CHAPTER 7 - IV -
***The Mahan School of Swordsmanship, Hagena village, of the same date…***
Mariya Trevor was excited to receive a letter with the seal of the Holy Palatial Gardens on it. She knew it came from her friend, the princess Lilyhaven Tamriel von Leese, and so she opened it to read its contents.
‘To Anton Jean Trevor, Headmaster of the Mahan School of Swordsmanship…’
“What?” Mariya exclaimed, “I thought it’s for me! Anton!”
The big little brother of hers then showed up at her room, all dressed up ready for training their students for that time. Mariya was pouting, yet she had no other choice but to give to him the letter from her friend Lily.
“It’s yours, bro!”
Anton silently read the letter, as he always did. And then, upon reaching the end, he headed back to his school, dragging his little big sister with him.
***The town of Fen, Duchy of Rubinforth. April 10, in the first year of the Saint…***
The old Duke of Rubinforth had just awakened from his sleep, tired of yesterday’s work in supervising the training of his levies. Word had come from the royal palace that there might come a time when the nobles of Nerfes might be called upon to war by their king, and so the Duke brought upon himself to prepare his subjects.
“Your Excellency! A letter for you has been delivered from the Holy Palatial Gardens.” an orderly of his brought upon a folded paper with the Saint’s seal on it.
Without further hesitation, he read its contents.
‘Dear Papa…As much as I wanted to never disturb you, I feel inclined to do so, especially when our realm is under threat. My letter would be direct and brief, so please consider my proposal carefully…’
“Oh, come on, Maddie! You just said it would be direct and brief!” the Duke complained about reading her letter for two long paragraphs, explaining how important her request was. But yes, there’s the shortcut at the end that says…
‘If you wish to jump immediately to my request, please proceed to the third paragraph.’
Which the Duke did.
‘Papa, may I ask you to send soldiers and magicians to the Holy Palatial Gardens? We plan to strike back at these undead hordes as soon as possible. Love, Maddie.’
“What? That’s it?” the Duke turned around the paper looking for more words, but it was in vain, “All those two long paragraphs for one simple request in the end?”
The orderly was just dumbfounded, looking at him.
“Ha! That’s my daughter for you!” He then turned to his orderly, “Jans, tell the men to prepare themselves. We set out tomorrow for the Holy Palatial Gardens!”
***Meanwhile, in the town of Arles, 12th of April…***
The town militia had been called to serve for some time now. They were on full duty, after the declaration of war by the Empire against Savoy, for allowing the Holy Coalition forces to operate in its territory. As a result, there were only a few men to tend to their fields, and most of them were getting impatient already.
Sir Osmond, a captain of the town militia, had been assigned to watch the discipline of his men, and he was doing his usual rounds to prevent an outbreak of riots when something happened.
“…”
A few distances away from the town proper, he saw a group of men approaching. They were on foot, but one could tell that they have someone who was injured to his feet.
“Luke, can you make out what we are seeing?” he asked the lookout.
“Sir, five men are walking in our direction, and the one in the middle looks like he’s got an injury on his right foot.”
“What about their armor?”
“I think it’s one of ours, captain. But wait, someone is also wearing armor from Stadtsberg, and another still a lamellar armor of the elves. Many of those are ill fitting and mixed up as well.”
“Prepare some horses…” Sir Osmond didn’t like the report of his lookout.
The mixed-up and ill-fitting armors were signs that those were looted from the battlefield which the Savoians consider as sacred. But never mind that for now. What he wanted to do was to meet the group and confirm their identities; after all, there were those instances that these might be refugees that brave the undead hordes to come to the relative safety of east Chersea.
Sir Osmond would want to make sure that none of them were infected.
Once the cavalry scouts led by Sir Osmond came into full view of the men, they left their injured companion and dashed away from the Arles militia. Sir Osmond ordered his soldiers to pursue those who ran, while he captured the one that remained.
“Identify yourself.” he ordered the man, who fell on his knee trying to support himself, “Depending on your answer, I might spare your life.”
“It’s fine by me if you kill me, boy!” the injured man spoke, “Just don’t let me get back at that undead!”
“Do you have your identification papers with you?” Sir Osmond asked.
“I-I lost it while we ran from the undead.” the uninjured man told him, “I swear we’re not a threat to you!”
“Then why did your other companions run away from us? Who are you?”
The refugee stared at Sir Osmond with a tired expression and sighed, “Alright boy, I give up. Take me prisoner, or kill me, it’s your choice. I am the emperor of Chersea, Jean Durres III. I surrender to you.” He removed his Savoian armor to reveal the Imperial robes he was wearing underneath.
At that moment, Sir Osmond and his companions were all dumbfounded upon confirming the identity of their prisoner.
