Chapter 11: Bullshitting

Chapter 11: Bullshitting

Joniwa nodded in satisfaction at Dalkus’s response, for this was the most respectful and humble surrender he had ever witnessed.

"Well said, Baldek Blackblade of the Thousand-Maw family. I accept your surrender. You shall be treated fairly until you are handed over to our Duke, Repanse de Lyonesse."

Dalkus then said politely, "I wonder if you might grant me one final favor? You captured us just as I was preparing dinner. Would you allow me the opportunity to have one last meal? It would be my great honor if you would care to join me."

Joniwa and Bohemond exchanged a glance. Bohemond said, "Why not?" Joniwa, in high spirits, added, "I am a bit hungry myself." He handed his lance to an attendant, dismounted, and accepted Dalkus’s noble curved sword.

Bohemond also dismounted. Looking at Dalkus, he mimicked his father’s intimidating tone and said, "Be careful, Druchii. Any suspicious movement, and you and your men will be subjected to the most agonizing of deaths."

*A '6' for effort, threatening a Druchii with the most agonizing death?* After this thought, Dalkus smiled and said, "I assure you, my lord, the food was prepared by my own hands; it is neither poisoned nor drugged. I swear by Loec, the God of Deception, that you shall eat your fill and leave this tent unharmed." As he spoke, he performed an elegant noble bow.

The interior of the tent was woven with silk in Druchii-style patterns, illuminated by hanging candelabras. A beautiful long table was set with a small feast, and the tent was filled with a savory aroma.

The two Druchii nobles and the two Bretonnian nobles sat opposite each other, enjoying the feast.

Joniwa held his wine glass and asked Dalkus curiously, "You said you are of the Thousand-Maw family, so why are you called Blackblade? Shouldn't you be called Thousand-Maw?"

Dalkus smiled, poured wine into his glass, and said, "That is my life story. It is a long tale—would you be willing to hear it?"

Joniwa replied with curiosity, "Tell me."

Joniwa and Bohemond remained vigilant, wary of any tricks. But a story was the best pastime at a Bretonnian noble’s table.

Dalkus took an elegant sip of wine and said, "It is a very cliché story." He then cut a piece of roasted meat from his plate. With a heavy tone, he continued, "Long, long ago, Chaos erupted from the rifts and swept across the world. We followed in the footsteps of the first Phoenix King, Aenarion, to drive back Chaos, seal the rifts, and save the world. Afterward, our rightful Phoenix King, Malekith, was not recognized, and civil war broke out. Fathers and sons, brothers of the same family, drew blades against one another; mothers chased their children with swords in the streets, and children thrust spears into their mothers. After long battles, countless cities and villages were destroyed. Our homeland, the Kingdom of Nagarythe, was torn apart, and those loyal to the Phoenix King were exiled. My family took a Black Ark to Naggaroth—a name chosen to commemorate our former home, Nagarythe. The Black Ark ran aground on the shores of the Chill Sea, and there the family settled and took root."

Beside him, Franis ate the steak before him with a calm expression; he understood Bretonnian.

"Bohemond, this steak is unparalleled; you must try it." Joniwa interrupted Dalkus’s story and pushed the steak toward Bohemond.

Dalkus raised an eyebrow and said, "Thank you for your recognition of my culinary skills. You might also try these escargots; I prepared them according to the Bretonnian method."

Bohemond, while cutting his steak, said, "Please continue. I am very interested in your story."

Dalkus resumed his narrative: "The war lasted for generations, with countless splintered families fighting endless battles for the Phoenix King and the False King. Wars came and went, and each family assumed the others had died or been forgotten by time. In one battle, my father met my mother. Back when we were in the Kingdom of Nagarythe, my mother’s family estate was right next to the Thousand-Maw family estate; the two families had been friendly for generations. Unfortunately, she was captured, and she gave birth to me."

Franis was holding his wine glass, drinking, when he heard Dalkus spinning such an outrageous lie. He couldn't hold it together and nearly choked on his wine. Sensing the strange looks, Franis set his glass down and said in Bretonnian, "Forgive me, my lords, I am still recovering from severe wounds."

Dalkus glanced at Franis and continued in a sorrowful tone: "My mother passed away shortly after giving birth to me. I was ostracized by the family from a young age; my father and brothers would beat and scold me at will, viewing me as the family’s disgrace. Once, my brothers stuffed me into a barrel containing a highly venomous stone viper. I gripped its head tightly with my hands and spent the entire night with the snake. Another time, they said they were taking me hunting. I was so happy I couldn't sleep all night, thinking they had finally accepted me, but then..."

As he spoke, Dalkus suddenly paused, looking up at the hanging candles. The candlelight shone on his face, and tears welled up in his eyes.

"I was the prey. My brothers chased me relentlessly, and I could only run for my life, running and running. They deliberately shot arrows right beside me, laughing and cursing, humiliating me. I wanted to turn back and face them, to fight them, but I couldn't summon the courage. I am just a piece of trash. I hate myself so much."

Dalkus picked up his glass and downed the wine in one gulp. He adjusted his emotions and continued, "I am sixteen this year. According to the traditions of Druchii society, after a noble comes of age at sixteen, they must undergo a raiding voyage trial. After the captain threw me onto the shore, he sailed away. I could never go back, and I never needed to."

The bullshit was full of holes, but it didn't matter when there were people willing to believe it.

Bohemond sighed, shook his head, and said, "A bastard, alas."

Dalkus added, "I have an older brother named Rakarth."

Joniwa’s head snapped up as he asked, "In the year 996 of the Bretonnian Calendar, the Druchii invaded Brionne, and Duke Corentin fell in battle. The leader was named Rakarth. Is he your brother?"

Dalkus nodded and said, "Yes, that is him."

Joniwa and Bohemond exchanged a look. Surprise flickered in their eyes, followed by disappointment.

Joniwa sighed and said, "Duke Corentin’s line has ended."

Dalkus closed his eyes, listening to the sound of the rising tide outside. It sounded like rolling thunder, the waves drawing closer and closer, as if a vast army were surging forward in a mighty torrent.

"My apologies."