As Count Trosa stood in the village yard, greeting the gathering crowd with a broad smile, Baron Elifer's spirit lifted. The grim sight of his fallen subjects, casualties of a recent skirmish, had weighed heavily on him, but the arrival of an old friend offered a glimmer of solace.
"General, I never expected your visit today. Had I known, a grand banquet in your honor would be awaiting us back in the town square," Baron Elifer said, his voice a mix of surprise and deference as he bowed slightly.
Trosa's laughter filled the air, a hearty, resonant sound that eased the tension of the moment. "Oh, my friend, don't fret over formalities. We hardly announced our arrival!" He stepped forward and embraced Elifer, a gesture of genuine affection.
The old general then grew more solemn, patting Elifer's arm as he shared recent battlefield woes. "We clashed with the Redingburg forces not long ago. Though victorious, the slippery snake Casolas escaped our grasp. To my dismay, he fled into your lands. I regret not arriving sooner to prevent the damage inflicted here," Trosa confessed, his tone laden with regret.
Baron Elifer shook his head, his voice steady and comforting. "General, war is fraught with such misfortunes. We are bound to suffer losses when we stand against the Kantadars. Rest assured, we shall reclaim our dues on the battlefield, tenfold."
His brow then furrowed with curiosity. "But General, I was informed by Lord Adilion that the Kantadars had already been defeated before your arrival. What then brings you here now?"
"Just getting to that," Trosa said, his eyes twinkling with a hint of mystery. He turned to a young man in the crowd, beckoning him forward. "This young hero, Baron Elifer Farolis, is the current head of the venerable Thorn Flower Family and the rightful steward of these lands. Meet him, Leon."
Leon approached, his armor clanking slightly. With a respectful bow, he said, "An honor, Lord Farolis."
Elifer eyed Leon curiously, noting the young man's unusual accent. Initially dismissing him as a mere squire in Trosa's entourage, he now reconsidered as Trosa continued with an intriguing revelation.
"This is Leon, hailing from Serian. Along with two companions and a griffin, he confronted and routed Doson's cavalry, saving this village from further harm," Trosa explained, his pride in the young man evident.
Elifer's surprise was evident as he reassessed Leon. "A griffin, you say? Such a formidable ally speaks volumes of your bravery and resourcefulness."
Leon responded with humility, "It's true I've been aided by a griffin, Lord, but it's less a mount and more a companion I encountered by chance. We share a bond, not a command."
Elifer nodded thoughtfully, his mind racing with the implications of such a partnership. However, conflicting reports clouded his understanding of recent events.
With a decisive tone, he turned to his retainer. "Balf, find the villager who reported enemy movements yesterday. I wish to clarify this matter myself."
Trosa, puzzled by the sudden shift, queried, "Something amiss, Mr. Elifer?"
Elifer faced the general, his expression grave. "General, we received alarming reports of Kantadar spies disguised as beggars, purportedly drawing enemy forces to Selva. This prompted our swift defensive action. I must unravel this mystery."
Trosa's brow furrowed at the mention of spies. The plot, it seemed, was thickening by the moment.
Leon's brow furrowed as he listened to the exchange, a sense of déjà vu creeping over him.
Before he could delve deeper into his thoughts, Knight Balf of the Farolis family approached, ushering a familiar figure toward the gathered nobles.
"My lord, please, a moment's respite," panted Boris, his face marred by bruises and his voice tinged with exhaustion. "I've ridden through the night without stop."
"Why dawdle when urgency is demanded? Do you wish to keep the nobility waiting?" Balf scolded, his patience thinning as he roughly grasped Boris by the collar, pulling him forward like a misbehaved pup.
Released abruptly, Boris stumbled, nearly collapsing before the assembly.
Leon stared in disbelief. He hadn't inspected the bodies left in the wake of the attack closely and had assumed Boris was among the casualties.
Trembling, Boris regained his footing, his head bowed in a show of deference to the towering figures around him. "Greetings, esteemed lords and knights," he murmured, not daring to meet the eyes of those he addressed, his bow inadvertently directed at Leon as well.
Baron Elifer's voice cut through the tension. "Look up. Do you recognize the youth beside me?"
Boris, startled, slowly lifted his gaze, scanning the gleam of silver armor before his eyes settled on a face he loathed. Recognition dawned, mingled with disbelief.
"That one there!" Boris exclaimed, pointing at Leon, his voice laden with accusation. "He's a Kantadar spy, and there are others with him!"
A hush fell over the crowd, the absurdity of the claim hanging thick in the air.
Leon regarded Boris with a mix of pity and amusement, untouched by the baseless allegations.
Boris faltered, the weight of the noble stares pressing down upon him, his earlier conviction wavering under their scrutiny.
"Are you suggesting this supposed spy thwarted the Kantadar raiders?" Baron Elifer asked, one eyebrow arched in skepticism, the absurdity of the statement not lost on him.
"Yes, take him away," Elifer dismissed with a wave of his hand, signaling for Balf to remove Boris from the gathering.
Boris's mouth agape, he struggled to reconcile the noble's words with his own belief. His imagination failed to stretch to the possibility of three ragged figures defeating a force as formidable as the Kantadar cavalry he'd witnessed himself hiding in the bushes that fateful night.
As Balf grasped his collar once more, Boris jerked in surprise, his mind still wrestling with the implausible reality presented before him.
"No, there must be something amiss!" Boris declared, his voice brimming with desperation and disbelief. "Even if these three aren't Kantadar spies, they're nothing but charlatans, brimming with deception!"
"How could they possibly defeat an entire army of over fifty fierce cavalrymen?" Boris continued, his voice rising in frustration as he was dragged forward by the knight. "This young rogue is spewing nothing but lies! Do not be swayed by his tales!"
He scoffed, "He claims they came through the Nightmare Forest! Can you believe such folly? It's preposterous! They're hiding something for sure. Even if they aren't spies, they must be fugitives of some sort!"
Baron Elifer's brow furrowed upon hearing the mention of the Nightmare Forest. He momentarily tuned out Boris's frantic accusations. The notion that the boy had traversed such a dreaded place piqued his curiosity and skepticism.
After all, Boris seemed unaware that the young man was allegedly accompanied by a griffin, a creature capable of overwhelming dozens of soldiers with ease. While Baron Elifer hadn't seen any evidence of the griffin himself, General Trosa had confirmed its presence, and he trusted the general's word.
But the claim of passing through the "Nightmare Forest" intrigued him even more.
General Trosa, overhearing the mention of the forest, paused, his expression turning contemplative. Known to the people of Orland as the "Nightmare Forest" and to the Kantadians as the "Panros Forest," it was a place shrouded in dark myths and lethal dangers. The dense, foreboding forest marked a natural border fraught with peril, and local legend held that no one who ventured deep into its heart ever returned.
Baron Elifer recalled tales of a daring ancestor from the Thorn Flower family, who, in a bold but foolhardy gesture, ventured into the forest with a rope tied around his waist, hoping to chart a path and return. Tragically, the rope was later found severed cleanly, a chilling testament to the forest's malevolent presence.
These stories were all too familiar to Trosa, who knew well the family's history of bold, often reckless challenges against the forest's mysteries.
Baron Elifer's gaze shifted between Boris and Leon, his mind wrestling with the implications of Boris's claims and the legendary dangers of the Nightmare Forest. The possibility that these newcomers had successfully navigated such a perilous journey seemed almost as fantastical as the notion of them defeating a Kantadar cavalry. But then, why would they fabricate such an extraordinary tale?
"Let's consider what's plausible," Baron Elifer murmured, more to himself than to the others, pondering the threads of history, legend, and the enigmatic tale unfolding before him.
Rumors had long swirled that Lord Elifer's father, the previous Baron Farolis, had vanished without a trace into the depths of the Nightmare Forest two decades ago. This haunting legacy lingered as General Trosa addressed Leon with a solemn tone.
"Young man, it has been mentioned that you claimed to have traveled through the Nightmare Forest. Is this true?" Trosa asked, his gaze piercing through any pretense.
Before Leon could muster a response, the old count pressed on, his voice imbued with a stern yet protective gravity. "You must be truthful about your journey in Orland and refrain from deceit. Should there be any dark chapters in your past, even if they involve serious transgressions, fear not retribution here. I assure you on my honor, your valor and service will absolve most accusations here in Orland. So, tell us plainly about your origins."
Leon felt a surge of respect and gratitude for the old nobleman, who was known universally as the general. In an era where a noble's word was their bond, such assurances were not given lightly.
He realized that while the general harbored suspicions about his past, he was ultimately offering protection. It wasn't that the general feared Leon might be a fugitive or slave; he was more concerned about potential fabrications regarding the Nightmare Forest. For the nobility, deceit was a greater sin than most others.
But to Leon, the truth was clear and needed no embellishment.
"I truly did cross the Nightmare Forest," Leon thought to himself, a bitter smile crossing his face. "Must I fabricate a lie to convince you I haven't lied?"
Despite his internal monologue, Leon pondered the enigma of the Nightmare Forest. Although perilous, his own journey, guided by Miss Lola's arcane wisdom, had not been the impossible feat many believed it to be.
"We were just three young men fleeing," Leon reflected on their harrowing yet successful escape. "If a well-prepared band of skilled warriors, accompanied by a wizard knowledgeable in the necessary rituals, were to traverse it, wouldn't they find it even less daunting?"
Miss Lola had always seemed to hold more secrets about navigating the treacherous land. Leon mused that if she were not trapped in her spectral form, she would likely have found escaping the so-called 'spiritual field' trivial.
"Do these nobles not have the means to hire a wizard?" Leon wondered silently. Magic was clearly still a part of this world, as evidenced by the rune-imbued weapons he had seen among the nobility.
Sighing, Leon cast aside the swirling thoughts. After careful consideration, he resolved to stick to the truth. Fabricating a story was not only against his nature but unnecessary. He couldn't invent a lie that would hold up to scrutiny, so he decided to speak honestly about his improbable but true experience.
Leon faced a conundrum. The original owner of his body, a mere hunter's son from Serria, had scant knowledge of Orland's geography, let alone the more esoteric secrets of its northern reaches. His recent grasp of local places came solely from snippets of conversation with Olivia. The eastern roads were barred by war, beyond which lay the enigmatic "King's Territory of Kronia." Yet, Leon couldn't even recall the name of the nearest town.
How could he fabricate a "real" journey through the forest that these knowledgeable nobles would believe? His narrative would have to withstand the scrutiny of those well-versed in their kingdom's geography. And yet, in a twist of fate, if Leon had reacted differently to Boris's provocation by the river or Olivia's probing questions, he might have spun a tale to shield himself. But such lies, easily unraveled by these discerning lords, would only cast him under deeper suspicion.
In his current predicament, honesty was not just the best policy, it was his only viable strategy. Baron Elifer's skepticism about traversing the Nightmare Forest was evident, even with the mention of a griffin. History told of the Farolis ancestors who vanished attempting to fly over that cursed wood, their fates obscured by the mists of time.
Baron Elifer, seeking clarity, addressed Leon directly, "Tell us how you arrived in Selva. As long as you haven't attempted regicide, you'll face no charges here."
Leon, understanding the depth of the baron's disbelief, even with mythical beasts involved; responded with the solemnity of his homeland's customs. Raising his right hand to his heart, an oath-taking gesture of those faithful to the Holy Sun Church, he prepared to affirm his truth.
"Under the witness of the Holy Sun and Prophet Ilaril, I swear that every word I utter is true. Should I lie, may my soul plummet into the abyss, to be shunned eternally in the afterlife," Leon declared, his voice steady. He didn't fear divine retribution; his conscience was clear, for his words were honest.
"By some fortune or divine favor, my companions and I indeed survived the perilous journey through the southern forest. This is no fabrication. The ordeal was arduous, too intricate for brief recounting. We're not dubious fugitives; we were captives of the Kantardars after the fall of Rolandar City, where our families perished. Escaping captivity, we fled for our lives."
As Leon recounted his ordeal, the nobles exchanged looks of surprise and skepticism. Crafting a lie intricate enough to deceive them was implausible; he hoped his sworn truth would suffice. If doubt still clouded their judgment, there was little more he could do.
Yet, as he concluded his explanation, Leon refused to remain passive under scrutiny. He turned his gaze toward Boris, the village ruffian, ready to confront the next challenge head-on.
Leon's frustration bubbled to the surface as he faced Boris, the village ruffian, who had wronged him time and again. "I can't lay a hand on these nobles, but you? You're fair game," he snapped, his voice laced with contempt. "You, Boris, coveted the precious sword I stumbled upon during my escape. You made our lives a living hell, robbing us on the road and even using drugs to break into our homes."
He took a step closer, eyes narrowed. "And now you dare accuse me in front of all these noble lords? Who should truly be considered suspicious here? Us, the outsiders who risked our lives battling the Kantardars, or you, who vanished when disaster struck?"
As he spoke, a realization struck Leon like lightning. "How did you even get the chance to report to the lord?" He paused, his brow furrowing in thought. "You were knocked out by us and left unconscious at the bottom of the hill; right in the path of the Kantadar cavalry!"
Leon's mind raced as he pieced it together. It was evident that the cavalry wouldn't let a fainted local escape. Unless... Unless he had woken before they arrived but had chosen to flee instead of warning the villagers. "But you knew they were coming!" Leon accused, his voice rising. "If you hadn't returned to warn the people, you left your friends and neighbors to face their doom alone!"
Boris's expression shifted from arrogance to confusion, but Leon wasn't finished. "You had been friends with these villagers for years. Why didn't you give them the chance to escape? A warning, even in the dark, could have saved countless lives. Instead, you ran away like a coward, abandoning everyone to their fate!"
The weight of the moment hung in the air. Leon recalled the old blacksmith's words: it was a day's journey to town. The timing was critical; if Boris had just returned from reporting the danger, then he had witnessed the approaching threat. "Before dawn, before the Kantardars attacked, you could have quietly warned the villagers. Instead, you chose to save your own skin," Leon seethed, disgust clear in his eyes.
Boris, still grappling with his circumstances, seemed oblivious to the gravity of his actions. Leon's gaze hardened as he imagined the scene: families fleeing into the night, a chance at survival snuffed out by Boris's cowardice. "Do you even comprehend the blood on your hands?" he spat, his voice low and menacing. "You had the power to save lives, yet you stood by, silent."
As the weight of Leon's words sank in, Boris's confidence began to waver. Unbeknownst to him, he was facing the reckoning he had long avoided, and Leon stood ready to ensure that truth would prevail.
Boris's confusion was palpable as he faced the skeptical gazes of the gathered nobility. He couldn't fathom why the old general before him seemed to trust these strangers and forgive their questionable origins without a second thought. Yet, Boris knew he had to swiftly refute the accusations hurled at him to avoid further suspicion.
"My Lords, these are baseless accusations! I never robbed these men. I merely approached them because I found their presence and actions suspicious," Boris protested, his voice tinged with desperation.
The incident by the river had too many witnesses for Boris to outright deny, so he offered a reluctant explanation. However, he saw an opportunity to clear his name regarding the other accusation. "And as for this alleged theft under the influence of drugs, that never happened!" he declared vehemently.
The mention of the sword caught everyone's attention, and Boris hastily added, "Regarding the sword; it looked too noble, too grand to simply be found. When I saw it, I suspected they were escapees who had killed their master and taken his sword. By the heavens, I never intended to steal or harm anyone!"
As Boris and Leon spoke, both General Trosa and Baron Elifer glanced at the sword hanging from Leon's belt. It was indeed a magnificent weapon, clearly of exceptional make, which seemed oddly familiar to Trosa.
Leon, noticing their interest, touched the hilt of his sword and explained, "I found this sword in the Nightmare Forest, during our perilous journey. It was not stolen but acquired in the direst of circumstances."
"May I examine your sword?" Baron Elifer interjected, his curiosity piqued.
"Of course, my lord," Leon replied, unhesitatingly drawing the blade and presenting it to the baron with both hands.
Baron Elifer took the sword, tilting the blade towards the sunlight, examining the fine dwarven steel and the intricate inscriptions. A knowing smile played upon his lips as he recognized the craftsmanship.
At that moment, General Trosa also realized something astonishing, stroking his beard in wonder.
Baron Elifer, without a word, drew his own sword and held it alongside Leon's. The sunlight glinted off both blades, revealing nearly identical inscriptions and design details; except for minor variations in blade and handle length.
Leon, catching sight of the thorn-wrapped rose emblem on the flags behind the baron's entourage, suddenly connected the dots, the same emblem was on the armor of the Ghoul Knight he had encountered.
"I believe you, Leon," Baron Elifer finally said, his voice carrying a mixture of relief and respect. He sheathed his sword and addressed Leon directly by name for the first time. "You and your companions are the first known warriors to successfully traverse the Nightmare Forest in the history of Orland."