Knights Apocalyptica

You must allow everyone the right to exist in accordance with the character he has, whatever it turns out to be: and all you should strive to do is to make use of this character in such a way as its kind of nature permits, rather than to hope for any alteration in it, or to condem it offhand for what it is.

This is the true sense of the maxim-Live and let live… To become indignant at conduct is as foolish as to be angry with a stone because it rolls into your path. And with many people the wisest thing you can do, is to resolve to make use of those whom you cannot alter.

- Arthur Schopenhauer, Parerga and Paralipomena, (2nd Era, 1851)

Erec crossed his arms as the overweight merchant desperately dabbed his face with a greasy cloth and coughed soup from his lungs. As he waited for a response, he took in the dining room carefully. It was similar to the lawn. At first glance, everything appeared regal and high class. Arranged to catch eyes on a couple of quality furniture.

But if one looked closer, they spotted the flaws.

What the hell was going on here?

“I—whomst are you?” The merchant finally asked, getting to his feet.

It was easy to forget how intimidating someone in Armor could be. The bulky steel frame and power that went into the equipment, combined with the fact it was built to enhance the already Virtue heightened Knight beneath, made them terrifying.

To have a war machine suddenly appear in your house… It was remarkable how calm this man still was.

Erec resisted the urge to shove the guy’s head in the soup—knowing this man was a key component to extorting his Cavern brought waves of hate. This guy… Oswald had profited from the outsiders to screw his people. He’d betrayed his own home. For what?

But giving in to that urge was wrong. It’d only create more problems.

So Erec chose to release the pent-up anger in another way; he yanked one of the nearby chairs from the table and flung it behind him. The cheap gold-laminated wood shattered against a wall with a loud thud. “Sir Erec of House Audax.”

The merchant shook and stepped back. “That was an antique! A priceless antique! How dare you! How are you going to pay me back?!”

[Ridiculous. I’d estimate it as being only a couple of years old and defaced with fake gold.]

“Explain to me all of this—“ Erec gestured to the dining room. At the fake and cheap layer underneath. “You use fake steel statues outside and call cheap furniture antiques. Why? If you’re selling out your own home, how is it you can’t afford anything better?”

“You barge into my home and make such baseless accusations!? I only purchase that of the highest quality. My taste is impeccable, and I assure you everything I have is of the utmost status. Then again, how could someone who lucked their way into a title know anything about true value?! Damned tyrant!” Oswald began to yell.

“Tyrant, right.” Erec almost growled—with the man raising his voice and his already pissed-off mood, he wasn’t too far from shoving this prick through a wall.

But he had to take a step back. This guy was human. A garbage person, but still human. Erec had to be better. There was a better approach.

“…If you aren’t gaining wealth from your deals, what exactly are you gaining?”

“I have no deals. I don’t know what you’re talking about, you stuck-up brat. How did it feel to have a golden spoon in your mouth since you were born? Some of us had to struggle for what we have!”

Erec saw red. Those words were enough. What in the name of hell did this asshole know about earning what they had—he who sold out his own home to live such a fake and meager lifestyle. Let alone how wrong he was. Memories of him and Bedwyr mourning their mother as their father worked himself away tore through his head.

In a split second, Erec was around the table and had Oswald gripped by the collar—his Strength made it easy to hold up the man’s considerable weight, using his shirt to hold him aloft.

The merchant’s stubby legs kicked out as his arms flailed, terror in his eyes.

Despite his best intentions, Erec had already devolved from trying to sort out the situation in a refined manner and resorted to blatant force.

What was worse was that this felt right. In an instant, that smug sense of superiority vanished from this guy’s face and morphed into a realization of what he’d done wrong. Oswald let out a scream and pleaded with him, with the silent suit of Armor holding him in the air.

“L-let me out this instant, you barbarian! What is it you want, denarii!? Women!? Workers?!”

“Barbarian? You wanna see a barbarian? Keep talking.” Erec growled, fighting hard to kill the fire that sparked. It only flared brighter.

This was not a picture of a noble Knight. Courtly Mannerisms could burn in hell; he wanted to teach this prick a lesson.

“Lord Audax, I’m unsure if this is the wisest course of action…” Lionel spoke, grounding Erec in a flush of cold reality.

With a willpower that felt like prying his fingers free, Erec dropped the merchant. Who plopped on his feet and retreated to the far wall, running a hand along his neck while he stared at Erec with bulging eyes.

“…Let’s reapproach this. I’m Erec of House Audax, your new Count. I wish to reevaluate how business is conducted in our Cavern, and I’ve been told that you’re the go-to point for that since you have contracts and are one of our main suppliers.” Erec bowed his head slightly. “I would be very grateful if we discussed that.”

The merchant still stared at him, then back to his food. He scoffed. “If you wanted to talk money, Lord Audax, you should’ve said so from the start—but I er—“ He hesitated and ran a hand along his throat. “…How about we play a game while discussing it. My meal is done, anyway.” The merchant made a little bow with a fake smile and indicated for Erec to follow him.

Erec watched him for a moment, taking a count of ten in his head to let himself settle. It hadn’t been the best for him to lose it there. All he could hope was that it hadn’t rendered the situation unsalvageable.

— - ☢ - — - ☼ - — - ☢ - —

They'd moved their conversation to the games parlor at the man's insistence. Out of everything, this place was genuinely well stocked. Actual care was put into it, which said a lot about this guy. He'd stuffed the place with plenty of cards, dice, and several other gaming paraphernalia.

"I find this the best way to get to know another person," Oswald said on the other side of a wooden table, a small screen in front of him. He shook a mug full of dice. "Let's you figure out how they think and if the two of you are compatible for business," the man grinned at Erec before checking his dice and pushing them behind a screen. "We'll have a practice round—then we can make some bets."

Erec glanced at his own cup. A clay mug with a dotted design around the glazed surface. Inside it was five dice.

Liar's dice. Oswald's game of choice.

Erec glanced at his helmet on his table, wondering if playing along was truly the right decision. It was more refined, to be sure than bashing his face into a wall. With reluctant acceptance, Erec shook the mug and flipped it onto the table. Hiding the dice beneath.

Discreetly, like the man opposite of him, he took a peek before moving it behind the screen. Two fours and two threes. Two pairs, from what Oswald told him about the rules.

The goal was simple. Both players rolled their dice, then took a look at their hands. After that, someone would call their hand.

From there, the other player could call it a bluff or reroll some or all of their dice. After that, they'd call their hand, giving their opponent the same opportunity.

And so it went until someone called the other's bluff. After which, they'd move the screens and show who won.

"Three of a kind." Oswald nodded, his loose jowl skin quivering. "Good opening hand apologizes, Lord Audax."

No choice but to reroll. Erec tossed three of his dice in the cup, shook it, then took another peak.

Another four. Putting him at three fours. He could risk it and claim three of a kind, too—then it'd come down to whether or not Oswald had a higher pair.

Or Oswald could be lying and had less than him.

It was the first match. Why not play honestly?

"Three of a kind," Erec said.

"I'll call." Oswald winked at him—his pudgy hand removing the screen. Sure enough, Oswald had three threes, making Erec the winner. "Congratulations, Lord Audax. Now we can start the real game. For our first bet, how about seven hundred denarii?"

It was… A crazy sum to put on the line over dice. Were he not well aware of his finances, he'd have never accepted such a bet… but…

"You don't have that kind of money to wave around on a bet," Erec guessed.

"Nonsense! I am wealthy; of course, I do." The merchant's eyes dropped to his dice. "Do you accept or not?"

"I want something else instead of money," Erec switched tactics; he was sure of it now. But he needed to bait the trap. "If I win, I want the names of your business associates and a favor from you."

"And this favor?" Oswald tilted his head, his eyes growing as an ugly, greedy expression dominated his face.

For someone who liked gambling so much, Oswald was piss-poor at hiding his intentions. He was only willing to take such a risk because he didn't think it'd be a risk.

"I want you to invite all of those business associates to a feast I'll be throwing—you're invited as well. Just be sure they agree to come.”

“I find that agreeable." Oswald gave a fake smile before grabbing his cup. "That is, of course, if you win."

"Absolutely."

The merchant rolled his dice, and Erec rolled his. It could have been a better hand, a single pair. But that didn't matter. Erec lied. "Two pairs."

"Oh!" The merchant nodded his head sagely. "I believe I shall reroll."

Erec watched his hands as he picked out three dice—then threw them in the cup.

There it was. Barely perceivable with how quick it was, but the dice going into the cup weren't the ones he first rolled.

[Weighted dice, most likely.] VAL caught the movement too. The merchant rolled the dice—and slipped them behind the screen, a smug grin on his face.

"My, four of a kind. How lucky."

Erec rubbed the back of his head and looked at the ceiling, trying to stem the flash of anger. He felt like bashing this guy's face against the table. But he'd already given in the anger earlier, and it hadn't gotten him much. "Hey, what exactly happens if you accuse someone of cheating in a game like this?"

"Cheating? Absurd! Just say you're going to reroll—or call my bluff!"

"I'd say at that point, over a wager of something as valuable as seven hundred denarii, the cheater would forfeit and hope worse didn't come his way."

"Roll your dice, Lord Audax."

Erec leveled his gaze at the man, barely stopping his anger. "You, Oswald, are a cheat. You swapped in loaded dice; I can rip aside this screen and prove it before my Steward here and charge you as both a Knight and a cheated Lord. I wonder what sort of punishment I can levy for such an egregious act—or you can admit your loss and pay out what you bet."

"I-I—there's been no cheating!" Oswald began, his voice growing faint.

Erec grabbed the edge of the parlor table—part of the wood cracking as he tightened his grip. He needed to keep calm. But it was falling apart quickly.

"…I uh—you know a feast sounds lovely! I'll concede this game because I like your idea anyway! It would be a shame to lose such a wonderful opportunity because of bad luck. Congratulations on your win! If you don't mind, I think we should call it an evening; I'm feeling faint from all of this, uh, fun."

Erec got up and left the table with a nod of understanding, pausing only to collect his helmet. There was only a little time to organize this feast, and he wanted to take a look at something else before putting his plan into motion. "Sounds fine, I'll be by later, and you can inform me of who my guests will be. Until then, I wish you well, Oswald."

In the meantime, while he still had this break from the Academy, he had one last matter of business to take care of within the Cavern.

Lionel had secured him a building to use as a research facility.

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