Garden Of The Abyss

Chapter 87 - Interlude: Honor And Integrity Pt.2

The streets of the capital were bustling as always. Humans and Demi-humans alike traversed the cobblestone road, sharing it with the passing carriages.

The talk of the city lately was the recent events that transpired at the Althaus Estate, what was once a hallmark of noble grace of Mastorn, now had been dragged through the dirt.

A newsboard presenting such information was on display on the promenade, gathering the eyes of the public.

"I still can't believe Lord Althaus."

"That's no lord, he's a worm!

"Yeah...that bastard was harboring an otherworld devil. He got what he deserved."

"I heard the otherworlder escaped."

"Really? I heard Sir Rouge turned him into mincemeat."

The silver-eyed knight was clearly perturbed by their comments, lowering his gaze as all he could do was listen to the people's unjustified hatred. To the knights, this was old news, but for the public--this information had been withheld for months, hiding the massacre at the Althaus estate from the eyes of the people.

Beyond that, the public idolized the Argonauts as heroes of the kingdom. The cheers they gave for the death of otherworlders, it was as if they truly saw them as the incarnation of evil.

Arriving at Damien's abode, it wasn't quite what Getrude had expected. Tunics, trousers, undergarments--all of it, strewn about the house.

"This mess...you do realize the floor isn't meant to store your wardrobe, right, Sir Damien?"

Getrude carefully stepped past the sea of scattered attire.

"Sorry...this is kind of why I didn't want you to come here. I'm not home often, and when I am...well, I just come here to pass out," Damien laughed.

She wasn't much to judge, home was something seldom seen in these busy days. Although, her place was kept in order by diligent maids--Damien clearly didn't have that same luxury.

"Honestly, you could afford much better than this. I don't know how you sleep, living between not one--but two taverns," Getrude let out a sigh, shaking her head.

"On the contrary, I get to live close to two taverns!" Damien retorted with a playful smile, "it's close to work, that's why I chose this place."

The Captain seated herself while Damien scooped up the scattered clothing, tossing it all into the closet as if hiding a dead body. Besides the now past mess, the man's house was rather plain. No art was displayed, leaving only dreadful olive walls to look at.

"I'm tempted to say it is unbecoming to see a knight living in such a place, so claustrophobic…" Getrude shifted about in her seat.

"Excuse my brashness, Captain, but I think you're just used to grandiose palaces. I'm pretty sure your bedroom is the size of my entire house."

"False. I don't live at the royal palace any more, in case you have forgotten. I'd rather not be around that idiotic king if I can help it…"

"You mean your Father?"

The maiden fell silent for a moment. Damien felt partly responsible for invoking such an expression from the Captain, so to make it up--he brought two glasses over to the table, sitting across from her.

"I can't--"

"Just one? To celebrate our terrible fathers?"

"...I can drink to that. Just one."

Proceeding with her blessing, Damien poured the dark liquid into each cup, filling both half way. It gave off a potent, nose-burning smell, enough to wake even the most tiresome man.

"Is this what you use your coin on, Sir Damien?"

Getrude asked, shifting the glass side to side as she watched the liquid bounce.

"Come on, I don't look like that much of a drunkard, do I?"

The glance she shot to him gave him a clear answer, definitely giving him a "yes".

"That's how it is, eh? I only drink on special occasions, otherwise I wouldn't have this chiseled body!"

Damien playfully flexed before taking a sip from his glass. The liquid travelled down his body like lava, setting fire to his insides before he let out a sharp breath. Meanwhile, the Captain put down her liquor without breaking a sweat.

"Okay, enough playtime, Sir Damien. Tell me about what we have on the Outlander's position."

"Right," Damien cleared his throat, "we managed to track them down to the Valley of Grandeuve after their encounter with the sleuth argonaut, Rouge."

"It must've been a hell of a fighter if they managed to elude a man like Rouge, that sick man never lets his "prey' escape."

"Apparently, it was Sora, the ivory--"

"I know who he is. "Valley of Grandeuve", huh? That actually makes sense. Nobody with half a brain goes to that wretched place. There's nothing there besides violent beasts at every turn."

Getrude traced her index finger along the rim of the cup as she thought to herself. If he had to tell you what he liked most about her--it was that look of absolute focus she held in times like this. She was a woman of will, something not expected of a royal princess, which led to one of her most powerful assets--constantly being underestimated.

"I guess we have our destination then, Sir Damien."

She wore a confident smile for once before taking another swig of the singing liquid.

"Actually, about that, Captain…"

"What is it?"

"You know that message we sent awhile ago? Well, apparently it reached the Outlanders. There is one in the capital right now."

The room fell silent as Gertrude looked at the knight for a moment, devoid of words before capturing herself.

"Where are they—? Who is it?"

"Well...that's the problem. Our guy is a real trouble maker, so apparently he landed himself in the slammer. Luckily for us, he's not on the wanted list—he's an unknown Outlander."

"Veindall Keep, I'm presuming? That's usually where they throw in drunkards around here."

"That's right."

"This can work. First thing in the morning then, we're getting our man."

The ponytailed knight nodded his head in agreement, tapping his glass against the rickety table.

"Here's to becoming treacherous knights."

Damien laughed softly as he smiled, raising his glass in the air.

"If that's what it takes to save this kingdom, then it's a price I'll pay."

The two knocked their glasses together before taking one final, large drink.

A beginning of hope rose that day, a beacon of light which would mark a shift in the world once more.