Adventures of the Crown: The Noble Bandit
Adventures of the Crown: The Noble Bandit
Author: Yukiro
CH 1

Darkness filled the countryside as the clouds obscured the moon and stars above. A lone, shadowy figure walked down the path towards an old rusty gate. Pausing for a moment, they look at the land ahead of them. Slowly, they lower their hood and let out a low humming sound before raising the lantern to a sign that reads: Whitefield Farm.

The man’s pale skin can be seen as the lantern’s light shines down on it and his golden-flecked brown eyes almost seem to twinkle and dance as the fire from within the lantern reflects from within them, making them seem almost supernatural. With a shake of his head, the man’s nose twitches at the smell from ahead of him. It is a mixture of marsh and muck, not a combination that is easy on the nose.

The land before him is on the edge of the Lost Travelers Marsh, a place that can be dangerous for anyone traversing the place to reach the other side. There is only one other way around the marsh, and that is by boat. Yet despite the dangers held within, there seems to be a deliberate path that leads towards the marsh.

“Isn’t this a charming place?” The man mumbles to himself, pushing the gate open slowly, which causes it to creek loudly. Ahead of him, he hears the squealing of pigs, which causes him to pause for a mere moment. After the sounds cease, the man shakes his head and mutters, “this will be interesting, I said. An adventure, I thought! Better than having my head cut off and made an example of! But no, here we are, on a pig farm,” his voice drips with sarcasm at each word.

Again, the man continues on his way down the path towards the farmhouse, glancing at his side to the pigpens briefly. He scoffs, then mutters to himself, “I am a glorified pig farmer now. Nobleman my foot.” After another shake of his head, he returns his attention to his destination, all the while trying his best to not think about his new predicament. A single thought bounces around his mind. Perhaps death would have been better after all?

Before he can get halfway down the path, his lantern’s flame goes out, causing him to let out a groan of frustration. He carefully feels around for the fence that leads up to the farmhouse, but he finds his hand being snuffled at by a pig, leaving a warm, soft feeling against the skin where it had touched him. “Huh, I thought it would be wet and slimy, but it’s dry…” he mutters to himself, his tone curious.

After a moment, he then utters, “shoo, I do not have any food, and I wish to keep my fingers if you would not mind?” He withdraws his hand and then carefully makes his way forward while his eyes slowly adjust to the darkness. Finally, he reaches the small wooden porch, which causes him to stumble over the first step as he misjudges how far out it is. “Gods be damned!” He curses out loudly, clambering up the rest of the steps to the front door.

As soon as he steps inside the building, the man lowers his hood, finding a light source easily enough at the entrance. “Finally,” he sighs out. “I hope I don’t have to live in this place any longer than needed. I’ve lived in sewers with more luxury than this,” he quips to himself.

Looking around, the place seems chaotic. Paper, furniture, everything that can be out of place, is out of place. He pulls a face, then moves into the kitchen. “What are the chances of there being anything edible here?” He questions, opening up the pantry. To his surprise, there are a couple of things, but not a lot of options. He shrugs, taking some of the bread for himself and idly chewing on it as he explores the rest of the farmhouse.

The living room is as messy as the kitchen and entranceway, but nothing stands out to him all that much. “Looks like the knights ransacked this place looking for clues,” he states, his voice quiet. Slowly he glances around, hums in thought and then says, “they said they found my father and his wife dead… in the bedroom?” He glances back the way he came for a moment and sighs.

“I swear if this place is haunted…” he pauses, his eyes narrowing. “No. Those two wouldn’t haunt the place, right? I mean she might, just to spite me, but he wouldn’t… not if that journal is real?” He closes his eyes, thinking of everything he has learned.

His father, Nel Whitefield, had so much debt that they had dragged him into the illegal slave trade to pay it off. Then for himself, to help save his dying mother’s life, he had agreed to help, having lived his life in the rough and tumble streets of the King’s city of Falanthyst, this sort of thing had not phased him. Becoming a bandit and a slaver was just another step up from the life of crime he had already been experiencing.

Then, the king and his knight got involved, along with that Elven woman… and now he was forced to play nobleman to lure the real mastermind behind the slavery out. He did not know where to search for clues, no people he could interrogate, nothing. He was up the river without a paddle. All he could do for now was to wait to see if anyone took the bait that he was here now, with a brand new noble title, pigs and all!

Making a low grunt in his throat, he turned from the mess of the living room and stormed upstairs. The whole place did not hint that this had once been home to any kind of nobility. There was nothing of value here at all. Not even a speck of gold anywhere! Not that he had come to steal what was now rightfully his, but it was the principle of it all. Right?!

As he reaches the top of the stairs, he looks along the hallway. There are several rooms here. Two down one end and three down the other. He first checks the end of the hallway where the three rooms are, finding one is an enormous bathroom and one study. However, the third room seems to be locked.

Tapping his chin in thought, he mumbles out a question. “Did they give me another key for this one?” He shrugs and then glances to the other end of the hall. “Well, can’t put it off forever,” he then mutters and takes a breath in before walking towards the other two doors. A library that has been equally ransacked as downstairs.

However, what holds his attention the most is the room directly in front of him. This wouldn’t be the first time he had been in an area that has had the dead dwelling within, and it’ll not be the last time either. He closes his eyes and opens the door. Surprise washes over him as the once dark room blinks into light.

“Oh! So you had some kind of influence after all, old man,” the man says as a small smirk slides onto his lips. “This must be Rattus technology, no lamps, not magic either,” he continues, awe in his voice as he looks over the glowing crystal-like objects on the ceiling. “Only in your bedroom, though? So not as much influence as all that, but some.”

Curious, the man continues to peer up at the light, not yet paying much attention to the rest of the room. Then it dawns on him. Looking back at the bed, there is… nothing. No dead bodies, no blood, nothing at all. The rest of the room isn’t exactly tidy, but someone had to have moved the corpses somewhere.

“Did the knights move them, maybe?” He idly asks himself before shrugging it off. “Guess it doesn’t matter, now, let’s see what you own, old man,” he whispers to himself as he moves further into the room and opens the cupboards next to the bed.

A couple of parchments filled with taxes paid to the crown, some other documents, nothing the man has much use for. If he could find some information about the debts his father was in, or something he could use, then he would have a lead, but no. There is nothing the man can use, even here.

A slight groan of the floorboards behind the man causes him to pause. He smiles to himself, still idly looking at the parchments in his hands. Is the farmhouse so old it creaks and groans all of its own accord? His smile turns into a smirk, his hands quickly dropping what was originally in them, only to grab at the hidden daggers in his cloak.

Spinning around, he aims his weapons at… a young, frightened woman? His brow curls up curiously as he studies her. Her own weapon is nothing more than a vase. His gaze trails down a little, taking note that she’s not wearing the usual clothes a thief might wear. In fact, her clothes are not such at all, but a nightgown.

“Who are you!? There’s no gold for you here, thief!” She demands. Her voice sounds capable, but he easily notes the slight quiver within her words. He almost chuckles. He had assumed the same of her. However, he already knew who she was, but had not expected her to be here.

Esta Blumora-Whitefield. Technically, she is his step-sister. Her mother married his father, though she did not know of his existence. He was the illegitimate child, after all. Though had the crown not mentioned him to her? Or had she not expected him to show up? Either way, he had nothing to fear from such a woman. She was obviously no fighter, unlike himself.

“Relax,” he claimed, lowering his daggers and returning them to their hidden sheaths. “I am Nelson Whitefield. I was sent here on orders from the crown. Though I admit, I was not expecting anyone else to be here,” Nelson said smoothly. He observed the woman, but with a smile on his lips. She seemed to think over his words, before finally realising who he was.

“Oh. I see,” was all Esta could say as she lowered the vase down, though still held onto it. She then seemed to realise her state of dress. Her cheeks flushed a deep red as she tried to cover herself a little more with the vase. “I didn’t think you would be here tonight. I came to sort out their burial and, well, clean before you got here, my lord…” she mumbled. The title she gave him seemed forced from her mouth.

“Nelson’s fine,” he replied, nodding a little. He would never admit it, but he didn’t like the title. He had wanted nothing to do with noble life. However, he had no other choice. His choices were to either repay his life by helping the fool king with the slavery issue, or they would behead him for his part in it.

She offered him a thin smile before bowing her head. “The bed has been cleaned, and the sheets changed, if you wish to sleep there tonight. It is your room now, my lor-… Nelson,” she said, motioning towards said bed with her hand. She then dipped her head and backed out of the room, not once turning her back to him. “If you need anything, I am just down the hall…”

“Of course,” he replied, voice calm. He closed the door once she had returned to her own room. “She resents me… don’t blame her, because she isn’t related by blood, she has no choice but to step down for me…” he sighs with a shake of his head. This is going to be a rather bothersome life for a while.

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