Lancelot was cursing himself for jinxing his day. It wasn't even noon and he was witnessing a robbery right at the side of the road.
The woman getting robbed was struggling to grip her leather bag, her knuckles white as snow but to the towering brute, he seemed to enjoy it. His taunts made Lancelot want to hide. Not due to fear but rather to cringe to keep tolerating them. He was getting second-hand embarrassment from just being there.
Why do villains always talk so much? He asked himself, debating whether to cover his ears or not.
The woman turned her head to Lancelot's direction, her eyes wide as hope shone in them fast and bright like a firework, "Help! Please, help me!"
Lancelot froze still. He could feel his muscles stiffen. The look, the tone, the desperate plea that she let out, in hope that this lowly farmboy would help her, even if he didn't look strong enough to take him on, it was better than nothing, right?
Lancelot's eyebrows twitched. He checked the brute once again and after a while, he inhaled deeply as he plastered on the straightest, most deadpan expression and turned towards the bandit.
The woman's face changed too… it grew to a large joyous expression. She could feel it, the change of atmosphere. She could even swear that she saw the sheer raw determination that emitted from him and she could bet the bandit felt it too. The boy looked like a walking dangerhouse, ready to pounce at any moment. The bandit felt his determination, it was thick, intense and… entirely directed at leaving?
Without breaking eye contact, Lancelot stepped back.
Then another step.
Then–
He spun around and bolted at full speed through the thickets, taking a longer route to home. He didn't even dare turn around. He wants to be an adventurer but he also had to be alive while doing so. A rather cowardly thought.
Courage killed the bear, cowardice saved the hound. I'd rather drag my tail in between my legs than get beaten up by that brute.
The path was long but Lancelot knew every path that led home well. So evading every low-lying tree branch or overgrown roots was as easy as evading his father's beatings. Well… with him running away a lot from home due to family disputes especially from his father, it was easy to learn every path that led from home, even the hidden ones.
It was something he could genuinely be proud of himself.
The small cottage was coming to view. Lancelot could see his father talking to a man. If Lancelot were to make a guess, he'd say it's Mr. Mason talking about some crop rates and new diseases. It was a common topic that they kept discussing about. The look in his face said it all.
His father sighed heavily, shaking his head towards Lancelot's direction and instantly, his face went from grief to rage in matter of seconds.
left his father grieving. He never understood them.
Why talk about something that would leave you in such a state over and over again?
Getting close, he saw his father sigh deeply as he looked back up, then, following where his kind guest's eyes laid, he turned towards Lancelot's direction. Lancelot couldn't fathom what he was witnessing. In just a matter of two seconds his expression instantly went from concern to rage.
Lancelot didn't understand why but he knew something was definetly wrong. It made him think over everything wrong he might have done, however, nothing rung a bell. Though that didn't stop him. He knew that the money he just got was going to change the atmosphere.
"Father! You are not going to believe me but I request that you do at least this once. The bull I sold today went off at a–"
Lancelot didn't comprehend what had just happened. One second he was cheerfully explaining how the sale went and the next he was on the ground, his left cheeck burning with a hot painful sensation that had already started to spread over his face.
Lancelot looked at his father in confusion. His voice held tightly to his throat but tried to force out at least a word, "why?"
"Don't even dare talk to me! You make me wonder if you are really my son."
Lancelot was stunned. Where was all this coming from?
"Do not even try to deny anything! Mr. Mason already told me everything."
Lancelot's face mimicked his thoughts. Told you what?
"Have you not done enough damage to our family already? First, you beat up the last born of the Baskervilles and that led us to drown in debt and as if your heart knows no mercy, you went on ahead to talk to Valor, Leader of the ark knight as if she's a friend. Every time i'm faced by eyes that judge me… that judge this family as if its a circus freak show. All because of who? Some ungrateful brat who can't even keep up. We should have just listened to the witch after she told us about you."
Lancelot didn't need a translator to know what he was talking about. Emphasis on the 'our' and 'this'. He never referred to Lancelot as a part of the family. I mean who would? He's the only one in the family to have orange hair and zero ressemblance anyone. You'd think he was adopted.
On the day of his birth, his father and the midwives were in utter disbelief. Neither tears nor cries came out of him. Just bruises that made them think he would not survive and when he proved them wrong, he was now a freak.
Lancelot didn't understand why people could be such monsters sometimes.
He stared at his father, not wanting to break any contact, then with a slow turn, stared at Mr. Mason. Mr. Mason didn't look away. He stared back, his chin lifted high as if to show how pitiful Lancelot was.
I Promise you this Mason. You'll enjoy the view from down here sooner or later.
Lancelot got upwhile removing the pouch tied to his belt, making sure to show them the royal emblem and poured out its contents. The two men couldn't believe what they were seeing. The amount of gold he brought back seemed to be impossible, especially after selling just one bull. Something was not adding up.
Before his father turned to question him, the front door was already shut.
Without saying a single word, he was packing the essentials that would increase his survival chances. His mother had witnessed it all, her hand clenching tightly at her chest as the other held on to a wooden box. Fighting back her tears, she walked into his room– or rather the room he shares with his two other older brothers– placed it on the neat, empty bed next to Lancelot's. The other two beds looked as if they've seen better days.
"You know, your brother left with the same determination you carry in your heart. He wanted to be one of the most successful merchants known to our nation and if possible, to all the other nations."
Lancelot dug his hand into one of holes from his worn out bed, pulling out a few gold coins he'd saved the past couple of years. The memories of his brother was still fresh in his mind, why he never came back or wrote a letter, no one knows and none want to imagine the worst.
Confirming that nothing is a miss, Lancelot wore his bag and turned to face his mother. She held out the wooden box, her eyes fighting back tears. Lancelot studied the box before taking it. It looked expensive, judging by the quality of the wood and the patterns engraved on it. Opening it, Lancelot couldn't believe it.
Two, long, daggers were laid on a folded, green cloak. Lancelot wrapped his fingers on one of the daggers, his grip tight on the texture. Lancelot unscathed it and it a beautiful, silver, blade greeted him. His reflection was perfectly visible on it. He stared at the blade. Something was off about it but he couldn't put a finger on it. Sheathing it back and placing both daggers aside, he unfolded the cloak. It was mesmerising. The texture of the cloak with the shade of green caught his attention. He would be able to blend in with his environment and catch his prey off guard. It was all too perfect. He touched the single button on the cloak, feeling the engraved texture of the mushroom.
Lancelot frowned, raising his head to meet his mother's soft brown eyes. "Why? This must have cost a fortune. I can not simply-" His mother raised her hand to interrupt him.
"You need not worry about its price. This is my gift to you Lance." Her voice quivered at the last word, like she was fighting back a cough. Lancelot stared back and hugged her, not wishing to let go. "Thank you…mom." The words drifted softly to her heart, finally breaking the dam of tears she fought hard to hide from him.
Out through the backdoor, Lancelot was on his way to start his quest, his green cloak big enough to conceal most of his body and the daggers sheathed to the back of his hip. He stopped, a young girl blocked his path. Her brown eyes pierced deep in to Lancelot. She frowning at him.
"When…"
"As soon as I lay that lizard to sleep." Lancelot smiled at her. The same smile he gave her when she was not sure of something. She walked to him and held him tightly.
"Promise me Lance."
"Since when did you lose your faith in me? I promise, we'll see each other soon. Alright?"
She hesitantly let go and stepped aside, clearing the path.
Lancelot smiled as he left, the Blood Knight of The Star's voice freshly ringing in his ears.
Do It A Hundred percent. Without Regret.
His mother watched as he disappeared through the thickets, her tears threatening to break free. On cue, it snowed.
Ash. It snowed ash.
His mother held out her hand, a flake of ash gently fell on her palm. Her eyes far and deep to the cursed sky, her voice devoid of emotion as she whispered to herself.
"It has begun."