Sustaining The King's Life 95 The Unveiling Of The Enemy Part 1

"…Is the enemy?"

**

They arrived at the manor shortly after Faustina was picked up underneath the sewers. Maddie welcomed them with tears running to the soft of her cheeks. Faustina never saw anyone that concerned about her—and for a while in Maddie's embrace, she felt safe. The manor was quiet at dawn. They glamoured themselves in the darkness, making the receptionist let them pa.s.s unnoticed. Faustina, Lucas, Orwell, Abe, and Ezekiel had the time to sneak back to their suites for the time being and dress up.

And when the dawn was broken into the morning light, it has, once again conquered night. The morning sun was at its peak. It was breakfast at exactly seven in the morning and at dawn they were told by Owen, who went home to his family, to meet him at the most popular tavern in the capital at exactly ten in the morning.

"You are all in time, surprisingly." Says Owen. "Welcome to my office."

"Your office?" Asks Lucas. "You're THE one who…"

"Yes, I'm the one that gives the info. Yer bro, Beth, is usually the one who runs errands for yer father. I know yer new to this, young Lucas."

It wasn't much of a revelation. Bethrion Lesvolnd Feuerlon was a child born shorn of any magical prowess. He was trained to be a knight and was sent to study in an inst.i.tution meant for elites. He was a genius in combat and was considered as an excellent swordsman. He became the commander of the Royal Knights not too long ago. He was also the one who used to run 'errands' back even at his teenage days, given the fact that Lucas was away and was at Magierstadt studying magic—he wasn't suited in such business.

Lucas was the one to desire knowledge and exposure; he wasn't the type to be involved in shady businesses, unlike Bethrion who was complacent and did everything his father commanded him to do. This made Bethrion a good commander, yet like his brother, he was also impulsive when emotions get the better of him.

"But to the extent of my knowledge, Wild Lopez was the one who was managing the tavern's business," Orwell says. "Isn't it?"

"Until years ago."

"Huh?"

"Well, yer a bit late to the news. I mean, not yer fault. I was pretendin' to be uncle."

"Owen Lopez," Ezekiel exclaims. "Oscar Wild Lopez isn't your father?"

"Nah," Owen says. "Well back to the main subject. He died long ago. I pretended to be him to continue the business." Owen mutters. "'nough about me. I just happened to be the receivin' end of an item old Duke offered. Guess he was tryin' to test his daughter or something."

"Father…!" Lucas snarled. "I'll talk to him. How risky of his actions… I know he wants Faustina to be exposed to different things, but her health!"

"Calm down, Hot-head." Says Orwell. "So basically, you were meeting with Faustina?"

"Yea, we were supposed to meet on the alleyway but I realized there's a demonic ent.i.ty followin'."

"Demonic ent.i.ty?"

"I drew a boundary on the door leadin' down to the sewer, so our transaction could be safe."

"But it pa.s.sed the boundary, correct?" Lucas asks.

"Yes," Owen says. "Which is odd. I didn't know the girl was the demon's target. I was thinkin' we shouldn't mix up with the biz of others." Owen says. "I thought wrong."

"It's okay," Lucas says. "I'm grateful. You didn't abandon my sister. The one to be held responsible is…"

Lucas' eyes shifted to the man with a paper-white hair and unadorned red eyes. Abe, the Vice-captain of the High Knights.

"You," Lucas snarled, standing up from his seat. "You were tasked to guard Faustina! What were YOU doing?"

Owen squinted his eyes. Did the duke have that kind of authority? To a.s.sign the king's knight to guard a sick girl? Owen eyed Faustina, who was looking vacantly, mind deep in thought.

Abe did not speak.

"Abe!" Lucas slammed his fist to the table. "Do you know how dangerous it is to leave my sister?"

"Calm down, bigshot." Orwell snorted. "The Vice-captain protected me. We went together. Let me tell you what happened."

Flashback . . .

"I'm here." Says Orwell. "Show yourself."

In the dark alley of Feuer, away from the vigorous music and the crowded people laden with hampers and shops, Orwell Lotheringwood seeks a person. And then, upon a blink of an eye, there emerged a shadow on his side, pale red eyes looking at him blankly.

"Abe." Says he. "What have you gathered?"

He whispered. His voice was like a chill: cold, arctic, and empty.

"Then we do not have to worry?"

No response.

"Abe?"

"West." He says. "North. East. South."

"What?"

"Enemies."

And upon hearing Abe's words, the entire alley seems to expand, tinting the night into an obscure, red tinge. Orwell withdrew the staff from its sheath, hidden underneath his cloak.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Three thuds of staff from above. A magical barrier appeared before him, sending a mystical chain dashing towards him.

"Barrier!" Orwell thuds his staff to the ground.

"Rigésc.u.n.t!" chanted Orwell. It is an attack that freezes the opponent—Orwell managed to freeze the praetor's arm.

"Ah, a water magic-user."

"Hah. I pride myself on using every elemental to my own suiting."

"Fufu. Orwell of Lotheringwood. What arrogance."

"What an unexpected fiend," Orwell says. "Abe."

Abe nodded and launched an arm, his finger armed with a sharp dagger at each of its s.p.a.ce.

He pierced the small knives to the man's frozen arm.

"Ah, you got me."

"What an unexpected enemy," Orwell says as he let go of the man. Abe stood at his side and whispered.

"Enemies from North, East, South."

"I see." Orwell closed his eyes. "When will they arrive?"

Abe closed his eyes and listened to the air.

"In five minutes."

"Aah, Abe, the former a.s.sa.s.sin. Your skill is formidable, indeed." He smiled. "But you two will die before my allies even arrive here~~"

Orwell smirked. "You dare to impose an insult to us, the one owning the t.i.tle of Lotheringwood, and the Vice-captain of the High Knights?"

"Oui~!"

"What an unexpected of the turn of events," Orwell smiled. "Baron Francois Jeune!"

**

"Baron Francois Jeune…?"

"…Is the enemy?"

Silence lingered across the whole room.

"This doesn't make sense," Lucas says.

"It doesn't." Orwell smiled. "To all of you, it doesn't. Of course. But there was something different to the baron the day Faustina arrived at the manor. Do you remember?" Orwell inquires.

Flashback at the Feuer Manor . . . (refer to chapter 65 and 66

Inside the inn were floating lights on top of the ceiling—they were not lights of fire but luminescent magical lights that were from an unknown origin. Perhaps they were mystical bulbs powered by mana, or energy from the surrounding—Faustina could not decipher the mechanism, yet they gave a warm glow to the entirety of the lobby.

There are people shuffling back and forth to the lobby. Faustina knew the majority were from a different spectrum; n.o.bles of various kinds and those who came from faraway lands. They gave off foreign vibes from their features and how they moved. A gaze found hers, in which she immediately averted—she was staring longer than she intended.

"Oh, Feuerlon monsieur!" Says a bubbly man, speaking in a sing-song manner. "What do I serve thee today?"

"h.e.l.lo, Francois." Greets Lucas. "I believe my father reserved us a suite here today?"

"Oh, most definitely, yes, oui!" He answers and then clapped his hand. Four men wearing a tailcoat, all with a bright greenish-olive hair appeared before them swiftly, taking their trunks and their baggage.

"Ah, monsieur. How the manor missed you!" Says the bubbly man. His appearance was beautiful—he had a lean body, a pair of slanted eyes. He had a mole on the corner of his left eye, which was then accompanied with purple glitter. His tailcoat also had purple flowers and he wore high boots that were white in color.

"And who might your company be?" He asks, and then his gaze shifted to the ones behind Lucas, eyeing them one by one. "Oh! Monsieur Lotheringwood! By and by! Might I ask where is the beautifully stern Lovellia Moscow?"

"She's attending her lessons in teaching Etiquette; thank you for asking, Francois." Orwell politely says, and then he flashed a sweet smile.

"Oh, oh! Such a delight! You are too beautiful still, indeed!" Francois says, covering his face as he giggled and blushed in joy. He then shifted his gaze to Maddie, and then he smiled gently.

"Ooh, Madielyn, the beautiful desert flower of Lucas. I remember he used to take you here whenever he has a mission in the city. WELL, a probable mission he might deliver to you too." He says, eyeing the blushing Maddie in an obvious hot seat. "Oui! How far have you two gone?"

"We haven't gone anywhere!" Both of them said in unison.

"Now, now. I'm sure your father will understand your lo—" Francois stops, as his eyes met that of Faustina. "Oh... and who might YOU be?"

Faustina parted her lips to speak, "I am—"

"Hmm." Francois sniffed. "I don't smell any grandeur."

"Francois?" Lucas frowns.

Francois smiled, "oui, oui! Now, I shall lead you all to your fancy suite! Bouge toi!"

Faustina remained unresponsive, blinking.

"M'lady?"

"O-oh! yes."

They then walked to follow Francois, who led them to an elevator.

"I presume she is the hidden daughter?" Asks Francois out of the blue as they entered the elevator, pressing on the thirteenth b.u.t.ton.

"Indeed, she is." Lucas answers. "As expected you'd be aware of it."

"Of course~ the grey locks are obviously that of d.u.c.h.ess Adalia." He says. "But I wonder why we never knew about her?"

. . .

"The odd thing is that the Baron himself is there. Usually, owners don't tend to their own businesses. He has staff. There are receptionists. It's like he knew Faustina was coming there." Orwell says. "You see; barons are the lowest among the aristocratic hierarchy, but we know social standing is different from wealth. Baron Francois Jeune is a rich man. He could rise to become at least a viscount."

"But he didn't." Faustina murmurs.

"It's not because he didn't." Says Orwell. "It's because he CANNOT."

"He cannot?" Lucas asks. "Francois is a charismatic man. The aristocracy loved him."

"Of course," Orwell smiles as he talks. He eyed Ezekiel Johann, who was listening silently.

"Francois was loved by the aristocrats," Orwell paused briefly. "But he was hated by the royal family. The king did not approve of him climbing to be even a viscount."

"Why…? What did Francois do?" Asks Lucas.

Orwell smiled. "Baron Francois Jeune…" Orwell's eyes met the gaze of Ezekiel. "…is one of the aristocrats who helped The Forsaken in his ma.s.s murder spree."