Young Karolus was quite flustered by the new arrival. To the boy still a fledgling in the world outside, the Hippogriff Express was a breathtaking thing, a marvel that could have been mistaken for a flying beast of metal if not for the grim-faced man who rode atop its trolleys. Yes, Ruggiero was here — he was a witness to all the ruin and destruction wrought upon the capital’s streets.
His once friendly smile was now twisted into an enraged snarl. His body shook and trembled, unable to contain the fury within, and as he looked down to discover the culprit for all this madness, he came upon the figure of his former lord. Ruggiero’s eyes widened; far too many thoughts rushed into his head at once, yet he understood immediately what he had to do.
The man held the reins of the Hippogriff with one hand, and he raised the gleaming crystal blade of the Balisarda in the other. Longer, wider, it grew until its form shadowed all those beneath the purple skies. Ruggiero shouted to the heavens and he plunged in descent, barreling toward the Evil whose guise remained ever unconcerned.
“Pepin!” the Moorish Peer roared in anger. “Begone, foul wraith! Begone and rid this land of your curse forevermore!”
With a swing of his arm, the Balisarda came crashing down upon Pepin’s decrepit form. The former emperor lazily stood still, expecting to endure the blow like he did against countless others, but that arrogance would soon devolve to surprise for the Balisarda carved deep his veins of putrid black, and it would have passed right through his bone had Pepin not resisted at the last moment.
So powerful was Ruggiero’s attack that his foe was sent flying back, his feet dragging across the earth and leaving ruptured trails in his wake. When Pepin recovered, he looked at the large gash across his chest. He stared at it, perplexed, and then directed his ire back toward the one he once humiliated as a trophy of war.
“Oooh…” he rasped. “Ruggiero, how amusing. To think the cowardly sparrow would grow to peck at its master, when before it could not meet my gaze without shivering in fear. Bird from another land. Pawn whose name I bestowed. Come to me and kneel, for I am your lord.”
The revolting sound of Pepin’s voice confirmed Ruggiero’s worst fears. The late emperor had returned, his visage even more vile than before. One look at the demonic heart pumping in his chest gave all the explanation the Peer needed: the source of all this tragedy.
Yet, when Ruggiero looked around he saw not his fellows nor his wife. There were no paladins nor priests armed in resistance. The implication of this wretched demon’s lone march would have surely sent him into a spiraling rage, were it not for the figure of a young boy standing a distance away, the one Ruggiero had expected least of all to see.
“... Your Holiness?” the man sputtered, unable to contain his disbelief. “You’ve left the castle. No, it is not safe here. You must—”
But Karolus shook his head. His resolve could not be swayed no matter who pleaded otherwise. “I’m not going back, not anymore. Now I want to stand alongside you, Sir Ruggiero.”
The Moorish man wished to refuse, but his lord’s sincerity, his true liege, caused him to waver. This child should never have been forced to pick up the sword. Even now, Karolus’s hands trembled, yet nonetheless his gaze remained blindingly firm. He would be coddled no longer. The boy once content in a gilded cage had finally gathered the courage to soar free.
“How dare you avert thine eyes before me?”
Pepin crouched down and then leapt toward the sky, chasing after the snaking train. Ruggiero did his best to maneuver away, but unfortunately his steed was just too large, and the former emperor managed to grab one of the carriages. He mounted it with ease and raised his fist, ready to send the airborne vehicle plummeting back to the ground where it could no longer be a nuisance.
Before he could however, a glint of steel flashed across his sight. Pepin raised his arms and narrowly blocked a certain gentleman from piercing his heart with the tip of a cane.
“Oh dear, now this won’t do. This train’s occupancy is already full," Lucius said, standing upside down in what should have been an impossible feat against gravity. "You’ll have to board it some other time.”
Lucius raised his leg and swept Pepin off his balance, causing the man to stumble from the train and freefall through the air, before smashing into a deep crater in what once was the castle’s garden. The gentleman meanwhile followed after, daintily floating with an umbrella in hand.
He couldn’t allow the Hippogriff Express to fall so quickly after its arrival. Where would the fun in that be?
A plume of dust erupted from Pepin’s landing. He slowly lurched out with a stark expression of annoyance, his wounds oozing in slimy streaks. The former emperor didn’t have much time to rest before an incandescent wave of light came surging forth and sliced into his face, then came another, and another, countless barrages rendered onto him by his son. With each slash of the Joyeuse, Pepin’s wounds deepened, and his soggy flesh tore into pieces.
The three fellows worked in tandem, plaguing the former emperor with an assault he could never truly stop. From the air, Ruggiero charged the Balisarda’s blade and dived down, delivering a devastating strike at the Evil’s most vulnerable. From the ground, Karolus engaged his father on foot and stopped him from advancing, fist and sword colliding in thunderous clashes that rumbled the very earth around them. And when either two appeared to be in danger, Lucius would swoop in when Pepin least expected it. Sometimes the gentleman severed his tendon — other times he stabbed his gut. Again and again, Pepin would rise back up, but unlike before there was a noticeable change, a feeling, that began to worm into his groaning breaths.
Frustration.
Pepin could not comprehend it, the reason why he struggled against these things he considered far, far beneath him. For his entire life, the man had his very whim granted, his every pleasure sated, and he lived while never truly facing any meaningful setback. Even when others plotted his death, he survived, unharmed and unbothered. When he waged a seemingly impossible war against all nations in the continent, he emerged victorious and subjugated all under his rule.
Yet now, he could not grasp it: their necks, their fear, none at all. Was it his weakened form to blame? Did the years spent in the rivers of oblivion dull his senses? He did not know, and truthfully the answer didn’t matter. It did not change his miserable, laughable state.
And for a moment, a thought came to his mind. Something unfathomable. That he would even entertain its existence was a shock that threatened to shake his very core.
It drove him mad, the possibility that he would die for the second time.
“Ah… yes, I see. I have been too lenient, too generous in my charity that even such meagre things can have the gall of impudence. It is mine fault. Your fear was a sweet delight I wished to cultivate, but now there is no longer any joy to be had. It is not entertaining, not pleasurable. The time for games is over. You bore me.”
The sludge around Pepin’s body gradually began to clump together. It spread across his chest, his limbs, even his face in a lumpy shell that convulsed in sickening squelches. The grey fog that once wrapped around him now trickled across the area, and with its touch the blood and bits of gore splattered from their fight birthed a new viscous colony: darkness and grime and decay given free rein to propagate wherever its strands could reach.
Pepin’s demonic heart pounded louder. From its beat came an inescapable flood of nausea, and Karolus and Ruggiero shuddered, for the sound heralded a sight they could not fully comprehend. With each second that passed, the city devolved into a nightmarish scene, corrupting further and further with a strain Lucius had become intimately familiar with.
It was the domain of the demons. If Pepin wasn’t stopped, then the entire capital would be infested, transformed into a paradise only the nonsensical and the damned could thrive.
Pepin held out his arms and let free a satisfied croak. His mind, depraved though it be, was not like the other Evils, whose sanity seemed eroded as if trapped in a neverending dream. He was fully aware of his actions. His thoughts were unclouded. Yet even so, he welcomed the demonic spread with a gleeful, sadistic laugh. He beheld the land of his ancestors and his home decades spent under his rule, and he forsook it all.
“It is an annoyance to reduce mine work to rubble, but what of it? I can always rebuild, find new subjects to torment. I am the embodiment of Francia — the empire is me. It is where I take my steps, where I deem it to be.”
There was nothing Lucius’s fellows could do, no way to stop the spreading stain. Karolus and Ruggiero tried to hack away at the demonic growths, only to helplessly watch it furrow beneath their feet and take root. Attacking Pepin did not slow its advance. The corpselike man was now even more of a menace with his armor of sludge; and the trio felt their assault weakening, unable to fully pierce nor inflict a meaningful wound.
This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
Just when it felt like they had finally gained an advantage, Pepin brought despair unto them once more.
“Do you see it now, my son? Do you realize what your tantrum has wrought?” he said, deflecting Karolus’s strikes with nothing more than the wave of his hand. “Charlemagne, mine rebellious little Charlemagne… this is your fault. Had you obeyed your father, I would not have needed to resort to such extremes. You, and only you, are to blame.”
The sludge blanketed the ground in a deep, filthy mire, hindering all those caught in its grasp. Even Lucius was slightly inconvenienced by the new terrain. Wherever he stepped, strange and deformed limbs would emerge, grasping at his leg, and black wriggling tendrils sprouted far as the eye could see which prevented Ruggiero from approaching.
The creeping laugh of the demons soon plagued the air. Karolus was growing weaker. In time, he would no longer have the strength to fend his father off, the Joyeuse’s light would grow dim, and the demonic spread would escape the city’s confines to infest the land.
It was all over. The mission, the world, the players’ efforts to survive despite facing tragedy after tragedy… the end had finally come for them.
Or so it appeared, until Lucius heard a sudden grunt from behind. The gentleman was surprised, he truly was, for there right before his eyes was someone he had never expected to see: the scowling face of a man who had given up his Peership.
“Hrm, was this the best you could do, uncle? How laughable. I take leave preparing to stop your misguided ways, only to discover this wretched sight and your form already beaten.”
From out of thin air, the ever haggard Renaud manifested before Ganelon, who had crawled next to the gates surrounding the castle. The demonic corruption would have reached him eventually, but still he clung to life and forced his weathered body onward, trying to get out of the way. It was a depressing display for a man once so proud like he, and Renaud appeared to agree. He shook his head, tutted, and helped his uncle up despite their differences.
“Renaud? You—” Ganelon coughed. “You fool. Why have you come to this damned place? How did you even…”
Renaud smiled wryly and held out his arm, which was covered all over in precious looking bracelets, rings, jewels and crystal bands. “Before I left, I just so happened to wander into our family’s treasury. These artifacts have been collecting dust in House Dordognes for far too long. Who’s to blame me for wishing to air them out for a spell? Though, I certainly didn’t expect you to be this miserable before I even had the chance to use them.”
“Haha, that’s… my boy. But I’m afraid you’re too late. Look all you wish, gaze upon my wretched state. If you’re satisfied, then leave and save yourself already. There’s nothing you can do here. Francia is doomed.”
Indeed, any rational man would have long fled after witnessing personally the horror dredged up by Pepin’s mad rampage. Renaud glanced at the putrid thing that once was his liege, and he recoiled back in disgust, hatred coursing through every cell in his body. But despite how viciously he wished to wring Pepin’s neck, the sickly man knew that, by himself, he’d be of little help.
But power didn’t lay only with what one was born with. For Renaud, he had another tool. And that was his family’s wealth.
“You forget one thing, uncle,” Renaud casually said, raising his hand as the crystals he stole began to glow one by one. “In this land, there is none more stubborn, or rich, than I.”
The sky high above parted, and the once-darkened expanse soon gave way as a giant golden cage fell from the heavens and crashed with a mighty thud upon the world. The cage surrounded the encroaching sludge and prevented it from spreading any farther, burning all that attempted to draw near its radiant bars. Pepin, for the very first time, screeched out in pain as the light bathed him and the others in a holy cascade.
The filth and sludge withered; they retreated back to the body of their master, whose armor was rapidly burning away in smoking clouds. He flailed and stumbled over his steps, wailing with a terror he had never thought possible of himself. It confused him. It frightened him. The man who delighted in the fear of others could only now scream, as that very fear now swallowed him whole.
“Renaud. Renaud! A shriveled thing too frail to bother with. How dare you repay mine benevolence with treachery, when I granted even a hapless worm like you the title of Peer?”
Pepin yelled, enraged, and lunged after Renaud, closing the distance between them with but a single jump. But before the man’s boundless wrath, the former Peer merely chuckled and, with a snap of his fingers, teleported away with Ganelon in hand.
“To think I was ever afraid of such a pathetic cur,” he said, reappearing by Lucius’s side. “Hehehe… so this is how it feels to be strong. I quite enjoy this situation. Do forgive me, uncle, but I’m afraid House Dordognes will soon have its coffers destitute: a small price to pay for your nephew’s enjoyment, no?”
One of the crystals in Renaud’s hold promptly shattered, likely the one that conjured the golden cage. The sickly man didn’t mind it. He wielded the accumulation of his family’s wealth with reckless abandon, delivering onto the former emperor a whorl of disaster even Karolus wasn’t capable of. Tornados of flame melted his flesh. A frigid storm froze his breath and caused sharp stakes of ice to pierce his throat. The earth itself ruptured beneath him, burying him in a coffin of dirt and bark.
Eventually, all of Renaud’s treasures broke except for one. Pepin had endured it all, but even with his inhuman resilience he could not recover from the damage, the shame, humiliation, wrought upon him by the weakest Peer in the empire’s history. It left a stain on his soul that could never be ripped out.
“Hrm? It appears my use is soon to end,” Renaud said, tossing the broken tools away. “Oh well, I’ve had my fun. It’s time that I pass the banner onto another more deserving.”
His ring flared, sending an orb directly above Pepin’s head. The former emperor braced himself, but what came was not an attack, not a spell. No, instead a familiar armored figure burst out with a roar and plunged their blade deep into Pepin’s spine, clinging to him with a bestial tenacity that refused to let go. The last time Lucius had seen the fellow, their abdomen had been impaled, and they were swept away in the city’s tide; but here they were now exhausting the last of their strength to keep their mortal enemy trapped.
“Come, everyone!” Sir Roland, in the flesh, shouted. “Whilst I still hold, end this scourge here and now!”
The others were stunned for a moment by Roland’s appearance, but they soon sprung to life and rushed ahead, their steps pounding, their hopes reignited. One by one they fell upon Pepin and whittled him down with all the force of their soul. They hacked and hewed and flayed, and Pepin could only flail around erratically as Roland pinned him down.
Fear wormed its way back to Pepin. His voice grew increasingly more alarmed, and his composure shattered, regality and power and all he prided in himself tearing away to make room for utter desperation. He felt it in the slowing beats of his heart and the fading vision in his eyes. He felt his body fall limp and the pain that so tortuously erupted with each stab that came. He felt, more clearly than ever before, completely helpless — just as all his victims once suffered.
“No, how could this be?” he sputtered. “I am the lord. Even death could not stop my return, so why does mine strength falter? What is this sensation surging in my chest? This terrible, gnawing, seizing cold…”
Pepin could not understand. He thrashed about in a pathetic last act of resistance, rambling like a child as his appearance deteriorated into a broken, terrified husk. Yes, he was terrified. He did not realize it at first, for not once had he ever experienced that uncontrollable shiver or the gasping breaths that came with the slow unwinding of one’s control, but now in these harrowing moments that word flashed plainly in his thoughts. He was terrified. He was afraid. Unlike the demons which gave him a songworthy end, his death here would come by the hands of his people and those he thought beneath him. His death would be wrought by the very victims he once terrorized.
Pepin cried, for he felt true fear.
“It’s over, father.”
Roland’s exhaustion finally caught up to him, and he collapsed to the side as Lucius, Ruggiero, and Renaud all parted way for Karolus to step forth. What remained of Pepin could hardly be called living. His bone and flesh intertwined in grotesque, mangled patterns, and the base of his skull could be seen poking out as his jaw hung shattered and bloody.
Karolus no longer trembled. He gazed at Pepin’s mutilated form, and he frowned. Perhaps he should be overjoyed that this monster who caused so much pain and suffering, who tortured and ruined the lives of those he loved and never knew, would finally face justice for his actions. Not one person would blame him for feeling so.
But as the young boy raised his sword, he could not smile. Even now, even when it was necessary, he took no pleasure in taking a life. He understood that it had to be this way. Nevertheless, his chest still ached with sadness.
Karolus, to the very end, was his father’s opposite.
“Ah… mine son,” Pepin groaned. “Even as you prevail over your father, your face twitches with such pathetic sympathy. You are weak, boy. You will crumble under the weight of lordship, and in time you will understand that my way is necessary. The people will fear you. In life, you will be miserable, mingling amongst those who shall never forget, forever envy, your divine right. I curse you with this knowledge, Charlemagne. I curse you for the rest of your days, as my bones turn to ash. I curse you, Emperor of Francia.”
Karolus closed his eyes, and he solemnly nodded. “Goodbye, father. I have no kind words to send you off with.”
The boy leaned forward and, after a gentle push, pierced Pepin’s heart. The man’s eyes grew dim. He slouched down, muttering a final curse until his chest heaved no longer.
Pepin, the Evil of countless names, had been slain.
>[Congratulations! The main quest has been completed]<
*(NEW!) + 1000 EXP
*(NEW!) + 5000 Cosmic Coins
*(NEW!) + 10 Unallocated Status Points
*(NEW!) [1] Skill Rank-Up Card
*(NEW!) [1] Armor Enhancement Card
*(NEW!) B-rank Skill: Walking-Talking Cologne
[Rank B] Walking-Talking Cologne (Passive): You passively emit a pleasant floral smell, which can be changed to resemble a cologne or perfume in your possession. This skill can be turned off if desired.
*(NEW!) B-rank Treasure: Neverending Handkerchief
Description: Tired of keeping all your handkerchiefs stuffed away? Are your finances in such bad state that you can’t even spare a few coins to purchase them in the shop? Well never to fear, for the Neverending Handkerchief is here! With this state of the art product developed by the fine inventors at Starfarer Enterprises, you’ll never run out of handkerchiefs no matter how many you pull out (unless it’s destroyed). Colors and size can be customizable: perfect for a fashionable gentleman!
>[As a reward for your grand feat in this battle, the system has granted you a new title: The One Who Made Fear Itself Quiver!]<
Effect: Whilst speaking, you will inflict a slight fear debuff to everyone who can hear you. Those with high mental resistances will not be affected. This title may be turned off if desired.
The Esteemed Gentlepeople of the , to whom I am forever grateful.
[The Distinguishedly Dandy Gentlemen Hall of Fame]
