The Price of Sincerity

Osbrück Manor, Timber House, Second-Floor Living Room

“Awoohoho~~~” A cry that was more akin to a groan of discomfort than genuine pain.

“Slap! Slap!” Two fleshy mounds, paler than a face and more ample than a bosom, were being struck. Vivid crimson palm prints, like seals, were stamped upon them.

Sir Černý observed the crimson mark on his wife Johanna’s left hip, noticeably smaller than his own palm, and a torrent of fury surged through him, as if his hair and beard were about to ignite.

“Who, who, who did this!” Sir Černý stammered, his words tripping over themselves in his rage.

“Certainly not you, you useless thing!” Lady Johanna retorted, her double entendre once again piercing her husband’s sensitive nerves.

“Believe it or not, I’ll divorce you!!!” Sir Černý finally managed to articulate this one effective threat after a prolonged moment of thought.

“Oh, really? Only if you obtain permission from the Roman Pontiff!”

Sir Černý ground his teeth. “Permission from my brother, Bishop Unichov, would suffice just as well. Don’t forget, he is the sole Bishop in all of Olomouc!”

“Hmph, Bishop!” Johanna scoffed, a cold sneer escaping her lips. ‘It would be a miracle if your brother ever agreed; he’s the one who enjoys his fragrant sister-in-law’s company the most!’

Yet, outwardly, Johanna would never voice such thoughts. She harbored no desire to instigate a rift between the two brothers. To put it another way, she lacked the leverage to provoke a definitive break between them.

“Oh, my dearest husband,” Johanna cooed, “the most valiant, most handsome, and truly the greatest ‘Lance Knight’ in the entire countdom! I simply misjudged my strength while swatting a mosquito, didn’t I? How could I ever betray you?”

With a seductive purr, Johanna rose and embraced one of Sir Černý’s arms, nestling it deep within her ample cleavage and pressing firmly.

The old man, Sir Černý, was not so easily swayed. He withdrew his arm, skepticism clouding his features, and questioned, “Tell me, which hand did you use to swat that mosquito?”

Without a moment’s hesitation, Johanna declared, “My left hand!”

Sir Černý seized his wife’s plump waist, forcefully pushing her prone, and pointed at the red mark. “It was clearly your right hand!”

Johanna’s body trembled with fright, causing the fleshy mound bearing the red mark to sway exaggeratedly from side to side.

Feigning composure, she simpered, “Oh, you do love to tease! How could it possibly be my right hand? If the mosquito was on my left, I would naturally use my left hand!”

Sir Černý stared at the red mark, maintaining a profound silence.

Meanwhile, Johanna nervously clutched her right hand, gnawing at her thumb. ‘Could it truly have been my right hand? That little beast, Ryan, always has to stir up trouble before he leaves!’

Johanna, being a clever woman, immediately sensed the ambiguity in her husband’s demeanor. Had it genuinely been her right hand, Sir Černý would have exploded in a furious outburst long ago.

He must be trying to extort her.

Indeed, just as Johanna suspected, Sir Černý was attempting to blackmail his wife. Witnessing her tremble with fright only solidified his conviction. “It was your right hand! Tell me now! Who was it? Which servant, which soldier from our household? Don’t tell me you’ve been consorting with those smelly villagers…”

“Černý, enough! I am not your servant! Nor am I a criminal! You have no right to interrogate me!” True to the common adage that a woman’s face can change faster than turning a page, Johanna’s demeanor shifted instantly once she was certain her husband was merely trying to extort her.

Sir Černý paused, taken aback. Had he guessed incorrectly? Was his wife truly innocent?

Seeing her husband stunned, Johanna softened her tone. “Černý, I married you when I was fourteen, and we have been husband and wife for twenty-four years now. Why can’t there be a little more trust between us?”

Sir Černý met his wife’s almond-shaped, dark eyes, and in that gaze, he profoundly sensed her sincerity. His anger, like ice, melted away. He promptly opened his arms, embraced his wife, and whispered tenderly, “Forgive me, I misunderstood you…”

“Mmm-hmm,” Johanna murmured, shaking her head. “It’s alright. It only proves your love for me, and that makes me even happier~”

Johanna then pressed her face against her husband’s chest. “Do you remember when we journeyed to St. George’s Basilica in Prague for pilgrimage, the year I turned sixteen?”

Sir Černý’s profound gaze traversed time, then softly settled upon the woman before him, the image of a slender sixteen-year-old maiden merging with that of the curvaceous woman. “Of course I remember. There was a knight from Francia who courted you then. His sweet nothings were so excessively flamboyant they were nauseating, a skill I confess I still haven’t mastered.”

“And do you recall what happened after his courtship?”

“Naturally, I shall never forget it for as long as I live,” he said, a cold sneer twisting the corner of his mouth. “I challenged him to a duel, beat him senseless, then stripped him of his breeches, allowing all of Bohemia to witness what pathetic cowards those ‘romantic’ knights of Francia truly were!”

“Had it not been for Lady Judith’s intercession, I would never have spared him!” Sir Černý lamented the French knight’s good fortune, marveling that he had earned the Duchess’s favor.

Johanna pressed herself against her husband’s warm, muscular chest, the thumping rhythm of his heart making her body flush with heat. Perhaps her husband would never know that it was precisely his act of stripping the knight of his breeches that altered the events that followed.

It truly wasn’t her fault. Though Sir Černý was tall, robust, and at the peak of his virility at the time, who, who, who could possibly refuse a ten-inch member?

Moreover, the Duchess herself had invited Johanna to accompany her, claiming it was to reconcile their differences. Johanna blamed herself for being so foolish, for being led by the nose.

However, after that incident, she had never again done anything to betray Sir Černý. Not until Ryan’s birth, when her own desires intensified further.

Alas! It was all due to her brother-in-law’s captivating charm and his alluring Mediterranean baldness.

‘Forgive me, Černý, but I can never return to being that innocent sixteen-year-old girl. Perhaps after I tasted that French knight, I ceased to be myself.’

Johanna closed her eyes, beginning to pray silently, confessing her sins to God.

Sir Černý’s fingertips brushed across his wife’s smooth back. He, too, was acutely aware of the changes in her over the years; he had merely been deceiving himself, besides not wanting to fall out with his brother-in-law.

In the Middle Ages, for a life to be tolerable, one’s head often had to bear a touch of green, especially for the dissolute nobility.

Yet, there was still a ray of hope. Sir Černý believed that if the red potion, that precious item, proved beneficial after appraisal, it would surely restore his former physique and render his wife utterly submissive!

“Do you think Ryan and the others will reach Unichov safely?” his wife asked, her voice laced with worry, her face etched with unease. “Will Kunar cause them trouble when they pass through Kroměříž?” Her maternal intuition whispered that her eldest son might be in danger.

As for her second son, Igor, he had never been the object of her concern.

“Rest assured,” Sir Černý comforted his wife. “Traveling with that noble lady, they will encounter no danger.”

“You’re so certain?” his wife questioned, perplexed.

“After seeing that ruined, thick wooden table, something suddenly occurred to me,” Sir Černý stated, his expression growing serious.

“What is it?”

“When the Old Duke was still alive, he once toured Moravia and was ambushed by Magyars near the border of Olomouc and Opava.”

“An ambush!” Johanna gasped, covering her mouth in alarm.

“At that time, the Duke’s retinue numbered only a hundred men. Though these hundred were the most elite warriors, they were powerless against an enemy several times their number. The Duke’s situation was extremely perilous; a single misstep could have meant his immediate demise.”

Sir Černý seemed to transcend time, reliving the battlefield. The chilling, desolate aura of autumn’s wind permeated his tone, making Johanna feel an undeniable tension.

“What happened then?”

“After that, we swiftly dispatched men to conscript soldiers from the surrounding areas and summon knightly vassals to protect him.”

“Did you repel those Magyar barbarians?”

“No,” Sir Černý replied, shaking his head. Meeting his wife’s astonished gaze, he continued, exasperated, “A group of people rescued the Duke before we could. They were said to be warriors who had once served an ancient Eastern kingdom, exquisitely equipped, wielding two-handed axes, with emerald eyes and golden hair. A mere few dozen of them slaughtered hundreds of the ambushing barbarians; it was utterly incredible!”

“However, I did not witness them firsthand. By the time we arrived, the battlefield was engulfed in raging flames and littered with charred corpses. It seemed the Old Duke had dispatched those valiant warriors to garrison Opava.”

“Are you saying…” Johanna began, looking into her husband’s eyes, and then received an affirmative reply.

“I believe Ostrava is the fief of those people, and Noren is a descendant of those fierce warriors!” Sir Černý declared with absolute certainty.

“Phew—” Johanna’s expression relaxed. It seemed her little Ryan would not be in too much danger after all.

“Are you at ease now?” Sir Černý embraced his wife tightly.

“Mmm.”

“Shall we continue, then?” Sir Černý inquired hesitantly.

“Continue what, you imbecile! Can you even perform?” The woman’s mood shifted faster than a page turning. With a shrug of her shoulders, she broke free from her husband’s embrace, then leisurely began to dress.

Sir Černý offered a helpless smile, utterly at a loss with his wife. He opened his mouth, intending to say more, but outside the timber house, a sudden commotion erupted: the screams of servants, the roars of soldiers.

Meeting his wife’s fearful gaze, Sir Černý’s thick, dark brows furrowed. His rugged face, with its coarse pores, darkened. He fastened the leather buckles on his clothing, seized the broadsword resting on the table, and prepared to investigate.

“Bang!” The living room door was kicked open, revealing a gaunt figure with a pointed chin, sunken cheeks, and a hunched back standing outside.

The gaunt man toyed with a dagger, its short blade dancing deftly between his fingers. His voice, raspy like fingernails scraping a blackboard, declared, “Noble lord~ I have been commissioned to retrieve an item.”

“Who are you?” Sir Černý drew his broadsword, its tip aimed at the gaunt man.

“Hand it over~ and spare yourself the pain, ohoho!” The gaunt man chuckled sinisterly, his laugh both terrifying and repulsive. Half his face remained stiff as a corpse, while the other half stretched his mouth into a ghastly grin that reached nearly to his ear.

“You wizard-bred bastard!” Sir Černý had recently accompanied the Count in eradicating a band of sorcerers, and he instantly recognized the man’s origins.

“Die!”

The gaunt man watched Sir Černý charge, then sighed. “Why bother…”

In the next moment, the gaunt man’s body began to convulse rapidly, as if he were suffering an epileptic fit. The neurons in his brain suddenly accelerated their firing, causing everything in his perception to slow down.

The gaunt man observed the old man, now appearing gray and sluggish, then glanced at the voluptuous woman on the opulent bed, who clutched the bedclothes to her chest, her almond eyes wide with terror.

‘There’s another one to kill anyway, and asking her will yield the same result.’ The short dagger ceased its dance, now reversed and clutched in his palm.

A flash of blade!

Then the gray faded, and the world resumed its normal pace.

Sir Černý stared, mouth agape, his fingers desperately clawing at the gash in his neck. He knelt on one knee, propped by his sword, blood ceaselessly seeping from between his fingers, air escaping his mouth in a gurgling “huff, huff.” He resembled a ruptured sack.

“I asked, why bother, Sir Černý?” The gaunt man circled the dying elder. “Hand over the item, and all would be well for everyone. You wouldn’t have met this end!”

“Hey! Wouldn’t you agree, pretty woman over there!” He then aimed the blood-tipped dagger at Johanna.

Johanna’s face was drained of color, pale and bloodless from terror, her teeth chattering uncontrollably.

“Thump, thump, thump, thump…” Immense tremors resonated from outside the room. With each resounding impact, dust showered from the timber house walls. Johanna realized that all the shouting outside had ceased.

The colossal thuds drew nearer, finally halting just beyond the door. A monstrous, dark shadow enveloped the doorway.

A colossal hand braced against the upper doorframe, and then a bear’s head, its neck stiff, poked inside.

“Aaaah—!” Johanna could no longer restrain herself, letting out a piercing scream!

“Quiet down, pretty woman!” The gaunt man casually cleaned his ear, then nudged the bear’s head upwards, revealing a hideous, elongated face beneath it.

The gaunt man patted the elongated face. “Don’t be afraid, pretty woman! This is my good brother, Bru!”

He delivered a sharp punch to the right side of Bru’s elongated face, making him turn to look at the woman on the bed. “Come on, Bru! Say hello!”

Bru opened his protruding jaw, revealing two pointed buckteeth, and a rumbling sound emanated from his throat: “Brruuuh~”

“There, there, good boy, head scratch!” The gaunt man rubbed his brother’s head as if he were petting a small dog, and Bru closed his eyes in enjoyment.

“Alright, pretty woman, tell me where the item is!” The gaunt man turned to Johanna, a crooked grin twisting his lips.

“I, I, I, I don’t know what you’re talking about…” The woman stammered, clutching her arms.

The gaunt man’s smile vanished. He twirled the short dagger in his hand. “Very well, if you don’t wish to speak, that’s fine too. After all, we have plenty of time…”

****

“Drip, drip…”

In the timber house’s dungeon, a severely wounded dwarf was bound to a crucifix. His entire body was a mass of injuries, though most of the wounds had already scabbed over. Only the cross-section of his severed ear continued to seep blood.

“Hey, hey! Wake up!” Water droplets flicked onto his face, and the dwarf awoke with a groan of pain.

The cell was dim. Under the faint glow of a fire, his consciousness gradually returned. The scene before him wavered indistinctly; he could only discern a pair of full, vivid red lips.

“You…”

“I’m a manor maid. The manor is under attack; you must flee now!”

The dwarf barely squinted his eyes open, unable to discern the maid’s expression, yet he could feel her urgency from the taut muscles around the corners of her red lips.

Subsequently, the sensation of being bound vanished, and he was lowered to the ground, supported by his armpits.

However, due to his myriad wounds, he tumbled onto the cold, damp ground. His vision again plunged into darkness, and he lost consciousness.

Riva anxiously patted the dwarf’s face, but it was futile; he remained unresponsive.

She had originally intended for the dwarf to pursue Igor, instructing them to return quickly as the manor was under attack.

The dwarf was chosen to deliver the message because his small stature made him easier to evade the invaders’ pursuit. Now, with the dwarf unconscious, the plan had been thwarted.

“Is it quiet?” The shouting outside ceased, and a sudden jolt, like an electric current, shot up Riva’s tailbone. She abruptly realized this might be the opportune moment to escape.

She hastily ran towards the dungeon door. Before the invaders discovered someone hidden in the dungeon, she thought, ‘Don’t take anything, just run, now!’

But perhaps it was a pang of conscience; upon reaching the doorway, she turned back, hoisted the dwarf under her arm, and then, with every ounce of her strength, fled along the lavender garden path in the timber house’s backyard, heading deep into the forest.

Riva dared not pause for a moment, continuously running deeper into the forest. The surrounding trees grew denser and denser, and the light became progressively dimmer. Only when her limbs were utterly exhausted and a coppery taste of blood filled her throat did she gradually slow her pace.

“Ah!”

A tree root, extending from the shadows, tripped the maid. She lay on the thick bed of fallen leaves, gasping for breath, her chest feeling as though it might burst, her two pointed mounds rising and falling in unison.

She could no longer get up.

“Young Master Igor…” Riva’s final murmur before losing consciousness.