A Conflict of Interest

A cold breeze swept across the grassy fields of Minstrel just as the sun dawned and showered the land with light. The covenant’s encampment has people busy preparing for battle. Though, it was terribly early for the soldiers to wake up this early. But for the prodigy? This is routine for him. Even more so as they are preparing for the offensive against Minstrel. You won’t find him in the encampment, however, as an ornate door suffused with magic exists within the encampment that, while only a doorway on the outside, reveals a remarkably large hallway on the inside, affording one luxurious and comfortable lifestyle if one was to use this kind of spell everyday. He was, after all, nobility. He thought of the Desiertans as barbaric and opportunists which, in tandem with news concerning the raid against Felidae, just painted a very bad picture of them.

In his room, he was deep in thought, sitting in front of his vanity as he fixed his auburn hair. A lot of questions came to his mind as he was staring at the perfect reflection of himself. ‘How could this happen? Why should I be playing with the Desiertans against Minstrel? Isn’t there something I could do?’ Then there were doubts. Doubts about Desierto’s involvement, and doubts on himself, if he could bring himself to harm the Minstrelians. That was an easy answer - he can, and this is war, a truth he has faced not long after the attack in Felidae. It was inevitable. All doubts clouding his mind were gone, and he was back to his charismatic self. This is a fight he can’t back down.

He has armed himself, ready to take on his duties. He was to remain independent, going to whoever needs his help the most, but mostly focusing on the offensive. With a snap of his fingers, four doors opened beside him, each with a distinct feature and different material. These doors stood idly until one of them opened. A burly man appeared wielding what looks like an oversized magical gun. This man had red hair and a pair of glasses, sporting a wine-colored cloak, white shirt and blue tie worn under a leather vest, black pants and a pair of black leather shoes. “Monsieur.” He’d say, “I will be honest, working with these ruffians displeases me.”

“Ah, Wagner. I share your sentiments.” He replies while observing the covenant’s encampment, “I do not particularly trust them. They look like they are eager to bask in the spoils of war. But I trust the Rune Knights.” Another door would open. A lean figure approaches beside him with a cigarette resting on his lips. “What a drag. Too late to back out, I assume?” The white haired man said as he procured his lighter to light his cigar.

“And too early for a smoke, Beethoven.”

“Whatever.”

Another door would open, a youthful man with spiky blonde hair approaching the somber looking man. Before he could even take a single breath out of it, the cigarette was taken away by the blonde. “Aaand no smoking for you! Doctor’s orders.” Beethoven was visibly annoyed at the blonde as he took his cigar without his notice, which he could totally do. Then again, it has been awhile since he had a smoke. He’s under withdrawal, most likely. “Motes.”

“Beeths.” The blonde replied.

“Can’t I have one smoke?”

“Naur.”

And there goes the both of them, bantering with each other while the Rune Knight stood by, just waiting for the signal to start the offensive. Then, the last door opened - a dapper looking man with golden flames burning around his hair, his face obscured under porcelain and gold. Yet these flames don't seem to be burning him away, or that it hurts him. So, obviously, it’s magic that doesn’t harm him. “And so the hour is nigh. I am not late, I assume, Francois?”

The noble turned to the man in white and gold. “You’re just in time, Bach. Then everyone has answered my summons, then.” Everyone nodded in unison. “Good. I’d be lying if I told you I didn’t have doubts on the incoming skirmish. Normally, I’d like us to exercise our magical superiority. However… Perhaps this time, I want us to limit ourselves as much as possible. This is a fight I hate to be in, but I have no other choice. I won’t be stopping you if you decide to go all out.”

There was silence. Everyone stared at each other and nodded, before turning to face their summoner. “We’ll exercise restraint, no sweat!” Motes spoke first.

“Likewise.” Both Bach and Wagner agreed in unison.

“Ok. No problem here.” Beethoven said. The drums of war rang across the encampment as the soldiers ran around and prepared themselves on the offensive. It is time. “Alright then. Let’s show them what the Rune Knights are capable of.” With that, the five of them marched towards the front lines.



 Post Word Count - 828 
 Total Personal Word Count -  828 / 4000 

The five of them advanced in the front lines, stopping near a forest out of sight from the Minstrelians stationed near them. Beethoven flew up to get a better vantage point to survey their surroundings, and who their enemies are. His emerald green eyes glowed as his vision adjusted to measure their power levels. All are, without a doubt, experienced soldiers with nothing more than their love for the motherland. Most notably, the vanguards are the most experienced and powerful out of all of them, rivaling Francois with their powers combined. When all is said and done, the white haired man flew down and reported his findings to them. “Ok. Twelve soldats, eight fencers, and two vanguards near our position. How do you want to handle them, maestro?” Beethoven reported.

“We look outnumbered. Why not ask for reinforcements?” Motes asked, curious why they are taking on twenty two enemies of varying combat prowess with just the five of them. Not that he is scared of being outnumbered, and it’s more like he’s scared of being outgunned. After all, he’s the youngest of the five. The rest of them just stared at him, like the blonde said something wrong. “Uh… we don’t like… them.” The red haired wizard replied with some hesitations between his words.

“I don’t trust them.” Francois replied to the blonde’s question bluntly, “And I hate fighting alongside them.” He watched as everyone else started their skirmish against the Minstrelians. It was about time they started with theirs. “Okay. Mozart, Beethoven, both of you handle the Soldats.”

“Got it.” “‘aight.” Both replied in unison.

“Bach. Wagner. You’ll be taking care of the Fencers.”

“Right. So you’ll be handling the Vanguards, then? Hmm, I don’t know.” Wagner was hesitant in this plan, concerned that Francois taking on two vanguards at the same time might prove too much for the young prodigy. After all, he is facing two high ranking warriors. As confident as he is with his own ability to take them down, one mistake might cost him terribly. “Don’t worry about me. I’m confident in your ability to help me whenever you can.” He smiled, assuring them that he’s fine, that there’s nothing to worry about. All of them had already seen a glimpse of his power and, combined with his Divine Eye of Arcanos and Esoteric Eye of the Maestro, he makes a more formidable opponent should he choose to get serious. “Any other concerns? No? Then let us proceed with our skirmish.” As he said this, he swayed his hands as if conducting an orchestra. Indigo hued notes appeared out of nowhere while a soft melody played around them, all arranged as if they were transcribed in a music sheet. The five of them advanced as Francois continued with the melodic casting of his spells. The result is a galvanizing tune sure to amp up his comrade’s power, inspiring them to do better while they are suffused with enhancing magic.

The five were nearing the line of soldats stationed at the front line, like the meat shields that they are. Right on cue, Mozart rushed forth as he disappeared in a flash of light and musical notes, appearing behind a few of them. “Behold, my Requiem!” The blonde cried out as a phantom of a burning spirit of lament appeared in Mozart’s place. Beethoven, too, flew above the soldats and landed behind them, after which he unleashed several ethereal blades of magic that spun around him, like a saw blade hurting anyone that dared touch it while it was spinning. The two of them have thus divided the forces between the soldats, and this success has pushed the remaining three to move deeper into the enemy ranks, leaving the two of them behind to deal with the frontlines.

Standing before them now are eight formidable fencers, each trained with a sword art and are more than capable of taking them down in a fight. They don’t seem intent on allowing them to pass further, which is a problem. It was the rune knight’s plan to stall the most powerful soldier out of all of them to avoid them having to mix and fight with the rest of its soldiers. “Step aside.” Bach pooled his golden fire onto his palms before launching them in a jet of gilded flames against the fencers, the fires spreading out evenly while not harming his allies. It had a very wide area of effect, a fact the fencers are wary of just as they saw him fire the spell against them. “After you. We’ll take it from here.” Wagner said, bringing out his Nibelung Rifle as he started to combat the fencers.

“Right.” He nods before darting off into deep enemy territory. It didn’t take him long to reach the two of them. Before they could react, he summoned his rapier, Chevalier de Fleur, and lunged towards the both of them before flipping to the opposite side. He landed on the dirt ground with grace and poise, swinging the rapier in a swift motion to disperse the dust. He is unsure if he landed a blow at all, but he knows he had their attention. “You realize it’s two against one, right?” One of the vanguard said as they unsheathed their rapier, pointing the tip to the noble. “Your audacity to show up at our front door uninvited must mean you have what it takes to face us?” Both of them had their weapons up, their rapiers imbued and enhanced with fire and ice magics respectively, ready to take on the rune knight.

“Well of course. After all…” He closed his eyes, his free hand covering them before parting two of his fingers, revealing a pair of mystic eyes of different styles. “I am quite confident I am more than enough to defeat the likes of you.”

So much for restraint.




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 Total Personal Word Count -  1808 / 4000 

The Musketeer Soldats were equally divided as both Motes and Beeths had fought six soldats each. They could clearly see that these soldiers were nothing more than non-mages equipped with magical firearms, and their determination to protect their homeland from the Covenant is worthy of praise. And yet… It would seem that fate has cast them aside as nothing more than casualties of war, their efforts in vain against the Desiertan forces. It’s cruel.

Motes continued to fight six of the terrified soldiers, who still somehow had the will to fight against his phantasmal construct. All of them pulled their triggers against him, magical bullets darting off and missing the blonde completely while he rushed and engaged in a melee against two of them. He missed a lot, or the young one is just being merciful to them. After all, the odds aren’t exactly stacked in their favor, yet they still pushed for the offense. Their aim was commendable, their bullets almost always nearly missing the blonde, and yet despite being outnumbered, Mozart was never outgunned. “I guess I should help Franz out. Welp! Here’s my encore!” The blonde said as he puppeteered the phantom, its jaw opening as if it’s trying to speak. Next, a haunting aria slowly permeated the air, until a deafening sound blasted off from the phantom, releasing a pulse of necromantic energy as, one by one, disoriented the soldats fell unconscious. He was finished playing with his playmates, and so he turned to look at how Beethoven was faring.

He remains relatively unscathed, as neither of six soldats had the capacity for melee combat. They unleashed magical bullets against Beethoven, but their efforts were futile as the spinning blades ricocheted the bullets away. Some even manage to almost hit one of them, while others were hit on the knee. It hurt so badly for these soldiers. It was pain they are not familiar with, yet forced to overcome it out of their love for their motherland. Still, they kept firing, even though they knew it was useless, hoping to hit him once. Just once. But to no avail, the bullets always ricochet from his spinning blades. Unlike Motes, Beethes isn’t as merciful. It would be better for them to die a patriot than to live as slaves. In one snap, the blades struck all of them, killing them. Such was the consequence of war, and it is no place for naivety and ideals. “I’m done. Let’s go.” Beethoven said. It was almost out of character for him to be this somber, but maybe something was weighing on his mind. Or that this endeavor has reminded him of an unfortunate event in his life. “This is depressing.” He mumbled to himself. Motes decided not to press the issue until at a later date as they both moved on to help the others.

Meanwhile, the fencers were dealing with Wagner and Bach, their forces spread evenly among them. If not for their water magic, the fencers would have been done for good. Unfortunately, water isn’t Bach’s best friend, as fencers proficient in water magic employed a strategy that would prevent him from using his gilded flame magic or to counteract his flames. Since the fencers couldn’t reach him, they resorted to using their magic. Meanwhile, Wagner took a lot of casualties from the fencers as he wasn’t nimble enough to catch them and resorted to shielding himself with Rhinestone, a defensive spell where a golden shield interjects between him and his attack. Both of them are in a very tight position, but it’s not an entirely new predicament to them. They are more experienced than Beethoven and Mozart, after all. “Wagner!” Bach called for him as gilded flames pooled over his body, preparing himself to cast a spell. As expected, the fencers employed their water magic to counteract his flames as one of them starts channeling a spell to counter his attack. It’s difficult to move when these fencers keep darting around with their sword arts, and the red haired man has been taking damage since the start of the fight.

“How irritable.” Wagner mumbled to himself. He has been patient, waiting for the perfect chance to strike while calculating the timing needed to tip the scale in their favor. He has been secretly casting another spell at the sky and, with Bach’s flames to blind their view, the fencers weren’t privy to their counter attack. “Now.” He raised his hand as a magic circle appeared above them. Spears could be seen poking out of the magic circle, aimed at specific areas instead of locations. And, all at once, he unleashed the attack of the Valkyrie, each spear calculated to hit exactly where the fencers were calculated to be based on their speed and movement patterns. None were spared, and with the loss of their comrades, the ones holding Bach in place let go and ceased concentrating on their bindings. Gilded flames erupted from the man, consuming the rest of the fencers with fire. Just in time, too, as the four of them reunited.


“Whew, we made it!” The blonde said almost cheerfully despite the grim atmosphere of the battlefield. “Beethes and I had it real easy! See? Not a scratch!”

There was a deafening silence, before Beethoven spoke up. “Because they weren’t trained. Despite the odds stacked against them, they kept fighting us to defend their homeland. Better to die a patriot than live as a slave.” Those words resonated within Motes, now realizing the gravity of the situation. They all expressed their disdain on this war with scowls and angry looks. Still, he remained his optimistic self.

“We’ve met fierce resistance from the fencers.” Wagner spoke up, changing the subject. “They were fast. Too fast. It took me a while to fight back.”

“And those with water magic.” Bach interjected, “They’re probably related to Miss Fontaine, I assume. It was a difficult encounter but it’s not the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“Everyone’s fine, then? Great! I’m sure we can help out Francois. If those guys were fast, then the ones Francois is facing must be, like, mega fast!” The blonde said, moving to where Francois is without waiting for the others. “Come on! Let’s help him out!”



 Post Word Count - 1045 
 Total Personal Word Count -  2853 / 4000 

It was like a dance. Blades clashed as the three fought at unparalleled speed, even more impressive as it’s two versus one. It may seem that Francois had the disadvantage in numbers, and yet, here he is darting across the battlefield and matching the rhythm of the vanguard’s movement. Chevalier de Fleur could withstand the clashing of their magic infused weapons after each and every parry and riposte. To a normal onlooker, you could only see them as flashes of light from the elemental magic suffused on their weapon, as well as a blur. Thanks to his mystic eyes, he was able to catch up to their movement and match their strength. Had he not possessed them, he would have lost immediately and end up humiliating himself in front of them. “Impressive. You fight well.” One of the vanguards said as the three of them broke out of their melee. “But can you keep up?” The three danced as their blades clashed once more, this time the vanguard moving off rhythm as they picked up the pace of their attacks. It is doubtless a form of sword skill, leaving behind after images that will leave you clueless on where they attack. These are all very familiar sword skills, as he employs them in his routine both as a swordsman and a wizard.

They were so sure that their next attack would defeat him, emboldening their attacks with greater magical infusions. Yet he could always parry and riposte with ease, even while facing two strong opponents. The execution of his defenses is nothing short of elegance and made it seem like this was just a normal Tuesday for him. Despite their strength in numbers, they could do little to pierce through Francois’ airtight defense and skillful parries. In contrast, Francois was just gauging how good his opponents are, holding back his attacks as they kept coming after him. Yet he couldn’t find an opening, an opportunity for him to strike. Are they planning on tiring him out? Are they planning on making him do most of his magic to defend himself? These are questions running in his mind while he does his best to defend against their onslaught.

Once more, they broke their melee, with both him and the vanguards at a fair distance away from each other. One could conclude that this was their first time fighting against a swordsman of this caliber, or someone who could hold out against their offense this long. This fact is evident on their bated breaths after struggling to inflict a single wound against him.

Time to change tactics. The two vanguards nodded in unison, the one wielding fire magic staying behind while the one with ice lunged towards him. As expected, Francois deflected the melee. However, while he was expecting the other vanguard to follow it up with another series of thrusts of their rapier, he did not expect the one with fire magic to launch a fireball at him. It was massive in scale that you’d think they kept reserve magical power for this occasion. They watched as he saw his silhouette engulfed in flames, almost cheering for their victory. That feeling was cut short, the flames dispersing as he tore through them with his rapier. “Is that all?” He taunted, wanting to see the two give their all in defeating him.

The two nodded at each other, at an agreement about something. They gripped their weapons tightly as they once again engaged in melee combat. This time, however, in between their attacks they would unleash a spell against the rune knight in a marvelous display of magic. Where the one with ice magic would attack, the one bearing fire magic would unleash a bolt of fire against him. An endlessly repeating pattern, and an effective one at that as Francois was starting to struggle against their attacks. In between, they would create a hazard for him just to bait the noble in their trap. On more than one occasion, he almost slipped from the ice magic wielder’s icy floors. Additionally, the one bearing ice magic would erect pillars of ice to act as a stepping stone for his lunges, the other one melting and using them as well to his advantage and to Francois’ disadvantage whenever he’d try to use them. Flashes of red and cyan hued magic would escape their dance as they’re still locked in a fierce battle, their movements a blur to anyone who can’t keep up with their speed.

Eventually, the two managed to get Francois in a more vulnerable position. They finally unleashed their all as they suffused their final attack with immense magical power, elemental fury coalescing at their blades. Victory would be secured for them at last, but he had other plans. With a swift wave of his hand, he fired a powerful wave of percussive energy, enough to knock them off their backs. The two vanguards were clearly spent and tired from the fight, and once his mystic eyes confirmed their almost lack of magic power, it was time for him to finish the fight.

“It’s time to end this.” He said as he suffused his being with lightning. Purple sparks would arc around his skin and on to the ground, gathering just a fraction of magic and pooling them over his weapon and feet. The two Minstrelians prepared for his offensive, bracing for his attacks as they employed a more defensive stance. Suffice it to say, they would soon realize that their endeavors would be futile as they are greeted with purple lightning. Francois disappeared in a flash of blinding light as he instantly closed in on the one with fire magic. Needless to say, they failed to defend themselves after being drained of so much magic as they were subjected to a lethal lightning attack. They fell down, lifeless, and he once again disappeared in a flash of light and did the same thing against the other vanguard as well. It happened all too quick, and Francois was taking too long for him to finish them.

After this victory, he still felt… empty. He felt their desire to protect their homeland from the Covenant, whose attack was led by the Desiertian troops. How patriotic of them to stand their ground when they could have just fled. And yet, it all felt too wrong for him… no. He did feel something, and it was guild. The guilt of ending the lives of good men because of a war they did not choose to be part in. It felt… sickening. Is he really on the right side? He thought to himself as this doubt started to race his mind, before his train of thought was cut short by the loud yelling of a youthful comrade.

“Hey!” The familiar voice called out, “Are you alright?”

Francois was just standing where the battle was fought as his comrades arrived. It would appear there was no cause for concern on the rune knight, maybe except of course for his mental well being as they saw him in a somber expression, as if there was regret written all over his face. “Monsieur, are you alright?” Wagner said as he approached the noble. His train of thought was interrupted as the burly man placed his hand on his shoulder. He looked at him with a sullen expression.

“This doesn’t seem fair.” He said, failing to hide this pathetic side of himself, “They were good men and women.”

“Nothing is fair in war.” Bach responded, sharing his sentiments like he’s already gone through a similar situation before. The others nodded in agreement. “You do not have the heart to continue with the offensive. That alone is true. You do not want to see good men die. But us? We can deal with it. Leave the rest of the skirmish to us. Please. Retreat.”



 Post Word Count - 1314 
 Total Personal Word Count -  4167 / 4000