Black Knight - Chapter 5 - Rewrite (Patreon)

This is the newly rewritten version of chapter 5. Quite a few things have changed since the first version.

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~ [Somewhere, sometime in the distant past] ~

A contract has been made.

Small, bare feet patter across the hard, stone floors of the palace. The sleek marble slates that the girl quietly runs over reflecting out soft moonlight in all directions as she sneaks through the palace, her hands holding her sleeping-gown up so as to stop herself from tripping as she goes.

Quietly, the girl leans back against a corner, staring out to see if anyone is around it.

There is nobody there in the long corridor. It’s as quiet and empty as one would expect it to be in the middle of the night. The royal guards are elsewhere on their routes.

She hurries, stepping over the precipice and onto the short, burgundy carpeting of the back-room hallway, running past many closed doors toward a silhouette that stands in the middle of the corridor within a mostly neglected wing of the castle — an empty suit of armor on display.

The girl looks up at it, stopping her escapade for its sake.

The armor is old, far older than anything else in the castle, according to her father. Far older than any of them for sure. It’s so old, in fact, that he said even his own grandfather didn’t know where it had come from. It was just… there one day, as far as he could tell.

But that isn’t unusual in a house of royalty. After all, money buys things, and the more money and the bigger a house you have, the more things you need to fill it with. Most of these purchases are handled by stewards. This armor is likely the same, being some relic from a distant kingdom that had managed to survive and find its way to their house.

She turns her head, looking around herself for a moment, before looking back up at the hollow armor. Lowering herself in a small curtsy, she bows down as one would do with an adult of higher stature.

“Herr Ritter, I’ve returned!” says the young girl, playfully looking at it.

— The forgotten armor does not respond.

It would be very strange if it did, after all.

She beams.

Technically, she should be in bed right now. She’ll be harshly scolded if she’s caught. But she had to come back for a good reason. She and the armor have a bargain after all. “If I may -” she starts, reaching for it and fumbling with the straps of his breastplate, opening it to the side to reveal the wooden frame inside and, most importantly, the goods she had stashed there during her escape last night.

The girl smiles, pulling out the somewhat stale cakes she had taken from the kitchen, which are safe and sound, right where she left them. She had almost gotten caught with them, so she stashed it all away here and asked the suit of armor, whom she has dubbed as Herr Ritter to look out for her.

They established a contract.

Sort of.

In reality, it was just her words, echoing through the darkness as she spoke to the lifeless suit of armor, offering it this and that if it would be so good and kind as to protect her ill-gotten treasures for the night.

— Footsteps come from the distance.

She looks. The guards are coming. She then quickly stares back up at the armor. “I’ll see you tomorrow!” says the girl excitedly, although it makes little to no sense in a logical context. Their ‘bargain’ is fulfilled, at least on his part.

However, logic isn’t meant to be the tool used here. She’s a child playing secret games alone in the middle of the night. Her imagination is what brings the armor to life as her protector; its ancient mystique and the stories her grandfather had told her about it add a layer of truth to it.

Now, she is still obligated, if only by the wiles of her own overactive imagination, to repay her part of the deal.

Holding her stolen cakes, the girl runs away down the corridor, back from whence she came.

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~[Present Day - A Den of Thieves]~

Hase sighs in relief, sitting on a pillow on the floor and leaning back against the wall, looking down at the empty bowl down between her crossed legs. The chipped thing is stained with a thick, creamy yellow — remnants from the mashed tuber soup.

She’s eaten four helpings now at once. She feels like she’s quite literally about to burst open.

Sitting there, she ponders if she’s going to risk dying to eat a fifth, or if she’ll go to bed. Outside of her few safe hours down here in the den, food and sleep are hard to come by. On the surface, people don’t really have many handouts for her, especially once they see her rabbit-ears.

Most people are fine with the Vildt in just the same way they’re fine with elves or orcs, but at the same time, there are always those who just aren't, and, for some reason, these people seem to have the most prominent voices in the governance of the nation. Especially in regards to the vildt. This trickles down to the general sentiment.

Or maybe it’s the other way around? Maybe she’s confused. Maybe the general sentiment is what brings those voices to power. She isn’t sure.

Either way, what matters is that it’s safe down here. She can get food down here in the Den. She can sleep down here without being terrified for her life. Shutting your eyes on the surface can mean dying. In the city, people sleeping outside get ushered away from public places by the guards, often with very little tact. Those who sleep in the alleyways and dark places have been attacked and killed before, and not always in robberies gone wrong — as if they had anything to take.

As someone without a clearly defined place to belong, one is viewed as a prey animal in this city. Those people who live within polite society but still carry an animal nature in their hearts make use of these lost people to let out their base depravity.

It’s not perfect down here in the Den. It’s not perfect, being a thief. She hates the scratchy man. He’s disgusting. But at least this is something for her to do to live. It gives her a way to survive that isn’t available to her up above. Sleeping down here means she isn’t going to get set on fire in the middle of the night while she’s asleep.

That happened to someone outside last week. They poured lantern fuel on his bedding and lit it up while he was in it.

Eating down here means she actually has something to eat, which is why she has to gorge herself whenever she has the opportunity.

— Before this, her last meal was three days ago.

Looking down at the bowl, however, she realizes that, despite her heart yearning for more of the vague, yellowish, overly salted slop, she can’t swallow another bite or this really will be it for her.

Slowly, she exhales and rises to her feet, walking through the Den to the little cot that has been designated for her.

People talk and drink all around the many rooms. There are side chambers for people to gamble or do other things in. Smoke wafts up to the stone ceilings, where it can ideally drift into a pipe that goes to some distant place. Although not all of it manages to get out, it leaves the entire air with a thick texture that makes breathing difficult and, if you stay down here long enough, leaves a residue on your skin.

But at least it overpowers the smells from the water channels. That’s something.

Hase reaches over to the cot in the corner and climbs in, sticking her legs into the blankets and worming her way inside as deeply as she can. Two nights.

She wanted a whole week. But that’s what it is.

She’ll make the best of these two nights. She’s going to go to sleep now, and then when she wakes up, she’s going to eat another four bowls to try to get to five at once, and then she’ll sleep again.

After that, she’ll maybe eat some more and then take another nap.

Her head hits the pillow, her eyes that are focused on a glowing lantern, closing in deep exhaustion as she finds her first real sleep in days, her body crashing into a deep darkness in which not even dreams are produced.

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— Something rattles.

Hase opens her eyes, staring at… nothing. Quietly, her head buzzing in a heavy daze, she ‘stares’ ahead of herself into the darkness, not sure if she’s actually awake or not. After a few seconds of reality have their time to run through her mind, she then ponders in her sleep-addled state if her eyes are actually open or not. She’s pretty sure that they are.

Why is it dark?

Rubbing her eyes, Hase slowly sits upright and stares into the black void. She can’t see a single thing. She can’t see the walls, the floor, the room, or even her own blanket. It’s perfectly, totally, and fully dark. Every single lantern and flame is out.

— It’s cold.

And something rattles. Her sensitive rabbit ears pick it up in the darkness.

Reaching around, she feels the wall behind her. Its presence is the only confirmation that she has that she isn’t adrift in her cot on the waters of some endless, black ocean — in the same waters in which the stars of the night sky swim.

What’s going on? Did everyone… did they… did they leave?

This has never happened before.

It’s scary.

The lights are never out down here. The lanterns are always burning, and there are always voices. There’s always something.

But now there’s… there’s nothing.

She opens her mouth to speak, to at least call out a quiet ‘hello’ into the room. But as she opens her dry lips, she closes them again just as quickly, as if the emptiness could drown her if she let out her air.

Hase clutches her blankets.

Something flickers in the distance, immediately catching her attention as it's the only source of any sensation within the void that is the underground room. A flame. A man sparks a lantern; a warm glow immediately radiates outward in a sphere. It’s like he’s in a bubble of warmth and morning glory.

— A shadow cuts through the darkness, the bubble of light being occluded from the side as if someone were holding a hand over her eyes, blocking her from seeing it. But it doesn’t stop her from hearing a sudden scream that then falls very short.

Metal rattles. Boots hit the ground as some people started running. She recognizes the noises. Someone pulls a sword out of a sheath. Somewhere off to the other side of the room, another light starts to glow to life as someone casts a spell.

Screams fill the air as bodies strike one another. The sounds of combat come for a brief moment, and she watches people flail in the dim lighting as if they were fighting the endless shadows themselves. It’s like every time any of the people make a bubble of light, the darkness reaches into it with a hundred claws, crawling, creeping, and clack-clack-clacking with sharp fingers toward them — far too many to ever stop with two hands and one weapon.

There’s so much rattling metal everywhere.

What should she do?

Fear has overtaken her at this point. Fighting isn’t working for the people across the room, so the next best option is running away. She has good eyes in the dark and great hearing. She can make it to one of the doors easily, even in this darkness. She knows the way. From this cot, it's ten steps ahead and then a sharp right-turn and another twenty steps down across the room.

— Another light tries to brighten itself on the left, in the gambling rooms. Metal rattles.

Now’s her chance.

Hase wants to move, but her body doesn’t listen, and after a moment and a few more screams, she finds herself still sitting in her cot. It’s like she’s frozen there, like her body has fused to the wet fabric she’s sitting on.

She has to.

This is like with anything else. She has to, or she’s going to die.

Hase takes a deep breath and screams, her body not entirely sure of the order of these actions as her feet hit the ground, which does exist after all, and she starts running for her life, through the valley of screams, clashing and clinking metal, through volleys of spells, and dying embers that are swallowed by the total void.

Ten steps.

She falls down, tumbling over something that was lying there, and rolls. Scrambling like a feral animal, she turns to the right and runs that way.

Ten steps.

Metal rattles behind her.

Twenty steps. Hase runs as fast as she can, her bare feet slapping onto the cold stones as she sprints. The metal is getting closer.

Thirty!

She reaches out and grabs for the door.

— But there’s nothing there.

Fumbling forward in a half jog, Hase tries to find the door that should be right here. It should be right where she is now. But her arms don’t find anything, and her palms never find rest. It’s like she’s not in the room anymore. It’s like she’s not anywhere.

Quietly, she stands there, listening.

The noises have stopped.

There isn’t any screaming, any rattling, any running, or any fighting. There isn’t a single sound, apart from her own desperate breathing and the strike of her heart that is roaring in her own ears with unusual strength. What’s going on? It’s scary. She doesn’t want to die. She never got to do anything, not a single thing.

Hase looks around the darkness, fumbling for anything.

And then her hands find something.

— Metal.

She can’t see it, but she slowly lifts her gaze upward toward where her mind screams at her to watch, to observe, to beware. A monster.

But her eyes don’t see what her hands feel, and her sensitive ears only hear the sound of metal without the normal tones of a body inside of it, moving it around. It just… screeches and squeaks as hollow metal moves against hollow metal, like a ghost.

It’s just like earlier before, with that weird man, when…

— Metal rattles from behind her too, from next to her. There’s more than one. There are several of them.

Suits of hollow armor, with no men inside of them, roam the darkness, taking the thieves as prisoners as they go along, unable to be stopped.

Hase hasn’t stopped crying yet and continues to do so as a hand grabs her shoulder.

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Sir Knight

The adventurers’ guild

The crowd stands around him in a circle, dozens of people pushing past one another to get to the front.

Sir Knight, sitting down at a table on a chair that is going above and beyond all hopes for its meager frame, turns his head to look at them. A few seconds later, he turns his head the other way, examining the curious and excited faces.

Slowly, he lifts his hand, holding a tiny, delicate plate that is very out of place in its grip. “…This isn’t such a big deal…” he explains, his voice drowning out in the excited chatter that comes from all sides.

“Try it!” says an excited dark-elf, looking at him.

“Wait! Forget that!” calls someone else from next to her. The priestess, looking oddly smug, leans over and takes the plate from his hands as she maintains a cold stare with the dark-elf. “Try this instead,” she says, shaking a small glass bottle his way. She covers her mouth with her hand to whisper. “I brewed it myself,” she says, winking and setting the bottle down into his still open palm that is now missing the cake.

— A tankard donks against the priestess’ head, and she flops over, as the crowd devolves into a fight again as everyone tries to get his attention and make an impression.

It seems that his participation in the boss-fight in the dungeon yesterday made quite an impression on… well, literally everyone. While it’s true that he made quite a statement about his presence during the attack on the city when he first arrived here, that was only seen by a few people, and the rest of his reputation came from word of mouth. However, now, some odd hundred and then some adventurers saw him absolutely decimate an entire boss by himself, he’s become somewhat…

A man stands behind him, leaning over. “Hey champ, I bet that armor’s heavy. Need someone to carry your stuff for y-?”

— Popular.

The man is cut-off, his question interrupted as the priestess from a second ago jumps up, holding the sore spot on her head for a second before she tackles him, the two of them falling to the floor as a fight breaks out between them and then, for some reason, between everyone else too.

Sir Knight sits there at the table as the world around him devolves into anarchy. He sets the small flask down, and slides back the plate of homemade cake toward himself.

It’s a dark dough, with a layer of heavy cream in the middle and also on top. The exterior is sprinkled with flakes of some sweet confectionery. For sure, it’s home-made and not from a bakery, given the way it looks.

He doesn’t need to eat.

During the bread experiment with Acacia, he discovered that in this body he can eat if he so chooses to. But it’s an odd experience, to say the least. Inside the armor, his body is a shadow, a void. The bread was just absorbed into him entirely, and he did taste it, yes. But he didn’t just taste it in his mouth; he felt it throughout the entirety of his gestalt at once.

Very strange.

“…Uh…” says the person sitting across from him as Sir Knight picks up the plate and the cake, putting it into his cloak. Acacia can have it. She hasn’t had real sweets in a while, and she could use some calories. “Okay.”

“Too noisy here to enjoy,” says Sir Knight, looking at the man sitting across from him — a city official who was notified by the adventurers’ guild about a suspicious person. Apparently, he works for the census.

And also apparently, he himself is a suspicious person.

“…Right…” replies the somewhat spindly man, straightening himself upright and folding his hands together. “So, let me get this clear,” asks the official. “Your name is… ‘Sir Knight’?” asks the man.

“It is,” replies Sir Knight.

“- As in, you were given that name at birth?” confirms the bureaucrat in a very sarcastic tone, raising an eyebrow.

Sir Knight nods. It’s technically true. “Would you like to see my menu again?” he offers, lifting a hand.

Palms slam against the table as the lanky human jumps to his feet with a very stressed expression. “- NO!” he shouts, quickly shutting down the offer.

Sir Knight had opened the menu a moment ago, when he sat down with the official to discuss the fact that he is alive and undocumented in this city, having appeared quite literally at the same time as the enemy forces struck. There is clearly the implication that he’s some sort of spy. However, upon opening his main status window, showing his name and his impossible current ‘level’, which is only defined by the character ‘X’ rather than a number that ranges from one to one-hundred, the crowd became even more interested than before.

— A knife flies through the air, and the man ducks down, covering his head just in time as it strikes into the wall behind him. The fight rages.

The man sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose, before looking back his way as Sir Knight takes the flask of whatever was given to him by that priestess, who is currently in a biting fight with two elves, and slowly reaches into his cloak, stowing it away inside of his storage in the void of the fabric.

“My name is Sir Knight,” he recites dryly, as is whispered to him. “I am but a servant to my lady, Miss. Acacia Odofreudus Krone,” says Sir Knight. “Any questions regarding my pedigree should be directed to her in written form,” he repeats. “- As said before.”

“Sir Knight!” says an excited voice, cutting through the crowd. He turns his head, looking at some adventurers he’s seen before but never talked to. “Can you help us in the dungeon today? Please?!” asks a fairy, holding his hands together to beg.

He yelps a second later, flying higher into the air as someone tries to snatch him out of it, as a dozen other voices come to ask for his attention instead.

Sir Knight looks at the inspector. “I would, but I think I’m about to be arrested,” he says.

— The room falls quiet, the three dozen people all stopping their fight in an instant, several red and bruising faces turning their way toward the table and, more importantly, toward the inspector.

The lanky man, feeling very nervous given the glares coming his way, clears his throat and pulls out a piece of paperwork from his bag, sliding it across the table. “I think we’re good here,” he says. “We’ll remain in contact via written word,” says the man, getting up and doing his best to keep the sweat over his face from ruining his composed, calm expression. “Don’t leave the city.”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” replies Sir Knight. “Before you go,” he says. “I have something else,” growls the ominous giant.

— The man from the city, who was in the process of quietly shuffling away with his back to the wall, looks back his way.

“I heard you’re all looking for some thieves,” says the man, pulling out the quest that he had taken from the board after he got his license.

The inspector nods quietly. “Do you have any information?” he asks.

“Better,” replies Sir Knight, rising up from the table. “I have them.”

“Pardon?”

As for everyone else, the zest is out of the fight now, and they all more or less let one another go, rising back up to their feet and returning to their lives. ‘Passionate’ debates aren’t unusual for an adventurers’ guild, and especially not for regulars.

The sound of rattling metal makes itself heard, like a parade of soldiers marching down the road in the middle of the night, filling the night with a ruckus that awakens memories of the fresh attack on the city. People run to the windows, looking outside at the square outside of the adventurers’ guild and at the dozen silhouettes marching there in file, surrounding a group of people.

“Are those soldiers?” asks someone, a voice by the windows muttering.

Someone comes to a realization, pressing their face against the window. “Wait! I recognize that armor,” she says. “That’s skeleton armor, from the dungeon!” explains the sorceress. “The slime-boss ones,” she adds for context, receiving a series of ‘oohs’ and ‘ahs’  in response as people look at the troop of soldiers outside, wearing uniform armor from the dungeon. City guardsmen warily move in around the edges of the square from the distance.

The inspector opens the door, looking out as Sir Knight steps out behind him.

There, standing in the plaza, are eleven men in metal armor, standing in a professional formation around a group of clearly very terrified, pale prisoners, several of them clutching their faces, staring around at the world with wide, lost eyes as if they were uncertain of where exactly in reality they were at the moment.

One of the soldiers steps forward, saluting with a hand against his chestplate. The others follow in suit.

“Your band of thieves, inspector,” says Sir Knight, the inspector looking his way and then back at the prisoners. “A gift from Miss. Krone.” The lead soldier holds out a hand, inside of which is a folded sheet of paper. The inspector takes it, looking at the document. A map of the location of the thieves’ den, together with a fence’s list of stolen goods and nicknames.

The man stares at him. “I’d like to meet Miss Krone…”

“She’s a very busy woman,” replies Sir Knight. “But I’ll arrange a meeting for you.”

After a moment more, the inspector nods and then whistles, gesturing over for the city guardsmen, who move in to take over the situation. The eleven soldiers march off together in file down the road until they disappear into the darkness of the night, their silhouettes entirely dissipating into the distance.

By the time people have finished watching them leave, they then notice that Sir Knight is gone as well — the giant has somehow vanished, as he so often does.

________________________________

It is still the middle of the night.

Sir Knight stands in the darkness, looking around for a moment. After seeing that everything is clear, he holds his arm out, holding up his cloak. “It’s clear,” he says.

“Really?” whispers a voice.

“Yes,” replies Sir Knight, looking down toward the side of his chest as Acacia’s red face slowly pops out of his cloak, a small smear of cream still left below her mouth.

“…I didn’t…” she mutters and blinks slowly. “- You did good,” says Acacia, saying something else now and stepping out of his cloak, which she had been hiding inside of this entire time, wobbling as she holds her head for a second, as if she were unbalanced.

“Are you okay?” he asks. It’s likely very disorienting, being inside of his cloak. From what he can gather, it’s just a vague, empty space with no light, full of floating objects he’s gathered.

She looks up his way, reaching out with both of her hands. Her palms slap against his chestplate, resting on the cold metal for a while. Her eyes fixate on him. “I don’t feel so good…” explains Acacia. She does her best to compose herself. “You were perfect,” explains the once princess of the nation, who may or may not be inebriated given that it looks and smells like she drank the homemade hooch the priestess had given him just prior.

Why exactly she did this isn’t unclear — Only unwise.

This happenstance with the city government taking notice of him was long since expected. It was not only so because of his presence during the attack on the city or because of his newfound fame with the low-level adventurers, but because of his connection to Acacia, who is making a splash with the local merchants of this lower tier district. Acacia, having been schooled in the fundamentals of city governance, knew it was only a matter of time until some curious bureaucrat or tax official sniffed their way and started asking questions.

So when the time came, rather abruptly, she hid in his cloak and has been whispering to him the entire time, telling him what he should say to the man. Although this guiding voice of hers came at greatly varying levels of offense, tone, and formality depending on who was talking to him at the time and what exactly that they were asking him for.

— Adventurers can be, as their title implies, very adventurous, and she may have taken some level of offense to the offers being made to him in her perceived absence.

“Sorry,” says Sir Knight, looking at her as she stares down at the ground between his feet at the girl, who, despite her connection to him, may have actually been treated worse now in their words than before when she was actually there.

This is the problem at hand.

The adventurers love him already. At this rate, he’ll be their king in a week. However, Acacia remains only a side-note to them, and how could she not be? She’s never done anything for them. So there’s a dilemma here, as the story of the weak, useless girl who flunked out of the magical academy begins to intermingle with the new tale they’re weaving together — the one that depicts her as someone of significant importance.

She shakes her head. “It’s not your fault,” replies Acacia, standing there. She lets her palms drop from his armor, straightening herself up as she seems to be able to stand by herself now after a moment of reorientation. “I think I got jealous,” she admits, rubbing her arm as she turns to look at something nearby that is clearly very interesting. The walls here in this city are intoxicating. “— It’s hard to hear all that.” Acacia finally looks up his way again. “Great job with the thieves!” she says, smiling. “I had no idea you were even doing that…”

Sir Knight looks at her as she stands there, having made her first unsuccessful attempt at drinking away her troubles in life, which are now behind her now — like a true adventurer. It’s not so much that she’s jealous of the things people are saying to him. She and him are not that closely connected to one another. It’s more so the fact that people are simply saying such nice, brazen, and wanting-signaling things to him — someone who is ‘new’ to being alive here. Whereas she, with all of her life experience, is an outcast.

It feels unfair to her. Whether that is justified or not can’t be said, but it is what she feels. The human condition is a difficult thing.

“Hey,” he says, reaching out and placing a hand on her shoulder, breaking the contact-barrier between them. She turns her head, looking back at him, her posture loosening a little. “They all don’t know who you are yet,” he explains. “When you’re on your throne, nobody will spare a glance my way, Your Majesty.”

It’s quiet as her expression changes, her red face deepening and moving from a somber expression toward one that is lighter and more aglow. “…Sir Knight…” says Acacia, looking at him. She looks away.

“Just how much of that flask did you drink?” he asks, reaching into his cloak and pulling out the little vial.

“A bit,” replies Acacia, steadying herself, crossing her arms, and lifting her nose. “It’s nothing that I, Lady Ac-” Her throat cracks as she holds down a sudden noise. “- Lady Acacia Odofredus Krone, heir to this nation can’t -” She covers her mouth. “- can’t -”

“Are you gonna throw up?” he asks, looking at the flask that is entirely empty. She chugged it. It’s likely just hitting her now and hard, given that she has literally never really drank before, other than a sip from a tankard of beer while she was trying to act interesting back during her time in the magic academy.

{Homebrewed}(High-Quality)[Slime Liquor]

A 200mL flask that once contained Slime Liquor, an oddly frothy, regional spirit made from a mixture of slime-droplets and roots from the dungeon. It tastes like it sounds.

It is now mostly empty.

• Strength: 72%
• Effect: Causes inebriation

She shakes her head.

But the question answers itself a second later as she runs away to the next corner, purging herself appropriately out of sight of the common rabble, as one would expect of a woman of her title.

_____________________________________

“— I wanted to prove that I was tough too,” says Acacia, a hand slapping against his face from the front. She gasps for air, as if she realized she had forgotten to breathe; her inhalation sharply increasing the tone of the end of her statement.

Sir Knight walks, holding her in his arms as her palm slides down the front of his face. “I know,” he replies as he carries her toward home, but not directly. Acacia folds her arms over herself, donking her head against his armor.

“Put me d- down,” she says. “I can walk.”

“I know that you can,” replies Sir Knight, not doing that because she already tried twice and it didn’t work.

Acacia sighs, her cheek squishing against his armor. “It’s warm,” she complains, sagging in his grip as if she were melting. She exhales a long breath through her pursed lips, fanning herself with a hand as she pulls on the fabric of her dress.

“I know,” he says, looking out ahead of himself through the cool night air as they arrive back at the alley near the adventurers’ guild. “I think it’s time now,” he says, looking down at her. Acacia’s face, painted with a smug smile, looks up his way, and he can already sense what it’s about to say.

He turns, already continuing to walk another lap instead of bringing her to bed.

“Sir Knnn~ight!” starts Acacia. “I order you to take me for another stroll around the c-city!”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” says the avatar of total entropy as it walks on its fourth lap through the park, carrying in its arms a total lightweight who is very likely going to regret her choices come tomorrow morning.

She giggles; the realization that she has power over him is apparently very entertaining in her current state.

— But by the time this latest lap is done, her face, as red as it is, lays gracelessly smudged against his armor as he walks down the staircase into the small room below the adventurers’ guild, looking at her as he sets her down.

Maybe there’s a miscalculation in this plan of his.

He’s been hoping to make her stronger and more notable by pushing her into a pattern of self-improvement, and for sure, there is definitely something to that when it comes to self-confidence, if nothing else.

But that isn’t the whole cure, is it?

— Acacia rolls onto her side, grabbing the thin blanket and balling it up against herself to hold as he starts to dissipate into smoke, which drifts downward slowly toward the floors.

In his old life, he tried the same thing. He made a pattern of routines and discipline that he followed day in and day out so that his feelings could move past a state of total zero — but they never really did, did they?

Sure, he felt better in a way in that old life, but not better in a way he wanted to feel better in.

Sir Knight turns to leave the little basement now that he’s one load lighter.

The only reason he had escaped that old life was because something intervened from the outside. That being the entity that stole him from his old life, the thing that represents the lowest state, Zero.

Maybe that’s the trick to some issues of this nature? Maybe they sometimes can’t be solved by anyone just by themselves.

Maybe a person who is totally isolated, alone, and desolate needs someone else to help pull them free from the blackwater because its depths are too deep, murky, and thick to swim out of under one’s own power alone. He had been trying to apply his very own failed previous life’s strategy to her, thinking that it might work now, even if it hadn’t before.

They’ll have to go deeper.

_________________________________________

Sir Knight holds his cloak out to his side, wiggling his fingers.

— Something gnaws in the distance. He looks across the dirty alley, staring at a fat rat gnawing on some old garbage. “Want to see a magic trick?” asks the man, staring at it. “Nothing in my hands.”

The rat, not bothered, continues to gnaw on its treasures as he reaches into his cloak with his free hand, grabbing hold of something kicky and bitey.

He pulls out the thing he has had inside the void in his cloak. “Ta-da!” says Sir Knight, holding a rabbit by its long, black ears.

— Droplets strike against the stones below, running down kicking, flailing legs that try to run away with animal instinct.

“Oh…” says Sir Knight, looking down at the puddle of fresh urine, which adds to the already present ‘characteristics’ of the grubby back alley.

The small thief he ‘met’ the other day drops to the ground as he lets go of her. The terrified person crawls away and then scrambles, falling over herself as she falls down again. Wide, horrified eyes stare up his way as she claws back over the stones away from him, looking around herself in lost confusion.

It only seemed fair to let her get away. After all, he found the rest of them because of her. She did him a favor by carrying that vase she had possessed into the thieves’ den, making the total list of positive acts in their interactions count up to a number greater than zero. So he did her a favor too. Reciprocity.

— The rat scurries across the alley between them, and she takes it as a signal, running away as fast as she can, just like last time.

“- You’re welcome!” calls Sir Knight after her as she vanishes into the city, just like she did last time.

When she brought the vase into their secret den, he was able to exit from it in his ethereal state and then empty his own inventory of the many suits of armor that he had looted back in the dungeon. It was simple enough for him to manifest himself into them, bringing them ‘to life’ in a sense and forming the troop of soldiers who had then raided the underground hideout.

— All the while, he himself had been present with Acacia, handling this new business.

He’s not just one single entity, in the sense that he is a solitary mass of shadows. He is many shadows, and they can stretch and break apart. They can fill the voids of many places, and he can be there, wherever he touches, while also remaining exactly where he is.

Sir Knight turns to go back to the basement, so that he can crawl into his bottle and make sure Acacia doesn’t choke on her own vomit in her sleep — as is a knight’s sworn duty.

The man stops in his tracks, noticing something suddenly. Something is wrong.

He looks down at himself, opening his cloak again to feel around inside of it.

…Wait a minute…

After a minute of silent digging, he slowly turns his head, staring down the alleyway that the rabbit-girl has now long-since escaped through.

She stole his money, bringing the total amount of his savings down to less than one coin.

“Damn…” mutters Sir Knight, heading inside and wishing that it would rain soon so that the alleyway loses its smell.

That’s some magic trick, alright.