TCOB: CHAPTER TWELVE

Screwing Clyde

Longboat village of Loue Province

Ashcol Duchy,

Eris - Ethania.

…

Morning…

Sir Tuile still couldn't believe that a mere peasant dared attempt to deceive him. Worse of all, he almost fell for it. If it weren't for that oddly well-timed draft and one keen-eyed guard, the hateful rat would have most definitely gotten away with making a fool out of him.

As he sat in the main hall of his modest home with Teil standing by his side, he listened to the accounts of the guards and villagers who had an inkling of information concerning the incident. Surprisingly, the more he was told, the deeper his bewilderment grew.

"So, you're telling me he was kicked in the head by a donkey, fell into a coma for a day, awoken and got possessed by a minor ghoul," Sir Tuile asked a peasant farmer named Lorin who happened to be a neighbour and friend to the criminal. "Afterwards, he was taken to Neverna by you and was exorcised by Priest Jeriah before attempting to run away from the village a week later with farmer Jen's donkey in his possession?"

"Yes, m’lord," Lorin replied from where he knelt.

"And you tried to stop him, but you were knocked unconscious in one blow?"

"Yes, milord."

Sir Tuile nodded in thought for a moment before turning his attention to the other peasant in the room. She was an attractive milkmaid who went by the name Binny. "Is what he said correct?" Tuile asked mildly.

"Yes, m’lord," the woman replied. She still appeared slightly shocked upon hearing about the incident.

"And you didn't know he was going to leave the village without permission?" Sir Tuile asked calmly.

"No, m’lord. Clyde only mentioned wanting to borrow Maggie for a day. He never brought up the topic of leaving the village."

"And he didn't tell you why he needed the donkey?"

"No, m’lord," the woman replied.

Sir Tuile frowned suspiciously. "Are you sure?" he asked calmly. "My men searched his hut only to inform me that he left a message behind about leaving his possessions in your husband's care in exchange for the donkey. Fishy, eh?"

The woman paled visibly at Sir Tuile's insinuations. "We weren't aware, m’lord!" she exclaimed pleadingly.

The village lord's frown deepened. She seems unaware… he mused to himself.

"Has he spoken?" Sir Tuile asked as a man walked into the hall.

"No, m’lord," the yeoman said as he shifted uncomfortably on his feet.

Observing the guard, one of Tuile's brows rose. "What's the matter?"

"...Erm, he said he would like to have a word with you, m’lord," the yeoman replied hesitantly as he passed Clyde's message.

"Hmm?" Tuile was surprised. "A word?"

He glanced at Teil who stood beside him, surprise and confusion in his gaze.

"Take me to him," the village lord said

***

CRACK!

[You have suffered 0.7 effective damage]

[You have failed to resist]

CRACK!

[You have suffered 0.9 effective damage]

[You have failed to resist]

CRACK!

[You have suffered 0.5 effective damage]

[You have resisted]

Clyde hung shirtless from a tree just outside the village lord's residency. A length of thick hemp rope suspended him by his hands from a low-hanging branch as two yeomen took turns flogging his bare back with a whip.

His exposed back bled slightly, leaking small trickles of blood that soaked the edge of his trousers maroon. Clyde was in pain, but his gaze remained calm as he stared at the landed knight standing imposingly before him. By the older man's side was a knight Clyde 'remembered' as Teil, the lord's first son, and possibly, heir.

A tense silence hung in the air as Clyde and the village lord continued to stare at each other as they had for the last twenty minutes.

Clyde was aware of what the lord was playing at. Why wouldn't he? This was a common tactic used during his time with the police force when interrogating civilian suspects, albeit without the physical abuse. Wait out the conversation to deplete the suspect's psychological resistance to questioning and raise their inner tension with the sheer awkwardness of your silence before initiating an interrogation.

It is a simple, but highly effective technique. So much so, that some suspects have been known to confess to crimes their interrogators weren't even aware they had committed.

Despite himself, Clyde almost smiled as he observed the man standing before him. If one took only his previous age into account, this man wouldn't be any older than himself. Yet with only an inkling of the level of education, he received the lord―one from such a technologically backwards era―could still deploy such effective, albeit crude, tactics by sheer experience alone.

If there was anything at all Clyde would learn from this incident in an unlikely scenario in which he survives, it's not to ever, under any circumstances, believe himself superior intellectually to the residents of this world.

As Clyde reorganised his thoughts, Sir Tuile who appeared to believe it was time to begin his interrogation, spoke. "I must say… I am impressed," he said as he gestured to the whip-wielding yeomen to suspend the beating. "Your scheming mind has me doubting if you were even ever a peasant in the first place."

"I am honoured by your words, my lord," Clyde replied, stifling a pained gasp. "Sadly, I must argue otherwise, lest I deceive your lordship once more. Both my parents were no more than common peasants…"

"I heard," Sr Tuile replied as he very obviously probed Clyde's bland expression with a calm stare. "Your mother died during childbirth and your father went missing during a dungeon-delving expedition five years ago. Possibly dead…"

"Yes, my lord," Clyde replied. He didn't feign fear like he did during his last conversation with the village lord. Such behaviour would fail to have the intended effect at this point and, hence pointless. Instead, he spoke calmly, as one would to a superior identity.

Hearing his calm reply, the village lord's frown grew. "If I didn't know better, I would say you were possessed," Sir Tuile said with a calmly implied threat.

"I was," Clyde shot back. "It was an enlightening yet dreadful experience. I am glad the priest showed mercy by exorcising the demon without destroying the memories it left behind."

Both men squared off tranquil gazes, a scheme and a half in every word uttered.

"Hmm… Intriguing," Sir Tuile said, a glint in his eyes. "But no matter, you requested an audience with me. Here I was thinking you would provide me a valid reason not to immediately order your head lopped off, yet I was met with mocking silence. I must say, you are a daring one, boy."

"I lack the guts to speak without your permission, your lordship," Clyde replied smoothly, to which the village lord squinted.

"Then tell me," Tuile said mockingly, "were you going to offer to serve me with these 'memories' you inherited from the demon in exchange for your life? To pay for your many sins and transgression with a servitude that would help me elevate my noble lineage? To grant me power my forefathers have yet to experience, huh?"

"So, I am guessing there is no price to pay for your leniency, my lord?" Clyde ventured. Sir Tuile's smile remained with its faintly mocking quality.

Ignoring Clyde's question, the village lord turned to Teil who had been keenly observing their conversation from beginning to end. An enlightened light glinted in the young man's eyes. "Gather the villagers and organise a public beating for this man until the remaining twenty-nine men we are sending to Lord Gaeb have been selected and ready to leave."

The village lord turned his attention back to Clyde, who hung, confused. "To be honest, I am a bit tempted," Tuile said. "Who wouldn't be? You just implied to offer me the wisdom of a demon that turned a mere peasant like you into such a dreadful schemer. Sadly for you, I am not so foolish as to believe I can control an entity such as yourself."

The knight shook his head regretfully before turning to leave.

"Rejoice though, as your life is still of some use to me, hence you might live a few weeks longer. Not like it matters. I have personally witnessed dungeons claim the lives of people far more powerful and resourceful than yourself. Either way, you die in the end. If by some chance you survive what's in store for you, maybe then we can sit together and have a proper conversation over a bottle of aged wine… as equals. Till then, goodbye."

With those words Sir Tuile departed, leaving Clyde with a multitude of questions bubbling in his heart, as well as relief. He still wasn't sure, but the transmigrator was happy to have survived this ordeal.

He should be elated, yet for some reason, Clyde felt unnerved by Sir Tuile's last words. He almost felt as if the man had screwed him over.

Well, only time will tell…