"..It's not that important for now, though." Lancelot squinted, leaning back in the bed. He noticed that he was dressed in, what seemed to be, an expensive silk gown.
Vortigern was a truly historical figure. Fifteen years ago, he started the Great Civil War, dividing the kingdom in half. The Southern side was his faction, and the Northern side was the previous king's, Arthur the ninety-ninth's faction.
Eventually, after a bloody war, they achieved mutual destruction, both dying. The next heir to the throne, Arthur the hundredth, went missing, causing the situation at present-
The kingdom divided and fractured into four parts, with various nobles vying and contending for the vacant throne. In each of the four parts, there was a contender that was recognised as having the highest chance.
In the western part of the kingdom was Earl Ector Einhorn, the previous king's most trusted aide, and the leader of the now disbanded royal guard. Out of everyone, he had the highest chance of winning.
Lancelot looked around, a modicum of impression visible on his face.
The bedroom itself was grand, a large window next to the bed, with cupboards and a closet next to it. The wallpaper was neat and black, with golden, flowery patterns inscribed onto it.
These were all signs that confirmed his suspicions- He was currently in one of the manors of Earl Ector.
Lifting the gown up to chest, he was shocked to find himself in pristine condition, the bruises and cuts gone, and not a single blemish on his skin.
"Ector must have healed me, a Stage 5 like him must have countless Spells and methods.." Lancelot mumbled, gripping his head.
Physical remedies, however, could not heal the pain in his heart.
More accurately, his emotions.
"Sarah.." He whispered quietly, letting the name flow away with the breeze.
Lancelot rubbed his eyes, sighing heavily.
"Stronger. I'll just have to be stronger."
He muttered, sliding out of bed and heading towards the blackish wooden door, grasping the yellow doorknob and stepping into the stretching hallway.
He needed answers from Ector: Where am I? Why did you save me? What are your plans for me? Did you kill that stray magus?
Additionally, he needed answers from Ddraig, too: Why didn't you tell me my father was a magus? What about that inheritance? What should I do?
Lancelot observed that he had a ton of questions, but no answers.
Well, Lancelot did have a vague idea of why he was saved..
But, it was extremely unlikely, so he would not entertain the notion.
"Ah, you're awake, Sir." A maid approached and bowed respectfully, "Sir Ector wishes to meet you in his office."
For a moment, the image of his own maid overlapped with Ector's maid, and Lancelot was momentarily speechless.
"..Lead the way." He averted his gaze, following after the maid.
To say he felt zero guilt would be incorrect, it's simply the fact that he had a strict systematic ranking of his priorities. The life of Sarah outweighed a hundred Uncle Shens and Kens and maids, and his own life was worth a million of each.
Lancelot is but a fifteen year old boy, to obtain even a fraction of Vortigern's ruthlessness would take him quite some time, and multiple life-or-death experiences.
Though, Lancelot didn't regret killing them. It was a necessity, and he despised the act of regret itself.
The maid opened the door at the opposite end of the hallway, stepping inside the office and huddling over to the side.
"Sir Ector," The maid bowed.
Behind the mahogany desk, which had various piles of paperwork, was Ector, smiling enigmatically. His chair was positioned in front of a balcony, letting him bask in the sunshine.
No doubt, this was done intentionally to make him more 'cooler'.
"Good job. You're dismissed." Ector leaned forward, hiding his smile by clasping his hands in front of his lips, leaning his arms on the desk.
After the maid left, Lancelot opened his mouth to speak,
"Sir Ector-"
"Sit down. Also, just call me Ector, that formal stuff is such a bother." Ector waved his hand lazily.
"..Ector, then. Where am I? Why did you save me?" Lancelot asked, pulling up one of the three wooden chairs on the sides and sitting on it.
"You're in Neruda, a town not far off from your village." Ector chuckled, leaning back in his chair. "As for why I saved you.. I happened to be passing by on a little business trip, and chanced upon your little.. situation."
Ector's smile widened into a grin.
"It had been a while since I last had a squire, so I decided to save you, nurturing Initiate Class Magi is always fun."
Lancelot's eyebrow twitched at Ector's laidback attitude.
"You could sense that they were controlled?"
Ector offered a thumbs up.
"And.. What is 'Initiate Class'?" Lancelot asked, genuinely confused.
Ddraig hadn't mentioned anything regarding 'classes' of Magi.
"Eh, you don't know..? Wait, do you still use Stages?" Ector was shocked.
"..Yeah?"
Ector looked extremely amused, slumping in his chair.
"The thaumaturgical world stopped using Stages around 14 years ago, after the Great Civil War, the one in which the king died, along with that damned traitor. We categorise using 'Class', now." Ector idly rapped the edge of the desk, a hint of anger on his sharp features before it quickly disappeared.
"Stage One is Initiate Class, Stage Two is Practitioner Class, Stage Three is Adept Class, Stage Four is Elite Class, and my Stage, Stage Five, is Master Class."
He explained.
"Also, calling me a 'Stage Five' sounds like I have cancer.." Ector shuddered before leaning in, curiosity evident on his face,
"So, who taught you? They must be really old fashioned.."
"Ah, it was my father." Lancelot lied smoothly, his face calm with a tinge of sadness.
"He died a year back, from an unidentified illness." This statement, however, was completely true.
"Ah, I'm sorry for your loss. Any relatives..?"
"..No, my sister died when that enemy magus attacked, and I'm adopted. I don't know who my blood parents are." Lancelot frowned.
"..Damn." Ector sighed, "Fate can be cruel.."
"..."
Ector coughed into his hand, "I couldn't catch that stray magus, they didn't leave any traces."
"Unfortunate." Lancelot's fist clenched, "Though, that means I can get revenge myself."
There was a fire in Lancelot's eye, fueled by hatred, ambition and anger.
He needed strength, fast. He wanted- no, NEEDED, to track down Sancho as fast as possible, and rip her apart himself. It wouldn't be acceptable for anyone else to kill her before he got his payback.
They had a sense of mutual hatred, one caused by humiliation of being wounded by one astronomically weaker than you, and the other one; sheer, righteous fury.
Ector looked on at Lancelot with a hint of shock, followed by an intense amount of interest.
'Hehe, that look in his eyes, that thirst for power... It's exactly the same one as that bastard's.' Ector chuckled internally, eyes narrowing.
'Should I kill him now? No, that's wayyy too rash. I needed a trump card anyways.'
"So," Ector broke the silence, a smirk on his face.
"I'd like to give you an ultimatum."
Lancelot nodded, curiosity and a tinge of anticipation surging through him.
"Either take the Entrance Exam to my magus school.." Ector clasped his hands, grinning,
Immediately, several flames burst out in the air around Lancelot, extinguishing to reveal numerous blades.
They all pointed at Lancelot, forming a tight circle around him and threatening to turn him into a pin-cushion.
"Or die."