Chapter 77 – Floor 8: Part 3
The Margrave saw no sense of strain on the Champion’s face as he lifted a reticent-to-speak member of the Emperor’s retinue into the air by the front of his jacket and tossed them across the room.
After it had been revealed that the Champion could discern truth from lies by some ability gifted to him by the gods, no one had been willing to speak a single word around him. The young man had only asked once the same question he had delivered to the Empress and Duke before acting violently.
‘What prodigious strength!’ The Margrave thought.
The talents of the Champion were astounding. His ability to call forth destructive energies from the tip of his finger, move objects at a distance without touching them, and now his superhuman strength, each revelation put the Champion further from the limits of mortal men.
The Margrave couldn’t help but admire and fear the young man in front of him.
This thought ran through his mind when the young man tossed the Baron he was holding in his grasp across the room. The opulently dressed noble wore a look of shock and disbelief as he arced above the Margrave’s head and landed heavily onto a padded chair, knocking the furniture over but softening the impact.
The Baron lay there, stunned by the events that had transpired. The Margrave looked around the room, expecting the guards to defend their noble, but not a single person moved. The Margrave wasn't sure whether it was some power of the Champion that held them in place, or the terror of him.
Mathew turned and began to approach the Baron slowly. He held out his right hand calmly, and the Margrave’s attention was drawn to it. The Champion made a grasping motion as if he were taking hold of something invisible and heavy.
He slowly drew his arm back, and in his hand was a weapon of terrifying proportions.
It was a mace. The head was shaped like a clenched fist at the end of a length of bright steel that caught the light. The Margrave could feel the weight of it as it moved ponderously with each step the Champion took. He knew that he would never have been able to lift it, let alone in one hand and as easily as the young man in front of him.
Each step the Champion took toward the downed Baron seemed to shake the room, and a feeling of oppressiveness pervaded everything. It was at this point, his face as hard and cold as iron in winter, that the young man spoke.
The Margrave wished he had remained silent, for the Champion’s words brought no comfort to him.
“I have spent half a decade in hell, battling against enemies the likes of which you cannot imagine. I have seen so much death that I could build mountain ranges out of the corpses of the fallen. I have seen a world destroyed; the very air I breathed was dead, and the only water to be found came from within our bodies.” Mathew stated, his voice soft but carried easily to all present. They could feel a chill in their bones, a building terror and the Margrave swore that if he closed his eyes, he would be able to see images of what the Champion spoke of.
He didn’t dare to blink in fear of those sights.
“They called me the ‘Enduring.’ The ‘Survivor.’ The ‘Reliable.’ Most of those who named me are dead now. But I lived through that torment, persisted, and now I am here. I will not accept any lies.” Mathew finished, hefting his mace up onto his shoulder. The weapon made a loud ‘swoosh’ noise as it did so, alerting everyone to the weight of it.
“So, I will ask you again for a final time. Did you poison the Emperor? If you lie to me or refuse to speak, I will do worse than toss you around.” Mathew promised. He punctuated his statement by slamming the mace onto the floor.
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The head of the weapon shattered the stones. The ground quaked, and cracks appeared across the length of the room. For a moment, the Margrave thought the entire chamber would collapse from the destruction.
Thankfully, it stopped after a moment. The Champion lifted the mace again, and the Margrave saw the impression of the mace’s ‘fist’ in the stone. He could easily imagine what would happen to a human body.
“I…I…I did not have anything to do with the Emperor’s poisoning.” The Baron stammered, and the Margrave wrinkled his nose in disgust at the growing wet stain on the noble’s pants where he had soiled himself.
“Truth. You!” Mathew said, turning and pointing at another with the head of his mace. This noble paled before shaking his head.
“No! I don’t know anything!” The man shouted, and Mathew nodded his head. One after another, the nobles present denied their involvement. That was until they reached a young man. A foppish youth, he was in his early twenties and dressed extravagantly in the finest silks with gold embroidery.
He stood at the back of the room with a glass of wine. He had a smirk on his face while he watched the Champion’s questioning. When it was finally his turn, he broke out into a grin.
“You, did you have anything to do with the Emperor’s poisoning?” Mathew asked. If the smiling youth’s attitude threw him off, he didn’t show it.
The Margrave stepped forward, speaking softly to Mathew to inform him of the foppish young man’s identity.
“Prince Barristan, Champion. He is the Emperor’s son by a favoured concubine, I… do not know if the Emperor will be pleased with you questioning him. He has often been….protective of him.” The Margrave admitted, causing Mathew to pause for a moment.
“Of course he is.” Mathew muttered, already knowing who the culprit was. It was like a bad story: the favoured son protected his entire life and poisons his father for some slight or mundane reason. Possibly because he was in love with the Empress?
‘Doesn’t matter.’ Mathew thought.
“Answer the question.” Mathew stated, lowering his mace until it rested at his feet. The Margrave nervously shuffled back to where he had been standing. The Champion didn’t seem impressed by the Prince's identity, nor did he care that the Emperor would not like his questioning.
Considering how the Champion had treated the Emperor only minutes before, it wasn't surprising.
“No, I don’t believe I will.” Barristan replied glibly, holding out his glass for a nearby servant to refill. The woman, wearing a uniform that bore the Imperial seal on the front, nervously poured his wine from a pitcher as she shot glances at the Champion. She was as terrified as everyone else of what Mathew could do.
“Fine, I warned you. If you’re dead and guilty, that should solve everything for me anyway.” Mathew said as he raised his mace once more to throw it. The Margrave ran forward to intervene, raising his hands protectively in front of him. He stood between the Prince and the Champion.
“Wait! You cannot kill the Prince! This is not what the goddess of Truth and Reconciliation would want!” The Margrave pleaded. The Champion stared at him for a long moment; the silence stretched until the Margrave was completely covered in sweat. He expected to be killed at any moment when Mathew let out a sigh.
“You people certainly don’t want to make it easy on me. Fine!” Mathew murmured in exasperation.
“I have your word, sworn on the goddess, that you won’t kill him?” The Margrave asked with surprise. He hadn’t expected this bloodthirsty monster to respond to reason. The Champion struggled for a moment, a mix of emotions on his face before he nodded.
“Very well. I swear on the goddess of Truth and Reconciliation that I won’t kill Prince Barristan. There, happy?” Mathew said, resting his mace on the ground once more and gripping it with only one hand while he raised his other to swear his oath.
The Margrave let out a breath of relief.
“Thank you. I’m sure the Emperor will get to the bottom of his son’s involvement when he has recovered. For now, let us continue the questioning. There are still many servants and guards that we can interrogate.” The Margrave explained, to which Mathew shook his head.
“No need. The Prince is guilty; I just need to get a confession, and I can be on my way.” Mathew said, matter of factly. His mace disappeared in a flash of light, returning to wherever it had come from instantly. He pulled out a knife from his belt.
“Wait! You promised not to hurt him!” The Margrave shouted. Before he could finish his sentence, the knife flew from the Champion’s hand and hurtled toward the Prince at breathtaking speed. It slammed into his shoulder, spinning the young Prince around and throwing him to the floor as he screamed in agony.
“I promised not to kill him. Trust me, he’ll survive, and I’ll get the confession I need to complete the goddesses’ task. It’s a win-win for everyone.” Mathew commented as he walked toward the downed Prince.