Chapter 20 - Fierro Latimus

Word has reached me at long last. Words I had been praying for. Words I had long been awaiting. Words I had long since expected. Words I dreaded seeing every day upon waking, and every night before sleeping.

Words, mere words, yet they have completely unmade me.

Such simple words.

Such fearsome words.

Lothar is dead.

Finally, confirmation. At long last, peace in knowing that the last of my children is dead. They say he died bravely, just like his brothers before him.  A hero spilling his blood to stem the tide of our enemy’s implacable assault, earning him eternal rest among the celestial hosts.

Bullshit.

The daemon horde continues its relentless onslaught, and leaves nothing but despair in its wake.

Sixty years, and what do I have left? My wife left this world before me, and all my children have spilled their blood fighting the daemon juggernaut.

I despair of this world. What hope can there possibly be before the inexorable tides of the daemon legions?

These days, I find myself thinking back on those days, back when it was all better. When the world was bright and that word, hope, it lit a fire in everybody’s eyes.

Back when I had a sense of purpose, when I was proud to look in the mirror and see a Knight Protector to the Lady.

I should have died on that day, spilled my blood and given my life on those steps, even knowing it was in vain.

Would it have eased the pain of bitter betrayal in the Lady’s heart? I know it would have done so in mine.

It is a regret that I shall carry to my dying day.

My lady, forgive me. Your servant has failed you. May you allow this unworthy one to swear fealty to you, should I be fortunate enough to encounter you in the next life.

Now, there’s only death before me.

Death, old friend, where is your bite?

I sit here, all alone, and even death seems to shun my company.

Lothar. Duros. Stanley. Garritt.

My lady.

I shall join you soon.

Skyle carefully closed the book held within his hands and rested his head back against the tree he sat upon. Leon was sleeping soundly at his feet, his huge frame oddly contorted as it lay wrapped around the branch both boys had sought in order to rest.

They had both been completely exhausted, and had agreed that they needed rest, brief as it may be. Skyle had offered to take the first watch after both boys found the tallest tree and climbed upon its branches. Leon hadn’t protested, and like a true soldier, had demonstrated the very first skill any capable man of war must learn: sleeping like a rock at the drop of a hat.

Such ease in finding rest after a long, harrowing day fighting for your life was a true blessing, understated by many but appreciated by every veteran in the cruel art of war. Thus, as Leon slept soundly by his side, Skyle had decided to finally examine the journal he had found from the old man's treasure box.

His name had been Fierro Latimus, and his story had been a truly tragic one. Most of the book had been badly burned, but from the few pages Skyle had managed to rescue, he had put together the pieces of Fierro’s life.

Fierro did not specify what land he was from, but he had been a strong soldier, specially gifted with what Skyle assumed was the earth element, though Fierro had named it differently. Though his elemental strength or defensive power wasn’t very great, Fierro’s elemental power had taken a shape that had stunned Skyle speechless. From what Skyle had been able to gather, Fierro had been a genius not at manipulating the forces of the earth element, but at the art of fighting itself, especially when it came down to wielding weapons or crafting them.

Fierro’s innate understanding of metals had led to the uncanny ability to capably wield a weapon, any weapon, upon the first five minutes of picking it up. Within an hour, Fierro would know everything there was to know about the weapon, its strengths and weaknesses, as well as many techniques to bring out the best from it. After a single week he would become an exalted expert of the weapon, as though he had devoted his entire life to its study.

Within a year he would become a true master, capable of being compared only with a handful others in the whole world.

Though his strength, stamina or speed did not differ too much from any other elemental warrior, Fierro’s ungodly fighting skills had quickly won him renown across the lands, eventually landing him the role of Knight Protector to a person he only referred to, with deep respect and affection, as the “Lady”.

Running his fingers down the length of Moonshadow, Skyle seemed to gain a better understanding of just how priceless an artifact he had gained. It also seemed to explain the nagging feeling that the old man could have chosen, at any time, to easily stop Skyle’s attack and eliminated both Leon and Skyle without blinking an eye.

With a deep sigh, Skyle skimmed a few more pages, most of them completely unreadable. Then he paused as he saw a couple lines jumping at him from a particular page. They had been written in a firm hand, the strokes bold and strong.

I have finally made my decision. Perhaps I have waited too long, a coward to the very end. Still, perhaps there is redemption for me yet.

Finally, I have found the name of one the traitors. That is all I need. This is but the beginning. I shall pierce his black, treacherous heart with my sharpest arrows, even if it means my certain doom. But not before he spits out the names of his despicable friends.

The hunt begins.

Would it bring a smile to the Lady’s lips, I wonder?

Yes, she would smile. Only it would be a small one, filled with sorrow and pity.

Still, I cannot do anything else. My soul burns for revenge, and as I await death, it is only proper that I should drag a few of those bastards to the abyss with me.

The rest of the pages were either torn, smudged by blood, or scorched. Turning the pages faster, Skyle finally found a page with legible writing. However, he wondered if it was the same Fierro who had written these words, for the strokes were now weak and unsteady, as though the fingers had been trembling uncontrollably the whole time.

Three men, their wives, their children. I wiped them all out, all in a single night. I showed no compassion, and still feel sorrow yet no regret. Now I’m on the run, for I’ve uncovered the true mastermind behind the plot, and only now do I realize the identity of the puppeteer pulling the strings behind the scenes.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

I am doomed, just as my wretched revenge has always been.

Even now, I can feel my pursuers closing on me. I shall be caught, charged for my crimes, stripped of my exalted titles, then executed like a base criminal.

My only hope now is that I die a death worthy of the final Knight Protector of the Lady.

I’m afraid, not of death, for it has been my only companion for these last few years.

No, I’m afraid of not dying, of being denied the final rest and being forced to atone for my sins.

What would my Lady wish of me, I wonder?

They come..

Skyle frowned deeply as he reread the entry. Fierro had finally succumbed to become a ruthless assassin, killing children in cold blood. However, the man Skyle had killed tonight did not have the cold eyes of a killer.

Then what had happened to Fierro to transform him?

Several pages further, Skyle found his answer.

In the end, I could not do it. I could not take the final step, knowing full well the weight of my sins.

So, though there is no hope, though there is no redemption, still I have taken the road less traveled.

It must have come as a shock to everybody, even to that master puppeteer. Yes, not even those cold, cruel eyes could have seen this move.

I have chosen to become one of the Gestahl.

Even as a convicted criminal, I am still an exalted Lord Triunvir, one of the last ones, Commander Supreme of the Northern Frost Legions. With but a single stroke of the pen I hold in my hands at this moment, I could give the order to raze continents to the ground and drown the highest peaks in blood.

Tomorrow at noon, I shall drink of the Aktaris, and purge myself of my elemental gift.

I shall become Gestahl, and forever become an existence baser than the lowest slave.

Envied by millions, even in my current straits, yet spurned by all at this same time tomorrow.

Such are the insane contrivances of our mad world.

Gestahl? Lord Triunvir? Aktaris? The unfamiliar terms confused Skyle, but he could still grasp at the general idea. Why would such an exalted individual throw it all away in one senseless act of slaughter? Simple revenge?

On the next page, Skyle found only couple lines, written by yet another script, with the lines being soft, yet steady. Calm and composed, Skyle supposed he could call it.

Even as a lowly Gestahl, even stripped of my vast elemental powers, my few friends worth calling such have offered me a choice in regards to my future.

After some thought, I’ve decided to join the one I thought would carry the least hopes for success, yet the most crucial in our desperate efforts to save our crumbling world.

I shall step through the rift, and join the cause derided as sheer lunacy by most sane men, including myself.

Why?

Because I’ve heard a whisper, a hint of a promise, no more. Still, it was enough.

The Lady, her final resting place, it might lie beyond the rift, past that forsaken realm.

In the world of the Betrayer of Hope, where she carried out the Great Betrayal.

Is that where my Lady’s final resting place lies?

A whisper, no more, but it is more than I had hoped for, and so I must go.

Skyle bit his lip as he thought furiously. Had Fierro come from the other side of a rift as well? Could Fierro have come from another world? Then the world of the Betrayer of Hope, could it be referring to his own world, Aeria?

It made no sense, as he had never heard of a Great Betrayal. Also, who was this Lady whom Fierro constantly mentioned? If Fierro had been one of the greatest generals of his world, then this Lady should have been an even more exalted personage.

Skyle massaged his temples as he continued reading. He didn’t have to look very far, for just a few pages further, he found another entry he could read. However, this one was splotched and the writing was blurred, as though stained by countless tears.

I cannot do this. No more!

The cruelty of war is nothing compared to this endless, brutal slaughter. Men, women, even children and babes, all butchered like fattened sows, just so that we may extract their blood for profane rituals?

I came here to fight for a cause, not to participate in a holocaust.

The gods surely have forsaken me, but now I must daily ask myself.

Lady, have you turned your back on me as well?

Skyle sighed deeply as he read those final lines. He could finally understand the old man’s cryptic words before dying, as well as his final actions. Perhaps death had been a release for him, after all. It didn’t change the fact that Skyle had killed a man in cold blood, but at least it took a very heavy weight from his shoulders.

Those were the words of the final entry in the journal. The rest of the pages involved maps, figures and various schematics. Skyle instantly grew excited as he studied them closely. Many maps had unknown names and locations, but they were extremely detailed, with an eye for accuracy and practical concerns. It listed different locations along with an analysis for different strategies as they applied to war. Perhaps there would be a map of this place!

As for the figures, they contained several stacks of numbers. Skyle finally realized they some must be calculations on military maneuvers, but could make out little more than that.

Finally, the schematics were incredibly detailed, with many explanations for the different functions of a vast array of implements and weapons. Everything from swords and spears to gigantic siege engines, they were carefully drawn out with all the component parts needed, as well as the process on how to manufacture and assemble them.

In truth, even as smart as Skyle was, most of the details were lost on him, but even so the great value of this journal was not lost to the little boy. Of course, the true importance of these plans and schematics couldn’t be properly measured by a relatively inexperienced boy raised in the countryside.

After all, who was Fierro Latimus? One of the exalted Triunvir! Only the three most legendary leaders of men of any one age, charismatic heroes of war who decided the fate of millions with a single command, could earn such a title! Fierro had earned this honor, not because of a profound mastery of the earth element. Instead, it was purely through his martial skill, his excellence upon the field of battle. As such, each of his maps were priceless treasures. His treatises on military theory were treated as holy relics, to be honored and studied by all generations. As for the schematics created by one of the true peak experts on weapons and artifacts in the whole world? These were secrets that entire kingdoms might be willing to go to war for, even for a single one of those pages, let alone the entire book.

In truth, even as Fierro Latimus had been stripped of all positions, rank and wealth, his friends and former influence had still guaranteed that he would be able to hide his final possessions, which were precisely the book and Moonshadow.

When he joined the expedition to the rift, he had become just one more lowly bowyer, quietly keeping to himself and doing his job as ordered. Who would have imagined that this quiet, humble man was the legendary Lord Triunvir Fierro Latimus? Likely, the entire camp would have erupted into an uproar, and even a Lord Commander of the army like Vissus would have had to either have Fierro stealthily killed in order to keep the order and the chain of command; or subtly deferred to him as his former exalted status seemed to demand.

After all, Fierro Latimus had become one of the Gestahl. Yet, he had also been one of the three legendary Lord Triunvirs.

All of this was perhaps slightly guessed at by Skyle, but how could the full scope of all this knowledge possibly be grasped by a small twelve year old child, born and raised in the mountains?

Skyle smiled in appreciation as he reached the final part of the book, but his expression quickly withered away as he found out that apparently the last third of the journal was filled with blank pages.

True enough, what he had read so far had answered many questions but had left even more behind. The many diagrams and schematics were an incredible windfall, but not very practical or useful for his immediate survival in this accursed realm. Nowhere in the maps section had Skyle seen details related to the  Shrine of Tears, or anything that could help him escape this nightmarish place. As he reached the very last page, Skyle frowned deeply in disappointment. Maybe he had been hoping for too much from a world that seemed, at least at the current moment, hellbent upon trying to get him killed.

Almost as though to answer his unspoken thought, at precisely this moment a sudden sound instantly grabbed his attention. Though it just barely reached his ears, given his current state of mind this small sound was enough to almost make him jump out of his skin.

Smoothly and with practiced ease, Skyle activated his True Sight and gazed down in the direction of the sound. There he found the aura of a small animal shaped like a field mouse scampering about while shaking its whiskers.

Skyle let out a relieved breath, but as he turned his head back towards the book he received a pleasant surprise. The True Sight inadvertently fell upon one of the blank pages near the back of the book.

The book had already been examined by Skyle using the True Sight previously. It had shown nothing out of the ordinary. However, contrary to what the cover of the book had led him to think, each page of the book was bursting at the seams with a dense pattern of lines of different colors. They were so complex and intricate that Skyle momentarily forgot to breathe as his brain tried to process all the information it was perceiving.

Then all of a sudden, three words jumped out clearly in the middle of Skyle’s mind.

“Desolate Star Technique”