After waking up from my much-needed rest, I changed into comfortable attire. Yesterday's encounter with the Baroness had been quite the spectacle, but now, with a refreshed mind, I could plan my day ahead. Stepping out of my room, I found Andrew waiting by the door.
"Come on in," I beckoned, letting out a small yawn. Andrew promptly entered my room. "I'll be heading out to explore the city today, so I entrust you to stay by Elena's side in my absence."
Andrew expressed his concern, "I'd rather accompany you. We don't know if the city is safe."
"I understand your concern, but I prefer to go alone. If you were to follow me, it might complicate matters," I explained. "Besides, we're in the frontier, surrounded by knights. All I need to do is call for help if I encounter any trouble."
"Knights or not, they won't be enough to protect you from potential assassins sent by the chancellor," Andrew insisted, his annoyance evident in his tone. "You should allow me to accompany you. It's for your own safety."
I chuckled at his concern, teasing him, "Careful now, you might break the hearts of our future veterans if they overhear you. Besides, what I'm telling you is an order, not a request."
Andrew's expression hardened, and he bowed respectfully. "Apologies, Master Lucas. I will carry out the order as you wish."
"Good. For someone who often shows little emotion towards others, you're surprisingly overprotective when it comes to me," I remarked. As he left the room, I reached for my armor, a masterpiece crafted by the skilled blacksmith. The armor exuded an enchanting blue glow, concealing the rune embedded within it to remain unnoticed by others.
Putting on my gleaming armor, I stepped out of the estate and ventured into the calm streets of Grimhold. The city exuded an air of tranquility, with people going about their daily routines with a sense of normalcy. The cobblestone streets stretched out before me, lined with quaint shops and bustling market stalls, offering a vibrant display of goods and wares.
As I made my way through the winding alleys, the architecture of the city caught my attention. Tall stone buildings stood proudly, their aged facades bearing the marks of time. Ornate carvings adorned the entrances, showcasing intricate patterns and motifs that hinted at a rich history. The city's layout was strategically planned, with narrow streets and sturdy structures, a testament to its defensive nature.
The sound of horseshoes clattering against the cobblestones echoed through the streets as merchants transported their goods, accompanied by the occasional joyful laughter of children playing nearby. The warm sunlight filtered through the narrow gaps between the buildings, casting enchanting shadows along the path.
Amidst the crowd, I caught sight of an old man, weathered by time and adorned in battered armor. His hair had turned silver, and he bore the unmistakable marks of battle—a missing arm and a scarred face. He sat alone on a worn-out bench, lost in his own world, nursing a bottle of booze.
Intrigued by his presence, I decided to join him, taking a seat beside him. He seemed oblivious to my arrival, lost in his thoughts as he took another swig of his drink, wiping his face with a weathered hand.
"Well, you must have a story to tell," I spoke aloud, prompting a glance in my direction. His remaining eye, void of emotion, seemed to scan me from head to toe before refocusing on his drink.
"You want to know my story, young noble?" he slurred, his voice tinged with a hint of weariness. "I'm just a veteran who fought in a war."
He quickly looked away and began drinking his booze once more seemingly thinking that was enough story to tell
"I was hoping for something more detailed" I replied showing him a smile
"What is it that you wish to know, young noble?" he finally replied, this time taking a quick sip of his drink. My eyes lingered on his aging armor, a relic of a bygone era, riddled with cracks and rust, its maintenance seemingly neglected.
"You fought in the demon wars, didn't you?" I inquired, my voice laced with genuine interest. The knight's drinking halted abruptly, his gaze fixating on some distant point before he collected himself.
A contemplative pause hung in the air before he continued, his words tinged with a sense of wistfulness. "When I was but eighteen, consumed by lofty ambitions and an unyielding desire to be a hero, I enlisted in the army. Little did I know that a year later, the demon war would erupt, thrusting me into its harrowing depths."
His voice carried a mixture of nostalgia and remorse as he recounted the days of his youth. "We were stationed in the treacherous frontier, the first line of defense against the encroaching darkness. I was part of a squadron of ten valiant souls, each filled with dreams of attaining celebrated heroism. The war fueled our aspirations, casting a beguiling spell upon our impressionable minds."
"It must have been exhilarating for your younger self, facing such a formidable foe." I replied
His expression darkened, a glimmer of resignation surfacing in his eye. "Exhilarating, yes, but also a naive sentiment," he admitted, taking a long sip from his bottle. The liquid seemed to stoke both nostalgia and regret within him. "You see, in our first battle, I was confronted with the stark reality of the demons. I struggled to reconcile their existence, perceiving them as beings not deserving of death. When I finally mustered the strength to take a life, a wave of revulsion overcame me, and I emptied my stomach, staining the battlefield. It became a jest among my squadron for a while" He chuckled as he spoke
The knight's voice trembled with a mix of sorrow and bitterness as he continued his tale. "The initial excitement faded quickly. Within a week of my first kill, one of my squadron members perished. And the following week, two more fell. By the end of the first month, all my comrades, my friends, had met their demise."
His remaining eye bore the weight of despair and loneliness, as if the burden of their loss still haunted him. He took a prolonged sip from his bottle, seeking solace in the numbing embrace of the drink.
Moved by his plight, genuine pity welled up within me. "I cannot help but feel sorry for you," I confessed, my voice filled with genuine empathy. It was disheartening to witness a man who had once harbored hope reduced to such a state.
The knight's response carried a sense of resignation, his voice tinged with a weariness that seemed to permeate his being. "Do not waste your pity on me, young lord," he uttered, his gaze piercing mine with a mix of sadness and acceptance. "I have long escaped the clutches of that hellish existence. Instead, reserve your pity for those young knights," he gestured towards a group of eager recruits nearby, their eyes filled with ambition and untainted idealism.
As I observed the young knights brimming with ambition and idealism, and then shifted my gaze back to the veteran before me, an unexpected sense of gratitude washed over me. I realized that individuals like this battle-worn knight and the aspiring recruits were not only the backbone of armies but also valuable tools for propaganda in this medieval world. Their stories of sacrifice, resilience, and the horrors they had endured would serve as potent fuel for crafting compelling narratives that could manipulate the masses.
While I couldn't help but feel a certain sadness for the veteran, empathizing with the immense hardships he had faced, I also saw an opportunity in his experiences. A smile slowly spread across my face as a thought took hold. His story, filled with tragedy and loss, would become the cornerstone of my plan to stoke hatred and resentment towards demons, even if such sentiments were already prevalent.
"Thank you," I said softly, placing a handful of cold coins into the knight's weathered hand. A flicker of gratitude crossed his face as I turned away, leaving him behind as I continued my exploration of the city.