The Conciege
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ROTLE- Chapter 75- Knight's Judgement
🕑 Added 2024-12-16 17:45:25 +0000 UTCToday, he would live or he would die. Valdan knew this. There were no conversations to be had, no philosophical ramblings. Every day was a day a person could live or die, but every day is not a day that a person is so visually aware of it.
Valdan lowered his stance, solidified his footing as best he could. His stamina was low but he refused to check on it. He refused to blind his determination with what it truly was. Knowing it was more than he needed would lead him to make a mistake. Knowing it was less than he needed would lead him to despair.
And he could not despair, not now. Not when the man who had tried to kill Aiden Lacheart for no more reason than the fact that Aiden was strong and resourceful.
Valdan had needed to make sure that all the enemies that had been stacked against him had not been freed from their shackles. It was the reason he had killed them.
With his sword held back and away from him, in Aiden’s favored stance, Valdan knew one thing for sure.
The others had needed to die because he could not allow them to be free. Derendoff, however, needed to die because Valdan wanted him dead.
Derendoff held his hand to the sky and fixed Valdan with a condescending gaze. One word left his lips, and it heralded everything else.
“Come.”
Valdan moved. Bleeding and dying, [Dash] carried him across the distance. But just before the world warped around him, he caught Derendoff’s eyes widen in confusion, then fear.
And as Valdan moved, he prayed to the gods that even if he died here, Derendoff would at least lose an arm.
So that the person that kills him will not have to struggle too much.
But Valdan knew that it wouldn’t happen. He wasn’t that strong. When he came to a stop a single step past Derendoff, he was not rewarded with the sound of a man crying out or grunting in pain. He was rewarded with the sound of steel clashing.
Derendoff had stabbed his sword in the ground and wasn’t wearing any armor, so there was no way it was possible. As confusing as it was, Valdan did not dwell on it. He did not allow himself to be distracted as he threw his entire focus into the technique.
He spun, swinging his sword in an upward arc. Valdan felt the familiar resistance that came with blade cutting through flesh and was rewarded with Derendoff’s grunt of pain.
Faster, Valdan told himself, feet carrying him once more, moving him.
His sword stabbed a precise hole in Derendoff’s thigh, but he knew that the wound was too shallow as his sword came back, poised for Valdan’s neck.
The final blow, the killing blow, never landed. It never connected.
Once more, as he thrust forward, Valdan was greeted with the clashing of steel. The blow sent him swaying to the side and once more, his interface gave him no notification. Not one rewarding his attempt at executing a technique. Not one informing him that he had failed to execute a technique.
Then a foot kicked him in the side and sent him flying. Valdan rolled through the sand, his sword still firmly held in his hand. Every knight knew that you did not release your weapon unless it was part of the plan.
Not even in death.
“You fucking wretch!” Derendoff’s voice hissed through the arena. “You disgrace of a [Knight]!”
Valdan pushed himself up. He stabbed his sword into the ground and leveraged on it to push himself up to his feet.
Standing as he was, with enough strength to topple over from the force of a gust of wind, Valdan settled his attention on Derendoff. A reproachful smile touched his lips at what he saw.
That explains the sound of steel.
Derendoff stood there with his claymore in one hand. At some point between Valdan moving towards him and meeting him, Derendoff had abandoned his bravado and pride to reach for his sword. It was arguably what had saved his life.
I would’ve won, Valdan thought with an odd sense of calm. I would’ve won.
It was an odd thing, the sense of calm that washed over him. To know that he had given it his all in his final moments, to know that he had gone out fighting.
He held his arms out to the side and basked in the soft air in the arena. It smelled of blood and death and iron. It smelled like the life he had always lived.
“I will give you no honor!” Derendoff spat and pointed his sword at Valdan. “You took my blessing and spat in my face. You will die no better than a useless abandoned creature.”
A spiral of wind appeared at the point of Derendoff’s blade. It grew violent, spinning at an increasing pace. Then its force increased until the spiral engulfed the entire blade and his outstretched arm.
Valdan knew the skill and what it was capable of doing.
Forgive me, Melvet, he thought, eyes closing in resignation. There was no more fight left in him. I cannot come home to you.
I canno—
Derendoff struck. A blast of piercing wind like the point of a lance shot through the distance, primed for Valdan’s head.
Valdan’s eyes shot open. NO!
He moved. His sword arm shot up from beside him. Bracing for impact, he supported the blade of his sword with his other hand. Derendoff’s skill struck the flat of his blade with a terrible force. Valdan leaned into the skill with all the strength he could muster.
Once upon a time he had been more than happy to die at the king’s words. But not anymore. Not now. He wasn’t ready to die. He needed to love Melvet until the day she died, give her the life she had always dreamed of. He needed to guide Aiden so that the pompous boy didn’t let his power get to his head.
Valdan pushed against the skill, leaning his sword slowly to the side as he did. Sparks flew from the flat of his blade where the skill met his sword. But no matter how much he pushed, the skill did not budge.
I don’t remember it being this strong, he thought, knowing the skill wasn’t any stronger than he remembered. He was simply weaker.
Valdan’s muscles tightened as he put his back into sending the skill to the side and a roar spilled from his lips, loud enough to encase the entire arena. In the end, he found success. His sword tilted to the side and the skill diverted, blasting a hole in the ground to the side and sending a bout of sand flying.
Valdan staggered back, barely keeping himself on his feet. There was a strong focus in his eyes now, a will to not die.
Before him, Derendoff stood with his sword, unimpressed. “All that, just to survive a simple skill.”
He swung his sword in a simple sword slash. It cut through the air, leaving a wind arc that shot forward. For Valdan, dodging it was easy. He simply allowed his weakness to take him and dropped to a knee.
Where the attack would’ve taken his head, it cut through the air just above it.
“Sloppy,” Derendoff said with an air of boredom. “With the thing you did just a moment ago, I thought you still had some fight left in you.”
Valdan looked up at him. “Goading me, Derendoff?”
“You’re not worth goading.” Derendoff cocked his head to the side. “If I wanted to goad anyone on this matter, it would be the king. But unlike you, I am loyal.”
Valdan’s gaze sharpened on him even in his confusion and Derendoff laughed.
“What?” Derendoff placed the point of his sword to the ground and rested his hands on the pommel. “You assumed that I would not know why you’ve been sent to me, the executioner? Please, Valdan. Your title as [Knight of the Crown] is nothing but that, a title. It does not make you special.”
Valdan pushed himself to his feet and held his sword out in front of him. “You talk too much.”
Derendoff shook his head in resigned dismay. “And you are a waste of my time.”
Then he disappeared in a blur of movement.
Valdan turned to his side and raised his sword. The sound of clashing metals rang, sparks were sent flying as his sword met Derendoff’s and he was thrown off the ground.
Even weakened as he was, Valdan landed on his feet. He staggered back, once, then twice, before finding his footing. But he was no novice to being oppressed. His sword was already up once more, protecting himself from death.
He won’t go for vitals, Valdan thought as he parried another blow, sparks flying, him staggering.
Derendoff had gone for his shoulder, trying to impale him.
Valdan switched stances as he staggered. He held his sword in both hands, anticipated a missing Derendoff.
“Weak!” Derendoff’s voice echoed a moment before he reappeared.
Valdan ignored the goading, turned with the sound of the voice. He slipped backwards intentionally, careening straight into Derendoff as the [Knight] appeared behind him with a sword raised high for a downward slash.
Their bodies collided. Valdan handled it as if he was backing into a wall, knowing very well that he did not have the strength required to send Derendoff flying from simple impact. Still, the action disrupted the [Knight’s] attack, and Valdan spun around Derendoff, sword aimed to take him under the armpit.
When Derendoff parried, Valdan was not surprised. What surprised him, however, was in the opening he saw when Derendoff parried.
Left thigh.
All [Knights] were taught that in a fight, even when you had the upper hand, you do not leave any opening. Attacking or defending, you were meant to be an impenetrable fort.
A golden apparition of a sword appeared very briefly at Derendoff’s thigh. Crackling with yellow lightning, it slashed at the thigh, delivering a shallow cut.
Derendoff’s eyes widened in surprise as a slow trickle of blood stained his pants. His eyes went down to his thigh, confused. Valdan capitalized on his moment of distraction and struck once more.
Sadly, the element of surprise was not on his side. Derendoff turned, caught his strike with a one-handed swing of his own sword, then punched Valdan in the face.
The blow connected properly with Valdan’s jaw and sent him staggering. But Derendoff did not capitalize on the new opportunity. Instead, he stopped to give his thigh his attention.
A frown marred his brows. “How the hell did you do that?”
Valdan said nothing in response. His vision was blurry, and he was having a difficult time focusing. He was losing a lot of blood. It spilled terribly from the stab wound Taract had delivered to his side.
He was tired. So terribly tired. All he wanted to do was lie down, to rest. Was it too much to ask? Could he really be given no time to just rest his head.
His grip on his sword waned ever so slightly. Instincts honed over years of training and surviving made his hand tighten on the weapon. But it was oh so heavy.
I will be light if I just put it down, he thought.
As if designed against his own thoughts, his hand tightened around the hilt of the sword in rebellion. A [Knight] did not drop their weapon unless it would lead to the death of the enemy or the battle was done.
Valdan focused on the shape of Derendoff standing before him. Vision still blurry, this was how he was going to fight.
But he was not alone. The swords of gold, apparitions of an unknown skill, exerted their presence around them. They hovered around Derendoff, flickering in and out of reality. One went for his thigh then vanished. Another went for his eye then vanished. One went for his sword then vanished.
They teased at possible decisions, possible actions. They teased at the future.
Derendoff moved.
Valdan raised his sword to defend himself but he was too slow. His body did not respond as it was supposed to. Blood loss and fatigue swore to make him lose as Derendoff’s angry blade came down on him once more.
Move! Valdan begged his body. By the gods! Move!
His hands came halfway up when a muffled clang erupted at his head. Looking up, he caught the sight of Derendoff’s weapon being blown back. The [Knight’s] sword sent askew in it’s attack.
Derendoff scowled as he redirected his blow, bringing it back once more with the strength and speed of the healthy.
Valdan pushed all his effort into his swinging hand and parried the new blow. The force of the impact as blades met jarred his hand and he felt the pain all the way up to his shoulder. Blood squirted from the injury in his side and splashed against the floor.
Derendoff must’ve seen it because he delivered a swift kick into the injury.
Valdan roared in pain as he was sent flying.
He crashed into the ground, tumbling and rolling across a distance. But he did not stay down, he would not. As he pushed himself back up, he noticed how he had left no trail of blood.
The sand has claimed it all.
It was a funny thing to know that even as he was dying, he was leaving no evidence of his own demise.
The only proof that I was here will be my corpse, he thought, forcing himself to his feet. How saddening.
“Why won’t you just die?” Derendoff hissed, venom in his tone.
“Death does not walk with you, Derendoff.” Valdan staggered into an awkward stance, center low, feet as firm as they could be, and sword held to his back in one hand, pointing away. “You have not earned my life.”
Derendoff hesitated, seeing his stance. “Do you think that trick will work twice? Is this your last resort?”
Valdan couldn’t help the bloody smile that stained his lips. “We all need to have tricks.”
His hold on his sword tightened and he prepared himself. This would probably be his last attack. He knew what he had told Derendoff. Death did not walk with him, and he had not earned his life. But it was all nonsense.
People died, and people killed people. That was all there was to it.
And sometimes, no matter how hard you worked, and how much will you had, life just wasn’t fair. Sometimes you clawed your way up from the brink of death only to find death waiting for you at the top.
Sometimes we simply die. Valdan let out a tired breath. But it doesn’t mean that we can’t leave our mark in death. Lord Lacheart, this one is for you.
Valdan tightened his stance once more. He focused, and a golden blade appeared in the air before him. It aimed itself at Derendoff’s thigh.
To Valdan’s surprise, Derendoff’s eyes moved from him in shock to settle on the blade.
“Impossible,” the [Knight] muttered. “You can’t be doing this.”
Another blade appeared behind him, aimed for his back. Derendoff turned to look at it, turning back to Valdan almost immediately. Both swords were too far away for him to be able to do anything about them, after all.
“Do you think that this will save you?” Derendoff spat.
Valdan ignored him as another sword apparition appeared, aiming for Derendoff’s left thigh.
When the last one came to life, Valdan knew that it was the last.
It aimed perfectly at Derendoff’s neck.
Strike true.
Sometimes, even with death staring you in the face, there was nothing else that was left to do but fight until the end.
[Congratulations!]
[You have earned a Manifesting Skill!]
[You have earned Manifesting Skill Knight’s Judgement]
[Congratulations! You have Leveled Up!]
[Level 49 --> 50]
[You are now Level 50]
…
[Knight’s Judgement]
The knight is his own sense of justice. Manifesting their own rage, they envelop the area with their will to defeat their enemy. A verdict is given and their paths to victory is chosen.
Valdan stared at the notification with a gentle smile. If he died, he would at least die knowing that he crossed the threshold.
Derendoff staggered back in rage or terror, Valdan did not know, and he did not care.
“Impossible!” the [Knight] spat once more. “You cannot be doing this.”
But I am.
Sword still in hand, Derendoff raised his second hand to the sky, fingers splayed violently, palm open, demanding.
Valdan moved.
His interface lit up as [Dash] carried him all the way to Derendoff before the [Knight] could do whatever it was that he wanted to do.
[You have used Manifesting Skill Knight’s Judgement]
He appeared next to Derendoff and swung his blade. He felt the resistance of flesh as he tore a terrible wound in the [Knight’s] arm. As he did so, the sword aimed at Derendoff’s thigh struck true, stabbing through the thigh. The one behind him slashed his back in the same moment, the blades moving as one.
Then the one aimed for his neck fizzled out and Valdan tipped forward uselessly.
[You do not have sufficient mana]
…
[Manifesting Skill Knight’s Judgement does not take effect]
…
[You have fallen into a state of mana fatigue]
A self-deprecating smile caressed Valdan’s lips as he fell forward.
Touche.
He hit the ground in a silent thud.
Derendoff turned, blood dripping from his arm where Valdan had cut him. Every other part of him that had been struck by the sword apparitions were left unharmed, and the swords were gone, nowhere to be seen.
“Until the end,” Derendoff said, panting from terror and not fatigue, “a dog will claw and claw.” He dropped his raised hand and held his sword with both hands. He raised it for a final blow. “Die with that compliment, Sir Valdan.”
Valdan closed his eyes, left with the embracing memory of Melvet. Her soft and gentle face. Her soft pink lips that promised even the greatest sinners of the beauty of the world smiled at him as she always did.
Valdan felt nothing but peace and it surprised him.
This was one way to go.
The only woman he had ever truly loved left him with the peaceful gift of a smile as Derendoff’s sword came down.
…
What have I done?
Brandis stared down at the arena, helpless as Derendoff insulted Valdan with every swing of his sword. He stared, unable to do anything because of some stupid system oath as Valdan suffered a punishment he did not deserve.
Beside him, his only daughter, Elaswit, sat at the edge of her seat, hand gripping the edge of the armrest in rage.
He had brought her here to learn something that would grow her in the right direction, to learn discipline and the need to do what had to be done. Instead, she was witnessing the darkness that came with making the wrong decision. If she had ever wanted the crown, there was no way she would want it now.
The sound of something breaking erupted from one of the seats as Valdan took the same odd stance he had taken the first time Derendoff had stepped out. It was an odd stance that only made sense if you had a shield.
Witty, he thought, knowing that he was in no place to reprimand her. You need to learn control. You cannot go breaking—
His thoughts ended when his hand came up with a piece of his armrest. And guilt weighed down on him as he watched a bleeding Valdan, barely able to keep himself on his feet, take his last stand.
He, as King, had sent an innocent man to his death.
Guilt settled on his heart and it had never been so heavy.
Then the strangest thing happened. A sword of gold appeared above Valdan, crackling with the yellow lightning that often came with Valdan’s skills. Then another appeared, all aimed for Derendoff.
He’s done it.
But even as hope swelled in Brandis’ heart as more swords appeared, one appearing even behind Derendoff, it died just as easily.
Derendoff was of a higher level than Valdan. And he was also strong in this moment, unlike Valdan who stood facing death.
It will not be enough. Brandis knew it as surely as he knew that his daughter would never forgive him for what happened here.
“Impossible!” Derendoff spat, raising his hand to the sky to use his own Manifesting Skill. “You cannot be doing this.”
But Brandis knew that he was wrong. Valdan, in his final moments, had crossed the threshold. He had reached level fifty.
Valdan moved and his sword cut a line across Derendoff’s arm. The swords of gold hovering in the air moved in tandem as Valdan’s blow landed. One pierced Derendoff’s thigh and Elaswit ripped off her armrest in anticipation of whatever would come next.
When the other sword came down on Derendoff’s back, Brandis heard a voice from beside him.
“Would you like to save him?”
He recognized the [Sage’s] voice the moment he heard it. He also knew that the man was not talking to him.
Valdan’s final golden sword fizzled out of existence before it stabbed Derendoff in the neck and Valdan fell forward like a log of wood.
Fate was always a cruel companion, taking hope in the last moments.
“Mana fatigue,” Brandis found himself saying in resignation as Valdan hit the sand, raising a small cloud of black dust.
Elaswit turned her head to the [Sage] immediately. “I want to save him!”
The [Sage] stood beside her, like an unmoving mountain in his simple robe and flowing beard. He held a sword out in his hand to Elaswit, hilt pointed to her.
It was a massive cleaver, wider than any cleaver had a right to be and as long as any long great sword. Yet, he held it casually by the blade as if he held a twig.
“Then save him,” he said.
He was giving her hope where there was none, possibly trying to teach her something painful.
Elaswit snatched the cleaver and was already moving without thought. But Brandis knew that she wouldn’t make it. She wasn’t fast enough, nowhere near it. And even if she was, she wasn’t strong enough.
Nowhere near it.
For the umpteenth time since taking his seat, Brandis asked himself as simple question.
What have I done?
“Save the poor child,” the [Sage] said to Elaswit as she moved from her seat, then placed a hand on her shoulder. “And hurry.”
Geometric circles appeared above her as Derendoff raised his sword over Valdan in the arena.
Then Elaswit was gone, vanished into thin air. In the blink of an eye, she was standing in the arena, but she was still far away from Derendoff and Valdan, too far away.
But it didn’t matter. Brandis knew his daughter. She was often very controlled, but the truth was that she had anger issues. If she didn’t save Valdan, she would clash swords with Derendoff.
Brandis left his seat only for a terrifyingly heavy weight to settle on his shoulder.
The [Sage] was suddenly beside him, pinning him to his chair with a single hand on his shoulder.
“The oath of a king has far more power than the oath of a simple man.” The [Sage] looked down at him with a warning in his eyes. “You will not break your oath King Brandis, Fourth of his name. Not even for the gods.”
…
One moment Elaswit was in the stands and the next she was in the arena surrounded by corpses and death and Valdan about to be executed.
She’d never liked her father’s advisor, but she was more than willing to forgive him for everything she hated him for in this moment.
He had sent her straight to the arena, but she was still too far away to save Valdan.
Then her eyes widened as she realized what the advisor had done. In typical fashion befitting of him, he had once again done something terrible. This time, he had done it to her.
He had shown her what it means to have something you want so desperately right in front of you and still fail because she was just a little too far away and her only ranged skill could just as easily kill Valdan if it got to Derendoff in time.
The old bastard had shown her what it meant to despair.
Her hold on her sword slackened. This was not what she wanted for herself. This was not the kind of life she wanted to willingly leave.
As her cleaver fell from her grip in defeat, she promised herself that she would be gone from the castle the moment the morning sun came up.
Anywhere was better than here, a home guided by the terrifying heartlessness of an old man.
Her cleaver hit the ground at the same time the point of Derendoff’s blade came down on Valdan’s neck.
Then the air exploded beside Derendoff, sending the former knight flying through the arena like a tossed doll.
He slammed violently into one of the walls that encased the space, raising black dust.
As he dropped to the ground Elaswit turned her head and paled in terror. She wasn’t sure why she was afraid, all she knew was that she was afraid.
At the second entrance to the arena, the one Derendoff had walked in through, Lord Aiden Lacheart stood. He held a sword scabbard in his hand and nothing else. Clad in his odd long flowing jacket, he carried an empty expression on his face.
He stood where he was, saying nothing. Slowly, his eyes took in the entire arena. With a calculated emptiness that was terrifying to see on a face so young, he took in the corpses. His gaze moved over Elaswit last, but he ignored her as if she did not exist.
When his attention finally landed on Valdan, he showed his first expression.
It was an expression Elaswit had never seen on him before.
Rage.
It twisted his face until there was something unholy about him, something chilling. His jaw hardened. His eyes grew frighteningly hollow.
He raised his only free hand and held its palm open, facing Derendoff in the distance. It was as red as the blood pumping in Elaswit’s veins.
The air shimmered slightly around his hand as something glowed a soft purple on his red palm. A soft glow emanated from Valdan’s side of the same color as if in reaction, then the most surprising thing happened.
Derendoff flew across the distance from where he had been thrown into the wall and shot straight for Aiden.
Aiden halted his trip through the air, as Derendoff slammed into the open palm of Aiden’s outstretched red arm.
Holding him by the neck, Aiden brought Derendoff down to his knees.
He lowered his head so that he looked down and into Derendoff’s eyes. Suddenly, his entire face grew empty. His next words were as empty as his expression.
“I am going to enjoy killing you.”
Comments
Simon Hoerder
Royally and sagely pissed-off, competent, traumatized and semi-knowledgeable? Yes, definitely. But hopefully he’s not going to fall into the Demon King, bitter revolutionary, smash everything stereotype. Hopefully he’s going to follow the carefully understand what’s happening and excise the cancer (sage) without causing mass casualties amongst the innocent heroic journey.
Benjamin Walsh
He is something worse than the Demon King…
Mr. Iron
Poor Elswit, she keeps getting the short straw this life.
Mr. Iron
Demon King? nah, system breaker.
Zechariah West
This is a genuine fear currently.
Simon Hoerder
Please don't turn Aiden into the Demon King.
