Aldburg Chronicles: Knighthood In Another World

Eric looked at his disheveled clothes on the floor and sighed. He couldn't help but feel as though he lacked gratitude. He thought of ways he'd apologize for their state if he ever saw Alren again. He couldn't think of Alren for too long without shivering, as much as they had bonded, he was still an Inquisitor, no doubt somebody from another world like him would be a prime target for someone like Alren. Still, he couldn't help but feel as though they could've been friends, if only things were different.

"Mhmmm, I suppose it is bit uncouth to ask you to put those on again." Clark looked down at the clothes with him, "There's a seamstress in this village, I'd show you to her home but… mhm, roads haven't been safe here lately."

"Really, seems… empty? Who's making the trouble." Eric asked

"Oh, jus' some lil men who think they're gonna be the next syndicate." Yvett waved her hands in dismissal.

"Oh? That's. Hm"

"I've written more letters to the guards in Veldia than I can count." Clark's face twisted in anger, "It's like they never do anything!"

"Yeah, you got that right" Eric smirked with his thoughts.

"Well, I can honestly say I hope it gets better, they'll move on eventually, right?"

"Probably, I hope it's sooner rather than later." Clark looked somber, "They're getting violent."

Clark nodded and started putting his tarnished clothes back on, the grime and soot felt vile on his skin, he shivered as he put them back on with a grimace. He let out a puff of air, he decided that his shoes were unsalvageable, the blood from the bottom of his feet had soaked into the leather and the heat had burnt in holes and melted the hide glue holding them together. He strolled back into the main chapel, his brown hair a mess, his body, while healed, was still exhausted from its ordeal and while they had done an excellent job healing him, his hands still showed the remnants of his battle against the flames, his palms were an odd texture now, scarred by the flames too deeply to be healed by anything less than miraculous healing ability.

"'Ere he is!" Sven cried, a series of cheers came from the soldiers.

Eric couldn't help but blush and look away, he still wasn't used to this type of praise, he felt the embarrassment of the dinner in Castle Veldia all over again, he couldn't stand it.

"We betta' get 'im some new shoes aye! Long march t'Frannberg!" A voice he didn't recognize yelled through a helmet to thunderous laughter.

Eric shot a frustrated look in the direction it came from, they laughed harder until Eric found himself doubled over in laughter of his own. He laughed so hard that he had to sit down on one of the pews. His laughter was less so at the joke of him marching and rather the situation he was in at all. Goblins, orcs, inquisitors, Gods, magic and now bandits on the road to his bootcamp in an army that still uses swords. If he didn't laugh, he would cry. Every moment of downtime seemed to bring with it an unimaginable wave of paralyzing terror, a fear that he would almost certainly die in an increasingly brutal fashion in a land that isn't his own, for no reason at all. His mind edged on madness whenever he thought about it, and think about it he did, often. Whenever he wasn't risking his life, he was thinking of how insane it was to risk it at all. But he couldn't seem to stop.

"So, you're healed. I have a lot of questions for you." The knight called as he walked through the open doors of the chapel.

"Actually, before that. I have a question."

The knight raised an eyebrow in response.

"What is it you and your men do?"

The knight's face sat wide eyed in offence, "We're protectors of the realm, we kill the foul infernal beasts that seek to devour us, we drive back foreign invaders we-"

"Kill bandits?" Eric's eyes were like deep, muddy pools glinting with mischief.

"Well, yes, of cour-"

"Great! Wonderful. Priest!" Eric called into the room he came from, "Where did you say these men on the road were?"

"Oh, well, they usually attack trade caravans before they reach Gildur's tavern so straight down from here, I suspect" Clark came to the doorway.

"Well now wait a minute we have a schedule we can't jus-"

"Protectors of the realm? These fine people helped us, and you want to leave them without help, over some bandits? Is this the royal army I'm being made to join?"

The two men locked eyes with one another, the knight knew he was being backed into a corner, saying no to the two people who were intending to heal everyone who had been injured was one thing, appearing afraid of bandits in front of his men was an entirely different matter.

"Tsk, fine. We'll be taking on these bandits, once the men are healed up we'll devise a strategy. As for you, since you're just oh so eager to help these people, we'll make sure to get you a weapon so you can fight along-side us." The knight approached Eric, slamming his palm down onto his shoulder before leaning in and whispering, "You seem to have forgotten your place already boy, you're just a fucking prisoner, you think if you die, we'll get flak for it? Quite the opposite. How dare you back me into a wall. Have fun on your first, and hopefully last, bandit hunt."

Eric smiled as he walked out the chapel doors, taking a deep breath of fresh air and stretching out his back, the fear of never seeing is family again, of not dying on his own terms drifted away as he geared up for his next stupid misadventure, when in the distance, he saw something odd. A group of men, each on a horse, swords raised above their heads.

"Well, that doesn't seem good. They look what… five minutes away?"

Eric called for the knight and his men to come out, when prompted why he just said that the bandits were coming to them now, so they wouldn't have to look to hard for them. The men grabbed their swords and hammers and waited out front. Yvett emerged from the chapel, wood-splitting axe in hand and shoved it into Eric's hands.

"Keep it behind the door just in case I have ta use it on this lot. Sorry it ain't the fancy weapons y'used to in the army, lad."

"Ah, that's alright." Eric said, trying to ignore the giggles from the men.

As Yvett shut the door, the sound of hooves came thundering up the path and right up to them, the head rider yanking on his reigns, causing the horse to stand on its hind legs and whinny. There were only five of them. Four of whom could be described as stereotypical peasants who happened to be carrying swords. Their clothes looked like rags, their hair, if they had any, was disheveled and dirty and their bodies were thin and sinewy, a lifetime of labor showed on their body but their food intake was clearly low. The outlier was at the back of the pack, unlike the chipped, rusted iron arming swords his companions carried, he carried a longsword on his hip, the pommel and cross guard of which were highly ornamental. He was clearly much further developed than the rest, sitting taller and wider on his horse, his hair combed back unlike the rags of the others, he wore a steel chest-plate over mid-tier quality clothing.

"Well, well, well. Wadda we got 'ere then. Likkle priest been writin' t'guards 'as he?" The head rider, a man missing more teeth than you could count, glared at the knight and his men, "Tell ya wha', you lot fuck off, an' we won' 'av t'kill ya." His accent made him borderline unintelligible, Eric looked at him and thought that if it came down to it, he would probably be able to take him. He clearly had no official training, the state of his weapon and lack of armor proved that, and Eric was much bigger than he was.

However, given the knight's men outnumbered them, he would likely not get the chance. Eric hadn't sat and counted out how many there were until right now, there were around ten men there, knight included and him excluded.

"Ten soldiers versus five bandits with tarnished weapons? Doubt I'll need this…"

"We are the third section of the eighteenth platoon in His Majesty the King's Army. Surrender yourself at once, failure to do so will result in swift and immediate execution." The knight called out, his voice filled with authority.

"Oh… I don't think we'll be doing that." The man at the back slowly got off his horse, "See, we've got a really good thing going here, it'd be an awful shame if I had to tell my men that they were going to a dungeon instead of eating a warm meal and spending time with warm women now, wouldn't it?" His accent was far more distinguished, off his horse he was far more imposing, clearly the leader of this group.

The other bandits got off their horses also, they possessed a fraction of the grace their leader did, stumbling and tripping, clearly not used to riding. The leader walked over to the closest man and, in a bizarre act, bit his own thumb until he let blood, then wiped it on the man's forehead in an X shape.

"Isn't it too unreasonable to make demands of people you've never met?" His voice was deep and bass heavy.

He walked over to each man, repeating the process until finally he finished on the fourth man, turning and looking at the knight.

"See, I think you'll find that even small men can be very dangerous if pushed far enough. Can I show you something?"

He snapped his fingers with a flash of red light; the bandits fell limp to the ground. The leader's eyes began to jitter and vibrate in their sockets, his skin became a deep shade of red and veins bulged in his neck and forehead. His clothes under his chest piece began to tighten, no, he was expanding to fill them when suddenly his arms burst out of his shirt, his muscles strained to such a degree his skin looked ready to split apart. The men recoiled in shock, drawing their weapons and readying themselves to face this sorcerer menace.

"Now. Where was I?"