Chapter 646: True Bravery (Patreon)

Elenore entered into Hause’s temple, escorting Sophia urgently yet gently. After Argrave’s fight with the Castellan of the Empty, this place had been rebuilt to be one of the strongest fortifications within Blackgard, acting as something of a bunker within the city. She felt a little terrified, but she held strong with Sophia to steel her resolve.

“The first wave of combatants sent after him have fallen,” she heard, Durran’s voice piercing her head. “It’s… it’s looking to be a difficult fight. I haven’t felt this since…”

“Since when, Durran?” she asked, trying to stay calm.

“Be safe,” he told her. “I’m going to be dedicating all of my attention to this.”

The connection ended. Elenore bit her lip when he told her to be safe, thinking that he was the one who deserved to heed those words. She looked to her left, where Vasilisa stood.

“Can you take care of Sophia? I need to coordinate things on my end with various figures.”

Vasilisa nodded intently, taking the cooperative Sophia deeper into the temple. Elenore wouldn’t be of any help when it came to protecting Sophia. Apparently, Sophia had reacted rather strongly to this attack. Now, she was mute sadness, like she expected some tragedy. To be truthful… Sophia wasn’t alone in feeling this.

All that she could think of was what Orion said. His talk about death coming for him—it bothered her the most. Durran was many things, but a sacrificial fool was not one of them. She trusted her husband would take care of himself. Orion, though… his idealized goals came long before self-preservation. She paced around the temple, knowing that she should contact others but lacking the focus amidst the whirlwind of her brain.

“What’s wrong, Princess Elenore?” She looked, and there Hause, goddess of potential, stood waiting with concern. “Can I do anything more to help than offering shelter?”

“No. No, you’re doing plenty.” Elenore shook her head quickly. “I just need to get my head in order.”

“I am capable of helping with that, too.”

Elenore took a deep breath, making sure no one else was around. “I simply have a deep feeling that something will go horribly wrong. Someone who’s usually right predicted as much.”

“Really?” Hause tilted her head, then walked in front of her. “Then it is truly nothing to worry about. Predictions are largely meaningless.”

“What?” Elenore narrowed her eyes. “False comforts don’t work on me.”

Hause shook her head. “No one has ever accurately predicted the future. I have seen beings with the potential of universes within them be snuffed out early. I have seen those with no innate potential rise to be the most powerful person in the world, for a time. If the future was predetermined, there would be no reason in playing out the present.”

Elenore closed her eyes, letting those soothing words reinforce her preconceived notions. Hause was right—Orion, regardless of what his intuition said, was no fortune teller. He was only a man, changed as he might’ve been by the false pantheon of Vasquer.

“Fate is a lie,” Elenore said with a nod. “Thank you for the reminder. Now… I believe it’s well past time for me to be master of the battlefield.”

Elenore walked over to a nearby bench placed in the serene temple, then sat. She was acutely aware of the pouch in her dress’ pocket—a pouch that contained a single golden fruit capable of changing the shape of everything. Though she seldom employed it, one of Lira’s blessings allowed her to transport small items over long distances. With proper coordination… surely, this trial could be overcome. And in coordination, Elenore of Vasquer was unmatched.

#####

Vasilisa set Sophia down on the bed. This little girl—Argrave’s niece, officially, but she had red eyes and a strange power that made her question that fact. But there was no questioning she deserved to be called princess. Few were as gracious and kind as her, nor as unwavering in the face of adversity. She never strayed from a challenge, healing all those that she could.

But now… that indomitable little girl was trembling like a newborn in cold air.

Vasilisa had raised her younger nieces on her own, so she was well used to taking care of children. She didn’t like being sober, but it was in the presence of children that she was able to muster up the will to do it. Hence, she called upon that familiar protective drive as she knelt before the little girl.

“What’s wrong, Sophia?” Vasilisa brushed away some of her black hair. “Speak to me. It’s all going to be right, but it could be all right faster if you let me inside of your head.”

Sophia whispered, “I can’t stop it. I can’t stop it, auntie Vass.”

“You don’t need to stop it.” Vasilisa shook her head. “That’s what all the others are for. Whatever you think is coming—”

“No,” she interrupted. “I could stop it. I could go outside, and let him take me away. But… but I don’t want to go. I want to stay here. I want to stay with Anne and Argrave, and you, and Elenore, and uncle Orion…” She started to brush away tears. “But… I can’t do it.”

“Who is coming?” Vasilisa asked. “How do you know any of this?”

Sophia faced ahead. “The perfect knight. The one that no one can defeat. The one that never gives up, no matter the adversity. He’s coming to take me away, like I always wished… but now, I don’t want to leave.”

Vasilisa stared skeptically, wondering if this was merely the young girl’s paranoia or if there was some truth to it. She wasn’t entirely in the know… but she knew that Sophia was a subject of extreme concern to the king. And she knew that she needed to be protected, above all.

“Listen.” She grabbed Sophia’s shoulder. “Fuc—forget knights, princess. Having met everyone you have, who serves underneath Argrave… do you really think that one knight could break past them all? It’s going to be fine.”

Vasilisa gave the girl a hug, and then looked around the area. If whatever was coming came for Sophia… she certainly wouldn’t give up without a fight.

#####

A lone silver-armored knight walked along the river that led into the mountains outside Blackgard. He wore brilliant plate armor covered with an immaculate white surcoat. A greathelm with two rising horns that were adorned with brilliant red feathers concealed his face. He carried in his right hand a gleaming silver shield, and in his left a blade that seemed to shine with white sunlight itself.

All that was behind this knight was utter carnage. As he came, the bombardment of all the S-rank spellcasters gathered in Blackgard assailed this foe. In simple, efficient movements, he received every attack that came all with the same unassailability, like no attack truly had any bearing on him. His shield never faltered, never showed any sign of weakness. And then, whenever he swung his left hand…

The silver knight’s sword became light incarnate. It amplified his quick attacks a hundred—perhaps a thousandfold, as the light teeming within the blade projected out to enact his power. The landscape itself was transformed by his attacks. The mountains of Blackgard were barely spared by protective enchantments established around its outskirts. Defenders miles away perished in one quick slash.

Orion stood on the opposite end of that field, his own sword and shield held tightly in hand. His golden armor and black surcoat bearing Vasquer’s heraldry was at its best, personally enhanced by Artur to focus his strengths. His sword, a divine artifact enhanced by dwarven metal, could endure his tremendous strength without breaking indefinitely—and his similarly-crafted shield could hold its own against S-rank spells, easily. All around him stood the most powerful spellcasters in the world. Above, Durran, changed by the Fruit of Being, rode his wyvern, waiting for opportunity. Behind, Elenore called forth the gods of the Blackgard Union to honor their defense pact. Rook had already arrived—Law was soon to come.

But in that knight ahead, walking so steadily forth… Orion felt he saw a mirror. He saw a steady, righteous gait that would not falter no matter what obstacle arose. He saw no fear of death as attacks from the grandest in the world came to assail him, and no hesitation as the knight returned death in kind. In this knight, he saw the same man that had walked forth to fight the Plague Jester, all those years ago.

Like all mirrors, Orion’s own reflection revealed his inadequacies.

A man of equal temperament, yet superior strength? It was no wonder that this was to be his death. Confronting it so squarely, he could feel his hands trembling, and a feeling in the gut that was rather unfamiliar to him. He had heard it described enough to know what it was: fear. He had not felt fear fighting the Castellan of the Empty, nor the Plague Jester, nor storming the Palace of Heaven at Argrave’s side. Now, though, he feared his foe.

Perhaps it was because he had reason to fear. He had a wife whose presence he enjoyed. His mother was finally showing signs of breaking the hold of her mental illness. His whole family was in harmony. They were at the cusp of undoing that which never before had even been approached. Falling here, today, might mean that all would be lost. And if it was not lost… Orion would not be around to bear witness.

Rook appeared on the field, attacking his foe from afar with his possessed knives. They flew about the silver-armored knight like a petal swarm, but the knight swung his shield with force enough to generate a gale that banished every attacking projectile. The god himself leapt forward to attack, but Rook was blocked, and soon the knight countered. His blow cleaved another great gash in the landscape, and Rook only barely avoided serious injury.

Orion could feel the tremors of power made by his foe, and feel the wind stirred by his every attack. In the midst of his rising fear, Elenore’s words came to mind.

“Death can come, for all I care. Just step out of its damn way.”

Retreat flashed through his head, and his brain seized upon that, applying all manner of logical justification for why he was able to run, and why it would be the best outcome. But in the midst of all that… he gripped his shield and sword tightly, and stared through the slits of his helmet at the approaching knight.

Orion was the knight-commander of the Kingdom of Vasquer. Even in the face of fear, this was his duty. Bravery could not exist without the presence of fear—and for the first time, Orion walked forth bravely. He shouted a war cry as he crossed the field, shield held forward with sword held out.

The silver knight saw his approach, and swung its sword. Its attacks, though powerful, were not supernaturally fast—rather, it was the blade itself that amplified its power. Orion expertly dodged as a gash of ungodly white light tore apart the earth he’d been standing seconds before. The knight swung again, and again he dodged, coming ever closer. The solid plain became a crumbling sand dune all around in moments.

From his position on high, the knight took a steady step toward Orion and thrusted. The speed of the attack was unlike any previous blows, and Orion didn’t dodge fully—instead, he received some small portion of it with his shield. It held, though the force of the blast of light felt liable to break his arm. He kept his charge up, delivering a stab of his own. The silver knight brought his shield to bear, receiving it.

A sense of dread fell upon Orion as the tip of his purple blade touched the silver shield. It felt like stabbing a mountain. He’d put tremendous force into that thrust, yet the prospect of moving this foe seemed so distant as to be impossible. The silver knight stepped to the side and swung, and Orion twisted to dodge. He barely managed, but the attack cleaved through his helmet, his hair, and part of his head. Gritting through the pain, Orion lunged low, slamming his shield against his opponent’s. He feinted high, then thrust low, aiming right at the knight’s knee with a defiant roar. The feint succeeded, and Orion’s blade sung forth.