Melting lies

My powers didn't fade, at least not during the three months I'd spent in prison.

Eventually, the Order had no choice but to reinstate me as a Paladin and pretend my disappearance had just been another expedition. Thus most people still revered me, particularly because of the threat of the Cursed Prince.

Anytime someone looked at me with those eyes full of hope—anytime someone tried to treat me like a hero—I wanted to scream the truth like I was pulling out a splinter stuck beneath my nail.

"Don't praise me. Blame me like I rightfully deserve."

My pay was also cut in half, and Mahi remained fired, but at least she and my family would continue getting the money I sent back to my home village. Officially, they said Mahi had committed some made up crime. Apparently a member of the Council betraying their oaths was still a preferable story than a Paladin doing the same.

But this also meant…

That I couldn't hide in the dungeons anymore. Instead I'd be forced to face the problems I'd created.

I had to let go of the attachment I had to Prin… to the Cursed Prince—despite the fact that even after she'd killed my best friend, even after seeing first hand how dangerous she was, I…

Didn't want her to die.

I just couldn't bring myself to blame her for what had happened.

ᗢ⫘⫘⫘⫘𖦹⫘⫘⫘⫘♡

Present time. Three weeks later.

Rasbora had mostly left me alone after I… well, had made myself as unlikable as I could in order to accomplish exactly that.

Today, our team reached one of the last stops before the end of our journey, a place where we might get intel about the Cursed Prince's whereabouts.

Fort Mahseer. Grey, solid, cold—an otherwise outstanding piece of architecture tainted by its purpose and origin. It was named in honor of one of the most famous Paladins, and the one with the highest Cursed kill count in history.

Other than the wide spans of terrain where the Northern and Western Frontiers were built, here stood the third and last gap in the Borders. It spanned the width of a street, making it the easiest to 'defend'—the word meaning to massacre any non-human trying to pass by.

We got the usual treatment from the present knights: salutes, overstated reverence and a lot of "you're doing a great job" and "I admire your courage". After being ogled by every single person around, we reached the office of the High Knight on the highest floor of the fort.

Paintings taller than a person and framed in gold loomed over—here, in the workplace of one of the foremost High Knights, a man in charge of protecting humanity. How have I never before noticed the blatant contradictions?

Betta and the man talked. Rasbora gave a word or two from time to time. I resisted the urge to tear the man's attire—it barely counted as a uniform and was more a showcase of excess and garish taste.

At first, the High Knight attempted to offer embellished words and empty compliments, but Betta wasn't the type to appreciate such—in her words—'butt lickings'. She steered the conversation like she owned the place and skipped all raffle: our team would help around for a few days in exchange for what the High Knight knew about the Cursed Prince's whereabouts.

Why did we need to trade favors for information on a world-ending threat?

Because deep down everyone knew the Cursed weren't that dangerous, but it was more convenient this way. The world was rotten, and the worst of it all was…

That's right, don't forget you're just as bad if not worse. If you're going to criticize people then better direct that hate at the one who deserves it the most.

ᗢ⫘⫘⫘⫘𖦹⫘⫘⫘⫘♡

Betta didn't want me on the battlefield, a sentiment I shared. She sent me to the medical tent, where I began by addressing the most severe injuries: a sprained ankle, a cut on the eyelid and a common cold.

"Many thanks, Prudence Corydorin," said a young cadet after I got rid of the blisters in his hands. "If it isn't much trouble, can I ask you to repair my shield? It got damaged during the last invasion a few months ago."

My Recovery magic could be used to amend equipment.

"Sure, it barely takes me any effort." I then raised my voice. "Does anyone else need their equipment repaired?" Several knights approached.

I kept busy going through the motions. There wasn't anything else to pass the time, unless I did like the knights and goofed around—though most of them at least tried to be subtle about it and hid the cards or drinks when I came near. No additional injured arrived. If anyone got hurt on the field Rasbora would be able to heal all but the gravest injuries with her medium-tier Recovery magic.

We were deep in the Mist Season right now, so there was no full-scale Cursed migration anymore. In fact, the people on the field were most likely just scouting the nearby area in the Cursed Lands and ambushing any unlucky creature they found roaming around.

I finished fixing the last item I was given—a nicked ceramic figurine of a famous minstrel. For the sake of my sanity I didn't ask why her clothes were removable.

After receiving my fiftieth empty "thank you" for the day, I was beginning to feel some exhaustion even though all the magic I'd used was for the simplest of tasks. And now, having no more productive work to keep myself occupied…

All I had left were my thoughts.

The day is drawing ever closer.

You will have to kill her.

No way around it.

Unless you'd rather have the three of you die instead.

One life or three. It's an easy choice.

It wasn't. Lives shouldn't be wares on a scale.

ᗢ⫘⫘⫘⫘𖦹⫘⫘⫘⫘♡

The sky had been clear during the day, but as dusk approached mist creeped up until one couldn't see the ground from the second floor of the Fort. I spent my time in one of the lounges, alone.

Eventually, Rasbora and Betta returned. They seemed to be on… unusual terms.

"Gah ha ha! You're right, he looks more ridiculous than a clown with all that gaudy junk he wears." Betta's arm was wrapped around Rasbora's shoulder.

"Ah didn't mean it as an insult."

"Well, you should. Guy's like a one-man circus. Like dude, you're supposed to be a High Knight; a symbol of power not a walking waste of taxes."

When Betta noticed me sitting on the sofa, her mood dampened faster than paper in this weather.

"Anyway, I'm heading to bed. Talk to you soon, good night," she said to Rasbora, then threw me a frown as goodnight.

"Sleep well, Betta," Rasbora responded, smiling softly. Once we were alone, she gave me a look that said too many things I didn't want to hear. "Can we talk?"

No. "I was just about to head to bed, let's do it tomorrow."

"Corydorin."

Why?

I thought you'd given up on this stupid idea of getting to understand me.

To be fair, I'd been the one to approach her first—back when I had this silly idea of becoming friends for no good reason at all.

Perhaps I owed her some sincerity.

"Rasbora, I don't want to talk with you. Just leave me alone."

Clear and to the point—no room for misunderstandings.

"I know ya don't mean it. Enough with the lies."

…

It seemed I'd need to treat her even more harshly in order to get her to stop wasting efforts on me.