Re: Butterfly (Reincarnated as a Butterfly)

"Where is my daughter?"

The hissed words seemed to drill right to the center of William's consciousness, and he struggled not to shudder in the King's tight embrace.

"I am sorry, Your Majesty," William finally managed, as the larger man pulled slightly back.

The two men's eyes met, and William saw a seething anger boiling beneath the surface of King Alistair's calm facade.

"What are you sorry for?" the King growled. "You have not answered my question. Apologizing… You accompanied my eldest child and heir, whom you entered my kingdom to court, into a dungeon. You traveled with a heavily armed, highly trained party of knights. I see you look very well, and your band of knights is almost intact. But what I do not see is hide nor hair of my Rosslyn. Well? Where is she?"

William swallowed. "We were forced—"

No, he told himself. No passive voice. No excuses. King Alistair will not accept excuses. This was always going to be a difficult conversation, but he had expected more time before it had to happen. King Alistair had been comatose when they left.

The King's proximity and the environment took William back to childhood and recalled memories of a much smaller young lord, standing in awe of the mightiest warrior on the continent. Alistair, despite being visibly sickly, looked imposing as he ever had, and William felt almost like a child in his presence.

"We made the determination that we could not delve deeper into the dungeon to recover her body," William said. "Most likely, Rosslyn is dead."

"More details than that," Alistair said in a voice of tranquil fury. Every syllable felt like its own venomous sentence.

The young lord wanted to run away, to go anywhere he might escape the gaze of this enraged father demanding answers about his daughter.

But William had nowhere to go. Not while he was surrounded by the King's knights, as the capital itself was almost fully surrounded by enemy knights—only free to receive supplies through that valley that he and the others had marched through before, on their way both to and from the dungeon.

So he recounted everything that he could that was relevant to his answer. How the dungeon had adapted to the challengers who had entered it, how the last level they had explored had collapsed in on itself, how Rosslyn had fallen into an abyss, and only Adon had gone after her.

"I am sorry, Your Majesty," William finished. "But given the challenges the Kingdom was facing—the invasion ongoing—I determined that to the best of my judgment, it was unwise to continue delving deeper into the instability of the dungeon in the hopes of recovering the Princess's body. I believed the knights, as well as my brother and I, would be of more use to Claustria in returning to participate in this war of defense."

"You did not even confirm that Rosslyn was dead," the King pointed out in an icy tone.

"No, we did not," William replied.

"Your Majesty, is the war not more important than a single life?" interjected Frederick, speaking up for the first time. "Even a life as important as hers…" The entire conversation between William and Alistair had been hushed, but only now did the octave level rise slightly.

The King turned to look at Frederick and shook his head as if he could not believe what he was hearing.

"I am about to singlehandedly resolve that conflict," Alistair finally said, almost spitting the words in a tone of contempt. "We have agreed to a duel that will determine the outcome of this siege either way. My family will need to flee, or we will be secure in our seat. Either way, you should get back to the dungeon and find my daughter. Our people will need her now more than ever, whether I win or lose."

William and Frederick could only bow their heads.

"Yes, Your Majesty," they said almost in unison. The brothers' eyes met for a moment. They were both thinking roughly the same thing, William knew. Honor dictated that they accept King Alistair's orders on this matter. He had entrusted his daughter to them. They had left her behind despite suffering no injuries to themselves.

Those events, described without context, made them sound cowardly. And King Alistair had indicated that he did not intend to give them any grace or understanding. They could not disgrace the Dessian ducal line by allowing the impression of cowardice to be the lasting result of this visit.

It will at least be good to find out for certain whether Rosslyn survived, William thought.

The courtship was over either way, of course. He could hardly salvage the pursuit from such wreckage as this dungeon had wrought. It was unlikely even if they found her comatose and alone and nursed her back to health.

But there was honor to be had, if they rescued her or brought back her broken body to rest alongside the others of her family.

"We will leave right away," William began.

"No, actually, stay," Alistair said. "For now. Another half hour will not likely be the difference between Rosslyn living or dying. Observe. I want you to be able to convey the outcome of this duel to her, when you see her again." He sounded absolutely certain, both of his daughter's survival and of his own victory in the fight. "I will also want you to convey my thanks to the butterfly. The only one who decided to remain in the dungeon and look after her."

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"Yes, Your Majesty," William replied stiffly.

The King turned his back on the brothers, and his power flared up in a massive spike of aura all around him. He radiated mana—and violent intent—with every step he took. William swallowed as he considered that this was aimed more at him and his brother at that moment than at any actual enemy of the Kingdom.

But there was something else he noticed that overshadowed the twinge of fear running down his spine.

It was the quality of King Alistair's aura. If one compared it with a flame, it was massive, larger and more intense than any bonfire William had ever seen. But it was not steady like a wood-burning fire. It reminded him more of the gas explosion he had seen in the dungeon.

The King's mana churned like he was the epicenter of a constant, ongoing explosion. An unstable strength. Because there was no way something like what William saw could be sustainable.

Right?

It was not like that when we were children, was it? William questioned. He tried hard to remember. No, it must have been different… I would remember such a singular aura.

He wondered if the King realized that the quality of his power had changed. Perhaps King Alistair was on borrowed time. He had been in ill health before. If he had been awakened purely for this duel, his physical condition might be such that he could weaken or collapse at any time.

William stepped forward—not certain exactly what he intended to say, but planning to say something—and then a slight, sweaty man stepped between him and King Alistair. William had hardly taken notice of him before now, but he recalled that this nobleman served some important role in the King's government.

Lord Kermit, was it?

The lord began speaking to the King in a hushed tone, and William heard his own name and then something about "the crowd." The King laid a firm hand on the man's shoulder and said, "I have spoken enough for the crowd. My actions will speak for me today."

Without another word, he strode confidently out of the courtyard and into the city proper, clearly headed toward the outer gates.

William waited a moment, conflicted, then chased after Alistair. I have to say something…

As the young lord emerged from the palace courtyard, he was confronted by a dense throng of people who had gathered to see off their king. They chanted in much the same way the knights and nobles had.

"Alistair!"

"King Alistair!"

"Save us! Only you can save us!"

"Defeat the demons!"

Hundreds of similar cries rang out.

"Your Majesty!" William called.

But his voice was lost in the hubbub of the city. He tried to cut through the crowd with his body and reach King Alistair to speak with him up close, but while the horde parted easily for their ruler, almost no one in the city knew William by sight yet. Every person who moved aside for the King stepped right back into place, forming a series of hurdles for William to clear.

In two minutes, Alistair was out of sight. After five minutes, William gave up.

At the rate he was moving, he could be at the gates already. Goddess damn it! Why is he so confident? In his condition…

William turned to head back to the palace, and he saw his brother standing a few feet behind him, apart from the crowd that was slowly pushing after Alistair like an ocean wave.

"What are you doing here?" William asked.

"The King told us to go and witness him," Frederick replied. "Plus, the spiders wanted to see Rosslyn's father fight." He gestured at his left shoulder, where both Samson and Goldie stood.

"Of course they did," William grumbled.

"Is something wrong?" Frederick asked.

Why did you chase after the King? Samson sent.

"It is… nothing," William replied. "My mistake. I thought something was wrong, but if there was, King Alistair would be the first to know it. And it would be too late to do anything about it now…"

A palpable funk settled over the group as William finished speaking. He knew as they walked that his doubts had infected the rest of them. There was no helping that now, of course. He didn't allow himself to even feel bad about it. William was entirely focused on the fate of this city now.

Could the King endure long enough to save it?

The brothers continued walking until they reached the outer walls. While the commoners around them were climbing to the tops of buildings and monuments or making human ladders and other ridiculous efforts just to get a peek at the exterior of the city, William looked at the gate itself.

He saw one of the guards who had been on duty when the young lords arrived in Wayn, and he led the others over to that man. The lord and the guard exchanged a few words, and then two men escorted the brothers up a well defended stairwell that led to the top of the walls.

From there, the entire world seemed to open up before them.

William's eyes focused on the King as he walked out to meet the figure he would be fighting. The opponent was unsurprisingly some demon that William had never seen before.

The King's aura still roared and flickered like a continuous explosion, but as William watched, the size of the haze of energy seemed to diminish slightly.

No, it seems to be… condensing? Forming a thicker radius of power around his body, like a shield of aura. Somehow, I thought that it would be difficult for him to freely manipulate such intense power. But, of course, he has been dealing with that his entire life…

This was not a purely academic question in William's mind, even though he did not share King Alistair's problem of having overflowing power whenever he prepared to fight. He was still wrestling with the question of whether something was wrong or this was within a normal range for the King. Perhaps there was still some action he could take if he saw that the King's power was faltering or surging so intensely it threatened to overwhelm his body.

It was hard to think of what, exactly, but William prided himself on being good in an emergency.

As he tried to understand what was happening in the flow of King Alistair's energy, the two combatants far below William and the others met. They seemed to exchange a few words—William guessed scornful taunts.

Then they fought.