Chapter - 6 - Whispers of Deception

Morning

Castletown, Inn

[Redacted] Call Sign "Ice"

Soft rays of the morning sun filtered through the narrow gaps in the wooden shutters, casting slanted beams of golden light across the room. One of those beams found its mark, hitting Ice squarely on the face, stirring him from the depths of sleep. He groaned, his body instinctively shifting away from the brightness, but the warmth of the sun was relentless. Slowly, begrudgingly, the MTF operator's eyes fluttered open, his senses returning to him as he squinted against the light.

Oh, motherf— Ice thought, but his train of thought was abruptly cut short as a sudden realization struck him like a punch to the gut. His eyes widened, scanning the room with growing alarm. His gear—his plate carrier, helmet, battle belt—and worst of all, his weapons and radio, were gone.

Panic surged through him. Ice's heart rate spiked as his mind raced, quickly piecing together the situation. He shot up from the bed, his hand instinctively reaching for where his rifle should have been, but only empty space met his grasp. His pulse pounded in his ears as the unsettling reality settled in: he had been stripped of everything that mattered, everything that kept him in control.

A sudden, violent knock at the door yanked Ice's attention away from his rising panic. The sharp sound echoed through the small room, and before he could react, a gruff, aggressive voice followed from the other side.

"Shield Hero! Get your ass out here!"

The words were laced with authority and impatience, cutting through the lingering morning stillness like a blade. Ice's muscles tensed, his mind quickly switching from confusion to instinctual readiness. Whoever was on the other side wasn't here for pleasantries, and he was unarmed.

Ice's training kicked in instantly, and his mind went into overdrive. Years of combat experience surged through him, and despite the sudden threat, his movements were measured, calm. He approached the door cautiously, his footsteps silent, body low as he moved. His hand hovered near the handle, but he didn't open it. Instead, he positioned himself to the side, listening closely to the shuffling of feet outside. There were multiple people waiting, likely armed, and they weren't here for a conversation.

Knights, he thought grimly. Whoever they were, they had made a mistake knocking on his door.

Without warning, Ice Kicked the door open and immediately launched into action, slamming it back against the first knight standing too close. The armored figure stumbled backward, caught off guard, his helmet clanging loudly against the wooden floor as he fell. Ice didn't hesitate.

With a swift, practiced motion, he rushed forward, grabbing the fallen knight by the back of the neck and slamming him face-first into the wall. The man crumpled to the floor, groaning, but Ice was already moving. His eyes locked onto two more knights rushing at him, swords drawn, armor clanking as they charged.

Ice sidestepped the first swing, grabbing the knight's wrist mid-swing and twisting it violently, forcing the man to drop his weapon with a pained grunt. Before the second knight could even react, Ice kicked him square in the chest, sending him staggering backward. In one fluid motion, Ice spun the first knight around, using him as a shield against his comrade's incoming sword.

The blade clanged off the knight's armor, sending sparks flying. Ice took advantage of the momentary confusion, delivering a brutal elbow strike to the knight's helmet, dazing him. The second knight recovered, lunging at Ice again with a wide swing. But Ice ducked, sweeping the knight's legs out from under him with a low, precise kick.

The knight hit the ground hard, his sword clattering to the floor. Ice didn't give him a chance to get back up. He delivered a sharp kick to the knight's head, knocking him out cold.

Two down. Ice's breathing was steady, his body moving on pure instinct. He had handled more dangerous situations than this—but he wasn't in his element. His gear, his weapons, everything that gave him the advantage was gone.

More footsteps thundered down the hall.

Ice turned, ready for the next wave. Three more knights barreled toward him, the narrow hallway giving them little room to maneuver. The first one swung his sword in a heavy arc, but Ice was faster. He caught the knight's wrist mid-swing and twisted, the metal joints of the armor straining under the pressure. With a swift kick to the back of the knee, Ice forced the knight down and slammed his fist into the back of the man's helmet, knocking him out.

But this time, the other knights weren't so slow.

The second knight came at him, thrusting his sword toward Ice's midsection. Ice barely dodged, the blade grazing his side as he twisted out of the way. Before he could recover, the third knight closed in, slamming the pommel of his sword into Ice's shoulder with a powerful blow. Pain shot through his arm, but Ice gritted his teeth and countered with a fierce elbow to the knight's gut.

The knight staggered, but the brief moment of distraction gave the second knight an opening. With a roar, the knight tackled Ice, driving him backward into the wall. The impact knocked the wind out of him, and Ice felt his back slam hard against the wooden boards. He struggled to regain his footing, but more knights swarmed in, overwhelming him with sheer numbers.

One knight pinned his arms back, and another swung a gauntleted fist into his stomach. Ice doubled over in pain but managed to headbutt the knight in front of him, blood trickling down the man's face as he stumbled back. Still, the weight of the knights pressing down on him made it impossible to break free.

A final strike—a heavy blow to the side of Ice's head—sent him reeling. His vision blurred as he was forced to his knees, his strength finally failing against the overwhelming odds. He panted heavily, muscles tense as the knights closed in, holding him in place. He had taken down several of them, but now he was pinned, the cold steel of their swords pressed against his throat.

Damn… Ice thought bitterly, trying to shake off the dizziness. But his mind raced with a single question: Why? Why were they after him?

One of the knights, clearly a commander, stepped forward, his helmet gleaming under the dim light of the hallway. "The Shield Hero", he sneered, his voice dripping with disdain. "You're under arrest". The next thing Ice knew, darkness overtook him, and he fell unconscious.

Ice drifted in and out of consciousness, each time fading back into the harsh reality of his situation. His body was being dragged along the rough ground, his arms bound tightly with rope that was attached to the saddle of a horse. Every bump and jolt sent sharp pains shooting through his body as he was pulled mercilessly over dirt and stones, his legs scraping against the uneven terrain.

He could feel the coarse rope biting into his wrists, the friction burning his skin with every movement. His head throbbed, and his vision was blurred, making it hard to focus on anything. Dust and debris kicked up by the horse's hooves stung his face, and the metallic taste of blood filled his mouth from where he had bitten his lip in the struggle.

His body was limp, unable to resist the relentless pull of the rope as it dragged him like a lifeless animal. Occasionally, he would rouse just enough to feel the pain of the ground scraping against his side, only to slip back into the darkness of unconsciousness moments later.

Each time he came to, the same bleak reality greeted him—the sight of the knights marching ahead, the sound of the horse's hooves pounding the dirt, and the rope cutting deeper into his wrists. His body was battered, and every attempt to regain control slipped away as he was dragged further, helpless.

After what felt like hours of relentless dragging, Ice's battered body was finally hoisted into the air. He barely registered the rough hands gripping him as they carried him forward, his limbs limp from exhaustion. The distinct creak of doors opening and the sudden shift in temperature told him they had entered a building. Moments later, he was unceremoniously dropped onto the cold, unforgiving surface of what felt like smooth stone.

The impact sent a sharp jolt through his already aching body, but as his senses slowly returned, a chilling realization washed over him—he was back in the throne room.

Groaning from the pain and strain his body had endured, Ice managed to get onto one knee, struggling to push the dizziness away. His muscles protested with every movement, but he gritted his teeth, forcing himself to regain control. His vision swam as he tried to stand fully, the familiar sight of the throne room coming into focus.

Just as he was about to steady himself and rise to his feet, a sudden, forceful shove sent him crashing back to the ground. He hit the stone floor hard, the breath knocked from his lungs as rough hands kept him down, reminding him of just how powerless he was in that moment.

"And stay down!", a gruff voice commanded.

From somewhere above, a familiar voice cut through the silence. Cold, commanding, and filled with disdain.

"So the Shield Hero finally graces us with his presence."

Ice's blood ran cold. He didn't need to lift his head to know who was speaking. King Aultcray's voice carried through the throne room with a venomous edge, each word dripping with contempt. Ice clenched his fists, the rope still biting into his wrists, as he struggled to push himself up once more, the sheer weight of the situation pressing down on him.

The throne room was large, and he could feel the eyes of countless onlookers—nobles, guards, and servants—watching the scene unfold. Their whispered judgments and sneering glances filled the room with an oppressive air.

"Raise him up," the king ordered, his tone cold and devoid of emotion.

Immediately, rough hands grabbed Ice under the arms, yanking him to his feet. His knees buckled slightly under the weight of his own exhaustion, but the knights forced him upright, ensuring he stood before the king, exposed and weakened.

Ice's vision was still blurry, but he could make out the figure of King Aultcray sitting atop his grand throne, looking down on him with the same disdain he had felt since the moment Ice had arrived in this world. And there, standing beside the king, was Myne—her expression carefully composed, though a faint, almost imperceptible smile played at the corners of her lips.

"You stand accused of heinous crimes, Shield Hero," Aultcray continued, his voice booming through the room. "Crimes that have tarnished your honor and the trust of this kingdom."

Ice's eyes narrowed, his mind racing to catch up. Crimes? What the hell is he talking about? His body screamed in pain, but his mind, though fogged with exhaustion, was alert, piecing together the betrayal that had been building.

"What god for saken crimes?!", Ice shot back with what energy he had left.

Myne stepped forward, her eyes wide, brimming with mock indignation. "He tried to attack me in the night!" she exclaimed, her voice quivering just enough to sound convincing. She gestured dramatically toward Ice, her voice rising to fill the room. "He came into my room, drunk, and tried to strip me of my clothes and… and—" She cut herself off with a pitiful, obviously fake sob. But, for some godforsaken reason, the other heroes didn't see through the act. "I barely escaped, and if it wasn't for Sir Motoyasu, I… I don't know what he would have done!"

A murmur rippled through the throne room, eyes narrowing in judgment as they turned toward Ice. The room grew heavier, filled with whispers of disbelief and disgust.

Suddenly, she stumbled slightly, her hand flying to her forehead in a show of weakness, and before anyone could react, she fell into Motoyasu's waiting arms. The Spear Hero held her tightly, his face twisted in anger, his eyes locked onto Ice with pure hatred. "You monster," he muttered, his grip on his spear tightening as if he wanted to strike Ice down right there.

Motoyasu's expression darkened further, his protective hold tightening around her as he glared at Ice. "You see? This man has no honor. To attack her in the night—he deserves whatever punishment comes to him".

This is a setup, Ice thought, his fists clenching tightly, the ropes biting into his wrists. They've been planning this all along.

His body was screaming in pain, but his mind was sharp, taking in every word from King Aultcray. The king's voice dripped with contempt as he stood from his throne, glaring down at Ice with cold, unforgiving eyes.

"Normally, what you've done would be punishable by death," Aultcray continued, his voice echoing through the throne room. "Death by beheading. But as much as I wish to see you dead, you are still a Hero. We need you to stop the Waves."

The king's words hung heavy in the air, and Ice could feel the weight of the room's judgment pressing down on him, suffocating him. Myne remained in Motoyasu's arms, playing her part perfectly, while the other heroes looked on with disgust.

"I cannot, as much as I desire it, kill you." Aultcray's tone was venomous, his hands tightening on the arms of his throne. "But I can—and will—tarnish your reputation."

Ice's jaw clenched as the king leaned forward, his eyes filled with cold satisfaction. "I will make sure everyone knows what kind of monster you truly are. From this moment forward, you are nothing but a disgrace to this kingdom."

The room erupted in murmurs and whispers, but Ice barely registered them. His eyes flicked to Myne and Motoyasu, and the smug satisfaction on their faces only confirmed what he already knew: this had all been part of their plan.

But Ice wasn't about to go down quietly.

Ice suddenly stood up, pulling out a small Swiss army knife he had kept hidden in one of the many pockets of his black G3 Combat pants. Slowly, he worked at cutting through the ropes binding his wrists. With most of his strength regained, he casually shrugged off the guards who had restrained him earlier as if they were nothing. His every movement was deliberate, seething with controlled fury. The resentment he had bottled up was now replaced by pure, unfiltered hatred—hatred for the king, hatred for Myne, and hatred for the three gullible heroes who believed every lie that spilled from her lips.

Ice marched forward, his cold, calculating gaze fixed on Aultcray. He only stopped when a small army of guards rushed forward, leveling their spears inches from his face. But he didn't flinch. His piercing glare never wavered, drilling straight into the king. Aultcray, feeling the weight of that cold, murderous gaze, flinched—just for a moment, but enough for Ice to notice.

"Show me proof," Ice said simply, his voice low, but razor-sharp. His eyes stayed locked on Aultcray, challenging him.

The king opened his mouth, then closed it, unable to find the words at first. He stammered, visibly taken aback by Ice's boldness—his reaction to their carefully laid framing was completely unexpected.

"P-proof of what?!" Aultcray barked, trying to regain control of the situation. His voice wavered, betraying his attempt to maintain authority. But Ice wasn't about to let him off that easily.

"Proof of the alleged attack," Ice said, his tone dark and commanding. "Anything that proves I'm a criminal. Because I sure as hell didn't drink last night—hell, I barely even ate."

As if on cue, the massive double doors to the chamber burst open, and two knights rushed in with brisk, determined strides. They halted before the king, kneeling dramatically, one of them clutching something tightly in his hands. The knights exchanged brief glances before one stood and stepped forward.

"This, Your Majesty, was found in the Shield Hero's room," the knight declared, holding up a pink slipper.

A collective gasp escaped the crowd, the sound filling the room as tension thickened the air. Myne let out a dramatic scream, feigning terror, but Ice could see right through her performance. And still, somehow, the other heroes didn't.

Ren, Itsuki, and Motoyasu stared back at him, their glares unwavering, full of judgment and disgust. They hadn't even flinched. Ice took a deep breath, his frustration boiling over as he glanced between the three of them. How could they not see it?

He scoffed, throwing his arms up in disbelief. "God damn it," Ice snapped, his voice cutting through the tense silence like a blade. "You three can't seriously be this dense."

The accusation hung in the air, and for a moment, the crowd fell utterly silent. All eyes turned to Ice as he pointed an accusatory finger at the three heroes. Itsuki, visibly startled, shifted uncomfortably before speaking up.

"What do you mean?" Itsuki asked cautiously, his brows furrowing in confusion.

"What do I mean?!" Ice echoed, his voice sharp with incredulity. "Either you're blind, deaf, or just plain stupid! Didn't you hear the slip-up?"

A murmur rippled through the crowd, tension building like a coiled spring. Aultcray's face flushed red with anger, his mouth opening to protest, but Ice cut him off before he could utter a word.

"You've talked enough, King Asshole," Ice growled, venom dripping from his words. "Shut that mouth of yours."

The room fell into a stunned, suffocating silence. Even Myne, in the middle of her sobbing performance, froze, her carefully constructed facade slipping as she stared at Ice in shock. No one had expected him to speak so brazenly, let alone openly challenge the king. The boldness of his words left the room reeling.

Ren was the first to pull himself together, his voice cold and cautious as he spoke. "What exactly are you saying?" His eyes narrowed, uncertainty creeping into his gaze.

Myne, realizing the situation was slipping from her control, desperately tried to reassemble her act. Her tears started again as she buried her face into Motoyasu's chest, sobbing pathetically, but the cracks in her performance were already beginning to show.

"I'm saying," Ice continued, his voice steady and cutting, "that she claimed I was drunk last night. Which, for one, would mean I'd be hungover as fuck right now—and clearly, I'm not. And secondly, she said I attacked her in her room. So why the hell was the slipper found in my god damn room? Does that make any sense to you?!"

The tension in the room became palpable. Myne's sobbing faltered, her shoulders stiffening as the weight of Ice's logic sank in. Her eyes darted around the room, desperately searching for a way to salvage her crumbling act, but she had no answer.

The crowd, once full of whispers and murmurs, was now frozen in place, waiting for someone—anyone—to respond.

"Come on, Ren, I know you're smarter than this," Ice called, his voice low but cutting through the tense air. His gaze was locked on Ren, unwavering and sharp, almost pleading with the only person in the room who might see reason.

Ren shifted slightly, his arms crossed over his chest, but he didn't respond right away. His expression was cautious, but his eyes betrayed the flicker of doubt stirring within him. Ice knew that if any of the heroes had the brains to question what was happening, it would be Ren.

But even as the silence hung between them, the weight of the room's judgment still pressed down hard. The crowd watched, waiting for Ren's response, while Motoyasu stood taller, puffed up with arrogance beside Myne. The tension was palpable, but Ice refused to back down, his gaze boring into Ren, silently urging him to think—to see through this charade.

"This makes no difference to your case! You are a disgusting criminal! And by the end of the day, the whole of Melromarc will know it!" Aultcray barked, his voice echoing through the chamber with finality. His words dripped with venom, the condemnation of Ice ringing in every syllable.

Ice sighed, his frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. He was beyond tired of this farce. "You're not even trying to hide it at this point…" he muttered, almost to himself, his voice flat and filled with weary contempt.

Aultcray's eyes narrowed, but Ice had already made up his mind. He straightened his posture, his gaze cold and unyielding as he addressed the king. "You know what? Fuck this. I'm done. Just give me back my gear, and I'll be out of your hair in no time. How does that sound?"

The moment the words left Ice's mouth, there was a noticeable shift in the room. Three knights immediately stepped forward, moving to stand protectively in front of his confiscated gear, as though guarding a precious treasure they had rightfully claimed. Their spears were held firmly, their stance defensive, sending a clear message: You're not getting it back.

Ice's eyes flicked toward his gear—his lifeline, his survival in this world—and the sight of the knights guarding it like spoils of war only deepened his disgust. His jaw tightened, but before he could speak again, one of the king's advisors stepped forward.

The advisor, a weaselly-looking man with a long nose and thin lips, unrolled a piece of parchment with an exaggerated flourish, as if the decree he was about to read was of the utmost importance. Clearing his throat, he read in a formal, pompous tone, "The strange armor and weapons the Shield Hero wore the day before are no longer his property. They have been confiscated by His Majesty, King Aultcray Melromarc the XXXII himself, and are hereby bestowed upon the savior of his daughter, Malty S. Melromarc—Sir Motoyasu Kitamura, the Legendary Hero of the Spear."

Ice's fists clenched as the words hung in the air, the crowd watching eagerly, many of them nodding in approval. Motoyasu, standing smugly beside Myne, puffed out his chest a little more, clearly relishing the reward that had just been publicly granted to him. Myne's tears had all but dried up, replaced with a soft, triumphant smile as she nestled closer to the Spear Hero.

The blatant theft, the stripping of his gear, and the mocking spectacle of it all lit a fire in Ice's chest. They think this is a victory. They think I'll just stand here and take this.

But Ice was far from beaten. One of the few things they hadn't stripped from him—besides his G3 Combat uniform—was his black balaclava, which Ice had hidden under his pillow the night before. Now, he wore it like a mask of defiance, concealing his expression but not the fury burning in his eyes. His black Mechanix gloves, still snug on his hands, were another small reminder of the world he came from.

With deliberate precision, Ice undid the velcro on one of the gloves and slowly slid his hand out of it. The movement was calm, controlled—almost too calm for the storm brewing in his mind. He clenched the glove tightly in his fist, and without warning, he hurled it with all his might.

The glove flew through the air, striking Motoyasu square in the face with a satisfying thud. Motoyasu staggered slightly, blinking in confusion, the hard rubber of the glove fell to the floor with a soft thud. The room went silent, tension thickening in the air as everyone waited for what would happen next.

"Alright, you smug bastard," Ice said, his voice cold and cutting through the silence like a blade. His eyes narrowed behind the tinted goggles, his tone laced with barely restrained fury. Motoyasu, still dazed by the unexpected blow, stared at him in bewilderment.

"I want a duel," Ice continued, stepping forward, his presence commanding the room's attention. "Just you and me. The winner takes my gear. Do we have a deal?"

The words hung in the air, thick with challenge, and Motoyasu's expression twisted from shock into a smug grin as he realized what Ice was proposing. But before Motoyasu could speak, Ren, still grappling with his own doubts, took a step forward, trying to defuse the situation.

"Ice, come on, don't do this," Ren urged, his voice steady but laced with concern. "You can't win against him."

Ice's gaze shifted briefly to Ren, and he could see the genuine worry in his eyes. But there was no turning back now. He wasn't just fighting for his gear—he was fighting for the truth. He needed this duel, and he wasn't about to let anyone talk him out of it.

"Ren, this isn't about winning or losing," Ice said, his voice lowering but still firm. "This is about setting things right. I'm not backing down."

Ren opened his mouth to protest again, but the determination in Ice's eyes stopped him. The room felt heavy with anticipation, and for a moment, it seemed as though the weight of Ice's words had stilled everything around them.

Motoyasu, still rubbing his face where the glove had struck him, finally straightened up. His grin widened, full of arrogance and certainty. "A duel, huh?" he repeated, a smug laugh escaping his lips. "You actually think you can beat me?"

Ice didn't respond immediately, his glare doing the talking for him. The entire room could feel the intensity of his gaze as it bore into Motoyasu. This wasn't a challenge thrown out of pride—it was Ice's last stand, a battle for dignity, for the truth that no one else seemed to care about.

Motoyasu's grin faltered just slightly as he met Ice's cold, unflinching stare, but his bravado returned just as quickly. "Fine," he said, his voice full of confidence. "I accept your duel. But don't say I didn't warn you when you lose."

The king, who had been silent during the exchange, finally spoke up. "Very well," Aultcray said, a thin smile curling his lips. "A duel it is, then."

The tension in the room shifted, the air crackling with anticipation. The nobles whispered amongst themselves, already imagining the outcome, while Ren and Itsuki exchanged concerned glances. Myne, still playing the role of the fragile victim, gave a soft smile as she looked up at Motoyasu, clearly confident in his victory.

Ice, however, wasn't swayed by any of it. He stood tall, fists clenched, his body tensed and ready for what was coming. This wasn't just about reclaiming his gear. It was about showing them all that they couldn't break him.

As the room began to stir with preparation for the duel, Ice kept his eyes locked on Motoyasu. You're going to regret this, he thought darkly, his heart pounding with resolve. This fight wasn't just about weapons or reputation anymore—it was personal.

Author's Note:

I actually wanted to continue with the main fighting scene here but then I thought would be to long of an chapter and revising it would be a real bitch. And over all, it's just funnier with these cliff hangers lol

Reviews:

triscythe59- Maybe... Who knows... Oh wait I do, but I ain't tellin' ya *Evil laughter* *Chokes on own spit* *Coughs violently*