William's Treachery
The clock tower of Silvercreek struck nine, its chimes echoing four times across the crowded market square. A tense, expectant silence blanketed the assembled crowd. The heart of the town had been transformed into a magnificent open-air stage for a high-stakes political theater in northwestern Euvros. Banners bearing the crests of various northern kingdoms and city-states fluttered in the cool morning breeze—a colorful yet fragile tapestry of alliances and rivalries. On the raised platform, two delegations faced each other across an ornately decorated long table.
On one side sat the representatives of Ardenia: a contingent of grim-faced Royal Army commanders and grizzled mercenaries from the Castalia Company. At the head of their ranks sat a man whose very presence seemed to radiate an aristocratic chill. Dressed in a perfectly tailored black and crimson uniform, a luxurious fur cloak draped over his shoulders, Crown Prince Finlay of Ardenia observed the scene with casual indifference, his long black hair framing a handsome yet stern face. One gauntleted hand rested on the hilt of a sharp rapier at his hip, while the other drummed a slow, impatient rhythm on the table.
Across from them sat the delegation of the Albion Empire, led by the imposing figure of Lord Commander William of the Order of Avalon Knights. His face was a mask of dignified concern. Beside him stood Lady Orwella, her expression calm and unreadable, a silent, golden-haired paladin. The square was packed with onlookers—curious townsfolk, grim-faced refugees from Merlesia, and representatives from other major powers, including envoys from the Holy Rodinian Empire, sharp-eyed diplomats from the Papal States, as well as delegations from the Emirate of Qurtuba and the Undying Empire, all present to witness and, if necessary, to judge.
Lord William was the first to rise. He stepped forward, his voice echoing across the square, beginning his speech with a charisma that demanded immediate attention. "Honored delegates, distinguished guests, people of Ardenia," he began, his tone somber and laden with false sincerity. "We gather here today to address a tragedy. A humanitarian crisis that has shaken the foundations of this noble kingdom. I speak of the terrible riots in Merlesia, an event that saw the senseless loss of thousands of lives and the tragic, presumed death of Her Highness, Princess Adreana." A murmur spread through the crowd. He paused briefly, letting the weight of his words sink in.
"The Albion Empire," he continued, placing a hand over his heart, "we intervened not as conquerors, but as peacemakers. As neighbors concerned for the stability of a friend. We came to restore order, aid the victims, and seek the truth. And we have found it." His gaze shifted, landing squarely on the Ardenian delegation, an accusatory stare filled with sorrowful conviction in his eyes. "The truth is a bitter pill to swallow. The riots, the chaos, the princess's supposed death... they were no spontaneous uprising. They were a conspiracy. A wicked plot orchestrated from within the very walls of the Ardenian royal court!"
Another wave of shocked whispers, louder this time, swept across the square.
"The perpetrator," William declared, his voice rising with indignation, "is a man driven by lust for power, a man who would sacrifice his own sister to seize the throne. I speak of Crown Prince Finlay!" He pointed a finger directly at the prince, the accusation hanging in the tense morning air.
Finlay, who had been observing the entire performance with extraordinary boredom, merely snorted, dismissive and contemptuous. He didn't even bother to stand. "Hmph. How arrogant."
"I have proof. Living, breathing proof." William's lips curled into a satisfied, triumphant smile. "You see, by the grace of the Light, the princess is *not* dead. My knights managed to rescue her from her brother's assassins. She has been under our protection ever since, recovering from her ordeal." He turned to the crowd, spreading his arms wide in a gesture of revelation. "The time for lies is over! Bring in the princess! Let her bear witness to this betrayal!"
*Hmph. With this... Ardenia is within my grasp,* he thought. *That fool Ael died for nothing.*
From backstage, two fully armed Albion knights emerged, escorting a figure clad in a crimson and royal blue gown, her face hidden behind a thick veil. She moved with hesitant steps, her head bowed. The crowd pressed forward, craning their necks, their collective breath held in anticipation. Finlay watched, a flicker of something unreadable passing through his cold eyes. He leaned towards Sylvanne, who stood beside his chair. "Prepare yourselves," he murmured, his voice barely audible. "The show is about to begin."
Lord William's smile was a mask of smug self-satisfaction. *This is the moment. The culmination of years of planning. Once the world sees the 'rescued' princess, once she 'confirms' her brother's treachery, Ardenia will be mine. The nobles will flock to my banner, denounce the usurper, and I, William, will be hailed as the savior, the regent of a grateful and obedient puppet state.* His gaze fell on Orwella, standing beside him, her expression as calm as a frozen lake. *Even she, with her foolish, archaic notions of honor, will have no choice but to accept the outcome. Her loyalty is to the Order, and I am the Order.*
The veiled figure reached the center of the stage. The two knights retreated, leaving her alone before the waiting delegations. The silence was absolute, a tangible thing pressing in from all sides.
"Princess Adreana," William's voice was soft and smooth now, like a father speaking to a frightened child. "Please, do not be afraid. Tell them. Tell them all what your brother did. Tell them the truth."
Slowly, the figure raised her hands. But instead of speaking, she reached up and, with a single fluid motion, swept aside her veil.
It was Adreana who stood before them.
A collective gasp swept through the square like a gust of gale-force wind.
She was not the terrified girl William had expected. There was no fear in her eyes. Only a blazing fire. Her expression was not that of a victim, but of a queen. In her hand, she held not a handkerchief to wipe away tears, but a parchment scroll, the royal seal of crimson wax still intact and unbroken.
"Lord Commander William," Adreana's voice rang out, clear, strong, and powerful, cutting through the stunned silence like a trumpet call. "Indeed. The events at Merlesia were the most horrifying time I shall never forget. Indeed, there was royal involvement during that incident, but..." she paused briefly, letting her gaze sweep across the faces in the crowd, over the stunned delegations, before finally settling on Lord William, whose victorious smile had frozen into a mask of confusion. "It was not my brother who orchestrated the riots. It was you, Lord William. You who allied with my treacherous uncle to destabilize our kingdom and claim our valuable resources."
"W-What?! Who are you?!" William's voice was a strangled bark, a crack in his mask. Disbelief warred with dawning realization on his face. This was not the meek, shy girl he had locked away. This woman possessed a steely determination that radiated from her, an unshakable presence that commanded the attention of everyone in the square. This was not his pawn. This was a player, and she had just overturned the entire game board.
*Impossible...?! That bastard Ael lied to me!* "Guards! Kill her! Kill this impostor!"
"Impostor? Is that what you call the truth when it refuses to bow to your will, Lord William?" Adreana unfurled the scroll in her hand, holding it high for all to see. The royal seal of the House of Arden was unmistakable. "This... is a royal decree, signed by my late father, King Sigismer, on the day of my birth. It is proof of my birth. Could an impostor present such an invaluable family heirloom?" She then turned to the Papal Envoy, her expression one of earnest sincerity. "Your Eminence, I believe the Holy See keeps duplicates of all royal documents for its vassals. I request that you compare this to the copy in your archives."
The Papal Envoy, a stern-faced man, nodded slowly, his sharp eyes scrutinizing the scroll and the princess. He signaled to an aide, who immediately scurried off.
William began to falter. His game was unraveling right before his nose. "Hmph... You Ardenians leave me no choice." He drew his sword—or rather, a greatsword that had been severed in half. "Knights of Avalon! With me! We'll show them the meaning of true justice!"
He immediately struck at Adreana, but the princess had already drawn her own sword. The small but beautifully crafted blade barely parried William's strike with a loud *Clang!*
"People of Ardenia! This is the true face of the Albion Empire! They are not here to save us, but to trample our sovereignty! They are invaders! They are liars! Stand with me, and we will show them that we, the people of Ardenia, are not ones to bow to tyranny!" Adreana shouted, as she deflected another of William's attacks.
The citizens of Silvercreek, who had been watching in bewildered silence, began to stir. The refugees from Merlesia, their faces etched with the pain of their loss, looked from Adreana's resolute face to Lord William's increasingly desperate one. The murmurs turned into angry shouts. "Invaders!" "Liars!" "Long live the Princess!" The tide of public opinion, so carefully manipulated by William, was now turning against him with the force of a tidal wave.
William's face contorted into murderous fury. "Orwella! What are you doing standing there?! Arrest her! That's an order!" he bellowed, pointing his sword at Adreana.
Lady Orwella, who had been standing motionless like a statue beside him, finally moved. But she did not obey his command. "Lord Commander William, by decree of the Knights' Council, I am placing you under arrest on charges of treason against the Albion Empire, acts of unprovoked aggression against a sovereign state, and conduct unbecoming of an Avalon Knight!" Her voice, clear and unshakeable, echoed across the square.
"Madness! This is madness!" William said, his voice trembling. But it didn't stop him. He had fallen too far from a Knight's pride, and there was no turning back. He had to finish what he started. "Fine... If you want bloodshed, I'll give you bloodshed! I'll bathe in the blood of Ardenians!" he screamed. "I'll make sure not a single Ardenian is left alive on this soil!"
Seeing the situation, Zachary exchanged glances with Finlay and nodded. He then signaled his forces to move, followed by Finlay leading his Royal Army into the fray.
"Sylvanne!" Zachary shouted.
"Ok, boss! Time to rock and roll!" Sylvanne yelled to her men.
---
Meanwhile, in the Silvercreek Guard Barracks' cell...
"Hah... Well, where did those arrogant guards go?" Asep said, stretching his arms as he observed the now-empty guard post. The sudden eruption of chaos in the market square had become their free ticket out of jail. The Albion guards, who had been lazily watching over them, had now scrambled out in a panic at the first sounds of shouting and clashing steel, their duty to oversee two drunkards utterly forgotten in the face of a full-scale public uprising. Karl was already on his feet, rummaging through a nearby chest where the guards had tossed their confiscated weapons.
"Found 'em!" Karl announced triumphantly, pulling out his spear and Asep's brass knuckles. He tossed them back to Asep, who caught them with a flick of his wrist. "So, what's the plan now? Are we gonna join the party? Looks like things are getting lively out there." He peered through their cell's barred window, a wide, eager grin etched on his face. "Looks like Her Highness's plan worked out wonderfully. Let's get out of here and join them."
"Sure," Asep said, fitting the brass knuckles onto his hands. "Let's go crack some skulls. I hope I can get a pack of smokes after this."
"All you think about at a time like this is tobacco?" Karl broke into a cold sweat.
"Well, the tax on imported goods might be lifted if we win this war... and that means tobacco will be back on the market," he said with a wide grin. "Now... shall we break down the door?"
"Absolutely!"
With a simultaneous, powerful kick, the wooden door splintered and tore free from its hinges, crashing to the floor with a resounding *Crack*. They stepped out into the empty guard post, the sounds of the escalating battle in the square now crystal clear—the clash of swords, the shouts of men, the screams of the wounded. It was a brutal, familiar symphony, the backing track for the kind of dirty, chaotic work they usually did. They exchanged a glance, a silent understanding passing between the two men. Time to get to work.
They burst out of the guard post and into the chaos of the market square. It was no longer a stage for political theater; it was a battlefield. The regular Ardenian troops and Castalia mercenaries, no longer holding back, had crashed into the ranks of the Albion knights with a fury born of pent-up rage. Townsfolk and refugees, armed with everything from farming tools to scavenged swords, had joined the fray, their anger at the Albion occupation finally boiling over into open, violent rebellion. It was a chaotic melee, a desperate, disorganized brawl with no clear front line.
"Where's the boss?" Karl yelled over the din, spearing an Albion knight who was about to cut down a bare-chested refugee armed only with a broken table leg.
Asep scanned the crowd, his eyes sharp and focused, picking out the key players amidst the mayhem. He saw Sylvanne, her greatsword carving a bloody path through a throng of Albion soldiers. A beautiful blonde knight lady, leading the remaining knights who seemed to be opposing William's treachery against their fellow knights loyal to William.
And he saw them. On the raised platform, the trio of Zachary, Adreana, and the man who must be Prince Finlay. They were facing the threat itself; William, who was now radiating a terrifying aura. Even with their combined strength, William was holding his own, fighting them to a standstill.
*Damn! This William guy... He's really got that 'final boss' aura.*
"Look! The boss is in trouble!" Karl shouted, pointing his spear toward the platform. "That bastard William... what kind of aura is that?!"
A vile, shadowy energy now coiled around Lord Commander William, his eyes glowing with a malevolent crimson light. It was clear he was using some kind of magic to enhance his strength, Lumite energy imbued within his sword, and the sword was now fully formed into a blade of condensed crimson energy.
*Nah, I'll leave that 'boss' fight to the real 'Main Characters.' I'm just a mob, and mobs like me should act like a mob. My only job is to beat up the small fries,* Asep thought. *Let the main characters have their spotlight.*
But then, he saw a group of Knights, reinforcements from occupied Merlesia, marching in from the eastern gate. They were marching in tight formation, shields and spears raised. They then began to encircle the battlefield.
"Karl!" Asep shouted. "Look! They're trying to surround us! We have to stop them!"
"Damn! You're right!" Karl replied. "But how?!"
"We're here!" Someone shouted, before a barrel of hard liquor was hurled into the enemy lines, creating a large puddle of wine.
"Archers, fire arrows!" the voice followed.
*That voice... Adeline?* Asep turned towards the source of the voice, and he was right. Adeline was there, leading a group of volunteers consisting of refugees and local townsfolk. They had come from the eastern side of the square, from a narrow alleyway Asep hadn't noticed before, ambushing the enemy reinforcements. The front ranks of the newly arrived Albion reinforcements slipped as they passed through the puddle and their formation broke apart, then followed by a volley of fire arrows from Adeline's volunteer archers.
*Everyone's doing their best... Then, I have to do my best too. As a side character, of course.* Asep clenched his fists.
"What are you doing just standing there?" A familiar voice called out to Asep. Turning, he saw Treste standing there, holding her grimoire.
"You... What are you doing here?" Asep asked. "This is dangerous, you know?!"
"Hmph, of course, I'm here too! My research funds and my lab are at stake here!" She said, "Hah! This is a perfect chance to test out my new spell! Besides, you're the one who said that on the battlefield, we're free to use whatever abilities we have, right?" Treste grinned. "And my 'abilities' here will prove useful for the future of warfare!"
"Oi, oi, what are you planning?" Asep asked again, this time with a frown.
"Hehehehe... You'll see!" She said before running into the fray. "Hey, you there, the idiot with the super-sized cleaver! Let me help you out!" Treste shouted as she ran towards Sylvanne.
"Ahahaha! The nerve of this kid!" Sylvanne shouted back. "Alright then, show me what you've got!"
"Hmph! Feel this!" Treste slammed her hand onto the ground, and a massive stone wall rose from the earth, right in front of Sylvanne. The wall blocked the advance of the Albion Knights who were about to attack her.
"Wow! That's a great wa—"
"I'm not finished yet! *[Cratere]!*"
*BOOM!*
A massive explosion rocked the market square as Treste's spell detonated, sending a shockwave and stone shrapnel flying outward. The newly erected stone wall shattered, its fragments turning into deadly projectiles that tore through the front ranks of the Albion knights, sending them screaming and staggering back. Sylvanne, who had been about to praise the defensive wall, had to leap aside to avoid being shredded by the debris, an expression of disbelief etched on her face.
"You little psychopath!" Sylvanne roared, half-angry, half-impressed as she picked herself up. "You could have warned me if you were going to blow the damn thing up!"
"Hehehe! I call it 'Exploding Earthen Wall'!" Treste cackled, her eyes dancing with manic glee. "It's a highly effective crowd-control spell, isn't it? Needs a little refinement, though."
Asep, watching from a distance, just shook his head. *That kid's going to give Zachary a heart attack. And a massive bill for property damage.* He turned his attention back to the main fight. Adeline's unexpected arrival with her volunteers had thrown the Albion reinforcements into disarray, and Treste's unorthodox tactics had shattered their front lines. The momentum of the battle was shifting in their favor.
"Don't fall behind, Karl!" Asep shouted, his brass knuckles glinting in the firelight. "Time to clean up the trash!"
"Right behind you!" Karl roared, leveling his spear.
The two of them plunged into the chaos.
---