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Penitent Book 3 Ch 59: Short Rest
🕑 Added 2026-01-01 13:00:10 +0000 UTCAfter a verbal agreement was reached, they agreed to go over details later and Bayle was escorted by two royal guards out of the room.
King Marlo smiled at them. “I can honestly say this has been one of the most productive meetings of my life. I’ve established a new nation, been healed of my ills, and now I have two of my most powerful Knights devoted to a kingslaying.” He laughed, a bit more heartily than he was able to before. “My father would have me attend meetings when I was younger as well. He’d speak with dukes, counts, and barons for hours and hours about what they wanted and what he wanted and they’d go in circles over and over and over again. One of the benefits of the rifts is that I was able to dismiss almost all nobility from the palace on the grounds of saving funds for the war effort. All of those conversations could’ve been a simple letter anyway.”
Michael smiled. He was more than familiar with the useless meetings that could’ve been emails.
“You need anything else from us, boss?” asked Ollie yawning. “That was a lot.”
“I just wanted to inform you of one more thing, and then I will dismiss you.” He looked to Lance. “First I want to make sure that you’re aware you won’t be part of the assassination mission. You are known to the royalty there, whereas Michael and the others were nameless, faceless Penitents for the most part.”
“I had guessed as much, sire.”
“You’re a smart man. I also want to mention that there will be a parade in two days for you all, during which I will be granting you all lands and titles.”
Lance raised his eyebrows. “You’re making us Hume nobility?”
“Don’t get too excited. The lands I’ll be granting you are all in the most dangerous areas of southern Hume, near the old capitol. Right now they’re considered uninhabitable due to the severity of the rift activity there. There had been a number of attempts by my ancestors to re-settle it, as the land is good, but they all failed.”
“What does that make me?” asked Ollie. “A baron? A viscount? I think I’d make a fine Duke.”
“Stent doesn’t teach you about the ranks of nobility, does it?” asked the king.
Lance sighed. “They don’t bother telling the Penitents anything they think would be useless to them.”
“The three of you would be Counts. At least in name. I feel you’ll need all the strength I can give you, and beside that you’ve more than earned it. If we manage to win this, the lands would, based on what you have said Michael, be livable again when all is settled.”
Land wasn’t something Michael expected to receive, but he certainly couldn’t fault the king’s logic. He wasn’t certain he would be keen on managing lands once the rift crisis was settled, but he’d deal with that problem when it was over, assuming he survived. Ollie seemed much more enthused by the idea.
“I will be sending the royal herald to receive a description of your coats of arms. I’d like to have something to unveil at the parade for the three of you. Aside from the noble titles I am researching other titles that I can grant to each of you. There are some records of several that have not been put in place in centuries, though I want to confirm their usefulness over the next few days before the parade.”
King Marlo let out a heavy sigh. “Now, I’m afraid I must go. Even with your healing I’m feeling very tired and I want to use what little energy I have left to spend time with my family.”
He pushed himself to his feet.
“This is something I will not be able to do at the parade in front of everyone.” He bowed deeply to the three of them, then straightened himself up. “The three of you owed nothing to Hume, but have fought as if you’d give everything for it. I cannot thank you enough for that.” He turned around, followed closely by Bren and a number of servants.
Lance looked absolutely flabbergasted by everything that had happened, and Michael stood there going over all of it in his head again to make sure he’d kept everything staring.
Ollie smiled at them both. “I dunno. I think I like that guy.”
…
They all retired to their rooms for the night, and Michael wound up sleeping on the floor. He’d grown so used to resting on hard ground that the softness of the bed made it almost impossible to sleep. In the morning Michael awoke before everyone else, but was surprised to find a servant there waiting for him when he stepped out.
“Good morning, Sir. May I get you some breakfast?”
“Uh, yes please.”
“Do you favor anything in particular, sir?”
“Bacon and eggs?”
“Right away, sir.”
Michael went back into his room and after around ten minutes the servant arrived with a plate piled high with bacon and eggs. Michael tore into it, still hungry even after the massive meal he’d eaten with the King the previous day. Once he was done he threw on his fighting clothes, buckled Ruin to his waist, and touched his armor to have it wrap around him comfortably. When he exited the servant looked surprised to see him armed and armored.
“Is there a training ground I could use? Somewhere I could exercise?”
“Uh, there is the royal guard training yard, but It’s not typically open to those outside their order. Sir.”
“Could you ask? I uh, already got dressed for it,” said Michael with a smile.
The servant nodded and disappeared for a few minutes before returning.
“Follow me, sir.”
Michael nodded and followed the man through winding corridors and grand halls until he found himself in a large square interior garden. There were a number of royal guards already there, who eyed him suspiciously as he entered, but Bren was there as well and after he said something to them that Michael couldn’t quite hear they all got back to work.
Bren approached him, sizing him up. He wasn’t in his full armor, but rather a dark shirt and pants with a blunted metal sword in one hand and a breastplate.
“Welcome Michael.”
“Hi Bren.”
“I’m surprised that with your last battle so recent, you’re training again already.”
“Next battle is right around the corner. Need the practice.”
Bren nodded. “The entire training yard is available to you. Anything you need, feel free to request it.”
Michael nodded and found himself an unoccupied corner in which to begin his routine. He felt faster, stronger, more focused as he moved through hundreds of sword strikes, mace blows, barrier creations, and even punches. He never slowed his pace as he worked through all of it, and at some point he started to gather an audience of royal guards. After the second hour, he was finally starting to break a sweat. The full armor really helped him get past his recovery better with the added weight.
He went to get himself some water, and Bren approached him, eyebrow raised. He’d been engaged in his own training with his men, and it was an impressive showing. They lifted and threw large rocks, or stones weighing hundreds of pounds, and their sparring matches looked like a dance, and their swords were frequently thrown to the side after due to the damage they built up.
“The men were wondering if you’d be up for a spar?” he asked.
“Sure,” replied Michael. “Five at a time work? First to fall or concede loses?”
“That’s bold.”
Michael shrugged. “I want a good workout.”
Bren walked back to his men and managed to get five men together for a spar. Two of them had looks of wounded pride that they hoped to salve by beating him, but the other three just seemed curious. He removed his armor, feeling light with it off, and took up one of the training swords. It had a good weight to it, and he twirled it once in his hand before he took his position across from the royal guards.
He kept the sword loose at his side. He was being a bit cocky, he was aware of that, but he also genuinely wanted a good workout, and to test how much his new titles and deeds had improved him.
“Begin!” shouted Bren, and one of the guards was out ahead of the others, swinging his blade at Michael’s side with full force. Michael didn’t block it, letting it slam into his side. The blade deformed and cracked where it had hit him and he didn’t move an inch.
The guard’s eyes widened. “Shit,” he managed to mutter as Michael slammed a fist downward into his collarbone. He held back, but he still heard a crack as the man went down. The other four attacked him simultaneously and he launched himself at one of them, dodging the other three as his sword slammed into the other man's and he launched him backward. He swung around, hitting a man in the back with a backswing, and then kicked another of them onto the ground before catching the last man’s blade on his own, causing both weapons to shatter.
Michael smiled at the man, who was breathing heavily with wide eyes.
“I guess we can call that a tie.”
Comments
Sean Bloodgood
Tyftc
Andrew Fox
Either works. The target they are going for IS royalty after all.
Devourerofwords
Change royalty to nobility
