Chapter 7: A Tale Beyond Belief
An internal battle had begun, and it was taking place inside of Dal's head. In one corner, there was fear, and in the other, there was surprise. At the moment, he did not know which of the two was going to win out, because both were at the strongest that they'd been in years. And how could they not be? Dal was now being surrounded by a legendary warrior, the son of the monarch, and two prodigies who were so gifted they'd become world-renowned.
This is really happening? he wondered. This isn't some bizarre nightmare?
The young man across from him was undoubtedly the prince, Alain Erickson. He had short, curly brown hair, aquamarine eyes, and he was wielding a magical longsword that pulsed with the light of holy magic. He was young, too. Eighteen or nineteen years old, last Dal recalled. It was also well known that the boy was a Knight.
"Drop the bow!" he shouted at Dal, raising his weapon.
"You should really do what he says," the young male with him said. Dal turned to look at him—and then he swore.
Standing beside the prince was a blond-haired boy of roughly the same age who Dal recognized as Denin Taylor. He was famous not just for being the prince's best friend, but for also being a prodigy who had advanced to a tier 3 class at the age of just 17, something so unbelievable it almost rivaled Dal's curse for how shocking it was.
He's not even twenty years old, and he's already a member of the Priest class, Dal thought, eying the jewel-tipped scepter he gripped in both hands. The scepter itself was golden, but the gem at the tip was a dark crimson.
"Is that our guy?" a female voice asked.
Walking slightly behind the two was a young woman with long, flowing red hair and green eyes. Without a doubt, she was Rethi Sunbrae, the girl who, shortly after turning eighteen, had earned a reputation as being the "beauty of Ostros." She was now nineteen or twenty, and in terms of being a prodigy, she wasn't all that far behind Denin. She'd class-promoted to a Mystic at the age of eighteen, and rumor had it that she was on the verge of becoming a full-fledged Sorcerer in the coming months at the rate she was progressing, though such things were never certain.
I was a Sorcerer once, Dal thought. I wish I had that kind of power right about now.
The three of them approached him from the front while, quickly glancing over his shoulder, he observed the tall, bulky, and angry-looking form of Lord Garrick Ashmere continuing to flank him from behind.
And through it all, he simply could not get over the fact that this was actually happening. That some of the most important, powerful individuals in the world were personally taking time out of their day to bring him down. And for what? What actual law had he even broken? The sheer unfairness of it all frustrated him, and he was unable to resist giving voice to that frustration.
"A little excessive, isn't it, Your Highness?" Dal asked.
"Excessive?"
Dal met his eyes. "How is it possible that with a war going on, marauders on the rise, and people facing food shortages in the north, the prince, his prodigies, and a Dragon Knight are coming after me, a dishwasher, just for having the audacity to exist?"
For some reason, the prince reacted with anger: a lot of it. His entire face contorted into a scowl, and for a moment, Dal feared he'd use Blade Lunge and run him through right there on the spot. "I don't know who you think you're fooling here, demon summoner, but it isn't us."
Dal shifted forward slightly as Lord Garrick stalked ever closer. He was once again enclosed within a net, and he doubted he would be able to fight his way out of it. Still, under no circumstance would he surrender. He would do anything he had to do to survive. It was the promise he'd made his mother before her death, and he intended to keep it.
"I don't know why you're calling me that," Dal said. He wondered if it was just some kind of insult among nobility or if it was actually meant to be taken literally. He doubted it could be the latter, as no demons had manifested in Galiad for thousands of years—assuming they were even real and not just some myth made up to scare children.
Yet, Prince Erickson appeared to be taking the claim very, very seriously. The intensity of his rage seemed to amplify as he shouted, "You lie! We know why you're here."
Dal, still struggling to get over the shock that he was being confronted by the fucking prince of Ostros, was struggling to adapt on the fly. For the moment, he decided to treat the prince's claim as genuine despite the absurdity of it.
"Are you saying the reason why I'm being put through this is because you literally believe I've come here to…to summon a demon?"
"Yes," Denin answered in Prince Erickson's stead. He spoke with a much calmer and friendlier voice. He even smiled as he addressed Dal. "Unfortunately, we do."
His words only further perplexed Dal. "When you say that, you mean an actual demon? Like the ones from the stories you're told growing up?"
"Those are the ones, yep. And we don't just think you're here to summon a demon: we know you are."
Dal was so taken aback that, rather than reply, he snorted and coughed. It took him a moment to collect himself before he could even form words: that was the extent of how difficult it was to believe that these kids were being serious. "And why in the name of the great God above would I want to summon a demon?"
"That's something you're going to tell us," said the gravelly voice of Lord Garrick from behind him. Dal again looked over his shoulder to see that the middle-aged Dragon Knight was now within striking range. The heavily armored man had paused, however, likely because they were at least communicating with one another. If nothing else, Dal took this to mean that they were willing to hear what he had to say. So then…maybe, just maybe, Dal could spin things to his advantage.
Once more, Dal shoved aside the absurdity of their accusations and addressed them seriously. "Your Highness, can you at least tell me what I could have possibly done to arouse your suspicion?"
"Uh, yeah, actually," the prince replied immediately. "Let's start with the fact that your class is set to private, you blew up a watchtower, and you seem to be able to use magic. You've also been running away all throughout the night."
Dal churned the words over in his brain, attempting to fill in the blanks. Based on the prince's answer, it sounded like it was not his actions that made the prince believe a demon summoner was in Bradford, but rather, it was his actions that made the prince think the demon summoner was him. In other words, the prince must have come here with the idea in mind that there was going to be a demon summoning, and due to an unfortunate coincidence, Dal had ended up standing out.
"I think I understand what's going on here now," Dal said after a moment of contemplation.
"You do?" Rethi asked. "Let's hear it, then. Because we're all losing our patience with you."
"Just give me a second to explain myself, kid."
"Kid?" Rethi asked with a frown. "We're the same age!"
"No, we're not, but that's beside the point." Dal drew a breath, held it, and then released it slowly. "It sounds to me like the four of you came here looking for someone suspicious, and because of my actions, I ended up fitting the bill. If so, I apologize. From my perspective, I was simply minding my own business when I was accosted by the guards."
"Is that so?" the prince asked him.
"Yes. I swear it."
"Hmm. Well, okay, but then in that case, why did you run? Why did you not acquiesce to their authority?"
Dal tensed. This was a question he could not answer—would not answer. And the prince sensed this. Hell, they all did. He could tell from the way they narrowed their eyes. Yet still, they waited for him to reply. And when he didn't, they replied for him.
"I'll tell you why he did it," Denin said, his tone still friendly despite the accusatory nature of his words. "He did it because he knew that if the guards had given him a closer look, they'd see he was hiding something. Something he really didn't want them to find out about." Denin winked at him. "Right?"
"Yes," Dal replied truthfully. But then, very quickly, he added, "But not because I intend to summon a demon."
"So just tell us then, bud. What were you hiding? Actually, scratch that. Could you at least first tell us your name?"
Dal nodded. "Very well. My name is Dal Rineloch."
"Thank you." Denin approached closer. "It's good to meet you, Dal," he said cordially, even going so far as to offer his hand. Awkwardly, Dal shook it, and then he took a few steps back. "So, what is it you were hiding?"
Once again, Dal remained silent. He couldn't say it. He just couldn't. It would mean the end of his life as he knew it. Although, the way things were going right now, that was bound to happen regardless. And so, for the first time since he'd turned 15, he contemplated revealing his dark truth. But it was what the prince said next that really spurred him on.
"Dal," the prince began, "assuming that is in fact your name. Let me assure you that I'm actually a pretty forgiving person. I've come here for a very specific purpose, and if you're truly uninvolved with my reason for being here, it's not above me to pardon you for whatever petty crimes you were engaging in." He extended his hand off to his left in the direction of the town entrance. "I'm not even above letting you walk out of here right now. But I must know that you are not who I believe you to be."
"And who do you believe me to be?"
"A demon summoner," Rethi answered, shaking her head. "As we've been saying." She pointed at him. "You're hiding your class, but there's no point to it. You're a prodigy just like me. I'm guessing you're eighteen years old and already a Sorcerer, right? And let me guess: you've been tempted by something beyond your control, yeah? Is that how it happened?"
"No," Dal said forcefully. He was becoming ever more frustrated by the second. "I am not. But…" Abruptly, he widened his eyes as a realization came to him. "Wait a moment. Are you saying that if I were able to prove to you that I'm not a Sorcerer, you would let me go?"
"It's very likely," the prince replied. "We know the demon summoner is a member of the Sorcerer class. We also know you're hiding your class, and we've witnessed you use magic. If you can prove to me despite this evidence that you're not a Sorcerer, it's likely I would let you go. But you know as well as I do that the reason you've hidden your class is because you're a Sorc."
"No," Dal said, giving a quick shake of his head. "That's not at all why I'm hiding my class."
The prince grinned at him as though confident. "Sure it is. You're a Sorcerer. Please don't insult our intelligence."
"Your Highness, I assure you I am not a Sorcerer."
"Oh, right. Then tell me, 'Dal,' what class are you?"
Lowering his head, Dal began muttering to himself. He couldn't believe he was about to do this. He couldn't believe this moment was finally happening. He took several deep breaths to slow his breathing, and then he met the prince's eyes without blinking.
"I'm a Magic Archer."
"A what?" the prince, Denin, and Rethi all asked at once, turning their heads to look at one another.
"A Magic Archer," Dal said. "My class is a Magic Archer."
"He's fucking with us," Lord Garrick snapped, anger dripping from each word. "My prince, please grant me permission to cut down this demon-summoning prick right here and now before he utters another ridiculous lie."
The prince held up his hand. "Hold for the moment, Garrick." Then, to Dal, he said, "But I share his frustration. Making up fake classes is childish."
"Well, here's something you can't make up," Dal replied.
"Hm?"
Peeling his lips back in frustration, Dal activated Status Change, once more making his class information public. And so, with him and the prince still locking eyes, he said, "Check for yourself. Go on."
"Hmph. How far do you intend to carry this ruse?" The prince's eyes flashed red. "Do you really think you can convince me of something so—OH, GOD!" he shouted. A startled gasp came from Denin, Rethi, and even Lord Garrick, who was still behind him.
"Lord Garrick!" the prince yelled. "His class, it says he's a—"
"I know, I saw," Lord Garrick replied with a half-growl, half-shout. "What kind of…what the fuck?"
"Is this even a real Battle Class, Garrick?"
"Not that I've ever heard of."
"How is he doing this?" Rethi asked, her face becoming paler as though the color was draining from it. "What in the name of the great God above is happening here?"
"No clue," Denin whispered. "I've seen some weird things before, but this…this is definitely the weirdest."
The prince pointed his sword at Dal, who backed away from it. "Wait just a damned minute!" he shouted in outrage. "You just told me if I proved I wasn't a Sorcerer you'd let me go."
"Those weren't my exact words," the prince said. "I told you that it was very likely I would. And I meant it, too. But this…this is not…" He blinked. "How are you doing this?"
"I wish I fucking knew," Dal said.
"Well, you'd better figure it out and start talking, because none of this is adding up. First, you say you're a dishwasher. Now, you claim to be a Magic Archer. At the same time, you tell us you ran to avoid your secret getting out, but…but you say that having intentionally brought a magical bow into our town, not to mention you're dressed like that." He gestured at the archer attire with his sword. "So nothing is making sense here, Dal. For your sake, you should consider making it make sense."
Dal gritted his teeth. "I can't, Your Highness."
"You must."
"No, I can't. If I tell you, you'll destroy me. Even if I can convince you I'm not a threat or dangerous, you will still ruin my life. You will never let me be free."
"If you are truly no threat, I swear in the name of my father and this kingdom I won't."
Dal rubbed a pool of sweat off his face with the back of his palm. The frustration and uncertainty had reached such an intensity it was causing him to perspire. "I've never told anyone in all the years I've been alive." He looked away, shook his head, but only for a moment. Soon after, he again met the prince's eyes. "And in the name of the great God above, I swear that I am forty-seven years old. I am not your age."
"Wh-what?" Lord Garrick blurted out. His temper seemed to spike even higher. "You'd better start making sense, boy. I've had about enough of this bullshit."
"Fine, I'll tell you. And when I do, the prince will break the oath he just made to me."
"I will not."
"Oh, you will. So if nothing else, at least I'll get to be right."
"We'll see about that. Start speaking."
"Okay, then." Dal closed his eyes as he began. "Here's the simple version…"
As Dal spoke, the four of them listened.