As the brute lunged, Lance felt a spike of pure panic, his body instinctively recoiling. In the instant before the man's hands could seize him, a longsword lunged from the side, running the brute clean through the chest. As Reynauld withdrew the blade, the man collapsed as if his strings had been cut, the light in his eyes fading into the gloom.
Lance steadied himself, a wave of cold fear washing over him as he stared at the corpse. Had the man caught him, things would have become dire indeed.
"The blood," Dismas said, seeing the issue with the gun. "It soaked the powder."
Lifting the pistol, Lance realized how little he knew of such weapons, having forgotten it was a flintlock. He had also made a cardinal error: never trust a weapon taken from an enemy without first inspecting it.
With the last of their foes now dead, a strange quiet fell upon the three men. It was clear that both of them were waiting for an explanation.
"I know you have many questions," Lance began. "But what I am about to say may shatter your understanding of this world. Are you certain you wish to know the truth?"
"Speak," Dismas urged, his curiosity piqued. He was impatient to know.
"Very well." Lance composed himself and began his tale.
"I hail from an ancient house, with a history stretching back a thousand years. My Ancestor, as the heir to our line, enjoyed a life of luxury and profligate decadence. Until, one day, he was granted a vision. In his dreams, he learned of an ancient, sleeping fiend, sealed away. Should it ever awaken, the world itself would be devoured.
"The Ancestor saw this as a burden he was destined to bear. He forsook his decadent life, pouring his fortune into assembling expeditions. After countless hardships, he finally located the place from his visions—the site of the fiend's prison.
"He led our family's knights to this place, clearing the land of monsters and founding this domain. But he soon discovered it was a cursed place. The fiend's power was too great; even in its slumber, its foul influence seeps into the very soil, corrupting all that it touches. Animals, plants, even the long-dead are twisted into monstrous forms. At the same time, the fiend's power warps reality itself, drawing the gaze of things from the Void.
"These monsters are like weeds; cut one down, and another springs up in its place. The Ancestor knew this was a path without end, but to protect the seal, he fought against this evil his entire life. He swore an oath that our family must defend the seal with our very lives, fighting until the last of our line had fallen.
"Through the long years, the members of my family fell, one by one, in this endless war. My parents were no different. That is why I was fostered with another family, growing to adulthood without ever seeing their faces."
Lance paused here, observing the two men's reactions. They were hardened men, but talk of visions, elder fiends, and the world's end was clearly difficult for them to process. Or perhaps, they dared not believe it. They could only digest it in silence.
Noticing their hesitation, Lance offered a reassuring smile.
"I did not believe it at first, either. The secret of the seal cannot be leaked; only the heir is worthy to know. But with the last lord's disappearance, I was all that remained of my family. The duty, passed down through the blood, has at last fallen to me. And with it, I too received the vision. I too know everything."
"Why tell us this? I'm just a common sellsword," Dismas said, a note of retreat in his voice.
"Because I need your aid," Lance said, his tone sincere. "You have seen it for yourselves. The corruption is already spreading. The seal is in peril. And though I have the will to fight this evil and protect the seal, I am alone. I could be dead for any number of reasons the moment I inherit the estate."
"Why not seek aid from the Kingdom? Or the Church?" Reynauld asked.
"Because my domain holds monsters, not gold."
Lance's blunt reply silenced the Crusader.
A pang of regret hit Dismas. This was knowledge he should not possess. All he wanted was to finish this job, take his pay, and lose himself in a tavern or a brothel, letting wine and women numb him until he could wake up the next day having forgotten it all. And then just wait, until the end of the world arrived...
I don't want to die here!(Affliction: Selfish)
Sensing their rejection, Lance let out a soft sigh.
"I know this is a heavy burden. I know you could lose your lives. When I first learned of my family's duty, I too thought of fleeing. But some things must be done. Rather than wait in terror for the end of days, I choose to fight. That way, even if we fail, we will have at least struggled. We will have no regrets. We will not live in fear."
Dismas hesitated. Hearing Lance's words—of a family that had bled for a thousand years to guard a seal, of a common scholar now willing to shoulder such a suffocating burden—a feeling of respect, of awe, began to stir within him. Lance was slightly built, yet he stood before them like a mountain—imposing, solemn, inviolable. Compared to him, Dismas felt like a rat in a gutter. A storm of complex emotions tortured his mind. He wanted to live like Lance did.
Reynauld stood motionless, his thoughts hidden by his helm.
"It does not matter if you refuse. I will understand. My parents sent me away for this very reason; they did not wish this life upon me. I tell you this only so that, should I die, someone will be left who knows my family's story. At least then I will have fulfilled my Ancestor's oath—to have fought to the last man. I, Lance, will not bring shame upon the name of Hamlet!"
Lance's words were a blade that pierced Dismas's fragile heart. The facade shattered, and a powerful sense of shame flooded him. Why am I always running? Why?
I can do this... I WILL find my redemption!
In that moment of self-discovery, a new, more powerful emotion surged forth. For a fleeting instant, he thought he saw an arc of holy light.
"Hmph!" Dismas's mood turned buoyant, almost manic. He brandished his pistol and dirk. "No more running. Let's get to it."
"The Light is unwavering, and so am I," Reynauld declared, raising his longsword. "Even if it means annihilation in the face of this unholy evil!"
Hearing their declarations, Lance couldn't help but smile. He knew his gamble had paid off. Both men possessed a powerful, desperate desire for their own salvation. He immediately led them in a solemn oath to guard this secret, leaning into the ritual of it all to make them truly feel the weight of their new purpose.
In truth, most of it was a grand fabrication. He knew that to win their support, he needed to wrap himself in a grand, even messianic narrative, using themes of devotion and sacrifice to awaken their desperate thirst for redemption. Besides, all the Ancestors were dead. There was no one left to contradict him.