After a tense moment, Reynald decided to let go of his sword. I let out a sigh of relief — at least we were spared trouble.
"Pardon us, sire. Where is the nearest town to here? If you don't mind me asking."
I asked. This place was foreign to me, and I didn't think I could navigate it just yet. At least not without a map.
"Nearest town?"
The soldier asked, raising an eyebrow at my unexpected question. He looked at the other soldiers behind him, but they just shrugged.
"Perhaps you're not from here. Allow me and my men to escort you back."
I looked at Reynald — his expression calm and collected, as if we hadn't just broken the law of time. It would be best not to be lost in a world that I didn't recognize. Moreover, I still had many questions for the bastard who brought me here.
I turned my gaze back to the soldier.
"We will oblige."
He nodded at my response and started to move in a direction, and his men followed behind. At this point, I didn't know what or who to trust.
Just as I was lost in thought, I saw Reynald already following behind them — how was this man so easily trusting anyone?
I shook off my thoughts. I had to focus; the priority now was to manage the next step in this voyage.
I kept up with them until I walked side by side with Reynald. As we walked, I noticed the dire situation of the surrounding area. Houses burned down, explosion holes everywhere, and corpses slowly rotting amidst this hellfire.
I stopped when I saw a wounded soldier leaning against a boulder. Perhaps he was still alive? I approached the wounded soldier, taking his cold hand to check his reading.
A shame... this man had long departed.
I clasped my hands together in prayer.
"Che la morte ti dia la pace che cercavi. Requiescat in pace."
May death be the end of their dreams.
The momentary silence was broken by the soldier who was riding the horse.
"Soldiers don't find peace here. This isn't the land of peace."
He gazed down at me.
"If you don't mind me asking, where are you two from, strangers? Your clothes don't seem to be from this part. Are you both merchants? Or aristocrats perhaps?"
I looked up at him.
"I'm from Paris; this man, however..."
Reynald didn't sound like a French name. Thinking back, I had never asked him about his nationality. Well, it wasn't my fault that I got caught up in this situation in the first place.
"England. Land of the Queen."
The soldiers in front of us suddenly narrowed their eyes, as if expecting hostility. Then each one of them unsheathed their swords and pointed them toward Reynald.
"You're an Englishman? State your business in Orléans, or face the consequences of your people's actions."
I raised my hands, afraid to move even a single muscle. Reynald, however, didn't even bother to lift a finger; yet he remained in his calm posture — had he gone mad?
"Now, now. Gentlemen, let us not make a scene here; we are not yet out of danger, are we?"
How could he have the audacity to say that? If I wasn't mistaken, we were currently in the Hundred Years' War, a conflict between Britain and France. Of course they would suspect him of being a British insider.
"Don't try to change the subject, you English bastard. Are you a spy? A paid assassin? State your business, or we'll have you rot in the dungeon with your fellows."
Reynald raised his hands in a mock surrender, but a grin could be seen on his lips.
"My good sir, I'm simply a traveler. Traveling the world with my... companion here."
He turned to me. What did he mean by companion? I barely knew him, dimwit. But I guessed there was no other way out of this.
"Yes, sir, we are both travelers. We are on our way to Hispania."
I attempted to cover up the lie Reynald had made, hoping it was convincing enough.
"I see... Withdraw your weapons, soldiers."
The soldiers hesitated for a moment, torn between delivering justice to their people and following an officer's order.
In the end, they decided to obey and sheathed their swords. Their faces, however, were filled with grief and anger.
The officer dismounted his horse and walked up to us, examining our faces with a skeptical look.
"Thirty days, and I expect you to leave France at all costs after this term. However, betray my trust, and you will know the wrath of Lord Gilles de Rais."
The threat hung in the air. Gilles... I knew that name — lord of Brittany.
World's first serial killer.
— Penning a new chapter…