Garden Of The Abyss

Chapter 89 - Interlude: Honor And Integrity Pt.4

Getrude reached to the ash-coloured pouch on her belt, retrieving three platinum coins and setting them on the freckled waitress' hand.

--I didn't expect Damien to pay, but he didn't even offer.

"--This...this is far more than the bill. Was there a mistake?"

The waitress' eyes widened as she looked at the coins set on her palm in astonishment.

"You can keep whatever amount you find to be mistaken. Let's go, Sir Damien."

"Right, right."

Being in a humble establishment such as that brought about unwanted attention to the knights, clad in full decorative armor with flowing capes draped from their shoulders. Even a knight of tremendous integrity as herself felt slightly embarrassed, overdressed compared to the regular customers wearing nothing but stained tunics and trousers.

In their short absence from the overflowing streets of the Capital, it seemed as if it had doubled in population.

"--Would I be reprimanded if I invoked my authority as a knight to part the street?"

Damien asked half in jest as he saw the overcrowded cobblestone road, imagining the hassle that was awaiting them.

"Sadly...yes. Remember, Sir Damien--subtly is our friend here. Just get to the keeps without making a scene."

A slow journey across the prosperous city full of markets and people, humans and not, finally came to an end as the two knights reached the keep. It was a place merely to keep drunkards until they sobered up, usually resulting in the less than morally perfect guards holding the temporary captives until a "fee" was paid.

A single guard stood in front of the shoddy wooden door that led to the cells within the keep, almost hanging off of its hinges.

"Halt--!"

The guard jolted up before stomping one of his metallic boots against the ground, clearly woken up from a mid-shift nap. Wearing a simple iron helmet to protect his head, his pudgy cheeks and big eyes told of his inexperience from a young life.

"--Oh, are you two knights?"

"That we are, lad."

Damien responded, stepping up as he stood head and shoulders above the fluffy haired guard. It was easy to forget that she experienced only the submissive, goofy side of the green-haired knight, and that with strangers--he was an intimidating presence to be around.

Under Damien's subtle intimidation in an attempt to crack the young guard, the chubby-cheeked watcher of the keep's eyes lit up as he looked back and forth between the two visiting knights.

"Hold on--you're Damien, "the Hawk of Sorrow", right? Right?! That must mean...Lady Getrude?! I-I--"

Realizing the identities of the two, the young guard lost his ability to form a sentence--letting out a high-pitched squeal that sent a shiver of second-hand embarrassment through the knights.

"--Hey, hey, calm down, kid."

Damien gripped the boy's shoulder, putting his index finger in front of his own lips to signal for the guard to lower his volume. Swallowing his endless excitement, the guard nodded his head as sweat leaked from his pores.

Letting out a sigh of relief at the guard's compliance, Damien and Getrude looked back--luckily it seemed no attention was drawn to them.

"So, what brings the two of you here--? I mean, this is just a temporary holding for drunkards--it's not a place for two legends."

"Ah, well…"

Turning to his Captain, Damien's eyes pleaded for the maiden to take over the conversation.

"--A man you have in there right now, he is a family friend. I doubt you would like to keep a friend of the royal family locked away in a decrepit, hole of gunk, no?"

More so than the verdant-haired knight, Getrude's presence forced the air right out of the guard's lungs, both out of sheer admiration and fear.

"N-no, go right ahead! Here--take these!"

The guard fumbled with his belt, nearly dropping the set of rusted keys as they bounced between his hands before Damien caught them in the air.

"Appreciate it, kid."

Damien gave him a powerful wink before heading inside the keep alongside the Captain.

Upon entering the musty building, it was obvious it was just a glorified daycare center for men who didn't know their limit when it came to alcoholic temptation.

"--That smell. Clearly the bathrooms aren't very far."

Walking by each cell, Damien resisted the urge to gag at the stench that was a clear mixture of urine, alcohol, and fecal matter.

"Did ya' come to get me out, angel? Never seen hair like yer's, but it smells like flowers."

One of the clearly still drunken prisoners called out to Getrude, leaning against the water-eroded iron bars as he cackled, displaying his black set of teeth, eroded just as the iron he was held in.

"Sir Damien, stay your hand."

Getrude ignored the decrepit prisoner, calmly commanding her companion as his hand was already placed on the handle of his sheathed sword.

"What does our friend here look like?"

"Well, not like that, Captain. At least I hope so. All I know is that...his hair was described like yours."

"Mine…?"

Getrude looked at Damien as she brought her golden locks in front of her gaze. Answering her question, Damien stopped in front of the next cell, knocking his iron gauntlet against the bars to wake up the slumbering man.

"Hah? Can't a guy get some rest around here? Sheesh…"

Slowly standing up, the man was wearing nothing but a pair of tattered gray trousers as his well-defined body made itself known to the knight's eyes. Possessing illustrious locks of gold that flowed past his shoulders, it was confirmed to the two--this was the mysterious Outlander.

As he approached the bars to greet the unknown visitors, the towering height innate to him became abundantly clear. Damien himself stood above most men, nearly a head above the bustling crows--yet, his eye level only met the freshly awoken man's chiseled pecs, covered with dark tattoos that ran across most of his body.

"So, who the hell are the both of you? I was having such a nice dream…damn, I'll miss that heart-shaped ass."

A yawn carried his voice while he stretched his tree-like limbs, reminiscing his recent dream.

"—I don't even want to know what that entails…"

Shaking her head, Getrude attempted to shake away the words referencing a "heart-shaped" rear from her head.

"Who we are doesn't matter. We're here to get you out of this castle of waste."

Damien looked up to the towering man, who looked down on him in turn with somber, black irises.

"Well, you're obviously knights. I don't want shit to do with your kind, got that?"

"—That's funny, coming from you."

"Oh? Got some balls on you, Greenie?"

Tension drove through the air between Damien and the prisoner, before Getrude pulled her companion aside—taking his place in front of the cell.

"We know who you are. What you are. I am Getrude Aerosyndale, the first daughter of King Held the Third. My only wish is to establish a relationship with your group, to have a fair meeting with your leader. Now, if you're interested—shut up and come with us."

At the maiden's stern, straight to the point answer to the prisoner's confusion, he fell silent at her stone-like presence. Damien let out a whistle at his Captain's words before abruptly stopping after feeling her bulwark gaze.

"Lead the way down, Miss."

Raising his hands to claim defeat, the tattooed man waited as Damien scrambled for the correct key. With each false guess, jamming incorrect keys against the keyhole, his hands grew shakier before finally—one went in.

The ex-prisoner had to duck under the entrance to the cell as he stepped into the withered corridor of old stone.

"Before we get to business, how about a drink? The name is Noah, by the way."

"—You've met the Captain already. I'm Damien, nice to meet you. I can go for a drink. That is...if the Captain approves."

The prospect of alcohol quickly did away with whatever previous contention rested between the two men as they shook hands, with grips that would make a normal man shrink. Noah's hand looked almost twice the size of Damien's, with fingernails painted to a stygian.

Looking at the woman like two children pleading with their mother for a toy—Getrude released a short breath before walking past them towards the entrance of the keep.

"I'll make sure you don't drink yourselves back into this keep. Now, come on."

"As long as you're paying."

Noah slid his hands into the pockets of his trousers as he followed behind the royal knight.

Another yawn left the Outlander's mouth as he excited the keep, entering the light of day once more as he stretched as if accepting the day's embrace.

"Oh—here you go. Thanks for letting us borrow them!"

Passing by the pudgy guard who looked horrified at the sight of Noah, Damien tossed the set of keys onto the guard's hands.

"Let's see...where's the best beer around here?"

Like a child at a candy shop, Noah turned side to side without any regard for the passing city folk as he scanned for a tavern.

"—Before you sink yourself in alcohol, something needs to be done about your attire. And...your odor."

It wasn't just Getrude who found the man's current state repulsive, who looked as if he just crawled out of the slums—those who passed within a two meter radius of Noah scrunched their noses in response to his odor.

"Is it that bad?"

Lifting his lengthy arm into the air, he brought his nose down to his armpit to confirm the level of danger he carried with him. As the stench of his own body odor reached his nostrils, he reared his head back as if the stench burnt his nose hairs.

"It's not that bad—"

"You're just impatient to get your alcohol. Sir Damien, lead the way. I'm sure you have an establishment in mind to help our companion here."

"I don't know if any tailors make clothes his size...but alright, I think I have one place in mind. He might even give the guy a good scrubbing for a tip."

Unbecoming of a man of his rather intimidating appearance, Noah pouted at the knight's postponement of the tavern visit, puffing up his cheeks before releasing a puff of air through his puckered lips.

Now guided by the verdant knight, they traversed the grandiose staircase that looked as if it was built for giants—even containing small gaps of flat ground after a set amount of steps as a rests point.

"I never get used to these stairs, marched with this armor and the glaring sun…"

"Sir Damien, I wonder when it became natural for you to complain in front of your superiors?"

Getrude walked up the clean, silver steps without a hint of exhaustion.

Looking at Damien, Noah paid the man back with a whistle of his own this time.

Sweating off a portion of his body weight, Damien soon reached the summit of the stairs that led to the second layer of the expansive capital—looking up towards Getrude who had stopped in place upon reaching the top.

The sight of what had captivated Getrude's attention nearly made him stumble down the stairs he had just traversed. A body completely formed of timber and steel, possessing no skin, flesh, or muscle--wrapped with a scarlet cape that draped over its back, the entity certainly resembled the concept of a knight. Each movement it made released creaks between its wooden joints, yet somehow moved as fluidly as a normal person.

"Greetings, Sir Damien, Lady Getrude."

"--Ah, good morning to you, Sir Regibelle."

It wasn't their first time meeting the inhuman knight, but it wasn't a sight they had quite gotten used to. Sir Regibelle spoke without a mouth, its gentlemanly voice conjured by the existence of rune magic etched onto its throat. Just by speaking to the golem knight, it would be impossible to realize he wasn't human--until you saw him.

"May I ask who this...gentleman is with you? Have you made an arrest? If so, I will gladly take him off your hands--I know it is both of your days off."

Turning his wooden head, gilded with decorative metals, Sir Regibelle looked at Noah with the singular, large, golden gem that sat in the middle of its head, acting as its catalyst of sight.

"The fuck is this thing?"

Noah yawned, not at all paying any attention to the conversation.

"--Noah! Apologies, Sir Regibelle. Noah here was...born in the slums. He isn't familiar with the hierarchy in this kingdom and the manners natural to it."

"No need to apologize, Lady Getrude. I am used to such questions. Mr.Noah, was it?"

"Just Noah."

The colossal, blonde man lacking in any department relating to manners scratched his head, paying no respect to the knight he had just met.

"Well...urr, Noah, I am Sir Regibelle. I am aware my appearance can be quite perplexing to new eyes, worry not. I am a golem created to serve the kingdom of Mastorn dutifully, I can promise you that."

Placing his gilded wood hand over his chest that resembled a breastplate, Sir Regibelle bowed as he formally introduced himself. The two knights couldn't help but feel completely embarrassed for their ill-mannered companion's behavior.

"Lady Getrude, Sir Damien--may I ask again who this man is? I don't mean to pry, but my functions are designed to make me quite wary. Upon checking my database--he is not a registered civilian of Mastorn."

The cylinder that held Sir Regibelle's crystalline eye seemed to hone in on Noah, the scarlet curtain on his back being pulled against the wind as droves of civilians passed by.

"--"

"--"

Falling silent as they carefully considered their answer--such hesitation was necessary with the man-made knight, as the pragmatic entity would have no trouble debunking a flat lie. Even as the eldest princess, if she was found to be harboring an otherworlder, the king wouldn't hesitate a moment to have her head taken from her shoulders.

"--I will ask again, Lady Getrude, Sir Damian--what relation does this man have to you?"

As the silence persisted within the air, the wooden hand of the on-duty knight placed on his side, near the extravagant, marble handle of his sword.

"Sir Regibelle, you do understand who you're demanding answers from, don't you?"

Stepping forward, Damien was the first one to respond to the golem's relentless questioning of their companion.

"Captain Getrude is the amongst the highest of authority with Mastorn. The eldest princess, the captain of an acclaimed squadron of knights--demanding answers from one such as her is stepping far over the line."

"--You're right...you're right, Sir Damien. It seemed I had entered a defensive protocol, I wasn't thinking rationally. Forgive my disrespect, Lady Getrude. Please, continue on with your day--I'm sure we all have a busy day ahead of us."

It seemed hierarchy was the principle function in which the golem knight adhered to, unable to manifest a will of its own when faced with one of higher authority. Still, even if Sir Regibelle was a being absent of human emotion--it looked as if he were saddened as he walked down the steps with his head drooped down.

"Seriously, you have robot knights now?"

"Robot? Please refrain from using your world's terminology, Noah. Not while we are under the gaze of many."

Damien whispered to the man, having to stand on the tip of his toes to reach his ear. Reaching the promenade of the second layer of the capital, while not as populated as the initial floor--was packed with other entities.

Carriages being pulled by tigers that dwarfs the likes of which on Earth, while some of these lavish caravans were hoisted forward by reptilian creatures that resembled wingless dragons, stomping their large feet against the ground as they rushed down the street.

"The hell are we? Doesn't look like any taverns are nearby."

"Gulgran's Purse."

"Goblin's Purse?"

Noah repeated the words spoken by Damien, who gave him a glance as if suffering too much of a headache to repeat himself again.

"Gulgran is a famous merchant told of in stories now. He was said to have been the backbone of Mastorn in its fetal stages, accruing so much wealth that he made up two-quarters of the nation's wealth. That's why they named this area after him--it's a wealthy promenade, holding affluent shops mainly visited by high-class shoppers."

Telling the origins of the area, the verdant haired knight was given a bellowing yawn from the freakishly tall Outlander in return, releasing his breath that stank of booze.

"Don't bother, Sir Damien. Our friend here doesn't seem to be one for history, or any talk for that matter."

"Huh? I'm talkative, just after I've had a few mugs to my name. Doesn't help I've got this throbbing headache."

Replying to Getrude's casual comment, Noah rubbed the side of his head before his eyes lit up at the sight of the grandiose fountain sitting in the middle of the promenade. His tongue flapped out of his mouth, hanging on his bottom lip as he panted like a dog at the sight of the crystal clear water, flowing from the top of the delicately designed statue to the pool of the fountain.

"--Captain!"

Getrude had looked away for only a second before Damien called her name, turning to see the Outlander had leapt into the fountain, dipping his head under the waterfall. The sight of what they could only assume to be a crazed man frightened the people standing near the fountain.

"I can't let you out of my sights for a minute...Noah!"

By the time she stormed over to the lean and muscular man, drenched in water--he was wearing a satisfied expression as he swept his wet hair out from his face.

"What do you think you're doing? I thought I told you we're supposed to be laying low."

"I was thirsty, what do you want me to do?"

"Not behave like a feral beast?"

Placing her hand over her face, Getrude slowly shook her head as she closed her emerald eyes for a moment.

"--At least he's clean now."

Damien cracked a joke, looking at the Outlander as water rained from his body with each step he took.

"Let's just get him to the tailor already…"