A gargoyle? I stepped back and just like that, the notification disappeared. Quickly, I jumped forwards back in range and said Yes.

You have gained control of a gargoyle.

This time I didn’t get a reward or achievement. It was unfortunate but expected.

What to do now? That was the question. I looked over to François. What would he think if he saw a gargoyle pop out of nowhere? Did he even know my class?

Mulling over this, I closed my eyes and tried to communicate with the gargoyle, but I didn’t get the same feeling as I got with Gothe and Gotha.

Pressing myself against the wall to try and see if anything else would happen, the artifact on my chest moved slightly to the left—

“Let’s move over to this side,” I instructed François.

“Why?” he asked whispering. He had his eyes locked on the top of the wall; afraid someone would spot us.

“Trust me,” I said and started to creep against the wall. Eventually, the fabric on my arms snagged against something and at the same time my pendant fell back into a neutral position. Stepping back, I noticed an odd chink in the wood. The spacing between the wooden boards was slightly different from the others. I tried to dig my nails into the gap, but it was still too small and what I presumed was a door was too heavy to be pulled using my nails.

But soon, the wood started to tremble and move.

“HOW!” François quickly covered his mouth, and whispered, “Do you have telekinetic powers?”

“No, you’ll see my power soon enough.” I don’t know why I did just tell him outright, but this felt much cooler.

As the wooden door, or maybe it was more accurate to call it a block, came out further, François and I helped the gargoyle by pulling on our side.

Seeing how slowly the block was being pushed out, I expected it to be as heavy rock, but it was surprisingly easy to move.

We managed to move the block to the side, and I found the answer to my earlier question.

On the other side of the wall, we were greeted by a tiny little gargoyle the height of my knees.

“What! This is your power, a tiny little gargoyle? I can’t lie, I was expecting a bit more.” François scratched his head in wonder.

“Be grateful. We’d have been stuck outside all night if it weren’t for him.

“Sure.” He rubbed his temples. “Anyways, let’s go. There’s a tavern, the yellow jacket, they’re a part of the duke’s information network, we’ll learn more there.”

Running off into town, I had the gargoyle I decided to name Ligothe. I know, not very creative, but what of it. “Push the block back into the hole while we made our way to the tavern.” I ordered it.

It gave a small growl, which made me feel a certain way. It was so small and weak giving it any tasks made me feel like a bad parent.

But we couldn’t close it from inside the city, the gargoyle, on the other hand, could fly above the wall.

Leaving him to it, we proceeded into Fécamp.

The city was odd. There wasn’t a single candle flickering in the night, nor guards patrolling the streets. I wanted to talk to François about it, but afraid any sound might trigger an alarm, I held my breath.

Reaching the yellow hornet, François guided me to the back. There, under a pile of trash, a trap door was buried. Pulling out a key, François unlocked the door and pried the heavy metal sheet open. Taking baby steps towards, it, I looked down. There was just an old wooden ladder leading down, but it led so far down I couldn’t see the bottom.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

François mouthed the words Go down, but I wasn’t so sure I wanted to.

That’s when something hit my shoulder. Looking back, I saw a most disgusting smile. It was the little gargoyle. I suppose a little bit of moral support wasn’t bad.

Descending first, François followed me down and slowly pulled down the heavy sheet metal. When it hit the iron railing holding it, its metallic echo reverberated for what seemed like a full minute. How deep was this hole? When was such a thing built and for what?

Taking slow steps down, we travelled down and the further we found ourselves, the louder the wood creaked and the damper its steps became. Soon the smell of mould coming off the ill-treated wood infested my breath.

Looking up, I wanted to ask if this was a good idea to keep descending, but not only did I not want to alert anyone below, I couldn’t see François.

Resolving myself for the worse, I continued down and took another step down… into water?

To make sure the hole wasn’t inundated, I tapped around with my foot. It was all solid. Jumping off, I stepped to the side and soon enough François followed. He didn’t speak but grabbed my hands and put them on his shoulders.

Following his lead with quiet steps, we continued down a hallway, or at least it was probably a hallway. I could only tell the room’s shape by the echoes of our steps; it was pitch black. I couldn’t see either side of the passage, making it look like an endless expanse of nothingness. If I were told to imagine purgatory, this would be it.

“Who comes here?” A voice echoed throughout the darkness. It seemed to come from everywhere at once.

Coming to an abrupt stop, François spoke. “The limbs of Frederick.”

Was that why he told us to address him by that name. Was that the name employed by intelligence network to keep his identity secret?

But before I could think anymore of it, a dim yellow light shone below my feet. I tried to move away, but it followed me.

“Don’t move.” It was François, and I could finally see his face once again. He had small blue eyes, and thin brown hair, but his gaze was intense, not unlike Damien’s when serious. I suppose all knights had such a stare. And by his comfort in this dungeon, François was probably a part of the duke’s intelligence network. Acting would come naturally to him.

Who knows? Perhaps one day I’d cultivate that look, but right now, even though I had gained a class and had started to feel better about myself. My sense of failure and worthlessness had started to creep back up. I was simply not strong enough, not knowledgeable enough, not suitable to serve a duke.

The yellow light shinned brighter and snakes out to the right. Following it, we made our way into a different hallway; there seemed to be five, until the light sneaked under the wall.

Crouching down, François pushed the brick under which the light had escaped and the next thing I knew, a hole the dimensions of a door materialized. Was this illusion magic? Or something else I didn’t know.

Entering, the light continued further into the darkness until it illuminated a wooden door.

How much security did they need? What were they hiding down here? Who were they hiding it from?

Turning the doorknob, the loudest creak echoed, and François struggled to push it open. It seemed to be glued to the stones below. But finally, he pushed it hard enough for a sliver of light to pass through, it was yellow, a yellow I’d never seen before. Dim, but unwavering, perhaps it was magic. After all torches would suffocate anyone stupid enough to light it so deep below ground.

Finally, François pushed the door hard enough for us to slither in. Once on the other side, the door slammed closed.

“Oh, François, isn’t it a bit early, and who is this?” It was a short man, he had a long unkempt beard, naturally forming dreads, and a dark tan.

“This is Gregoire, it isn’t official as he hasn’t been with us for long, but Frederick sees potential in him.”

The man nodded. Now that my eyes had gone past his face, I noticed his large build. But it was just a bit odd that his right arm was larger than his left.

François glanced at me.

I forgot again, “Yes, I’m Gregoire, from the dead-ends of Bayeux.” I wasn’t good with introductions.

“The dead-ends you say? Well, I can’t say I lived in no dead-ends, but my parents weren’t rich. It’s nice to see people who weren’t raised with a golden spoon. They always cause problems.” He turned back to François. “So, what are you here for?”

“The artifacts. It’s for a mission. We just need two.”

A rather conflicted look passed over the man’s face. “Very well, over here.” He led us through another door, this one normal for once. And in the adjacent room, alongside the usual swords and shields you’d find in an armoury, there were five small metallic objects enclosed in a glass case.

“Are those the artifacts?” To think there’d be five of them. Just getting your hands on one was impressive for a nobleman. Turning to François I asked, “Why aren’t these kept in Rouen?”

Walking over to the display of artifacts, François removed the glass case and grabbed one of the artifacts. “Because that’s where they’d look first. Sir, when was the first one made?”

The buff man whose name I just realized we weren’t privy to, answered, “Three years.”

“And they still haven’t stumbled onto this place.”

“Who are these people?” There was so much I didn’t know. It was as if I had previously lived in a different reality. One where there wasn’t anything but poverty and suffering. Ever since joining the duke’s employ, I hadn’t seen a sick or old man. It was a different reality surely.

“They are those who oppose the duke Gregoire, our enemies,” said François.

I couldn’t see his face, but his voice was much colder than what I thought was his unassuming appearance.

“Here.” François handed me the artifact. It was heavy and seemed to be made from a pipe and wooden handle. “What is this?” I asked. It didn’t look to be a weapon or a pendant. I had no idea what it might be used for. Not to mention I didn’t get a prompt like I’d gotten with the pendant.

“A gun, it’s called a gun Gregoire, and it will change everything,” said François with the coldest expression I’d seen yet.