Overwhelming Firepower

The day of the showing of The Man of a Thousand Quests dawned bright, and by afternoon, Caelhart was in motion.

At the gates of the playhouse, silk-robed nobles descended from carriages, their laughter mingling with the jangle of jewelry.

There were also commoners in patched tunics shuffled in lines, clutching silver coins for the cheaper seats.

Compared to the nobles, there were only a few commoners who could afford to watch today, but as Lucen promised on the fifth day, most people would be able to afford it. The seats were packed, and the excitement could be felt everywhere.

***

In the past two months, Lucen had reshaped the theater into something Caelhart had never seen. Gone were the cramped benches and drafty walls.

The hall now gleamed with polished wood, velvet curtains, and chandeliers suspended by clever enchantments. He had even added raised boxes for VIPs, an idea strange to local architects, but perfectly ordinary to him.

To the nobles, it whispered exclusivity. To the commoners, it made the playhouse feel grander than any tavern stage. To Lucen, it was simply a step toward the kind of entertainment he once knew.

Right now, the boxes had the royal family, the Tower Masters, and the four Dukes. The other nobles who saw the VIP boxes placed higher and seemed to indicate exclusivity made them realize the difference in status between them.

On the other hand, the commoners were simply amazed by the fact that they were able to watch a play with such high-ranking nobles.

While everyone was abuzz, the play started without any warning. The curtains opened, the theater darkened, and a single light appeared in the middle of the stage.

The light showed scrolls, broken lances, dented shields, and maps with too many circles drawn on them.

At the center, a battered knight kneels, patching his own rusted armor with strips of leather. His helm wobbles on the table, missing a plume.

A young squire or his servant entered the scene.

”Master, it is late, you should rest.” The servant spoke with a worried tone.

”Rest? When monsters still roam, when maidens still weep, when tyrants still grind their boots upon the backs of the weak? Nay, lad. A knight rests only when the world has no more need of him.” The Knight spoke with a solemn voice.

He stands, and immediately the breastplate slips off with a clang. Some of the audience chuckles.

The knight ignores it, snatches up his lance, and plants it firmly.

”Tonight, I ride forth again. This shall be my thousandth quest!” The Knight spoke with an aura of dignity and honor.

The servant sighed as he shook his head, but he had no choice but to follow his master.

A faint hum accompanied the first shift of scenery, the enchantments pulling the study away and replacing it with painted fields beneath a starry illusion.

Gasps rippled through the crowd. A noblewoman who had watched many plays was whispering that she had never seen such a seamless transition, while a child in the pit clapped wildly, certain he had just seen the stage itself transform.

A faint melody rises, sung by an unseen bard:

”He is the man of a thousand quests,Chasing honor where others find jest.Though his armor is rust and his lance is worn,He dreams as bright as the day he was born.”

The knight, silhouetted, climbs onto an obviously fake horse prop. He raises his lance toward the heavens.

”Come, Rocinante! Another monster awaits, another wrong must be righted!”

The servant/squire scrambles after him, exasperated but loyal. Even though it was just the first scene, the audience was captivated. This knight was foolish, brave, and impossible not to watch.

***

The story continued, and the audience learned how ridiculous the old knight was. He wasn’t even a true knight with Aura, but a simple noble baron thinking himself a noble and honorable knight.

He has been said to have fought ogres, but those were simple goblins. He once said to have defeated an evil tyrant, but that turned out to be a simple tax collector in his territory, cheating the commoners of their money.

He claimed to have defended a princess’s honor, yet it was a milkmaid chased by a drunk farmer. Still, the milkmaid remembered him as her savior.

He once claimed to have shattered a dragon’s jaw with a single blow... Though it was a farm mule with a stubborn temper. Yet, to the starving farmer’s children, he was the hero who saved their last beast of burden from collapse.

He had indeed completed nearly a thousand quests, but most of those quests were retold in a rather exaggerated manner. The baron who acted like a knight named himself Sir Archibald Ashford, but his true name was Baron David Muinic.

Despite the so-called knight obviously having a problem in his head, the audience couldn’t help but admire his words and deeds. He spoke of true chivalry, one that goes against impossible odds simply because it is just.

”Who is to say what is possible and what is not? A knight faces impossible odds every single moment, but he perseveres and moves forward. As long as he is needed, he will step forward. His shield to protect the people, his lance to slay the evil. A knight does not measure victory by triumph, but by how many times he dares to rise again.”

Even though many called him a fool, he would always respond with righteousness and honor in his heart.

”Better a fool who defends the helpless than a wise man who stands idle.”

Hearing what was said, many could not believe their ears. A baron playing as a knight had said something most nobles wouldn’t say.

Every action he took, every word he spoke, resonated with the audience. In Caelhart, seeing a knight was common, but seeing one like this who embodies the very essence of chivalry in his every action and word was a rarity; no, it was something they had never seen before.

Some nobles found his actions absurd as a baron. Why do so much work? Why aspire to be a knight?

The commoners, especially the children, were on the edge of their seats, not wanting to miss a single move, take, or word said by the chivalrous knight. This was a man without mana or aura who was able to uphold the righteousness in his heart without backing down.

The background music enhanced every scene, and the application of illusion spells helps enhance every scene.

***

The stage shifts again, this time to a humble tavern. Illusion spells paint lanternlight across wooden beams, and the faint clink of mugs can be heard.

At center stage, a barmaid sweeps the floor, hair tied back, her apron patched and worn. She hums softly, not noticing the battered knight and his squire watching from the doorway.

Sir Archibald falls to one knee, clutching his rusted helm to his chest.

”Behold! The princess of all virtue and grace. The lady to whom I dedicate my thousandth quest.”

”My lord…That’s Maria, the tavern maid. She once threw a mug at your head for not paying your tab.”

Some of the audience chuckled at the scene, but most were focused on what was going to happen next.

”Maria? No. A name too small for such majesty. To me, she is Lady Serenya, the Star of Dawn, fairest jewel this world may ever bear. Every ogre I slay, every tyrant I unseat, I do in her honor.”

The barmaid looks up and frowns. She and most people in the baron’s lands were already used to his antics, and unlike other nobles, this baron did not mind if you talked to him like any other commoner.

Maria pauses her sweeping, squints at him, and with a rather irritated voice speaks to the overly dramatic baron.

”If you’re not buying ale, get out.”

Laughter ripples through the audience. But there were some nobles who were scowling. Lucen Thornehart had shown that a noble, even though a simple baron, was spoken down to by a barmaid.

On the other hand, the commoners were not that surprised and forgot that Archibald was a noble himself. They simply thought that the barmaid was quite the character, and were mesmerized by the lighting.

Sir Archibald rises, pointing his lance toward the heavens as if he hears a choir. An illusion spell answers his gesture. The tavern maid’s outline is suddenly overlaid with shimmering light, as though she wears a gown of silver stars.

”Lady Serenya! Even if the world mocks me, even if fate itself scorns me, know this: a knight’s oath does not waver. My quests are thine. My shield, thy shelter. My lance, thy vengeance. And when I fall, may the thousand quests be forever remembered and prove my devotion true!”

He kneels deeply. The barmaid rolls her eyes and returns to sweeping, but the illusion of her glowing form lingers, radiant, until the lights dim and the curtains close.