Sometime after the inauguration ceremony, the town still buzzed with life under the high moon. Townsfolk wandered the streets, some shops remained open, and performers gathered small crowds with their street acts. The distant sound of bards playing, mingled with the chatter of people, filled the cool night air. Despite the late hour, the celebration lingered in the hearts of Rothrosia's citizens.
In a local tavern, dimly lit by flickering lanterns, Sir Francis sat at one of the wooden tables. His usual armor had been traded for a simple yet practical tunic of earthy brown, laced up the front and along the sleeves, much like a commoner's attire unassuming in its elegance. A tunic was belted at the waist, and a small pouch hung at his side, though it was clear that even in such humble clothing, Sir Francis still carried the air of a knight.
He slammed an empty mug onto the table, signaling the tavern maid for another drink. His cheeks were flushed from the alcohol, and his expression had a strange mix of weariness and stubborn determination.
Louise, the merchant, sat across from him. His expression was one of mild amusement, but his eyes betrayed a hint of bewilderment. After observing Sir Francis's unusual behavior for a moment, Louise leaned in, his tone playful but curious.
"So, Sir Francis," he began, smirking slightly, "what on earth has gotten into you tonight?"
Louise's question hung in the air, as the tavern's noise carried on around them, but all his attention was on the knight who had, just hours earlier, stood proudly among the realm's finest.
Sir Francis, his eyes unfocused for a moment, then narrowed slightly, as though he was wrestling with the weight of his thoughts, or perhaps simply the drink. He let out a sigh, his irritation barely concealed as he leaned back in his chair.
"It's been a long day," he muttered, swirling the remnants of his drink in the mug. "And honestly, I just want it to be over with."
He took another swig, but his mind was elsewhere, weighed down by thoughts he couldn't share. The daunting task before him—the whispers of the Demon Lord Alastair, the witches, and the darkening tide that loomed over Rothrosia—none of it was something he could speak of openly, not even with Louise. He didn't want to burden his friend with it. So instead, he opted for a half-truth.
"All this," he waved his hand vaguely, "mainly just tired from that witches' incident. It's been a bit much."
Louise, perceptive as always, caught the tension behind his words but didn't push further. He gave a sympathetic nod, recognizing the strain on Sir Francis. "I can imagine," Louise said, his voice light, though there was genuine concern behind it. "Seems like that mess has affected all of us, one way or another."
The merchant shifted in his seat, leaning on the table as he spoke.
"It's hit my business too, you know. My shop in the city—caught in the middle of that damn attack. Took some damage to the storefront, but the sales didn't dip much, thankfully. Still, I've had to close up for repairs. Won't be open again until further notice."
He offered a wry smile. "It's not the worst that could've happened, but covering those repair costs isn't exactly cheap. You know how it is."
Francis gave a nod, though his gaze remained distant. Louise's words filled the space between them, but the knight's mind wandered, thinking of the dangers still lurking beyond the city walls.
Louise then leaned in with a curious look, lowering his voice slightly. "So, have you met the savior yet? The one they hailed during the inauguration ceremony?"
Sir Francis frowned, visibly irritated. "Only from a distance," he muttered. "I didn't actually meet him."
Louise couldn't resist a grin at Sir Francis' expression. Playfully, he prodded further. "And what about the Princess? Have you met her?"
Sir Francis closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair, arms crossed in frustration. Then, suddenly, he hunched forward, his head dropping toward the table. His fists clenched tightly on the wooden surface as he murmured, almost dejectedly, "I didn't even have the chance to meet her…"
Louise tried to stifle a laugh, clearly amused at Sir Francis' reaction, which was almost like a child not getting what they wanted. Before he could say anything else, the tavern maid arrived, placing another drink in front of Sir Francis. Without hesitation, Sir Francis grabbed it, gulping down half in one go. He slammed the mug back onto the table and let out a long, exasperated groan, as if trying to release all his pent-up frustration.
Louise took a sip of his drink, a friendly smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. With a playful tease, he said, "Ah, now I see why you're so frustrated." He know how much Sir Francis idolize the Princess.
Sir Francis let out a grunt, rolling his eyes as he downed the rest of his drink. The tavern had grown busier, more patrons filling the wooden chairs and tables. Amid the new arrivals, a familiar figure entered—none other than Sir William.
Sir William, unlike Sir Francis, was dressed in fine attire. He wore a richly patterned doublet of muted gold and brown, embroidered with intricate designs. A dark brown cloak, lined with shimmering gold on the inside, draped over his shoulders. His belt was fastened securely, holding a polished sword, and his boots were of fine leather, completing the look of a nobleman accustomed to luxury.
He scanned the bustling tavern, and when his eyes landed on Sir Francis and Louise, he made his way toward them with confident strides. Upon reaching the table, Louise greeted him warmly,
"Ah, Sir William! Care to join us for a drink?"
Sir William, ever the gentleman, offered a polite smile but declined. "I appreciate the offer, but I must decline. Pardon my intrusion, but may I have a word with Sir Francis?"
Even though Sir William maintained his usual calm and collected demeanor, there was a seriousness in his tone that hinted at the gravity of the situation. Sir Francis, still slightly affected by the alcohol, raised an eyebrow in question, sensing that something important was at hand.
Louise, ever polite, excused himself and headed towards the main bar, leaving the two knights to speak in private.
The tavern was alive with laughter, clinking mugs, and the shuffling feet of busy tavern maids as they moved from table to table, delivering drinks to the patrons. Sir William and Sir Francis sat at a corner table, away from the noise but still amidst the lively atmosphere.
Sir Francis took another sip of his drink, eyeing Sir William curiously. "So, what's the matter? Why the sudden visit? You don't usually come to places like this," Sir Francis remarked, the alcohol making his tone a bit more casual. He knew Sir William preferred the refined company of noble houses, not the local tavern where the common folk gathered.
Sir William sat with perfect posture, his noble upbringing evident in every move. He placed his hands on the table and leaned forward, lowering his voice slightly. "The savior… he will be sent to Rothrosia's Magic Academy to train, at least for now."
Sir Francis's brow furrowed, a questioning look crossing his face. "What? Doesn't he already know how to use his magic powers?" he said, his tone dripping with a mix of confusion and curiosity.
Leaning back in his chair, Sir William maintained his calm demeanor, though the seriousness of the subject was clear. "It appears the savior comes from a world entirely devoid of magic. His powers only manifested after he arrived here. In other words, he has no real experience with magic and doesn't even know how to properly utilize it yet."
Sir Francis blinked, absorbing the information. The idea of someone so important, so prophesized, being untrained in magic seemed almost absurd. He then proceed taking another sip of his drink before setting the mug down with a light thud. "So, what's all this got to do with me?" he asked, his voice tinged with mild annoyance, still nursing the remnants of his earlier frustration.
Sir William replied with a single, flat word: "None."
Sir Francis blinked, caught off guard by the bluntness. "None?" he echoed, puzzled.
Sir William leaned back slightly, his posture ever calm and collected. "I was the one tasked with escorting the savior to the academy," he continued, his tone steady, as though the weight of this assignment hardly fazed him.
Sir Francis sighed, brushing the news off with a dismissive hand gesture. "Well, that's your problem then," he muttered, glancing toward the bustling tavern around them. But before he could fully disengage from the conversation, Sir William spoke again, this time lowering his voice, drawing Sir Francis back in.
"However, there's one other matter regarding a specific item inside the royal treasury."
Sir Francis's brow furrowed. He shifted in his seat, now more interested. His irritation faded slightly, replaced by a flicker of curiosity. "What item?" he asked, leaning in.
Sir William observed Sir Francis's sudden change in demeanor, noting the shift from exasperation to anticipation. With a measured pause, he finally revealed, "Sir Gedeon has managed to extract information from the servant on what the witches were after from that particular treasury. It was a Mother Crystal."
Sir Francis's brows knitted together, his mind racing to piece together the implications of what he had just learned. "What Mother Crystal?" he asked, the confusion clear in his tone.
Sir William looked at him steadily, then posed a question, "Do you know of magic crystals?"
"Of course," Sir Francis replied immediately. "They're crystals that mages use to store magic energy in."
"Correct," Sir William acknowledged with a slight nod. "But a Mother Crystal works in much the same way, with one key difference. It doesn't just store magic energy—it also absorbs the life force of those around it."
Sir Francis blinked, taken aback. "What?" he blurted, his expression shifting from mild interest to disbelief. "Wait, so you're telling me there's a crystal that doesn't just store magic, but actually drains people's souls?"
His puzzlement quickly turned to irritation, as though the very idea of such an object offended him. "I've never heard of anything like that. It sounds absurb."
Sir William remained composed, his voice steady as he explained further. "Magic crystals are forged through rituals where mages gather the surrounding magical energy and store it within the crystal. Mother Crystals, however, require a far more complex and ancient ritual—one that has long been forgotten. The knowledge to create such an artifact is said to have been lost to time."
Sir Francis shook his head in disbelief. "So how in the world did this Mother Crystal end up in the royal treasury?"
Sir William replied. "After knowing the witches objective, Sir Gedeon and Angus conducted an exhaustive investigation, combing through the treasury to find this so-called Mother Crystal"
Sir Francis leaned forward, his attention now fully captured. "And?"
Sir William continued, "Eventually, they discovered a hidden compartment. It dates back to the first lineage of Rothrosia's royal family, buried deep within the records and long forgotten. It was there, concealed for generations, that they found the crystal."
Sir Francis furrowed his brow, his tone laced with confusion. "So these wretched witches were after this Mother Crystal... but for what purpose?"
Sir William remained calm, but his voice carried a note of concern as he answered. "Rumor has it that the Mother Crystal has the power to resurrect souls from the dead. It's also said to be able to open portals to other worlds."
Sir Francis took a big gulp of his drink, then slammed the empty wooden mug onto the table. He looked intoxicated as he muttered in disbelief, "Resurrect someone from the dead? Ha! That's a whole load of—" He paused, the words catching as the alcohol took hold.
Beside him, Sir William shook his head slightly at his friend's state, but before he could say anything, Sir Francis had already slumped over the table, fast asleep.