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[The Distinguished Mr. Rose] Chapter 92: A Young Boy's Dream
🕑 Added 2025-08-23 03:12:04 +0000 UTCAn anxious mood spread amongst the castle in the following days to come. The servants were not ignorant of the power struggle between the two factions, and they began to reconsider their allegiances as news of Roland’s departure was soon announced to all of Francia. Some were elated knowing that action was finally being taken against the dreaded Great Evils while others more involved in politics were much more wary.
For better or worse, the castle was entirely under Ganelon’s control. He was both jury and executioner, the supreme law ruling in the emperor’s place, and there was naught the castle officials could do but keep their presence low and hope that the man’s nefarious plots did not involve them. They did not have the leader of the Peers to keep him in check anymore. With both the support of the people, the judiciary, and even the otherworlders summoned by God, nothing could stop him from consolidating authority during the month Roland would be absent.
But that was a matter for the Franks to deal with. It was amidst this political strife that a certain gentleman was happily preparing for his soon-to-be exciting voyage! So far he had seen many sights, the wetlands and cliffs that bordered Francia’s territory, but this journey was an especially special one—for rather than within, they were to visit a foreign nation entirely. That meant new people, new cultures, and possibly new seeds to blossom.
Of course, he couldn’t leave without the company of his charming companions! Marco, Mili, and Harper swore to follow him whether the other Peers agreed to or not, but fortunately Sir Roland gave his permissions, and so the party of four spent the week gathering supplies and preparing themselves for yet another adventure.
To Lucius’s surprise, however, a couple of other players expressed their interest in joining him. Mister Crowley the bomberman felt uncomfortable being surrounded by the castle’s seedy affairs and wished to become stronger so that he would never again lose a friend like he did Mister Pierre. Beside him, Miss Rhodes the seamstress and Miss Enapay the spear warrior also wished to come.
When asked the reason why, Miss Rhodes replied with, “Eh, nothin’ special. I figure a gal like me oughta follow the big folk if she wants to make it in this world, y’know? Besides, I’m fixin’ to get out there and see me some sights, live life to the fullest and all that. Never know when I’m gonna kick the bucket.”
Miss Enapay was much more reserved in tone compared to the bubbly seamstress. She had a sharp gaze and an even sharper demeanor, determined to survive no matter what. “I wish to be stronger. The environment here is stale and full of husks without spirit. Peace has poisoned their minds with a false lure of security, but the monsters outside are only the beginning. I will not consign myself to be a mere victim.”
Lucius didn't have the chance to interact with Miss Enapay much during the expedition, but her prowess in battle was quite the impressive sight. She was a bit like Harper in terms of physical build, only more flexible, fiercer, and inclined toward mid-range combat.
All in all, the three of them had their own motivations and didn’t intend to fully join Lucius’s charming little team, but their help would be useful nonetheless.
And so, with their main force organized, all that was left to do was wait for the fated day to arrive.
It was on the eve of their departure date that Lucius met up with young Karolus for another parting tea party.
“You’re leaving for Arabia?” Karolus said, his expression turning a little sad. “I’m glad Sir Roland will be with you, but… be careful there. I don’t think the Saracens will like you very much.”
“Oh, and why is that so?” Lucius asked.
“The former emperor, Pepin the Umbral Wraith of the Blood-Soaked Twilight, tormented their people for a long, long time. They didn’t surrender like the Moors, so his late Holiness marched up to their leader—General Saladin of the Levantine Corps—and personally slit his neck atop the steps of the Temple Mount. It was the vilest act he could commit, to defile their faith in the place they deemed holiest.”
“I suppose the people’s reaction was quite harsh.”
Karolus nodded and slowly sipped his tea. “I don’t blame them. From the stories I’ve heard, a river of blood ran though the entire desert from all the bodies slaughtered in Pepin’s wake. The Saracens have never forgiven us since, nor do I think they ever will.”
“You would be surprised, my friend. Even the deepest of grudges eventually fade before the sands of time. However, twenty years is not nearly enough to dull their memories. I am surprised they have yet to revolt, what with the sons and daughters of fallen soldiers now fully grown to enact revenge.”
“That’s because they didn’t have a chance. Officially, Arabia is an independent vassal state of the empire, but Pepin always kept a careful eye on the region, and sometimes he visited to… remind them never to point their blades at Francia. It was only when he died that Uncle Ganelon sent his people to help them rebuild.”
Lucius raised a brow at the boy’s words and then moved to tease him with a little question. “Oh? You sound quite close to the High Tribunal. The only other I have heard refer to him as uncle would be Mister Renaud.”
Karolus startled in his seat, coughed, and waved his arms around nervously in an effort to explain himself. “Oh, um, that’s because he told me to call him that. When he visited the server quarters. Yes, that’s right.”
“So I see.” Lucius chuckled and then returned back to the topic. “According to your words, though, am I correct in assuming that those sympathetic to Ganelon’s cause will likely await us at the Saracen’s capital city?”
“Probably. They’re the only ones I think who don’t completely despise us. Uncle did a lot to protect the Saracens after they were conquered; they consider him a friend, so if he introduces you, then you should be safe. Still, be careful. Not all of them think the same way and might even attack you if you’re alone.”
After that, the two fellows discussed a bit more before finally parting ways. Lucius cozied up in his bed and partook in a good night’s rest. When he awoke at the lovely hour of six-o-clock, however, a large commotion outside awaited him and his still-groggy companions. Flocks of the Frankish citizenry surrounded the gates just like the week before; and when Lucius took a closer look, he noticed that they acted no different than a fangirl would at a celebrity’s outing—absolutely hysterical.
It was almost impressive how loudly they cheered his name. Lucius of course had already witnessed a similar sight when the castle held that parade after the players returned from Roncevaux Fortress, but this time was much different. More hopeful. Perhaps it was because Sir Roland finally deigned to take matters himself (or so the commonfolk believed) that their already-great respect had risen to fanatical heights.
But why exactly was that so? Roland didn’t seem all that different from the other Peers, at least in appearance. Yet the way they treated him went beyond typical appreciation.
As the man in question had yet to arrive, Lucius decided to find the answers himself and walked up to Lady Angelica, who looked at the view with a slight grimace—or at least he assumed so, considering she had donned herself in full armor once again. Not a speck of her skin could be seen; however, there was no denying her guarded posture.
“Hm, it is a bit complicated to explain,” Angelica said to him. “You would be better off asking Roland that yourself, if he even has the courage to reply. But I will say that—out of every paladin and Peer in this nation—he was the one who contributed the most to the Holy War. Besides his late Holiness, of course.”
“I’m surprised you speak of him so bluntly,” Lucius said. “Is there any reason the two of you appear so uncomfortable next to each other?”
Angelica hesitated for a moment, her head lowered in thought. She muttered something intelligible and seemed quite conflicted. Eventually, though, she sighed and bid Lucius a short response. “We share a complex history, one that neither I nor he cares to remember. We have settled our differences since then. However, what’s been done cannot easily be taken back. Pray let that be the end of this, Sir Lucius.”
The gentleman was rather curious about their circumstances, but he wasn’t one to reply when the other wasn’t willing—sometimes at least—so he bid her a courteous bow and waited with his group for the departure to formally commence.
A few minutes later, the castle doors parted wide open, and out stepped Renaud in full ceremonious attire; his armor was covered in all sorts of medals and sashes. What stood out the most though was a grand longsword on his back. It had a blade of jet-black crystal, a golden pommel, and a silver-lined guard shaped into a cross. The weapon exuded a grandeur the gentleman had felt from any other weapon thus far. It was clear that the sword was ancient, older than perhaps even the Franks’ civilization, and should any other attempt to touch it aside from its owner would result in a very nasty surprise.
“Looking at Durendal, huh?” From Lucius’s side, Sir Astolfo popped his head out and stared at Roland with great admiration. “It’s a beautiful blade, and one of the rare few to have an actual name.”
“Hoho, might you be a connoisseur of fine weaponry, my friend?” Lucius replied to the younger man.
“You could say that, but the Durendal’s even more special than the rest. It was the sword wielded by some of the most powerful saints in history: like Peter the Dawnbringer or Denis the Braveheart. Legends say that the blade was forged from the talon of the Maternal Eagle.”
“How very interesting, but shouldn’t such a weapon be wielded by the emperor if it has such importance?”
“No, the emperor has one even better than Durendal. I’ve never been able to see it though since his late Holiness preferred to butcher people using his own hands.”
“What about his current Holiness?”
Astolfo made a strange face and awkwardly turned around. “Oh, um, he hasn’t had the chance yet.”
With that, the man wandered off, and so was Lucius left to watch the rest of the ceremony. Roland paraded himself around a bit—although the act seemed to embarrass him greatly—until eventually he beckoned the others to join him at the center.
“Your chariot, Astolfo?” he asked him, which the young man then replied with an energetic salute.
“Ready for departure!”
Astolfo raised his hand and summoned a large ivory horn from out of thin hair. He blew into it, causing a loud roar to boom across the air; and thus did his golden chariot descend from the heavens following the sound’s trail.
Angelica, Astolfo, Roland and Lucius all stepped into the main carriage area. There was little space for the other players; thankfully, however, an additional compartment was attached to the back just big enough to fit everyone.
“We might be pushing it a little, but… eh, we’ll make it work!” Astolfo said, grabbing onto the reigns and lifting the chariot up toward the sky. “It’s not as fast or spacious as Sir Ruggiero’s steed, so make sure to hold on tight. We’ll enter Arabia in about two weeks at full speed.”
“Oh my, it certainly is far,” Lucius said. “Aren’t we packed quite lightly considering the distance?”
“There’s already a few checkpoints set up that were made during the war. We can rest there.”
Roland nodded grimly. “Indeed, our first campaign ended in failure due to inefficient supply lines. Many a good paladin perished from hunger and heatstroke because of our inadequacy.”
“Well, all lessons must be learned somewhere,” Lucius replied. “And you’re a better man now because of it.”
“Better…? Haha, your words are kind, Sir Lucius.”
A sad wave passed through Roland. But before Lucius could say another word, the man held one last speech and bid the people of Francia a heartfelt farewell, before ordering Astolfo to speed off into the bright purple sky.
It was from then on that their trip proceeded in a rather uneventful manner. Lucius’s experience was much different from his time with the expedition; they didn’t need to worry about beasts or the elements, but the wind made it difficult to hold any lasting conversations what with how it practically screeched in their ears due to the pressure. The Peers simply just… stood silently next to each other.
The players were similar. Unlike the Peers, though, they tried to at least busy themselves to stave off the boredom. Miss Rhodes crocheted blankets for everyone (it was quite chilly without the protection of Ruggiero’s Hippogriff); Mili tried to play her guitar but quickly became irritated due to the wind; Harper double-checked and triple-checked her gear; Mister Crowley tinkered with his inventions; and Marco took a nap. How he managed to do so with all the noise, Lucius knew not. At least the old mobster looked content.
It was only when the twin suns began to descend and the evening sky turned a murky green that the group landed near their first checkpoint: a humble fort with a few guards and some spare buildings to sleep in. The players were quite grateful to be out of the air, while the Peers were indifferent, seemingly used to long uncomfortable voyages.
Lucius used this opportunity to mingle amongst his new quirky allies. The first he found was the young Astolfo, who took the chance to dine at the nearby mess hall. A hardy-looking lady prepared them a bowl of stewed flowers—and oh what a meal it was! The broth had a reddish-brown color, a rich silky texture that gave a nice mouth feel, and a slight burst of spice that flared the nostrils! The deep flavor perfectly accompanied the tender pieces of Adler Flowers; before Lucius knew it, he had already finished the entire bowl.
“You really know how to eat well, huh?” Astolfo said with a smile, before digging into his own food. “I guess even otherworlders like good food.”
“Why wouldn’t we?” Lucius said, giving the man his most dazzling smile. “Fine cuisine is universal no matter our tongues.”
“I don’t know. It’s a bit weird to say, but… I’m still struggling to realize that you’re from outside this world. Like, from a completely different realm. Apparently you only have one sun, right? And your sky is blue. Things like that amaze me.”
“I had the exact same reaction as you when I came to this land. Such wondrous and interesting things here that I never would’ve encountered back on Earth—truly, it stoked my inner child.”
Astolfo grinned and leaned back into his chair. “I would love to visit your world sometime. Everything here is… complicated. Sometimes I just want to escape it all for a little bit and think about happier things, simpler things.”
“I understand that sentiment, but I am afraid to tell you that my world also had its fair share of strife. Such is an inevitable part of existence—where there is intelligent life, there is bound to be war.”
Lucius’s words weighed heavily on the young Peer, and he looked down, his once bright eyes now sad. “That’s a shame. Even in other worlds, good people are destined to suffer because of a ruthless few.”
“You speak from experience?”
“Not me, personally. I’m actually quite privileged..”
The man closed his eyes for a moment and crossed his arms. “I’ve always admired paladins, see. My parents owned a merchant company, a rich one at that, so I was pretty spoiled growing up; but I was never satisfied with what I had. Toys, jewels… it didn’t matter. What I wanted was to be a hero just like Sir Roland.”
“A hero, you say?”
“Yep! Back then, I was too young to really understand war. I didn’t realize how it hurt people and the toll it took on even our own. I only remembered seeing the banners and ribbons—the festivities whenever word came to us about a successful campaign. Everyone was so happy. My father rushed into our house every day with a big bright smile, and he would tell me stories about Sir Roland: how heroic he was, noble, and powerful.
“Sir Roland to us represented the nation’s might. He was our hope, our hero, the one who would end the war. People would talk about him everywhere, from taverns and workshops to even the local papers. It amazed me how someone so young could become respected by the entire nation, so I decided one day to become a paladin just like him. Roland was, and I guess still is, my role model.”
Ah, now Lucius understood the man’s fame. Since the former emperor didn’t have the most clean of reputations, he used Roland to act as the nation’s symbol in his stead. All the fame, the glory, the expectation of being a war hero… it all fell on him, a budding young man manipulated for the sake of propaganda.
“You must’ve been quite the warrior yourself to be nominated as Peer so young.”
Astolfo blushed and scratched his head. “I was just lucky. You know the golden chariot I use? It’s summoned by the Olifant, a war horn carved from the husk of a crystal golem. It’s been in the empire for centuries, but nobody had succeeded in attuning with it until I came along, and it’s because of that power that I managed to eventually climb the ranks and be recognized by his late Holiness.”
His expression suddenly turned dark, and he clasped his hands together, shaking. “I had never seen him personally before until that day. When I did, I wanted to throw up. My throat seized up and I wanted to run, but my heart knew it was hopeless. His presence was enough to paralyze everyone around him. That’s when I knew just how foolish my dreams were. The war, my faith—everything came crashing down. To think this thing was the one I had to serve as lord…”
“If one meeting was enough to disturb you that deeply, I cannot imagine how Sir Roland must have felt.”
“Haha, that actually made me respect him more. Despite being tossed around by the whims of that monster, he still persevered and fought for us: for a better future. All I could do was… hide. You can guess that my dreams of being a hero were pretty much shattered after that. I didn’t feel like I was helping anyone.”
“What about now?”
To that, he replied with a determined gaze. “Now, I want to change. We actually have an opportunity to fix this nation with Pepin dead, and I can’t think of anyone more capable of doing it than Sir Roland himself. Even if I can’t be the hero I imagined myself as a kid, there’s still some good I can do for the people and my home.”
Lucius nodded, satisfied. Sir Astolfo might be a young man still uncertain of his place in the world, but he had conviction and a will to improve. He didn’t need to bloom at the moment.
“A most beautiful resolution,” Lucius said, standing up and clearing his bowl. “I foresee great things in your future, my friend. Come join me for tea sometime; I would love to hear more about your fair nation.”
Astolfo stood up as well and exchanged a friendly handshake with Lucius. “Of course! Ruggiero told me you would be kind, but after meeting you in person, words alone don’t really do you justice. I’m glad you came to our world, Sir Lucius.”
“As am I, Sir Astolfo. As am I.”
With that, the two parted, and Lucius searched for the other two Peers. Unfortunately, they were preoccupied with some matters and couldn’t spare the gentleman any time. Thus did their first night come to an end.
Lucius wasn’t discouraged. There would be many more opportunities later. Until then, he returned to the company of his fellows and indulged in another good night’s sleep.
Comments
DeadSlime
Thanks for the chapter!
