A Theory on Godhood: An Overlord Story

Chapter 42: The Weeping King

She was situated in the back of a wagon, along with some of her fellow slaves. There were five of them cramped there. It was built as an iron cage, a flimsy cloth her only protection against the heat of the sun. Until recently, she heard the voices of two of the guards from Drummesburg, chatting with each other about trivial things.

Then came the sound of battle cries, the guards assigned to the convoy taken off guard by the surprise attack. She could hear the clanking of metal on metal, the gurgling of men as their throats were slit or their guts torn open and exposed to the air.

At one point, she actually felt the cage rattle as an entire man was thrown against it, eliciting cries of alarm from the slaves inside. They were younger women like her, all barely past the awkwardness of adolescence.

After some time, the battle ceased, and she heard whispers outside of her cage. She whimpered, clinging to another woman for comfort, who held her back tightly. The cloth that covered her cage was thrown off, revealing a behemoth of a man in black plate armor.

He looked tall enough to rival a bear, with the implied musculature to wrestle it barehanded and win. His armor was of a fine make, with the pauldrons being skulls that held two gems in their mouths. Every edge of the plates looked sharp enough to be a weapon by themselves, and images of war and conquest were etched into his chest-plate.

His helmet was forged in the shape of a snarling skeleton, with pronounced canines. A fluffy plume bounced with the movements of the man's head, like a pony tail. In the space where the cheeks would be was a mesh, many pinprick holes poked into it, perhaps to allow easier breathing. The sockets of the helmet were covered by a black glass.

Then he took it off, revealing his face to them. He was clean shaven in all aspects, even his head. He possessed a squared jaw and prominent cheekbones, giving him a harsh but noble look. It was offset by his soft eyes, which were a hazel brown.

He seemed to be exiting the prime of his life, for she noticed the slight crow's feet around his eyes.

"Is everyone alright here?" He asked, his voice grating with age. "I apologize if I rattled you earlier, when I threw one of the caravan workers against this cage."

None of them spoke, afraid of what their savior might do if they spoke out of turn. Though it sounded like he and whoever was with him defeated the convoy guards, they had no idea what the massive man's intentions were.

"I understand you were on your way to become servants for some of the nobility of Re-Estize, the scum they are. Are any of you injured? Do any of you require some type of medical attention?" He tried again, to much the same result.

Yet, his voice was...soothing in a way. It reminded her of the grinding of a flour wheel, a gentle sound of stone on stone, a memory from a better time. She began to tear up a bit, to which the large man raised both hands to calm her.

"It's alright, you're safe now," he said, giving them his best smile. He had excellent teeth, a sign of proper hygiene, which is more than she could say of her former captors.

Sensing he wasn't getting anywhere, he tried a different tactic. "Maybe we should start over. My name is Destrus Desmodus, and I represent a group of His Majesty. We are the Knights of the Weeping King, and we offer you a choice."

The newly named Destrus looked each of the women in the eyes, but it didn't feel invasive or predatory. His was a sincere gaze, making sure they were able to understand what he wanted to say next.

"My group and I have connections, and we can try and get you back either to your families or to the nearest safest city where our people are. They will look after you, provide work so you can support yourselves, and give you the anonymity needed to stay out of sight of the ones who captured you in the first place," he said.