An Honourless Liar

The Imperial Capital of Hindenburg was a breathtaking sight, for many. However, for Preto, it was no better than Joltenheim in any sense. The buildings of Hindenburg were beautiful, and so were the buildings of Joltenheim. The Imperial Palace was grand and crafted beautifully. It was built out of tan-colored stone. The Ducal Castle was grander and built of gray stone, fitting its vast surroundings of the Snowfell Grasslands. The beautiful and cool temperature of Joltenheim was the most relaxing sight to exist. Hindenburg was plain land, not much beautiful for him. He loved the mountains of Joltenheim and the marvelous grasslands, where he used to lie all day long in his childhood. "Those were the days," he whispered to himself with a faint smile. His smile of joy turned to sorrow when his childhood reminded him of his mother. He missed her silky brown hair and the beautiful smile. He missed her the most.

"We're 'bout to reach the imperial castle. Everyone be ready to greet his imperial majesty. Don't make any lazy mistakes in front of him." Said Fredrick Snowfell, the Duke of Joltenheim.

"Your father is a harsh man." Said Alexander.

"You may be wrong, maybe right." Said Preto.

"And what is that supposed to mean?" 

"It means that he's not always the same. Nobody is. It's just the circumstances he is in. He knows that my fate is in the hands of the Emperor, and he must do whatever he can to impress him." Said Preto with a blank face.

"He loves you." Said Alexander.

"He certainly does. "

"Don't worry, Preto. I have everything covered."

"Let's see then."

"Frederick Snowfell, the Duke of Joltenheim and the Governor of the North, Lord Möbius Asellus, the Baron of Old Field." Announced the summoner of the imperial court.

"Your Majesty," the duke bowed.

"Your Majesty," the baron bowed.

"Welcome to Hindenburg," said the emperor.

"Your Majesty, this is an issue of my duchy. It's a matter between my count and baron. Shouldn't I be the one to judge this trial?" said the Duke.

"Your son and heir are being accused here, my duke. The victim, Count Clove, is my subject, and he fears that you would be biased in this trial. So it would be best for me to be the fair judge of this trial." said the Emperor.

"But, Your Majesty—"

"You may step back, my lord, duke. The emperor has said his word," said the old advisor.

"Very well, Lord Asfagus," said the duke. The duke stepped back, his gaze suddenly landing on Count Clove, smiling and giggling at the insult of his duke. This traitorous bastard, I will get back at you.

"Now step forward, Ser Preto Snowfell, the Undead Knight," the summoner announced.

Preto stepped forward. People in the court started murmuring. "Your Majesty," he bowed. His left hand was at the hilt of his sword. His eyes narrowed on the emperor. A grim little smile covered his face.

The emperor nodded.

"Accused of deceiving Count Renard Clove and helping Ser Alexander Asellus in his crimes, do you have anything to say?" asked the summoner.

"I just helped a man who was being falsely accused."

"How do you know he was falsely accused???" asked the emperor.

"It was very simple, Your Majesty. Before my involvement, instead of asking for justice from my father, his duke, he chased Ser Alexander to kill him and bury him before anyone can hear his side." Said Preto.

"This is nonsense," The Count barked. "You swine."

"Stay silent, Count, You will be given a chance to speak." Said the imperial Advisor,

"Why would he do that?" asked the emperor, his gaze swept from Preto to the Count, who now began to sweat, and again back to Preto.

"Jealousy, the entire realm spoke of the beauty and strength of Ser Alexander, and they laughed at the ugliness of the Count. That is why he wanted to kill him. He feared that the son of a baron would marry a woman of a higher rank because of the rumors. That Lady Elina, daughter of Marquess Longsword, was in love with him and wished to marry him. He feared that Ser Alexander would become Marquess after the marriage, because the Marquess Longsword had no male heir and he wished that position for his son." Said Preto.

"Hmm, I see," said the emperor.

"Step forward, Ser, Alexander Asellus, the Knight of Beauty, Accused of raping and dishonoring the Countess Margot Clove," said the summoner.

"Your Majesty," he bowed.

The Count's smile twitched as the Emperor's eyes lingered on Alexander. A bead of sweat slid down his temple, unnoticed by all but Preto, whose narrowed gaze was as cold as the northern wind.

The Emperor nodded. He is indeed very beautiful, the emperor thought as his eyes swept towards the Count who seemed pretty nervous now. The emperor slightly believed the words of Preto.

"Do you have to say anything in your defense?" asked the summoner.

"I did not rape or dishonor her," said Preto.

"Do you have any proof?" asked the emperor.

"I would like to call a witness, who will prove that the count is an abuser and an honor-less liar." Said Alexander.

"Who is this witness? I hope it's not the Ducal Heir." The emperor chuckled.

"It's certainly not Ser Preto. The witness I'd call is none other than the Countess herself, whom I'm accused of rapping." 

Everyone in the court was shocked, even the Duke and the Baron.

"Countess Margot Clove, step forward."

Countess Margot was a beautiful lady. Her body was shaped like an hourglass. Her facial features were sharp and elegant. She seemed like an odd match for the ugly Count. Her eyes glided towards Alexander. She gave him a very faint smile and turned towards the emperor.

"Your Majesty," she bowed.

"Tell us, Lady Margot, were you dishonored by this man?" The emperor asked.

"No, Your Majesty," said the countess. said the countess. And everyone in the court started murmuring, their eyes focused on the count.

"I get it now, you bloody bitch! You all fucking bastards are in on it." The count shouted.

"Silence!" Advisor Asfagus shouted. "Step forward, Count."

"Your Majesty, they are all in on it. They mean to overthrow me!" Said the Count. "They—they're all traitors. Punish them, my lord, punish—"

"Do you have any proof, Count?" Asked the Emperor.

"Majesty, they are all in on it, all these bloody bastard"

"Do you have a proof?" The Emperor repeated.

"No, Your Majesty."

"Okay then, I declare both the accused innocent."

"Your Majesty, if I may," said the Countess.

"Yes, my lady," said the Emperor.

"I have been physically tortured and abused by the Count. He's been very hard on me, and he even forced me to falsely testify against Ser Alexander." The Countess sobbed. "But in your grand presence, I had the courage to speak the truth. I demand freedom from the marriage with him."

"Your Majesty," said Preto.

"Yes," said the emperor.

"I demand the Count be punished for disrespecting the Duke and the ducal heir." 

"Your Majesty, I demand he be punished for my insult and damaging my virtue and respect."

"Hahahaha," the Count laughed. "You damn bastards, I demand the trial by combat against this golden bastard," said the Count.

"You have every right to do so, but it won't be fair to you," the emperor signaled to the Count's severed arm. 

"I name my son, Darius Clove, as my champion," the Count said.

A tall and strong man stepped forward, unsheathing his greatsword. "I accept," he said.

"Do you accept? Ser Asellus" asked the emperor.

"I do. I name, Ser Preto Snowfell, as my champion."

Preto stepped forward, "I accept," unsheathing his sword, dropping the sheath on the floor signaling that this would be a battle to death. Everyone in the court was shocked. Darius also dropped the sheath. "It's called Daylight," Preto said signalling to his sword. The sword was a long, elegant blade with a slightly tapered point, crafted for both precision and strength. Its surface gleamed with a mirror-like sheen, catching the warm hues of the sunset. The hilt was finely crafted, with a crossguard shaped like outstretched wings, while the grip was wrapped in dark leather to ensure a firm hold. The pommel bore a simple yet noble emblem, hinting at its storied legacy and the wielder's noble origins.

"Alright then, the trial by combat between Ser Alexander Asellus and Count Renard Clove begins here. May the Gods oversee this combat and give their strength to the true innocence." The emperor permitted the combat.

Darius bellowed a roar that echoed through the hall as he charged forward, his great-sword arcing in a vicious swing meant to cleave Preto in half. The sheer force of the strike sent a gust of wind howling past the crowd. Preto, light on his feet, sidestepped with a dancer's grace, his boots barely skimming the marble floor as the blade smashed into the ground, sending shards of stone flying.

Preto moved like water, flowing around Darius' next attack. His blade darted out, slashing a thin line across the young count's forearm. Blood beaded on dark steel, a shallow wound—insulting more than damaging. Darius growled, fury building with each passing moment. He spun with surprising speed for his size, bringing his sword around in a deadly sweep, but once again, Preto danced out of reach.

"You fight like a coward," Darius snarled, his breath ragged. "Face me like a man! You bloody cunt!"

Preto's blue eyes flicked up, calm and unshaken. "And you fight like a bull—strong, but blind."

With a grunt, Darius lunged again, this time driving the full force of his body into a downward strike. Preto raised his blade to meet it. The clash of metal rang like a thunderclap, sending a jarring vibration up his arms. The strength behind Darius' blow forced him to one knee, but he held firm, the point of his sword catching the greatsword just enough to slide it aside.

But this time, Preto's sword, Daylight, hummed softly in his hand—a ripple in the air, like a faint breeze. Time bent, subtly shifting. In the heartbeat that followed, Preto's grip tightened, and he twisted his wrist, allowing his blade to slice a gash across Darius' cheek. Blood sprayed, a crimson arc against the polished floor.

Darius, enraged now, abandoned finesse entirely. He swung wildly, each strike a hammer blow meant to crush. Preto parried, deflected, and spun with fluid precision, every movement a seamless flow. He stepped into Darius' guard, a glimmer of frost in his eyes, and drove the hilt of his sword into Darius' chest. The force knocked the larger man back, but just as Darius faltered, time rippled again. It had given him a moment to recover his position, a brief flash where time bent just enough to make the next strike sure.

"You rely on strength alone," Preto murmured, his voice cold as winter's breath. "But brute force is no match for a blade guided by precision."

Darius roared, more beast than man, and raised his sword high for one final, devastating blow. This time, Preto did not dodge. He stepped forward, into the arc of death. But as the greatsword descended, Daylight hummed once more, turning back time by a heartbeat, enough for Preto to duck low, spinning beneath the blade. The world seemed to slow in that instant, the sword's edge passing mere inches from his skin.

With both hands, Preto drove Daylight upward, the blade sinking into Darius' ribs.

Time rippled again. The wound, freshly opened, momentarily undid itself, as though the universe had held its breath. Then, the reality snapped back. The blade slid deeper, between ribs, the sound of steel against bone echoing through the hall. Blood poured from the wound like a dark river, staining the floor beneath them.

Darius froze, eyes wide with disbelief. His great sword slipped from his fingers and clattered to the ground. Preto twisted his blade, drawing out a second, more horrific scream as the sword left its mark. Blood poured freely, staining the marble. The emperor's throne trembled as Darius staggered once, twice, then collapsed to his knees.

He lifted his gaze to Preto, his eyes dimming with each painful breath. "This… was not… my fate…" he rasped. His gaze flickered to his father, the one he had fought to please.

Preto's eyes remained steady, the glimmer of frost in his gaze never fading. "Fate is the blade in your enemy's hand."

With a final breath, Darius collapsed, his lifeless body striking the ground with a thud that shook the very walls of the throne room.

Preto Snowfell turned, blood dripping from the tip of his sword. The silence that followed felt unnatural, heavy with the weight of judgment. The room was still, the echo of time's distortion lingering. Slowly, the Emperor raised his hand.

"Victory, of Ser Preto Snowfell, Champion of Ser Alexander Asellus" he declared, his voice resounding.

And as the court erupted in applause and murmurs of awe, Preto Snowfell lowered his sword, his eyes already distant.

The old advisor whispered in the ear of the Emperor.

The Emperor held a hand up and there was silence in the court. "The fate of the Count Renard Clove lies in the hand of Duke Fredrick Snowfell, my loyal governor of the north. May he serve the justice." Said the Emperor.

"Your Majesty," the Duke bowed. "We will take him back to Joltenheim, where he will be punished." His title will be stripped off. His son is dead. Hence, we need a new count.

"Do you have any name in mind?" the Emperor questioned.

"I do. The best candidate would be Lord Candin Duster of Old Barn. He is the cousin of Count Renard," said the Duke.

"Your Majesty, if I may speak?" said Alexander.

"Yes," said the Emperor.

"Ser Darius was defeated by Ser Preto. He must be given the honor of naming the new count. He'll be the duke after his father, and it'll be good for him if he finds his allies himself.

"Shut up, boy," said the Duke. 

"Ser Preto has no right. Only I or the Duke can permit—" said the Emperor, before he was interrupted by the old advisor. He whispered in the ear of the Emperor.

"After further consideration, I believe you are right. Ser Preto has a word in this matter. After all, he killed Ser Darius." said the Emperor.

"But, Your Majesty—"

"Silence," said the old advisor. "Ser Preto, name the new Count."

Preto thought for a moment, then he stepped forward. "I believe this trial has affected Ser Alexander Asellus the most, and it is best to name him the Count of Old Barn. He knows the country well. His father's barony is in the same country." 

"Preto, you fool—" said the Duke.

"It is decided then. I hereby name Count Alexander Asellus as the Lord of Old Barn in the presence of Frederick Snowfell, Duke of Joltenheim," said the Emperor.