In the Name of Justice: Chapter XI
I've been getting into Fallout 3 recently, despite how ridiculously difficult it is. The world is one of the most unique I have ever seen in a game and film. I really want to write a story about it... Maybe when Justice is over.
Chapter XI
Checkmate
Dreizehn was silent, a still form in the darkness. The nearest light source, a sconce protruding from the wall, did little to illuminate him, instead casting deep shadows upon his body. His garments were dominated by the usual black, a custom as unchanging as the seasons.
Slowly, he crossed his right leg over his left, leaned to one arm and rested his cheek upon his hand. From the next room, the low voices of a group of servants leaked through - faint, yet no doubt audible to his inhuman ears. Apart from that, though, there was nothing: no unusual happenings, no sudden appearances by Kranz to bring him news. Deep down, he almost wished that a problem would arise somewhere in the castle, that a ceiling would spontaneously collapse or a window break - perhaps then he would have a means with which to occupy himself for a few hours.
No, what was he thinking? The absurdity of the thoughts drifting forth was enough to make him roll his eyes. In a subconscious motion, he caught a lock of raven hair and proceeded to gently twist it around two of the fingers of his free hand. Was it not better to live in peace than in conflict? Surely if times were more turbulent, his answer would be different, yet boredom was now warping his resolve. Perhaps it was only now that he was beginning to realise the full consequences of life as an immortal being: the sun would rise in a few hours’ time, forcing him to retreat to the shadows, and only at its descent would he be permitted to roam again. It was an ever-repeating cycle, and one he was growing tedious of. Already, he had lived out the equivalent of two or three human lives, seen those working in his service pass away from old age; though he remained frozen, flawless, a clock whose handles had ceased to tick. One may have deemed the idea of unchanging and unfading youthfulness a blessing, but to Dreizehn, it was as much a curse as it was a gift.
Perhaps the only thing keeping him alive at this point was his kingdom, and protecting those who lived within it. His duty as king placed the responsibility upon his shoulders, but the desire to defend his people was far stronger, and for that reason, he would remain. Who was he to abandon those who looked upon him for guidance? The thought was selfish, ridiculous. Was his life really so monotonous that he would consider ridding himself of it, at the price of both the ones close to him and those who resided within his land?
He would keep on living for their sake, if not his own.
Like two blood-red flames, Dreizehn’s eyes shone crimson amid the black.
That was the first night the idea of suicide crossed the king's mind, a thought that would continue to torture him until the very day he succumbed to it.
---
Silence.
Justice was motionless, as though his feet had sprouted roots that fastened him to the ground. In front of him, three out of the four Guardians crouched, heads bowed, like pieces on a chess board.
The fourth, however, vigorously shook his head and exclaimed furiously, “No! The king had no son! How can he…” Yet it seemed that even the most forthcoming of them all was left without words.
When Rafaga lifted his head, it came as a surprise to Justice to see a smirk pulling at his lips. “And didn’t I say you have his eyes?”
It was only then that it occurred to Justice what he was referring to. Slowly, he raised his hand, pausing just before he reached his left eye. The tips of his fingers brushed against the space above his cheek. Though he couldn't physically feel it, there was no doubt in his mind that his irises had taken on the vivid crimson colour that occasionally appeared in times of deep emotion; and what's more, the Guardians appeared fascinated by it. For a moment, all other thoughts - the sword, Wilderness’ outburst, Rafaga’s manipulation of the air - left his mind, only to be replaced with a sense of overpowering bewilderment at the scene before him.
“May I also offer my apologies, Your Highness,” Carbuncle said. “I must admit that I, too, doubted you, but you have proved me wrong.”
Justice finally found it within himself to speak. “W-what do you mean?”
Sensing his confusion, the fire vampire replied, “Your eyes are proof of your royal lineage, of the blood that flows through your veins - you are the true son of Dreizehn Schwarzschild, and for that reason, I bow down to you as your loyal servant.”
“As do I.” Rafaga nodded his head before straightening up - the other two swiftly followed suit.
All his life, Justice had merely thought that the colours of his eyes, which fluctuated from anywhere between deep red to a rusted brown hue, had been part of his nature as a vampire, but evidently that was not the case now. When he paid thought to it, however, he was unable to recall ever having seen another vampire posses the same ability (not that such meetings were frequent). Could it really be that such a small detail was enough to convince the Guardians of his heritage?
However, one remained unswayed. Wilderness fixed the black-haired man with a hardened stare as he stormed across the room. “You are not my superior!” he spat. “You may have fooled everyone else into believing you're Schwarzschild, but I will not bow down to you - not today, not ever.”
The wind vampire’s arm twitched, as if he were planning to strike his companion, though decided against it in the same moment; instead, he simply ignored him and addressed Justice: “I can understand your uncertainty. You must be feeling quite confused, what with your being branded a liar one moment and deemed of royal descent the next - I know that I, for one, would be more than shocked at such a thing. But those eyes… In all my life, I have only ever seen one other holding the same colour, and that was the king. No doubt it is proof of the blood that runs through you, a trait passed through generations.”
Wilderness crossed his arms, scowled and looked away, muttering something inaudible as he did so. This time, it seemed as if Rafaga was unable to hold himself back: with a speed surpassing even that which Justice's eyes could follow, he clenched his right hand into a fist, swung it round and buried it in the earth vampire's cheek.
Wilderness froze. An expression of shock painted his face as he reeled back from the impact, though he managed to keep his balance. However, that shock soon wore away, only to be replaced with a look of smouldering rage. No, it was beyond rage… The man looked as though he were ready to break the wind vampire’s neck. Snarling, he made a lunge for Rafaga’s throat.
“Stop.”
Four pairs of eyes turned to Justice before he’d even realised he'd spoken the word aloud. Wilderness’ fingers were inches from the other’s neck, his lips parted slightly in blatant disbelief. Even Rafaga, who he’d assumed to be the most accepting of the Guardians, seemed somewhat taken aback by the order.
Wilderness was almost trembling in raw fury, though he clearly tried to hide it as lowered his hands and turned towards the black-haired man. A sneer crept across his face when he caught sight of the blood on his cheek, as if for the first time.
“Oh, you're bleeding? Well, I suppose, being what you are now, you'll be getting one of us to lick that clean for you - am I right?"
Justice’s heartbeat was in his throat, his eyes narrowed as he watched the earth vampire take his seat back at the table. The other three Guardians seemed unsure of whether or not to follow, but with a nod from Carbuncle, they, too, took their respective places. Rafaga chose to remain standing again.
Once seated, Justice took a few seconds to reassess the situation. It was almost laughable how quickly the circumstances had reversed themselves: now, he was the one in power, and the others his pawns to wield. Or so it would seem... But if that was the case, then why did he still feel so intimidated by the people around him? Was this not what he had wanted to start off with? Now he was wordless, unable to speak for lack of knowing what to say. It came as a surprise to see the Guardians appeared to feel the same - it was as if the whole room had been frozen.
“Well… I see that the situation has turned into one of considerable awkwardness.” Carbuncle was the first to break the silence. His eyes drifted from one figure to another with an almost lethargic feel.
The chess board still lay between them, its pieces locked in their formations. It seemed strange to Justice that just minutes ago, they had been in play, yet there was no need to continue any more. The game had been won. A king had been captured.
“Your Highness,” said Kircheis, addressing the black-haired man. “Would you please explain again the information you hold regarding the Schwarzschild Sword? I’m sure we would all benefit from hearing it once more, especially as this time we are willing to listen with more… Eager ears.” He dropped his eyes to his lap, as if in embarrassment.
Justice’s gaze darted around the table, faltering slightly when he passed Wilderness on his left. “I’ve told you of my intentions to travel to the Earth Region and recover it.” He couldn’t help but sneak a glance at the vampire by his side, half-expecting him to react in some way, though he remained still.
“As of the direct lineage, of course you would feel the need to,” mumbled the water vampire, more to himself than anyone else.
Just then, Wilderness crossed his arms over his chest, leaned back a little and raised an eyebrow critically. “You all seem so sure, but perhaps someone would like to explain to me how this man can claim to be the descendant of a king who produced no children during his lifetime? Unless I’m missing out on the fundamentals of basic procreation, of course.” Most of the anger had drained from his voice, having been replaced with a steely, sarcastic edge.
“I’m quite curious as well, actually,” said the redhead. “We have all seen for ourselves the royal blood that runs within you - there is no doubting that; and who is to say that the king did not have relations outside of the palace walls…”
Justice cut in: “My mother’s name was Rosalie.
Beside him, Wilderness tensed, but he made no attempt to lash out like before. That wasn’t to say that the mention of the name stirred no emotion in his composition, though.
Kircheis and Carbuncle exchanged glances before the latter spoke with relief. “Well, at least that allows some sense to be drawn from the situation.”
However, the blond-haired man seemed confused. “How so? I do not recall having seen Lady Rosalie fall pregnant during the time she was living in the castle.” Then, to Justice: "Your Majesty, allow me to explain about your mother. That is, of course, providing that you do not know yourself?"
To Justice, the offer seemed genuine, yet the suspicion still remained. Who was to say this was not just another opportunity for his actions to be scrutinised again a continuation of the test that had begun the moment he’d entered the room? The words ‘Your Majesty’ sounded forced somehow...
Perhaps it was because it had been so long since their last uttering.
Slowly, Justice nodded. The faint hint of a smile passed Kircheis’ lips as he placed both elbows on the table, locked his fingers together and rested his chin upon them. “She was a pretty girl, quite suited to the king in way of looks. I believe it was two years before his death that the two of them met: Lady Rosalie had been living around the castle, and upon first sight, Dreizehn took an instant attraction to her. They were married soon after and lived together in the castle. That was until…” He frowned, as if working out how to word the sentence.
“Until the king abandoned her. No, until he abandoned us all.” Wilderness unfurled his arms and fixed his gaze on a random chess piece in the centre of the board. “He told no-one of his intentions to take his life, not even the ones he apparently loved. Who’s to say that this Justice isn’t the spawn of one of his mistresses?”
“Schwarzshild had no mistresses,” Carbuncle snapped. “And I would appreciate it if you were to hold your tongue when referring to our king in that way.”
“I will do nothing of the sort," hissed Wilderness. "The pain that I saw Rosalie go through after that man left her… I had to watch her suffer more and more every day. I'm the one who found her dead because of that bastard…”
“Stop it.”
“Stop what, brother? Don’t you dare tell me what to do!”
Carbuncle did not protest, though the look on his face was enough, it seemed, to silence Wilderness without words. It was the first time Justice had seen the fire vampire express any kind of emotion beyond mild distaste or amusement, yet now he was able to see why: the man’s glare was acid, a concentration of deep fury and hostility that cut through the air like a blade. Unlike Wilderness, however, he did not seem to one to allow his anger to overcome him, and so the look only appeared to be a warning - even so, it sent chills trickling down Justice’s spine.
"Calm, 'Buncle…” Rafaga cautioned from somewhere behind Justice.
For a moment, nothing happened, but then the redhead turned his eyes downwards into his lap in submission. He blinked - a long, drawn-out movement that accentuated his fathomlessly dark eyes - before looking up again.
“Yes…" Once again, his face had returned to its emotionless mask, with nothing but a light frown to shade it.
Minutes passed, and no words were spoken. Justice took the time to roll back over the information he’d been told in his head. The story about his raising by foster parents had been the truth, as was the part about him discovering his mother’s grave. In a world of loneliness and hostility, the name 'Rosalie Schwarzshild’ had been the only things he could cling to, a small truth in his heart that linked him back to his heritage. Perhaps that was the reason why he was so accepting of the facts the Guardians were telling him now. In his eyes, he was just beginning to delve into the pages of a book whose contents he had only glimpsed. A sense of intrigue, as well as an insatiable curiosity, was swelling up deeply inside him, though he was a patient man - the time would come when he would be able to finish the chapter, and if that was an event fated to wait until the future, then so be it.
As much as he hated to pry, however, there was one thing whose explanation simply couldn't wait.
“Did you say that you found my mother dead?”
“Yes, that’s right.” It was Kircheis who answered. “Though it’s a subject of some delicacy, as you may have guessed. In the time following the king’s death, the lady grew… Depressed. With all respects, I’m surprised she even lasted the amount of time she did before deciding to take her life.”
The faint sound of material brushing against itself sounded behind Justice, as if Rafaga were shifting position.
“Perhaps,” said the wind vampire, slightly more solemnly than his usual tone, “It would be more beneficial for both His Majesty and us if we were to refrain from diverting the conversation and consider how to go about retrieving this sword.”
The black-haired man turned his head and looked over his shoulder to see Ragafa staring down at him, the slightest of smirks pulling the corners of his lips upwards - an expression which hardly seemed fitting for the situation. As he turned to face the table again, however, it was Kircheis who caught his attention; it seemed that he had also noticed his companion, and now he grinned in silent amusement, running both hands through his chin-length locks of blond hair to hide his face until he had collected himself. It was as though a silent, private joke had somehow been shared between the two.
“Yes, do carry on…” he muttered, the expression slowly fading. He motioned towards Justice.
“Your move, I believe, Your Majesty.”
Next Chapter →
Chapter XI
Checkmate
Dreizehn was silent, a still form in the darkness. The nearest light source, a sconce protruding from the wall, did little to illuminate him, instead casting deep shadows upon his body. His garments were dominated by the usual black, a custom as unchanging as the seasons.
Slowly, he crossed his right leg over his left, leaned to one arm and rested his cheek upon his hand. From the next room, the low voices of a group of servants leaked through - faint, yet no doubt audible to his inhuman ears. Apart from that, though, there was nothing: no unusual happenings, no sudden appearances by Kranz to bring him news. Deep down, he almost wished that a problem would arise somewhere in the castle, that a ceiling would spontaneously collapse or a window break - perhaps then he would have a means with which to occupy himself for a few hours.
No, what was he thinking? The absurdity of the thoughts drifting forth was enough to make him roll his eyes. In a subconscious motion, he caught a lock of raven hair and proceeded to gently twist it around two of the fingers of his free hand. Was it not better to live in peace than in conflict? Surely if times were more turbulent, his answer would be different, yet boredom was now warping his resolve. Perhaps it was only now that he was beginning to realise the full consequences of life as an immortal being: the sun would rise in a few hours’ time, forcing him to retreat to the shadows, and only at its descent would he be permitted to roam again. It was an ever-repeating cycle, and one he was growing tedious of. Already, he had lived out the equivalent of two or three human lives, seen those working in his service pass away from old age; though he remained frozen, flawless, a clock whose handles had ceased to tick. One may have deemed the idea of unchanging and unfading youthfulness a blessing, but to Dreizehn, it was as much a curse as it was a gift.
Perhaps the only thing keeping him alive at this point was his kingdom, and protecting those who lived within it. His duty as king placed the responsibility upon his shoulders, but the desire to defend his people was far stronger, and for that reason, he would remain. Who was he to abandon those who looked upon him for guidance? The thought was selfish, ridiculous. Was his life really so monotonous that he would consider ridding himself of it, at the price of both the ones close to him and those who resided within his land?
He would keep on living for their sake, if not his own.
Like two blood-red flames, Dreizehn’s eyes shone crimson amid the black.
That was the first night the idea of suicide crossed the king's mind, a thought that would continue to torture him until the very day he succumbed to it.
---
Silence.
Justice was motionless, as though his feet had sprouted roots that fastened him to the ground. In front of him, three out of the four Guardians crouched, heads bowed, like pieces on a chess board.
The fourth, however, vigorously shook his head and exclaimed furiously, “No! The king had no son! How can he…” Yet it seemed that even the most forthcoming of them all was left without words.
When Rafaga lifted his head, it came as a surprise to Justice to see a smirk pulling at his lips. “And didn’t I say you have his eyes?”
It was only then that it occurred to Justice what he was referring to. Slowly, he raised his hand, pausing just before he reached his left eye. The tips of his fingers brushed against the space above his cheek. Though he couldn't physically feel it, there was no doubt in his mind that his irises had taken on the vivid crimson colour that occasionally appeared in times of deep emotion; and what's more, the Guardians appeared fascinated by it. For a moment, all other thoughts - the sword, Wilderness’ outburst, Rafaga’s manipulation of the air - left his mind, only to be replaced with a sense of overpowering bewilderment at the scene before him.
“May I also offer my apologies, Your Highness,” Carbuncle said. “I must admit that I, too, doubted you, but you have proved me wrong.”
Justice finally found it within himself to speak. “W-what do you mean?”
Sensing his confusion, the fire vampire replied, “Your eyes are proof of your royal lineage, of the blood that flows through your veins - you are the true son of Dreizehn Schwarzschild, and for that reason, I bow down to you as your loyal servant.”
“As do I.” Rafaga nodded his head before straightening up - the other two swiftly followed suit.
All his life, Justice had merely thought that the colours of his eyes, which fluctuated from anywhere between deep red to a rusted brown hue, had been part of his nature as a vampire, but evidently that was not the case now. When he paid thought to it, however, he was unable to recall ever having seen another vampire posses the same ability (not that such meetings were frequent). Could it really be that such a small detail was enough to convince the Guardians of his heritage?
However, one remained unswayed. Wilderness fixed the black-haired man with a hardened stare as he stormed across the room. “You are not my superior!” he spat. “You may have fooled everyone else into believing you're Schwarzschild, but I will not bow down to you - not today, not ever.”
The wind vampire’s arm twitched, as if he were planning to strike his companion, though decided against it in the same moment; instead, he simply ignored him and addressed Justice: “I can understand your uncertainty. You must be feeling quite confused, what with your being branded a liar one moment and deemed of royal descent the next - I know that I, for one, would be more than shocked at such a thing. But those eyes… In all my life, I have only ever seen one other holding the same colour, and that was the king. No doubt it is proof of the blood that runs through you, a trait passed through generations.”
Wilderness crossed his arms, scowled and looked away, muttering something inaudible as he did so. This time, it seemed as if Rafaga was unable to hold himself back: with a speed surpassing even that which Justice's eyes could follow, he clenched his right hand into a fist, swung it round and buried it in the earth vampire's cheek.
Wilderness froze. An expression of shock painted his face as he reeled back from the impact, though he managed to keep his balance. However, that shock soon wore away, only to be replaced with a look of smouldering rage. No, it was beyond rage… The man looked as though he were ready to break the wind vampire’s neck. Snarling, he made a lunge for Rafaga’s throat.
“Stop.”
Four pairs of eyes turned to Justice before he’d even realised he'd spoken the word aloud. Wilderness’ fingers were inches from the other’s neck, his lips parted slightly in blatant disbelief. Even Rafaga, who he’d assumed to be the most accepting of the Guardians, seemed somewhat taken aback by the order.
Wilderness was almost trembling in raw fury, though he clearly tried to hide it as lowered his hands and turned towards the black-haired man. A sneer crept across his face when he caught sight of the blood on his cheek, as if for the first time.
“Oh, you're bleeding? Well, I suppose, being what you are now, you'll be getting one of us to lick that clean for you - am I right?"
Justice’s heartbeat was in his throat, his eyes narrowed as he watched the earth vampire take his seat back at the table. The other three Guardians seemed unsure of whether or not to follow, but with a nod from Carbuncle, they, too, took their respective places. Rafaga chose to remain standing again.
Once seated, Justice took a few seconds to reassess the situation. It was almost laughable how quickly the circumstances had reversed themselves: now, he was the one in power, and the others his pawns to wield. Or so it would seem... But if that was the case, then why did he still feel so intimidated by the people around him? Was this not what he had wanted to start off with? Now he was wordless, unable to speak for lack of knowing what to say. It came as a surprise to see the Guardians appeared to feel the same - it was as if the whole room had been frozen.
“Well… I see that the situation has turned into one of considerable awkwardness.” Carbuncle was the first to break the silence. His eyes drifted from one figure to another with an almost lethargic feel.
The chess board still lay between them, its pieces locked in their formations. It seemed strange to Justice that just minutes ago, they had been in play, yet there was no need to continue any more. The game had been won. A king had been captured.
“Your Highness,” said Kircheis, addressing the black-haired man. “Would you please explain again the information you hold regarding the Schwarzschild Sword? I’m sure we would all benefit from hearing it once more, especially as this time we are willing to listen with more… Eager ears.” He dropped his eyes to his lap, as if in embarrassment.
Justice’s gaze darted around the table, faltering slightly when he passed Wilderness on his left. “I’ve told you of my intentions to travel to the Earth Region and recover it.” He couldn’t help but sneak a glance at the vampire by his side, half-expecting him to react in some way, though he remained still.
“As of the direct lineage, of course you would feel the need to,” mumbled the water vampire, more to himself than anyone else.
Just then, Wilderness crossed his arms over his chest, leaned back a little and raised an eyebrow critically. “You all seem so sure, but perhaps someone would like to explain to me how this man can claim to be the descendant of a king who produced no children during his lifetime? Unless I’m missing out on the fundamentals of basic procreation, of course.” Most of the anger had drained from his voice, having been replaced with a steely, sarcastic edge.
“I’m quite curious as well, actually,” said the redhead. “We have all seen for ourselves the royal blood that runs within you - there is no doubting that; and who is to say that the king did not have relations outside of the palace walls…”
Justice cut in: “My mother’s name was Rosalie.
Beside him, Wilderness tensed, but he made no attempt to lash out like before. That wasn’t to say that the mention of the name stirred no emotion in his composition, though.
Kircheis and Carbuncle exchanged glances before the latter spoke with relief. “Well, at least that allows some sense to be drawn from the situation.”
However, the blond-haired man seemed confused. “How so? I do not recall having seen Lady Rosalie fall pregnant during the time she was living in the castle.” Then, to Justice: "Your Majesty, allow me to explain about your mother. That is, of course, providing that you do not know yourself?"
To Justice, the offer seemed genuine, yet the suspicion still remained. Who was to say this was not just another opportunity for his actions to be scrutinised again a continuation of the test that had begun the moment he’d entered the room? The words ‘Your Majesty’ sounded forced somehow...
Perhaps it was because it had been so long since their last uttering.
Slowly, Justice nodded. The faint hint of a smile passed Kircheis’ lips as he placed both elbows on the table, locked his fingers together and rested his chin upon them. “She was a pretty girl, quite suited to the king in way of looks. I believe it was two years before his death that the two of them met: Lady Rosalie had been living around the castle, and upon first sight, Dreizehn took an instant attraction to her. They were married soon after and lived together in the castle. That was until…” He frowned, as if working out how to word the sentence.
“Until the king abandoned her. No, until he abandoned us all.” Wilderness unfurled his arms and fixed his gaze on a random chess piece in the centre of the board. “He told no-one of his intentions to take his life, not even the ones he apparently loved. Who’s to say that this Justice isn’t the spawn of one of his mistresses?”
“Schwarzshild had no mistresses,” Carbuncle snapped. “And I would appreciate it if you were to hold your tongue when referring to our king in that way.”
“I will do nothing of the sort," hissed Wilderness. "The pain that I saw Rosalie go through after that man left her… I had to watch her suffer more and more every day. I'm the one who found her dead because of that bastard…”
“Stop it.”
“Stop what, brother? Don’t you dare tell me what to do!”
Carbuncle did not protest, though the look on his face was enough, it seemed, to silence Wilderness without words. It was the first time Justice had seen the fire vampire express any kind of emotion beyond mild distaste or amusement, yet now he was able to see why: the man’s glare was acid, a concentration of deep fury and hostility that cut through the air like a blade. Unlike Wilderness, however, he did not seem to one to allow his anger to overcome him, and so the look only appeared to be a warning - even so, it sent chills trickling down Justice’s spine.
"Calm, 'Buncle…” Rafaga cautioned from somewhere behind Justice.
For a moment, nothing happened, but then the redhead turned his eyes downwards into his lap in submission. He blinked - a long, drawn-out movement that accentuated his fathomlessly dark eyes - before looking up again.
“Yes…" Once again, his face had returned to its emotionless mask, with nothing but a light frown to shade it.
Minutes passed, and no words were spoken. Justice took the time to roll back over the information he’d been told in his head. The story about his raising by foster parents had been the truth, as was the part about him discovering his mother’s grave. In a world of loneliness and hostility, the name 'Rosalie Schwarzshild’ had been the only things he could cling to, a small truth in his heart that linked him back to his heritage. Perhaps that was the reason why he was so accepting of the facts the Guardians were telling him now. In his eyes, he was just beginning to delve into the pages of a book whose contents he had only glimpsed. A sense of intrigue, as well as an insatiable curiosity, was swelling up deeply inside him, though he was a patient man - the time would come when he would be able to finish the chapter, and if that was an event fated to wait until the future, then so be it.
As much as he hated to pry, however, there was one thing whose explanation simply couldn't wait.
“Did you say that you found my mother dead?”
“Yes, that’s right.” It was Kircheis who answered. “Though it’s a subject of some delicacy, as you may have guessed. In the time following the king’s death, the lady grew… Depressed. With all respects, I’m surprised she even lasted the amount of time she did before deciding to take her life.”
The faint sound of material brushing against itself sounded behind Justice, as if Rafaga were shifting position.
“Perhaps,” said the wind vampire, slightly more solemnly than his usual tone, “It would be more beneficial for both His Majesty and us if we were to refrain from diverting the conversation and consider how to go about retrieving this sword.”
The black-haired man turned his head and looked over his shoulder to see Ragafa staring down at him, the slightest of smirks pulling the corners of his lips upwards - an expression which hardly seemed fitting for the situation. As he turned to face the table again, however, it was Kircheis who caught his attention; it seemed that he had also noticed his companion, and now he grinned in silent amusement, running both hands through his chin-length locks of blond hair to hide his face until he had collected himself. It was as though a silent, private joke had somehow been shared between the two.
“Yes, do carry on…” he muttered, the expression slowly fading. He motioned towards Justice.
“Your move, I believe, Your Majesty.”
Next Chapter →