Chapter 28: Investigation and Battle
Year 0002, VIII Month: The Imperium
---
An Angry Man Knows no Bound
The accusations remained baseless against Rommel for now, so Red had hurriedly gone out to calm his friend down before something much worse could happen, they need to gather concrete evidence of the truth for now.
"Calm down, Jon! Now is not the time." Red placed a firm hand on Jonathan's trembling shoulder. "I promise to help you when the time comes and we manage to prove his guilt!"
Jonathan's eyes blazed with fury. "You want me to spare that son of a bitch for another day?!"
"Yes and no!" Red lowered his voice, glancing around to ensure they weren't overheard. "But right now the odds are against our favor. It would be thirty against two!"
"He has Head Guard Rufus with him, remember? The protégé of Lord Kirka's personal guard!"
"Damn it! Damn it all!" Jonathan roared, his fist connecting with a nearby tree. The bark split beneath his knuckles, leaving them raw and bleeding, but he didn't seem to notice the pain.
Red stepped closer, his voice barely above a whisper. "So calm down for now and don't speak of this outside our circle. We need to start gathering information immediately."
Jonathan fought to contain his rage. It was true that he could be killed trying to accuse that disgusting pig without sufficient evidence and it would hinder his future search of his famuly. Even if he managed to prove his claims, Rommel would simply silence him; after all, Rommel was the law here. As acting lord, appointed by their previous lord, Kirka, his word was final.
---
Calm Before the Storm
When Jonathan visibly calmed, Red offered him shelter in the comfort of their home. He feared that if the man returned to his own dwelling now, he would only be confronted with painful yet beautiful memories of his wife and daughter who may or may not, yet still be alive somewhere in the vast wilderness. Alone with his thoughts, he might lose hope and do something unthinkable.
"Look, I know you're devastated right now. I am too." Red's voice softened. "We've been friends since we were boys. You're like a brother to me." He clasped Jonathan's arm firmly. "Please accept my offer and stay with us. I need to keep an eye on you—I know that your temper might get you killed!"
Red's eyes searched Jonathan's face, seeking a glimmer of hope. "Think about it—if what the peddler has said is true, then they might still be out there somewhere, surviving and waiting for you. You must live for them right now. Gather your strength here, under my roof."
Deep inside, Red harbored a darker suspicion, but it was too cruel to voice. His gut told him they might already be... No, he shouldn't think like that. Not without absolute certainty. He shook his head, agonizing in silent thought.
Jonathan nodded slowly, his face now haggard from the sleepless nights of their slow march home. His friend's concern only reinforced what his gut had been telling him—Red was right. They needed to investigate further, and after that... he would cross that bridge when he came to it.
He also needed to protect his friend's family. If it came to armed confrontation, he had to prepare for that eventuality. The weight of this responsibility settled heavily on his shoulders.
---
Gathering Information
Several days passed as they began quietly gathering information. The answers they received were frustratingly vague, inconsistent, and unreliable. There had to be more valid sources with the vital information they needed.
Their inquiries didn't go unnoticed. Eventually, their questioning reached Rommel's ears.
Furious, the acting lord summoned guards who were in his pocket—men he had bribed or blackmailed into loyalty. "Find everyone they've spoken to," he ordered, his jowls quivering with rage. "Make sure they understand the consequences of loose tongues and false statements against their benevolent lord."
His threats spread throughout the village like wildfire.
---
Progress Hindered
The next day, the atmosphere had shifted dramatically. Villagers who had once been open and friendly now averted their eyes when Jonathan and Red approached. They appeared shaken and afraid, avoiding anything beyond the briefest exchange.
Conversations would halt abruptly as they neared. People glanced nervously over their shoulders, as if invisible daggers threatened their backs.
It became clear that their enemy had begun to move, recognizing their investigation and taking countermeasures.
Unable to gather any useful information, they retreated to Red's home, needing to discuss their next steps carefully.
"That fat pig's nose was quick to sniff us out!," Red commented, pacing the small confines of his kitchen.
Jonathan leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "Damn it! So what now? It seems he knows you're helping me." His eyes met Red's, concern etching new lines in his face. "What about Theressa and the children?"
Red couldn't answer immediately; he had known this question would come sooner or later. The danger was no longer just theoretical—it had arrived at their doorstep.
"Let's lay low for a couple of days," he finally said. "I must speak with Theressa first."
Jonathan nodded solemnly, understanding the weight of what his friend was risking for him.
---
A Prickly Thorn for an Impatient Man
After a day of forced inaction, Jonathan could no longer bear it. His thoughts spiraled dangerously, driving him toward madness. He made a decision that would have seemed foolhardy to anyone else—he would confront the beast directly.
Without informing Red, he marched toward the village manor, determined in every step.
Before he could reach the imposing building, Head Guard Rufus intercepted him, blocking his path with an outstretched arm.
"HALT!" Rufus's voice carried the authority of his position. "The lord has barred visitors, especially you, Jonathan Ross."
Jonathan froze, his anger nearly overwhelming his reason. His hand twitched toward his sword, but he managed to maintain his composure.
After several deep breaths, he spoke with forced calm. "I'm here to see the acting lord and ask him a few questions. Then I'll be on my way."
Rufus assessed him critically, noting the barely restrained fury in his eyes. "Brave, bold, and possibly, no, most incredibly stupid," he thought.
"Before I let you pass," Rufus said carefully, "let me remind you that I am bound by oath to protect the... lord." He hesitated almost imperceptibly. "Without hesitation, I and my men will strike you down if necessary. Think very carefully before you rush in there and do something you'll regret."
Rufus had nearly said something damning about his lord. Though he despised Rommel's bratty, arrogant character, his hands were tied by the oath of fealty he had sworn to the previous lord. The Kind-hearted Lord Kirka had commanded him to protect his family from harm, and unfortunately, that included his adopted bastard son, the current acting lord.
It was fortunate that he had caught himself in time; such words could have cost him his head.
---
A Breakthrough?
Minutes passed in a tense standoff. One of the guards approached Rufus, whispering something in his ear. The head guard's expression changed subtly as he turned back to Jonathan.
"It seems Lady Luck favors you today," Rufus said evenly. "Someone wishes to speak with you, but not here. Meet them at the marketplace. Wear a red cloth on your left ankle; they'll find you."
Jonathan's confusion gave way to understanding. He nodded curtly. "Thanks."
Rufus watched him leave, shaking his head. "What an unfortunate man," he murmured with a sigh before returning to the manor.
He would need to reassign the guards who would escort the slaves today.
---
The Marketplace: The Information He Desperately Wanted to Hear
Later that afternoon, Jonathan stood in the bustling marketplace, a strip of red cloth tied around his left ankle as instructed. The crowd flowed around him as he waited, wondering who his mysterious contact might be.
After some time, two people approached him—slaves wearing Rommel's household insignia.
"Don't turn your head toward us," one whispered urgently. "We won't be long. The lord has sent us to purchase items in the market."
Jonathan nodded almost imperceptibly, turning his back to them while appearing to examine goods at a nearby stall. When they moved, he followed at a distance, their conversation blending with the market's cacophony.
For several minutes, they spoke in hushed tones, revealing the information Jonathan had desperately sought. With each word, his body tensed further, rage building within him like a gathering storm.
"We're sorry," one of the slaves whispered as they prepared to leave. "But we must keep our own heads attached."
"We were never here. Understand?" The second one glanced nervously toward the manor guards stationed at the market's edge.
Jonathan stood frozen, visibly trembling with fury, his mind reeling from what he'd learned.
---
Lost In Thought
"Sir? Sir, are you listening? Hello?" A vendor waved his hands in front of Jonathan's face. "Am I speaking to a statue?"
Jonathan blinked, pulled back to the present moment. "Ah... yes. Just one of those, please."
The vendor frowned, annoyed by his customer's distraction. By then, the slaves had vanished into the crowd, and the guards who had accompanied them remained oblivious to the exchange, positioned too far away to notice anything unusual.
---
Threats Were Made
When Jonathan finally returned to Red's home, he found his friend pacing anxiously outside, wearing a path in the dirt.
"Where the hell have you been!?" Red demanded relief and anger warring in his voice.
"The market," Jonathan replied simply. "Why?"
Red studied him intently, searching for truth in his eyes. Finally, he sighed heavily. "Rommel's men came by. Apparently, he's 'invited' you to the manor."
"THEY CAME HERE?" Jonathan's face paled. "Did they harm you or your family?"
"They've threatened us," Red said grimly. "I've told Theressa and the children to remain indoors. We've been packing since morning when you disappeared."
"Damn it all!" Jonathan slammed his fist into the same tree he'd struck days before, reopening his barely-healed knuckles.
"So where were you really?" Red pressed.
Jonathan hesitated, then confessed. "I... I actually went to the village manor early this morning, but Rufus turned me away. Later, he told me someone wanted to meet me at the market." His voice hardened. "It was two of Rommel's slaves. They told me what happened that night."
He took a ragged breath. "Rommel ordered them to banish my wife and daughter when he was drunk. A week later, when he sobered up and realized what he'd done, he beat them severely and ordered a search." His voice broke. "But by then..."
He couldn't finish that thought, and it gnawed at him.
Red could only curse. "That bastard!"
Jonathan placed a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Red, I appreciate everything you've done for me, but you have your family to consider." He glanced toward the house. "This is my burden to carry alone. I can't risk your safety for mine. Please thank Theressa for me."
He turned to gather his meager belongings, but Red stopped him.
"No," Red said firmly. "As much as you blame yourself, I share that blame. Theressa and I discussed this last night. She said whatever we decided, she would respect and support." His expression darkened. "She's also tired of dodging the leering eyes of Rommel's cronies. I'm coming with you to answer this summons."
Jonathan sighed deeply. "Then speak with her and the children. I need to stop somewhere first—we need help."
---
Preparing for a Battle
As dusk approached, they prepared for what might be their final confrontation. Jonathan donned the armor he'd worn during the war: a sturdy gambeson, iron helmet, one-handed sword, and shield bearing the Imperium's crest, now faded and dented.
Red armed himself with a sword, short bow, quiver of arrows, and leather body armor that had seen better days.
They escorted Theressa and the children to a meeting point near the village gate, where they would be ready to flee at a moment's notice.
Christopher, the man Red had spoken with when Jonathan first arrived, stood guard over the family. Jonathan had saved Christopher's life during the war, taking arrows meant for him that had nearly proved fatal. Now Christopher had the chance to repay that debt.
With their loved ones as secure as possible, Jonathan and Red marched toward the village manor, prepared for battle. They would not go quietly.
---
This is it…
The sun had nearly set when they reached the manor. Guards at the entrance raised their spears.
"Halt! What business brings you here so late?"
"I've been summoned by the lord," Jonathan answered steadily.
The guards examined the two men, noting their war-worn equipment. They assumed the acting lord wished to honor these veterans, as was customary. Nodding, they escorted them to Rommel's study hall.
One guard knocked three times on the ornate door.
"My lord, a man named Jonathan Ross is here to see you. He claims to have been summoned."
After a moment's pause, a voice answered from within. "Let him in!"
---
The Room of An Insufferable Bastard
"Jonathan, oh Jonathan!" Rommel's voice dripped with sarcasm as they entered. "A brave hero, the pride of our village! I see you survived that terrible war." His smile never reached his eyes.
The acting lord lounged in an oversized chair, his corpulent figure draped in fine silk that strained at the seams. Behind him stood Rufus and several guards, expressions carefully neutral.
"You see," Rommel continued, swirling wine in a goblet, "a little bird has been singing sweet chirps in my ear. But the tune quickly soured." He leaned forward. "I hear you've been asking questions about your wife and daughter. I can assure you, I had nothing to do with their... disappearance."
His mocking tone and haughty expression sent Jonathan's hand to his sword hilt. Only Red's subtle restraining touch kept him from drawing immediately.
"You!" Jonathan snarled, trembling with rage. "I know you ordered their banishment, you piece of fucking shit!"
Rommel's face contorted with indignation. This peasant dared accuse him? When no evidence existed? Even if he vaguely remembered ordering something in his drunken stupor, he would never admit to it.
"You dare slander your lord with such scandalous accusations?!" he bellowed, rising from his seat. "Where is your evidence to support these outrageous claims?"
His smile returned, mocking and confident. They both knew Jonathan had no proof beyond the word of slaves—worthless in any court of justice.
But Jonathan had moved beyond justice. Beyond reason.
"Enough talking, you pig!"
"What—?"
Before Rommel could finish, before the guards could react, Jonathan drew his sword in one fluid motion and slashed downward at the acting lord's face.
---
I am Vengeance!
"Eeeekkkk!" Rommel squealed as the blade's tip opened a line from his forehead to the bridge of his nose. Blood poured down his face, staining his fine clothes.
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" he shrieked, scrambling backward. "ARREST THEM! NO KILL THEM!"
The guards drew their weapons as Rommel cowered. Rufus also unsheathed his sword, though noticeably slower than the others—a hesitation no one registered in the chaos.
"Guards, seize that man and protect your lord!" Rufus commanded, his voice carrying the appropriate urgency while his actions betrayed reluctance.
The confined space of the study worked to Jonathan and Red's advantage. The guards could only approach two at a time through the narrow doorway, preventing them from being overwhelmed.
Steel clashed against steel as they defended themselves, slowly retreating into the hallway. They needed to escape before reinforcements arrived.
"This way!" Red shouted, parrying a thrust and countering with a slash that sent one guard reeling.
Jonathan fought with the reckless abandon like a man with nothing left to lose. His blade found gaps in armor, his shield battered aside spear thrusts. Every strike carried the weight of his grief and rage.
Meanwhile, Rufus had escorted Rommel to a hidden chamber within the manor, where a soldier tended to his wound. The head guard remained outside the room, ostensibly protecting his lord but deliberately avoiding the ongoing battle.
In his heart, Rufus hoped they would escape. He wanted the fat bastard to face punishment for his cruelty, but his oath prevented him from directly participating. The most he could offer was this small mercy—a fighting chance, if they could survive long enough to take it.
As the sounds of combat echoed through the manor halls, Rufus closed his eyes briefly. "May the gods grant you swift feet and sharp swords," he whispered to himself, "for that is all the help I can give."