first."

"Shpeaking of fun." Rudy chuckled, making himself seem more natural than he probably gave himself credit. "Me and the lads were busy on patrol duty, but we heard the rumors…any of you get a look of the prisoners they brought in?"

"Oh, did we ever!" Harelip snorted, nearly spilling his own drink. "Saw em' all, even that bog-witch they brought in. Had pomp and ceremony n' everything just like earlier today. The nobles n' village elder's like to talk a big game on how spooky and threatenin' these necromancers are, but personally…I find goblins more terrifyin'!"

"MMmmmm." Helmet grunted in agreement after taking a quick swig. "Don't know if you'll walk away from fight with your ankles with those sssshhhnot-nosed buggers."

"Shame you weren't there when they brought that foreign fuckwit in…what happened with that anyways? You poor bastards draw the shortest straws on patrol? Heh. Shoulda found a dark corner like us."

"You don't know the half of it. I swear someone cheated us." Rudey shrugged.

"Jokes on you. Shoulda seen the look on his face when the duke caught him on a lie…though…to be honest, I was surprised he actually was convincin' peasants to try and go traitor. More's the pity for them. Reality didn't bop em' upside the head hard enough, I guess."

Helmet sighed. "Fools. Lot of them."

Lyle was sure that Rudy was interested to see just how far those sympathies went, he seemed determined to get to the point. "You see all of them? Including the girl?"

Helmet raised a lop-sided eyebrow. "Girl?...wazza-minute…you mean the red-head?"

"Didn't see her for long." Harelip said. "Lord Bastien didn't se-

The third peasant, who had been slumped against the wall, suddenly collapsed in a heap, completely spilling his tankard and spilling the contents, with audible snoring coming out of his lips.

Helmet spat on the poor sap with disgust. "Fucking waste of wine."

"Agreed." Harelip rolled his eyes. "Where was I…"

"The girl."

"Ah, yeah…well…eh I shouldn't say, I mean, it's like I said, Lord Bastien wasn't showing her off Like that necromancer but…well."

Rudy, thankfully was not so easily deterred. "Oh c'mon. What's the harm?"

"Not harm per-say but-

"Oh what are you gettin' so tight-lipped about?" Helmet grunted with wine drippbling down his lips. "Why not tell them about those two fuckin' loose-lips about their reward."

"Reward?" Rudy urged on, much to Harelip's annoyance.

"Mhmh. Those two loose-lips. Don't get me wrong. A dead necromancer is as good as any necromancer, but those two toadies were all too willing to sell out their entire village to get in with the loooooorrrdsss!" Helmet growled derisively staring venomously into his tankard. "And those two get to have a go between the girls' legs for the rest of the day? After she helped Bertrands' Brigand's as a crime? And her thanks is her having a go with those two toads in the Red Room? Where's the King's justice in that-

"Watch your tongue!" Harelip bit out with desperation, his eyes darting to the corridor behind them. "Do you want to give a knight a reason to gut you?"

"Fuck em'. They're the same types to say that Bertrand's a heretic for helping poor sops like us."

The pair argued a bit more, but Lyle had started tuning them out then. He couldn't get this ringing out of his ears all of a sudden.

Between her legs?

Porky and Slackjaw?

It was a sense of dual emotions. Horror and terrifying guilt that settled in his stomach balanced out with a roaring rage that was thrumming in his heart.

Those two? Having their way with HER!?

It was so sickening and outrageous that Lyle didn't want to have mental images. He wanted to believe that they hadn't started yet.

And if he wanted to keep that illusion alive, the clock was ticking.

He couldn't have this on his head. He refused to have this on his head.

"Regardless of the girl's fate, you'll be called a heretic LIKE Bertrand if you keep flappin' your mouth like a damned pegasus' wings!"

Lyle moved to squeeze Rudy's arm as a sign to try and coax a location out of them. Before he could, however, he damn near jumped out of his disguise the second he heard a light and airy voice behind him.

"What girl's fate?"

Helmet, this time, did drop his mug, eyes going wide. Harelip saved his but only barely standing at attention and wincing when his gaze wandered over to their unconscious companion.

Lyle's group looked behind them and saw what was clearly a young noble man…he looked like he was barely an adult, however, to say the least. With a tunic and finely made pants, even then, Lyle had to take care not to mistake him for a girl due to the long flowing locks that went past his shoulders and squinted blue eyes. He looked like he would have barely made it up to Lyle's chin, which was saying something since Lyle wasn't that tall, to begin with. He also didn't look particularly pleased to see this gaggle of peasants.

Harelip swallowed hard before speaking. "L-lord Emerich, this…this isn't-

"-What it looks like?" The young noble finished, theatrically rolling his eyes. "I knew as soon as I heard that voice it was you, Quentin. Have you any idea how much trouble you'd be in if a knight in the right mood found you all doing nothing productive in this part of the castle?...also is that Andre passed out in the corner? Please tell me it is not."

Helmet looked at Andre and then, with reluctance looked back to the lord. "Alright, lord Emerich. Andre is not passed out in the corner."

"Mathis." The lordling began closing his eyes. "If that was any other lord, you'd lose your tongue for that."

To Lyle's surprise, the drunk peasant seems to sober a bit at the comment and looks away shame-faced.

Goddamnit, I don't have time for this! Ave needed help yesterday! We don't have time to dick around with this kid, whoever he is!

To Lyle's continued frustration, the conversation continued at a pace that was unacceptable to him, with Harelip hesitantly speaking. "Hundred sorries my lord. P-please don't tell your father."

"I didn't tell the good Duke of Bastonne about your earlier infractions. I don't plan to start now until you've given me a good enough reason. With that being said." The boy then leaned forward and, with a cross look spoke more harshly under his breath. "Pull Andre off the floor and make yourself scarce before my father's retainers or vassals catches the mere sight of you. You know they're not as forgiving as me."

The two peasants worked to act on that suggestion, immediately pulling Andre from the ground and pulling an arm over each of their shoulders, making a hasty retreat past Lyle's disguised group while muttering apologies and thanks to Emmerich.

After the drunks had excused themselves in a hurry, Emmerich, for seemingly the first time, noticed the other four' peasants that were still standing in the corner, confusion on his face. "What? Not with them?...now that I think about it, I don't recall seeing any of your faces…the faces I can see at any rate. Are you levies raised from outside my father's fiefs?"

Once again, Rudy was on the ball, albeit not as smoothly as he was before. "Erm-y-yes m'lord." Rudy said, making sure not to make eye contact to avoid showing disrespect.

"Well, now. I do admit I can't quite place your accent. Are you from northern Bastonne per-chance?"

"W-wouldn't know, m'lord. Lived there in my village my whole life."

"Yes, I suppose you would." To the surprise of just about everyone in the group, the comment didn't sound nearly as condescending as other lords would have said. It sounded more sad and disappointed than anything. "People like you don't get the chance to really…see much of anything else beyond what you see. Plus, someone as young as you shouldn't have a scar with you sounding that young."

Rudy didn't really know how to respond to that, so he just muttered a thanks in response. A noble? Showing sympathy. As frantic as Lyle was at that moment, even he was surprised. Though he supposed it only made sense for there to be exceptions that prove the rule.

The conversation then took a turn when Emmerich turned to him specifically. "And what of you? Do you hale from the same village as your fellow here? Can't see much of your face, but even from your eyes, I can tell you come from…unusually better stock that your countrymen are forced to perpetuate."

Who da fuck can tell that kinda shit from eyes!? Thinking on his feet, Lyle settled for a nod in the affirmative which unfortunately did not satisfy the apparent heir to the Dukedom of Bastonne. "Is something wrong with your throat, peasant?"

"H-he's mute, m'lord! Could never speak a word since he was born!" Rudy quickly ad-libbed.

"Ah. So even if he's well bread, he still can't escape the limitations of poor breeding…you have my apologies. I can't imagine how maddening it would be to not speak to someone."

Kind to peasants and willing to apologize to them? This kid really the duke's son? The more he thought about it, the more this kid proved to be THE exception. It was a shame that they couldn't talk under less strenuous terms. It's nice to see someone sympathetic n' all but, we still need to know where the hell they're keeping Ave! And this conversation, as insightful as it is, isn't helping us get there fast en-

Then Lyle had an epiphany. This kid lives here. This is his home. And one of those peasants made mention of a Red Room. Emmerich here might have an idea…or he might not. Either way, Lyle sought to take advantage of this sudden twist of fate.

Maybe he could somehow signal Rudy to get on about asking the young heir to find out more about the location of this Red Room, but Lyle himself was hardly an expert in sign language besides knowing three ways to express a 'fuck you.' And he doubted that Rudy was any better than him. Which means I gotta take the direct approach. Time is of the essence here, not just for Ave but for Riffen.

Acting swiftly and with his mind made up, Lyle boldly moved to ensure that he was standing in between Emmerich and the other side of the hall to make sure that nobody could see what he was doing. Though to make sure that was guaranteed. "Sybille. Soren. Stand behind me and make a wall."

Sybille and Soren hesitated for a moment but thankfully didn't seem to question his request, while Rudy looked alarmed at his 'lord' breaking their protocol. None looked more surprised than lord Emmerich, who seemed absolutely befuddled. "I…thought you couldn't speak."

Abandoning any pretense of subterfuge on the young man, Lyle yanked down his mask, speaking directly to the spindly-looking heir. "Well, I wasn't planning to, but since you ran away our source of info, I'm gonna have to lean on my gift of gab here."

Emmerich look of confusion gave way to suspicion, with his golden brows knitting together. "That accent. You're no Brettonian." The accusation came, looking very affronted while doing so.

"Not wrong there." Lyle admitted glibly, removing the glove that covered his hand. He then very subtly, yet noticeably began to pump a little bit of Dhar into his hand, not entirely casting a spell, but doing enough to show off what he was capable of. The hitching breath and wide eyes from Emmerich showed he was quick to connect the dots. "Judgin' by your look though, I have a feelin' your about to get it right real quick."

"Lyle Spoletta," Emmerich whispered, his voice wavering between shock and awe. "Y-you should have been wearing a collar-h-how did you-

"Got it off. Bit too tight around the neck for my tastes. See, but that's not really important, kid." Lyle then stepped up next to the youth, who froze up as Lyle wrapped an arm around his shoulder as if he were a long-lost friend. "Today's your lucky day, cause I'm sure that if you were runnin' into any other necromancer, You'd probably be either A: another corpse in thier army or B: their next science experiment. This time round' it's gonna be C: A volunteer that'll be helping me for a good cause."

Emmerich swallowed audibly, looking at the peasants blocking the view toward them in an all-new light. Lyle was glad that the kid hadn't opted to just scream for help or cry bloody murder. He didn't fancy his chances going up against a whole army of knights and maybe even grail knights without an army of corpses in between them and him.

"Helping you…to do what exactly?"

"Ever heard of the Red Room?"

Confusion crossed Emmerich's, making a stab of fear go through Lyle's guts of the answer would be a resounding no. Thankfully, his answer lead to the contrary. "I. Yes, I do, but what would you care about that room?"

"I'd explain it to ya, but I'm crunched for time." Lyle then pressed his left hand against the small of the young man's back. "Just take us to the Red Room, and you're gonna have problems from me. If I'm in a good enough mood, I might just let you go afterward."

"...Just...answer me one question."

"Only time for one."

"...I heard from drunken courtiers and nobles say that you tried to lead a peasant rebellion at Riffen. Is that true?"

"Your damn right."

"Why?"

"I'd tell ya. But you already asked your one question. Times a wastin'.

Lyle's push was gentle but firm, and as terrified as Emmerich must have been at that moment, he did as he was bid and started moving forward, quickly becoming appraised of his situation. Lyle was actually somewhat impressed with how the heir was maintaining his composure so well, but the Earth Native supposed he gave the young blonde little in the way of choice in that matter. It was either do as he was bid or suffer the two other fates that were laid out for him.

Not that Lyle would actually follow through on those threats. He hated the nobility here, but killing a guy younger than him in cold blood was a bit beyond his ruthlessness. Plus, his clear show of sympathy for peasants would have made it harder to stomach such an action.

As Emmerich moved forward, hopefully toward this Red Room, Sybille, and Soren flanked his sides while Rudy warily covered his rear, keeping his eye out for anyone suspiciously looking at them.

"That was beyond reckless." Sybille whispered harshly into his ear as they made way for a nearby staircase. "This girl had better be worth the trouble."

Lyle didn't bother to answer. Only focusing on ensuring that Jr. here didn't try anything funny and give away their game. Though Lyle couldn't see his face, he had to have looked somewhat normal while being trailed by four peasants because barely anyone paid them any mind. Of course, the stray noble or servant they walked past made sure to bow in his presence, showing their respect. Curt and hurried nods were all they received in turn.

They climbed up the staircase, with Sybille cursing under her breath about her knees as they ascended at a constant pace. Lyle cared little for the complaints at that moment because Someone's life…and integrity was at stake here.

He hoped those peasants were talking bullshit. They had to have heard some stupid rumor from someone else. It had been a hoax, a line of crap that was born from too much alcohol at once. But, at the same time, Lyle couldn't think of any reason why it couldn't be true. What reason did he have to believe that they would spare Ave's dignity just because she was a woman? He didn't know much about Bertrand's Brigand's beyond the fact that they helped the peasants when the nobles couldn't, but he knew for a fact that so much as being a member of this group was akin to being a traitor.

And if these nobles were willing to treat their peasants like dog water, then he shuddered to wonder how they would treat those who would turn their coats.

Finally, in a time that was faster than Lyle thought it would be, they finally arrived at their destination. Initially, Lyle was confused as he had expected this room to be red like its namesake, but it was just a brown oak-made door. Rather unremarkable on one of the upper levels of Castle Bastonne.

"This really the place, kid?" Lyle queried, staring side-eyed at the shorter boy, who nodded vigorously.

"This room it… didn't earn its nickname off its decor. It's. Well, it's where men and women go to…fornicate."

This time Sybille showed visible confusion. "What does that have anything to do with calling it Red?"

Emmerich looked away while his cheeks darkened. "It's famous for where…virgins are 'broken' in."

Lyle, realizing the implications, immediately burst through the doors, feeling his blood run cold at what greeted him inside.

Laying on a carpet unmoving was Ave, her eyes far too still to be considered natural, with her body as naked as the day she was born. Marring her flesh was a combination of fluids, with a healthy amount of it red around her throat. Her mouth was open as if forced open while her neck was split open, exposed to the room. Her chest was not rising, and her skin was becoming more pale than it had any right to be. White and yellow fluids were stuck to her lower body and her legs, with said legs looking heavily bruised and red.

Not a sound was made besides audible gasps from Rudy and Emmerich. Even Sybille recoiled visibly at the sight before her, while Soren was as expressionless as ever.

While Rudy muttered a quick prayer to the Lady, Lyle walked forward, his mouth going dry and heart sinking to fathoms he didn't think possible. As he walked closer, he hoped to see a twitch. A sharp intake of breath. Something to show that he wasn't too late. Any redeeming article to be found from this horrific sight.

But, as the Earth native knelt to her head and saw just how great the gap was in her torn throat, he knew there was nothing to save.

He hadn't known Ave for very long. It had actually been an entire day, as a matter of fact, from earlier this morning. It was a wonder how much could happen in a single day, yet here they were. She had saved his life after he'd taken a fall, and for that, she'd lost her own. She seemed spunky and determined despite living in a society where women clearly got the short end of the stick. Determined to help her own people even if it meant living the life of an outlaw at the risk of her health. She'd been one of the few to go to bat for him despite WHAT he was. It was thanks to her knowing the Brigands that victory earlier that day had been possible.

And this was her reward.

This was how the knights of Brettonia thanked one of their own for saving its countrymen. This was how they treated a woman they deemed a traitor. This was the price that this young girl had that couldn't have been any older than his sisters for daring to dream that she could make a difference beyond her station in life.

Where was the justice?

Where was the fairness of it all?

Perhaps such concepts were foreign in this world, just like how it was the same back in certain parts of his own world Earth.

Such thoughts caused the pit of despair and horror in his stomach to be filled with a new swirl of emotion. One that he'd felt in bursts since coming here but hadn't truly been submerged in.

Anger.

At first, Lyle was angry at himself. Angry at his own failings. Angry at his inability to win a battle he had been too confident in, which could have possibly prevented all of this from happening. Angry at possibly not just letting the peasants run and not playing hero. Maybe some of them would have died, but maybe it would have been better to this…

Then that anger turned to Bastien. To those pig-faced fuckwits whose names he was too furious to remember. It turned to all the knights that went along with this. For Bohemond, for letting it happen.

And then a blanket covered Ave's form, with Sybille adjusting it slightly so not a speck of her flesh was visible.

Lyle jerked his head to the necromancer, who then stared back with a queer expression. She made to speak only to close her mouth, looking down at the covered corpse before closing her eyes and sighing. The woman whom he had just met and was so fond of sniping him with sarcasm and derisive insults seemed unable or unwilling to let loose her tongue.

For that. He was grateful, even if it was just a moment.

It allowed Lyle to stew in his anger. For a moment, it was like a volcano. Boiling and bubbling and seeking an outlet lest he explode. Yet as he began to think, it became more focused. His brow furrowed, his fists tightened, and teeth ground together like granite.

It was then that he turned and stared pointedly at Emmerich who was almost as pale as the corpse in the room.

Almost immediately, the young noble flapped his lips like he never had before. "I-I d-didn't know that-...I didn't!...pl–please, I didn't know!"

Lyle didn't initially respond, opting only to stand up and speak. His voice was hard as it was low. "Fastest way out. Tell me right now."

Immediately cluing on a lifeline, Emmerich didn't hesitate. "Y-you can escape through this very room! Th-the window!"

Sybille was quick to poke holes in the plan, however. "On the third floor of a castle? Do we look that daft to you, boy?"

"N-no! I mean, no, I don't think you're daft, J-just look outside the window! There's vines and jutted-out stones to climb! I-it's how a lot of people sneak in here!"

Rudy, pointedly staying away from the covered-up body, moved towards the window in question and pulled it open, peering through. "He's… he's not lying, lord Lyle. I'm sure if we're careful, we can maneuver our way down."

Nothing else was said at the moment as all eyes turned to the man in question, who turned back to look at Ave's concealed body. Lyle felt another wave of anger surge through his body as the proof of his failure continued to lay before him, even if it was hidden in plain sight.

"Rudy. Soren. Wrap up her body and work together on taking it down with us." Sybille looked to say something, but a mere look from Lyle was enough to get her to reconsider. "We. Are not. Leaving. Her. Here." The iron in his voice was unyielding, so Sybille could only nod. To her, it was a frightening tone similar to Kemmler's whenever he wished for something to be done.

The Lichemaster then turned his gaze back to a now trembling Emmerich, who was debating just bolting to the door or standing as he had. Plagued by indecisiveness he continued to twitch, now seemingly on the spot. "I…Lor…erm… I'm. I'm sorry, I won't tell anyone. I'm sorry for what happened to your lover, I-

"She was NOT my lover. She was NOT my FUCKING WHORE!" Lyle near exploded, his face going red in a near instant. His voice had risen to such an octane that Sybille and Rudy jumped at the volatility in it. "She was a goddamned human being! You hear me! Dial up any hearing aids if you need em', she was a fuckin' human being who had no right to be treated LIKE THIS!"

The poor heir looked close to tears. "R-right! Not your whore! Not your lover! I-I'm terribly, sorry-I won't tell a soul I swear on the lady!"

Breathing sharply through his nose, Lyle saw red. It was a war to not scream, throw furniture, or to just beat the son of the man who was partly responsible for this. The temptation was there. The temptation is-Do not beat the boy within an inch of his life…beat him until he has no more lifeblood flowing in his weak and feeble body. Let your blood and bones crunch against his until this room is nothing but crimson. Let it live up to its namesake and let blood flow for the bl-

Blinking away a sudden dizziness that overcame him, Lyle stared into the frightened eyes of Emmerich, stepping forward with purpose until they were nearly nose to nose.

Rudy looked to almost want to say something to intervene, but words failed, with only strangled noises coming out of his throat thanks to indecision and fear of the wrath that had overtaken his savior.

"You're right…you ain't gonna say shit to anyone."

Emmerich nodded frantically. "Agreed. Most definitely agreed."

"Yeah…gonna be hard for you to say anythin' tonight with you going on a little field trip."

A/N: I have to admit. This was harder to right than I thought it would be. Part of the reason this took longer than I wanted was because I had another scene planned at another location. But, I felt this was a better place to end this chapter just because of…well what happens here. To be honest this was a difficult decision for me. A part of me didn't want to do that to Ave, especially since I loved the way she came out in the chapters for me, but at the same time. For Lyle I felt it was necessary. We've seen him fight and shed blood for the cause that he more or less believes in, but the closest he's ever had to suffering the consequences of his failure was some knife stabs from the very people he'd been trying to save or just getting captured. He needed a deeper sense of motivation. An obstacle that he has to overcome.

This is a part of that obstacle.

It's probably the most graphic scene I've written thus far in terms of its implications. A piece of me wanted to hold back, maybe have her survive. But, in order for the story to move forward in a meaningful way, Ave had to suffer the ultimate price. The loss of her life and dignity.

And for Lyle it's a different type of loss. But, a loss all the same.

Please leave any reviews and have a nice summer. It's pretty unbearably hot over here on the West Coast.