Chapter 225

The Legend Begins (V)

Qyne stared nervously at the man sipping tea in front of him; he appeared to be in his early thirties, worry-free if he went by the man’s expression, and seemed to quite enjoy the methan tea. Though he came with quite a sizable group, there were only four other people beside him present here -- two ‘missing’ Princesses, Sera and Anna, revalation that entirely shocked and floored Qyne, as well as one man who introduced himself as ‘Kramer’ and the ‘traitorous’ Crown Prince of the Kingdom, Izirdul.

What was perhaps the most terrifying is how deferential they were toward the man, following the proper etiquette of sitting behind him, sipping tea only after him, and maintaining silence. The man called Kramer, though, didn’t seem to care about that as he indulged himself in the dough cookies.

If Qyne retold this scene to anyone who didn’t witness it, he was certain they’d call him insane -- perhaps even his own followers that wholeheartedly believed he was the chosen man to lead them to salvation.

Despite the gangster-like and a very theatrical entrance, neither the man nor anyone else made any more ruckus once they were invited inside. Instead, they settled down and asked for some nice tea, of all the things. What surprised Qyne perhaps the most, however, is that the usually fiery and unruly Cyubel remained silent and seated next to him without bursting out into accusations of ‘not respecting the Chosen One’.

“So...” the man spoke abruptly, startling everyone.

“So...” Qyne urged after the man turned silent.

“This is some really good tea.”

“T-thanks...”

“You lot have no desire for the Throne, right?”

“W-what? No, no, of course not!” the abrupt shift in the topic surprised Qyne, but he quickly recovered. He was further surprised that the man asked for a confirmation, as everybody else they came in contact with just assumed his ‘cult’ was means through which he would ascend to the Throne.

“In that case,” the man said, smiling faintly. “I believe we can be of great help to each other, Mr. ...?”

“Qyne, just Qyne.”

“Just Qyne,” the man said. “How about it? As you can see, I have three potential suitors for the Throne behind me, I’ve got the resources, but all I’m lacking in is the manpower.”

“... what... what do we get out of this?” Qyne probed.

“Well, for starters, you survive through the uprising,” the man said. “Largely intact. You’ll be left to your own devices after, and as long as you don’t directly interfere in the Kingdom’s politics, the Crown won’t care much for you. You get the keep the stone--well, most of it, anyway--and make it the cornerstone of your... group.”

“And what do we sacrifice for all of that?” Qyne asked with a bit more confidence.

“A bit of the stone,” the man smiled playfully. “And a bit of your time.”

“Our time?” Qyne frowned, unsure as to what the man meant.

“Hm,” the man nodded. “Since the majority of your followers are commoners, it will be easy for you to disperse information--such as the current King having tried killing all three of his siblings behind me. For all I care, you can even claim that you rescued them, and are willing to work to put them rightfully upon the Throne. The key will be garnering support behind your cause... but, something tells me you already have some experience with that.”

“... is it true? That the King tried killing them?” Qyne asked. If anybody on the outside had heard him asking this sort of a question, he’d have been immediately sent to the gallows as a traitor.

“Very much so,” the man replied confidently, and noticing that the Prince’s and the Princess’ expressions hadn’t changed, Qyne couldn’t help but frown inwardly at how broken the Palace is if the siblings were trying to kill each other for the Throne. “You don’t have to worry about the King or his forces, though--we’ll deal with that. As for the other powers, it’s best if you set them against one another and sit on the side, waiting to reap the profits.”

“... why us?” Qyne asked what he felt to be the most important questions. “I’m certain you’ve heard the stories of who we are--no, you even screamed them to draw our attention.” two Princess coughed awkwardly as they glanced at the man who merely smiled.

“Because our interests don’t clash,” the man replied. “No higher reason or purpose, I’m afraid. We can always make it up, though, if you’d like; perchance, a Moon Spirit or such visited me in my dreams and told me to hoist you guys up.”

“You don’t seem a believer,” Qyne said.

“I’m not.”

“Straightforward.”

“Always,” the man chuckled. “Anyway, do you mind if we rest here for a day or so? By then, all pieces should be in place and we can depart while you begin to inform the world of the injustices committed by the King.”

“Please,” Qyne nodded with a smile. “Cyubel here will show you to your rooms. Unfortunately, as we live quite humbly, it might not be up to your standards.”

“Well, considering we slept in a genuine shithole until yesterday,” the man said, standing up. “I don’t think we’ll be complaining.”

Qyne watched Cybuel escort the group silently, a twinkle of the deep thought inside his gaze. He had never expected for this to happen; their plans, especially now that the seams were being destroyed, were to simply sit and avoid as much conflict as possible in vain hopes that they somehow survive through it all. Qyne knew that the chances are low, however. King Eldur would likely come after them the moment he consolidated the Throne and raze them out of the existence.

The reason Qyne accepted the deal so readily was in part because, really, he had no other choice, but also because of that intrinsic feeling. Ever so often, a person would arrive at the crossroads of their life--a point at which a single choice has a chance to make or break their future and fortune. Qyne had long since known he should trust in his gut feeling when that moment arrived; it was impossible to calculate, to rationalize, to foresee that far into the future. Human’s conscious mind wasn’t crafted for that.

The gut feeling, however, relies on the ocean of information that the conscious mind couldn’t comprehend, that simply floats in the subconscious. It’s how a person knows to avoid a barking dog, or a dark alleyway, or even how it’s possible to dislike someone merely upon meeting them without ever knowing why.

Qyne got the exact opposite feeling when looking at the man who’d just visited him; the obvious charm notwithstanding, there was something else deeply enthralling about his countenance, so much so that Qyne felt his defenses naturally eroding over the course of the conversation.

“He’s dangerous,” he mumbled, sighing. “In more ways than one...”

**

Cain stared at their new abode with a tear in his eye; though it wasn’t luxuriously decorated, and was instead remarkably simple, it was--by far most importantly-- very, very spacious.

“So, what’s the plan?” Kramer asked.

“There’s none.”

“Huh?”

“Tonight, you and others start brainstorming,” Cain said. “The goal? How do we ram through the Palace and win the Throne!”

“...”

“You still need five lifetimes to be able to whoop my ass because I’m pissing you off,” Cain grinned. “I believe in you guys.”

“... tsk, you already know what to do for yourself. For us? Well, fuck us, I guess.”

“Whaaat? No way, like, at all--”

“--stop.”

“Right. I know you’re just whining for the sake of it,” Cain said, glancing at Kramer who merely smirked in a response. “But I’ve done everything. Short of just kicking you out of this place, I physically can’t help you any more. All the same... I’m still fucking terrified, Kramer. I’ve barely slept ever since we came to this place.”

“...”

“Is it even worth it?” Cain chuckled bitterly. “I don’t know. I’ve a wife and a kid here with me, and a whole bunch of other people my heart can’t afford to lose. This is how I cope.”

“... every time I’d lose a man,” Kramer said. “I’d go to a shooting range, and empty a single clip. Each bullet was me letting go, more and more. Then, it became two clips. Then three. And, at some point, it stopped working. Then, I could have broken... but, instead, I chose to accept a very simple reality, Cain. Everyone’s... their own person. Even if it’s your kid or your wife, they’re Emma and Senna before they’re anything to you.”

“...”

“Doesn’t mean you can’t uproot the world for them, though,” Kramer chuckled.

“Keep ‘em safe,” Cain said with a cheeky smile.

“Ah, miss me with that shit,” Kramer said. “Both of ‘em would whoop my ass if we fought. Most of them would, actually. God, to think I used to be a badass.”

“You still are.”

“And even an ex-alcoholic is now being patronizing...”

“That was just a low blow. Go on, get some rest. Starting tomorrow, it’s gonna be a long haul.”