The Distinguished Mr. Rose Chapter 117: Chapter 116: I Am the Emperor, I Am the Lord

Read chapter 117 of The Distinguished Mr. Rose by QuiteTheSlacker on NovelPedia.

Chapter 116: I Am the Emperor, I Am the Lord A wisp of displeasure oozed from Pepin’s rotted face. Just what were these lowly things doing, to arrogantly refuse their lord’s command? It was not just Ganelon who had changed in his absence. “Look how the masses degenerate,” the man said, shaking his head. “In such few years, you have already forgotten the source of all your wealth. Yet just as I giveth, I can so easily take away.” He raised his arm and waved out to the capital and all its gilded splendor. The streets were empty now, but the buildings remained; the monuments, the crystals, the resplendent marble that shone like a beacon of all that was prosperous—Francia’s wealth was all because of him. And now, his very own subjects would dare stand against him. He could not understand. He did not wish to. The solution to this folly was simple - yes, so very simple. He would do as he had always done and remove that which displeased him from his sight. “Roland,” he uttered with his goading tongue. “My loyal sword, my champion against the foul infidels. This is your last chance. Take your blade, and cut off Ganelon’s legs. Cut off his arms, his tongue, his spirit of rebellion. Remove it all and show the people the fate that awaits those conceited with dreams of grandeur.” Roland trembled in place, his breaths long, unsteady, and haggard. He had not forgotten the face of his tormentor. Back in Arabia, he had pledged to fight for good despite the sins he wrought, and yet what stood before him now was the very source of his madness: the one who terrified him into committing a massacre. That fear had long been engraved in him, down to his very bones. Every vile word the former emperor spoke reminded him of the past he could never change. But the Roland of back then, and the Roland of now, was different. No longer would he allow Pepin’s ghost to hang over his heart. This thing was just a memory, a blasphemous revenant risen into an age that had already moved on, that had begun to heal from the wounds he left on the land; and it would continue to do so regardless of what came crawling back. As a faithful paladin of Francia, his people, and his oath to the pursuit of righteousness, it was Roland’s duty to put his former liege to rest. “No,” the Peers’ leader boldly proclaimed. “You are the emperor no longer, Pepin. The one I serve is more gentle, more deserving of the throne than you will ever be; and so I shall fulfill my pact to protect him. My heart and soul are his blade to sever that which is evil, and that evil is now you . Begone, and return to the rivers of oblivion.” One by one, the other Peers walked forth and gathered at his side. They and Ganelon both were already exhausted by their previous battles. But here, there was no hesitation, no pause in what they must do. Francia had been corrupted by Pepin’s shadow for far too long. And even when he had perished, the people were given no closure, no chance to escape the dirty legacy he left behind. This was their opportunity to be rid of it all. With their former liege’s second death, the nation would finally be freed of its curse. “To me, my fellows!” Roland shouted, raising his weapon. “The scourge before us is nothing more than a demon. In the name of the holy order, I command you forward!” The Peers charged at Pepin, their eyes wild with holy fervor. Even the players were swept up in the mood and ran ahead to join them. “C’mere, bomb dude!” Mili shouted, concentrating her lightning into an orb. “You got another one of those particle scrambler thingies?” Mister Crowley grinned and reached into his bag. “Long ahead of you, Mili. There’s no wind to stop us here.” The dynamic duo, with the help of other players, prepared the same weapon used to cripple the Lips back in Arabia. Roland glanced at them and nodded, ordering the others to linger a fair distance away. Pepin had yet to move. He remained standing there, unconcerned, as if he thought them unworthy of lifting a finger. “Hand