REBORN AS THE BLACK-KNIGHT - Chapter 2 - New (Patreon)

Sorry for the delay on FC chapters. FC is in it's final arc of 10-15 chapters and I want them to sit perfect. In the meantime, here's a story I've been working on some more!

If you read this first version uploaded here before. Chapters 1 + 2 have been internally combined into one long chapter and this new chapter is now chapter 2. Enjoy!

Chapter 1 - https://www.patreon.com/posts/new-story-reborn-74936517 

Chapter 2 (OLD)- https://www.patreon.com/posts/reborn-as-black-74936728 

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CHAPTER 2 (New)

Acacia Odofredus Krone

Human, Female, Initiate

Level 05

Location: The City, Home

Blurriness is the first thing that she takes note of as she wakes up, her eyes slowly opening and breaking the tight seal that they had formed around her consciousness as she stares blankly.

Her body is sore and her head is throbbing, which isn’t actually too unusual of a state for her to be waking up in these days.

The girl runs her tongue over her dry lips and mouth.

She’s in bed.

Acacia blankly stares for a time.

— She blinks, sitting upright in a jolt and looking around herself.

‘She’s in bed’?! The thought repeats itself in her mind.

Wincing from her movements, she holds her throbbing head and then slides her legs over the side of the bed, kicking away some empty bottles that roll off a few feet to the tiny wall of the basement room.

Confused and dazed, she looks around herself.

This is her room.

What was… what was all that?

Was it some weird fever dream, brought on by the slow progression of the sickness?

Acacia coughs, clearing her throat out of habit, as she looks around the room in a daze.

No.

No, that wasn’t a dream. She was trying to find work and then…

— Her eyes go wide, and she jumps up, kicking more glass away as she runs to the door to the tiny cellar room and opens it, stepping outside into the city back-alley and then looking around.

It’s daytime. Back here, everything looks fine.

She runs a few steps down the alley on the side of the adventurers’ guild and looks at the plaza.

It’s destroyed.

People are running around, cleaning up the rubble. Sorcerers and wizards of the less destructive schools of magic are using their spells to move away debris, as are the particularly strong physical types. Facades are already being repaired by teams of craftsmen of many trades, and patrolmen march the streets in groups of three, keeping a sharp eye on everything.

Rubbing her eyes, she looks around herself and then heads back past the garbage bins in the alleyway and down the small staircase, into the cellar room, closing the door behind herself.

The attack was real, then. If that was all real, if the attack on the city was real and all of that mayhem and death was real, if her attempted kidnapping was real, then so was her rescuer… right?

Acacia leans back against the door, one arm hanging loose and her other hand fiddling with the fabric of her robe on her chest.

But what the hell was that?

Was it some feverish delusion? The impossibility of the situation is, of course, clear to her. But it felt so real, right? 

“…Sir Knight,” she mutters beneath her breath, trying to recall exactly what had happened last night.

“Your Majesty,” says a voice from nowhere.

Acacia jolts upright, looking around the tiny room. “Show yourself!” she orders, not quite sure how the impossibly large giant could be in here. She opens the door again, looking back outside as if he were standing on the other side of the door, but he’s not there.

She holds her mouth open as she smells the smell of air, shortly before a lightning strike and tastes the taste of copper on her tongue. Black smoke wafts out between the gaps of her fingers.

As before, the entity releases itself from her body in a truly uncomfortable manner, leaving Acacia gasping for air after it is finally free. She lifts her head, looking at the shadow that forms together into a hulking creature that can barely stand in this tiny room, his head bending down because the ceiling is too low.

“It was all real?” asks Acacia. Although, she’s not really asking him as much as she is asking herself and the universe. He nods. “You’re real?” she asks, lifting a hand and moving it towards him to touch the foggy body that is only starting to come together now into something solid and coherent. The spot that her finger reaches ripples outward as if she had touched the surface of water, but then it comes to an abrupt stop as his body hardens and becomes manifest. “What is this?” she asks.

The shadow looming over her shrugs. “Good question,” he replies. “What do you want it to be?” asks Sir Knight, and she stares at him. The man lowers himself down onto one knee, perhaps as a sign of fealty or perhaps simply so that he isn’t butting against the roof.

It’s quiet for a moment as the question lingers in the room. What does she want this, all of this, to be?

“…Real,” replies Acacia, knowing the answer. “I want it to be real.” She clenches her fists, her mind racing. It really happened. Everything that happened last night, everything that was said, she wants it to be real more than anything else in the entire world. She wants to be something, to be anything more than an absolute z-

Sir Knight lifts a hand, stopping her.

- An absolute nothing.

“…I don’t like that you’re reading my thoughts,” says the girl, lifting an eyebrow. “Are you a demon? What are you?”

Sir Knight shakes his head. “Fair. But we’re connected,” he replies. “For as long as I reside in you, I am essentially just a thought of yours, and no, I’m just a man,” he says, looking down at his hands as if to make sure this statement were still true.

Acacia looks at him, crossing her arms. “I don’t like that you’re actually inside of me either,” she notes.

“Also fair,” replies Sir Knight. “It is a little awkward. But I don’t make the rules.”

Acacia stares at him, and he stares at her through the slits of his heavy helmet, behind which only the glint of a glowing eye can be seen and nothing more. The room is silent for a moment. Her gaze drifts wayward, wandering over to an empty glass bottle down on the floor and then back towards him.

“I would prefer not to live in a bottle,” says Sir Knight, reading her thoughts.

Acacia looks at him. “Sir Knight,” she says, holding her hands together. “I, Acacia Odofredus Krone, youngest princess of this nation, sincerely thank you for your efforts to save me last night.”

He gives her a thumbs-up. “We’re good.”

She points at the bottle. “But from now on, please stay in this bottle instead of me.”

“As you wish,” says Sir Knight. He rises to his feet. “There is a lot for us to do,” he explains.

Acacia blinks, looking at him. “Do?” she asks, not sure what he means.

Sir Knight nods and stands upright, lifting his cloak to pull out a sack of coins that he had taken from the enemy the night before and tossing it to her. Acacia looks at it, not understanding. She opens the bag and looks inside, yelping in surprise and dropping it as she sees all of the money. A paltry sum that wouldn’t have even been worth holding in her old life. But now…

— The coins all fall out and scatter, rolling around the room, and she screams, dropping down after them to the floor to collect them all back together.

This is more than enough for another dose of her medicine.

“Do,” repeats Sir Knight, as she lifts her gaze to look up at him from the floor, now on her knees instead, as they have seemingly switched places with one another. “To return you to your rightful throne, your Majesty.”

— A coin strikes against the wall, rattling noisily as it slowly comes to a stop.

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“I’ll give you… uh…” The man taps his chin, looking at Acacia before turning back down to the equipment she brought with her and the list in her hand that details Sir Knight’s total collection of plunder from the assault on the city. “Two-hundred.”

“…Two-hundred?” asks Acacia, looking at him and then back down to the breastplate she had brought with her. “For the one?”

That doesn’t sound right. It’s way too much. This one should only be worth -

“For all of them,” he replies, pointing at the list she has with her.

She blinks, looking back at the man, who crosses his arms and leans back against the counter behind himself. “That’s nothing!” replies Acacia. “Just the materials alone have to be more than that!” She emphasizes the number on the list. “I have eleven of them!”

He shakes his head. "Well, Missy, you’re free to dismantle them all for the raw materials on your own then,” he replies. The man taps the breastplate lying on the counter. “This is enemy armor. Nobody here will buy and wear this stuff as is for obvious reasons,” he explains. “The design is too unique. That means I’ll have to either scrap it myself or send it abroad to a buyer where it isn’t so hot.”

Her shoulders slump. It’s not an unreasonable argument on his part. “Still…” says Acacia, pretty let down. Sure, two-hundred is a good amount of money. It’s nothing to complain about at all for anyone who lives in this neighborhood. With the other two-hundred obols Sir Knight gave her, that’ll help cover some of her expenses for a month with a bit of a stretch here and there. But for a small cart-load of light armor, clothes, rucksacks, and short-swords, it’s nothing… She looks back at him. “Two-hundred for the armor and the branded clothes. But I need more for the packs and the swords. They’re not marked.”

He shakes his head. “My best offer.”

“If I go to the market and sell the packs and swords individually, I’ll get more than that,” argues Acacia, pointing at the door.

He shrugs. “Then go do that,” replies the man, matter of factly. “But you don’t look like you have a merchant’s license to sell them to the public,” he explains. “And you’re kidding yourself if you think any of the others are going to give you a better deal. This is a business.” He pulls himself free from the wall. “Take the deal or please leave my store,” he demands, looking down at her, causing pressure to build in her chest.

It’s been a lot to adapt to.

Even as the youngest daughter of the royal family, to be spoken to like this by a commoner would mean the death of the man under normal circumstances, let alone in this tone. Yet here she is, trying to understand the context of this world. Is she being taken advantage of right now in the context of this transaction, or is this deal, in this tier of society, the fairest trade available to someone like her, a nobody?

The merchant class is also low-born, but they’re a tier above the normal riffraff of the city just by the merits of having money. The peasants and other commoners who work normal trades and positions, students, which she is no longer one of, count to this low tier.

However, given that she’s actually technically unemployed, she has no status or position whatsoever. She’s a nothing. If someone killed her in a back alley, it’s not even unlikely that there would be an inquiry into it — it’s just flat out not on the list of events that will happen at all. Her body would be thrown into a cart with the rest that get picked up now and then and that’ll be that.

— Something shakes against her leg, a familiar voice whispering into her head.

Acacia sighs, lowering her head. “Yes, please,” she relents. “I accept.”

“Great!” replies the merchant, knocking twice on the counter with his fist as he walks past her. “Then help me unload, and we’ll get your money.”

She has to help him unload the things she sold at his store?

Acacia decides to hold it in. She needs this money.

The girl follows the merchant to the door, looking down at the flask attached to her belt, a black fog swirling around inside the glass.

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Sir Knight

Location: The City, Acacia’s Room Beneath the Adventurer’s Guild

The coins clatter noisily together on the fabric of the bed in the small room as she sets them all down.

“Why?” asks Acacia, turning her head to look at the bottle she set down now that they’re back in her room. The black smoke wafts out of it, drifting together to form the shape of a giant man. “Why did you tell me to accept that deal?” she asks, looking at him, referring to the whispers he had pressed into her ears inside of the store.

Sir Knight forms together, looking at her and then at the mound of money heaped on the bed. The currency of the land are denominations of coins of many colors called ‘Obols’, which are imprinted with iconography of esoteric symbolism such as skulls, or the faces of great kings. Depending on their size and metal, they are worth different amounts.

“Because, it’s not a big deal,” explains the creature, looking down at his own hands as he comes into coherent shape.

“Huh?” asks Acacia incredulously, stacking the money to count it as she adds it together with her other savings that he gave her yesterday. “It’s a huge deal, isn’t it? If he scammed us?”

Sir Knight shakes his head, the floor creaking under his weight as his body becomes tangible, built out of the black smoke. “I don’t think he was lying,” explains the entity. “It made sense, what he said.” Sir Knight shakes his head. “Besides, you need to make connections.”

“Connec… what?” asks Acacia, counting the money and nodding, before looking back at him, as apparently everything is in order. “He’s just a merchant. There are hundreds of them in the city,” she replies, wiping a strand of short hair away from her eyes.

“A man with eyes in the kingdom of the blind,” replies Sir Knight, leaning against the wall and looking at her. “Even if he was pulling a fast one on us for a profit, offending him will damage your reputation with the other merchants of the city,” explains Sir Knight. “You need their support if you want to ascend to your throne, your Majesty.”

Acacia stares at him for a while, the room staying quiet. “Who are you?” she asks after a moment more. “Why are you doing this?”

“I’m nobody.” Sir Knight looks at her, his arms crossed. “And I’m doing this because…” starts the man, lowering his head to stare at the ground, as if lost in deep contemplation, a deep shadow covering his visor. “- I have nothing better to do.”

“DON’T JUST SAY IT LIKE THAT!” yells Acacia, pointing at him. A metal coin flies towards his head, flung from her fingers.

— There’s a chime as he catches it with one hand, his helmet turning to look at her as the metal disk slides between his metal fingers.

This is the horrible truth, though. He died. He died in his old world and was reborn into this new one, into this new body, but… what the hell is he supposed to be doing?

This purpose here, helping this weird girl out, seems like a pretty good one. In fact, it almost seems like what he should be doing, if the universe were able to assign such things. Why else would he have been brought here to this place and this time?

He just wanted to buy groceries.

“Who are you?” asks Acacia, glaring his way as she repeats her question.

Sir Knight flicks the coin he had caught back to her, the metal chiming as he launches it into the air, as the events of last night replay through is head, the spinning metal, flying through the air in slow motion as his thoughts race catching a flicker of daylight that enters in through the tiny window, which comes together to create the illusion of a flash of moonlight, piercing into haunted eyes.

“Der Schwarzer Ritter,” says Sir Knight, telling her what the men from yesterday had told him, whatever that actually is supposed to mean. Her eyes go wide. He holds his hand against his chest, kneeling. “My mission is to return you to your throne, Your Majesty.”

“…Why?” she asks again, not willing to just let it be.

The room is quiet for a time. Sir Knight then lifts his head, looking at her and seeing a familiar expression on her face. It’s one he himself had worn often in his old life, which isn’t actually that ‘old’, considering the time spans involved. But somehow, it feels like it was years ago already. The look betrays that her question isn’t even geared towards him. She’s not asking him why he would help her do this; she’s asking him why she herself would do this. He gets it. “Because you have nothing better to do,” replies Sir Knight.

It’s really that simple.

Life is going to go by no matter what. She can live down here for a while, though she’s going to have to leave the city eventually because there will be more attempts to take her, if not kill her outright, assuming she finds a way to survive.

She doesn’t reply at first, simply looking away for a time before then looking back at him, her arms crossed. “Do you really think it’s possible?” asks Acacia.

He nods to her. “We’ll pretend that it is,” affirms Sir Knight.

“We could die playing with things like this,” says Acacia, folding her hands together as she steps towards him.

Sir Knight rises to his feet. “We’ll pretend that we won’t,” he replies, shaking his head. “Besides, I’ve died before. It wasn’t so bad.”

Her Majesty sighs. “That’s not a reassuring thing for a bodyguard to say,” she remarks. It’s quiet for a time longer and then she shakes her, slapping her cheeks as she looks at him, that familiar look from yesterday returned to her face. She’s given up on being realistic.

She’s ready to play their game of pretend again.

The floor creaks as he walks over to the bed, moving a finger to separate the coins — the ceiling above them rattles as the people of the adventurers’ guild above them are busy at work. “First, we’ll establish a foothold here in the city,” he explains. “There won’t be another attack for a while,” explains the creature.

“You think?”

He nods. “They had one shot to get you. After yesterday, security measures will be intensified greatly in the region,” explains the monster in armor. “Running to another city over the open roads would be more dangerous than staying here.” He pushes the coins into different heaps. “We’ll make a name for you, starting with the lowest tiers of society here,” he says. “Adventurers, merchants, the people of the trades. We’ll introduce you to them.”

“…Isn’t that risky?” she asks. “If they learn who I am, then-”

“- No,” says Sir Knight. “We won’t tell them who you really are,” he explains. “But we’ll let them learn who we want them to think you are,” says the man. “Once your support in the lower populace is strong, we can move up and start pressing your name into the middle tiers of common society, and we’ll work this same game all the way through to the top,” he says, having pulled out a few coins that he holds in his hand, hovering over hers. Acacia opens her hand, and he drops them down into it. “In this city. And then, once it’s secure, the next, and then the next,” explains Sir Knight. Acacia looks down at the coins he gave her from the pile. “Until we’ve won every heart and mind between here and your rightful title, Your Majesty.”

“…What’s this for?” she asks, looking back at him.

“Lunch,” replies Sir Knight, vanishing into smoke that slowly drifts back into the bottle, just in time as a loud growl fills the room from her stomach, which hasn’t eaten in quite a while.

“...But I’m not good at anything,” she explains, watching him vanish. “I’m not good at magic or fighting. I’m not good at talking or politics,” argues Acacia. “I’m not even good at being alive!”

The glass rattles and wobbles, spinning on its base as the shadow vanishes back inside. “Pretend you are,” finishes Sir Knight, a cork seals itself back into the flask. “Eat. Then we’re going to make you some friends,” he says.

“How?”

Sir Knight doesn’t answer that question. It is, of course, not so easy. If it were, he wouldn’t be in this situation to begin with, as his old life would have been very different. But that’s irrelevant. He’s not that man anymore; he’s someone else now. This is the game they’re playing, so he answers not as himself but as he is now pretending to be.

“Let that by my problem, Your Majesty,” whispers the shadow as the bottle rolls away, down beneath the bed.