Overwhelming Firepower

The play continued to the next scene, and Sir Archibald continued his adventures alongside his servant William.

Many of his adventures were absurd and quite funny, hearing what he thinks he’s doing and seeing what he was actually doing. Many of his words made the children want to go on adventures of their own.

The curtains rose again, this time revealing a road cutting through dense woodland. Enchanted shadows of twisted trees loomed high, and the sound of howling wolves echoed faintly.

Archibald marched boldly at the front, lance in hand, while William trailed behind, carrying bundles far too heavy for one man.

”Steady, William!” Archibald cried. ”For tonight, the wolves of the dark wood shall meet their reckoning!”

Illusion magic painted a pack of snarling beasts in the treeline. But when the light shifted, the audience saw only a few scrawny mongrel dogs barking at him. Archibald charged forward with fearless fury, swinging his lance in wide arcs. The dogs scattered, tails tucked, as he declared triumphantly:

”Another victory! Another quest fulfilled! The roads are safe once more!”

William groaned, setting down the bundles. ”Safe from dogs, my lord. Dogs.”

The audience laughed, but some children clapped, because whether dog or wolf, he had protected travelers.

***

Archibald continued his adventures in his own land and then heard rumors of a Troll terrorizing a nearby village, which was also part of his territory.

Archibald, alongside his ever faithful servant, charged forward to the village. William thought that the rumor was just another exaggeration, and the enemies would be simple goblins.

The scene changed, and what appeared in front of the audience was a twelve-foot-tall troll created by illusion magic. Of course, to most nobles who had aura or mana were only slightly impressed by the illusion magic, but to the commoners, it was like a true troll was there.

Some of the commoners unconsciously grabbed hold of their children and wanted to flee. It took some effort for them to stop themselves from screaming.

Even Lucen was quite impressed by the illusion magic that put all the special effects in his past life to shame.

The troll roared, shaking the stage as enchantments made the ground tremble. Its club, as large as a tree trunk, swept through the air. Children grab hold of their parents in fright.

William dropped his bundle in terror. ”M-my lord, perhaps this time we should turn back! This beast, this is no dog, no tax collector, no mule! That’s a troll, a true monster!”

Archibald leveled his lance, his voice ringing with fearless conviction.

”William! Dost thou not see? At last! A true foe worthy of my thousandth quest! By steel and by honor, I shall fell the beast!”

The troll lumbered closer, its shadow spilling across the stage. Archibald charged, his rusty armor clattering like pots in a kitchen. His lance struck the troll’s shin with a resounding clang, the illusion flared, and the troll staggered, howling.

Gasps erupted from the audience. For a heartbeat, many children truly believed their foolish knight had wounded the monster.

The troll raised its massive club to crush him. Archibald stumbled, his lance breaking in half, but instead of fleeing, he threw himself forward, slamming his dented shield against the troll’s leg.

Illusion magic made the blow seem colossal. The troll reeled backward into painted scenery, toppling with an earth-shaking crash.

Dust (powder enchantments) filled the air. When it cleared, Archibald stood battered but unbowed, raising the broken haft of his lance skyward.

”Behold, William! Another monster vanquished! Another village freed! This-” he gasped, his chest heaving, but feeling excited ”-this is the destiny of a knight!”

The villagers (actors) rushed on stage, kneeling and cheering. Even the children (audience) were cheering with them. William simply covered his face with his hands, muttering, ”By Varkun’s might... He actually did it.”

The villagers thanked him, pressing his hands, bowing at his feet. A child actor even ran up and hugged his battered greaves.

William dragged himself forward, still pale from fright. He pulled Archibald aside, whispering harshly:

”My lord, you have won by luck. You nearly died back there.”

Archibald chuckled, patting William on the shoulder with paternal fondness.

”Nearly died, true, I almost did. But what is a knight if he shies from death? What is a knight if he cannot protect the people? The worth of knighthood, William, is not in the steel of his blade, nor the strength of his arm. It is in this-” he tapped his chest with the broken haft of his lance, ”-the heart that dares to charge forward, when all others flee. To protect those who ask for help.”

William frowned, rubbing his temples. ”My lord, please remember you are a baron, not a knight.”

”Nonsense! My loyal William. I’m a knight, the protector of the people, the slayer of monsters, the knight Archibald!”

Archibald once again raised his lance upward, making the villagers cheer louder. Archibald raised his eyes to the heavens as though speaking to the stars themselves.

”Let the world call me fool, madman, dreamer, it matters not. If one frightened soul takes courage from my charge... If one child dares to dream of becoming a knight who upholds chivalry in their hearts, then even a fool’s quest is worth the risk of death.”

He lifted the broken lance high, and the villagers cheered anew. The lights dimmed slowly, leaving his silhouette tall against the backdrop of the fallen troll.

The people watching, even the adults, were slowly being inspired by his words and actions. Despite knowing this was just an actor in the play, the man called Archibald, his words and actions truly grasped their attention.

***

The next scene was after another quest that he did in honor of Maria, the barmaid, whom he proclaims a lady in his heart.

When he told Maria about the quest he finished, Maria told him that she was no lady, but nothing more than a simple barmaid.

”No, you are the lady in thine heart that shines brighter than any other.”

Maria shook her head, exasperated, but her voice was softer than before. ”Shining stars don’t scrub floors, Baron Muinic. I’m no lady, just Maria. It is but a dream to be the lady you think of me.”

Archibald laughed, though the sound caught in his chest like a cough. He thumped his dented breastplate proudly.

”This is no dream, I’m no baron, but a knight, and you truly are the lady I dedicate my victories and honor to.”

The barmaid rolled her eyes and turned away, but for a fleeting moment her expression carried unease. She had seen him stumble when he entered, seen his hand shake as he raised his mug.

”Then, Sir Knight, you’d better understand the limits of your own body. If you keep on chasing impossible dreams, then you might end up dead.”

”My lady, a Knight knows no limits.”

Archibald raised his mug once more, but his hand trembled so badly that half the ale sloshed onto the floor. William caught it with a frown, whispering.

”My lord... Please listen to her. Your body is failing. Rest before it is too late.”

But Archibald only laughed again, though the laughter sounded thin. ”A knight rests when the world has no more need of him. Until then, onward! Only onward!”

He stood too quickly, swaying before steadying himself with his lance. For the first time, the audience saw not only the fool’s confidence, but his frailty.

Still, the knight that had no aura or mana, only his willpower, had kept him moving forward like a true knight would. Seeing him made the audience think that even this would not end the foolish Knight who chases his dreams.

The curtain fell here, leaving the audience with a strange silence. The comedy had dimmed into something heavier. The knight’s dream still burned bright, but his body was clearly breaking.

The curtains rose for the final act.

The stage was now a wide-open plain, painted with rolling clouds and banners whipping in the wind. Illusions made the ground stretch far, as though the audience was staring into the horizon.

At the center stood Sir Archibald, battered armor gleaming dully beneath the light. Beside him, William tried desperately to hold him back.

”My lord, please! This foe is no farmer, no beast, no troll. He is a true knight, an Aura User! His strength is leagues beyond yours!”

Across the stage entered a tall, imposing figure clad in a gleaming plate armor, his aura mantle shimmering like a living flame. He carried a greatsword that sang when it cut the air. His eyes were cold, his bearing proud.

The aura mantle was, of course, fake, just another illusion created by the numerous purple tower mages that Lucen hired for this play.

Still, that did not stop the people watching from feeling a slight intimidation by his look and presence.

This was no paragon of chivalry. This was a knight of power without compassion, strength without mercy. He sneered at the old baron.

”So, you are the fool they call Archibald. Do you truly think yourself a knight? With rust for armor and madness for a helm? No aura, not even an inkling of mana.”

Archibald stood tall, planting his broken lance into the earth. Though his voice was tired, it carried across the stage with unshakable dignity.

”I am a knight, sir. Not by aura, nor by mana, nor by title, nor by steel. But by oath. An oath to protect the helpless, to dream when others despair, to rise when others fall. If you call me a fool for such ideals, then I embrace that name!”

The Knight laughed, his aura mantle flaring violently. ”Then come, fool, and allow me to show you the might of a true knight.”

”You are no true knight, sir! A knight must wield his power to serve the people! A knight must be the shield to protect the people! You who have abused your power are no true knight, sir!”

Hearing what Archibald said, some of the nobles actually felt a pang of guilt, while the commoners became excited by every word Archibald spoke.

The Knight sneered, raising his massive blade. ”Power is all that matters. The weak exist to kneel before the strong. Chivalry? Honor? Foolish words for children’s tales! How can you be a knight without Aura, without power!”

Archibald slammed his dented shield into the ground, using it to steady his trembling legs. ”It’s no children’s tale! True knights do exist! I stand before you as that knight! With honor as my blade and mine chivalry as my shield!”

The Knight laughed, echoing in the theater. ”Honor cannot cut steel. Chivalry cannot stop death. Words cannot save you, old fool!”

He swung his greatsword down in a terrible arc. The stage shuddered with the impact as Archibald barely raised his broken shield to meet it. The shield split clean in half, the audience gasping at the crash of wood and metal.

Archibald staggered, but did not fall. He seized the broken haft of his lance and raised it again.

”Steel breaks, shields shatter... But my dream, my oath will endure!”

The Knight pressed forward, his shimmering aura mantle blazing brighter. He struck again, and again, each blow raining down with merciless force. Archibald blocked, stumbled, bled, yet rose each time. His battered armor clattered like scrap, but his eyes blazed with unyielding fire.

William shouted from the edge of the field, tears streaking his face. ”My lord, stop! Please! Knight that is Baron Muinic!”

The Knight did not care about Archibald being a baron. He felt ashamed that Archibald, who had no aura or mana, even lasted this long against him.

The Knight roared, bringing his blade down in a final, merciless strike. Archibald met it with the haft of his broken lance. The illusion flared like lightning. For a heartbeat, it seemed the frail old fool truly held back the power of an Aura User.

The clash ended with a shattering sound. Archibald collapsed to one knee, the lance snapping in two. Yet his voice carried, ragged but proud.

”A true knight... Will never fall to evil! He will stand again... And again to protect... The ideals and dreams he holds!”

The Knight staggered, shaken, as though struck by something invisible. His aura mantle flickered. For a moment, he faltered; his confidence was replaced by doubt.

Archibald wanted to charge once more, but he had failed to do so. The audience saw the true knight, the old fool who always charged forward, finally stop. He then started coughing up blood, and the background music became rather tragic.

The Knight and William paused, and Archibald stood up. There, on one knee, was an illusion of the actor.

This was, of course, just a setup to make it seem like time stopped for everyone but Archibald. He then faced the audience and spoke.

”Was it all a mistake in the end?”

The lights dimmed until only Archibald was illuminated. His voice, once foolishly bold, now carried the weary weight of a man who had chased dreams to the end of his strength.

”To dream of chivalry... To hold to honor, when the world calls it folly... Was it but madness? Was I naught but a jester dressed in rust, mistaking pity for praise?”

He staggered, one hand pressed to his chest, but his gaze swept across the hushed audience as though searching their very hearts.

”For my end to be like this... To fall under the blade of evil. Unable to fulfill my oath, unable to protect what needed to be protected... A false knight, a fool of a baron.”

Archibald’s shoulders sagged. His lance splinter lay forgotten at his feet. For a heartbeat, he looked like nothing more than a weary old man, broken and beaten by a world too cruel for his ideals.

Then, slowly, he raised his head. His eyes shone with the same wild, unshakable light that had carried him through a thousand quests.

”No! I might fall here, but it is no mistake! I might not have been a true knight in the eyes of others, but I was one in my heart! I upheld my honor and the chivalry in my heart. I have dedicated my victories to the splendid Maria, and saved many with ever loyal William.”

His broken lance clattered from his hand, but his voice rose, resonant, carrying to every corner of the hall.

”Let this be my final oath: that somewhere, beyond this field, beyond my last breath... One soul shall take up this dream anew. So long as a single heart remembers, I have not failed!”

The movement of the other actors began anew, symbolizing the return of the flow of time. Archibald was once again on one knee, dying. He looked at the knight, who had betrayed his honor and forsook his chivalry, and had done evil.

”You may have struck my mortal body! But you cannot strike my soul, my dream! It will live onward eternally. For as long as my deeds are remembered by the people, then I will never fall!”

Despite his final breath, Archibald spoke with conviction and strength.

The false knight lowered his blade, shaken. For the first time, his proud face wavered. He turned away, unable to meet Archibald’s burning gaze.

William caught his master as he slumped forward, clutching his chest. His voice broke as he cried, ”My lord... No, Knight Archibald… You’ve won, even in death.”

Archibald smiled faintly, lips trembling but eyes alight. ”Not death, my loyal William.... Only… Rest. For a knight’s dream never dies... Until our next... Grand Adventure...”

His head fell back, the light dimming until only his silhouette remained, broken armor, shattered lance, yet a posture unbent, as though still standing watch. He died not as the foolish Baron David Muinic, but as the glorious Knight Archibald.

The curtain fell.

Silence gripped the theater, as though the whole audience had forgotten how to breathe.