It was much later in the evening that Lucius's party, one by one, began to stir awake and left their rooms whilst blurry-eyed and yawning, along with the rest of the otherworlders. They had slept for the entire day. Though, it was no surprise. The warm blankets, the soft bedding, and the ever-comforting assurance knowing they could rest peacefully behind guarded walls… it would all come to an end today. For henceforth, the expedition no longer planned to visit the other cities.

Only the distant wilds awaited them now. Fortunately, the gentleman was no stranger to camping! He had 'roughed it out' or as the saying went many times in his youth. His most lively memory was of his jaunt through the Amazon Rainforest while accompanying an expedition of Spanish explorers in their search for the lost city of gold: El Dorado. As it turned out, the legend was real. The curses associated with it were, also, very much real as well.

"Alright, let's get this show on the road," Mili said, jolting herself awake with a small zap from her finger. Her frizzy hair shot up like thin needles, before spreading out and falling back naturally into her typical, punk-rock style. Interesting trick. "How're we all feeling?"

Marco cracked his back and showed off his polished gauntlet. "Never better. Don't think we need to worry all that much, anyways. That paladin fella, Renaud, seems like he knows what he's doin'."

Harper carefully checked her utility belt, making sure she was fully stocked with potions, tools, and anything else the group might need for their journey, and then strapped her gear to her bulky firefighter outfit. The good miss never left anywhere without it on. In fact, Lucius could count all the times he saw her face with his fingers: a grand total of three in these past few months they'd known each other.

"Still, we should be careful," she said, holstering her axe. "The last time we were confident, that thing showed up and almost massacred us all. I'm not letting my guard down ever again, no matter how capable Sir Renaud or that other priestly guy might be."

The three of them suddenly hardened their expressions, and they nodded to each other, bonded in a silent pledge.

Compared to them, Lucius was all smiles. He skipped toward the exit of their inn and gestured his companions to follow after. "Now, now, let us not be overcome with so grim a mood already, hm? I trust in our Frankish allies. Besides, if such a fiend were to ever approach again, I shall be among the first to know."

He encouraged them to relax their nerves, and thus they emerged together out onto the streets. Other members of the expedition were already waiting; and they soon lined themselves up in formation as the carriages were brought back out. Interestingly enough, however, there was a strange contraption attached to the roofs that resembled giant steel umbrellas. They stretched out and shadowed a wide area large enough so that all of the expeditioners could snugly fit inside.

At the very middle of the covering was a beam that rose high up toward the clouds, almost as if it were acting as a lightning rod. The Order's visit to this city wasn't just for relaxation, it seemed. They had these things installed for a reason.

Just as Lucius began to ponder over their peculiar use, Sir Renaud and Sir Maugris walked out of the neighboring tavern along with the other important officers. The two Peers soon noticed Lucius, and they beckoned him with a wave.

"Do forgive me, but it appears I am needed," the gentleman said, bidding his companions farewell. "I shall return in a moment—hopefully with some insight into our future operations."

The three nodded and headed down where the other players were gathered. Lucius, meanwhile, leisurely made his way to the front.

"Lucius, I see you are well rested," Renaud said, greeting him with the Trinity's sign. Sir Maugris did so as well, but there was a slight unrest in the man's eyes. It appeared Lucius's words this morning still remained with him; and he moved as if to ask the gentleman for further clarification, but then stopped his hand at the last moment and kept his silence. This wasn't the time—not with Renaud right beside.

"As are you, my friend." Truth be told, Lucius indulged in a grand total of zero hours of sleep, but he felt just as prim and proper as he did before. There was nothing a good cup of tea couldn't fix.

Renaud chuckled, and then turned his gaze to overlook the expedition. "Hm, your kind look more vigilant than I thought. I expected a day of luxury would dull their senses, but no. In those eyes, I see anticipation. That is good. Our journey henceforth shall spare no leniency for louts."

"To the northwest, am I correct?"

"Indeed. A week's worth of voyage awaits us yet."

Renaud called out for a servant to bring a map. Soon, a large overflowing piece of parchment was laid out before him, and he knelt down whilst holding onto his cane before pointing at a region outlined in ink. The words 'Mère Patrie' or 'Land of the Mother' were written boldly across; and Lucius's first thought was that it resembled Earth's continental Europe—only, with some subtle changes in geography. Francia, for example, was interconnected with the British Isles by land rather than the English Channel. And where one would normally meet the Atlantic Ocean to the west, a large snowy mass with 'Le Berceau de la Vie' was circled: the Cradle of Life. The very mountains where the Demon King now reigned.

"Oh? This map is different from those in the castle's repository," Lucius said, eyeing the landmarks.

It was Sir Maugris who replied this time. "Those were records penned by our priests before his late Holiness, Pepin the Menacing Fiend Who Haunts Mens' Dreams, ascended the throne. Many other nations once prospered near our borders. Now, they… do not exist. It required many years before a new version could be made due to all of his conquests. The map you see now was only inscribed a year ago."

"I see. That does explain some aspects, but wasn't there an island here to the north?" Lucius pointed at a space to the right of Britannia.

"Ah, yes." A grim shadow darkened Maugris's face. "There was, once, such a domain there. However, the former emperor sank it when the local population refused to bend under his will."

"He sank it? An entire island?"

"Indeed. What remained now lies at the bottom of the sea, along with the corpses of those innocent."

A tense silence festered among them for a moment. Sir Renaud coughed and hurried to change the subject before the mood could become any more desolate.

"Let us focus on the task at hand," he said, pointing to an area surrounded by very, very apparent warning signs. "This is our destination: The Shaded Woods of Alberon, where the Beast Lord calls home. Worry not of what dwells within - our concerns lie instead with the routes needed to reach the forest. There are no paved roads or cities, so we must first traverse through the Misty Wetlands, past the Crag-Stone Cliffs, and finally the fields of Sleeping Hollow. Only then shall we set foot at our mission's entrance."

Renaud picked up the map, folded it, and then handed it off to a servant, before heading towards his place at the expedition's front. "I trust that will satisfy your peoples' curiosity?" he said to Lucius. "There are some details I have not confided, but it is of little importance. The paladins of the Order will be responsible for our defense."

Lucius tipped his tophat in acknowledgement. "What would you have the otherworlders do?"

"That is for you to decide." Renaud pointed at the emblem nestled on Lucius's suit. "I would rather not have them interfere with the paladins' formations. However, if by chance danger should present itself beyond my knowing, then you have the authority to direct them as you see fit."

"Very well, I shall abide by your word."

With a quick bow, the gentleman hurried back to the company of the other players. He gathered them into an audience like before and then passed on what Sir Renaud had told him. Their reactions were mild, to say the least. It was nice to have autonomy; but despite wearing the same badges, the players didn't feel like an actual part of the Order. They were kept at an arm's length away and treated as luggage to be carried.

Even Lucius's promotion to 'captain' was done so frivolously, though it was true that Sir Renaud felt a kinship with the gentleman. It just went to show that he didn't particularly view the title as important: It was a way to placate the players rather than assign them actual responsibility.

But what could be done? They were thankful to be acknowledged at least, rather than treated as invisible.

The man strapped with bombs that Lucius met the prior night, Nicholas Crowley, gave his thoughts about the situation. "Isn't this a good thing? Mind you, I wouldn't push away the chance at snagging more experience, but I sure ain't gonna complain about letting those armored gents face all the danger. I'm only here to find clues about the Demon King: how to kill him, how to get out of this damn world, and maybe get a little stronger in the process. Preferably while I'm still alive. You all feel the same way, right?"

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The players hesitated at first, but after a moment they began to join in with words of affirmation. People with solely good intentions, like Harper, were rare. Most who joined the expedition did so either to escape the influence of those at the capital, to level up and better their skills, or to complete the Grand Quest. They did not join out of a heroic desire to 'save' the Franks from their long war with the demons.

No, the players had suffered far too much to be concerned about the likes of others. Such was the reality of this supposed game. In the end, their only objective was to survive.

Despite their admittedly selfish motives, it wasn't as if they had completely disregarded the idea of cooperation—strength in numbers, after all. It was because their chances fared better whilst together that they had previously organized themselves into separate divisions. It might not be as complex as those practiced by the Franks, but they fought in their own way. The tragedy at Roncevaux Fortress would never be repeated again.

"Even if we don't actually have to do much, we should still make an effort to appeal to the Franks, right?' The man in the chef's garb, Anthony Pierre, said. "Renaud already doesn't like us. He's allowing some freedom now, but what if his mood changes? I think it'd be beneficial if we tried to help around for a bit: make them like us more. That way it won't seem like we're just along for the ride or leeching off their efforts. Trust me, I've worked in enough kitchens to know how disgruntled people can become when they think others aren't pulling their weight. There's two hundred of them and only fifty of us. Getting on their bad side is only going to hurt us in the future."

Mister Crowley paced back and forth, rubbing his chin in thought. "Sounds reasonable enough, but how do you suppose we do that?"

In response, Mister Pierre brightened and showed off his cutlery kit. "It doesn't have to be complicated. We'll help around like we did at the fortress: cleaning, cooking, making potions, and other chores. We can buy all the ingredients and supplies we need from the store. Although, I am a bit worried about the price… it'll definitely start to rack up a bit unless we chip in together."

None of the players were all too eager to give up their precious coins. Fortunately, there was one among them who was, to put it bluntly, filthy stinking rich.

"Ah, you need not worry about such things," Lucius said, directing the attention toward himself. "I shall take care of any necessary expenses."

"You sure?" Anthony asked, his expression a bit guilty.

"A gentleman's word is his promise." Except for when it wasn't. "Of course, I will require further justification for each item desired. It must be for the benefit of our group and not individual gain. Other than so, simply inform me what is needed and I shall procure it posthaste."

With everyone in agreement, Lucius had a few volunteers write up their plans and a bill of materials, before leaving them and returning to Sir Renaud's side with a brief summary of what was discussed.

"Oh? How very structured," the Peer said with a rare smile. "If they wish to settle our chores, then far be it for me to deny them. Good work, Lucius. I knew it was a wise decision to bring you into my faction."

Lucius was not entirely sure about that, but the man seemed happy, so he kept his silence and allowed him to continue on with his misunderstanding.

Sir Renaud looked up at the sky and narrowed his eyes, gazing at the formation of the stars overhead. "Hm, it is now midnight. Very well. All those still not among the procession shall be left behind. Expedition Argo is to depart now."

He signaled to the paladins at the back with a gesture, and soon, the great march gradually hurried forth once again. This time, however, Lucius was ordered to stay at the front alongside the upper echelon. They quietly passed the streets, left through the city's gates, and then trampled the soft dirt of the outside whilst donning a stern appearance.

Lucius's tasks as Renaud's aide were quite simple. He gave him tea whenever his voice grew dry and attended to his cleanliness: offering him handkerchiefs, spritzing perfume, and even massaging his shoulders while they walked. Was it expected of Lucius? No. In fact, the Peer acted quite baffled at moments, as if he had never expected the gentleman to go to such lengths.

One time, Lucius even presented him with a giant chocolate cake on a silver platter. The man was too dumbfounded to even reply as Lucius took a spoon, carved a sizable chunk, and then shoved it into Renaud's mouth.

"Delicious, is it not?"

Renaud slowly chewed, all the while staring at Lucius as if he were some bizarre creature.

"It is good."

"Wonderful, I have plenty more should you ever be in the mood. Don't be afraid to ask!"

"I… will keep that in mind."

Before, the man would wobble on like a corpse mere moments away from collapsing. But even after a few hours of continued activity, Renaud looked just as pristine as when they first left. He no longer perspired, for Lucius didn't give him the chance to and cooled his face with a comically large fan. His stomach no longer growled, for Lucius jumped at every opportunity to stuff him with some manner of delicacy or baked good from Earth. Even his appearance was kept proper, for Lucius took some gel and styled his hair so that the Peer would always maintain an image of authority.

Just as the gentleman began to prepare a whole rotisserie chicken, Renaud turned around, and he gently patted his shoulder.

"Sir Lucius," he said with a strained voice. "Please, do not pamper me any longer. I feel… wrong, as if I am undermining the other paladins with this constant indulgence in luxury. I wish to be a leader they admire, as a fellow knowing in their struggle, rather than a privileged sort taking advantage of their position. So I beg of you, let me endure hardship."

Lucius didn't quite understand what the problem was, but he respected the man's wishes and backed away. Such a shame—he had a whole five-course meal planned out, along with a wine tasting and some artisanal cheese.

Oh well, Lucius gave the rest of his prepared food to the nearby paladins, which they enthusiastically thanked him for, and continued his jaunt with a merry whistle. It was when Renaud increased his pace and rushed forward away from Lucius's smothering hospitality, that a voice suddenly whispered in his ear.

"Sir Lucius? May I, perhaps, speak with you for a moment?"

Lucius turned around and met the anxious face of the wizardly priest, Sir Maugris. The man had kept his patience all this time, but he had finally reached his limit. He had to know more. He needed to satisfy his curiosity.

"I suppose," Lucius replied. "But do you really wish to discuss matters here?"

The gentleman nudged his head in Renaud's direction, as well as the knights trailing by his side.

Sir Maugris bit his lip. "Is… there truly a need for such privacy?"

"Well, that depends on you. Are you comfortable right now?"

"What does that have to do with—"

Lucius tutted and wagged his finger. "It has everything to do with my answer, Sir Maugris. You are, of course, a respectable man, and I saw just how deep your virtue is whilst attending the church service in Burgundy. However… I am unsure if you are ready to hear what I must say. How can I be certain that you can be trusted with the information I hold, if you cannot maintain your composure?"

The man stuttered, confused by Lucius's cryptic words, and yet there was a fire in him: an obsession, burning, spreading all across his being. Lucius knew that look well. He saw it slumbering in his heart, the sparks flashing by in the moments when God was invoked. Yes, it was a feeling the gentleman was quite familiar with.

For what dwelled inside the wizardly priest… was desire. A desire to understand, to know this yearning inside that absolutely must be quenched. In that sense, the two were kindred souls.

The only difference being that Lucius knew full well what his desires were, and acted upon them. Maugris on the other hand only harbored a subconscious yearning. He didn't know what he wanted yet; or perhaps he refused to acknowledge it. Whichever it may be, this was Lucius's chance to bring out his hidden side.

His true side.

"Why do you say so?" Maugris asked. "Of course I am trustworthy. Sir Roland would not have requested me to watch over Sir Renaud if I were an unreliable sort."

"Perhaps so, perhaps so," Lucius continued, hiding back a tempting grin. "Do forgive my caution. It is just… you are a man of the faith. I respect your culture, and I do not wish to blaspheme in any way the sanctity regarding your Lord. But what I must say might encroach upon that heavenly domain. There is a chance I could be wrong as well: It is merely an observation of mine, one that could change everything you know. Is that what you wish? To risk the life you've built for yourself here, your position as senior priest, as Peer, as a beloved child of God… all for the sake of greater knowledge?"

Maugris's eyes widened, and he leaned in, breaths short and quick as if he were spellbound. Something inside him knew this was wrong. The very second Lucius mentioned his God and the risk of impiety, he should have refused like the devoted holy servant he was. And yet, he couldn't turn away. The desire inside him, the craving for more, was undeniable.

Maugris clutched his chest, and he parted his lips to speak.

"I…" he began, fighting with his last remnant of self control. "I—"

"What are you two muttering about?"

Maugris quickly snapped his head around. There, looking at them with a raised brow, was the good Sir Renaud. He crossed his arms and waited for a reply. The wizardly priest didn't speak; he trembled and froze in place like a bird caught in a snare.

"Oh, nothing of importance, I assure you," Lucius said with a shrug. "Sir Maugris was just trying to sway me over to Sir Roland's side and promised me all the glory and riches I could wish for, right my friend?"

The man nodded absentmindedly, before gaining back his reason and attempting to protest. "Wait, that is not what I—"

It was too late. Renaud threw his head back and laughed, amused by the Maugris's supposed duplicity. "Well, and how did you reply, Sir Lucius?"

"I said I would be delighted to, so long that he could provide better accommodation than you grant me now."

Renaud grinned. "A smart decision. Allegiances matter little; a wise man knows when his ship is bound to sink. That is why I enjoy this clear relationship of ours, one built upon mutual benefit rather than fickle things such as brotherhood."

He gave Maugris a short, mischievous chuckle, and then turned back around. He did not deign to look at him again, for the embarrassment of a failed attempt would surely be humiliating enough.

The man in question was still puzzled by the odd chain of events, but within a second, he breathed a sigh of relief. Better to be seen as a naive fool rather than a heretic.

"Let us continue this conversation at a later date," Lucius whispered to him. Maugris agreed and, with a final glance at their surroundings, returned to his position in the march.

Besides, the man had no time to mull over such matters. He raised his sceptre up high and focused on widening his range of surveillance; for the expedition had left behind the humble fields of the prairie. Now, a new area unfolded before them, one filled with dense mud, fog, and a perpetual overcast of rain.

Expedition Argo had at last entered the first region of their quest: the Misty Wetlands.

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