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[The Distinguished Mr. Rose] Chapter 66: You Will Never Understand Me
🕑 Added 2025-05-28 05:54:04 +0000 UTCContrary to the otherworlders first voyage outside the city with Ruggiero, the mood amongst the paladins now was anything but casual. At least before they were able to rest in comfortable cabins; but such luxuries had unfortunately ceased to be. There was only the methodical stomp of boots - the slow, advancing crawl of Sir Renaud’s entourage up ahead. No one dared to even speak, for a single disruption would beget a harsh glare from their armored allies.
This was far more serious than the players had initially expected. But Lucius thought it not out of character. Ruggiero’s Hippogriff flew through the air whilst armored and at full speed. Here, however, they were at the full mercy of those who prowled on the ground.
The gentleman had heard stories of the monstrous things that lurked in the wilds from the young Karolus. Their descriptions were certainly intimidating, especially when compared to the animals on earth. The boy spoke of them as burly terrors ten times the size of men; with razor sharp teeth; claws dripping in poison; a hide impenetrable through normal means. Lucius initially thought Karolus’s words to be exaggerations, but judging by the tense watch maintained by the paladins, perhaps they were no tall tales after all. In a way, the beasts sounded even more dangerous than the demons.
But what separated the two was their propensity for destruction. Unlike the hordespawn who descended from the mountain in an insatiable thirst to raze all in their path, those of the wilderness kept to their own territories; and the expedition was currently traversing through one at this very moment.
Fields and a flatland full of stalks surrounded them. The Franks had already paved a road for travelers to follow between cities, but that was merely all it was: a path. A guideline through the safest route. That didn’t mean there was no danger to be had. And underneath the dim, dark night, even the wheat seemed threatening: its rustle indistinguishable from either a gust of wind or a predator hunting its next meal.
But that begged the question… why was the expedition traveling at night? Surely the obscured visibility would only be a detriment in their current situation, or so the gentleman thought. This question plagued his companions as well.
“I’d like to think those paladin fellas know what they’re doing,” Marco whispered to them. “But I don’t know… walkin’ blind in the dark like this—It’s nerve wrackin’ to say the least.”
Mili nodded and glanced toward the endlessly expanding wheat. “Seriously, I’m not even scared of the dark, but this kinda reminds me of the first time I slept in my own room as a kid. It's quiet, and creepy, and you start imagining things jumping at you from your closet because it’s just so empty and you can’t tell what’s actually around you.”
“I feel that,” Harper said, grimacing. “It’s the fear of knowing that you could die at any moment that really gets to you. Back when I still worked at the fire department, we’d get trained on how to deal with disasters; and the most important thing was learning not to seize up. People always talk about fight or flight, but the most common reaction is just… doing nothing. The fear locks your mind, your muscles, and stops you from processing anything out of shock. People are too afraid of what comes next to think about what to do now.”
The firefighter’s last sentence rang especially true among the players who volunteered to join the Order. They sucked in their breaths and anxiously scanned their surroundings, constantly, persistently. Contrary to them, however, the paladins kept their gaze straight. There were those who kept lookout atop some of the larger carriages, but the majority remained calm and simply marched on. Whatever was the reason for their nightly escapades, the Franks had full confidence in their countermeasures should something truly appear.
Soon, a few hours had passed. Not much changed among the expedition’s dynamic: the players, restless. The paladins? Stoic as ever. As a result, Lucius started to become a bit… bored.
Perhaps there was more entertainment to be had near Sir Renaud’s entourage. Lucius had been meaning to acquaint himself with the sickly looking man; this was the perfect opportunity to do so, lest he miss the chance when trouble eventually found its way to them.
At this point, it was a matter of when and not if. Such was the system’s ever-favorite pattern.
“Do pardon me for a moment,” Lucius said to his group. “I shall see if I can uncover any answers at the front.”
They nodded, believing that sending the most polite out of them would yield better results than if they were to all go together, and thus the gentleman set off, slipping through the paladins’ ranks until he got a close view of the expedition’s commander.
Sir Renaud was surrounded by only a few of his most trusted, along with the theurgist, Sir Maugris, who he begrudgingly tolerated.
“Will you truly not look at me, Renaud?” the priest whispered, trying to draw out some manner of conversation between them.
“No,” the man answered dryly. “I refuse to be distracted by the likes of you, Maugris. Do your duties as I do mine.”
“Bold words for one struggling to walk.”
It was as Maugris said. Renaud’s face paled as he took one trembling step after the other, his breath coarse and dragging in uneven bouts. He needed the support of a cane just to remain standing; yet nonetheless the frail man persisted out of sheer stubbornness. The other paladins had to intentionally slow their pace or else he would’ve long collapsed out of exhaustion.
Sir Maugris shook his head and tried to lend Renaud his shoulder, which the man pushed away.
“I simply do not understand… why volunteer yourself for this undertaking?” he said. “Your heart has always been frail, even as a child. Yet unlike then you no longer come to me or Sir Roland for aid. To continue in this state will only lead to your early death.”
Renaud trembled in anger and turned around, glaring at his second-in-command until the two were eye to eye. “I am not that meek, timid little boy anymore, Maugris. You and that paragon of perfection, Roland, can only ramble on like this because you were born with talent. But I am different. I have to struggle, and endure, and labor with thrice the effort just to chase after your shadow.”
“Why must you chase at all?” Maugris demanded. “We all have our strengths. It is admirable to seek improvement, but there arises a point when tenacity becomes no more than self-destruction. You are purposely straining yourself, and for what? To receive praise? Glory? Do those sound like the tenets of Chivalry to you?”
“Chivalry can only be practiced by those with privilege,” Renaud replied, donning a solemn air. “You were always a prodigy, Maugris. Whilst others struggled in classes, you were anointed as senior priest before even graduating the academy. How could someone so gifted, who has never faced difficulty in life, ever understand the plights of those who have no choice but to wallow in their own incompetence?”
Sir Maugris tried to come up with a response, but he couldn’t. Renaud’s loathing was too great. It dragged all near and beat them down until they were lowered to the same level as he: a spiteful, bitter mess of a man who could only fixate on what he couldn’t have, rather than what he already did.
“When did it become this way?” The priest said in a sad tone. “All this fighting and conflict… it was not like this when we were children. You, Sir Roland, and I—what happened to the pact we swore to always be oath brothers? I refuse to believe those times were only of pain for you, Renaud. I know a part of you still treasures that friendship of ours. And even now, I still await the day when we can make amends.”
For a moment, Renaud’s expression seemed to crack. It was only a slight one, a brief hint of sorrow hidden beneath an ocean of contempt, but the sickly man quickly regained his glower and struck the ground hard with his cane.
“Those youthful days may be happy for you,” he said. “But all I remember are the voices: the whispers, the laughter, the constant babble wondering why I was always inferior to you and Roland. Every day, they compared us. And I was helpless to listen as they filled my ears with constant, constant envy. Envy of the family I was born into. Envy of those I kept close as friends. Yet never once was it envy toward me, for there was not one good quality I possessed that was obtained through my own efforts. It was merely of my association with people like you.”
Renaud coughed and clutched his heart, his body unable to endure his agitated state. Sir Maugris tried to help him, but the priest was quickly smacked away with a shaky hand.
“The only one who saw me for the potential I held was Uncle Ganelon,” he continued. “When you and Roland abandoned me to climb ever higher, only he, a bastard child of a bastard line, promised to make me successor. Not my sister who abandoned her responsibility, not those envious dregs of the collateral branches, but me. All I need to do is prove myself in this mission, that I deserve this Peership inherited from my father, and I will finally receive the respect you two have taken for granted your entire lives.”
Maugris took in a deep breath, and he pleaded for his once-treasured friend to see reason. But deep down the priest likely knew it was hopeless. Still, he had to try. “You are trapped in your self-loathing, Renaud. No good qualities? That is not true. The boy I remember was one more intelligent, studious, and devoted in one day contributing to our nation than anyone else our age. You were smart, and you still are. That is why I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that you realize Ganelon’s promise is false. He seeks only to take advantage of you, and regardless of how this expedition ends, you will still be but a puppet to him.”
Renaud hesitated, and closed his eyes: exhaling, calming his heart. When he opened them again, the bitterness, the grudge, and everything he spat this day had disappeared, leaving only a hollow acceptance.
“Better to be a puppet than a wretch with nothing to his name.”
Before Maugris could interject any further, he suddenly swerved his head and leered toward the sea of black enshrouded stalks.
That was when Lucius heard it: soft, nearly unnoticeable, but it was there.
The steps of something lurking in wait.
“... How many?” Renaud said.
“Thirty,” the priest replied, switching from a concerned friend to a warrior at the ready. Despite all that had transpired, the two Peers knew when to set aside their differences and cooperate. They were leaders, after all. The lives they were responsible for were not merely their own.
“I was told there were no nocturnals in this area.”
“And yet we have prepared for this possibility, nonetheless.”
“Indeed.” Renaud grumbled and turned to direct his entourage. “Thirty mid-sized beasts. Pass the order to the Theurgists Division: rapid flashes, five repetitions, medium intensity.”
The paladins saluted and relayed the message to the priests scattered along the length of the expedition. The march was stopped; the group hunkered down and awaited for their enemies to draw near.
Lucius curiously watched on, his eyes focused on the scene before him. He would maintain this focus as the crops of wheat suddenly parted, and a rush of hairy, drooling bodies rushed forth in a frenzy.
The beasts had arrived. Now, it was time to witness Sir Renaud’s leadership in action.
