Chapter 2: Familiar Faces
Let’s rewind the clock to August 16, 1189, when chaos reigned and the fiery war engulfed Chelyrs Palace. The grand flags of the Keynes royal family went up in flames, crashing down amidst the chilly winds that night.
That night, the melodious chimes of the monastery rang through the dark, as the royal guards who hadn’t yet bitten the dust were all captured. Emperor Keynes, along with his beloved wife and offspring, gathered nearly a hundred ministers—including the Chancellor, some Treasury officials, and the Treasurer himself—to announce their surrender. They declared it to the whole city and were promptly locked up for their trial.
That night, flames soared high within the church, burning away any clergy associated with the church, regardless of whether they’d participated in the devious plot devised by Archbishop Anseier and Captain Salamus. All clerical powers were stripped away, they were chased out of the royal city, and the Chelyrs Archdiocese was disbanded. Those who dared resist were to be executed without mercy.
That night, Duke Skarlick stood before the smoldering ruins of the church. Claiming he was handing out emergency rations, he gathered countless starving citizens for a passionate speech. He listed out all the crimes committed by the church against the empire and called for a mass boycott of superstition, fervently urging everyone to rise up against their oppressors from the Fourth Knights Order while promising that new tax laws would never see the light of day. Under his competent leadership, the Valen Empire would finally shake off the relentless oppression of religious tyranny.
That night, so much happened.
If you could flip through the history books many years later, you might find records that read like this:
By the late 12th century, nationalism surged as the conflicts between the church and royalty became ever more pronounced. Pope Angel and the Winter Moon royal family of the Valen Empire found their differences over taxes and power escalating into irreconcilable hostility. The newly crowned Duke Skarlick, unwilling to be chained by the oppressive Temple Church, became the leader of the resistance against the corrupt religious authority.
…………
As the roar of the crowd began to settle down, dawn stealthily crept in.
Here I was, all by my lonesome, sitting atop the armory tower of the palace, hugging my knees and staring off into the distance.
The pale light of dawn spilled over the snow-capped Moon Mountains, casting a warm glow across the land.
Down below, the massive square before the palace was packed with ragged, starving citizens almost blocking every possible exit. For a moment, the crowd hushed, all eyes glued to the two dozen gallows standing tall, where the Workshop Hunters stood with grim faces. Soon, a group of Northern Army soldiers shuffled in, herding the prisoners along like cattle.
“They’re coming, they’re coming…”
“Who are those guys?”
“Are they nobles from the palace…?”
“Doesn’t look like it from their clothes…”
People began buzzing, speculation rising as I followed the procession of trembling prisoners who staggered up to the gallows. Some were weeping, others held their heads high, while a few were hoarsely trying to plead for their lives.
“I—was once the oldest heavy cavalryman from the New City of Kaliye—”
The speaker limped, looking a bit weathered, probably around fifty, with a haggard face full of age lines. His disheveled outfit and wispy white hair whipped about in the wind as he embodied the spirit of a tragic, late-hero.
“I dedicated myself to the empire, to the prosperity of the Northern Region! In this war to save the empire’s citizens, I led over a hundred cavalry through the Moon Mountain tunnel, preparing for over two months, all to assist Duke Skarlick in reclaiming the royal city! But due to a botched operation, the Northern Army mistook me for a traitor!”
His voice cracked with pent-up emotion, and his piteous demeanor made the young soldier escorting him frown, unsure whether to let him continue.
“You can’t treat a loyal man like this—!!”
The old man pressed on, “I, Cardon, refuse to be silenced! What you’re doing will chill the hearts of all loyal subjects! You will chill the hearts of the heavy cavalry from the New City of Kaliye! I demand a thorough investigation, I want to see Duke Skarlick! You can’t treat me this way, you just can’t…”
Seeing his cries incite more chatter amongst the crowd, the young rope-handler looked increasingly unsure, his eyes darting back to the crowd. Then, a hunter, visibly losing his patience, dashed up to the platform and, without a second thought, slapped the old man across the face.
Smack!
The sound echoed sharply, making the old man’s head tilt sideways. The crisp noise traveled all the way to me, crystal clear.
“Don’t treat us like fools.”
The hunter proclaimed, “You conspired with the palace steward, Feller, and tipped him off about the Northern Army’s plans that night. Feller is a crony of Keynes, and everyone else was wiped out except for you.”
“And you led Captain Paul here to trust you. You misguided him into accidentally slaughtering nearly two hundred unarmed clergy, giving the Fourth Knights Order the perfect excuse. And then you hid in the royal city, laughing to yourself every single day, right? What a ‘heroic’ achievement you’ve made!”
“Pfft!”
He finished by spitting thick phlegm on the old man’s face.
“A thankless cur; killing you a few times wouldn’t be excessive.”
Before long, the prisoners were dangling lifelessly from the gallows, their urine and excrement dripping down. The onlookers cheered and raised their hands in excitement at such a sight.
After watching for a while, I slid down from the tower, leaping through a window into the palace’s main hall. I zipped through the corridor, hood pulled tightly over my head, cloak wrapped around me, until I bumped into a few palace guards. The leading one looked like a commander, his armor marked with the emblem of Reckmon, presumably on a mission to fetch Viki.
“That Keynes’ wife? She was interrogated recently and confirmed to be working with the church…”
They chatted as they marched, “Not a nun, and even without a clerical affiliation. She didn’t seem suspicious at all, but she was an inside informant from the Holy City, getting close to Keynes two years ago, using her looks to ensnare that fool, and she was even the first to connect with the Archbishop…”
I skidded to a halt.
Then, lowering my head, I silently slipped past them.
The commander seemed to glance back at me, hesitated for a moment and uttered a casual, “Hey,” as if recognizing me. But upon seeing I wasn’t in the mood to chat, he simply shook his head and walked away with his subordinates.
Shortly after, I returned to my temporary quarters in the palace—a room that should have belonged to some concubine, adorned in a lavishly pink, romantic style.
“Phew…”
I turned around and shut the door, letting out a sigh of relief.
I peeled off my cloak, hanging it on a nearby rack. I moved to the window and drew the curtains, plunging the room into a dim gloom. Outside, I could faintly hear the still-boisterous crowd from the square.
I sat on the bed for a moment, then stood up, stripping off my clothes and heading to the washroom, where I splashed icy water over myself—not that I needed to follow the usual routine; it had been ages since nature called.
Ever since I crossed into the Eastern Continent, even Mother Nature had ceased to visit.
Drip drip—
Drip.
Cold water dripped from my damp hair onto the floor. I stood stark n*ked in the empty washroom, staring blankly at my pale, delicate arms.
Flashes of memory from that town came rushing back—the fight with that old nun, when I snatched the remains of the Goddess of Sin. As soon as I gripped it, a wave of bl**d-red threads surged forth, and before I even realized it, both it and the Dead Smoke were consumed in an instant, merging into me.
What a chilling scene it was…
Yet, it all felt so familiar.
