The Dwarf’s Confession and a Noble’s Wrath

The following morning, Osbrück Manor.

“How fared the interrogation of that dwarf?”

Sir Černý sat elevated upon the main seat in the reception hall, a bell-shaped green forest glass goblet cradled in his left hand, brimming with Burgundy wine.

“My lord,” the soldier reported, “I had barely carved off his ear when he began wailing for his parents, confessing everything, fouling the floor with his excrement. That wretch, cursed by demons, is truly a cowar—”

The torturer droned on, detailing the dwarf’s pathetic display.

“Enough! Get to the point!” Sir Černý, weary of the soldier’s incessant rambling, commanded him to reveal the crucial information.

“Yes, my lord.” The torturer wiped his hand on his tunic, the gritty sensation of congealed blood beneath his fingernails making him distinctly uncomfortable.

“That dwarf had been surveilling the manor since last week, having repeatedly infiltrated the wooden keep during that time. He claimed to be acting under the command of a certain lord, tasked with searching for a precious item. I also found dozens of silver coins on his person—”

Before he could finish speaking,

Sir Černý erupted in a furious outburst, splashing the wine directly into the soldier’s face. It soaked his hair, the rich, aromatic Burgundy trickling down to his lips, and the soldier, unable to resist, instinctively flicked out his tongue to taste it.

“You scoundrel!”

“You negligent wretches! I’ve been feeding you for nothing! To think you allowed a mongrel to infiltrate my wooden fortress time and again!”

Sir Černý gnashed his teeth in fury, his noble dignity having been thoroughly trampled.

“Give the soldier who patrolled yesterday another five lashes! No! Ten lashes! And after the whipping, strip him bare and hang him for three days!”

Upon hearing of the additional ten lashes and public humiliation, the soldier, stunned, quickly pleaded for mercy: “My lord, Andrej is your most loyal soldier; would such an act not wound him too deeply…?”

The moment his words ceased, a chilling silence descended upon the reception hall, so profound that a falling drop of water would have echoed.

After a brief silence, Sir Černý’s rage erupted once more: “Wound him too deeply, my arse!”

The goblet was hurled, shattering with a sharp crack as glass fragments flew, lacerating the soldier’s cheek.

The soldier touched the blood seeping from the cut, his shoulders hunching in fear. Daring not to utter another word, he cautiously retreated from the wooden manor’s reception hall.

Before long, the distinct swish of a whip resounded once more from outside the wooden manor, accompanied by the soldier’s pained pleas for mercy.

“Coward! Unable to endure a few lashes! Are all my subordinates utterly useless?” Sir Černý snarled, his eyes blazing with fury.

His gaze then fell upon the scattered glass fragments on the floor, and instantly his expression shifted to one of profound sorrow. He knelt, meticulously gathering each shard.

“Oh, my Venetian forest goblet~”

****

Once the lashes concluded, two soldiers escorted the punished man inside, turning his back to Sir Černý so he could inspect the results of the discipline.

Noren, having observed the whipping, followed closely behind them.

Sir Černý stroked the stubble on his chin, admiring the bloody welts crisscrossing the soldier’s back. The anger that had festered in his chest began to dissipate, and his expression gradually softened.

“My lord…”

Andrej, trembling, gazed at his lord on the main seat, hoping for a flicker of mercy that would spare him the humiliation of public nudity.

Sir Černý, however, completely disregarded Andrej’s pleading gaze, turning his head instead towards the blonde maiden.

“Miss Noren,” Sir Černý began, offering a slightly awkward and apologetic smile, “this is the first instance of a scoundrel infiltrating the manor; such a thing has never occurred before, and for this, I offer my deepest apologies.”

He continued, “This derelict soldier has received several lashes, but such a minor punishment is utterly insufficient to appease a nobleman’s wrath. I implore you to determine his subsequent penalty!”

Rather than deciding himself, he deftly placed the soldier’s fate into Noren’s hands.

With eyelids slightly drooping over her limpid eyes, the maiden cast a glance at Sir Černý, a mixture of disdain and contempt in her gaze, before sweeping her eyes over the other soldiers, finally meeting Andrej’s weak, dark eyes.

His dark eyes were filled with supplication, yet Noren, with her keen perception, detected a hidden venom lurking beneath.

‘A clever deflection of conflict,’ Noren mused, acknowledging the knight’s cunning. ‘It seems not all knights are simply straightforward brutes. Yet, it is but a minor trick, after all.’

“Then…” The maiden feigned contemplation, then clenched her fist and raised her index finger, as if a sudden flash of inspiration had struck her.

“Then let him drink an entire pitcher of wine!”

Everyone present froze. The soldiers gaped in astonishment, while a faint bewilderment flickered in Andrej’s eyes.

Sir Černý hesitated for a moment. “Are you… certain?”

“Yes, I am certain.”

‘Hmph~’

Noren thought she saw the old man purse his lips and utter a dismissive ‘Hmph,’ but in the blink of an eye, his apologetic smile was back.

The old man, frowning, waved his hand, signaling the soldiers to escort Andrej away.

Once the soldiers had departed, he addressed Noren: “Given these unfortunate events at the manor, I truly lack the countenance to continue hosting you, Miss. If it pleases you, I would ask that you depart for Kroměříž today.”

Confronted with Sir Černý’s overly eager dismissal,

a sudden intuitive alarm bell began to toll in Noren’s mind. A peculiar sensation of being drawn into unforeseen events inexplicably arose within her.

Nevertheless, with her host so pointedly urging her departure, she could hardly brazenly insist on remaining.

“I thank you for your hospitality,” she replied, “but allow us a short time to prepare our belongings; we shall set out this afternoon.”

Sir Černý nodded. “As previously arranged, my two sons shall accompany you on your journey.”

Noren silently assented, then departed without further ado.

Shortly thereafter, Sir Černý also vacated the main seat, disappearing around the turn of the reception hall’s spiral staircase.

****

“Father.”

Igor, summoned by a servant, arrived at Sir Černý’s study and private chambers, where his father sat hunched over a desk, pen in hand, writing.

“Hmm, sit.”

Sir Černý dipped the tip of his quill, continuing to write upon the parchment without lifting his head.

Igor drew up a chair and sat down, knees pressed together, in proper decorum, refraining from inquiring why his father had called for him.

After a considerable pause, Sir Černý rolled up the parchment. He then heated a small spoon over the candle flame, steadily dripping the molten wax from the spoon onto the parchment scroll, forming a small seal.

Finally, he removed a ring from his finger and pressed it firmly into the wax seal.

“Igor,” Sir Černý said, handing the parchment scroll to his second son, “deliver this to your uncle.”

“Yes, Father.” Igor took the scroll, then, after a moment’s thought, spoke: “Are we… truly departing today? Might it not be seen as a breach of noble decorum?”

Sir Černý impatiently waved a hand. His second son had always been quite astute; why was he suddenly so obtuse today, fretting over noble decorum?

Had he forgotten that the Osbrück family had carved out their titles and fiefdoms from mountains of corpses, not by some pathetic display of noble grace?

“I understand your meaning,” Sir Černý said. “You believe we have been remiss in our hospitality towards the noble lady, fearing her displeasure might jeopardize your brother’s marital prospects, yes?”

Igor nodded.

“You need not concern yourself with that,” Sir Černý assured him. “Ryan has other prospective brides. What is far more pressing at this moment, I trust you have already surmised, is another matter entirely.”

Igor’s mind raced.

The next moment, his eyes widened abruptly. “The dwarf? Does Kunar desire that item? But it was bestowed upon you by the Count! How dare he?”

Sir Černý cast a look of approval at his second son. “Precisely, Kunar! I suspect no one else would dare.”

“That upstart, who clawed his way from the mire, has never known the meaning of reverence. He possesses no faith, no accomplishments, no charisma, no principles, and absolutely no noble dignity.”

The old man, with his five successive ‘noes,’ lavishly condemned Kunar, before continuing to disparage his character: “He is a brazen, base, vile, avaricious, wicked, cruel, and lustless peasant! I truly cannot fathom why ‘the Handsome One’ appointed him Mayor of Kroměříž!”

Sir Černý seethed with resentment. In his mind, Kroměříž rightfully ought to be under his governance.

Thus, with him and his brother each commanding Kroměříž and Uničov respectively, the family’s influence in Olomouc would reach its zenith. Perhaps they might even capture the Duke’s attention, one day ascending to the ranks of the lesser nobility!

Watching his father’s spittle fly, as countless malicious words spewed from between his teeth, Igor wearily closed his eyes.

Igor, it seemed, was largely oblivious to his father’s true ambitions—or so he believed.

Compared to the intricate power struggles among worldly nobles, perhaps the vast, silent sanctuary of a holy temple was his true calling.

Only by forsaking the tumult of human affairs, adhering to the precepts of Saint Benedict, and casting his soul into the embrace of God could he find eternal peace.

‘Amen,’ his soul prayed to God.

“Amen!” The profound piety of Igor’s soul caused him to utter the word aloud, quite unconsciously.

Igor’s prayer interrupted Sir Černý’s incessant torrent of curses.

The old man froze for a second, then coughed forcefully, hoping to dispel the awkwardness of having lost his composure before his second son.

“Where was I?” he mumbled, then waved it off. “Ah, never mind!” The old man scratched an itch on his rear. “Besides having you deliver this letter, I also intended to…”

“To bring the treasure to Uncle Černín and ask him to ascertain its properties?” Igor interjected, anticipating his father’s words.

“Er… precisely!” Sir Černý overlooked his second son’s impertinent interruption. “You know as well as I that if this item were entrusted to Ryan, he would likely misplace it along the way. Furthermore, Černín holds you in the highest regard; if you are the one to ask, he will not refuse.”

Igor nodded, his expression grave, as if burdened by a momentous responsibility.

He tucked the scroll into his waistband, then extended his hands, cupped together. “Please entrust it to me; I shall deliver it safely to the Uničov diocese.”

His hands remained cupped, yet the treasure was not forthcoming.

Igor looked at his father, puzzled, and Sir Černý met his gaze.

“Father, where is the treasure?”

Whether it was Igor’s imagination or not, Sir Černý’s aged face flushed crimson. He gestured towards the door. “My dear Igor~ This treasure is hidden in a most… intimate place, and retrieving it poses a slight inconvenience.”

“There’s no rush,” Igor replied, tilting his head with feigned innocence. “I can wait.”

“Out!”

Sir Černý abandoned all pretense, roaring as he expelled his second son from the chambers.

Outside the door, Igor heard only a muffled groan of agony, akin to the relieved sigh of someone long constipated finally experiencing release.

“Come in!” Sir Černý’s voice, though aged, was tinged with weakness.

Igor pushed the door open and entered, his eyes falling upon a slender-necked vial resting on the table.

The vial was entirely crystalline, its exterior perfectly transparent, roughly two fingers thick and the height of a middle finger. A small stopper of the same material sealed its mouth, and within its belly, a crimson liquid swirled.

“Take it! Its material is robust; there’s no need for excessive caution.” Sir Černý finished, then scratched the itch beneath his rear again.

Igor, with a look of distaste, picked up the vial by its neck with two fingers, but his fingers slipped. Alarmed, he quickly clutched the vial with his other hand.

The vial felt slick and sticky, utterly nauseating.

Igor wrapped the vial in the hem of his tunic and wiped it. He then pointed towards the door. “Then… I shall go and prepare my belongings?”

Sir Černý squirmed uncomfortably, his body constantly shifting, and dismissively waved him off: “Go on, go on!”

Igor exited, closing the door. As he passed his brother’s room, he saw his mother, Johanna, gently stroking Ryan’s rugged face and speaking tender words within the open doorway.

Igor averted his gaze, retreating to his own room.

Inside, his flaxen-haired maid was packing his belongings. She was remarkably young, beautiful, and robust.

Her ascetic face, alluring and captivating eyes, and upturned, rounded nose were truly a sight to behold.

Her lips were plump and rounded, with a full Cupid’s bow, inviting one to simply take them in.

“Ah, ooh,” Igor truly did take them in, their four lips pressing together, their breaths mingling near each other’s philtrums.

Igor tasted a faint hint of mint on the maid’s lips, while she, in turn, caught the scent of lavender from the young master’s person.

After a long moment, their lips parted, a translucent thread stretching between them.

Their eyes met, gazing at each other with tender affection. The atmosphere grew intimate, their body temperatures rising.

Just as they were about to proceed further,

“Igor! Are you ready yet!” Ryan’s boisterous voice boomed from outside the door.

They sprang apart, the maid’s face flushing crimson, though her expression remained impassive, save for her foxy eyes fluttering their lashes.

Igor wiped the mint-flavored saliva from the corner of his mouth. He shouted back towards the door, “Brother, I’ll be right there!”

The maid clasped her hands across her chest, her breasts pressing and straining against her clothes. She asked anxiously, “Young master… how long will you be gone?”

Igor placed his hands on Riva’s shoulders, promising earnestly, “Riva, I assure you, I will return before the next full moon.”

The maid softly hummed in assent.

“Come, help me don my clothes and armor!”

****

In the afternoon, the sun had shifted thirty degrees towards the west.

Noren, having finished a farewell drink, gracefully swung herself onto her grey warhorse.

“I wish you safe travels!” The maiden tapped her heels against the horse’s flanks, pulled on the reins, and cried, “Ya!”

The grey warhorse galloped towards the already moving caravan of wagons, leaving a trail of rising dust.

“Father, Mother, I’m off~ Hup!” Ryan, clad in brand-new, tightly woven chainmail, rode a chestnut warhorse. A long lance and a kite shield hung from either side of his saddle, and a richly adorned thirty-inch broadsword was strapped to his waist by a tanned leather belt.

Johanna smiled gently: “Hmm, be careful on your journey~”

He spurred his horse, chasing after the dust kicked up by the grey warhorse.

Igor made the sign of the cross over his chest, bowing devoutly to his parents. “Take care!”

Sir Černý closed his eyes at Igor, while Johanna coldly turned her head away.

Igor, long accustomed to his mother’s indifference, plucked a loose horsehair from his flaxen gambeson and tidied the mane of his piebald horse. He offered a faint, strained smile to his parents.

Without a backward glance, he turned his horse around.

“Hup!”

****

Oddity Profile:

Red Potion: Oddity

Prepared by: Unknown

Consumed by: —

+0.5 Health (16.6%); -0.5 Health (16.6%); +1 Valor (16.6%); -1 Valor (16.6%); +20% Fertility (16.6%); -20% Fertility (16.6%)