The Prince: Chapter 7

Hey, everyone! Sorry for the wait, I’ve been preparing for a school band concert and haven’t had much time to write.

Below is the last part of Chapter 6, then click “Read More” to go on to Chapter 7.

 “When you return to your bunk, look for stickers upon your door. A red sticker means you are not attending the battle. An orange sticker means your squad is leaving tomorrow, a yellow sticker means you are leaving the day after tomorrow, a green sticker means you are leaving in two days, a blue sticker means you are leaving in 3 days, and a purple sticker means you are leaving in 4 days. You are dismissed.”

I was in shock. My body was numb.

I might be going to battle.

I could be dead in a week.

I got up unsteadily and started to head towards the exit of the theater, following the line of soldiers who were seeking to do the same.

I might be going to battle against the Nachos.

This thought was met with three reactions, three reactions that came from three different sections of my mind, three different parts of my being.

One part of me was paralyzed with fear. So absolutely terrified it threatened to consume me. This part of me wanted to flee in terror, to run back into the forest to avoid the horrible slaughter I was almost certainly going to be thrown into.

Another part of me was eager. The eagerness was not a lust for blood, but an eagerness to prove myself. This was a time to show I was worthy, and not just a fragile teenager who happened to be good at training exercises. I yearned to fight for ACP, to show them I deserved to be among them.

But the third part of me was different than the other two. The first two had come from my brain; the third came from my soul. The first two parts of me I understood. It was natural. It was perfectly logical for those two parts of me to be feuding. But the third I could not comprehend.

The third part of me dreaded fighting the Nachos. Not the fighting itself, but fighting the Nachos in particular. I had never seen the Nachos before, or even heard of them before a few weeks ago.

So why did I cringe at the thought of fighting them? For some reason, I didn’t think it was because the Nachos were skilled. Maybe they were skilled fighters, but I was sure that wasn’t the reason I dreaded exchanging blows with them.

I slowly walked out of the theater. I was one of the last. Almost everyone had returned to their rooms, eagerly searching for their sticker. Only a few stragglers were around.

I continued towards my room, the three parts of my being fighting to win me over. It was almost dark, the sun almost completely hidden, covering the earth with a hazy orange glow. I squinted, passing my eyes over the buildings, looking for my dormitory.

I almost didn’t see the man on top of the main building.

He was dressed in the same color as the citadel: forest green, but his clothing was different than the standard ACP uniform. The man was completely covered from head to toe, save for a slit for his eyes. The man blended in well with the building.

The man took out a knife. No, it wasn’t a knife; the blade was a lot thinner. He jabbed it into the shingles of the castle, and I realized he was going to cut out a piece of the roof to get into the main building… possibly to steal something.

I sprinted towards the entrance of the main building, praying that there were no guards at the door; that they were still in the rooms or somewhere else.

No such luck. There were two wardens standing stiffly at the door. I slowed my pace, lengthening my strides and rolling my shoulders back, hoping I could fool them into thinking I was supposed to be here.

“I am here for an audience with Kenneth,” I said in an official, confident voice, using the name of the first high rank that popped into my head.

The guards didn’t buy it. They remained expressionless and rigid.

“ID card, please,” one of them said, and I refrained from cursing. No one with the rank of private can speak with the higher ranks without permission. I hesitated.

“ID card, please,” the guard said again, sounding slightly irritated. I reluctantly pulled out my ID card, which had been given to me the same day I received my schedule, and handed it to the guard.

The warden glanced at it for a moment. “Request denied. No one under the rank of sergeant may speak with 3rd in commands.” He held out the card, and I took it back and started to put it back in my pocket.

I was about to turn and head back to my room. It wasn’t my business anyway, what that man on the roof was doing.

Then, I had an idea.

I dropped the card and made a small sound of frustration. The card hit the ground less than an inch away from the guard’s feet. He bent over to pick it up.

In one, quick, strong motion, I slammed the palm of my hand into the back of his head. He collapsed, unconscious.

The other guard ran at me, his sword held high. I drew my sword, but I didn’t slash. I threw it at his feet. It became stuck in the ground, and the guard tripped over it, falling flat on his face, letting his sword skid across the grass. I picked up the sword and slammed its handle into his back.

I backed up, surveying what I had done. I started to panic. What if someone saw these two unconscious guards?

I flung open the huge wooden door of the main building, grabbed the collars of the two wardens and dragged them both through the entrance.

To my relief, there was no one at the front desk. I found a closet door, opened it, carefully placed the two guards inside, and shut it.

Then I remembered why I had knocked out the guards in the first place: to get to the mysterious man. I had lost time, fighting and hiding them. What if he was already gone?

I raced up one of the staircases, trying to find the room the man had gone into, mentally picturing the relative location.

The place was devoid of people. Perhaps everyone was at a meeting in a different building or something. I didn’t waste time wondering. Instead, I kept searching, room after room, for that man. My footsteps echoed through the long, lonely halls. I shivered, as the castle was freezing.

After about 10 minutes, I heard a shuffling noise to the left of me while I was on the fifth floor. I froze, slamming my back against the wall and held my breath. The shuffling continued; the sound was coming from the door right next to me.

I approached the door quietly, opening it as silently as possible. My heart was pounding, threatening to leap out of my chest.

The room was identical to Flipper’s office, only on the wall across from me was a bronze plaque that read “Motor”. Flipper’s plaque had had his own name on it.

And there was the man, opening all the desk drawers and going through their contents.

The moment I stepped in the room, the man looked up, startled. I couldn’t identify him, for he was completely covered.

I could only get a glimpse of his eyes- familiar eyes- before he climbed out the hole in the ceiling…

With a piece of parchment in his hand. 

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2 Responses

  1. This chapter seemed shorter than the others. Besides that, the quality was amazing. I wonder who this person might be and why this person was going through Motor’s office.

  2. The man is Splashy! I liked this very good, but I shall not grade it for certain reasons. If I were to grade it, it’d probably be an A! :mrgreen:

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