A seasoned veteran who had participated in both the Eight Peaks Expedition and the recent Great Expedition, now a senior sergeant in Genet Port, stepped forward to speak. "Your Majesty, have you come because of Duke Talbott's actions?"
"Of course," Ryan replied calmly.
"In that case, might I invite you to my home for a short rest? You can taste my wife's cooking while waiting for your army to arrive. Her fish soup is highly praised by everyone," the veteran asked earnestly and proudly.
"They're already here." Ryan smiled and pointed behind him. Less than a hundred Old Guard soldiers were lined up on the coast, led by Sir Raymond, captain of the Old Guard Halberd Regiment.
"Just… just these men?" The veteran was stunned. "Your Majesty, this is fewer than a hundred people!"
"It's enough," Ryan said confidently, lifting his head. The king's face was calm yet exuded boundless self-assurance.
"For me, this is all that's needed."
"I will convince Duke Talbott to take back his words." Ryan turned to exchange a knowing glance with Sulia, whose eyes sparkled with clever mischief. Ryan's gaze, however, was resolute and full of gratitude. "This time, not a single drop of Bretonnian blood will be spilled."
"Then allow us to follow you, my king!"
"My weapons are at home—I'll fetch them now!"
"We will follow you forever, even if it means marching into hell!"
"Your Majesty, my son and I will both join your ranks!"
The crowd surged forward like a tidal wave, surrounding Ryan in the middle. No matter how hard Sir Raymond tried to maintain order, the fervent commoners and serfs could not be stopped from swarming forward like an unstoppable ocean.
But just when Raymond began to feel overwhelmed, Ryan silenced the crowd with a single gesture. The king raised his hand gently toward the sky.
The bustling crowd instantly fell silent. And then, just as quickly, an even louder roar of cheers erupted.
"YEAH! YEAH! YEAH!"
"Long live the king! Long live the king!"
The tri-color flag symbolizing the Old Guard was planted atop Genet Port. Throughout the entire process, the Old Guard faced no resistance. In fact, when Ryan chose to lodge at a nearby farmstead for the night, the entire populace of the port showed up.
They brought homemade ale, their most prized white flour (only brought out during major festivals), and women donned their best holiday dresses. Serfs carried their chickens, livestock, and freshly caught fish, while some freedmen even led their prized oxen to the farm, offering them for slaughter to honor their beloved king and queen!
Songs, dances, and cheers filled the air as the townsfolk shared their finest provisions with Ryan and his entourage, determined to showcase their loyalty and gratitude.
Maid-in-chief Sylvia could hardly believe her eyes. She had never imagined that Ryan's mere presence and reputation could so thoroughly captivate and unite the commoners and serfs. It was clear to her now what status the great knight-king held in their hearts.
In this dark age, Ryan had become a beacon of hope for the downtrodden, offering them a chance to rise beyond their class. In these ignorant times, Ryan had brought better lives and lower prices to the common people. In an era of decay, he had stood against the excesses of noble privilege, established traveling courts, and ensured justice for all. He had even convinced the Church of the Lady to lower the tithe from one-tenth to one-fifteenth, providing tangible relief to the populace.
In this glorious era, Ryan's successive expeditions had won not only wealth but also honor for the common folk, allowing them to return home in triumph, proud and prosperous.
Knight-King Ryan: truly the eternal legend!
As the sun set and cheers echoed through the port, the king entered Genet Port peacefully.
That Evening: Genet Port Farmstead
The farmhouse was ablaze with light. Outside, several large cauldrons bubbled with hearty, rustic stews. Inside, thirty Old Guard soldiers stood watch, while the remaining guards sat together, enjoying corn and soybean stew with pork and barley bread offered by the grateful townsfolk.
This humble farmhouse would serve as Ryan's lodging for the night.
"Raymond, join us for dinner." Ryan, seated at a large rectangular wooden table with Sulia, Olica, and Sylvia, gestured for his Old Guard captain to take a seat. The knight-king and queen sat side by side, with Olica to Ryan's left and Sylvia to Sulia's right. Seeing Raymond awkwardly holding his bowl and spoon, Ryan gave a light-hearted order: "That's an order."
"Yes, Your Majesty." Raymond, slightly embarrassed, took a seat. Now in his thirties, the once-escaped serf from Lyonesse had risen to become the captain of the Old Guard and a renowned figure in the Old World. Reflecting on his journey, Raymond marveled at how no noble had ever garnered such love and respect from the common folk as Ryan had.
"Thank you for your efforts, Raymond." Sulia, dressed in her usual white military blouse and deep blue pleated skirt, wore thigh-high sheer black velvet stockings. Her practical yet elegant boots replaced her high heels for mobility. With her gleaming Lyonesse Sword at her side, she radiated both grace and valor. As Ryan's queen, she was the epitome of noble beauty and martial strength. She gestured for Raymond to sit across from Ryan, smiling warmly. "We're sorry to have called upon you and your men so suddenly. I'm sure it was tiring."
"Not at all, my lady." Raymond, though slightly shy, replied with pride. Having served Ryan since the count's early days, he had been part of many campaigns. Stroking his bushy mustache, the captain spoke earnestly. "Everyone was just surprised, Your Majesty. To be frank, this seems quite risky. Even though you've disbanded the main army, it would have been safer to bring the entire Old Guard. But here we are—fewer than eighty men, and you didn't even notify Lords Bertrand or Davout."
"You're oversimplifying the matter, Raymond." Ryan set down his buttered bread, his face lit by the glow of numerous candles and dwarven oil lamps. "The entire Old Guard? Why not bring the Red Dragon Knights or the Quenelles Champions too? Wouldn't that solve the problem even faster?"
"Well… that would certainly be safer," Raymond admitted after a moment's thought. "It's not impossible."
"You're missing the point, Raymond." Ryan shook his head gently. The king lifted a bowl of potato stew and grew more serious. "Do you think Duke Talbott is a bad person?"
"Among the dukes, Duke Talbott is considered one of the better ones. He's both humble and kind," Sulia interjected, smiling. "He's twice issued orders to exempt serfs from corvée labor and has abolished several excessive taxes, such as the fishing tax. He even had all his vassals swear to renounce the droit du seigneur. He's been loyal to Ryan and has never secretly undermined decisions he disagreed with. His opposition this time was open and followed proper procedures. If Ryan were to crush dissent with military force, what would people think?"
"Then why does he oppose the king?" Raymond asked instinctively.
"That's not a contradiction," Ryan said, sipping his wine—a gift from the serfs. "Duke Talbott's opposition isn't about morality or loyalty; it's about political stance."
Simply put, Duke Talbott wasn't incompetent or corrupt. His opposition to Ryan stemmed purely from his alignment with the conservative old-guard nobility.
"Politics is like everyone sitting at this table to eat," Ryan explained, gesturing toward the rectangular table. "If a dispute over food can be resolved through discussion or compromise, I can't just flip the table. That would make me look tyrannical. I can bring a small contingent of Old Guard for protection, but bringing the entire army? That would look like I'm here to flip the table. It would lead to civil war, Raymond."
"I was foolish!" Raymond lowered his head, embarrassed. After a moment of reflection, he couldn't help but ask, "But then, Your Majesty, what's your plan?"
"Raymond, watch closely." Ryan stood, signaling everyone to rise. He pointed to the long wooden table. "See how all the food is arranged on this table? The plates and bowls rest on the tablecloth, right?"
"What I need to do is…" Ryan grasped the tablecloth and, in a flash, yanked it free. The plates and bowls remained perfectly still, undisturbed.
"This is my plan."
Two Days Later: Les Affres, Le-Angoulême Duchy
By the afternoon of the third day, an urgent report reached the desk of Duke Talbott in his castle. Breaking the wax seal, the duke read the message, and his face turned pale, then green.
"He's here!" The duke set down the parchment, his complexion shifting between fear and anxiety.
"Who?"
"Our knight-king, His Majesty Ryan. He's entered my duchy with his queen and a small contingent of Old Guard!"
"He's approaching the eastern town of Les Affres!"
"Summon everyone immediately! We must hold
a council!"
"We need to decide what to do!"
______
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