Ortrone’s Concept of Home and Family

If one were to question Ortrone’s intentions, even he couldn’t give a proper explanation.

Why did he decide to help the Chevolaires with their affairs? Was it a sense of justice, boredom, curiosity, or simply on a whim?

If Ortrone had to choose one, it would be boredom. Ever since his freedom, he could do almost anything he wanted. Even though King Carmin "II" gifted him a mansion on the outskirts of the kingdom, the thought of settling down in another house didn’t sit right with him. Thus, he chose to travel around the world with his train, meet all sorts of people, and have plenty of adventures. Of course, He kept in touch with his comrades, so perhaps it wouldn’t be a stretch to call Loumont his second home.

“Home” and “family” were foreign words to not only Ortrone, but the rest of his comrades. After surviving the nightmares in their youth, they all diverged paths to find the meaning of such words for themselves, Ortrone somewhat included.

Throughout his journey, he did manage to reach a conclusion: Wherever he went with his train, that would be his so-called home. Embarrassingly enough, he never realized it until he met Ren’s children, who found comfort in each other no matter how many times they moved houses.

Indeed, thanks to Cherry and Charlie, he would admit his train was his “home.” As for “family,” well, he abandoned the thought. It only ever reminded him of his sickening childhood at King Carmin’s orphanage, something that would never be overwritten in his memories.

Well, not like finding a family mattered that much. With his freedom, he could live however he saw fit, and that was more than enough.

In other words, Ortrone decided to help the Chevolaires that night because he simply had nothing else better to do.

After rushing out of their base, Ortrone continued to slither in the shadows as he followed the escapee into an alleyway. He could’ve confronted them here and now, but if they decided to return to their base, then he could round up everyone else conspiring against the Chevolaires right in their base of operations. Surely, being one of the strongest, he could easily tackle plenty of troublemakers and end it then and there.

When the escapee slipped inside a basement hatch behind an opera house, Ortrone stopped in his tracks and peered down at the entrance as he floated above the building. Out of all places to have their secret base, why somewhere popular? 

An abrupt, looming sense of dread froze him in place.

Something was wrong.

His instincts screamed at him to run.

Ortrone swallowed and began to fly away, only to flinch and turn around, facing a man—eyes closed—dressed in all black.

With a simple flick of a finger, an invisible force blasted against Ortrone and launched him straight through the hatchway, crashing on the floor. He groaned and coughed, fanning the dust off his face.

A slow handclap forced him to hurriedly stand back up, and with a blurry gaze, he scanned the basement.

Five, ten, twenty—at least thirty people or so stood around in the shadows, all wearing hoods or masks. One of them, however, boldly stood at the center of them all, revealing his full, sneering face.

That individual was none other than the world's most popular celebrity who went missing eight months ago, his iconic golden hat and cape absent. As a matter of fact, the round of applause came from none other than him.

“A most astounding entrance, I must say,” said the young man. “I admit, I’m impressed!”

Ortrone could only widen his eyes as his mind brewed up a storm of questions. No doubt about it, that bright orange hair, his dark blue eyes, his signature smile, his playful voice—he was Monty Starman in the flesh.

“What’s wrong?” asked Monty. “You looked like you’ve seen a phantom.”

Ortrone frowned and looked around. “I shall assume you are the ringleader?”

“Hehe, and what if I am?”

“I daresay, if I had not known any better, I would have rushed toward you asking for an autograph.”

“Ahahaha!” Monty slapped his knee. “This is the first time a newcomer doesn’t first ask me how I’m still alive! This guy’s actually neat! Hey everyone, let’s give him a musical!”

“What the devil is this guy blabbering about?” someone grumbled.

“That’s Monty Starman for you,” someone else whispered. “Extra as always.”

“We didn’t even agree to any rehearsals.”

A bunch of disapproving murmurs spread around Monty, who remained in his flashy pose as he stared at the newcomer.

The man who “aided” Ortrone in his entrance floated down the hatch, hands clasped behind his back. “Monty, please stop with the jokes and get to business.”

“Aw, how boring.” Monty pouted and shrugged. “M’kay. Restrain him.”

A split second later, crimson chains shot out from all angles and wrapped Ortrone by his arms and legs in a cocoon. When he struggled, a heavy shock surged through his body. He cried in pain and slumped his head, gritting his teeth.

“Sir Ortrone, the mysterious train conductor,” said Monty, circling the captive with hands clasped behind his back. “I heard you used to be quite a scary fellow in your youth.”

Ortrone could only gape distraughtly at him. “Where did you learn that? No, wait, have you been pursuing after me?”

“Hehe, isn’t that obvious already?”

“Were you not after Horace?”

“Ah, yes, that’s true, but that includes you too.” Monty leaned an elbow on him and crossed his legs, twirling a finger at the crowd. “You know, these people over there, they all have some kind of grudge against Horace. That lady wants revenge, that guy wants justice for vampires, that kid just doesn’t like him, that crazy-ass over there thinks it's fun, and so on. And guess what? I want him dead too! So, I decided to recruit all of them to help me out! I did a pretty good job, didn’t I?”

Monty straightened his back and extended his arms as he paced around. “Alas, it’s pretty hard to kill a guy when he wears your impenetrable armor, so I had these guys keep watch on him while they continue to work with him. Sometime later, they told me you’ve frequently visited the Chevolaire’s headquarters and annoyed them, but that’s also when someone else told me plenty of intriguing things about you.”

“What? Who told you about me?”

Monty chuckled and shook his head. “Sorry, I don’t snitch. Anyway, this cool fellow told me all about you, so the gears in my head started to turn—what if I plan to assassinate Horace, grab your attention while it happened, and lure you here? That’d kill two birds with one stone!”

Ortrone broke eye contact as he replayed the recent events. “You… you have been observing my routine that closely? Then, you attempted to assassinate Horace on the night I returned with his armor—knowing I would still mingle around—to rouse me into action?”

“Why, that’s correct! I quite like your quick deductions, good sir. It saves the rest of the explanations. Say, did Horace die?”

Ortrone almost said no, but at the last second, he realized it would be better not to tell him anything at all.

“Eh, since only one person came back, I assume Horace found out. What a shame.” Monty shrugged and elbowed the captive. “But hey! You’re here, so that’s still something!”

Ortrone threw a threatening glare. “And what exactly do you want from me?”

“Oh, I thought you’d never ask!” Monty giggled, cupped his cheek with a hand, and winked. “I want… your heart,” he cooed, blowing a kiss.

Ortrone blinked while the rest of the spectators exchanged glances.

Monty’s innocent smile gradually grew wicked, and his eyes clouded with pure insanity. “I mean that literally.”

“Huh?”

Monty whipped out a knife and plunged it through the chains and into his chest. Ortrone cried in pain and squirmed around. The lunatic guffawed as he repeatedly stabbed him over and over, eyes wildly deranged.

Baring his fangs, Ortrone forcefully leaned over, headbutting him away. With a guttural growl, crimson energy radiated off of him as he expanded his arms, gradually snapping the chains off and finally breaking free.

“Enough folly!” Ortrone hollered, rolling up his sleeves. “It is as clear as day. You, Monty Starman, are the true threat behind Theatreux’s peace!”

“About damn time you figured it out,” the mastermind sneered. “Entertain me, O mighty Ortrone. Show me the power of a royal knight!”

Ortrone charged at him with a retracted fist, only for the man with closed eyes to slide before him and blast him against a wall. A few of his black hair strands slipped down at his forehead, and he spared a moment to comb it back up while Ortrone struggled to stand.

“Who in the heavens are you?” asked Ortrone.

“I’m just a nobody,” the man simply said.

With a grunt, Ortrone forced himself back onto his feet.

This overwhelming aura—this malicious, threatening aura that roused his flight or fight instincts before he even entered their base—was coming from this “nobody.”

Ortrone clenched his fists. His forearms began to crystalize into scales, rapidly spreading to his shoulders, torso, and legs, until eventually, he enveloped his body into a reptilian-themed crimson armor. As he exhaled, hot steam escaped his gleaming helmet, the hisses somewhat like a snake’s whisper.

Monty whistled. “What a stunning set of armor,” he said. “I should’ve known you would have one yourself.”

“...I am not in the mood to receive flattery,” growled Ortrone.

“Oh, that reminds me,” said the stranger, “don't you feel guilty that Horace has been hunting your old friend with it?”

“Hmph, guilty? I advise you to stop pretending that you understand our relationship!” Ortrone bolted at him at once, hands ready to claw.

The “nobody” leaned away right before he could scratch him. Ortrone spun back and launched a scarlet wave of Crimoire, only for him to bat it away with a swing of an arm.

“Ooh, very flashy!” said Monty, clapping his hands.

“Please stop with the unnecessary commentary, Monty,” said the man.

“What else am I supposed to do then? Get popcorn while you’re at it?”

The man tossed a judgemental stare, only to dodge another strike as Ortrone swung his claws. The man manifested a dagger and swung back, meeting Ortrone’s gauntlet with a brilliant shockwave. Both of the fighters exchanged a flurry of heavy blows too fast for anyone to witness. The walls, the stacks of wooden crates, and empty shelves collected deep gashes as the two threw streaks of Crimoire at each other.

Meanwhile, the shadowy crowd remaining silent all this time continued to watch. Some even began to pull out snacks.

Ortrone snatched the stranger’s wrist, yanked him close, and bashed him at his temple, attempting to rip his head right off his torso.

Except, the stranger barely flinched. He threw a heavy punch back at Ortrone’s jaw, finally breaking the neverending parries and kicking him toward a wall with a loud crash. As dust clouded the space, a pair of eyes from within still gleamed brilliant crimson, and Ortrone shot a massive, brilliant crimson laser, blinding all the witnesses and engulfing the stranger. As the man blocked it with his arms, the laser pushed him back until it slammed him into a wall.

“Wowee! That was amazing!” said Monty, giving another round of applause.

Ortrone heavily panted, his arms twitching in searing heat. Although he did knock him away, his morale began to drain as fast as his stamina.

The laser should’ve disintegrated him. How in the world was he still in one piece?

The “nobody” frowned as a few hair strands dangled before his closed eyes. “Oh, no. My hair. I just had this haircut…” He stood up, dusted his clothes, and tried to fix his hair, but when Ortrone shot another flurry of flaming lasers, the man froze and clicked his tongue. He extended an arm and stopped the laser with his bare hands, much to Ortrone’s shock.

“Why do I even bother wasting time with the weakest knight of the bunch anyway?” he murmured. “Most of your strength is from your train, not you. Am I correct?”

Ortrone quietly swallowed. “Certainly, if I summon my train, I can obliterate everyone here—along with hundreds of innocent civilians around this opera house if I so desire.”

“Sounds quite thrilling. What’s stopping you?”

“Excuse me? I just said it would kill hundreds!”

“And? This is no different than what you’ve done before, no?”

Ortrone couldn’t even think clearly—just who was this stranger? How did he know about him? How much did he know about his past? His comrades? His crimes?

“Who do you think you are, claiming to know my very nature?”

“Hm, fair point. Then, are you going to summon your train or not?”

“I… refuse.”

“Why not?”

Ortrone could. He truly could’ve summoned his train and finished the fight in seconds, but… he wouldn’t be able to face his comrades again. The thought of that happening ached his heart more than he realized. But why?

“You… do not deserve a show,” said Ortrone.

“...Alright then. Suit yourself.” The stranger snapped his fingers, and faster than a blink of an eye, an invisible force pierced Ortrone straight through his lower chest, leaving a gaping hole.

The train conductor gaped his eyes, coughed out blood, and he fell to his knees, a numbing sensation flooding through his body as his muscles gave in. Was this… poison? A curse?

The stranger pulled a comb out of his pocket and carefully fixed his hair. Meanwhile, Monty hummed and skipped toward Ortrone with a bucket of water, splashing him immediately and disintegrating his armor. As he coughed and clutched at the hole in his chest, Monty kicked him down to the floor and pulled out his knife, whistling all the while. He pressed a foot on his shoulder, rolled him on his back, and kneeled before him.

“Any last words?” Monty asked.

Ortrone coughed and wheezed, his senses dulling at an alarming rate. Dozens of phrases crossed his mind, but none of them were meant to fall onto Monty’s ears.

Sincerest apologies, Ren, Fiona, Cherry, Charlie, Solomon, Fantario, and Grimhilde. In the end, he never managed to grasp the meaning of “family.”

…Or, did he? Why did it feel like a lie?

Oh, he suddenly remembered something. Something Cherry told him once when she was but a small child.

“Family is anyone that stays by your side no matter how bad life is,” she said. “And it’s someone that you always think of, even when you’re far away from them!”

Those words came from a mere child, so he brushed them aside without ever thinking twice. But now, as hundreds of memories flashed before his eyes, he realized the scene of his comrades standing by his side before a ray of dawn shined the brightest of them all.

Oh, what a fool he was. Sorry it took this long, Cherry. Ortrone finally understood it.

Thank you, and farewell.

With a weak smirk, Ortrone gurgled, “I hope you like trains.”

“Mhm, I sure do,” Monty cooed. “I’ll certainly have fun with yours. Goodnight, Sir Ortrone.”

The mastermind stabbed him through his heart, and with one last hitch of his breath, light forever faded from the train conductor’s eyes.