'What on earth are those two doing so late at night...?' Claude narrowed his eyes, as his thoughts turned to the odd reaction the note had earlier.
I may have to look into what these two are doing here... A silent thought nestled at the back of his mind.
After all, what if the answer had been in front of his eyes all this time? What if the cause of the note's reaction wasn't a patron in the inn…?
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Creak!
"Thanks again, Claude." Claire's voice was soft as she gently closed the door behind her.
"No need for that. It's not like I'm doing it for free." Claude chuckled, though the humour barely reached his eyes. His gaze flickered momentarily to the door behind them, mind already flitting back to his memory from a few days ago.
Claire hesitated, her fingers brushing against her skirt nervously. "Can I ask how they're doing?" she asked, her tone much more serious than before.
"They're both doing well. Jean has caught on very quickly. He can now read most simple sentences with ease." Claude paused, his own curiosity gnawing at him. "Regarding Anne..." His voice trailed off.
"What? Is something wrong?" Worry immediately stained Claire's voice. Her maternal instinct, fierce and protective, flared at the slightest hint of trouble.
"No, no. Her reading skills are essentially on par with Jean's," Claude reassured her. "It's just... unusual, that's all. She's still so young, but she's picking up things incredibly fast, almost unnaturally fast."
"Maybe she's just gifted...?" Claire murmured absently, her gaze wandering.
"Maybe..." Claude nodded slowly, but his mind was similarly elsewhere. He had noticed Claire flinch earlier, ever so slightly, at the mention of Anne.
It reminded him of the time she'd stiffened in the presence of the city guard. Perhaps, it was more than just Anne's muteness that troubled her.
Claire had always been so hopeful about Anne finally being able to express herself, even if only through the written word. The girl had been mute for as long as anyone could remember, her silence a constant reminder of her ailment.
Yet, Claire felt a sense of worry nibbling away at her thoughts. On the bright side, now Anne can communicate with others using a small notepad she carries with her everywhere. And, for the first time in who knew how many years, Claire had seen Anne smile...
Waving Claire off, Claude made his way back to his room, his mind drifting over everything he had uncovered in the past week. He couldn't shake the feeling that something strange was afoot, especially when it came to Jean and Anne.
They disappeared every two to three nights, only to reappear the next morning, offering vague explanations that never quite satisfied his curiosity whenever he inadvertently asked.
'There's something weird going on with those two,' he thought, unlocking his door and stepping inside. The moonlight filtered through the small window by his bedside, casting a soft glow over the space.
Tonight should be the night… Claude pulled the grey cloak off his bed and draped it over his shoulders. The fabric whispered against his skin as he fastened it securely, a faint glimmer flickering in his eyes.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
His queries regarding the pair could wait. He had more pressing matters to attend to.
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Clang!
The sound of swords clashing echoed through the desolate streets of Littorbourg, where two groups stood locked in fierce combat. The tension hanging in the air, each strike filled with both hatred and desperation.
"Damn it, Thibault! Why are you attacking us?!" a thin man shouted, parrying an incoming blow with all the strength he could muster.
He was the same man who had greeted Claude on his first day in the city, but now his face was twisted with fear and frustration. "Isn't it enough that we've left you alive this long? Why do you insist on pushing us into a corner?"
Thibault's eyes blazed with fury as he swung his blade in rapid succession, unrelenting in his assault. "Oh please!" he spat, his voice trembling with rage. "Were rats like you not the ones who poisoned my father with your vile witchcraft? You think I'll forget that?!" Each strike of his hits harder than the last.
The thin man stumbled back, barely able to hold his own. Thibault's hatred wasn't just surface-level anger—it ran deeper, into the marrow of his bones. His father had been everything to him, a figure of strength and wisdom, a figure he admired.
But all of that had been ripped away from him, twisted and shattered by the cruel hands of some unknown devilish force.
Thibault had spent years searching for answers, and now, he stood on the brink of revenge, consumed by his desire to right what he believed was an unforgivable wrong.
Steel clanged against steel, the fight filling the empty streets in a grim symphony. Yet, before anyone could anticipate what was coming next, a deafening bang reverberated through the alley.
A figure had shot down from the sky, landing with such force that the very ground beneath them split apart. The combatants froze, their attention now focused entirely on the monstrous thing that had appeared before them.
It was hideous.
Vaguely human in shape—two arms, two legs, a head—but at the same time... it was anything but human. Its rotting, greyish skin hung in loose folds, as though the flesh itself was sloughing off the bones.
Patches of flesh had peeled away to reveal sinew and bone beneath, and from every orifice—its eyes, nose, mouth, and ears—pus seeped in sickening streams, bubbling and oozing down its disfigured face.
Its eyes, if they could be called eyes, were sunken deep into its skull, glowing faintly with an unnatural, milky-white hue.
Its mouth was twisted into a grotesque grin, yellowed teeth jutting out at odd angles, and as it exhaled, a thick, black vapour billowed from between its cracked lips.
Its hands ended in long, bony claws, dripping with a thick, mucous-like substance that hissed as it touched the stone streets, burning small holes into the ground.
The monster let out a wet, guttural laugh, its voice a rasping, unnatural sound that seemed to reverberate inside the skulls of those who heard it. It took a lumbering step forward, and as it did, the ground beneath its feet seemed to wilt.
It turned its gruesome head toward Thibault, its sunken eyes locking onto him with malicious glee. "Do you wish to join your father, boy?" it croaked, voice slurred by the constant dribble of filth from its mouth. "He's waiting for you... in His embrace."
"Shut it you freak!" Thibault screeched at the monster seemingly without fear, yet his eyes jutting about betrayed his truest thoughts.
"Tell me, I'm curious. Why do this? You could have lived a little longer if you didn't start this attack. Do you simply want to die of your own initiative?" The monster hummed. "Whatever, it's not like that matters anymore." A gleeful smile stretched across its face.
Thud! Thud! Thud!
The sound of the inhuman thing lumbering toward the Mad Dog gang was all that Thibault could register in his mind.
He could only hope that the freak that contacted him days prior wasn't lying.
And soon his prayers were met.
Whoosh!
A spear of ice pierced through the air before thrusting into the monster's abdomen.
"Oh?" Yet it seemed unfazed. "Who's there?" Its head seemingly disjointed from its head spun around slowly, scanning its surroundings.
Slowly it found a shadowy silhouette hiding away on a rooftop nearby.
"Well, what do we have here? A Brother of Silence? No, they aren't active in Francia… A Priest of Nox? Also, no. Those hypocrites would never attack a Plague Bearer, they're just a bunch of worry-worts… " It muttered, yet its voice sounded in everyone's ears.
"So that leaves… a mage?" A glint shone its eyes as a bloodthirsty grin crept onto his face.
It leapt towards the figure it had just seen.
When it lands on the rooftop, caving it in, it realises that no one is around.
Looking behind him, he sees a figure leaping through the streets using a whip condensed from water to manoeuvre about.
"Why bother running?" It groaned before chasing after the figure.