Chapter 13: Civil War Era - Lan Gaston
Sweat pours down like rain from my body as I swing my sword in a frenzy.
What is this?
Though my consciousness was foggy, my body moved before my brain, displaying swordsmanship that flowed as naturally as water, honed by countless practices.
Ah, this is...
The sound of my clothes, clinging with sweat, and my swift movements, coupled with the fierce whoosh of my sword cutting through the air, resonate around me.
Is this the memory of the Knight Tournament?
Soon after, a sharp clang of metal against metal rings out, followed by a tingling sensation crawling up my arm from my hand.
And at that moment of realization, the me in my dream and my consciousness overlapped.
After several clashes of swords, naturally creating distance, gasps of awe erupted from the onlookers holding their breath at the spectacle.
"Wow..."
"Who is that person? Such remarkable skill."
"Lan, the mercenary's son? Same age as the Young Duke. How can a commoner without any noble lineage be so..."
All eyes in the family's training ground, and their thoughtless exclamations and words, turn into a crushing pressure on my shoulders.
Struggling under this pressure and short of breath, I glare at my opponent standing in front of me.
Lan. A boy unheard of, from commoner origins, the son of a mercenary.
The trembling of my sword and the calm rise and fall of the blade with my breath create a stark contrast, only adding to the turmoil in my mind.
This is the swordsmanship I learned from knights under the strict orders of a duke when I couldn't even properly hold a sword at the age of six.
And yet, I can't defeat someone who couldn't possibly have received proper knightly training!
How could this possibly happen?
Standing opposite me, the boy with the sword extended is himself filled with surprise.
This, in turn, fuels a fiery rage within me, my mind swirling in anger and confusion.
What snapped me out of this chaotic whirlwind of thoughts was the sound of someone clicking their tongue.
“Tsk-”
Amidst the murmurs, this sound, distinctly piercing my ears, came from the highest seat.
My father. The Duke of Lafayette, Hubert de Lafayette.
A war hero who rose from a mere knight to establish the House of Lafayette with his overwhelming military prowess and bravery.
And considered the kingdom's strongest knight.
Such a man now looks down on me, struggling against a mere commoner boy.
His look of disdain, like an arrow, pierces through my back, sending a chill down my spine amidst the sweat and heat.
All my efforts until now weren't meant to display such a pitiful sight!
Urged by the rising panic within me, I lunged forward once more.
"Uaaaah!"
The shout that escaped my lips sounded more like a scream to my own ears.
As I kicked off the ground and closed the distance rapidly, swinging my sword, the metallic screech and the shock that followed engulfed my arm.
The sword, thrust with all my might in a full-on charge, was blocked all too easily.
My opponent, purely defensive yet confidently reading and countering every move of my blade.
To an untrained eye, it might appear as an evenly matched duel.
But those who bear the title of knight know all too well that I am at a disadvantage.
All my honed skills, straightforward or deceptive, seemed futile against this impenetrable defense.
Despite the clear disparity, the reason he does not go on the offensive is obvious.
Because I am the son of the Duke.
In the presence of the Duke, he can't afford to blatantly defeat me, nor can he feign defeat; so he remains purely defensive.
This pitiful consideration, or rather his conduct, grinds my teeth in frustration.
The fatigue from the relentless sword strikes, the numbness building up in my arms, the disappointed glances of the Duke and his vassals watching – all too heavy to bear.
The bitter taste of blood spreads in my mouth as I bite my lip too hard.
The immense expectations placed upon me as the son of the greatest knight in the Kingdom of Francia have haunted me since my early childhood.
The Duke, though a great knight, was not a good father.
He had always wanted me to follow in his footsteps and become the kingdom's greatest knight, and to meet his expectations, I endured harsh training from a young age.
All that pain, not to end up like this, not for such a result!
But just as I was about to lunge forward again, a cold voice stopped me in my tracks.
"Enough."
The boy across from me sheathed his sword as if he had been waiting for just that word, and I turned my creaking neck to look up at the high seat.
The duke's cold, disdainful gaze pierced my heart like a blade.
"That's enough."
The shame of this spectacle.
The unspoken words of the duke echoed in my ears like a hallucination.
The vassals looking at me with pity and sorrow...
...and my mother, her eyes brimming with tears.
That was what finally set me off.
"Not yet, I am not done!"
I didn't even fully comprehend what I was screaming.
I raised my sword and infused it with magic.
"Young Duke!"
Lan, who had sheathed his sword, was startled at the sight of my blade glowing faintly with magic.
Mana control, a basic qualification for a knight, isn't something one can naturally acquire just by being talented in swordsmanship.
No matter how skilled in swordplay, one cannot simply block a mana-infused sword with a lump of iron.
The knightly competition includes even those who haven't received formal knightly training, to display their talents.
Naturally, I didn't think about the rule that forbade the use of mana.
Nor did I think about the potential for my opponent to be severely injured if he couldn't block it.
I was just desperately struggling, not wanting to let my childhood, spent under tremendous pressure and harsh guidance, be in vain. I wanted to prove my worth at any cost.
But then, with a terrible sound like a scream of metal, my sword shattered into pieces.
I was scratched and cut by the fragments of the shattered blade, but I couldn't even properly feel the pain.
My dazed vision settled on a dagger, intact among the debris, and then on its thrower.
"...Pathetic brat."
Those were the sentiments of a father, a duke, watching his 14-year-old son's desperate struggle.
***
"Ah, damn it."
I woke up with a curse.
I had just had the worst dream of my life, a truly miserable one.
"Young Duke? Is something wrong...?"
Looking at my escort knight, Lan Gaston, who gazed at me with worried eyes, I felt a sense of self-loathing and covered my face with my hands.
We're on our way to Montpellier, searching for the princess.
Baron Dumont, upon hearing that I intended to venture outside amidst a plague, feigned fainting while clutching his neck in an attempt to dissuade me. However, securing the princess was a matter of utmost importance, so I pushed on despite the risks.
Taking a large escort in these plague-ridden times would only increase the danger. Besides, if the citizens saw the Duke sneaking out of the city, it would only lead to misunderstandings about the Duke's domain.
Thus, Gaston volunteered to be my escort, and the two of us set out secretly from the city.
After all, both of us had sufficient skills to defend ourselves, and moving with just the two of us was much faster.
The midnight sky was utterly dark, and there was silence everywhere except for the sound of our campfire.
Shivering momentarily as I dwelled on the worst part of my life, I tried to maintain my composure and said, "No, it's nothing."
Thinking about it, Lan, knighted as 'Sir Gaston,' did nothing wrong.
It just so happened that the kingdom's strongest knight, the Duke, was a man whose pride was everything to him, and Lan participated in the same year's knightly tournament. And Lan, who had learned swordsmanship over the shoulder of his experienced mercenary father, just happened to be a once-in-a-century swordsmanship genius.
Those darn coincidences.
Because of that unlucky combination, I had suffered from self-loathing and powerlessness for far too long.
But in hindsight, perhaps that misfortune shaped who I am today.
Watching Gaston stoking the campfire, I finally spoke up.
"I'm sorry, Sir."
"Huh?"
Back then, driven by desperation, I might have seriously injured or even killed Gaston if it weren't for the Duke.
Furthermore, the Duke, infuriated at the tournament, had Gaston stationed in our domain with me in the name of being my escort knight. Despite his remarkable talent, Gaston, a commoner, was essentially buried away without proper recognition.
As a result, Gaston remained largely unknown, and I was left with the shame of being a noble defeated by an unheard-of commoner.
"I'm sorry... I'm not sure what you mean..."
"Just, sorry for many things."
Gaston, larger in stature than me, awkwardly scratched his chin, now rough with stubble.
Before my regression, I too harbored resentment towards Gaston, avoiding him and barely speaking to him.
Yet, despite that, he remained my knight until the end, dying in battle.
Long ago, I should have apologized and expressed my gratitude. But he wouldn't understand if I said it now, so instead, I chose different words.
"...Thank you for following me, even during this plague."
"I am your escort knight, my lord. It's only natural that I follow."
I chuckled at Gaston's straightforward reply. The son of a mercenary, deemed unrefined, seemed to embody knighthood even more than the renowned 'Blue Knight'.
"Sir, now I will take over here. You need to rest."
"It's fine, my lord. Just a little longer..."
"We wouldn't be here for just a day or two if I, as a Duke, intended to rest alone. I would have brought more attendants."
"...I apologize, then."
Without further objection, Gaston covered himself with a blanket and lay down.
I watched the fire, deep in thought, occasionally glancing at Gaston, lying there.
The tragic knight, of humble origins, who loyally served till the end without any reward, only to die unrecompensed.
Whispering a promise, a resolution to him, I murmured,
"This time, I'll make sure your loyalty will be rewarded."
Had I not encountered and been defeated by Gaston at the Knight Tournament, would I have become someone like the Duke, thriving unchallenged?
If that had been the case...
I might have been unable to accept the kingdom's and nobility's faults, right up to the moment of my execution on guillotine at the hands of the revolutionaries. Perhaps, I would have harbored hatred towards those who killed me, sharpening the blade of vengeance.
If there is a God, surely He didn't send me back just to avoid my death. Among all the nobles of Francia, there must be a reason it was me.
When I first returned, I resented dying the same death as the despised Duke and other nobles, treated no differently. I was only intent on struggling to avoid that fate.
But now, I've changed much and formed many connections.
Unaware of the demons lurking in the shadows, feasting on the blood and pus of a crumbling kingdom, I know about the royals and nobles driving this land to ruin with their greed for the throne and privileges.
Knowing all this, I can't sit idly by, waiting passively for the right moment.
Eventually, the two princes devouring this damned kingdom, along with the kingdom of knights who seek honor only in words, must fall.
Before the stench from their rotting, desperately struggling corpses fills the air with hatred and madness, igniting even the innocent.
***
Ironically, upon arriving in Montpellier, I found myself lost for days.
"What are you saying, Young Duke?"
"They left a while ago."
Exiting a civilian house, I couldn't help but scowl.
Unlike the Duke's domain, which had provided some medicine and food before closing its borders, the local lord here seemed unable to cope, leading to dire situations where emaciated residents begged for mercy.
We brought a substantial amount of food when we left the Duke's domain, but now it's nearly depleted, with nowhere to buy more, despite offering money.
"Tsk, this isn't easy."
Gaston and I are both moving around with our faces covered, and with a few villagers wandering outside the town, there’s minimal contact.
Still, it would be disastrous if either of us caught the plague.
I gazed at the pit where the victims of the plague were burned and piled up.
But surely, there are relatively fewer victims of the epidemic in this area.
In some villages we passed, it was common to see bodies covered in flies along the roadsides, and some places had become desolate, with no one around.
The most pressing issue now is...
The local villagers revere the princess as a saint and are fundamentally uncooperative.
We've tried everything - reassuring them that we mean no harm to her, and even threatening them using noble authority.
But the most we've learned is similar to the reports from the Aquitaine merchants: the princess moves around wearing clothes that cover her entire body and veiled, accompanied by her guards, mainly visiting houses with sick people at night to treat them and then leaving.
Even more frustrating, after a few days in the area, I became certain.
"...It seems like she's deliberately avoiding us."
Even the loyal knight Gaston let out a rare sigh.
Being dragged out by the Duke for something he considers extremely important, only to end up chasing a saint or whatever in the midst of a plague, must be frustrating for an escort knight.
Honestly, I’m at a loss too.
As long as we’re asking the villagers about the princess' whereabouts and they are more cooperative with her than with us, tracking her down is bound to be difficult.
It's certain that the princess mainly operates at night, given that almost all testimonies agree. So, what does she do during the day? Sleep? Hide?
I thought it was absurd how the holy Church turned a woman praised as a saint into a witch, but now it seems it wasn’t entirely baseless.
Honestly, if she wasn't going around treating the sick, her attire covering her entirely and veiled, active only at night, it's almost perfect for being mistaken as a witch.
Eventually, Gaston and I exchanged deep sighs and began setting up camp.
***
I stretched my sore body from the long camping, watching Gaston stoke the campfire.
Seeing Gaston’s rare, eager, and happy expression made me smile too.
When our supplies were almost depleted, I decided on hunting.
What's the point of having a bow if not for times like these!
Hunting in someone else's territory without permission is a serious offense, but that’s for commoners. Besides, the lord here is cooped up in his mansion and hardly comes out. What’s the harm?
The whole roasted boar hanging over the fire, exuding a delicious aroma and dripping with fat, seemed to enrich my soul.
Feasting on meat for a change, maybe we could slightly increase our chances of encountering the nocturnal princess and relieve the fatigue from our nightly endeavors.
But our pleasant time was short-lived.
Both Gaston and I reached for our swords, which we had set aside.
As we sharpened our focus, footsteps approached through the forest.
The person who emerged from the forest was wearing a cloak, common attire for travelers.
Their frame wasn't very large, and beneath the cloak, a long robe was visible.
But they were not just hooded; they also wore a veil underneath, and even gloves covered their hands.
What's this? It's like they're screaming, 'I am suspicious!'
...Wait a second.
“Ex-excuse me, sir.”
Before I could react, a distinctly girlish voice was followed by a rumbling stomach.
An awkward silence followed, and the overly suspicious, yet saintly-praised girl fumbled.
“I'm really, really, really sorry to ask this when we've just met, but, um, could you possibly share some food with me?”
Her voice was immensely embarrassed, and I felt a sense of disbelief, as if all the strength had drained from my body.
Ah, darn it. I should have just lured her out with food instead of all that effort.
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