“What?!”
Vincent stared at the messenger in shock, mouth agape and the panting soldier caught his breath, bent over hands on his knees.
Signalling one of his guards to support the tired messenger, Vincent felt his heart pound within his chest as visions of gold coins and priceless treasures once again bounced around within his mind.
Tightening his grip on the reins as if he were grabbing hold of the contents of the hidden room, Vincent immediately ordered his guard to set off for the merchants district, mounts breaking out into a gallop as the group of armoured, sword-bearing troops, surrounding a ornately armoured aristocrat and a youthful Knight, rode through the streets.
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Neighing furiously, Vincent’s horse slowed to a stop as he pulled back on the reins, causing his guards, led by Blake, to follow suit. Steering his horse to stop next to Vincents, Blake leaned in, voice laced with wariness as he spoke.
“Vincent, I strongly object against going into the hidden room if that's what you're considering.”
“From the messenger's words, the soldiers that found the hidden room didn’t clear the room for any traps. Entering now might endanger your safety.”
“I’d highly recommend that you allow the troops some time to sweep and inspect the room before entering.”
Despite hearing the Knight’s well-meaning advice, Vincent shook his head in disagreement, his stubborn streak emerging.
“IF there were any traps down there, they would have gone off the moment the soldiers who discovered the room entered it. They’re all well and alive, ergo, no traps!”
“But… but, the traps could have been set to spring when one entered deeper into the room.”
“Who would allow a person to get a good look at their treasures, and still not stop them from retreating and spreading the word? If there were any traps, they would have sprung and killed the men who entered first, stopping them from spreading word of their findings!”
Seeing Blake sigh helplessly, Vincent took it as a sign of victory, releasing a triumphant smile at winning the argument while feeling rather smug over his logical deductions.
Dismounting, he passes the reins of his horse to one of the soldiers guarding the entrance to the manor, giving the man a smile and a friendly pat on the shoulder as he passed.
Stepping into the manor, Vincent swept through the hallways, guided by another soldier, who introduced himself as the man who had found the hidden mechanism in the first place, as his entourage followed behind him.
Candlelight, shining of Vincent's bronze and silver armour, illuminated the halls of the opulent manor, casting light on the intricate tapestries and masterworks adorning the walls, a testament to the wealth of their owner.
Unlike the more-militaristic and regal atmosphere given off by the Sutton’s fortified estate, Terry Fisher's house screamed luxury and wealth, making it clear to all who entered that they were entering the house of a tycoon.
Stopping briefly to admire the gleaming suit of plate armour that had hidden the entrance, Vincent descended the slope, noticing how it had angled itself such that it descended into the floor where the floor and wall had met, perfectly concealing it to any observer from either side of the wall.
Following the guide, who had taken point, Vincent descended the ramp, sabatons clanking as he walked, his guard compacting themselves into a circular guard formation around him, almost shoulder to shoulder.
As the procession descended, the atmosphere slowly shifted, the initial feeling of comfort and luxury from the lavishly furnished mansion creeping away bit by bit as the air turned stale.
Reaching the bottom of the ramp, Vincent immediately noticed the torchlight flooding out into the tunnel, spilling from an entryway. Pressing forward, he noticed that the entryway opened up further into a spacious room.
The group stopped on the threshold of the room.
Giving orders to Vincent’s guards, Blake distributed them across the room with instructions to conduct a preliminary sweep, ensuring that the area was safe.
Blake personally joined the sweep, hastening the progress of the troops and they looked through and poked at the contents of the room.
Internally lampooning at Blakes actions, Vincent released a sigh. While he believed that his Knight was merely being paranoid and overprotective, he silently consented to the search, allowing his men to sweep the room as he stepped into it.
Quickly forgetting the actions of his men, his eyes lit up with ecstasy once more as he gazed upon the room's bounty.
Estimated to be roughly 15 metres wide and 20 meters deep, with a height of 4 meters, the room was filled with various compartments.
Along the back wall, gold, in both coin and bar form, lay stacked atop each other and within open crates, filling up the full width and height of the area.
Glinting under the torchlight, the neatly organised stacks of the precious metal caused Vincent's jaw to drop, his mind whirling as he speculated how much the veritable mountain of gold was worth.
200,000 at least.
Each bar is worth 100 coins. The bars occupy at least half again as much space as the coins, which when gathered in storage crates of that size…
Half again as much as what we gathered so far, and that's only counting the gold itself.
I’m RICH!
Aside from the gold, the room contained various precious treasures, mounted on pedestals and display stands around the left side of the room.
The bounty ranged from fine plates of silverware, forged with delicate precision, to full sets of majestic plate armour, complete with swords, shields and spears in their hands and adorned with precious gems. One of the swords even appeared to be entirely made out a translucent crystalline material, giving it a ethereal, otherworldly look.
This merchant seems to have a penchant for collecting armour and weapons. A duelist? or maybe even a Knight enthusiast?
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Gauging the value of the various artworks and treasures, Vincent put their price at roughly upwards of 50,000 gold.
Making a mental note to remind Halcyon to appraise the exact value of these items, Vincent felt that thrum of satisfaction imagining their value.
However when he turned to the remaining side of the room, Vincent's excitement at receiving such a huge windfall slightly dimmed.
Instead of any treasures or gold coins, the remaining space within the room was taken up but things far less valuable.
Stacked neatly on cupboards and shelves, rolls of parchment dominated that particular section of the treasure room, beastskin pages stacked roughly atop one another.
Disappointed at the lack of any monetary benefit or windfall to be found among the stacks of parchment, Vincent stepped closer to one of the shelves, but quickly lost interest once he saw the various papers labeled ‘Profit for month 3 year 0610’ , ‘Agenda for town council meeting’ and so on.
Opposite the room, Blake checked the last of the treasures within the room, probing it for any abnormalities as the rest of the personal guard did the same in various other locations within the room.
Turning to look at Vincent, he discovered the Viscount peering at the various parchments directly opposite him. Beside him stood two members of the guard, standing stoically beside their Lord, as well as their escort who had led them to the room, seemingly rather nervous and lost as he fidgeted, shuffling his feet from left to right as if unsure of what to do.
Frowning, he felt his gut nag at him again, sending butterflies, for lack of a better word, through his stomach. Something which had persisted ever since the group had entered the mansion, this very feeling had caused him to be uneasy throughout the walk through the mansion, which in turn had caused him to constantly warn against Vincent entering any remotely dangerous or unsafe place, much to the Viscounts very visible frustration
Despite having searched most of the vault, his gut feeling refused to go away, causing him to feel a sense of wrongness, even though he could not pinpoint what that sense had originated from.
A experienced warrior and Knight in spite of his young age, he had learned long ago to trust his intuition and instincts far more than a normal person normally would, even to the point of this trust being almost illogical, bordering on unhealthy.
In this instance, logic would have dictated that since every corner of the room had been checked and cleared by the absolutely loyal guardsmen -the men having been trained since young exclusively within the Sutton estate and their families all serving the house directly in some capacity- that his worries were unfounded and that Vincent was safe.
However, Blake had overridden that logic, wracking his mind for any, any possible theory or possibility, no matter how tiny, that possessed the possibility to trigger his intuition.
Watching Vincent visibly lose patience with the parchments and turn to admire the gold, which to be fair, was extremely jaw-dropping and pleasing to look at, Blake felt the faintest hint of something, an thought stuck at the back of his consciousness, worming its way into his mind, wriggling and drawing his attention to it.
Leaning back against the wall, he barely heard his armour thump against the stone wall as he buried his head deep in thought, attempting to ‘excavate’ the worm from where it was hiding and bring it to the forefront of his mind.
Meanwhile, Vincent stood still, eyes lost in thought as ideas for inventions and innovations he could bring to life, or ‘transplant’ from his previous life, with the gold he had obtained filled his mind.
Rather surprisingly, he found many things which he could improve on. Policies, laws, institutions, departments, training and more held seemingly endless opportunities for Vincent to induce changes.
So, despite his original inclination towards bringing to life the more technical and mechanical innovations such as the various different siege weapons and things like gunpowder, he found himself thinking more of policies and reforms which he could introduce to his fief, or contemplating on his future plans.
Perhaps seeing that his Lord had lapsed in stillness, followed by the two stoic, serious looking guards, the escort- the very young man who had discovered the room to begin with- felt rather disappointed.
Having nothing to do, he naturally felt rather bored. Seeing as to how neither the expressionless guards, nor the Viscount seemed to have any inclination of needing anything from him, he leisurely let his mind wander, thoughts drifting to various insignificant nothings as he relaxed.
Thunk!
Just as he completely relaxed, leaning his back against the wall as he closed his eyes, mentally picturing the shredded meat soup awaiting him at camp, his layered platemail hit the stone wall, producing a relatively loud, echoing sound.
Instantly, Blakes head snapped upward as realisation dawned on him. Raising his voice to an almost thunderous volume, certainoy startling nearly everyone within earshot of him, he stared at the unassuming young soldier, yelling at him to move out of the way.
Too late
Shurrrr-k
Before the unfortunate soldier could even register the Knights words, his eyes bulged as his tongue hung out, making soft croaking noises as his feet lifted off the ground.
Stilling choking and spraying spittle, the soldier looked down at his chest, only to see a resplendently glowing silver blade protruding from his chest, blood staining his front even as the blade remained clean, blood sliding straight off the aura.
Eyes bloodshot, the soldier died, as the blade physically ripped out of his body, nearly tearing it in half as blood spurted across the room.
Having spun around the moment the now-dead soldier had cried out, Vincent stared on in shock.
Collapsing to the ground, the corpse of the soldier revealed where the blade had come from.
From the wall behind him.
Sticking out from the war at a right angle, the blade thrummed with energy, the silver aura coruscating as it shimmered up and down the plainsteel blade.
Before anyone could process what had just occurred, the blade moved.
Tearing out of the ‘wall’, which seemed to have been a kind of facade, the blade revealed the hilt it was connected to, and its owner.
Just before anyone could get a good look, two black objects came flying out, flying through the air at an amazingly high velocity, creating an audible shing as it parted the air around it.
Cloaked with a black cowl and a mask, dressed in entirely black leathers, the figure that emerged from the wall raised his sword, charging straight for Vincent.
Shit!
Blake cursed as he belatedly started circulating his spiritforce, sending it to his legs as he began dashing towards the mysterious man, attempting to intercept him.
The wall was fake. I didn’t even think about it until that man leaned against it and it made a different sound when I leaned against the wall behind me.
Turning to look at the guards, he realised what the two objects the stranger had thrown out were. Embedded within the throat and forehead of Vincent's two closeby guards, two throwing knives ensured that those men were never getting up again.
Sending more spiritforce in his legs, Blake willed himself to run faster, setting himself up to tackle the assailant away from Vincent.
The masked man approached Vincent, sword raised high, not a single sound escaping from his lips. Realising that he was on his own, with his two close-by guards dead, his assailant less than two metres away, with Blake too far away to help for at least the next 6 or so seconds, more than enough for the stranger to end his life, Vincent panicked.
Rousing his spiritforce from its dormancy, he controlled the reddish, intangible substance as he poured it into his legs, willing them to move him out of the way.
Feeling the power sluggishly trickle into his legs, as well as the oncoming blade’s aura part the air around it, he knew that he would not make it.
There was nothing he could do. He was too slow, too weak to be able to do anything against a silver-ranked combatant. A true Adept in every sense.
Despair overtook him. Watching his assailant raise their sword over their head, he felt every fiber in his being awash in regret and unwillingness as he felt his inevitable death loom over him.
Blake still too far away to do anything, a good 10 paces away, Vincent closed his eyes.
Is this how it ends?
No battle, no duel.
Not even on the battlefield.
Without even accomplishing anything?
What use is it recovering my lost memories if I’m going to die again.
Silver aura glinting in the torchlight, his attacker and their blade inexorably drew closer
Moments before the sword descended, Vincent felt like a bolt of lightning had struck him ad he remembered something. Words flashed through his mind as he felt something awakening within him, lighting a spark within his core.
A will. A will to not surrender before his assailant. To not bow down and let the sword take his life. To fight.
That's it. Fight.
Fight.
Fight.
Fight.
Instantly, Vincent knew what to do. Eyes filled with newfound determination and vigour, he set his will to it.
He pushed. He pushed with all his might. Responding to his will, his spiritforce surged, charging towards his legs with unprecedented speed and fluidity even as it erupted with strength. Strength he never had before.
As it flowed, the spiritforce within his body grew, multiplying in quantity and quality several times as his will pushed it to move. To evolve.
In an instant, reddish-brown turned to shimmering snow-white, even as the power of Vincent's spiritforce soared by magnitudes. For the first time since he had awakened his spiritforce so long ago, training in the estates courtyard, Vincent felt powerful. Like an incomparable force moved within and through him, pooling within his body, ready to be used. For him to use it, bend it, shape it to his will.
Harnessing his newfound power, Vincent directed his spiritforce, his Iron-ranked spiritforce, to his legs as he dodged with all his might, euphoria coursing through his mind as he took in the magnitude of what he had accomplished.
Strength filled the muscles of his legs, increasing their strength and power by an order of magnitude as more spiritforce poured out from within him.
Pushing off the ground, he felt his body lift off, throwing himself to the side and increasingly out of the path of the blade.
And then, just as he felt he could escape from the incoming strike, as his euphoria hit its peak, the sword descended, drawing a silver streak in the air as it moved.