Ganelon spoke not a word in response. The fearsome fellow of before had all but disappeared, replaced by a bumbling, broken mess, his eyes transfixed on only a single man. It was as if he had regressed to a child; he closed off his eyes and ears, his lips quivered, and he shrunk back out of dread like one would before a monster in the dark—a creature whispered of during bedtime to get naughty children to behave—only this was no being of imagination. Lucius was very much real.

  “No, no…” Ganelon stuttered, his knuckles turning white. “But I was so close. Everything I prepared for, everything I planned, was supposed to culminate here. It was going so well.”

  Lucius broke out into a gentlemanly smile. “Indeed, your efforts are to be applauded, my friend. I worried for a moment that you’d take longer than I’d like, but fortunately my fears were unfounded. Bravo, Sir Ganelon! You certainly have a knack for fulfilling expectations.”

  “E-expectations?” The High Tribunal shook his head, delirious. “You knew I’d be here?”

  “Well, yes. I know many things. I know exactly when you wake every morning. I know the type of drinks you prefer, your eating habits, how you squint your left eye when irritated, or how you often gaze woefully out to the sky during the evening hours when you believe no one else to be nearby. I know you planned to keep the city hostage by smuggling explosive crystal bombs into warehouses around the borders, and I also know that your plot to remove the Archbishop has been in motion for quite a while. I know this all, Ganelon; and I know many more.”

  The man was utterly speechless. Lucius could see the color in his face draining by the second, his pride, his dignity, and his self-esteem all faded to nothingness.

  “But I… I had a spy follow you,” he quietly said. “You shouldn’t even be here. Just an hour ago, they said you were fast asleep.”

  The gentleman chuckled. “Ah, yes. Those fellows you call night walkers, hm? I am most pleased to say that I’ve developed a friendly relationship with them. Let not their dealings as informants or assassins diminish their value as professionals; they deserve a proper wage just like anyone else, which unfortunately you’ve neglected to provide. And they are not too happy with being treated as expendables.”

  Ganelon froze for a moment, before bringing his hand up and covering his forehead. He let free a bitter, resentful laugh. “So they, too, have betrayed me. Not the only ones, I presume?”

  Lucius enthusiastically clapped his hands. “A stellar deduction! You would be correct: the merchants, the judges, and even the castle servants have all become a part of my humble network. Though, the paladins weren’t quite so easily swayed. They are rather loyal - perhaps you should send them a gift some time, maybe a basket of fruits.”

  Ganelon didn’t seem to appreciate Lucius’s candid tone.

  “Suffice to say, my dandy friend, there’s nowhere else to run,” the gentleman continued. “I’ve already confiscated the explosions, as well as visited the court and had them prepare a trial for the morrow. Attempted assassination of an Archbishop is a serious crime; not even a Peer like you can avoid the consequences.”

  Lucius had to admit, he much enjoyed this performance. It reminded him of those old detective movies he’d see in theatres. Here, at the ‘final’ confrontation, the protagonist would shed light on all the plots and dastardly schemes attempted by the nefarious villain, and they would do so all-the-while watching their adversary squirm. How interesting that he would play the hero this time around, when years ago the United Nations had made the gentleman the world’s number one most wanted criminal, with a bounty of 14.7 billion euros. Included in Lucius’s supposed crimes were terrorism, defacement of historical property, incitement on a global level, grand larceny, destruction of foreign landmarks, establishment of a world-wide cult (he had no part in that), instigation of multiple presidential figures’ suicides, aiding and abetting various wars, the collapse of Afghanistan, as well as tax evasion… among other things. Lucius didn’t consider himself a citizen of any particular nation so that last one was a tad unfair.

  Ah, but how could there be a climactic end without an audience? Just on cue, faint crashes could be heard outside from what seemed to be a scuffle. Yells and frantic cries seeped into the room, growing louder, closer, until it disappeared entirely, and the door flung open to reveal the dashing visages of Lucius’s fellow Peers.

  Roland, Angelica, Bradamante, Astolfo and even Olivier: the candlelight illuminated their imposing forms, and one by one they entered, followed by a group of friendly paladins and players. Lucius’s three plucky companions were there as well. Everyone the gentleman had come to know soon filled the room, acting as witnesses of the once-mighty Ganelon’s miserable fall from grace.

  This was it. The ‘end’, so to speak. Ganelon had finally exhausted all his luck, all his assets. Now, when faced with the finale of his forlorn tale, would he surrender himself and submit? Would he go gently into the good night?

  Lucius smiled, for he already knew the answer.

  “Uncle Ganelon… you have gone too far.” Sir Roland led the others and approached the Archbishop’s side, helping him whilst calling for a priest. “Forgive our late arrival, Father Turpin. We were privy to Ganelon’s treachery, but with little evidence to show, we could only rely on Sir Lucius to stop him before he could be fully exposed.”

  The Archbishop coughed into his hand, breath haggard and body weak. Nonetheless, he gathered the strength to stand, before thanking Roland with a sad smile.

  “Hoho, so this old man was to be your bait, hm?” he joked. “Fret not, Roland. Even if you had enlightened me beforehand… I would have likely refused to listen. Yes, perhaps this was the only way.”

  Turpin shook his head, before turning to face Ganelon. “Look how wretched time has made us, my old friend. We are both too stubborn, too set in our ways. Yet it seems the Lord still has further use of me. Please, lay down your arms and surrender. More blood needs not be shed.”

  The old fellow looked at his former student; and rather than disgust or scorn, a mournful air enveloped him, causing his voice to lower and his elderly age to shine all the more. He could not bear to hate him, for perhaps if Turpin had been more supportive, acted differently, talked to Ganelon when he was at his most vulnerable, it wouldn’t have come to this. Yet there was no use thinking of such possibilities now. This day would only end with the High Tribunal’s imprisonment.

  For Sir Roland, however, he had no such attachments. His only purpose here was to serve as the cold and unfeeling arm of the law.

  “Ganelon, it is time.” Roland slowly walked up and raised a pair of crystal cuffs. “For all your meddling and sabotage of our affairs, I do not believe you to be wholly evil. There must still be some reflection in your heart, a whisper pleading to turn back unto the proper path. Come with us willingly and I shall do my best to lighten your sentence.”

  Roland extended his hand and waited. He wished, unlikely though it might be, for Ganelon to take it and realize his wrongs. That heartfelt gesture was the very picture of Chivalry that the Franks so cherished… and yet, Roland’s timing couldn’t have been any worse.

  For it was Chivalry that failed Ganelon. It was Chivalry that demanded he stop from pursuing revenge. It forced him to be ashamed of his wrathful feelings, belittled him, mocked him. Why was this nation so obsessed with such beliefs, when all it took was the order of one supposedly holy man to be rid of it entirely?

  It wasn’t fair.

  “... Haha.”

  Hypocrites, one and all.

  “Just what do you expect from me, Roland?”

  They turned away and cowered. They spewed such constant, self-absorbed drivel, only to remain silent when the chance came to enact their petty justice.

  “Am I to sob in your arms and claim to see the error of my ways? Am I to suddenly, after all this time, feel guilt over my actions?”

  This nation had so very long to make a stand. If only they had at least tried, then maybe Ganelon wouldn’t have become so cynical. But they didn’t. They stood idly by, lowered their heads, and pretended not to see.

  “No, my boy. That isn’t how this works. I am not some puppet for you to manipulate on a stage for your putrid heroics. I am not going to be redeemed. I won’t give you the satisfaction of appearing even the slightest bit ashamed. No, this is not some children’s story.”

  Yet even as he was betrayed by everyone he thought kindred, Ganelon had still chosen to serve the empire. He truly believed, in his own twisted view, that his schemes were for the benefit of the people. He didn’t hate them or wish them harm. If sacrifices had to be made, then so be it. Otherwise he sought to maintain order however he could.

  But now, Lucius saw in him a crack. His mind broke down, his reason and sanity slowly fraying at the seams. Thinner, and thinner, yet thinner even still. The threads holding him together slowly began to unravel.

  “My only regret, haha, is the time I’ve wasted trying to come up with a peaceful solution, a way to take over legally and without risk of internal war. Because I cared, Roland. Even toward these hideous, two-faced creatures called Frankishmen, I stubbornly clung to the belief that their lives had at least some meaning. I let my compassion hold me back.”

  Piece by piece. Strand by strand.

  “I was wrong. That’s been proven clear today, hm? I’ve always been wrong and now I can’t muster even a drop of concern. I’m done, with everything. No more.”

  This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

  Until eventually—

  “I’m done playing these insipid political games.”

  Ganelon snapped.

  “This castle, this city, and every single person within! They can go to hell, for all I care.”

  A blast of wind sent Roland hurtling back, his armor dented by the impact. The other paladins raised their weapons and immediately charged forward, ready to protect their leader; yet even when faced with such numbers, Ganelon remained eerily composed and reached into his suit… before pulling out a familiar jewel.

  The homeward artifact Renaud once carried.

  “No!” Roland shouted, but it was too late. Ganelon vanished in the blink of an eye.

  The other Peers soon ran over, perplexed and left utterly baffled by the man’s escape. None of them had accounted for this—except for Lucius—and they knew not where to find him. Except for Lucius.

  Astolfo grumbled, saying, “Well, this isn’t good. He might not even be in the city right now.”

  Bradamante shook her head, hesitant. “No, that’s not it. If Ganelon flees now, he’ll have no one else to turn to. It’d be better for him to make a last stand here.”

  Brilliantly deduced! And the good lady didn’t need much time to prove her theory, for just a few moments later, the sounds of battle could be heard clashing outside. The paladins were being ambushed by someone: nay, a large, disciplined group. Lucius and the others rushed out of the door to discover a chaotic brawl, paladins donned in the same armor fighting amongst each other. Those of Sir Roland’s faction couldn’t tell from friend or foe. This was unprecedented for the Franks. They were not prepared nor trained to deal with enemies within their own ranks, and so they stumbled about, paranoid that a rogue blade would come stabbing their side.

  The paladins were delirious, crazed; and in this mess of pained screams and shifty steps, they could only rely on themselves and lash out at anyone who dared to come near. Not even their assailants knew which was which. Rather than foolishly charging the Peers that they knew to be beyond their undertaking, their objective was wholly dedicated to spreading doubt and mistrust.

  “Stop this, everyone!” Roland bellowed. “Why go to such lengths? What could Ganelon have possibly promised you, to be willing to shed the blood of your countrymen?”

  The paladins of Sir Ganelon’s faction did not respond. They took advantage of the confusion and blended themselves within the group, at times attacking what seemed to be a foe only to betray their fellows at the very last moment. These saboteurs were clearly trained. Roland’s company stood not a chance at resistance.

  Not even the players could interfere with the battle. Mili’s lightning was too widespread, Harper’s jet of water was too weak to break through the paladins’ armor, and Marco could only take them on one by one, lest his fearsome fists risk cracking the ground below them.

  “This is insane,” Harper said, horror creeping into her voice. “Are they brainwashed or just plain crazy? I don’t get what they see in Ganelon so much for them to stage a whole damn rebellion.”

  The Peers did what they could to reign in order; yet even if they were to quell the scuffle here, many more were taking place around the castle. Frantic shouts echoed all throughout the air, from the farthest corners to the floors both above and below. Moving as one group would take much too long. They eventually decided to split up, with Bradamante, Angelica, Astolfo, and Roland each rushing off in a cardinal direction. Sir Olivier was to take back the administrative ward.

  Lucius and his companions, meanwhile, were tasked to liberate the otherworlders' quarters. The players were far uninvolved with the castle’s politics; but whether willing or not, they were pulled into the conflict, even those more suited for support. The party had to hurry. Who knew what Ganelon had in store for them?

  Except, the reality was much more shocking. When Lucius arrived, he witnessed a frenzy not unlike the paladins of before, only this time it was between player and player. Spells and bizarre attacks destroyed the once-ornate halls, explosions blasting everything around them into rubble, and to an observer’s eyes it would have seemed as if they had all gone mad. But no, they were all perfectly sane. There was no darkness in their eyes like those bewitched by the demons. Instead… there was only greed, the want for reward.

  The reason for their desire soon revealed itself to Lucius in the form of a levitating panel.

  >[CROSSROADS QUEST!]<

  To you, o’ otherworldly heroes, the land of Francia is a backdrop for the grand stage of your quest. But unlike the games and stories of your homeworld, these people are real, with their own motivations and goals. Two men currently fight for dominance over the empire’s rule. Each side has their own benefits and demerits, so it is up to you to choose and turn the tides. Will you assist Sir Ganelon’s rebellion, or will you aid Sir Roland in taking back the castle? You must make your choice in the next ten minutes. Once done, there is no going back.

  Sir Ganelon’s Success: 5000 Cosmic Coins, a B-rank weapon from the imperial treasury, a B-rank suit of armor, dissolution of Sir Roland’s faction, greatly decreased reputation with the citizens of Francia, and permanent loss of the paladins’ aid. Francia will no longer help you with slaying the Demon King, but the High Tribunal will treat you as esteemed guests for the rest of your stay.

  Sir Roland’s Success: 2000 Cosmic Coins, a Skill Rank-Up Card, dissolution of Sir Ganelon’s faction, greatly increased reputation with the citizens of Francia, and a permanent passive title. You will not receive the same physical rewards as offered by Ganelon, but assisting Sir Roland now will mean receiving the paladins’ full support once it comes time to confront the Demon King.

  Should your chosen side be defeated by the other, you will be hindered by an active debuff until you leave the World of Charlemagne, and the next quest you receive will not grant any rewards.

  Oh dear, who would have ever thought the system to have such a mischievous side to it? This was no simple quest: Unlike before, where it encouraged cooperation, the contents now sought to split them apart, to break their bonds as fellow players and incite the pursuit of sole personal gain.

  >[Priestess of the Lily Tree looks sadly at the players. The Star has seen many worlds collapse in their long years of existence. Oftentimes, the cause is not due to some grand dilemma, but a dispute: a seed of conflict, one that eventually grew too deep to remove]<

  >[Virtual Goddess of the Wired solemnly nods. Such is the cycle of existence: There will always be someone who tramples over the other. The system simply knows how to bring out that inner desire and reward it, encourage it even. As a former mortal themself, the Star understands. Yet that is why it’s important to nurture those with the ability to spread hope and goodness]<

  >[Number 1 Rated Salesman 1997 says it’d be funny if Lucius joins Ganelon’s side]<

  Fortunately, not all the players were hostile. Those like Mister Crowley, Miss Rhodes, and Miss Enapay did their best to calm the riot. They were the strongest of the lot, having taken part in the expedition as well as Lucius’s journey to Arabia; and unlike the others who remained stagnant, safe in their haven without risk or danger, the three players had the experience of bordering life and death far more than the common person likely should.

  “Aw crud. Nick, can ya be a darlin’ and toss a bomb my way?” Miss Rhodes said, shielding her companions from an onslaught of attacks. Mister Crowley spared not a moment and threw a few, harmless, firecrackers at the crowd, dispersing them and assaulting their ears with loud cracks and pops.

  Lucius and his fellows helped a bit as well, though it was a bit difficult keeping injuries to a minimum. They didn’t want to actually kill, after all, and the same held true for the other players. Neither side wanted to draw blood; their only concern was with completing the mission.

  But even with their superior numbers, those of Ganelon’s side quickly found themselves being subdued, and soon Miss Rhodes captured them all in a tightly-knitted binding. They complained of course and shouted all manner of insults, but at least they were alive.

  “Nothing personal,” Miss Enapay grunted, tying up the last person. “Business is business. Next time, do not be led astray by the lies of silver-tongued conmen.”

  With their section all cleaned up, the three of them joined Lucius and his companions, before heading over to support other parts of the castle. They aided Sir Astolfo in rescuing hostages near the dining rooms, met with Lady Angelica and Bradamante to suppress the rogue paladins, and helped Sir Olivier protect sensitive documents near the administrative ward. The scholarly man stayed behind to coordinate efforts with the rest of the guards.

  Finally, the group rushed to the northernmost part of the castle, where they discovered Sir Roland single-handedly fending off an entire legion of paladins. His adversary was Ganelon’s second in command, Sir Pinabello, but even the grizzled veteran stood little chance against the Peers’ leader; and he soon fell onto his knees, his men already brought to heel.

  “Sir Pinabello, please, let us not continue this further,” Roland pleaded to the man. “I do not wish to strike down my father’s sworn brother.”

  “You are mistaken, Roland,” Pinabello replied dully. “I lost that right the day I failed to shield his back. Yet, I suppose it was inevitable. His late Holiness had us engage in battle after battle, endlessly without rest. It was only a matter of time before fatigue took us.”

  “It is still not too late. You need not let the former emperor’s shadow haunt you.”

  The man let out a bitter laugh. “Cease your words, young man. I fight because I believe in the future Ganelon would bring. You will never convince me.”

  “Does this chaos seem reasonable to you? How could pitting us against each other possibly be to our benefit?”

  “Because it will pave the way for a Francia without tyrants.”

  Sir Pinabello closed his eyes. He found acceptance in defeat, free from the responsibilities that shackled him. “It is sooner than planned, but nonetheless I have fulfilled my part. You and your fellows are too late. Ganelon has already crossed the throne room.”

  “What? Why would he possibly be there—”

  Roland’s expression darkened, and he turned around, glaring into the distance with a clenched fist. “The Joyeuse…”

  The other Peers glanced at each other, sharing a knowing look, before sprinting off, the players struggling to follow from behind. None of them had the pleasure of visiting the throne room before. It was the chamber where the nation’s holiest figure would ordinarily reign from. Now, the doors had remained firmly shut for months, nay, perhaps even years, barring entry to all. Lucius tried to sneak in one time, but a strange barrier prevented him from doing so, blocking him unless two halves of a medallion were inserted into the marble doors.

  The High Tribunal kept one part—and the Archbishop the other. In the midst of being choked, Turpin had thought not to protect the precious key in his robe, and thus Ganelon had obtained it.

  The final piece of the puzzle.

  “It is… open.”

  Roland approached the grand archway leading to the castle’s throne room. The doors had already been flung wide open, and there, standing before a glittering golden throne, was Sir Ganelon in all his glory.

  A crown rested on the cushion before him. He stared at it for a long moment, letting his eyes linger over the encrusted jewels, before grabbing it.

  And throwing it away.

  He tossed the crown as if it were rubbish and instead made his way to the side, where a thin sword of purest white stuck out from the ground, waiting to be wielded again.

  Lucius’s group entered the room, their breaths low and tense. A chilling sensation washed over them all, and Roland carefully stepped forth to meet his adversary: a man worn down by tragedy, by rage, by fate.

  After all this time, the finale to their long conflict would be decided here.

  “Do you truly despise the empire, Ganelon?” Roland whispered.

  In this blinding chamber of light and crystal, Ganelon alone stood veiled in a grim shade. He reached forward and fondled the sword’s handle, feeling the weight, the burden, the inevitable destiny that would come from freeing its blade.

  And then, he pulled it out.

  “Yes, Roland. I always have.”

  The group one by one drew their weapons and stood tall, ready to put Ganelon’s woeful tale to a close. Perhaps it was always meant to end this way; but until he breathed his last, the High Tribunal would fight and struggle as he always had.

  Struggle against this land he could never forgive.

  The Esteemed Gentlepeople of the , to whom I am forever grateful

  [The Distinguishedly Dandy Gentlemen Hall of Fame]