The Claw Sea Coast, six kilometers from Clémenceau.
Genet Port.
A recently disbanded contingent of knights and soldiers from Le-Angoulême was returning home after the Great Expedition. Marching along the wide coastal road, they passed fields of ripening barley and wheat, as well as fishing boats, passenger ships, and merchant vessels dotting the shoreline. The soldiers, their hearts brimming with joy, joked and bantered among themselves. Some cracked risqué jokes, while others shared playful banter, their spirits high. Each soldier's pack was filled with provisions, spoils of war, and coin. An air of contentment radiated from the ranks.
At the front of the procession rode a group of Kingdom Knights, joined by several Questing Knights and dozens of knightly retainers. Unlike the carefree soldiers, these knights wore grave expressions. Leading them was Sir Baldwin of Clément, a legendary mid-tier Kingdom Knight who had earned immense honor during the Great Expedition. As the fourth son of Count Clément, Baldwin held a relatively high rank among the knights and had been awarded the Second-Class Lion Medal for his exceptional valor. The soldiers and knights alike respected and revered him.
Yet despite their accolades, honors, and the spoils of war, the knights couldn't shake their unease.
Just days prior, they had received troubling news: Duke Talbott of Le-Angoulême had publicly declared his vehement opposition to King Ryan's decree. The duke had announced that if the king did not retract his policies—namely, the restrictions on noble privileges and the implementation of regional governor systems—he would be forced to take more drastic measures to resist them.
This declaration placed the knights in an awkward position.
As nobles of Le-Angoulême, Baldwin and his peers were naturally inclined to side with Duke Talbott. Yet as warriors who had fought alongside King Ryan, basked in his leadership, and reaped the benefits of his victories, they hesitated to defy him. To do so would feel not only unwise but dishonorable, given the knightly spirit that bound them.
Baldwin's deputy, Sir Reynard, turned to him for guidance. "Sir Baldwin, what should we do? We'll follow your lead."
"Follow me? I don't think so," Baldwin replied, his brow furrowed as he gazed toward the distant sea. "This is a delicate matter. Let's all keep calm for now."
"Keep calm?" Sir Reynard and the other knights exchanged puzzled looks. Reynard couldn't help but chuckle. "My dear Sir Baldwin, how exactly does the duke plan to stand against the king's forces? With what? The castles of Le-Angoulême? Or his little Marine Corps?"
"The duke certainly can't resist the king's army, but the king's forces, like us, have only just disbanded," Baldwin countered with a shake of his head. "Moreover, if the king resorts to military force, it would be a loss for him. Don't forget, Duke Talbott's opposition is formal and within the framework of the Twelve Grail Knights' foundational covenant. It's legal and procedurally sound."
At this, the knights nodded in agreement.
Indeed, Duke Talbott's opposition was neither secretive nor treacherous. It adhered strictly to the established administrative processes of Bretonnia. Should King Ryan respond with military force, he would risk breaking the covenant that formed the backbone of the kingdom. Furthermore, Duke Talbott had been a loyal vassal, never allying with Chaos, the undead, or any treasonous forces. His stance, while opposing the king's policies, was a legitimate expression of grievance. To crush him militarily would shatter Bretonnian tradition and precedent.
After much discussion, the knights found themselves no closer to a solution and resumed their journey home.
Gradually, the large procession broke into smaller groups as soldiers and knights diverged toward their respective villages and towns, laden with spoils and pride. Awaiting them at village gates and town squares were jubilant families eager to welcome them home. Boasting of their heroic deeds and displaying their war trophies, these returning soldiers basked in the admiration and envy of their communities.
Eventually, only Baldwin, Reynard, and a small contingent of followers remained.
As they approached Clément Castle—a modest yet well-fortified estate that had been the family's ancestral home for over a millennium—Baldwin felt a mix of relief and unease. Its white-walled, domed architecture bore traces of elven influence, while chimneys puffed smoke into the autumn sky, signaling domestic warmth.
But something was amiss.
At the castle gates, a group of serfs stood arguing with the guards, their faces etched with anger and despair.
The guards, spotting Baldwin's approach, straightened and saluted the knight. The golden-white cross and blue sea monster emblazoned on the castle gates gleamed in the sunlight. "Welcome home, Sir Baldwin!"
"What's going on here?" Baldwin demanded, his voice carrying the weight of his battlefield authority. The guards, intimidated by his presence, hesitated to meet his gaze.
"These serfs claim their village has been attacked by two sea monsters and a horde of drowned spirits. They've come seeking the count's help, but the count has refused to see them or offer aid," one guard explained.
"Please, help us, my lord!" An elderly village elder stepped forward, trembling with desperation. "Our village is under siege by powerful creatures. We've already lost seventeen young men defending it. If this continues, we're doomed."
A surge of anger rose within Baldwin. Turning to the guards, he barked, "Open the gates. I must see my father."
"Yes, my lord!" The guards hurriedly obeyed, cranking the mechanism to lower the drawbridge and lift the heavy portcullis. Baldwin and Reynard rode through, leaving the desperate serfs outside.
Inside the castle, the atmosphere was surprisingly indifferent. Servants and attendants offered no fanfare to welcome Baldwin's return, but he ignored them, driven by urgency. After interrogating a servant, he learned that his father, the elderly Count Clément, was in the reception hall. Without bothering to clean his dust-covered and battle-scarred surcoat, Baldwin stormed into the hall.
There he found his father, clad in an opulent robe embroidered with golden thread and adorned with jewels. A sea-blue cloak of elven silk hung from his shoulders, and a scepter inlaid with amber rested in his hand. Seated beside him was an envoy from Duke Talbott. The two men appeared to be engrossed in discussion—undoubtedly about the current political crisis.
"Baldwin! You've returned from the expedition?" Count Clément greeted him with a mix of surprise and delight. "The Lady's blessings upon you. Tell me, how much did you bring back this time?"
"Father, what's going on with those serfs outside?" Baldwin cut straight to the point. "Their village is under attack. As their lord, it is our duty to send troops to protect them!"
"Bah, nonsense." The count's tone turned mocking and impatient. "A few drowned spirits hardly warrant our attention. What threat could they pose?"
"Protecting our subjects is a knight's duty!"
"If we had to intervene in every trivial matter, we'd be exhausted, Baldwin. The knights would wear themselves out, the warhorses would weaken, and those wretched peasants would grow dependent on us. Next thing you know, they'd come crying to us about stray dogs outside their village," the count scoffed dismissively.
"These aren't stray dogs! It's a horde of drowned spirits and two sea monsters!" Baldwin emphasized. "The village has already lost seventeen men defending it. If we do nothing, it'll be wiped out."
"Oh, a horde, you say? And two sea monsters?" The count's impatience grew. "Did you see them yourself? How many spirits? How large are the monsters? And how do you know these peasants aren't exaggerating or lying to manipulate you? How can you be sure these creatures are a real threat and not just passing through?"
For a moment, Baldwin was at a loss for words.
"Sit down, son. Rest a while. Try some of the fine wine I procured from Winford—Grand Cru Lusarius," the count said, quickly changing the subject. "So, how was the expedition? Do you like the new decor in the reception hall? I spared no expense. But I feel we still need finer tapestries and more artwork. Oh, and your siblings are in dire need of outfits like this robe. There's much to spend on. Let's see how much you brought back."
"Your subjects are under attack by monsters, and all you care about is your tapestries and silk robes?" Baldwin's voice trembled with fury. "Is this the legacy of our ancestor, Sir Corduin, the first Grail Knight of Le-Angoulême?"
"Watch your tongue, Baldwin!" The count's irritation flared. "Do not question my chivalric virtues. I make an annual pilgrimage to Couronne! I've said it before: the peasants must learn to solve their own problems. We knights cannot intervene every time they cry for help."
"Your pilgrimage?" Baldwin's voice dripped with sarcasm. "Oh, I know all about your 'pilgrimage.' You arrive in Couronne in the morning to pray at the Grail Cathedral and bask in the glory of the Grail Knights. By noon, you're at the Royal Restaurant feasting on escargot and foie gras."
"In the afternoon, you attend equestrian events at Lion Ring Stadium
, marveling at jousts and knightly traditions. And by evening, you're at a masquerade, hiring Kislevite blondes—or whichever exotic beauties you fancy—to accompany you, always two at a time. You indulge until you're too drunk to stand, passing out on the banquet rugs. The next day, you sleep until noon and then return home in your carriage. That's your 'chivalric virtue'? While I was risking my life for this family in Araby, you were playing knight!"
The room fell silent. The count's face flushed with embarrassment and rage. "Enough, you insolent wretch! You greedy, ungrateful son! If you refuse to share your spoils, then leave! Get out of my castle and return to your fief!"
Realizing he could not sway his father, Baldwin clenched his teeth and turned to leave. As he reached the door, the count delivered one final blow.
"This castle is no longer your home, Baldwin. Without my permission, you are forbidden to set foot here again."
"So be it." Baldwin spat the words through gritted teeth and stormed out, leaving his father fuming.
For the first time, Baldwin felt a pang of relief that the Lady of the Lake herself chose the Grail Knights. Were it left to corrupt nobles like his father, Bretonnia's foundations might already have crumbled into ruin.
Outside the castle, the serfs gathered anxiously around Baldwin. The village elder looked up at him with desperate hope.
"Well? What did the count say?" Reynard asked. "Will he send troops?"
"He's more concerned with his tapestries and silk robes," Baldwin replied coldly. "But I will not let this village fall. I will not let these creatures rampage unchecked."
Drawing his longsword, Baldwin turned to the soldiers and knights who had accompanied him.
"Soldiers! My fellow knights!" he called out, his voice ringing with determination. "Who among you will follow me to aid these villagers and drive back the drowned spirits and sea monsters?"
Under the autumn sun, the soldiers and knights felt a renewed surge of honor and duty. Their experiences under King Ryan's leadership had taught them that protecting the innocent, defending the land, and standing against evil were among the noblest deeds a knight could perform.
"We will follow you, my lord!"
"To the ends of the earth, my lord!"
"Let's show these wretches the might of Bretonnia!"
As the group rallied behind Baldwin, the knight felt an overwhelming sense of purpose—a higher calling that filled him with resolve. It was the spirit that had sustained Bretonnia for a thousand years, the very backbone of its enduring glory.
In that moment, Baldwin knew where his loyalty lay.
"Onward!"
Meanwhile, September 2515 Imperial Calendar, off the shores of Le-Angoulême near Genet Port.
As the tide began to recede, fishermen anchored their boats in the port, while townsfolk gathered along the coast to discuss the day's catch and the next day's weather.
Unexpectedly, a few small boats approached the shore—unannounced and unregistered.
The sight of these vessels immediately raised alarm among the villagers. Grabbing fish spears and wooden clubs, they stood ready to defend themselves.
But as the boats drew closer, the tension eased, replaced by awe and excitement.
Standing aboard the boats were soldiers of the Old Guard, their iconic bear-fur hats and ornate uniforms unmistakable. The presence of this legendary unit stirred an overwhelming wave of emotion among the townsfolk.
Yet the greatest shock came moments later. Standing at the prow of one boat, hand in hand, were none other than King Ryan-Macado and Queen Sulia-Coumanny-Antry! Behind them stood the dark elf Olica and maid-in-chief Sylvia, their loyal attendants.
The port erupted into chaos—an uproar of cheers and exclamations. Townsfolk rushed forward to help the boats dock, jostling to get closer to the Old Guard. Cries of their names rang through the air.
"That's the king! That's His Majesty and the queen!" Among the crowd were retired veterans and newly returned expedition soldiers, who instantly recognized their monarchs. Some waved frantically, while others broke down in tears.
"It's the king! It's really the king!"
Amid the jubilation, Ryan held Sulia's hand and leapt gracefully onto the shore. The royal couple waved to the crowd but were quickly surrounded by the Old Guard. Even so, dozens of former soldiers pushed through to greet them.
"Long live the king! Long live the king! Long live the king!"
"Your Majesty, do you remember me? I fought with you during the Eight Peaks Expedition!" cried one middle-aged man. "Afterward, I earned my freedom, bought a fishing boat, and settled here!"
"Your Majesty, I'm a soldier under the duke! You personally awarded me a medal at the Veteran's Home!"
"Praise the Lady! I just returned from the expedition, and now you're here!"
"Your Majesty, thank you! Without you, we wouldn't have the lives we have today!"
"Your Majesty, I don't want to retire. You're too cruel to let us go. I want to march with you again!"
As news of their arrival spread, more villagers, militiamen, and local guards gathered at the port. Many of them were freedmen who had participated in Ryan's various expeditions. Their excitement and admiration for the king and queen knew no bounds.
The tide surged, mirroring the waves of cheers crashing against the rocky shoreline.
"Long live the king! Long live the king! Long live the king!"
______
(≧◡≦) ♡ Support me and read 20 chapters ahead – patreon.com/INNIT
For every 50 Power Stones, one extra chapter will be released on Saturday.