A razing tempest swept through the air. Ganelon stood poised, his body and heart certain in the task he must complete. No longer would he allow his last shreds of morality to bind him; no longer would he be considerate to the Franks he thought gutless.

  All of his inhibitions were sent away the moment he pulled out the holy sword.

  Ganelon gripped the Joyeuse’s handle and took in a long, trembling breath as a golden light crept up from the blade and onto his body. It filled him with a spirit unlike Lucius had ever witnesses before in all his time in this otherworldly land. It was no magic, no incantation; the powers of the Franks had always come from the user’s inner potential, their aptitude, drawn from their soul in what was commonly mistaken to be a gift from their God.

  Yet, seeing Ganelon now, Lucius was certain without a shadow of a doubt. The sword called Joyeuce was truly divine. It had the same cosmic nature as those starry denizens up high.

  “So this is the Lord’s power?” Ganelon said, his breath hoarse from exhaustion. The holy sword’s authority came not without its consequences. The High Tribunal was already in his elderly years—wielding such a powerful weapon would only tear apart his body from the inside. Nonetheless, he persevered and clenched his teeth, eyes ablaze with contempt. “It certainly isn’t what I expected. The feeling is different… different from the common prayers. I hear the voice of someone sweet, yet why? Why does it rebuke me so? If you had truly loved your children, you wouldn’t have favored only your firstborn. The holy lineage, the ancestral emperors and empresses! How could a loving mother simply watch on as one child massacres thousands more? Disgusting.”

  The blade quivered and shook in Ganelon’s grip, pulsing with a warbled light as if desperately trying to break free from its new wielder, but Ganelon held firm. He would not let go of such an important weapon now, even if he despised every second of its use. “Haha! Rebel all you wish, Joyeuse. You, too, are complacent in his late Holiness’s crimes. You too must be punished.”

  Step by step, Ganelon descended from the throne’s podium and steadily approached Roland’s group. There was no hesitation in his gait; he would not leave until they were slaughtered.

  To desecrate this holy space with the blood of God’s children was the only way Ganelon could get revenge on that divinity which had never once answered his pleas.

  He lifted the sword and, ever gently, swung it down. So soft was the movement, yet all it took was that simple action to let loose a razing arc of light. It propelled forth, blinding the surroundings with its radiance. The party would have had their torsos split clean in half were it not for the timely assistance of Lady Angelica, blocking the attack with her great shield.

  “That cannot be…” she muttered, grunting from the impact. “Only the emperor can bring out the Joyeuse’s sacred light. Just what treachery did Ganelon commit that his foul hands can now lay on it?”

  The other Peers sprung to action, quickly surrounding the High Tribunal. The players joined them as well; however, their positions were admittedly awkward. This fight was much different than the ones they were accustomed to. Unlike the demons and their incoherent brutality, Ganelon was calm, calculating, and harbored a deep visceral rage unlike the Emir who simply wished to test them. The fearsome man could not be predicted. One misstep, and the players’ lives would be taken in an instant.

  Roland was the first to charge. He whipped out his own fabled weapon, the Durandal, and transformed it into a halberd, engaging Ganelon carefully from a distance. The Peers’ leader was the most skilled in combat out of his fellows; unfortunately, his foe was just as competent.

  “Who do you think taught you, Roland?” Ganelon goaded. “Who was it that made your father the warrior he was? Haha, you are a perfect copy of him—nay, even better. But nonetheless the foundation is the same. I know every last one of his moves, my boy. I can see his traces in you now.”

  But Roland wasn’t the only opponent he had to face. To Ganelon’s side, Lady Bradamante struck swiftly, jabbing at him with her golden lance. The man needed only parry with a slight flick of his wrist to fend her off. Yet, the power in her thrusts reverberated throughout his limbs, his blood, causing him to stagger in an off-beat lurch when he least expected it.

  “Bradamante, the child who ran away. You could not handle the duty and responsibility of House Dordognes, and so you selfishly abandoned it, leaving your poor brother to bear the weight alone. How entertaining. Hilarious! To think you thought yourself making a difference, but in the end all you did was grovel, serving the very monster who took your mother’s life.”

  Roland and Bradamante weren’t safe just because they kept their distance. The Joyeuse in Ganelon’s hand would charge up the longer they fought, turning brighter, more deadly, before unleashing another arc of light. It burned the very air and left smoldering wisps in its aftermath. It was up to Lady Angelica to defend, all her strength and will concentrated in keeping her shield raised.

  “Angelica, oh Angelica… doomed to never have a normal love. Do you remember how you came to me, all those years ago? You wept in my arms as you spoke of Roland’s persistent, yet unwanted, courtship. Was it not I who helped you then? Was it not I who ensured that the two of you wouldn’t need to meet? Look how you repay my kindness, girl.”

  Despite their efforts, Ganelon was immovable. He was not the same feeble man who relied mainly on tricks and schemes. The Joyeuse held his crumbling body together, hardening his flesh and solidifying his bone. Even when one of the Peers did manage to land a strike, it’d leave only a bruise, before rapidly healing. Ganelon was a juggernaut of a foe: never falling, never slowing. But that didn’t mean his senses couldn’t be disrupted. Astolfo hung far in the back and blew into his ivory horn. Waves of sound pelted Ganelon and only he; it screeched in his ears, disoriented his vision. This and all he suffered, all the whilst contending with his knightly adversaries.

  “Astolfo, still young, and still so naive. You couldn’t even lift your head before the former emperor—and no wonder! All that runs through that head of yours is stories of heroes and legendary warriors. But reality isn’t a children’s tale. It’s far more loathsome and when it comes time to do what is right, what is necessary, you’ll realize that being pragmatic is the only way forward, even if others must be sacrificed in the process.”

  The odds weren’t in the Peers’ favor and, gradually, they all began to tire, worn out whilst Ganelon burst with energy the same as ever. Regular methods would never bring him down. Without someone powerful enough to land a deadly blow like Sir Ruggiero, the group would merely be wasting time, stalling until their inevitable end.

  Luckily for them, however, there were those among them with more… unconventional abilities.

  “Hold him still, big guy! I’ve got a big bolt with that sucker’s name on it.”

  After getting their bearings thanks to Lucius’s advice, the party of otherworlders rushed to join the Peers, assaulting Ganelon with more numbers, more power, and especially more chaos. Miss Rhodes had fitted them all with a special outer coat of rubber, so Mili could fire off her electric lyrical barrages all she wanted. The man couldn’t remain in one spot for too long. Yet as he moved, Marco, Harper, and Miss Enapay would follow closely from behind, directing him into unfavorable positions.

  But unlike the Peers, the players simply didn’t have the same prowess. Marco couldn’t stop the attacks with his steel skin. The added protection helped a bit, yet in the face of a divine weapon like the Joyeuce, the sword cut through his flesh nigh seamlessly, just barely stopping before bone. It didn’t take long before the old mobster was bloodied and covered in gashes.

  Similarly, there was little space for the others to contribute, lest a moment’s carelessness caused them to lose a limb. Fighting like the Peers just wasn’t going to work. So, they switched strategies and helped solely by using their skills. Miss Brooks lingered just out of reach, raised her fire axe, and created a small field that healed all allies within. It wasn’t quite to the same level as Ganelon’s monstrous recovery, but it helped with closing small wounds. At least now Marco wouldn’t bleed to death.

  Miss Enapay and Mister Crowley, meanwhile, laid snares around the area. The warrioress could summon bear traps that’d clamp hard on anyone unfortunate enough to fall into its clutches. Normally setting them would be detrimental to her fellows as well, but interestingly her skill allowed her to set a specific person as a target, ensuring that none but they could trigger the mechanism. Mister Crowley’s strategy wasn’t all too different from when the group faced the Emir: When Ganelon stepped on a specific tile, a small explosion would erupt from underneath.

  It wasn’t too deadly, but the unfamiliarity of it and the strange nature of their attacks noticeably had an impact. Ganelon was not used to the way of the players. He knew not how to avoid or counter them; and it was this disruptive confusion that allowed Roland and his fellows to seize the advantage, delivering greater and more impactful blows.

  But the most important figure in the battle was someone inconspicuous: someone who silently watched, discreetly provided assistance, and rescued his companions whenever they neared that perilous boundary of death.

  Lucius beheld them all and did no more than was necessary.

  When it appeared that Ganelon’s recovery was starting to slow, and his movements grew sluggish, and the holy sword, bit by bit, resisted its captor and refused to aid him any more… the man looked at Lucius. The two locked eyes, the world freezing over in a momentary, prolonged instant.

  And Lucius smiled. The gentleman spoke to him without words, without a twitch of movement. Yet Ganelon understood it all the same.

  “Is this all?”

  Ganelon froze. Such emotion coursed through him, so quickly, so sudden; and though he believed himself fully in control, there was a pit in his stomach growing rapidly by the second. His brow twitched. His lips quivered.

  Lucius could see the question forcing itself into his mind. What if this was all planned? What if, even after staging the castle’s takeover and claiming the holy sword—the strongest weapon in the nation—for his own, that everything was a part of Lucius’s grand play?

  How miserable would it be if Ganelon was still a puppet, dancing on the gentleman’s palm?

  And so Lucius answered for him.

  “Yes,” he said aloud, watching the life drain from Ganelon’s face. “From the very beginning, my dear friend.”

  The man remained silent for a long while, letting himself be struck and pummeled by Lucius’s party. He stood there with his head lowered, his arms limp. And then he laughed. He clutched his head and roared out in an uncontrollable cackle, tears streaming down his face as he hunched back and wore a deranged mania. He clawed at his skin and writhed erratically, the last threads of his mind now cut.

  Was this his life’s purpose, to be controlled, manipulated, goaded on by beings so unfathomable and cruel? Even after abandoning his ethics, all he found at his fate’s conclusion was a pathetic whimper. He could not be free.

  He could not bring about a single, meaningful change.

  “This is…?” Roland muttered, suddenly backing away. “Curses, everyone retreat!”

  The air around the group stilled as something odd began to float about. The Peers noticed it. The players did as well. An unsettling chill ran down their spines, whispering a fearful arrival soon to come.

  Ganelon lurched forward with the holy sword, his appearance gaunt and almost skeletal. He dragged the blade across the floor and raised a trembling hand.

  “Even if I am to die today,” he whispered. “I will not go alone.”

  A whirlwind exploded forth, carving into the room and filling their surroundings with wild, screeching howls, all wailing, all lamenting the tragedy that was Ganelon. It was as if a miniature tornado had manifested directly before their eyes. Each gale cut through like a sharpened blade; the players were helpless to act as their skin shredded and tore apart, their blood joining the tempest in a macabre rain of red. Even the Peers could hardly take a step forward. The pressure was too much. In the end, they could only group together and hunker down while Miss Rhodes ceaselessly weaved a barrier.

  This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Lucius was perfectly fine, though. He just dodged it. Funnily enough, this experience reminded the gentleman of the time he had to run away from a category five tornado after—accidentally—destroying Ohio. From that day forth, the number of states in America was reduced to forty-nine.

  His companions weren’t quite so fleet-flooted, sadly. They could only watch as Ganelon, safe in the eye of the storm, donned a new threatening appearance. The tempest harkened to his call and swarmed his body, covering it, lifting his steps until he was clad in a suit of armor, one entirely composed of shrieking wind.

  The man gave the party no time to react before he descended upon them with razor-sharp squalls. Roland transformed his weapon into a shield and tried to block it with Lady Angelica, only to be sent hurdling back into the wall. Ganelon dealt with them as if they were but children. A single wave of hand produced a deadly swipe, sending everyone into a chaotic mess, flying and crashing into each other with not a chance to fight back.

  Mili tried to attack, ragged though her fingers were, and released the strongest bolt she could muster. Her firepower was strong enough to fry even the monster of the tutorial maze; and that was before she had grown stronger. But now, those sparks dissipated helplessly amidst the whirlwind.

  The others were in similar states. They couldn’t defend or attack, couldn’t run without being swept away. Never mind the storm raging about; any attempts to land a strike on Ganelon were thwarted by his howling armor. The man held not a single shred of himself back. He coughed and spewed out painful rasps, his body destroying itself from the inside, yet he persisted with his mad assault, unconcerned and uncaring of what would become of him.

  He laughed and he laughed, delighting in the spectacle. He watched his foes squirm helplessly, and he taunted them all with his ever arrogant tone, mocking the victory they were so close to achieving. The Ganelon of now was utterly crazed; he had long forgotten what it was he was even fighting for. In this moment, all he wished was to watch these people suffer. He needed to inflict as much pain, and agony, and hopeless, all so that they might understand his own.

  Yet, his goal could not be fully completed. For there was one unaffected by his powers. The one he wanted dead most of all, the one who had driven him to the brink of insanity. Yes, Lucius was unharmed.

  “You… you!” he said, fixating on the gentleman standing casually nearby.

  Lucius pointed at himself. “Me? Do you have a problem, my good sir?”

  He received no reply, for Ganelon immediately lunged and fell upon the gentleman with the frenzy of a rabid animal. The High Tribunal swung his holy sword and called upon the powers of the gale. Fiercer, more violently, he needed to lose himself more, all so that he might rip Lucius limb from limb. In the end it was all for naught. Every time his attack drew near, Lucius would twist stylishly, just enough to avoid it and skip away. When the wind came from every direction and it became impossible for a normal body to escape, Lucius dislocated his bones and stretched his muscles. He danced around as if putting on some bizarre contortionist performance. It was inhuman, it was unnerving… and yet, suitably gentlemanly all the same.

  Ganelon didn’t seem to appreciate Lucius’s whimsy, and he screamed in frustration, practically begging for the gentleman to just die already. That was rather rude.

  “Why? Why!?” he sobbed. “Why can’t I… reach you? I’ve exhausted everything. I’ve given up my influence, my standing, everything I’ve worked for the last decade! And yet, haha, you’re still smiling after all this! That smile, that damnable smile…”

  Lucius chuckled. “If it makes you feel any better, my friend, I haven’t gotten exercise this strenuous in a long while.”

  But though he enjoyed stretching his body for a change, this waltz of theirs was becoming rather repetitive. Lucius didn’t want to take Ganelon down so anti-climatically, not when this dandy fellow deserved the grandest send off Francia had ever seen! That was why he had prepared a little surprise.

  “By the way, do you know what time it is?” Lucius asked, already knowing full well the answer.

  “I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you…”

  “It’s about half an hour to midnight. Can you believe it? It’s already been thirty days since my return! To think a month has already come and gone. In but a moment, it will be the thirty-first.”

  Lucius snapped his fingers as if to mimic reaching a sudden epiphany.

  “Come to think of it, must I truly need to come to blows with you?” he said, a purposeful, taunting jolly creeping onto his tongue. “Ah yes, you are certainly strong. If all the paladins of this nation were to try and subjugate you now, no doubt the casualties would be devastating. However… what if I were to take a different approach?”

  The gentleman smiled and, ever softly, whispered near Ganelon’s side.

  “I wonder how young Karolus is doing at the moment?”

  The High Tribunal’s rampage stopped, his frothing rage momentarily smothered.

  Lucius clapped his hands together and then bid Ganelon the sincerest bow he knew. “Well then, toodaloo!”

  And with that, Lucius turned around before running away.

  Ganelon merely stood still, stunned, for an awkward spell, struggling to fully comprehend the weight of the gentleman’s words.

  “No,” he muttered. “No, no! Get back here! Get back here you wretched fiend! I’ll chase you to the ends of the continent if I have to!”

  His pleas fell on deaf ears, and Lucius let out a guffaw as he enjoyed a lovely little sprint through the castle. He could hear Ganelon gaining on him from behind. The man was utterly uncontrollable. He smashed and destroyed their surroundings, propelling forth as he demolished all in his path. Lucius’s speed wouldn’t be enough to lose him, so he relied on more tricky methods, taking sharp turns, sliding under tables, ascending and descending stairwells with the acrobatics of an Olympic gymnast. Ganelon in his anger could not steer his movements well, nor did he notice that the gentleman was directing him outside the castle.

  Lucius’s destination was never Karolus’s room. No, he needed to lure Ganelon elsewhere, to a place far deep underground…

  The two of them sallied forth for quite some time. Lucius blew through the castle’s gates, skipped along the city’s streets, and daintily made his way to the Sanctum, all the while avoiding the clutches of his ever-dogged pursuer. The gentleman’s fellows would no doubt give chase after they had time to catch their breaths, so he wasn’t worried about attracting an audience. All in due time.

  Eventually, Lucius kicked the Sanctum’s door open and slid down the steps heading to the Grave of Emperors. Ganelon was but a stone’s toss away. Lucius could practically taste his fury.

  “You think hiding among the demons will save you!?” Ganelon yelled.

  “Perhaps. Shall we see, together?”

  It didn’t take long before Lucius emerged into the ancient underground maze of the sepulchre. Ganelon’s wrath was indiscriminate; he tore through the tomb and destroyed both demon and grave alike, upturning what was likely thousands of years of history. Such intricate monuments these were, the carvings clearly made with love toward the departed soul underneath, only to be roughly cracked and thrown away, joining the other hundred-some shards in a crude mess. The demons suffered no differently. The nonsensical things exploded in dripping clumps of crayon-scribble and clay.

  But alas, all good things had to come to an end. Lucius planted his feet and looked up, satisfied, for before him was his real destination.

  The barrier, the source of the demonic spawn. Here it was in all its demented glory… as well as the grave of someone Ganelon shared a deep, deep history with.

  Speaking of the man, he arrived just in time to witness Lucius putting on a little tea party. The gentleman laid out a table, cloth, and some fancy pieces of silverware alongside a steaming hot kettle of tea.

  “Fancy a drink, my friend?” Lucius said, waving to a seat. “I do very much adore a cup of tea. Take a sip, relax the nerves. You appear to be a bit cranky.”

  Ganelon swiped his hand and sent the table crashing to the ground. Now that was just too far! What did the tea ever do to him?

  “Haha—hahaha!” Ganelon croaked, shivering in relief. “End of the line. There’s nowhere else to run. If I have to bury myself and this wretched tomb just to put you down for good, then fine. Very well. Consider it a parting gift from me to this dirty, unsalvageable heap called Francia.”

  “Yes, yes, that is all well and good,” Lucius said. “But before you do so, why don’t you take a look at what’s behind me?”

  Ganelon humored him with a glance, only for his demeanor to quickly turn scathing.

  “... Ah, so we’ve ended up here? How fitting for one maniac to be slaughtered next to another. You two will make fine company, deep in the bowels of hell.”

  Lucius tutted and wagged his finger. “Yes, that is part of it. But what I’m most interested in is what lies hidden within.”

  Tick-tock. The clock counted down. Thirty seconds until the end.

  “Oh? Do you believe the Great Evil will come to your rescue? Not even our empire’s best could bring that wall down, Lucius. Not a soul will come to save you now.”

  Ten seconds.

  “Are you sure about that?”

  One.

  Lucius stepped to the side and gestured to the grave as, piece by piece, the wall began to fall apart, revealing the full visage of the late emperor’s grave.

  As well as Ganelon’s final foe.

  >[WARNING! WARNING! The players have failed to satisfy the quest’s prerequisites! As punishment, the barrier in the Grave of Emperors will disappear, and the Great Evil shall be unleashed]<

  A rank, viscous black liquid seeped out from the crude tomb. Both Ganelon and Lucius stood motionless as a slow, growing sound entered their ears. Thump. Thump. It was an eerie sound, the kind that would make one quiver at the dead of night, stir within them a primal instinct to run, to flee, to escape the creature stalking ominously out of sight. It oozed malice. It oozed fear.

  “What… have you done?” Ganelon said, unable to break free from the melody’s bewitchment. It pushed down on the two equally and binded them in place. Well, not Lucius. One of his passive titles reduced the effectiveness of such snares; but nonetheless he pretended to go along for the sake of the mood.

  “I didn’t do a thing,” Lucius replied with a shrug.

  The unsettling force grew stronger. A fetid smell invaded their nostrils, and slowly, emerging from Pepin’s final resting place, a grotesque sight revealed itself.

  It was a heart: a bright red heart, giant in size and levitating unnaturally above the old stone.

  This was it, the finale Lucius had worked tirelessly to achieve this past month. Here, in this land of the dead, Ganelon would come face to face with this world’s last evil. He would do so before the object of his resentment, the deceased emperor that still plagued his dreams and waking nightmares; and at the end of it all, Lucius’s companions would arrive, before taking down both their demonic and Frankish foe in one last show.

  Truly, a riveting conclusion befitting of a bestseller. After the demon was felled and Ganelon’s end finally neared, what sort of beauty would Lucius see from him? Would he stubbornly cling to his vengeful self? Would he, even when moments away from failure, refuse to acknowledge the truth hidden in his heart?

  Lucius didn’t need to fear, for he would have front-row seats to the finale of this tragic man’s story. Yes, that was how it should have been.

  Except… something was wrong.

  >[The bindings and restrictions placed against the Heart of Fear have been removed]<

  Something strange was happening to the demon. It did not try to attack them unlike the rest, nor did it speak in that garbled clutter of a language. Instead, it only floated there, static. Or was it waiting? Watching—no. Lucius didn’t feel it looking at them. In fact, the demon’s attention was far elsewhere, transfixed with a presence the gentleman could not see.

  >[The Heart of Fear is gaining power! The emotions of the Frankish citizens surge into its being!]<

  Yet, despite its lack of hostility, Lucius felt a shudder in his neck, growing, shaking. In all his forty-two years of life, the gentleman had never experienced anything quite like this. It was bizarre. It was curious. Just what could be the source of this peculiar energy?

  >[The Heart scours the land’s records. It searches for the one most feared by the people!]<

  Ah, now Lucius understood it. He realized what this sensation was.

  >[The vilest conqueror in history. The most deplorable tyrant to ever be birthed into the world. The Heart of Fear sacrifices itself and summons the Greatest Evil of All!]<

  It was fear. It was the fear of millions slaughtered under one man’s rule. It was the fear of all those who turned away, desperate to avoid one man’s gaze.

  It was the fear of Ganelon, forced to witness the rebirth of the one he thought gone forever.

  “Is this… a nightmare?” the man mumbled. “If I close my eyes, will I wake up?”

  The Heart drifted back into the tomb, sliding itself in the bland, decrepit coffin resting inside. A dark light trickled from the gaps. Lucius could hear the sound of flesh twisting, bones cracking in place, a low unearthly rasp that steadily filled with life.

  In all his time in Francia, Lucius had heard a certain figure be called various titles. They deemed him a killer, a fiend, a horrible despot whose death made the world all the better. So long and curiously outlandish were the descriptions that the gentleman thought them to be made more out of irony rather than sober wit. But now, he realized they were all true, that despite these titles none of them could ever fully express the raw absolute depravity unfolding before his sight.

  And as a rotting, decayed hand broke through the coffin and emerged into the cool air, only one name came to Lucius’s mind.

  “Oooh…

  “Mmm…

  “This feeling, how splendid. From the rivers of oblivion, I rise, renewed and ravenous.”

  Ganelon fell to his knees; the man before Lucius had regressed to an almost infantile state. Yes, Ganelon was back. Back to those terrible days. Back to the past where he was well and truly helpless.

  Back to the time when he served this continent’s vilest monster.

  “My Francia. Mine and mine alone. Rejoice, for your emperor has returned.”

  >[Pepin, the former emperor of Francia, has been revived]<

  The Esteemed Gentlepeople of the , to whom I am forever grateful.

  [The Distinguishedly Dandy Gentlemen Hall of Fame]