Rulers of Veistanlu

From Charity to Chase

Who is fit to be a ruler?

Is it the one who finds the means to help the citizens even if he barely has enough to fend for himself? Is it who—with or without a benefiting reward—seeks for those in need that's within their reach? Is it a person who is both strong and courageous?

Onyx's answer was: me.

The rhetorical questions above describe this charming man and what he was doing throughout his time in the commoners' borders. He's a peasant who strived to be well-known in the streets. Honestly, what kind of penniless person would go out of their way to perform anyone's labor for free?

Again but much louder, Onyx enthusiastically answered, "Me!"

Of course, people weren't that stupid—since unlike Onyx, they were more educated—and maybe once, twice, or thrice that they thought that him helping children who were waging war with their middle fingers in disgrace makeup, finding old women's missing cats, and scaring robbers in the market were all for show to climb up in the ranks. They didn't know that Onyx just wanted to help simply because he could. It was as if he was the ruler.

The ruler of Veistanlu, however, wasn't Onyx—instead, it was a cursed Prince who never left the shadows.

"The last time he was publicly seen was during New Year's Eve. He is perpetually occupied due to his heir status. However, this is still undeniably King Alvar's realm," an old guy selling newspapers around said to Onyx, who was carrying a crate of apples to be delivered to the third street.

Onyx asked, "Then what exactly is the Prince doing, good sir?"

They were afraid that there was no specific answer to that. There was no answer at all up until this very day.

When the grand clock tower rang to say it was noon, he began reading to the children in the nearest block by the borders, assisting the sick in their recovery, and even feeding them with his funds, which was not much to begin with. It's not much, but Onyx would make a difference each time he could. He then played chase with the children after educating them on balance.

That's what a ruler was supposed to do. But where are they? Especially the Prince, who would soon sit cross-legged on the throne with a jeweled crown? He should be the one winning the hearts of the citizens, not some lower—the lowest, even—classed man running out of pennies in hand.

"Get a move on, Onyx! We need those bricks and planks delivered to Fifth Street." A gruff voice boomed, and a man of similar stature approached Onyx. Onyx chuckled farewell to the children clutching their books and turned his attention to the tall man.

"Kila," Onyx smiled, his fist softly punching Kila's shoulder, "Helping people is never a waste of time, friend."

Kila rolled his eyes and slapped Onyx's hand away. "This is a hundred shillings, enough to sustain us for a week. It's definitely more significant than fancying some grimy children."

Onyx gasped in surprise. "Now that's a bunch! I need more money to donate, and I may finally get that last conditioner stock from Aurestia's. My hair is losing its lusciousness…"

"Ridiculous," Kila was now who threw a punch, but harder, to Onyx's shoulder, which did not budge, "Be a man for once."

Onyx was greeted warmly by the residents of Fifth Street. This was his most popular stomping ground. Here, he spent his nights bouncing between different inns or, sometimes, simply sleeping under the stars by the neighborhood's landmark: the white-marble fountain. Onyx, basking in the attention, returned their salutations with double the enthusiasm, clearly enjoying the praise.

"Being with you in this street reminds me why I hate it," Kila said, crossing his arms by his chest.

Onyx chuckled. "How could you hate this glorious atmosphere? My contributions here are getting recognized!"

The two tall men arrived at the half-built house, a chaotic scene of dust, sweaty workers, and scattered debris. Bricks and wood were supposed to be neatly stacked but nowhere to be found. Immediately, the two shifted back and forth from the next street and the construction area to bring the materials.

"The hell is with you?! This is not as promised!" Kila yelled. Onyx glanced by Kila's open palms to see debris and only 55 shillings—far less than they expected.

The guy who apparently hooked them up with the job chuckled. "This is a breeze to you compared to the real work! You two haven't even broken a sweat—you look fresh out of a bubble bath!" Onyx took it as a compliment, but Kila clearly wasn't impressed.

Onyx watched Kila's pupils narrowing dangerously. His stance screamed he was ready to pounce on the man who'd tricked them. The consequences of Kila's fury were clear. Yet, instead of intervening, Onyx scanned the man, searching for any sign he noticed his angry friend's eyes. Relief washed over him when he saw the man remained utterly oblivious.

Onyx's shoulder loosened, and said, "Kila, it's alright—"

"I thought you're so keen on getting the damned conditioner?! This would not even provide enough food for three days!"

"I really am!" Onyx's heart plummeted, knowing the product he'd been hoping for was out of reach now. "But we mustn't start trouble—"

"Your hair is as brittle as a broom!"

Onyx's eye twitched. He turned back to the man, a weak plea escaping his lips, "Sir, could we please have what was agreed upon?"

The man scoffed. "No can do, kid. I would if you looked half-dead after all those hours of work."

"But—"

"Hold on," the man interrupted, a sly grin spreading across his face. "Aren't you the pretty one who always offers to do extra work for free? What's the issue now?"

Onyx was silenced. Kila's head snapped in his direction and yelled, "You what?!"

The two retreated, Onyx pulling Kila away towards an alley.

"You slack," Kila flicked off Onyx's hand by his wrist, his voice lacing with disbelief. "This is the reason why we, the lower class, keep being punched in the gut and earn little to no money. You think you're being helpful by being nice to these exploiters, but you're hurting our own kind!"

Onyx, stung by Kila's words, clutched his clothes over his chest. He saw the truth in his friend's anger. "Both of us have our own flaws," he conceded. "But you have to lock away anger. If that guy saw your eyes back then, we wouldn't just be at the bottom class—we'd be ostracized worse than outcasts."

"You mean these eyes?" Kila pierced his narrow pupils at Onyx. "Thanks for the advice. My anger would not dissipate now that I learned how "nice" you are."

Onyx's enthusiasm was gone like a light blew off the candle. He sighed, "I shall do something about this."

"You better do. Your beauty should not only be your strength. Again," Kila walked near the alley exit, clutching all the coins in his palm with no signs of giving his share. "Be a man, for once."

Onyx was left alone in the dark, cold alley, the sun setting along with his demeanor. When he thought he was on the right path, Kila's response to his kindness confused and challenged him. The lingering scent of flowers in the dim alley, devoid of sunlight, only added to the surreal feeling.

He twirled a strand of hair around his finger, a whisper escaping his lips, "How could this be...?" But then, the rising floral scent snagged his attention. He paused, bewildered, a new question replacing the first, "Wait, flowers? How can there be flowers here?"

A flurry of pounding steps echoed in Onyx's ears, like the frantic chase of many feet. Curiosity piqued, and he peeked out of the alleyway. In the distance, a figure clad in black sprinted desperately in his direction, and a pack of knights, easily identifiable by their gleaming armor, ran after.

"I'm needed!" Onyx exclaimed, but his spark retracted immediately when he wondered, "Wait, what if I'm in the wrong again?"

"You're definitely not."

Onyx locked eyes with the hooded man in black robes and a mask who had just zipped past him. But the most peculiar thing wasn't their brief exchange of gazes—it was the scent. As the man brushed by, a strong wave of a specific kind of flower he's yet to know about, a fragrance entirely alien to this region of the kingdom, filled Onyx's senses. It hinted at luxury, a contrast to their dusty surroundings.

"He's definitely a noble," Onyx concluded as the man's raven robe fluttered in the wind as he ran past him.

"Hey, tall man!" A breathless knight called him, pointing at the black-clad man. "That man is a robber; please assist in seizing him!"

The robber's words were all the confirmation Onyx needed to not doubt himself any longer. With a resolute nod, he joined the knights in pursuit.

Surprisingly, the robber was faster than the chivalry, which trained Day and Knight, so Onyx thought this man might be a magic user. Too bad he's slower than Onyx. Reaching enough distance for the robber to hear him, he said, "How come you steal even though you're of high status?"

The black-clad man answered surprisingly gently, "Not all nobility is synonymous with wealth."

Onyx's eyebrow raised. "Oh? I never knew that!"

The robber didn't break stride. "Consider it common knowledge."

The more Onyx mulled over the details of the black-clad man, the faster his frustrated sprint became. This robber was a walking contradiction— an aura of wealth (the expensive scent), a soothing voice that sent shivers down his spine, and captivating eyes glimpsed in a fleeting moment.

"Such a waste," Onyx sighed, more to himself than the fleeing figure. "A voice like that, an air of nobility… Why resort to thievery?!"

Suddenly, the man being chased stopped in his tracks.

"Oh no." At Onyx's current speed, a collision with the black-clad man would send them both tumbling and likely cause serious injuries. There was no time to brake; Onyx shouted an apology as he braced for impact. But in a blink, the man vanished from sight, allowing Onyx to speed past him before coming to a halt, his heart pounding from the close call.

"Called it! Knew you weren't just some quick-footed noble," Onyx declared, a hint of triumph in his voice.

After around half a minute, the chivalries caught up, all six huffing and puffing. It's almost pitiful that the robber had to stand still and wait for them before he could be detained. Finally, they went back to doing their jobs by raising their spears. One announced, "You, sir, are under arrest for stealing a golden nugget. Unacceptable!"

The black-clad man clicked his tongue. "The esteemed knights of this region should be questioned."

He pulled the ribbon that made his robe hold onto his body, letting it fall down by the cobblestone ground. A silken tunic with billowing sleeves cascaded from a corseted waist, meeting tight-fitting trousers. Onyx blinked, momentarily stunned. He hadn't realized the robe was separate from the hood, which remained stubbornly in place, concealing the thief's face.

Black-gloved hands scanned his pockets, his pants' tightness betraying whatever was hidden. One of the pockets caught Onyx's eye—a small, circular object peeking from beneath the "thief's" right thigh. After collecting the item, the "thief" flicked his wrist, and the stolen object sailed through the air, landing at the feet of the bewildered knights.

Utter chaos erupted as the knights exchanged accusations. One knight slammed the butt of his spear against another, yelling, "You said it was gold!"

"Maybe it's hidden elsewhere!" his comrade retorted, jabbing his spear back towards the knight who hit him.

The black-clad man crossed his arms, his fingers gripping his sleeves as a sign of annoyance. He said, "There is not one gold imported in Velemau, and certainly not in the commoner district."

"Oh yeah… that's in our economic lessons back then." One knight said that caused them all to leave while fighting.

Onyx's fist clenched. "This Sir is also intelligent…"

Onyx picked up the man's black robes, shook off the dust and little stones that might have clung onto the fabric, and gave it back to the man. "May I know how I should refer to you, Sir?"

The black-clad man slowly wore his robes, concealing his body yet again. He said, "You shall know when you agree to have tea with me tonight."

"Perfect!" Onyx exclaimed.

Until it wasn't—this man was a noble. Onyx was a mere peasant, and this could cause him trouble.