Mercenary of Navigon:
The Compass of Power
Chapter 2: Noble Interlude (Part 2)
The paved streets were filled with cars and horses as people travelled about. Most were on foot and some even used the elemental power of air to get around if they possessed it and could sometimes be seen travelling on a makeshift cloud. Even though Kratos possessed that element, he much preferred to be grounded. Out of all the people the mercenary had encountered in Navigon, Duchess Hilda was the only one who shared a similar sense of clothing. Everyone else wore threads from simple t-shirts and sweatpants, to collared button-downs with skirts or uniform pants and finally to frockcoats and dress pants including formal and semi-formal suits and dresses. Kratos was in between the latter but that’s what he felt comfortable in while he worked.
After frolicking down the walkways, the pair finally stopped in front of a luxurious restaurant. It had a white, marble awning with four decorated pillars supporting it. Even though it was midday, there were well-dressed citizens and upper-class nobility parading the area. Kratos’ mouth was agape, and he felt the piercing gazes of the people look disdainfully at him because of the way he was dressed. Since they appeared to know the Duchess, they were bowing their heads slightly as a sign of respect. The mercenary looked at the prices that were posted on the restaurant’s glass and his heart stopped. Even his custom greatsword and custom motorcycle combined were cheaper than the cheapest meal offered.
Kratos finally spoke up, after realising what was about to happen. “Hold on, I don’t think I can… I mean even with the down payment I received earlier, I—”
“Kratos,” Duchess Hilda piped up, “I need you to do me a big favour.”
“…If it’s paying for the food…”
She shook her head and slipped her hand into his, sending a sensation through his body like he’d never felt before.
“… Please…” she implored. “Just for today… be my fiancée.”
The mercenary stumbled to the side.
“Wh-What…?”
“Please,” she pressed. “I promise after this, I’ll get you your papers and you can be on your way. Just show my parents that you’re someone with whom I wish to spend my life with.”
Kratos was speechless and didn’t know what to do. He was already involved in a mission that simply couldn’t afford any detours but right now, there was logically nothing he could do without Duchess Hilda’s administrative authority. He could wait for the Council, but he’d rather not deal with those people again. Right now, presented a favourable outcome: he was getting the chance to eat luxurious food and he was in the company of a beautiful woman his age, even though he’d never experienced genuine company before. But at the end of the day, Kratos was getting exactly what he wanted anyway, so where’s the harm in it? He took Duchess Hilda’s offer, and she was so overjoyed, she hugged him as she rested her head on his chest giddily. His face flustered again as her ample bosom pressed against his chiselled body.
As they were about to enter, Kratos was halted by a person at the sign-in desk, who informed him that not only was he not on the list, but he couldn’t bring his weapon indoors. The young Duchess spoke up for him but was still denied, until he could do something about his greatsword. Being that this wasn’t his first time discreetly hiding something in plain sight, the mercenary used a dark seal on his weapon to masquerade it as a green rose that matched Duchess Hilda’s adornments. This was pinned onto his long coat’s lapel which could still pass for formalwear. Having a plethora of knowledge on etiquette and class thanks to reading and using common sense, Kratos proceeded to perform his mission as a fake fiancée.
After linking arms with her suitor, Duchess Hilda gracefully walked in step with Kratos all the way to her parents’ table, which was in the middle of the grand hall decorated with illustrious chandeliers hanging from the ceiling and refined architecture at every turn. Reflective, marble pillars and flooring decorated the hall as it was reminiscent of the Navigonian palace. There were musicians stationed on one side, as they performed calm music in their formalwear. The atmosphere radiated sophistication and class. Kratos felt out of place but continued with the task at hand.
In addition to her parents, there was another young man with neatly trimmed, short hair, a clean-shaven face and a suit almost as white as the tablecloth and his teeth, which he showed from his smug grin. He too, wore a green rose on his lapel.
The Duchess lightly nudged Kratos on their way to the table and informed him, “I’m betrothed to that guy over there… Lord Jotunall of House Chevalier, a family of prestigious knights and blade masters. Their military career spanned for over two-hundred generations, so he’s pretty proud of his lineage.”
“…He doesn’t look that large for a jotun,” Kratos whispered. Duchess Hilda giggled in her other hand as he continued with, “There’s nothing to be proud about war either, so he doesn’t need to gloat about anything, especially since we haven’t had one in many centuries. I bet I can wield a sword a hundred times better than he could… no, a million times better.”
Kratos continued to entertain the Duchess by insulting her suitor while on the way to the table, as he brought up, “Is that what passes for handsome men today? A chiselled jawline, hair resting on just the top of the head leaving the sides clean and some sort of makeup on his skin to bring out its lustre?”
The mercenary’s opinionated comments didn’t go unnoticed as some patrons stared knives into him, but Kratos didn’t care, he knew he could outclass every single one of them. Since he was with a Noblewoman, no one really stepped up to the challenge.
Duchess Hilda’s father wore distinguished clothing with yellow trimmings embedded within a blue frockcoat and he wore his greying hair into a long ponytail, the same length as his daughter’s. Her mother wore a yellow dress with crystalline adornments around the collar. Its gleam rivalled that of the citrine Kratos retrieved earlier. As soon as the couple arrived, the parents’ eyebrows raised up as Lord Jotunall furrowed his.
“Hilda!” Her mother upbraided, “What is the meaning of this?”
“Who is that dirty man, Hilda!” her father added, as he stood up glaring at Kratos, who was not worried by both of their words.
As the Duchess was going to speak, Kratos took the lead and gracefully spoke. “Your Lordship and Ladyship.” He bowed with his right hand over his chest and continued, “I am Kratos of House Arbeiter-Kunstler, and I am also,” he intertwined fingers with the Duchess’s, “this lovely lady’s fiancée.”
“Arbeiter…Kuntsler…? Kratos…?” The father repeated.
“Impossible!” The young Lord finally spoke. “I am her fiancée! Not this ragged piece—!”
“Silence!” ordered Duchess Hilda’s father. “He’s an Arbeiter-Kuntsler! How can we be rude to one of the most notable families in the Principality?”
Duchess Hilda glanced at Kratos, who met her surprised gaze as well.
“But this is quite a surprise, Lord Kratos.” The father continued, “I thought the heir of the family had gone missing and that there was no hope in finding the boy.”
“That’s what my parents wanted everyone to believe.” Kratos clarified as he held the chair out for his fake fiancée to sit in while he took his right next to hers and directly across from the bitter Lord. “But the truth was, that I wanted to spread my wings and create my own path. They didn’t take a liking to my dispersion, so they disowned me.”
There was a pause as the confident mercenary placed a napkin on his lap while Duchess Hilda’s parents were intrigued.
“Of course, they didn’t want to openly admit their only son chose a different path, so they must have told everyone that I disappeared, which is true. I did isolate myself for seven years to travel and pursue my own ambitions in life, but I wasn’t missing at all.”
The father stroked his groomed mustache while nodding.
“I… have my doubts to believe whether this is true or not.” He voiced his concerns. “Your parents are very righteous and upstanding people; I find it hard to believe they would fib as such.”
“Of course not,” Kratos concurred. “They are honest and hardworking but if it’s more proof you need,” he rolled his sleeve up to expose a toned forearm and a mechanical watch around his wrist which he’d received for his coming of age at thirteen, “then maybe this will appease your suspicion.” The parents gawked at the design only the Arbeiter-Kunstler family had patented to their lineage. It was a simple and rustic design but nonetheless, beautifully and intricately crafted. He held his right arm towards the father who leaned in to listen to the ticking mechanics and was so surprised, he took a cloth and wiped his forehead. Lord Jotunall continued to listen while flexing his cheeks in irritation. He clenched his napkin as he glared at the person across from him. Kratos was quickly earning their trust.
Randy Boodram 
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