Clark: "How did you find that old man, man?"
Jean: "I walked for half a day, utterly exhausted, bleeding, carrying all this stuff with you on my back. It drained me to the bone... but I pushed through... until I collapsed in front of an old man. I could barely speak. I said to him, 'Please, help me.' Honestly, he was thin."
The Children: "Oh, so that's how Grandpa found you!"
Jean: "Yes—and don't interrupt me. I want to finish. I didn't trust him, not after what we've seen… Who do you even know, Clark?"
Clark: "I don't blame you. Go on."
Jean: "I had a knife. I was thinking of stabbing him. But clearly… he wasn't going to harm us. He was kind, and all that. And honestly, I was too out of it to resist anyway. After that, he carried us here."
(Clark stands and speaks)
Clark: "What are your names, little ones?"
Girl: "I'm Fiona, and this is my brother Philip."
Clark: "Beautiful names for beautiful children. We came for our armor—we need to put some on. This situation is… uncomfortable for us both. Unless, of course, you want to see us naked?"
(Fiona lowers her gaze, after all, she's a girl)
Fiona: "I'm sorry, sir."
(They grab their gear and swords, stepping out of the cave. The sunlight was brilliant—hinting at a new adventure, a grand journey, full of purpose… a quest, a passion… and where might it lead?)
---
The landscape was breathtakingly beautiful, although Jean and Clark had no memories. But to them, it felt as though they had never seen such nature before—as if they were used to ruined forests, black skies, and the stench of blood. There was no love in their hearts, and yet they feared no death. Their hearts were drowning in a hidden self, lost between the folds and illusions of their fractured consciousness.
At last, they arrived at the blacksmith's house. Inside, there was a lovely table with cups of green tea set upon it.
They sat, and the blacksmith began to speak:
Blacksmith: "Now listen—I don't know anything about you, to be honest. You don't even look like you're from around here. I hid you out of fear—afraid you might burn down the entire forest."
(Clark cuts in)
Clark: "That's all? We ourselves don't even know where we are, or what's going on. We only know our names."
Jean: "To be honest, I feel like I've been here before."
Clark: "Right, you told me that."
(The blacksmith interrupts sternly)
Blacksmith: "Have you forgotten I'm right here? Tell me everything—don't treat me like I'm not here or like I'm some enemy. As you can see, I'm an old man, and they're just children. What could we possibly do to stop you?"
Jean: "Apologies, sir. You're right. We should tell you everything."
(And so he did. But the blacksmith's response was shocking.)
Blacksmith: "Well, what you're saying about the Army of the Dead might be true. But you said you woke up surrounded by a massive number of corpses? I searched the area thoroughly—there was nothing like that. So I don't know what to say."
(Clark stands, furious)
Clark: "What?! You think we're insane?! Damn this world—it's toying with us!"
Jean: "Calm down, he's not to blame. He's the one who helped us. He's our only ally here. So let's be patient—there's no solution anyway. We've lost our memories; we're like children. Patience is good."
(Their conversation is cut off by the thunder of galloping horses.)
Blacksmith: "Damn it… it's over!"
Jean: "What?!"
Blacksmith: "This country doesn't tolerate outsiders—especially ones like you. It's clear the magic surveillance circles noticed your battle and the excessive use of mana. What do I do now?"
(The old man was visibly panicking, as though he feared the sight of someone…)
Jean notices something on the wall—a portrait of a beautiful girl with red hair.
The door is violently kicked open…
A man steps in—his name was Jonathan Thronekeeper.
Jonathan: "Greetings, Mister Pontiff Concract. We heard you've got two… special guests. The High Minister demands their presence—immediately."
Blacksmith (Pontiff): "What?! These two are hunters, not from the state!"
Jonathan: "Sir, lying won't help you. You and I both know that the Army of the Dead appears only to repel outsiders. And yet these two, who use neither aura nor mana, repelled that very army?"
(Clark's face turns red with rage, sweat forming.)
Clark: "So you… you bastards were the ones who created the Army of the Dead?!"
Jonathan: "Sir, watch your tongue. I had no part in that. It was summoned by an ancient mage. You killed its creator. As for the rest of us—the capital, the elite—few knew of its existence. Why would we destroy something that benefits us?"
(Clark goes silent. It made sense—who would destroy an army that needs no food or shelter and defends the capital?)
(He sheathes his sword and turns to the blacksmith.)
Clark: "Thank you, Mister Pontiff. We won't burden you further—we'll go."
Jean: "Don't worry. It's clear they want us as guests, right Sir Jonathan?"
Jonathan: "Indeed. If we wanted to kill or imprison you, our approach would've been… very different. Come along."
(They're given two steeds—wild, fast creatures. They ride through a dazzling forest, vibrant colors, rabbits darting around. If the mind forgets, the heart remembers. The heart is easily deceived, but it doesn't lie. That's what Clark thought as he noticed something strange—Jean seemed to hate this beauty, as if he longed for fire, for bloodied earth, for chaos.)
How strange.
(They arrive swiftly at a grand capital. A massive brick gate, marble roads, iron gates from which two great rivers flowed. People lined up, like an event was about to occur.)
Jonathan binds them.
Clark & Jean (together): "Why?"
Jonathan: "Orders from above. You'll find out soon enough."
Then—the shock.
They arrive. The crowd awaits, hateful. Some held shoes, others tomatoes, stones—anything you could imagine was raised high. And leading the procession: Clark and Jean.
Clark boiled with rage. A tomato splattered on his face—thrown by a woman.
He screamed in blind fury, broke the pathetic rope binding him, drew his sword—and with a single swing, the woman was sliced like paper. Blood sprayed. The crowd screamed.
Soldiers rushed forward—but Jean stood like a lion, fought valiantly, cutting down many. Clark, enraged beyond sense, exploded into the fray.
Then Jonathan stepped forward, calm.
Jonathan: "Let's settle this traditionally."
Clark (laughing): "If that's what you want—then step up."
(They clash. Jonathan attacks, but Clark is a born warrior. Dodge—pivot left—kick to the face—punch.)
Jonathan blocks, grabs Clark, headbutts him.
Clark (laughing angrily): "What kind of fighting style is that?!"
(Three hard kicks from Clark. Jonathan flips back, but Clark grabs him, slams him down.)
Jonathan seethes. "I have to use it."
But—before he moves—a terrifying voice rings out. Even Jonathan freezes, like a child before his father.
It was the High Minister, Font Cristo.
Cristo (thunderous): "Jonathan Keeper! How dare you bind my honored guests and bring this rabble?! Have you no respect?!"
(His voice was terrifying, his glare deadly.)
A grand carriage arrives. Cristo steps down and walks to Clark and Jean.
Cristo: "Forgive us, gentlemen. This fool never learns. Please—come with me."
Clark walks up to Jonathan, face to face, and laughs coldly:
Clark: "So, turns out you're the kind of dog that bites his master. A dog that disobeys."
(He spits on him, walks away.)
Jonathan's eyes blaze with fury, red-hot. He charges—lightning in his hands—and blasts Clark from behind!
Clark (screaming): "You bastard! Attacking from behind?!"
Jean lunges, soldiers move to intercept…
Clark (while being electrocuted): "You cowardly whore! Can't face me like a man?!"
Jean: "I'm coming!"
Jonathan: "You dare insult me?! If this is my last day—then let it be known: Long live Drangleic!"
Cristo (enraged): "You bastard! You were leaking secrets to enemy states?!"
Jonathan: "Yes… what you're thinking… dimensional magic—transportation."
Cristo: "You traitor! You betrayed your country—your family! Are you proud?!"
Jonathan is struck by Cristo's words like a thunderbolt—but it's too late. Jean finishes him with a swift strike to the neck. Blood gushes onto Clark's face.
Jean helps Clark to his feet.
Cristo steps forward:
Cristo: "Gentlemen, I'm deeply sorry. This scum does not represent us. You are among the most extraordinary phenomena we've ever seen. Please—come with me to the Royal Palace. We have much to discuss."
Clark and Jean were stunned…
---
Clark: "So what you're saying is… we're the Saints? We survived a great battle? But what proves any of this is true? And what if it's not? Sure, we defeated the Army of the Dead — but couldn't that just be a coincidence? And if I'm right, and it was a coincidence, wouldn't you have us executed as impostors? Ha! What a ridiculous game, Minister! Also… aren't you being reckless? Letting us into your carriage without knowing if we'd kill you?"
Jean laughed, casting Clark a glance of admiration. He understood the idiot's plan.
Minister: "Sir, that scenario won't happen. And even if what you said were true — why would I kill the only two men who took down the Army of the Dead with their natural strength? Why sacrifice such power? If I intended to harm you, I would've done so already. But clearly, I need you. I know it's humiliating… for a minister to beg two strangers to save an entire nation… but the ends justify the means."
Clark: "Fine. Your words make sense. I guess you're not in a position to risk losing us. Very well, Minister. We'll trust you."
But in his mind… he didn't trust him at all.
They arrived at the palace and stepped down.
Minister: "Come with me, young men… into a new horizon."
To be continued...
---