Thomas Lainsfont watched the young girl's figure recede in the darkness.
Wearing only the clothes on her back and the sword by her side, she'd come and gone like the wind, riding atop the horse that had carried him through so many of his earlier adventures.
Refusing to even consider tarrying by a single night, she rode past the moonlit fields like a heroine from the tales of old.
Had her conviction been anything less, he never would have considered giving away his horse. The crowns he would make back, but that horse meant more to him than even the new life he'd built for himself. It was, in many ways, a reminder that he could always return to his old one.
The life he'd now left behind.
“May fortune find you, Your Highness.”
The wind picked up his whisper. Whether the princess heard, he would never know.
Thomas had seen many things in his life. He didn't even consider himself old, even if some of his younger patrons had started becoming cheeky enough to suggest as such.
Even so, he could have reached twice his age and still not have expected to experience a night quite like this.
A young lady strolling into his decidedly motley pub, filled with motley customers, and declaring herself to be Juliette Contzen, 3rd Princess to the Kingdom of Tirea. And she didn't even look drunk.
It was a ridiculous thing to say.
Even with her dignified appearance, it was clear she couldn't be who she claimed. The royal family spent a great deal of their time in their official residence nearby. And yet the only times they were seen were when their carriages and escorts trundled through the centre of the village, kicking up dirt like a band of hogs allowed to roll through the mud.
Yes … none of them believed this outlandish claim, made by an eccentric girl in the middle of the night. She could have been some travelling dignitary's or merchant's daughter, causing whatever counted as mischief among those with too much time and crowns on hand.
Or she could have been Juliette Contzen, 3rd Princess to the Kingdom of Tirea.
Thomas had recognised her at once. He'd seen her rarely, but those times he did, she'd left a striking impression. A look of express intrigue often clouded her face as she sat gazing through her carriage window, looking at the village where all others would look away from it.
Yet even if he recognised her, he still couldn't believe that no guards had burst in behind her. He couldn't believe that no thundering footsteps of a dozen horses were shaking the floor. She was alone. In his pub. This princess who looked at the people of this village and thought of something other than droppings on the ground.
It seemed like a novelty at the time. A princess who may have actually harboured some interest, even academic, at the working state of a typical village.
He didn't expect that this same princess would turn that curiosity into a drive for something righteous.
“I seek only a willing soul to explain to me the plights that dog your steps, so that as your princess and future queen, I may raise you from your squalor and abject misery.”
Thomas winced as he recalled those words.
They were laughingly received by the half-drunken bumpkins in his pub. In most other places, they would have drawn the ire of a mob. It was, after all, the royal house that was responsible for the hardships that its people had to endure.
And yet even if her words were taken in jest, there was no such light-heartedness in her voice. Those weren't the words of a politician, but a young girl with fierce determination raging in her eyes.
How long had it been since he'd seen someone with such purpose of spirit? And why had he never heard of her noble character before? It was said that Prince Tristan was determined and Princess Florella was just. But Princess Juliette … she was never seen or heard.
All this time, had she been a prisoner in her own world? A trapped soul forced to watch as others around her enveloped the land in the flames of greed?
Was that why she was alone?
Unaided and bereft of even a water flask?
Thomas had done what he could. But he knew he could have done more. His hand went to his side, fumbling for a moment as he forgot that he no longer carried his sword with him. Those days had passed like the seasons and were now a memory etched in fog. A part of him wished to go with her, but even now, he knew he still had his own battles to settle.
For one thing, he now had to prepare a gift for Marina. And also to—
“Master … Master …!”
Thomas hid his sigh as he turned.
The Princess wasn't the only visitor to make an unexpected appearance in his life today.
A young man came dashing down the road from the Royal Villa. Even at a distance, his voice carried like a striking bell, enough to wake the souls of the dead should he will it.
“Master!” said the young man, sucking in the air as he skidded to a halt. “Sorry I took so long. Had to argue my case just to be shot down. Would you believe it? They don't want to hire the guild to help patrol the roads. They said they have it under control. My boot! I was attacked by bearkin just making my way down the Queen's Lane. The Queen's Lane! The queen wouldn't want it named after her if she knew how many crossbow bolts now littered that road.”
Thomas's legs moved on their own. He made a sudden jolt towards the figure who'd now disappeared across the hilltop, before calming himself down.
She wasn't heading up the Queen's Lane, but down the country roads towards the lowlands. The bearkin tribes had no territory there. No, there were no bearkins south of here. Only gnolls. And acid beetles. And sprites. And bandits.
Lots and lots of bandits.
Thomas closed his eyes, forcing himself to stay well put.
Long ago, he'd left on a journey once. And he was younger. And without an enchanted weapon that was clearly forged by a legendary swordsmith. Had the situation been anything else, he would have sold half his remaining good furniture for a chance to better admire that blade.
She would do well. He could feel it. Fortune favours the righteous.
Which is why he was currently a barkeeper.
“I'm not your master anymore, boy.”
“And I'm no longer a boy. See these? Mark of a true man, right here.”
The true man, Caban Oxwell, threw out his arms and tensed his muscles. Thomas wasn't sure if it was due to the dim light that he couldn't see anything.
He chose to believe it, anyway.
“It's been too long since I last taught you anything, Caban. You can call me by my name.”
“Sure? If I did that, people would be swarming over you. Villagers don't know who you are yet, do they?”
“They know. I'm the barkeeper.”
Caban laughed. His easy smile and casual demeanour worried Thomas as much now as it did when he'd first taken him in as an apprentice. But then he saw the way the sword belt was buckled, wrapped in the way that an opponent couldn't grapple it, his sword hand never straying from his weapon's pommel. And Thomas relaxed.
“The barkeeper. You can always come back to the fold, you know? There's money. Plenty of it, these days. You taught half the guys in charge how to wield their first sword. You'll get your former rank back, too. There won't be any issues with that. There's even a vacancy open for a guildmaster in Mirantz. If the higher ups knew you were available, I'm sure they'd take you on straight away.”
The speed of Caban's voice betrayed that he'd practised these words. Now Thomas sighed without hiding it.
So after all this time, this was the true reason his former student had dropped by.
“It was never an issue of rank. Nor money, for that matter.”
“Then—”
“The guildmasters know why I left. You'll need to tell them that my conditions haven't changed.”
Caban looked visibly deflated. Thomas frowned. He wore his heart on his sleeve, this one. A little too much. Yet he'd made it this far, and he was sensible when the time came. That's why he'd climbed up the ladder so quickly.
To be a C-rank swordsman and adventurer was a distinguished achievement. He was an expert at the blade and was fit to instruct others. It was greater than the majority of adventurers would ever reach. Many of those who joined with him were still E-rank. Or below.
“Got it. I'll let them know.”
“Thank you.”
“Hey, you know they offered me the chance of a B-rank trial if I could convince you to come back.”
Thomas chuckled. Now he knew it was right not to return.
“They're giving away B-rank trials just to bring me out of retirement? They need to respect the profession more. Sorry, Caban, but I don't think you're at the level of defeating a revenant yet.”
“Neither am I. Oh man, I was sweating at the thought you'd say yes! I wasn't sure how I was gonna turn that down.”
So he said. But Thomas knew that it wasn't the truth. Any adventurer worth their salt would seize any chance at a coveted trial for the upper ranks. Even if it meant leaping on the back of a flying wyvern, this man would be willing to break both his arms in the attempt.
All the more reason not to encourage him.
“So, Master, any reason you're staring off into the night? I can hear your customers moaning from here.”
Thomas knew they'd moan even if he was there. The lasses had it covered, anyway.
“I think I've just been robbed.”
Caban blinked. It took him less than a few heartbeats to dash past Thomas, consternation on his face as he immediately scouted out the road.
“It's fine,” said Thomas, before the young man would start chasing down his horse. With success, too. “I'm looking forward to seeing what she'll achieve with my crowns.”
“She?”
“A young lady.”
Caban frowned.
“So even young ladies are taking to robbery now, huh? Damn. The capital, maybe. But not here. Times really are tough.”
“They always are.”
“So, you just let her go? Was she alone?”
Thomas nodded, putting aside the feelings of discontent it elicited in him to admit such.
“She was armed.”
And she has Apple. That, more than anything, reassured him.
“It's not the strength of one's weapon that determines victory, but spirit,” said Caban, quoting the words he'd received all those years ago.
“And of that … she had plenty.”
With a final parting glance at the horizon, Thomas turned his full attention on his former student. Only then did he notice something unusual about him.
It'd been over a year since he'd last seen him. Even so, there was something keener about the way he held himself.
Or rather, something old and familiar.
He was seeing the exact same enthusiasm that he'd last seen Caban demonstrate while he was still learning to hold a sword. A long time ago.
“Hmm. Did something happen?”
Caban gave a smile. He patted the pommel of his sword.
“You could say that. I met someone at the Royal Villa who opened my eyes to how weak I was. You taught me well, Master. But I realise I still have a long way to go.”
Thomas nodded. That came as no surprise. The Royal Villa was the personal accommodation of the Contzen household. It was undoubtedly garrisoned by some of the finest knights and warriors that the kingdom had to offer. No doubt the courtyard was teeming with skilled fighters even Thomas in his prime would struggle against.
“Good.”
With that, he indicated towards his humble establishment. Caban's enthusiasm grew even more pronounced.
“... By the way, how's Marina?”
“Fine. Last I heard. 10 years ago.”
“Ouch. If it makes you feel any better, I'll still keep in touch with you.”
For a moment, Thomas almost considered cracking a wry remark at that. Instead, he took it as the earnest comment it was.
“Thank you.”
Turning his back to the wind, he made his way towards his home, filled with jovial louts and merry layabouts.
He hoped that when that young heroine returned, it'd still remain this way.
Thomas Lainsfont watched the young girl's figure recede in the darkness.
Wearing only the clothes on her back and the sword by her side, she'd come and gone like the wind, riding atop the horse that had carried him through so many of his earlier adventures.
Refusing to even consider tarrying by a single night, she rode past the moonlit fields like a heroine from the tales of old.
Had her conviction been anything less, he never would have considered giving away his horse. The crowns he would make back, but that horse meant more to him than even the new life he'd built for himself. It was, in many ways, a reminder that he could always return to his old one.
The life he'd now left behind.
“May fortune find you, Your Highness.”
The wind picked up his whisper. Whether the princess heard, he would never know.
Thomas had seen many things in his life. He didn't even consider himself old, even if some of his younger patrons had started becoming cheeky enough to suggest as such.
Even so, he could have reached twice his age and still not have expected to experience a night quite like this.
A young lady strolling into his decidedly motley pub, filled with motley customers, and declaring herself to be Juliette Contzen, 3rd Princess to the Kingdom of Tirea. And she didn't even look drunk.
It was a ridiculous thing to say.
Even with her dignified appearance, it was clear she couldn't be who she claimed. The royal family spent a great deal of their time in their official residence nearby. And yet the only times they were seen were when their carriages and escorts trundled through the centre of the village, kicking up dirt like a band of hogs allowed to roll through the mud.
Yes … none of them believed this outlandish claim, made by an eccentric girl in the middle of the night. She could have been some travelling dignitary's or merchant's daughter, causing whatever counted as mischief among those with too much time and crowns on hand.
Or she could have been Juliette Contzen, 3rd Princess to the Kingdom of Tirea.
Thomas had recognised her at once. He'd seen her rarely, but those times he did, she'd left a striking impression. A look of express intrigue often clouded her face as she sat gazing through her carriage window, looking at the village where all others would look away from it.
Yet even if he recognised her, he still couldn't believe that no guards had burst in behind her. He couldn't believe that no thundering footsteps of a dozen horses were shaking the floor. She was alone. In his pub. This princess who looked at the people of this village and thought of something other than droppings on the ground.
It seemed like a novelty at the time. A princess who may have actually harboured some interest, even academic, at the working state of a typical village.
He didn't expect that this same princess would turn that curiosity into a drive for something righteous.
“I seek only a willing soul to explain to me the plights that dog your steps, so that as your princess and future queen, I may raise you from your squalor and abject misery.”
Thomas winced as he recalled those words.
They were laughingly received by the half-drunken bumpkins in his pub. In most other places, they would have drawn the ire of a mob. It was, after all, the royal house that was responsible for the hardships that its people had to endure.
And yet even if her words were taken in jest, there was no such light-heartedness in her voice. Those weren't the words of a politician, but a young girl with fierce determination raging in her eyes.
How long had it been since he'd seen someone with such purpose of spirit? And why had he never heard of her noble character before? It was said that Prince Tristan was determined and Princess Florella was just. But Princess Juliette … she was never seen or heard.
All this time, had she been a prisoner in her own world? A trapped soul forced to watch as others around her enveloped the land in the flames of greed?
Was that why she was alone?
Unaided and bereft of even a water flask?
Thomas had done what he could. But he knew he could have done more. His hand went to his side, fumbling for a moment as he forgot that he no longer carried his sword with him. Those days had passed like the seasons and were now a memory etched in fog. A part of him wished to go with her, but even now, he knew he still had his own battles to settle.
For one thing, he now had to prepare a gift for Marina. And also to—
“Master … Master …!”
Thomas hid his sigh as he turned.
The Princess wasn't the only visitor to make an unexpected appearance in his life today.
A young man came dashing down the road from the Royal Villa. Even at a distance, his voice carried like a striking bell, enough to wake the souls of the dead should he will it.
“Master!” said the young man, sucking in the air as he skidded to a halt. “Sorry I took so long. Had to argue my case just to be shot down. Would you believe it? They don't want to hire the guild to help patrol the roads. They said they have it under control. My boot! I was attacked by bearkin just making my way down the Queen's Lane. The Queen's Lane! The queen wouldn't want it named after her if she knew how many crossbow bolts now littered that road.”
Thomas's legs moved on their own. He made a sudden jolt towards the figure who'd now disappeared across the hilltop, before calming himself down.
She wasn't heading up the Queen's Lane, but down the country roads towards the lowlands. The bearkin tribes had no territory there. No, there were no bearkins south of here. Only gnolls. And acid beetles. And sprites. And bandits.
Lots and lots of bandits.
Thomas closed his eyes, forcing himself to stay well put.
Long ago, he'd left on a journey once. And he was younger. And without an enchanted weapon that was clearly forged by a legendary swordsmith. Had the situation been anything else, he would have sold half his remaining good furniture for a chance to better admire that blade.
She would do well. He could feel it. Fortune favours the righteous.
Which is why he was currently a barkeeper.
“I'm not your master anymore, boy.”
“And I'm no longer a boy. See these? Mark of a true man, right here.”
The true man, Caban Oxwell, threw out his arms and tensed his muscles. Thomas wasn't sure if it was due to the dim light that he couldn't see anything.
He chose to believe it, anyway.
“It's been too long since I last taught you anything, Caban. You can call me by my name.”
“Sure? If I did that, people would be swarming over you. Villagers don't know who you are yet, do they?”
“They know. I'm the barkeeper.”
Caban laughed. His easy smile and casual demeanour worried Thomas as much now as it did when he'd first taken him in as an apprentice. But then he saw the way the sword belt was buckled, wrapped in the way that an opponent couldn't grapple it, his sword hand never straying from his weapon's pommel. And Thomas relaxed.
“The barkeeper. You can always come back to the fold, you know? There's money. Plenty of it, these days. You taught half the guys in charge how to wield their first sword. You'll get your former rank back, too. There won't be any issues with that. There's even a vacancy open for a guildmaster in Mirantz. If the higher ups knew you were available, I'm sure they'd take you on straight away.”
The speed of Caban's voice betrayed that he'd practised these words. Now Thomas sighed without hiding it.
So after all this time, this was the true reason his former student had dropped by.
“It was never an issue of rank. Nor money, for that matter.”
“Then—”
“The guildmasters know why I left. You'll need to tell them that my conditions haven't changed.”
Caban looked visibly deflated. Thomas frowned. He wore his heart on his sleeve, this one. A little too much. Yet he'd made it this far, and he was sensible when the time came. That's why he'd climbed up the ladder so quickly.
To be a C-rank swordsman and adventurer was a distinguished achievement. He was an expert at the blade and was fit to instruct others. It was greater than the majority of adventurers would ever reach. Many of those who joined with him were still E-rank. Or below.
“Got it. I'll let them know.”
“Thank you.”
“Hey, you know they offered me the chance of a B-rank trial if I could convince you to come back.”
Thomas chuckled. Now he knew it was right not to return.
“They're giving away B-rank trials just to bring me out of retirement? They need to respect the profession more. Sorry, Caban, but I don't think you're at the level of defeating a revenant yet.”
“Neither am I. Oh man, I was sweating at the thought you'd say yes! I wasn't sure how I was gonna turn that down.”
So he said. But Thomas knew that it wasn't the truth. Any adventurer worth their salt would seize any chance at a coveted trial for the upper ranks. Even if it meant leaping on the back of a flying wyvern, this man would be willing to break both his arms in the attempt.
All the more reason not to encourage him.
“So, Master, any reason you're staring off into the night? I can hear your customers moaning from here.”
Thomas knew they'd moan even if he was there. The lasses had it covered, anyway.
“I think I've just been robbed.”
Caban blinked. It took him less than a few heartbeats to dash past Thomas, consternation on his face as he immediately scouted out the road.
“It's fine,” said Thomas, before the young man would start chasing down his horse. With success, too. “I'm looking forward to seeing what she'll achieve with my crowns.”
“She?”
“A young lady.”
Caban frowned.
“So even young ladies are taking to robbery now, huh? Damn. The capital, maybe. But not here. Times really are tough.”
“They always are.”
“So, you just let her go? Was she alone?”
Thomas nodded, putting aside the feelings of discontent it elicited in him to admit such.
“She was armed.”
And she has Apple. That, more than anything, reassured him.
“It's not the strength of one's weapon that determines victory, but spirit,” said Caban, quoting the words he'd received all those years ago.
“And of that … she had plenty.”
With a final parting glance at the horizon, Thomas turned his full attention on his former student. Only then did he notice something unusual about him.
It'd been over a year since he'd last seen him. Even so, there was something keener about the way he held himself.
Or rather, something old and familiar.
He was seeing the exact same enthusiasm that he'd last seen Caban demonstrate while he was still learning to hold a sword. A long time ago.
“Hmm. Did something happen?”
Caban gave a smile. He patted the pommel of his sword.
“You could say that. I met someone at the Royal Villa who opened my eyes to how weak I was. You taught me well, Master. But I realise I still have a long way to go.”
Thomas nodded. That came as no surprise. The Royal Villa was the personal accommodation of the Contzen household. It was undoubtedly garrisoned by some of the finest knights and warriors that the kingdom had to offer. No doubt the courtyard was teeming with skilled fighters even Thomas in his prime would struggle against.
“Good.”
With that, he indicated towards his humble establishment. Caban's enthusiasm grew even more pronounced.
“... By the way, how's Marina?”
“Fine. Last I heard. 10 years ago.”
“Ouch. If it makes you feel any better, I'll still keep in touch with you.”
For a moment, Thomas almost considered cracking a wry remark at that. Instead, he took it as the earnest comment it was.
“Thank you.”
Turning his back to the wind, he made his way towards his home, filled with jovial louts and merry layabouts.
He hoped that when that young heroine returned, it'd still remain this way.
