The Gamer Chapter 1596 – Chivalrous 5 – Breezing through the Lesser Tasks (Patreon)

After the moral testing, John was put to the much less interesting task of helping the other squires do their daily duties. There were only two of them, a number too low to see to the maintenance of the entire tower on their own, which was why there were also five other servants that saw to the traditional tasks of cooking and cleaning. The squires were given the more honourable tasks of shining artefacts and checking on the state of the armoury.

Except John. John got to wipe the floor of the reliquary with a bucket and a mop. That was only the first of the series of very basic household tasks that he was assigned to. Strangely enough, this one did not trigger his adverse reaction to humiliation.

His reasonable mind won out over his pride here on two accounts. For one, they were putting him to the basest task a squire could do because that was what they had to do. If he got the cushy jobs, that’d tarnish their reputation, not to mention the respect the present, actual squires had for the order they were to be a part of. More importantly, cleaning was one of the things John actually wanted to prove he could do.

Jokes about him being incapable of running a household had only grown more numerous over time and with good reason. In recent months, his maid cadre had grown from 3 members (Aclysia, Beatrice and Momo), to now about 7 (adding Claire, Delicia, Ehtra and Lee). The public didn’t know much about how exactly the harem household worked and how many duties those seven had besides chores. The only two who really had chores as their primary occupation were Aclysia and Claire, with Lee being the closest to a helping hand. There were all the Fae Maids, but they often were primarily occupied doing Momo’s bidding elsewhere or allowing her to quickly switch places.

But none of that mattered to perception.

Chances were that John would always have a reputation for being spoiled. This was a chance to at least prove to himself that it wasn’t THAT bad.

And it really wasn’t that bad. He would lie if he said he found cleaning particularly engaging. The floors were already gleaming and John had always found it more rewarding to clean up a big mess than to keep his place tidy. That was why his room had gone through long stretches of building chaos followed by near perfect cleanliness that lasted for two or three days. He had few chances to manifest that habit anymore.

Going through the motions of mopping an already clean room was dull. Dull was something John could work with, just like he could work with the cold room he slept in after he was done with his charges for that day. He had slept in an active warzone before, a stone prison was luxury by comparison.

The next morning, he was again fetched by Marcelia. They repeated the walk of the previous day. This time around, they had more of a back and forth talk, although John remained mindful of the position he was supposed to hold. Afterwards, he was stuck in the kitchen, to do all the slicing and dicing for breakfast.

The knights ate first. It was a large banquet, too large for the seven of them. The squires and servants stood along the walls, waiting for their superiors to finish. It did not end at eating, however. Once the knights had had their fill, they transitioned to conversation. A ceremonial discussion about the nature of honour and the events of the day unfurled.

John couldn’t help but wonder how entertaining it would be if Mengele’s demise was revealed to them during his stay. The chances were greater than zero, albeit not by much. It had only been four days now. If his estimations were right, this would be about when the remaining leadership of the Purest Front would start to raise eyebrows. It would be several more days before they started suspecting something was actually off.

After the knights had finished going through the news and their takes on them, they separated, allowing the squires and servants to eat. They ate together and were expected to mingle. It was a core aspect of chivalry that one’s subjects were treated with respect. It was also a core aspect that the differences in status were observed. For that reason, talk was stiff and jokes few. John got a real feeling of that stereotypical feudal hierarchy and its manifestations.

He both liked and loathed it. The structure was nice. It confined his ego in a way that was simultaneously pleasantly assuring and righteously demanding, like being given a massive garden property to keep lush and healthy. The very position he was in commanded respect and with that came the expectation that he would defend and uphold. It was that kind of assuring social structure that did not really exist in modern life.

At the same time, all of it was so constraining and arbitrary. It took John all of twenty minutes to work out that one of the servants was both more powerful and smarter than either of the two squires. Their banter was stilted by a strict adherence to conservative decorum, filling their speech with unnecessary titles and flowery circumventions instead of just speaking their mind. There was a plain sentence here or there, but it was a careful wager of social capital.

It wasn’t better than what John was used to. It wasn’t worse either, although he personally much preferred the banter. It was, simply, different.

Past the breakfast, they were given an hour to move about outside. They were free, in the sense that they could move anywhere on the plateau and do what they wanted. The idea here was that, from the tower, the knights could always see what their squires got up to. It was a minor panopticon situation, where all of the squires were expected to behave as if their teachers were watching even when they had their free time, internalizing the demand for chivalry.

This, John unequivocally hated. He had a disdain for all those that would judge him for what he did with his free time. When he was alone, he wanted to be on his own. He bridged the hour by grabbing a bunch of the loose stones around and arranging them in a way that loosely looked like Fusion’s symbol.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, Marcelia came out and told him to disperse the symbol. John apologized earnestly and did as requested. He rearranged it as something resembling the imperial eagle. That was found to be more agreeable.

That was the only real incident of disapproval during his second day. After that, he helped Marcelia don her armour, polished her boots, and ran around the tower getting her whatever she wanted, whether that was a glass of water or a book from the library.

During one of the latter trips, he ran into Ehtra.

The First of Hatred had been a diminished presence on the second day. Here and there, she made herself known, watching him from a distance. For the most part, however, she had been absent. John found out what she had been doing that very moment.

Standing by one of the tall book shelves, Lady Vengeance flipped through the pages of a book. Her hair had been bound, braids and all, into a high ponytail, dangling between her neatly folded wings. In the monkish robes, the brown skinned woman made for a surprisingly scholarly picture. The gold-ornated tome in her hands added to this.

Pages of thick paper whispered as she turned them.

John quietly manoeuvred around her, searching for a book in the section past her. “What is a kingdom?” she asked, when he was about to walk back past her.

The Gamer stopped. The question of whether he could afford to stay and answer was swiftly resolved. Of course he could. “The classical definition would be something akin to: ‘A realm governed by a monarch of the rank of king or equivalent title.’”

Ehtra sent him a displeased glance, then turned her gaze back to the book. “I’ve been researching the kingdom of Wales,” she told him. “The Abyssal one.” John perked up. He knew plenty about the real history of Wales, but he had never heard about the Abyss having an equivalent. A short-lived smile twitched on the corners of Ehtra’s lips, noticing she had his interest. “The oldest records I have found here say that it existed before even Romulus’ empire did. The Welsh people, at the time, were one of the dominant forces over the Gaelic, Celtic, and Pict people living on the British isles.” She turned pages, her green eyes moving at rapid speed. She was utilizing her increased Mental Stats well. “Things get quite confusing, however. They were led by one Pendragon at one point. Then there is a series of lost or incomplete records.” Ehtra was now flipping through the pages, before closing the book with a deep groan. “Suddenly, one Gawain is mentioned, weighing in on the creation of the Divided Gates. The kingdom of Wales, however, is not. It disappeared as a political entity in the interim.”

John slowly nodded, to showcase he was listening. Ehtra was staring at the book in her hands, fingers gliding over the carefully maintained leather cover and the letters stamped into it. “I suppose…” John carefully spoke into the silence, “…your question is if the kingdom of Wales still exists, outside of its political form?”

“Indeed,” Ehtra answered and put the book back where it belonged.

John had to consider the question carefully. “Its descendants still exist-“ he began, only to be interrupted by a sharp gesture.

“They are separated from their origin by hundreds of years of cultural change. A kingdom is not encoded in genetics.”

John scratched the back of his head. In the mundane, Wales obviously still existed. It had a distinct people in a specific part of the United Kingdom. Although John had a lot of respect for the English and their position in history, the treatment of the Welsh (and the Irish, for that matter) was one of the sore spots that the British had to contend with. From a cultural perspective, the modern Welsh were about 80% folded into the larger British identity, from what John could read from the situation as a foreigner.

There was still a distinction to be drawn, but the modern Welsh were vastly different from what they had once been.

On the Abyssal side, there wasn’t even an organized Welsh polity. They had been part of the guild that had governed the UK until being shattered during the second World War. Now, the Illuminati were in that area. John had not heard anything about a resurgent Welsh movement, nor of any established guilds demanding their ancient rights acknowledged.

Of the Abyssal kingdom of Wales that Ehtra mentioned, there remained no notable people, no major cultural influence on any current power, and no guild to represent it. Its history was lost, its legends buried, and its presence in history unremarkable.

“As far as kingdoms go, that one is dead,” John stated. “But this isn’t about Wales, is it?”

Ehtra looked at her hands. “…You’re still confusing me, inquisitive creature,” the First of Hatred mumbled. “You look through me like I do through treacherous intent.” She stared at him out of the corner of her eyes. “It makes me wonder whether I have become obvious or whether no one before ever listened to me. I am inclined to think it is the latter.”

“You’re dodging my question,” John pointed out. “You still care about Akkad.”

Ehtra grinded her teeth with such intensity that John could hear the screeching of metal from her jaws. Tilting her head in his direction, she pulled back her dark lips, revealing fangs much sharper than John remembered having been set into that mouth. The red halo flared up above her white hair, basking her in crimson light. She looked more like a demon than an angel at that moment.

“What do you know?!” she spat out. “Why should I care? All returns to chaos, that’s the cycle of things!”

“Did you?” John asked.

The screeching grinding only grew louder, while previously soft feathers glistened like blades after the touch of a whetstone. Ehtra reached up to grab him by the collar, but he grabbed her by the wrist instead.

“Remember where you are,” he chastised her.

The First of Hatred’s dreadful glare collapsed in on itself. Halo extinguished, feathers settling, the grey angel’s arm turned limp and fell when John let go. “Why did you drag me out of Mother’s sludge?!” Ehtra asked. “Why am I here…? Why do I still dream of the ziggurats and the hanging gardens? Why-“ She smacked his hand aside when he tried to embrace her.

Without a further word, she turned around. “Ehtra!” John tried to grab her by the shoulder. He wasn’t done with her and she certainly wasn’t done venting. The First of Hatred escaped this attempt to grab her, hastened towards one of the tall windows, and leapt out before he could catch up to her. On grey wings, she fled to the edge of the Illusion Barrier.

John was about to teleport after her when he saw her disappear into the cave. That she wanted time to gather herself was fine. He had been alarmed that she would try to leave the Illusion Barrier and make off to who knew where. For all of her confusion, the First of Hatred was more reasonable than a panicked adolescent, though.

‘That was too direct of me,’ he thought, scratching the back of his head. ‘Or was it? It’s really difficult to know with her.’ He closed the window and then walked out of the library. ‘Let’s hope Marcelia doesn’t notice the delay too much.’

Luckily, she did not.