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[The Distinguished Mr. Rose] Chapter 98: Heroes Cannot Be Real
🕑 Added 2025-09-18 06:22:39 +0000 UTC“Oh my, it would appear our intervention is rather unneeded,” Lucius said as the group walked into the pyramid’s highest chamber. The players were all perplexed, for despite their previous rush, Sir Roland had already subjugated the one known as Ferragut.
He was a titan of a man, form even bulkier than Sir Ogier of Roncevaux Fortress. His veins bulged from gargantuan bronze muscles; his biceps were thicker than Miss Mili’s entire body. A white veil covered his face, and from the neck down he wore a curious mix of copper scale plate and fur tunics made from some sort of monster hide. A single look at him would make an ordinary man tremble; and yet that very warrior now bowed his head meekly before Roland’s blade.
Speaking of the Peer, he turned his gaze over toward the group. His demeanor was nigh unrecognizable from the Roland of before. There was a savagery in him—a bloodlust not unlike the beasts Lucius had encountered out in the wilds—and were it not for their familiarity as allies, the gentleman had no doubt that Roland’s claws would have already lunged at their throats.
So this was the truth hidden beneath his cordial exterior… how intriguing. Lucius had to extend his arm and prevent his companions from stepping closer, lest they accidentally trigger what fury he had yet to vent. The tension threatened to suffocate them all.
“Roland…?” Angelica said, approaching him cautiously. She seemed familiar with his current state; however, that didn’t make her any less nervous. “Please, lower your blade.”
Astolfo, meanwhile, looked confused. He did not understand, nor could he comprehend that the intimidating figure before him was his once-revered hero. The young Peer’s fist lightly trembled. He sucked in a breath of air and, unconsciously, reached for his weapon.
The other players reacted similarly, yet neither person knew why. Roland wasn’t affected by a demon; nothing bewitched his mind. So why was it that his mere presence made them cower?
“... Ah, you are all safe,” Roland finally replied after a moment of silence. The vicious light in his eyes slowly faded, and he attempted to greet them with a friendly wave. But the damage had already been done. The players flinched back, uncertain whether he could be trusted. “Do forgive me for dragging you into this mess. I didn’t expect the new Emir to be such a hostile man, nor that Sir Ferragut would deign to betray us.”
Roland sheathed the sword known as Durandal and then dropped down until he and Sir Ferragut were face to face. “Surely you understand there will be consequences for this, yes? I simply cannot fathom what brought about this madness. You know you cannot beat me, Ferragut. This strange tower was certainly a surprise, but… to involve the demons as well? You and all of Arabia have lost your minds.”
Sir Ferragut did not respond, at first. He held onto his silence and shifted in place, shuddering, before ever slowly descending into a hollow laugh.
“Arrogant as ever, o’ reaper of blood,” the Saracen giant said, his words gruff and spiteful. “We did not lose our minds. No, we hid it. For twenty years we have swallowed our rage and allowed your kind to reign over us. For twenty years I have lowered myself to be the mutt of the empire, and I have done this knowing that I bring shame to my brothers and sisters of the Levantine. But that shall end today. I no longer need to continue with this farce.”
Roland shook his head in disappointment. “I understand your anger at Francia, but what does this accomplish? You would drag those innocent into another cruel war.”
But to that, Sir Ferragut bid him a taunting smile. “You are wrong. It is not the empire, nor the Franks, nor even the Peers I wish buried beneath the sands. It is you, Roland, and you alone.”
“Me? I haven’t—”
“You know full well the lives you’ve taken. Even as you bathed in their blood and their whimpers pleaded for mercy, the monster I remember spared not a soul.”
Roland clenched his fists and turned away. “I… yes, I have committed many wrongs, and some I expect never to be forgiven for, but what was I to do? His late Holiness did not tolerate rebellion. He is the true monster, but I on the other hand have spent every passing year attempting to make amends. I took up the responsibility he cast aside, so what more do you expect? What does Arabia want from me?”
“For you to no longer walk under the same suns as we.”
Roland thrust his hands forward and seized Sir Ferragut by the throat. The man resisted and tried to break free, but his strength had already been spent.
“Then your people are a selfish lot. But that is fine, because I will be the better man in your stead. I will drag you all kicking and screaming to a kinder future if I must.”
Angelica rushed to Roland’s side and forcefully pried his hands away from Sir Ferragut. “Stop this, Roland. He poses you no danger. There is no need to punish him with such cruel methods.”
Roland stood up and backed away, raising his hands up in annoyance. His body obeyed her words but his heart spoke otherwise. He stared at her with a grim, sober air, and he waved out to their surroundings as if to protest. “Angelica, my fair, compassionate Angelica… am I the villain to you as well? Even after he has consorted with the demons, assaulted us with soldiers of sand, you would still give him your concern rather than I?”
“Oh for Stars’ sake…” Angelica took in a deep, frustrated breath, and then she faced Roland with a stern glare that offered not one shred of leniency. “You really have not changed one bit, still so incessant on tripping others with guilt. I am exhausted, Roland. Every time we converse you portray yourself as this pitiful, burdened soul with the world’s weight upon your shoulders, but for once can you just set aside your ego and listen to me plainly? I am not taking Sir Ferragut’s side.”
“Then why stop me?”
“Because you’ve gone too far! Does choking someone already helpless align with the tenets of Chivalry? That is not right no matter our foe, Roland. We do not torture; we do not threaten. It is cruelty for the mere sake of it, a twisted pleasure that only grows when fed. If we must kill, then let it be swift and painless, but oftentimes I wonder whether you truly understand that.”
“Of course I do. Hells, Angelica, I fear our otherworldly friends here will begin to misunderstand you with how scathing your tone is. I am not that kind of man.”
Despite his pleas, however, Angelica bit her lip and sadly lowered her head. “But you are, Roland. I care for you as a fellow paladin, and yet I cannot help but be afraid of that fury in your heart when you must take up the blade.”
Roland had no response to give after that. A deep grief clouded his eyes, and he gradually wandered over to Lucius with a spiritless step. What became of Sir Ferragut no longer concerned him.
Angelica sighed at his display of self-pity, before turning her attention to the Saracen Peer and donning a strict demeanor. “You have wronged as well, Sir Ferragut. We will take you above ground and hold the new Emir responsible for the transgressions we faced here. Know that even Sir Ganelon can do little to meddle in this affair; and when we return to the empire's capital, you will be taken to the gaol and subsequently imprisoned until the court decides your full sentence.”
Ferragut let out an amused chuckle. “So be it, Lady Angelica, but are you not forgetting your mission? The Great Evil still roams this land. If you were to leave now, then your journey will have been for naught. You, too, shall suffer blame upon your return.”
“That is fine. We can always seek the demon out at a later date, but matters relating to treason cannot be pushed aside.”
“How very rigid.”
Ferragut turned his head toward Astolfo, who had remained despondent all this time. He didn’t know what to say or how to react. He glared at Sir Roland, as if waiting for an answer to what he had just seen, but the man didn’t so much as spare him a passing look. He was too absorbed in his own thoughts to realize that the boy who once was his biggest supporter was now struggling to keep his faith, to hold onto what morsel of trust hadn’t yet crumbled.
“You cling to him as a parched throat would to water, Astolfo, yet you cannot remain so innocent forever,” Ferragut provoked. “You were too young to witness his slaughter. I do not blame your naivety, but what about now? Do you still believe him to be a man worth following?”
Angelica grimaced and tried to silence his taunts, but Astolfo held his hand up before looking down, uncertain. He appeared to have never seen Roland so frightening before.
“Is that… what were you like in the war?” Astolfo asked him, his voice barely above a whisper. Roland still hadn’t yet lifted his head back up. Perhaps if he weren’t so shaken by recent events the man would have conjured some sort of excuse—deflected the question and changed the subject—but the past few days had worn him down piece by piece, and there was naught left in his reserves now but a frail shell.
“I was the empire’s hero, their figurehead,” he responded blandly. “Some may think it a desirable position, but the reality is far bleaker. I was expected to always excel. My every move, my every victory, was under scrutiny from every last person who called themself a Frankishman. They depended on me for hope in a time filled with such constant misery, and so I strove to live up to their expectations. I did not want to disappoint them, and to do so I had to plunge myself in the filths of war, even if it meant following his late Holiness’s orders.”
“You mean you became like him.”
Roland whipped around and forcibly grabbed Astolfo by the shoulders. “No, no! I have never been like him. How could you think about comparing me with that—”
“Let go of me.”
The Peers’ leader paused and swallowed a dry gulp. Astolfo wasn’t willing to listen any more. Roland lost that right when he chose to lay his hands on his fellow paladin.
“I think I understand Angelica a little better now,” Astolfo said, his face drooping in disappointment. “It’s not like I can’t entirely sympathize. You were right: the nation did look up to you, and I did as well. It couldn’t have been easy dealing with all that pressure, but now? It’s been so long since then, Roland. You haven’t even left the capital in years. Normally people would change or try to learn from their mistakes, I know I had to after I became a Peer, but you still refuse to let go.”
“I have changed—”
“Maybe on the outside. But when you think there aren’t any consequences, can you still say that you’d act the same? I don’t think so. Otherwise you wouldn’t have hurt me.”
Roland had squeezed Astolfo’s shoulder so tight that dents could be seen in his armor, and yet the young man didn’t yelp even once.
“I… let’s just get out of here.” Astolfo shook his head and returned to the players’ side. A part of him still seemed to want to believe in Roland. When he passed him, however, he refused to look him in the eye and instead moved on. “I don’t want to be in this place any longer than I have to. Can we just arrest Ferragut already, Angie?”
The lady Peer was hesitant. Her hand twitched as if wanting to reach out to Astolfo and assure him that his views weren’t wrong, but she couldn’t in good conscience encourage a lie. All that could be done now was to end this tiring day on, hopefully, a good note.
Soon, Ferragut extended his arms out in surrender. For someone who claimed to hold such a deep grudge toward Roland, he was surprisingly cooperative.
“Go on, get on with it,” he grumbled, pointing at Miss Rhodes. “Bind my limbs if you wish.”
Miss Rhodes glanced at the others, making sure she had permission to do so, before stepping forward and taking out a long roll of cloth. When she tried to wrap it around Sir Ferragut’s hands, however, something very strange happened.
He turned into sand.
Everyone in the room immediately went alert.
“What? That cannot be… I shed his blood,” Roland muttered, his eyes darting frantically around. “That was no mere copy.”
Lucius cracked a smile and gestured to the bloodless floor. “Are you sure it was blood, my friend? Or perhaps he merely imitated the appearance.”
Whatever the answer, it changed not that their foe was still hiding somewhere in the structure. It didn’t take long before he reappeared, however, and this time he had a rather curious object in his possession.
There, kept neatly encased in a glass cover, was the Demon King’s fragment.
Sir Ferragut, the real one, stood atop a ceremonial altar near the chamber’s end, and he raised the Fragment up high as it pulsed with an eerie dark light.
“I will grant mercy only once,” the Saracen man said. “Abandon Roland to his fate and leave. Those who choose to fight by his side will be buried alongside him, forever submerged where the light does not reach.”
For all of Roland’s blemishes revealed this day, it changed not the players’ goal. They could not leave until they retrieved the Fragment, and so they took up arms and readied themselves, flocking to their leader’s side. Angelica and Astolfo joined them as well—the Peers were not cowards who would abandon their comrade.
“That is a pity. Witness it, then: the fiend you have come to slay.”
The Fragment pulsed even brighter. A harsh shriek slammed into the group’s ears, the noise reverberating all throughout the chamber. It sounded like a ritual. Something was being summoned, and though Mili tried to stop the source by blasting at Sir Ferragut, the man merely skulked away and made his escape as a wriggling figure manifested from above.
The players needed not take a look at the thing to recognize it, for the dread crawling up their skin gave all the announcement they needed.
A Great Evil had descended.
“It’s not my fault. I was just following orders… yes, following orders. You think I’m responsible, don’t you? But you are wrong. I am not to be blamed. I am innocent, innocent. I refuse to believe that I’m a monster.”
