Chapter 212 - Behold, Castle Mourneheart (Patreon)

We paid for our tea and got out of there, ready for the following item on our agenda. Opalina went and pushed me a bit more on the subject, so I agreed to go make a bank account once she told me it was only a few blocks from the cafe. Walking down a city street without being glared at by villainous thugs is very odd, but I could see myself getting used to it. If only.

On our way to the bank, we pass by a thriving market for adventurers. Dwarven smiths are loudly drawing attention to weapons and armor sets made from only the finest Bragos steel. General stores sell fresh foodstuffs, survival gear, and health potions, while Association-certified stores display all the latest adventuring goods at exorbitant prices.

Dawnstead has the largest Guild in Arrark these days, so I’m not surprised to see such a market here. I remember there being a very similar one in the Dewhurst bazaar when I was little. It’s hard not to pass by the many bustling stalls without thinking ‘Sam would love that’ or ‘Meri would get a lot of use out of this’.

At the center of the adventurer’s market is a giant, shining statue of a fully armored female paladin standing tall and proud. Her long, extravagant hair trails off into luxurious curls flowing down along her stone cape as she tilts her head upward. One hand is raised to the sky, and sitting atop it is a dove. In her opposite hand is a beautifully detailed sword that must have looked astonishing in real life if this recreation is anything to go off of. I stop to admire the work for a moment and ask Opalina, “That would be... Arrarkia Lightbringer, yes?”

“Oh, you know of her? I suppose I shouldn’t be too surprised given how much you read, but most people only know her name from the river this city is built on.”

“A bit, I don’t know much. Books on the Age of Heroes don’t often find their way to Dewhurst. I just vaguely remembered the founder of Arrark was a female paladin.”

“That’s correct. You’ll learn more about Arrarkia very soon, I’m sure...” She giggles in a way that suggests she knows more than she’s letting on. Then, she turns away from the statue and gives me her arm. “Come on, now. We mustn’t dawdle, Dear.”

Opalina sweeps me out of the adventurer’s market and into a large, overly splendiferous building at the end of the street. The words ‘Glorigold Financial Union’ are printed on a golden sign sitting atop its door. It’s hard to put into words just how much I hate this building. From the pretentious amount of decadent floral patterns on the outside walls to the abundance of majestic silk banners bearing the stylized salt crystals of House Glorigold, everything about this place seems custom-built to offend my sensibilities. I find the Pimpfort was much less egregious, in all honesty.

When we go inside, it’s not much better. Priceless Borgeuxian vases, magical salt lamps in place of torches, ridiculous paintings of exaggerated noblemen, a sparkling fountain... this bank feels hostile to anyone like me who lives in relative squalor. I suppose this is fitting since the bank is owned and operated by the ruling nobility of the Lillance Province, but that doesn’t make it any less embarrassing.

“Opalina, I thought you were taking me to set up a bank account. Are you sure you didn’t escort me to the castle by mistake?” I ask with unimpressed sarcasm.

“House Glorigold is not known for their subtlety, Dear. Especially not in their banks.” Opalina waggles her finger before pulling me away to the counter. Fortunately, the process of opening an account is swift, and we don’t have to suffer the atmosphere of this obscene excessiveness for long. It can’t be more than fifteen minutes before my magical wallet is linked to its own vault, and we’re out the door soon after.

With that out of the way, Opalina hails yet another carriage, and together, we take off for the dread fortress in the city center- Castle Mourneheart. Questions start to rear their head the closer we get. “Is there anything I need to know? Do I need to change outfits immediately upon arrival? You know I’ve never met a nobleman, so I’m a little nervous...”

“Don’t be,” The confident witch rolls her eyes. “You shouldn’t expect too much from our host. Just do your thing, and you’ll be fine.”

“And what exactly is my thing?”

“Overconfidence and projecting an air about you that suggests this one is out to take all he can get.”

“Is that really how others see me...?”

With a wry smile, she asks, “Do you find it inaccurate?”

“Perhaps I should find it worrying that I don’t...”

“Cheer up, Dear. We’re almost there.” Opalina points out towards the imposing castle on the horizon. “What do you think? Looks even more impressive from below, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, it seems a lot more... intimidating.” I gaze at the brooding castle and think to myself how much more I enjoy the aesthetic than the rest of Dawnstead. Sure, it’s dark and depressing, but that has a charm of its own. I’d much rather keep most of my stay focused within Castle Mourneheart’s dreary walls than I would frolic out in the city’s bright marble streets.

“I’ve always loved this place,” Opalina wistfully sighs. “Aesthetically, at least. I could go without some of the people who dwell inside it. This view is certainly one of the reasons I keep coming back here.”

“What are some of the other reasons?”

The witch shakes her head and waves the question away with her hand. “If all goes well, you’ll meet the biggest one.”

“I’m starting to get awful tired of this constant crypticness of yours.”

“Tough. You’re stuck with me for two whole days, you know.”

“Damn,” I jokingly let my head fall back against the carriage’s headrest. “Guess I’ll have to manage.”

“You will,” Opalina leans in and gives me an affectionate peck on the cheek. Shortly after, the coachman shuts the opened window between him and us. We share a long, embarrassed laugh when we realize we’re coming off as an overly annoying couple.

The carriage ferries us through the crowded streets of Dawnstead, passing by the prominent Adventurer’s Guild, a fancy-looking district littered with Mage towers, and several garrisons manned by the city guard who protects the city while wearing jet black armor and carrying sharp pikes.

In just under a half-hour, we reach the large, foreboding spiked gates that lead to Castle Mourneheart. The entrance is part of a walled perimeter around the entire castle and its courtyards. On each side of the gate lies a drum-shaped gatehouse with menacing archers looking down on the entrance.

Opalina once again pays the coachman, who quickly drives off, eager to part with the pair of annoying lovebirds nested in the back of his carriage. The witch then walks up to the place like she owns it, and we’re met with several knights wearing much fancier armor than any of the city guards. These knights all salute my lover and greet her as one might a treasured guest. I’m also given a relatively warm welcome from the shady soldiers, proving that you can’t judge based on appearances alone.

The outer gates are raised, and both of us are taken across the grim courtyard. Dead trees with numerous ravens resting on their barren branches litter the landscape. Wherever there isn’t a brick path rests sparse patches of sickly blue-gray grass. Despite the bleak environment, several determined knights go about their training on the grounds, practicing with their swords, spears, and even their Arts.

The inner gates are opened for us, and we’re ushered into the expansive entrance hall. Its dark, stony walls are lined with robust columns and torches with blue fire, and its floors are lined with bloodred carpets that branch off into the different paths one can take out of this room. Even though there are thick, stained mosaic windows, very little light passes through them. Instead, overhead hangs a skeletal-themed chandelier flickering with the same blue flames, bringing a cold glow to the dreary castle chamber.

The main focal point of the room is an impressive stairway with obsidian railings. Every foot or so down the barriers is a black, dusty human skull possessing a haunting expression. I want to say these are mere decorations, but given everything else I’ve seen here, I just don’t know anymore.

The stairs take one to the second floor, deeper into the castle’s mysterious heart. Waiting for us at the base of the stairs while giving several castle maids orders is a bright young man with medium-length gray hair dressed in exquisite butler-styled fashion. As soon as the man notices Opalina and me, his silver eyes flicker, and he dismisses the relieved maids, walking toward us with his arms held wide open as one might greet an old friend.

“Miss Opalina! You’re much later than I was expecting. I hope the flight wasn’t more trouble than you planned?” The man smiles a very hollow, insincere smile as he bows and lowers his head.

“Bertrand,” Opalina replies courteously but with apparent disinterest. “The trip was less than desirable. After landing, we felt like taking a short rest and running an errand to give us enough time to regain composure. I’m sure Osbourne doesn’t mind?”

“No, no. My lord Duke is exactly where you left him.”

“Shocking.” The witch sighs as she rolls her eyes. “Dear, this is-” Opalina begins to introduce us, but the young man cuts in and takes a friendly step toward me, offering his gloved hand to shake.

“A pleasure to meet you, Sir. My name is Bertrand Brimley, son of Baron Willoughby Brimley the 2nd, and heir apparent to House Brimley. I am blessed enough by the Goddesses to serve as Chamberlain to His Grace, Duke Osbourne Gloomcrest. Thus, it is my duty to see to any and all guests and ensure they’re happy as can be,” He smiles, and under his breath, mutters, “Whether they deserve it or not...” in such a hushed tone that I almost don’t catch it.

Well then. The first nobleman I’ve encountered on this trip has already proven himself quite a character. On the surface, Bertrand seems to be a very upbeat and friendly person. However, to someone who can read body language and facial cues as much as I can... there’s... a lot of red flags here.

Bertrand’s smile is so forced that it looks to cause him physical pain. Tiny beads of sweat appear on his temples every second he stands before me. His eyelids occasionally twitch while grinning, and he takes tiny deep breaths out of stress through his nose so quietly that most people will never notice.

Every single thing about this man is exaggerated and fake, aside from his under-the-cuff remark.

Regardless, I take him by the hand and shake. “An honor to meet you, my Lord. I am the Guild Master of the Dewhurst’s Adventurer’s Guild, but you may call me-”

“That’s quite alright, Guild Master.” He pulls away, removes his glove, and replaces it with a spare from his pocket. Bertrand then looks at the glove that was sullied from my hand like he’s unsure what to do with it before shoving it into his vest unceremoniously. “Bertrand will suffice. Apologies to both of you, our humble Lord Steward wished to be here to greet you, but he’s dealing with other matters at the moment.” He bows apologetically while whispering, “Just my luck...”

I shoot Opalina a concerned look and tilt my head at the Chamberlain. She nods, which I take to mean Bertrand is always like this. He seems harmless enough, so I’m just going to ignore his... eccentricities unless I have a reason not to.

“I don’t need an entire procession to show up every time I visit. We’ve been over this,” The Doctor sighs before folding her arms. “Why don’t you escort us to my chambers, though? You can teach my darling here all about the castle on the way. I’m sure you have so many questions, don’t you, Dear?”

“Actually, I-” I look toward Opalina, trying to subtly cue her in that I don’t want to be near this man any longer than I have to be, but before that can happen, the Chamberlain smiles and bows. Is he getting paid for every time he bows? It’s becoming gratuitous.

“An excellent suggestion! I’ll accompany you and be your guide through Castle Mourneheart. Please, follow after me...” Bertrand says before adding, “The stairs are steep. Watch your step. Or, don’t...”

Unimpressed, I follow the nobleman as he takes us up the staircase and past a red set of doors carved with artistic depictions of Tenebris Primis and her demons. Before joining us in the hallway, Bertrand takes the glove he used to shake my hand and tosses it into the nearest torch. Once he notices that I watched him do it, he freezes in place. I close my eyes and turn away from him, pretending I didn’t see his absurdly rude gesture.