Chapitre 52: 52- One Moonless Night Pt.2

"M'Lord, me must've been deaf—" the dwarf could not believe what he just heard.

"Servus 023-D, Servus 003-E and Servus 113-B, I hear by declare you free citizens of the Principalia, as promised!" Lord Prestonheim made sure that they heard it aloud.

The Commander took a glance at their baffled faces, as if they heard something off. The dwarf's jaw dropped while the elf, mindlessly tightened the bandages of the agonizing beastman too much after hearing the news.

Lord Prestonheim could not wait for them to reply. To him, time was precious, especially to the dying slave that he admired so much. He took another glimpse of the dying freeman and recited a prayer to him.

After that, he approached the slaves one by one and released them from their limiting collars. But they were not smiling nor relatively happy. Lord Prestonheim understood the predicament, thus he decided to leave the infirmary as the silence became more unbearable. On his hand he took with him the collars of the four slaves, he was planning to dispose of the collars back to the slave barracks.

It was a good feeling for him to release the slaves. To him, it was another victory to combat the rotten system that he loathed all this time. But even then, he still felt inadequate. How could his small gesture impact the whole? The answer—none.

Lord Prestonheim went on walking towards the exit. He already gave his goodbyes to the freed slave, he doted to enter his ranks. It was a potential he thought he wasted over the small advancement of the Principalia, when he could've done more. It was too late for him, but not for the others.

He turned around and looked at them with their faces devoid with any elation. "I would like to extend the offer I offered to Servus 132-X, no. I mean to that freeman." He sighed.

The elf and dwarf looked at each other their eyes speaking a language that he cannot understand. The beastman shifted from the bed and tried his best to look at him.

"M-My Lord," the beastman started as he winced in pain with every moment he spoke. "I would like to decline from your offer. I would like to see my nation once again."

Lord Prestonheim nodded, "I respect your decision. But keep in mind that my doors are always open for you." He shifted his attention to the other Faerfolk, "How about the both of you?"

The elf nodded to the dwarf, "M'Lord, 'fraid we can't answer that fer now."

Lord Prestonheim nodded and walked out of the infirmary when he remembered something important.

"Oh! Before I forget!" The Commander began. "Your parchments of identification will be given in a fort night. I would like to get your names by tomorrow." He slightly bowed and walked back into his tent under the pale-lit moonlight.

At his tent's entrance was Servus 305-M jittering anxiously. Lord Prestonheim calmly approached the redhead slave thinking he had one of his crazed episodes. The moment the red-haired slave saw him coming, he became more fidgety.

"August!" He called him out. "Can't you come here any faster?!" He blurted at he scratched his head violently.

"What seems to be the matter?" Lord Prestonheim sighed as he massaged the bridge of his nose.

Servus 305-M grabbed the Commander by his cape and dragged him back to tent.

"Whoa! What are you doing?!" The Commander said as he tried to balance his footing.

"The sword! The gladius!" The redhaired slave exclaimed.

"What about it?" Lord Prestonheim asked.

"See it for yourself!" The slave finally loosened his grip and went back to the table where the sword was.

Lord Prestonheim approached the table and saw the unsheathed gladius new for all its glory.

"W-what is this?" The Commander's eyes widened as it feasted his sight on the otherworldly weapon.

The gladius was still shaped as it was, but there was a big difference to its appearance. The blade had the pale blue glow of an aetherite infused alloy, but it also had veins of aetherium ore engraved on it. The aetherium veins spread across the cold steel like roots boring down the soil. A marvel of rare yet crude design.

"Fascinating, isn't it?" Servus 305-M marveled at the weapon. "Oh! You might want to—"

Before the redhaired slave could finish his warning, Lord Prestonheim suddenly felt his knees weakened. "W-what's going on?" He tried to release his hand from the blade, but he cannot. The blade sipped a large quantity of his exousia out of him.

He desperately struck his hand with his other free hand to try and get it detached—it worked. The gladius dropped to the table, with its veins glowing brightly and rippling from the amount of exousia it absorbed.

Lord Prestonheim felt dizzy and tired after the short ordeal. He asked Servus 305-M to cover the blade with a thick cloth and asked him to retire for the night. As soon as the slave went out of the tent, the Commander slumped into his bed and dozed off.

It was already late in the day when the Commander woke up. His head spun as he opened his eyes, and his body felt heavy as he moved. He called out for his loyal ward, Tristam. But soon remembered that he was sent to the Citadel-Unum, the second Garrison the Principalia had occupied on the Crescent Isle near the Forester Village at the south of the isle.

The Commander slowly arose from his bed and sat while massaging the bridge of his nose. He looked around and saw the same cloth that covered the mystical gladius by his table. He went over it and removed the cloth covering the blade.

Lord Prestonheim couldn't stress enough the beauty of the pale rippling patterns of the balde along with the veins of aetherium pulsating a darker shade of blue light. He feasted his eyes on such marvel but didn't touch it—he's not making that same mistake twice.

His day started later than of his liking, it cannot be helped. With all the weird events that happened yesterday, he got blindsided by that blade laying on his table. Lord Prestonheim recalled how it drained him of his strength and exousia to the point of his collapse.

Then a thought crossed his mind, "Would have that been possible that the reason Servus 132-X was so weakened and injured is because he brought this blade into the surface?" The Commander scratched his head.

With only a limited storage of exousia, how did a slave manage to take it to the surface? Lord Prestonheim has an unnatural amount of exousia within him and even he got drained to near unconsciousness.

He was about to ponder more of that thought when his stomach grumbled in protest. He walked outside and saw the sky gloom over heavy dark clouds. A storm is coming its way, and the Commander could feel it. He felt it in his bones, an ominous tingle that he cannot shake, heavy rain is about to pour, and it will pour hard.

Looking at the gloomy sky, Lord Prestonheim could only do so much with his mood. He ate his fill by the circle of the other knights who were resting as Midura ended. He sat with the young knights talking with them applauding them for their bravery yesterday. He saw the bright smiles of the knights who vie for adventure, as he saw through their eyes.

After the meal, he excused himself from the knights and went directly to infirmary to check the newly freed slave's status. As he walked towards the infirmary, his mind went back to the blade and how 132-X was able to carry it all that time without being drained of his power.

He met the dwarf outside of the tent. He has dark rings below his eyes, and from the looks of it, he didn't sleep a wink. The dwarf noticed him approaching and greeted him with a bow.

"A g'Mirdura to yah, M'Lord!" The dwarf smiled tiredly.

Lord Prestonheim nodded back, "And same to you, may the gods give us better days!" He looked up to the sky, sighing at the gloomy weather.

"Aye! Tis a brewing storm, eh." The dwarf answered.

"It is indeed." He answered. "How is he?" He asked for Servus 132-X's condition.

The dwarf shook his head, "Nay bettar, M'Lord." He guided him inside the infirmary.

The Commander went with the dwarf inside the dimly lit infirmary, inside, Servus 003-E along with the elven knight Mnemsiel was tending to 132-X's wounds.

He came closer and saw the dying facade of 132-X. His skin had a pale chalky color with black discolored veins showing showing on the right side of his body. The bite mark oozed a foul-smelling black blood. The other wounds tend to show signs of rot as well.

Lord Prestonheim's mood would never recover that day. Seeing such potential go to waste due to his impulses made for the truth a bitter pill to swallow. After the two elves finished tending to the wounds, the Commander called Mnemsiel. They went outside the tent to talk as the dwarf and elf tended to both their comrades.

Lord Prestonheim pressed his fingers between the bridge of his nose, "How does he fair?" It was a fruitless question, but he hoped there was a different answer to the one he had in mind.

"M'Lord," the elven knight sighed. "In all my years, I have never seen such affliction. I cannot even tell what venom or poison his body is reacting to! Everything about it just doesn't make sense."

"What do you mean?" Lord Prestonheim asked.

"That black blood you saw me drain? It moves on its own." Mnemsiel opened the bucket he brought and presented it him.

"By the gods! What is this abomination!" Lord Prestonheim covered his mouth in disgust as he saw the foul blood move inside the bucket. It wriggled like agitated worms. "Dispose of it at once! Burn it with fire!" He commanded.

The knight bowed to him and went on to burn the foul thing.

A cold shiver ran down the old Commander's spine. Something was off.

"LAD! STAY DOWN!" He heard a shout coming from the infirmary--it was the dwarf's.

Lord Prestonheim ran back inside and saw Servus 132-X being restrained by the elf, the dwarf and one of the on-duty knights. Black blood was spurting out of his mouth.

The Commander stood there in shock and horror as 132-X turned his eyes on him.