Chapter 3 - I - A meeting of human kings
***The city of Meldech***
Capital and the largest city of Nerfes, Meldech was home to around 150,000 people. It was also the location of the royal palace, where the immediate family of the ruling king James Walter Reed II lived. Meldech was on the northeastern shores of the kingdom, flanked by a mountain range to its northwest and southeast. According to history books, it was an ideal location, especially for defending the northern passes into Chersea.
Not only did the city served as an administrative center of the government, it could also be converted into an impregnable fortress which the armies of Nerfes could use as a ‘base of operations’ for defending against any invading armies coming in from the desolated lands further north of the continent, just like in the human-demon wars hundreds of seasons ago.
However, like all ‘impregnable’ city-fortresses, Meldech had an ‘Achilles’ heel’. Its walls and towers may be thick and sturdy, but its gates remained lightly guarded—even for an important place such as this. There were only a few sentries posted at its point of entries, who were supposedly tasked to conduct routine inspections of travelers and cargo going in and out of the city. However, they didn’t search that much, lest they risk adversely affecting the flow of city traffic.
Heck, this is the time of the ‘Saint’s Peace’ anyway; who cares for increased security?
Thus, such a lax and come-what-may attitude permeating Meldech’s local militia helped the man only known as ‘The Traveler’ infiltrate the city proper. Upon entry, he immediately deviated from the intended route of the cart he was into, and instead, headed to the nearest tavern in sight.
“Oh, welcome to Mead and Bacon Tavern!” a barmaid greeted him as The Traveler removed his cloak and deposited his weapon on the nearest weapon rack.
“Ah, got any ale?”
“Right this way!” the barmaid led him to the counter of the tavern, since all the tables were already full of other travelers and drinkers.
“What can I get ‘ya?” another barmaid tending to the counter asked cheerfully. Her hands were full of customers, and yet, she could still accommodate a few more who were coming in.
“Your cheapest ale and a plate of steak. And while you’re at it, can I also rent a bed?” the Traveler ordered.
“Riiiigggghhhtt. That’d be 1 silver coin per long sleep. Add your order, and it would be one silver and half-hundred bronze coins.”
“Here you go.” he produced the required payment, and while waiting for his food, silently listened to the idle chatter of the people inside the place…
“What? You’re joining the knight corps? Are you serious? You’re a commoner, so it’s like a long-shot to nothing!”
“Well, I can handle myself. If that commoner can square it off with those foolish nobles on the last tourney, why can’t I?”
“It’s the ‘Fist of the North Lands’ we’re talking about, and not you! I bet you’d turn your tail and run the moment you see the imperial legionaries marching in your direction!”
“…”
“Hey, did you know? That man called the ‘Fist of the North Lands’ fought and protected Her Holiness when they were attacked on the way to Fen last time! I heard he used the demon weapon to scare an entire army of bandits and brigands, and burned the forest of Herman just to smoke them out of hiding!”
“…”
“I just learned that the ‘Fist of the North Lands’ is a disguised knight from another country outside of Chersea. I wonder where did he come from? Cherflammen? Cherwind? Cherwoods?”
“How about Equality?”
“Hmm? Nah, that’s impossible. No good thing can come from that place; everyone’s quick to get offended there. It’s like a land of offenses.”
The Traveler could only listen to his amusement. Rumors spread fast and often added with embellishments as they passed from one person to another, and these latest stories about a certain man called ‘Fist of the North Lands’ were no different. He was there watching when this ‘Fist’ ‘fought’ the bandits with the members of the Paladin Corps—doing absolutely nothing other than panicking inside the carriage of the Saint. He was also present in the tourney of the Duke of Rubinforth, where he saw him use the cowardly ‘demon weapon’ against the charging Templar-Prince.
And, finally, he was also there when that guy was killed by one of his men, slit in the throat.
Fortunately, the Saint was on his side, and he was saved. The Traveler had made sure of his demise by not only targeting his neck and waiting for him to be out of the substitution doll’s protection, but he also had that knife laced with white mold poison—an incredibly potent toxin able to kill an armored leviathan in seconds.
Yes, these stories about the great ‘Fist of the North Lands’ are just pitiful rumors, made by the locals themselves meant to mask their fear of the inevitable domination of the Empire…
“…”
However, this time, the Traveler was not here to kill that man. He had once again infiltrated the northern kingdoms to deal with a threat more credible than this ‘Fist of the North Lands’…
‘The Iron Princess’.
As long as that person existed and the Saint did as she wished, the Empire couldn’t realize the plans it had created in connection to its glorious past and enduring future. He had to eliminate one and capture the other.
“…”
Good thing that he knew exactly where to start…
“Hey!”
A drunk man looked towards the Traveler when he called out his attention, “Yer…toookin’ too meee…bud?”
“Ah yes…seems like it’s the good times here, old man! Here, have another mug of ale!”
“Ooh!” the drunk quickly accepted the drink, since he’s out of his wits, anyway, “Yesssh…de businesss is a’boooomin’ aftar dat turneeey…Imperial sonnoffabitches got socked by ta Fisht offza Norlans…”
“Yeah, that’s a splendid fellow, I agree!”
“Whyyy doncha drink? Com’av ale!”
“Well, I’m kind of worried, see?”
“Worri…wat?”,
“Worried.” the Traveler feigned innocence in his voice, “Do you know about the Bloody Witch of Meldech?”
“EH? Dat bloddy weetch is alreeeaaadddy dead…”
“No, she isn’t. And she’s back here, on the fringes of the southern borders of the kingdom.” the Traveler explained, “See, I’m now dressed in this garb because I won’t waste my chances—I’ll escape with my life away from here as soon as possible.”
“Huh? Wataryutokin ‘bout?” the drunk man had increasingly become agitated. He didn’t want to talk about the Witch of Meldech, especially in good times like this, “Za king wud protek ush!”
“I’d start running if I were you. Our king is still injured in his fight back at the previous tourney.”
“Liessss!!!” the drunk overturned a nearby table in his anger. The crash of the wooden plates and mugs could be heard in the tavern’s entirety and caused the jolly mood to dissipate quickly.
Everyone was silent or just visibly shocked at what just happened. The man continued spouting expletives as he was being restrained, all of his ugly words directed at the Traveler.
“Hey, old man Gus, what did this guy told you to get you so hyped like that?” someone asked.
“Zis person claims za bloody witch of Meldech is back!”
“Lies! That person is long dead! How could it be that she’s back?”
“I saw it with my two eyes. I even have two of my companions captured by her, and I’m the only one who escaped to warn you!” the Traveler calmly explained, deliberately altering his voice to emulate a traumatized person, “That’s why I’m now all packed up and prepared to head out of Nerfes for the time being.
“Well, legends say that person can kill mercilessly and resurrect them to be her soldiers! Isn’t that why she is called ‘bloody’? It couldn’t be impossible that she can resurrect herself!”
“Fuck! I don’t want to end up as an undead working for her!”
Moments later, the entire tavern was in an uproar. The customers were panicking, and others were hitting and fighting one another. The barmaids tried desperately to diffuse the brawl, and one had to come rushing out to fetch the city militia.
However, amidst that chaos, the one who started it all slipped away unnoticed…
