Volume 1 - CH 2.2

The recruits each headed off to the offices of their respective brigades.

These offices are not individual buildings in and of themselves, but are instead each housed in different sections of the headquarters proper. Large spaces they are, but for its part, the Owlcrane Brigade has no office of its own.

The Owlcranes are a cut above the other brigades in terms of rank. Though only a select few comprise it, the elite brigade’s members are each considered executive officers in their own right, and have private quarters of their own. As with the mareschal, the Owlcranes are often occupied with administrative duties, and thus are not ones to while away in the confines of an office.

All fine and well, but there was one matter: I knew not of where to report. I relayed my situation to the under-mareschal, who then proceeded to beckon to a man nearby.

“You there, Gerd. The Owlcranes move to flock as well?”

“They do, sir. I go to join with them myself,” confirmed this “Gerd”. Well-groomed and well-shaped of hair and nose, he was, by all accounts, the image of a dashing young man.

“Take this fledgling along then, will you? He’s one of yours now.”

“Him? Will do, sir.” Gerd turned his eyes to me. “Come.”

“Aye, sir,” I answered, before trailing him on his way. From the sound of it, he also belonged to the Owlcrane Brigade. And befitting of that executive position, silver armour covered his entire body.

“So, what’s your deal?” Gerd asked along the way.

“Deal, sir?”

“Heard there’s nary a wisp of odyl in you. Can hardly believe it, though. What’s up with that?” Gerd’s eyes made no attempt to hide their scorn.

“It is my lot, sir—cast by the Roun of Orisons.”

“You mean to say there’s no odyl in you? At all?”

“That is correct, yes.”

“Yoná, Almighty.” The very idea of an odylless soul seemed incredulous to Gerd. “So, She’s gifted you nothing, has She?”

“It would seem so.”

“And what’s up with that? How can a bloke like you even walk this earth?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know either.”

A man ungraced. He who should not walk this earth. To such a man—deviant of the world’s order—Gerd showed his unbridled disgust.

“So, a mistake like you intends to join our ranks. Why’s that?”

“To become a knight, sir.”

“Look here, you.” Gerd twisted around and seized me by the collars. “We’re not here to frolic and make merry, yeah?” he said in a low voice, seething with ire. “This place look like a banquet to you? Huh? ‘Here to serve nobles their helpings of fiefs and titles’; think that’s all we’re for, do you? Well, sorry to say, lad, that’s not the way of things here. Serious business, it is—day in, day out.”

The grip on my collars strained with pure force.

“Sir, I am not come for decorations,” I clarified. “Knighthood is what I seek; that is no lie.”

“What are you playing at, hm? A defect dreams to become a knight; how’s that going to happen? Huh? Can you fight, even?!”

“I can, and I will.”

With a scornful click of his tongue, Gerd threw my collars from his restraint. Turning about, he resumed on his way.

“Nevermind the lack of odyl—sounds like you’ve not even the wits to figure out your damned place here. Scum, the lot of you.”

♰

Gerd’s destination lay within the third floor of the headquarters building.

“As I’m sure you’ve been told, don’t step foot on this floor without the proper permission,” he warned.

“Understood, sir,” I answered.

“Oh? Did you, now? Really? You sure it isn’t just odyl that Yoná Almighty forgot to give you?” It seemed Gerd took no small umbrage from having to show me through so consecrated a section of the headquarters.

“Nothing is amiss on that end, sir. I shall request permission for entry as needed.”

“Hmph…”

Following him further along, we arrived at a door adorned with a title plate. “Chamber of the Knight Mareschal,” it read. Gerd gave a knock and proceeded inside. I followed, finding the room occupied with four other knights.

“Gerd Kranz, reporting,” saluted Gerd at one of those present further in: Bartt Tallien himself, Knight Mareschal of the 5th Chivalric Order.

“Come, have you? Our parliament of four is assembled, then,” said Tallien. Those present numbered six in total; it would seem the commander did not count himself—and myself, for that matter. “Behold Emilie: the Owlcranes. My personal guard, and your assigned brigade.”

Just as Tallien said, Emilie was also here. The new silver armour enshrouding her figure ill-matched the melancholic and apologetic look she gave me.

“Introductions, then. First, we have Gerd Kranz, the spellblade,” started Tallien. “This lad is eldest amongst you all. That being said, he is still very much the hatchling, as I’m sure you can see. Gerd, I forget your age.”

“Twenty, sir,” said Gerd. “A pleasure, Emilie. Gerd is my name. ‘Tis an honour to have you.”

“The pleasure and honour are mine both, thank you,” returned Emilie. The two then shook hands.

Twenty years of age. Enough to be the eldest in this unit. While the 5th is already known for its high turnover, it seems especially so for the Owlcranes. Then again, being twenty also meant being in the sixth year of service—certainly not the tenure of a novice.

“Next, we have Raakel Nyholm, warrior of magicks, and our surgien, Sheila Larsen,” Tallien continued.

“Raakel, that be I,” the warrior greeted. “Already caught word o’ ye, I have—the one with the er… ‘Aureola’, were it?”

“Th-that’s right. The particulars escape me, but yes, that was what the Roun of Orisons appraised of me, it seems,” Emilie confirmed.

“Another ace in us ranks, ey? Chuff’d to hear it. I reckon ye’ll be doin’ fine service fer us.”

Hands were shaken once again, and another was offered forth.

“Miss Emilie, I am pleased to make your acquaintance. My name is Sheila. The crossing of our paths is surely the charity of Yoná, Deiva Most Divine. For this, I am most thankful.”

“The pleasure is mine, Officer Sheila,” Emilie returned. “It is my sincere hope to work well hand-in-hand with the both of you.”

These two new women seemed younger somewhat than Gerd, by no more than a couple years perhaps.

Raakel was the larger of the two, tall of figure and crowned with red hair. Her toned, yet supple muscles were apparent even through her uniform. Rather than a swordfighter, she was classified as a warrior, a fact made clear by the silver war-maul slung at her lower back.

The other, Sheila, seemed the opposite, with long, dark hair tinged with blue hues. Being capable of mending magicks makes one an indispensable asset in combat, but it seemed that Sheila also possessed an immense degree of odyl, befitting of her position as an executive officer. The seeming portrait of a surgien, she held her choice weapon, a silver staff, with both hands before her chest.

“You are amidst the mighty, Emilie. And like you, they are all hatched from ennobled nests. Let’s get along, shall we?” said Tallien, before moving onwards to elaborate upon the Owlcrane Brigade’s purpose. “At its core, this unit serves as my protective retinue—a group of bodyguards, if you will. However, be not so eager to seek battle, for any situation that calls for my direct intervention is—well, it’s nothing short of an ‘operational misadventure’ by that point, isn’t it? Nasty business, it is, one this unit should never be forced to deal with, simply put. Do you understand this, Emilie?”

“Er… yes, I do.”

“Yet the bodyguards for a commander such as I must needs be no less than the very best. And so it is with this unit. Thereby must you always hone both skill and coordination with your fellow officers. To that end, I ask that you steel your resolve and fulfil your duties to the very best of your ability.”

“Y-yes, Mareschal! I will!” Emilie affirmed nervously.

“I suppose it won’t do to work you so, today being your first with us and all. Emilie, you are dismissed. Spend the rest of the day as you please,” said Tallien. “Hah, I jest! Let us not make roost-whilers of ourselves. Come now! We fly to the training grounds. I must needs measure how boldly your talons bite, Dame Emilie.”

“Y-yes, sir!”

With the war against the Nafilim having settled into an unceasing state of conflict, even the 5th Order—known, as it was, for being solely where the sons and daughters of the nobility came to earn their investitures—could ill-afford to stagnate into but a band of knights who idle about, awaiting their reckoning. The Owlcranes themselves were no different. Their faces were stern as they headed off to the training grounds—faces that spared not a single glance upon me.

That is, except for Emilie.

“Um, Mareschal, sir…” she called to Tallien, whilst glimpsing sporadically at me.

“Hm? Ah…” This would be the first time the mareschal and I made eye contact. But the moment lasted no more than an instant before Tallien’s glance broke away. “Come,” he commanded, devoid of any interest.

“Aye, sir.”

Orders, clear and concise. I expected no less from an order of knights.