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Chapter Text

The man emerged from his slumber, disoriented and trembling. The unfamiliar experience leaving him shaken. The surroundings echoed with the mechanical whirring of machines and rotating gears. Naked and bewildered, he scanned the environment for any hints about his location.

Am I underground? If I am, there's got to be a way out. Right now, it seems relatively safe. Maybe my only choice is to explore.

He ventured down the solitary path before him, stepping out of the metallic doorway. His gaze was immediately drawn to an astonishing sight: a circle of large test tubes. Yet, it wasn't the tubes that baffled him- it was their contents. Within each tube lay a motionless body, enshrouded in a strange, transparent green liquid. Recognition struck him.
This is Infinity Blade! If what I'm seeing is true, then I must be Deathless. But why am I here? I remember being tucked into bed, not encased in a chamber surrounded by machines and imprisoned in these tubes.

Driven by a sudden impulse, he hastened to the next room- a vacant hall that greeted his arrival with empty echoes. His voice reverberated as he called out.

"Jensen! Eves! Benedict! Can anyone hear me?"

The hollow echoes offered no response except the hum of machinery. Disappointment settled in. He had hoped to find the companions from Infinity Blade 3-Jensen, Eves, and Benedict-who had joined forces with Sirius to thwart the Worker of Secrets. Yet, an unsettling feeling gripped him. Something about the test tubes' contents gnawed at his thoughts.

Why am I not in Siris's body? Those bodies in the tubes- they're mine. Their appearance matches mine from the real world. It doesn't add up. Could this be a game? No, that's unlikely. The technology here surpasses anything in gaming so far. Perhaps this is another world? To find out, I'll have to take a leap.

He surveyed the hall, searching for an exit. Finding none, he mustered his thoughts and emotions to demand an answer.

"TEL, reveal yourself before me."

In an instant, a blue light emerged at the edge of his vision. A four-legged robotic dog with blue eyes materialized, bowing before him.

"Yes, master. Your command?"

So TEL is here. It was a gamble. If TEL hadn't shown up, I'd be stuck here. He probably knows how to exit this rebirthing chamber. Asking him is my best bet to leave this place.

"I want to leave this place."

TEL raised its head, tilting as it answered.

"Indeed, master. However, it would be wise to locate some gear before we continue."

The man hesitated. Clothing hadn't been on his mind until now. He felt vulnerable without it, but the idea of clothing seemed trivial compared to the mysteries unfolding around him. Should he prioritize it or not?
TEL requested that he follow him. Deciding that being naked is unacceptable, he trailed behind the robot to a room connected to the empty hall. A blue light with a hand symbol stood adjacent to the sealed doors.

"Master, please place your hand on that interface."

He did so, causing the doors to slide open. Rows and columns of armor and weapons awaited him. The man was amazed, stalking the array of blistering metal. One set caught his attention- a black armour, laid with golden lines. It looked majestic to him.

I see. Weapons and armor from all three games are here. Granted, I cannot remember a single one, but that set stands out. I'm drawn to it.

His attention was stolen by an open box containing rings from Infinity Blade. They were fashioned similarly to engagement rings. He put one on his middle finger. Curious about using another ring, he grabbed a second one, only to encounter a mysterious force that pushed back on his finger. Puzzled, he replaced the current ring with the previous ring. This time it worked.

I see, so I can't use multiple rings at the same time. That's quite unfortunate. I suppose I should use this ring that oddly matches a wedding ring.

He shifted his focus back to the armor. The one that drew him in earlier. Marveling at the impeccably designed stand on which it lay. An inexplicable force seemed to beckon him to put it on, like an unseen hand guiding him.

I feel a strange connection to this armor. it might not be the finest in existence, but there's something about it that resonates with me.

He removed the headpiece from its stand and placed it on his head with ease. Then he tackled the chest piece. Noticing that the armor didn't have any openings, he attempted to split it open to no avail. Thinking it might be like a T-shirt, he placed the chest piece above his head and tried sliding the armor down. This, too, didn't work.

"Master, may I ask what you are doing?"
TEL inquired, accompanying the man with
curiosity. Embarrassed, the man responded.

"Trying to put on my armor. How does this thing even work?"

TEL leaned in for a closer look. After inspecting the issue, he straightforwardly stated, "Master, I'm quite certain you can simply do that in your head. You don't need to physically equip it."

"How would that work? Do I just imagine the armor on me?"

TEL's flat yet rounded shape tilted, and his three blue eyes flickered to provide a response.
"I suppose it's more like commanding it while envisioning it, master."
Baffled by TEL's response but understanding he wouldn't make progress otherwise, the man decided to give it a shot. He visualized himself wearing the attractive armor. Suddenly, a blue light enveloped the man's torso. It was similar to TEL's light, but grander in size. After it dissipated, the armor was perfectly placed on him. He examined his reflection in the mirror, experiencing a sense of pride and joy.

I suppose this is what women feel when they find the right clothing. I feel incredible! I wish armor stores existed in the real world. Trying different armor suits would've been so much fun.

Turning his gaze back to TEL, he found the four-legged robot sitting much like a dog. Attempting to summon both the shield and sword of the armor set, he found that nothing happened.

What? How come it isn't working? I imagined both the shield and sword perfectly, just as TEL said. I guess it works randomly.

He picked up both the sword and shield from the set. Thankfully, neither proved difficult to equip. He swung the sword to test its authenticity. Once satisfied, he secured the sword in its sheath on his back and issued a command.

"TEL, show me the exit to this chamber. It's time to make our departure."

"Yes master, follow me."

TEL led the way out of the armory, back into the empty hall, and turned sharply down a hallway. As they reached a steel-casted door, the man's heart raced. The feeling was akin to asking someone out, except with much greater consequences. Suppressing those feelings, he placed his hand on the blue interface, and the door slid open, revealing a sight beyond his imagination.

The door revealed a blinding light that gradually dimmed, allowing the man to take in the breathtaking sight before him. Lush green grass spread out with patches of vibrant flowers scattered around. Tall trees with dark brown bark supported a canopy of vibrant green leaves, and the air was clean and fresh, reminiscent of the real world.

Is this the real world or a game? No game I know of feels quite like this, but the magic that equipped my armor does resemble that of a game.

He walked through the garden, casting his gaze back at the chamber. The sliding doors had blended seamlessly with the stone and dirt of the mountain, camouflaging the chamber. But the man's attention was drawn back to the natural beauty surrounding him. He lay down on the grass, staring at the sky above-unblemished blue with clouds as white as toothpaste.

Even though the real world had similar landscapes, it never evoked this feeling in me. There's something different here. Untouched by modernity, pure and beautiful.

Sensations flowed through him like a beautiful melody. The crisp air brushed his armor softly. The cool earth under his boots reconnected him to forgotten primal energy. Leaves whispered secrets in the rustling wind, while distant bird songs wove a tapestry of life.
His heart expanded, breaking free from sterile walls. Here, colors, scents, and sounds were strokes of genius. Ancient trees stood guard, their weathered bark holding tales of time. Leaves carried stories of growth and life. In this world, beauty and purpose intertwined.
Uncertain about this reality's nature, he felt awe's shadow. Magic or technology, the emotions were real. Wonder surpassed doubt, his heart's connection genuine.
Alone amidst nature's art, he embraced the beauty. It was as if blind, now seeing an unfiltered world. He breathed, letting serenity cleanse doubt and fear.
In this moment, he vowed to cherish this world. Unlike his old world, he'd explore, learn its secrets. Perhaps he would console the anger and grief he had been bottling inside of him. Under the open sky, warmth on his face, he felt connected-to this place, its wonders, and the journey ahead. Lying beneath the sky, he felt an unbreakable thread tying him to this place.
As the tranquil embrace of nature surrounded him, he stirred. Thoughts returning to the present.

"TEL, do you see any structures or people nearby?"

He glanced at TEL, hoping the robotic companion could scan or detect other individuals, and more importantly, any titans.
"No master, I do not detect anything. Shall I do a full scan?"

"Yes, please do."

"Understood master"
TEL vanished, leaving behind a faint blue halo. Alone again, the man felt a mix of loneliness and tranquility. Determined not to let such feelings linger, he decided to embark on a minor exploration of the forest, but the reality proved to be more challenging than he expected. He stumbled and tripped, realizing that despite his armor's strength, it impeded his senses. He suspected the armor would protect him, but he needed to adapt and learn to use it effectively.

"Master, I have found something."

TEL crouched behind him, his head tilted in curiosity. The sudden appearance startled the man.

"Uh, yes TEL. What did you find?"

"I am uncertain whether this individual is hostile or friendly, but I have located a young boy approximately 2 kilometers from here."

The man's interest was piqued. He had been prepared for massive titans, armored knights, and fearsome warlords, but not a young boy.

"Very well, lead me to him. Perhaps I can learn more about this place."

TEL nodded and disappeared into the dense underbrush.
Okay, now I need to follow TEL without tripping or stumbling.

The man followed TEL, using his guidance to navigate and avoid obstacles. He focused on his footwork, making sure not to trip on roots or collide with his own legs. Despite his best efforts, he ended up face-planting into a tree.

God damn it, why did I only look down? Why did I think that was a good idea? I should have occasionally checked my surroundings while moving forward!

"Master, the target is just beyond that bush."

Getting up from his awkward position, the man crouched low to avoid detection. He crept toward the bush and peered through the foliage.

"Master, it seems the target has company."

TEL crouched beside the man, his blue eyes locked onto the scene. The man observed as well: a boy in a dark blue tunic, white pants, and messy brown hair. He couldn't see the boy's face clearly, but that wasn't his main concern. His attention was drawn to the beasts cornering the boy.
These were unlike any titans he'd encountered before. While he knew that Infinity Blade's titans were modified living creatures, these were different. Deciding to decisively intervene, he unholstered his blade from his back. However, as he attempted to arm the blade, his movement dislodged both the weapon and its sheath, causing them to fall to the ground with an embarrassing thud.

Why did I think that would work? This is what I get for watching too many shows with scrawny sword-wielding protagonists!

The man retrieved his blade and charged through the underbrush, determined to help the boy.

Even if I lack combat skills, I have to try. If I save this boy, maybe I'll find the answers I need.

Leaving behind TEL, he jumped over the undergrowth, pushed through the branches, and made his way to the dirt path. Four beasts, the size of cheetahs, bearing dark red fur, matched with blood-red eyes, black horns that pointed upwards, and on all fours, surrounded the boy.
Grasping the situation and executing his move, he sneaked behind the beast and stabbed it right in its underbelly. To his surprise, the thrust tore the beast open. Now the attention of the three other beasts was stolen by him. Bracing his hand shield and arming his sword, pointing it at the beasts that were now charging the man. They howled and thrust their horns into the man.
Unable to penetrate his armor, two of them recoiled back. The other became tangled with the man's shield. Countering their offense, he stabbed the tangled one from above, killing it instantly. The two remaining beasts galloped with vehemence, splitting up. The man's situational awareness understood what was
going on.

Deciding to act first, he threw his sword at one of them. However, it missed completely and stabbed a tree instead. His act left him defenseless, which the other exploited, ramming him into the ground.

"Shit!" He screamed, struggling with the horns of the red-haired savage. Its saliva drooled onto his black armor, lined with gold.

Why did I throw away my only weapon? What made me think I was skilled enough to throw a weapon at a moving target?!

Desperation took over the man. The adrenaline was pumping, and with desperation came a reckless idea. Rotating the beast's head by using the horns as pins, like on a dartboard, he broke its neck. The monster collapsed onto the man. Meanwhile, the last beast charged from the side. Understanding he wouldn't have enough time to push the critter off, he used it as a shield.
The horns punctured through its dead friend, blood splattered camouflaging with the beast's red fur. Stuck and disoriented, the man pushed the dead monster off. Rushing to his blade, he had foolishly thrown it away. After retrieving his blade from its sheath, he ran back to the tangled beast, killing it with an upper swing before it became free of its chains.

Well, that was a big risk. I'm not the epic warrior I wish I were with legendary skills. My attempt was pretty pathetic, to be honest.

As he reflected on the recent chaotic encounter and his own actions, he momentarily lost sight of his original purpose.

"Um, sir knight, I didn't mean to enter the forest," the boy cried, curling into a fetal position!"

Perplexed by the boy's words that regarded him. Typically, people would express relief at being rescued, not fear towards their rescuer.

"I didn't mean to enter the forest, I swear!"
The boy pleaded, tears streaming down his cheeks.

The man couldn't grasp the situation entirely. Was this forest strictly off-limits? Why was the boy so terrified? Did the other knights here have a fearsome reputation?

"I don't understand what you're saying. I'm not from this place, and I have no intention of harming you. But why is entering this forest forbidden?" he inquired.

The boy straightened up, wiping away his tears as he replied, "It's because this land is controlled by the nobles, and they don't allow anyone to trespass."

"I see. So you mistook me for a knight in their service, is that it?" he asked.

"Yes, sir. I meant no harm!" the boy exclaimed, starting to comprehend the situation. He cautiously approached the boy, who promptly shielded his face with his tunic.

"Hmm? I thought I had already assured you that I mean you no harm. Could you at least let me see your face?"

The boy hesitantly raised his head to face the black knight. His eyes matched his visor. The man was startled. His appearance-he was hideous. His face wasn't symmetrical at all, his eyes weren't even on the same level, acne enveloped his skin, his nose was distorted. The man found him repulsive, but at the same time felt empathetic towards him.
He had seen what people would do to the disabled or unfortunate-the insults they would hurl, the jeers, the humiliation. He never participated in such vile behavior, but he wasn't strong enough to stop it or give aid. Not because he lacked strength, but because he lacked the courage to do what was right. He always worried about what others would think of him. Even if he did something honorable, he felt their distaste.

The boy squirmed, looking downwards, expecting to be smacked. Waiting for the blow, only to be greeted by nothingness. He looked at the armored knight, reaching out his hand.

"Listen, I'm not the type of man to beat someone because he looks hideous."

The boy took his offer. He had never seen such a pose before. No one had ever helped him to his feet before, leaving him abandoned except for her.

"Let me guess, you were bullied into entering the forest, correct?"

The boy froze, his unordered eyes widened.
"H-How did you know?"

"An educated guess. Most people would treat you poorly because of your looks, and think of you as a lesser human."
The boy, pained by the man's calculated response, lowered his head.

"But if you had the power to kill, or rather get revenge on them, would you take it? After all, they are bad people in your eyes. If so, I'm willing to take their lives for you."

This was a weird statement from the man. No hero would say this to a victim. But he wanted to make sure this boy wasn't one of those 'nice people', the ones who only behaved well because authority figures prevented them from doing anything sinister. If left unchecked, they could bring mayhem to the world. He had to do this because if this boy got power, he might decide to pillage and destroy everything he could lay his eyes on.

"You could do that?"
"
Yes, I can. I'm a fully armed knight. None of their weapons will harm me."

The boy thought deeply, accepting the hand the knight raised for him, he proclaimed.

"It's true that I get angry at them. I don't like how I'm treated. I didn't ask to be born this way! I deserve to be treated like a human. Yes, I do have thoughts and maybe dark desires to slaughter them all and take everything they have!"

The man readied his blade. He was ready to pounce.

"But if I did that, what would mother think of me?"

The man froze. He just burst out his darkest desire, then responded with how his mother would think of him? I'm not sure if he's a fool or incredibly honest.

"If I did that, everything my mother would've taught me and struggled for would've been for naught. I won't abide by that!"

The boy cried, sobbing while wiping away his tears.

I see. While I still don't know how trustworthy this boy is, his intentions seem genuine. He didn't fall for the trap I placed for him. He's a good man if he speaks the truth. That's why I want to believe this boy. I really do!

His thoughts made the man ponder deeper about himself, almost as a self-reflection. Would he have really said that? If he were in the boy's position, he would've taken the offer and killed everybody who ridiculed him, looked down on him, or took anything from him. Yet despite this boy suffering much worse than he had ever suffered, he still kept his morality.

He wasn't animalistic at all-he had integrity and morals. Something which the man didn't think he had, but upon witnessing this boy's confession, he couldn't help but feel amazed by it. He wanted to be like this boy. He wanted to be a better man.

"Now then, no need to cry, brother. Tell me, what is your name?"

"Caulot, sir!" He said fervently while still wiping his tears.
"Caulot? What an eccentric name."

The boy fell into dejection before mumbling.
"It's because I was named after the term 'callous', which means subhuman."

The man placed his finger above his visor, claiming.

"I don't really believe that's true. Others made you think that, right? Well, I don't think your name came from 'callous'. In fact, I think Caulot stands for 'good man'."

The boy felt spirited by his response. No one other than his mother had thought his name meant something good.

"Knight, if I may ask, what is your name?"

The man paused for a moment. Ever since he had come to this new world, he was solely focused on learning. He cared little about himself or what he wanted to name himself.

Shit, what should I name myself? Sirius? No, that isn't me. I'm not as heroic or as skilled as he was. Plus, naming myself other than my real name is dishonest to Caulot.

A thought lit across his mind. Smiling behind the black helmet with gold lining, he said the name that would mark him forever in this new world.

"My name is Sol. It's good to meet you, Caulot."

Chapter Text

"Sol?" Caulot glanced at Sol, who remained upright.

"Sol, as in the soul of a body?" Caulot queried.

"No, not 'soul.' It's 'Sol.' It's not related to the soul of a body," Sol clarified.

Caulot pondered the name, and a comparison came to mind.

"Like 'Saul'? That sounds quite unique." He remarked, snapping his fingers as if he'd struck gold.

Sol winced; he recognized that name all too well.

"Better call Saul." he muttered under his breath, the cringe evident.

"Why would we want to call Saul?" Caulot tilted his head, attempting to comprehend Sol's comment. His cringe had turned into a chuckle.

"You only call him for legal troubles."

Now Caulot was thoroughly bewildered. He might not have been entirely sure of the concept of 'legal', but he understood that it held significance.

"That sounds important. I think the nobles would know abou-"

A sudden realization struck Caulot like a lightning bolt.

"Sir Knight! We can't stay here! If the nobles catch us, we might be in serious trouble!"

"You're right, but I'm not sure where I can go, I jus-"

"You can stay at my place!"

The boy's hand slapped against his chest as he exclaimed.

"I'm not sure if it would be acceptable for me to stay at someone's house."

Sol hesitated. He disliked the notion of freeloading on this poor boy's home; he'd always held a strong belief in personal independence.

"It's fine! I owe you for saving my life, after all." Caulot assured him.

He met Sol's gaze with gratitude, a clear willingness to repay the debt. Not wanting to deny him the chance to fulfill it, Sol accepted.

"Very well, Caulot. But before we leave, I'd like to examine the corpses of those creatures I killed."

"You mean those Rojo Cuernos? Very well, Sir Sol. I'll wait here for you," Caulot replied.

"No need to call me 'Sir' or 'Knight.' I'm neither of those things." Sol insisted.

Caulot looked at him, puzzled, before nodding and stepping away to give Sol space to investigate.

These savages are called Rojo Cuernos, Sol mused. Interestingly, they aren't titans, which means they weren't genetically modified. Their souls remain unaltered. If they aren't titans, then what are they?

Realizing that mere contemplation wouldn't provide answers, Sol decided to call upon someone more useful.

"TEL, are you here?"
TEL appeared before Sol, its three gemstone eyes fixed upon him.

"Yes, master?"

"Take samples of those beasts, the Rojo Cuernos, and analyze them. I want to know if they are titans. Be discreet; we don't want anyone else to see you." Sol ordered.

"Very well, master."

TEL's three eyes merged with the ground, vanishing seamlessly like a soluble liquid dissolving in water. Sol, making sure to retrieve his sheathed blade and securing it at his side, decided to head toward Caulot, who was waiting for him on the dirt path.

"Are you finished, Sol?" Caulot inquired.

"I am. Let's get out of here. I'd rather not get in trouble with the law just yet." Sol replied, nodding in agreement.

Caulot led the way, Sol couldn't help but be enchanted by the world around him. Daytime painted a picture of natural beauty, and Sol found himself captivated by nature's brushstrokes. As he followed Caulot, he wondered if this world was as wondrous everywhere. If so, he was eager to explore it further. After about twenty minutes, Caulot turned to face Sol.

"Beyond this bush is my home. It may not be very comfortable; in fact, it's quite small. But I still want to offer you the best hospitality!"

Caulot pushed the bush aside, revealing a weathered and rustic wooden shack nestled in a grassy plain among the trees
Caulot pushed the bush aside, revealing a weathered and rustic wooden shack nestled in a grassy plain among the trees. Sol couldn't help but notice a village not far away from the shack, a village with a peculiar lack of trees. It seemed to be mostly farmland with scattered trees providing shade.

"Unfortunately, I'm not allowed in the village, so my mother and I lived in this shack." Caulot explained.

Sol surveyed the shack's cramped and derelict interior, wondering how two people could live in such conditions. It made him appreciate the comforts he had taken for granted.
Caulot opened the door, revealing an even dimmer and more modest setting inside. The shack's weathered walls allowed slivers of sunlight to filter through, and the scent of aged wood hung heavy in the air. Sol cautiously entered, carefully watching his head and footing to avoid any unnecessary accidents.

"Make yourself at home. I'll go get us something to eat." Caulot offered, leaving the door open as he departed.

Sol spotted an old wooden chair, and hoping it wouldn't collapse under his armor's weight, gingerly seated himself. To his surprise, the chair held. As he sat there, his black armor seemed starkly out of place amidst the shack's humble surroundings, its intricate design contrasting with the simplicity of the wooden structure. He couldn't help but ponder his situation.

Why was I the only one in that Phoenix chamber? Where are Jensen and the others? Why was TEL the only one there? So many questions and no answers.

As he sat in the chair, the sunlight bathed him in its white glow, beautifully reflecting off his black armor. A thought suddenly struck him, and he signaled for TEL.

A thought suddenly struck him, and he signaled for TEL
"TEL, I require your assistance once more."
TEL emerged from the wooden wall to Sol's right, then assumed its regular form.

"Master, I have collected the samples and-"

"What is my name TEL?"
The robotic dog bowed respectfully before answering, "Your name is Ausar, master."

Sol turned away from TEL, he had recognized that name.

Ausar The Vile he was a deathless warlord right? Vile? Why does that sound familiar?

He examined his armor, realizing it bore the detailed intricacies of the Vile armor. A realization dawned upon him.

I've been wearing this Vile armor this entire time. The Vile armor... Why does that name seem significant?

He tapped his helmet, contemplating how to respond to this revelation. He could choose to pretend to be Ausar, as TEL clearly believed that Sol was a false name. Alternatively, he could be honest and admit that he wasn't Ausar. Sol couldn't make up his mind, so he settled on a middle ground.

"Listen, TEL, I am not 'Ausar.' That's why I didn't know what I was doing. If it weren't for you, I'd probably still be stuck in that chamber."

"H-How is that possible? Master, I don't remember you wipi-"

"It's likely because we were summoned into this new world. But this is also an opportunity. I can finally become a better person, TEL. This is my chance at redemption." Sol explained.

TEL's three gemstone eyes flickered, conveying what would be a smile if he were human. Although Sol had technically lied to TEL, he believed it was the best way to avoid confusion. From now on, Sol will use his real name in this new world.

"Yes master!"

"Oh, and TEL, if you could, keep an eye on that village. I need more information than what Caulot provided. And continue analyzing the samples. I might spend some time with Caulot here."

Sol knew that in this new world, he had a chance to start anew, to redeem himself. And he intended to make the most of it.

"It shall be done, master," TEL responded, and with that, he disappeared into the ground, leaving Sol alone in the shack. Moments later, Caulot entered with a worn tray containing two fist-sized purple fruits.

"Sorry it isn't a lot, but I foraged these from the forest," Caulot explained, placing the tray in front of Sol.

"It's fine, but what are those called?" Sol inquired, his curiosity piqued.

Caulot glanced at the tray and then back at Sol, saying, "These are called Morpuño; they grow in trees."

"Those grow in trees?" Sol said, somewhat surprised, as he stood up from his chair.

He picked up one of the fruits from the tray.

"Amazing, they are nice and plump."

He admired the fruit's appearance, holding it up. However, a dilemma arose for Sol. How would he eat it while wearing his helmet? He hesitated, not wanting to reveal his face, considering the potential risks. After all, Caulot looked European, and Sol was unsure how he would be received.

I think it'll be fine if I take off my helmet in front of him. After all, he did show his face to me; it would be disrespectful for me not to do the same.

With this decision made, Sol carefully placed the Morpuño back on the tray. He then began to unstrap his helmet, his hands moving to his neck. Once the straps were undone, he removed the Vile helmet, revealing his face to Caulot.

Caulot's eyes widened with surprise as they locked onto Sol's appearance. His skin bore a gentle tan, and a well-kept beard adorned his face. Neatly groomed hair framed his head, and his thick eyebrows added character. Striking brown eyes stared back at Caulot, making him blush slightly.

"W-Wow, you are quite handsome, Sol. You remind me of those stories of a young handsome knight saving a distressed princess."

Sol cringed at the compliment, modestly replying, "I'm not that handsome, but I appreciate it."

He retrieved his Morpuño and took a bite, exploring its unique taste.

Huh, it's rough but tasty at the same time, like an apple but with a mixture of pineapple to it? What a strange fruit.

Caulot followed suit, eating his share of the Morpuño. The silence that followed was awkward, filling the small shack.
Sol decided to break the silence with a question.

"So, Caulot, why were you in the forest in the first place? I suspected you were bullied, but what happened exactly?"

Caulot squirmed, his nervousness palpable. Biting his nails, he glanced up at Sol.

"It's because those two threw my bag into the forest. I was trying to find it, and I did, but then those Rojos came. I'm certain they were trying to kill me."

He admitted quietly, still shaken by the experience of someone trying to take the only thing his mother had left him, all because he didn't look like a human to them.
Sol listened attentively, his empathy evident.

"I see, but I'm thankful that nothing bad happened in the end. Don't worry; those two bullies you mentioned won't harm you if I'm around."

Caulot looked into Sol's eyes and felt the genuine compassion emanating from him. It reminded him of the warmth his mother had always shown him. Sol then reattached his helmet, becoming fully armored once more.

"Still, I find it weird how you would know quite a bit. If you aren't allowed into the village, how come you knew about the forest being barred for entry? I don't think any of those villagers would explain the rules to you."

Caulot confessed, a hint of shame in his voice,
"It's because I spy on them. I know it's bad, but I didn't have a choice."

Sol understood Caulot's predicament and reassured him, "I see; sometimes, we have to do things we don't want to do to survive and protect what's important. You needed to know what was going on and how to respond to it correctly."

He appreciated his reply, but humbly said "I'm not that good of a person."

Caulot began with a heavy tone, his voice laced with concern, "soon those nobles will kill all the beasts of the forest, turn this land into more farmland. If that were to happen, I'll starve, then I'll probably have to betray my mother and steal to survive. I'd probably get caught and executed."

Sol listened intently, his sympathy for Caulot evident in his eyes. "I see, don't worry. If I can work, maybe I can support both of us. After all, I do have to thank you for your hospitality. Perhaps the village could be a great place to start." He suggested, offering a glimmer of hope.

Caulot, however, offered a cautionary perspective, saying, "I wouldn't recommend that, Sol."

Baffled by this response, Sol inquired, "How come? Maybe I could find work as a guard or something."

Caulot explained, "It's because you are a foreigner. They probably wouldn't like you or give you a job once they learn you aren't from this country."

Sol froze, intrigued by how and why this could be the case. "Yes, it's true that I'm not from this country, but why would they dislike someone who is skilled with the blade?"

Of course that last part was a lie, he was terrible with the sword. However he didn't want to distress Caulot. Instead added a touch of modesty to his claim, "I don't know much about this world, but I can handle myself in a fight, although I must admit, I'm not that great at combat."

Caulot nodded at Sol's response and continued, "I don't know, Sol. All I do know is that foreigners usually stay at ports and don't head inland. Maybe it's because foreigners aren't liked, that's what I think."

Sol nodded, understanding the complexities of this world's social dynamics.

"I see, that's disappointing if true. Speaking of the country, what's this country's name?"

Now this was a stupid question to ask, his original alibi would be that he had come from a faraway land. Came from the seas and should know what this country's name is, but this wasn't the time for Sol to be smart. He had to be direct even if he made a fool of himself.

Caulot hesitated for a moment before replying, "I-I'm sorry, I don't remember the name of my country."

Sol couldn't hide his surprise. How could one not know which country they were born in?

He adjusted his helmet slightly, making sure it was secure. Caulot, sensing Sol's confusion, explained, "Sorry, my mother once told me about the name of my country. I never memorized it though, I guess I never saw the need."

Sol accepted this explanation, realizing that not everyone placed the same importance on such details.

"Alright, if you don't know about that, maybe you could tell me tales? You know, stories about your country or its history."

Caulot's uneven eyes brightened, and he flashed a warm smile at Sol.

"Well, there are lots of stories I could tell, but we should get settled down. You should sit down, I'll go grab a stool."

Sol followed Caulot's lead and took a seat, being careful not to break the chair. As Caulot fetched a stool and sat on it, he began.

"Well where should I start? Yes, the thirteen heros!"

"Thirteen heros?" Sol questioned.

"Yes, legendary heroes who fought against the evil deities 200 years ago."

" Evil deities? Who were they? Judging by their name they seem evil."

" Of course, they had arrived after the eight greed kings. After which they destroyed anything on their path. Entire nations were wiped out by them, that was until the thirteen heros arrived and put an end to them."

" Interesting, eight greed kings? Who were they?" Sol queried further, while he was somewhat interested in this world's history.
He believed that a surface understanding was viable, however Caulot had other ideas.

"I'll get to that, but first I should tell you tales of the heros and their accomplishments!" He exclaimed, his eyes beamed with excitement.

"Go on." Sol was annoyed a bit, he didn't want to know too much, after all it is just history.
Caulot chatted about the tales of heros, their names, the opponents they fought against. He also made an interesting point that there were more than thirteen members, but they weren't included since they weren't human.

"You know, you remind me of one hero. The Black Knight, since your armor is all black and all."

Baffled, Sol asked, " I can't be that similar looking to him."

Caulot chuckled before responding, "Well, not quite the same, he had four arms after all."

"Four arms?!" Sol couldn't hide his astonishment, his body instinctively moving backward.

"Indeed, he even had four swords. Swords that are rumored to be in circulation till this day."

" Interesting, but what about the eight greed kings? Were they evil like the deities you were talking about earlier?"

Caulot, somewhat irritated, finally provided an explanation for his avoidance of the Eight Greed Kings.

"Well, not quite, they did allow humanity to flourish by killing large amounts of demi-humans and other races, but I dislike them since my mother said they killed one of the great gods."

Sol was taken aback by this response. He pondered whether the Eight Greed Kings truly deserved Caulot's scorn. After all, they had contributed to the flourishing of humanity. However that wasn't everything that piqued his interest.

"I came from a land where these demi-humans weren't present." Sol remarked, seeking more information. "Can you tell me more about these creatures?"

Caulot appeared surprised, having never heard of someone from a land without demi-humans.
"You must've come from a faraway land then." Caulot said. "I've never seen a demi-human before, but from what my mother told me, they are beasts that stand on two legs, have claws, pincers as teeth, and are somewhat intelligent."

Sol considered this description. Demi-humans seemed somewhat similar to the titans he had encountered in Infinity Blade, although not all of them were intelligent.

"I see." Sol replied, deciding to change the subject. "Have you ever heard of the terms 'Deathless' or 'Titans' before?"

Caulot shook his head. "Never heard of them before, but they sound interesting. Mind telling me more?"

Sol hesitated for a moment, his mind racing with thoughts about his own situation.

"Nevermind, they aren't that important."
Caulot looked disappointed, clearly wanting to know more about the black-armored knight.

"But there's one thing that's weird about you," Sol remarked, changing the direction of the conversation.

"You seem to know quite a bit about history, yet you cannot name your own country."

Caulot blushed in embarrassment, realizing that Sol had seen through his general ignorance. He had immersed himself in tales of gods, Greed Kings, and heroes to escape the reality of his life.

"Well, I can't exactly blame you." Sol continued sympathetically. "After all, why do you need to know about this country anyway? The people here don't exactly treat you very well. I can understand why you've retreated into fantasy."

Caulot felt exposed but also strangely understood by Sol. It was as if the black-armored knight was understanding the type of person he was.

"Y-You're right; I'm sorry that I couldn't be more helpful to you," Caulot apologized, his embarrassment evident.

Sol gave a chuckle and reassured him, "It's fine. I doubt I would've learned more about this land's history from anyone else. I appreciate that."

Caulot smiled, feeling a sense of validation and usefulness that he hadn't experienced before. However, his joy was short-lived as something caught his eye.

"Oh no!" Caulot exclaimed, suddenly alarmed.

Sol was taken aback by his sudden change in demeanor. "What happened?"

Caulot hurriedly got up from his stool, a sense of urgency in his movements. Sol, still confused, quickly rose from his chair and followed the boy, jogging to match his pace.

"We need fire! It's about to be nighttime, we can't be here without light."

"Why do we need fire before sunset?" Sol inquired, trying to understand the situation.

Caulot explained, "It's because of beasts that awaken at night."

"You mean those Rojos?"
Caulot's expression turned graver.

"No, worse. Nocterror. They might be small, but I remembered hearing that they've eaten an entire Lanca!"

Sol realized the severity of the situation. "And they are terrified by fire, right?"

Caulot nodded vigorously. "Yes, that's why we need to light a fire quickly!"

Desperation in his eyes, Caulot grabbed a branch and attempted to tear it off from a tree. However, the branch proved to be stubborn. Sol, observing this, decided to lend a hand. Using his considerable strength, he snapped the branch off with a single-handed effort. Caulot fell to the ground in his haste.
Caulot, now on the ground, quickly ordered,

"Hurry, help me gather more branches and twigs. We need to light a fire before sunset, or the Nocterrors will come!" Caulot left for the shack, leaving Sol to his thoughts.

How dare he order me? Doesn't he know I was the one who saved him?

Sol froze himself; why was he feeling angry? Caulot didn't say anything wrong; this is a bad situation. Ending his thoughts, he moved forward to collect more branches. After a while, Sol had collected about five decently sized branches. He rejoined Caulot, who was desperately trying to light a fire.
"
"Come on, come on!" Caulot muttered,

furiously rubbing dry wood together. However, his efforts were in vain as the strokes weren't powerful enough to ignite the fire. Sol, witnessing this, stepped in to help. He took the dry wood from Caulot, gripping it like a spear, and began to stroke the grounded wood. Soon, a flame emerged, warming the increasingly chilly air. They exchanged glances.

"You saved me there; I thought we were going to die!" Caulot said, panting and sweating despite the relatively cold air. "Now we just need to tend to the flame."

Caulot moved past Sol to pick up the firewood he had brought. Both of them worked together to tend to the flame, keeping it alive like a newborn child. By sunset, this newly made fire was burning healthily. Caulot, panting and sweating profusely, looked at Sol. To his amazement, Sol appeared barely tired.
Caulot, trying to calm his breathing, muttered,

"Man, you're amazing. Even with all that work, you're barely even tired."

Sol chuckled lightly. "Heh, I'm amazed too."

Sol looked at his hands, contemplating
whether his near-endless stamina was because of the fact that he was a Deathless. He couldn't help but think about the world of Infinity Blade. Despite what Caulot said, he still believed he was in that world.

Taking a break from the strenuous work, Caulot got up and headed back to the shack. He grabbed a cooking pot along with the necessary utensils and returned to the fire. Caulot placed a griddle over the fire and put a pot on top of the round metal plate.

"This is a stew I cooked up yesterday, unfortunately it got cold. Heating it will improve the taste, but it won't be fresh. It'll take a while before it heated again."

After sunset left and night came, Caulot poured the stew into two cups and offered one to Sol. Sol removed his helmet and took the wooden cup, trying to hide his disappointment as he ingested the stew. To him, it was far from the tasty meals he had expected in Isekai worlds. After finishing the entire meal, he covered his disgust and disappointment with his helmet, looking at Caulot who seemingly enjoyed the meal.

"Ha, look at the starry night sky. I could eat anything while looking at that!" Caulot exclaimed, lying down and fully immersing himself in the beauty of the sky.

Sol also gazed upward, but for him, it wasn't a moment of tranquility. Instead, it was a final piece of evidence that he wasn't in the world of Infinity Blade after all.

The moon, why isn't it blown up? Where are the shattered pieces?

Sol wondered, his mind still grappling with the mysteries of this unfamiliar world.

Chapter Text

Sol's bedroom was bathed in the soft glow of suburban daylight, casting a tranquil ambiance over the room. A gentle breeze wafted in through the open window, carrying with it the distant sounds of the modern world.
Sol lounged back on his couch, with Zephyr at his side.

"Guess what, Sol? I met this girl, and she's pretty cute," Zephyr said, brimming with excitement.

Sol couldn't resist teasing his friend. "Oh, a girl, huh? Are you absolutely certain she's not just a catfish?"

He folded his arms, a mischievous grin tugging at his lips.
Zephyr laughed it off.

"No way, Sol! I met her in real life. I doubt you could pull that off."

Sol frowned, tilting his head back before replying, "Come on, Zephyr, you know I've done it before. But you also know why I don't bother anymore."

Sitting beside him, Zephyr locked eyes with Sol, showing genuine sympathy.

"I'm sorry about that, bro. You didn't deserve that kind of treatment. You deserve someone much better. If you want, I could..." Zephyr's words trailed off as Sol cut him off.

"It's fine, really. I'm not interested anymore. So, tell me more about this girl you've met?"

Zephyr's smile turned gentle. "She's actually really sweet, Sol. I think she might be the one. I feel like I could settle down with her."

Sol nodded, it felt wrong to him, but understanding his friend's happiness and not wanting to bring his past to ruin the moment.

"I hope it works out for you, Zephyr. You deserve happiness."

Zephyr stood up from the couch. "Thanks, Sol. I appreciate that. Maybe I'll introduce you to her sometime. Then you'll see she's different from the others."

Sol rolled his eyes, placing his arms on his thighs as he watched Zephyr leave the room.

"Anyway, I have to head out soon. But like I said earlier, you should really try to move on. I'd hate to see you spend your life as a recluse." Zephyr winced before disappearing through the door frame.

Sol, still sitting on the couch, stared up at the ceiling of his room.

I'm sorry, Zephyr. I don't think I'll ever be able to move on. But as long as you can lead a decent life, that's all that matters to me.

...

Morning had arrived, and Sol, lying on the grassy plain, struggled to open his still-stuffy eyes. He pushed himself upright to take in the scenery.

This truly is my new reality, and it's still difficult to accept.

He glanced at Caulot, who was still sound asleep. Many things weighed on Sol's mind, but one question nagged at him more than any other.

Why was I dreaming of Zephyr? It's been so long since I last had a dream. Could it be that Caulot somehow reminds me of him?

Sol intensified his focus on Caulot, hoping to find answers, but he came up empty-handed. Disappointed, he got up, only to be hit with a strange sensation in his stomach.

What in the world? Why is my stomach gurgling like this?

Sol hurried into the nearby forest, his stomach feeling as if something inside was about to skewer him from within. He found a narrow stream, barely the width of a bush, and prepared to relieve himself. However, there was a problem.

Sol's sense of desperation grew as he faced the grim prospect of soiling his armor. He couldn't bear the thought of being remembered as the guy who smelled like feces, not to mention the relentless teasing he'd endure from Caulot. Frantically, he searched for any opening, mechanism, or switch to detach his armor.

A switch? The idea suddenly struck him like a lightning bolt. As his impending predicament drew nearer, the notion clung to him, echoing TEL's earlier comment.

"I suppose it's more like commanding it while envisioning it, master."

Commanding? I've got the envisioning part down, but what does the other part mean? There was little time to ponder as the urgency of the situation intensified. Here goes nothing!

[De-equip Vile Armour]

Sol mentally commanded, and a blue halo surrounded him, causing the vile armor to dissipate. Sol stood naked, with only his helmet, ring, and the vile blade sheathed on his right hip remaining.

It worked! he thought with relief, though he knew he couldn't celebrate just yet.

He still had to address his impending problem. After he had finished and cleaned himself, he heard a rustling noise in the distance. Sol hurriedly made his way to a nearby thicket and concealed himself, peeking out to investigate. The sound of heavy footsteps grew louder, and soon dozens of men emerged, clad in leather and chainmail armor, armed and ready. Sol could overhear their chatter.

"Haha, we've struck gold, lads!"

"Aye!" The men cheered joyously. Sol noticed some of them carrying red cloth.

"Still, I wonder what took down these four? Aren't Rojos supposed to be too strong for seven strong men to handle?" The leather-clad man voiced his concerns, trailing behind the plated man.

"You're right, but since we found it, we can easily get a few drinks from the village. Hell, maybe even find a few women!"

He hooted, signaling the other men to follow, which they eagerly did.

Sol rolled his eyes. All this effort for women? It hardly seems worth it.

He also observed that these men had a different accent from Caulot's, and they weren't carrying red cloth like velvet. Instead, they had stolen Sol's kill. While a mysterious rage welled up inside him, he knew better than to confront these men.

So, these must be the knights Caulot warned me about. If I were to reveal myself, I'd likely be arrested.

However, Sol had temporarily forgotten about his perilous predicament. He was stark naked, and the thought of being caught was more embarrassing than frightening. Holding his breath, he managed to avoid detection as the group of men departed. Sol removed his green wrapping and used the nearby freshwater to clean himself again. Then, he prepared to summon his armor.

[Equip Vile Armour]

Fully armored once more, he let out a relieved sigh. He had narrowly avoided an incredibly embarrassing moment. Now that he understood how his equipment worked, Sol decided he would definitely thank TEL for saving him.

As he thought about TEL, he remembered his previous command to the phantom-like creature and decided to summon TEL again. Sol clapped his hands and chanted.

"TEL, we need to talk."

TEL materialized before him in the stream, with the water flowing beautifully downstream. Sol turned to face the metallic creature.

"Master, I have brought valuable information."

Excited to learn more, Sol leaned in, eager to understand his current location. While Caulot's words were intriguing, he was primarily concerned about the country he now found himself in.

"So, TEL, where are we exactly?"

"From the knowledge I've acquired, we are currently residing in the Holy Roble Kingdom, and the village you saw is named Refugio Aurora. We are presently in the southern part of the country."

TEL explained that the north and south were divided by a massive bay. Sol, growing more curious by the moment, interrupted TEL to inquire about the Rojos he had killed and what they were.

"What about the Rojos I had you investigate?"

"Yes, master, I've determined that they are not a result of QIP manipulation."
Sol remembered that term, QIP, but he didn't know what it meant. Asking what such a thing was, TEL responded by stating that it was the embodiment of one's soul, containing their memories and personality, a quantum signature related to that being's ancestors, but unrelated to genetics.

"I have also discovered that the forest we are currently residing in is, in fact, the last forest of South Roble."

This revelation left Sol baffled. He was aware of deforestation in the old world, but he didn't think such feats were possible in a medieval world like this.

"I suspect it's because of the beasts, such as the Rojos or the Nocterrors that the boy mentioned, which have prevented this forest from being cut down."

Sol was caught by surprise. "You know about that? How?"

TEL's eyes flickered, and he spoke in a mechanical way, explaining, "It's because I'm always vigilant about what my master's needs are."

However, this explanation didn't clarify how TEL knew about topics he shouldn't be present for. Just then, a shout interrupted their interaction, and Sol recognized the voice-it was Caulot's. TEL, preparing to leave the scene, was halted by Sol.

"TEL, thank you. Your advice saved me!" Sol expressed his gratitude to the robotic dog, even though TEL's reactions were more mechanical than human. TEL acknowledged the thanks with a tilt of his head, his way of expressing gratitude.

"I appreciate your gratitude, Master. I shall take my leave," TEL said before scurrying off, disappearing into the forest. Sol hurried towards the distressed voice of Caulot, who was shouting for him.

"Sol! Where are you?!"

Caulot's voice echoed in the forest, filled with worry. He had seen Sol enter the forest earlier and was concerned that something might have happened to him. But there was another fear lurking in Caulot's mind.

Did he leave me, like everyone else?

Caulot's heart sank at the thought. He had finally found someone with whom he could share his interests without being met with disgust.

Has he grown tired of me? Did his disgust finally overcome him?

These thoughts weighed heavily on Caulot as he crouched behind a bush. He scolded himself for shouting, realizing that if a Rojo appeared, he might not survive. Peering over the bush, he saw a figure approaching.

"Caulot, are you there?!" It was Sol.

Caulot raised himself from his hiding spot, tears welling up in his eyes. "Yeah, I'm here. Where were you?" His voice cracked with relief.

Sol placed his hands on his hips, attempting to explain without mentioning his embarrassing predicament. "Sorry for leaving like that. I had to use the restroom."

Caulot blinked, puzzled. "What's a restroom?"

Sol struggled to explain while avoiding the details of his recent ordeal.

"Um, it's where you... you know, let yourself out. I think that's the best way to put it."

Caulot remained perplexed; he had never heard of a restroom before. Is it a place where people rest? But why in a forest? Caulot squinted at Sol, now convinced that he was indeed a peculiar individual. He brushed aside these thoughts, cleared his throat, and expressed his gratitude.

"Thank you, Sol. I appreciate you not leaving me."

Sol was taken aback. "Why would you think I would leave you?"

"I have my reasons." Caulot smiled, lowering his head, his mismatched eyes meeting Sol's visor.

Breaking the awkward silence, Sol suggested, "Listen, we should probably leave. I spotted a group of knights exiting the forest."

Caulot agreed, and the two silently made their way back to the shack. Sol noticed the empty pots and couldn't help but wonder: Was Caulot's dish the cause of my stomach ache?

He couldn't verify it, but he didn't want to offend Caulot either, so he kept silent.
Meanwhile, Caulot had something on his mind.

"Sol, I wanted to ask you, where did you come from exactly? I know you're not from here and probably arrived through the ports, but I'm still curious. Were you driven off by these 'deathless' or 'Titans' you mentioned earlier?"

Sol found himself at a loss for words. He couldn't reveal the truth, that he was from another world, as it would complicate matters immensely.
However, he had already shared terms from the world of Infinity Blade with Caulot, and now he needed to fabricate a believable story that carried some semblance of truth. Sol lowered his head, turned away from Caulot, and clenched his fist to add conviction to his words.

"I came from a land that was ruled by beings known as the Deathless. They used Titans to exploit our people. I was a knight serving them. Fortunately, I managed to escape and ended up here, far away from any Deathless. I only ask that you keep this a secret from anyone else. Don't even mention it."

Caulot nodded in agreement. "Very well, Sol, but you said you were a knight, right? Then why did you tell me not to call yourself that?"

Sol quickly fabricated an explanation. "It's because I don't believe I'm worthy of such a title. I've lost most of my skills due to the arduous journey. Now, I'm just a regular man wearing a suit of armor that I'm not special enough for."

Sol felt a twinge of guilt for lying to Caulot, who had been nothing but honest with him. However, he also felt somewhat redeemed, as this part of his story was true. He was indeed a nobody without exceptional skills or talents, just wearing a potentially priceless set of armor.

Caulot turned to face Sol's visor. "In that case, maybe we could spar together?"
"Spar?" Sol raised an eyebrow, curious.

"Yes, that's right. Let me grab my sword." Caulot jogged back to the shack, disappearing from Sol's sight for a moment before returning with a wooden sword in hand.

"It's not much, but I like to train with it," Caulot explained.

Sol nodded, curious about Caulot's intentions.

"Train? For what, exactly?"
Caulot blushed, then mumbled, "To become a knight." Sol found this intriguing, considering that Caulot had expressed his dislike for knights earlier.

"Why become one? I thought you disliked them?"

Caulot blushed even more but composed himself. "It's true that I don't like them, but I still want to become one. I have a cool reason."

Sol raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

"What's this cool reason?"

Caulot looked down shyly, and then blurted out his reasoning.

"It's because I want to wear cool-looking armor too!"

Sol couldn't help but laugh, not because it was a foolish idea, but because he understood the sentiment. He remembered how he used to play Infinity Blade for hours, acquiring gold to buy different armor sets just to look amazing.

Caulot, still blushing, asked tentatively, "Is it a stupid idea?"

Sol chuckled and reassured him, "No, I understand. In fact, I like that reasoning."

Caulot's eyes lit up with excitement. "Maybe one day, if I work hard enough, I'll be able to buy armor that looks as striking as yours."

Sol felt a sense of camaraderie with Caulot at that moment. So that's why he reminds me of Zephyr. He and I enjoyed playing Infinity Blade when we were kids. At least now I know we have something in common with Caulot.

Caulot then brought up the issue of their spar.

"I only have one wooden sword, and I'd rather not be slashed by that blade." He pointed to Sol's Vile blade, which was sheathed on Sol's hip.

Sol understood the concern and walked to the edge of the forest. He tore off a branch and held it like a makeshift sword. Caulot, witnessing this, was still a bit apprehensive.

I'm kinda regretting asking to spar with Sol, he thought to himself.

Sol noticed Caulot's uncertainty and reassured him, "Don't worry, I'll try to be gentle."

This comforted Caulot somewhat, as he could tell that Sol had no malicious intent. With newfound confidence, Caulot charged at Sol, catching him off guard. Sol stumbled slightly.

Dammit, I'm still not used to this armor.

Caulot swung his wooden sword, slapping it against Sol's armored chestplate.

"Alright, I won the first round!" Caulot exclaimed, feeling a rush of victory.

Sol, a bit bewildered, asked, "Wait, how were we supposed to decide who wins again?"

Caulot scratched his head, embarrassed. "Um, sorry, I didn't think of that."

Sol chuckled, realizing the innocence of the situation.

"Wait, did you just spar without making any rules?"

Blushing with embarrassment, Caulot admitted, "Yes, yes I did. I'm sorry, I got carried away."

Sol grinned warmly. "It's fine. It would be nice if I knew the rules, though."

Caulot suggested, "Well, let's just make it that if your wooden sword touches your opponent, you win. Oh, and don't hit too hard. I'll try to control my power too."

He smiled as he explained his makeshift rules, a bright spark of excitement in his eyes. Sol found himself appreciating the simplicity and innocence of the moment.

Sol was filled with a sense of nostalgia as he sparred with Caulot. Back then, me and Zephyr were like this. Claiming we had immense power and strength when we didn't.

It's child-like behavior, but I don't mind playing as a child again.

Despite being a grown adult, he wanted to savor what remained of his innocent youth.

Caulot launched his attack, and Sol, anticipating the move, closed his arms close to his chest, clenching the branch like a boxer guarding with his fists. However, Caulot had another trick up his sleeve. He feinted his attack, striking at Sol's heel instead. Sol barely avoided being touched by stepping back.

Caulot then struck upwards, but Sol wasn't going to let him have his way. He slashed his branch at Caulot's wooden sword, attempting to parry the upcoming blow. Caulot, using his small stature, turned his entire body and exploited an opening to stab Sol.
Caulot had won again, and Sol didn't feel the stab; he hadn't been able to keep track of what had just happened to him.

"What happened? That was fast," Sol said, somewhat irritated.

Caulot giggled. "I stabbed you, silly. Be a bit faster next time!"

Sol was determined not to let Caulot win easily. "A rematch! 0-1, that's our ratio; you won once. The first time doesn't count."

Caulot nodded in agreement. "Yeah, that's fair, but don't think this will make it easier."

Sol chuckled, appreciating Caulot's newfound energy and enthusiasm. They continued to spar with each other, and by the end of their duel, they had completed ten matches. Caulot had won six matches, while Sol had won only four. Caulot was panting and sweating profusely, but strangely, Sol didn't feel tired from their game.

Caulot, still catching his breath, said, "Man, you are amazing. Even after all that, you are still not tired."

Sol, lying down on the grassy field alongside Caulot, responded, "Your swordsmanship was incredible! I could barely react. Why did you even need me to save you from those Rojos?"

Caulot smiled warmly. "I'm not sure, but whenever I do something with you, I feel safe, like I don't need to worry about anything."

Suddenly, his expression turned into a frown as he explained his source of discomfort.

"But whenever it's with someone else, I just can't. Maybe it's because I overthink it too much, like I feel embarrassed that I might fail."

Sol understood what Caulot was going through.

"Is it because you lack confidence in yourself? Let this duel of ours help you believe in your skills. Although If I may ask, how long have you been training?"

Caulot, still exhausted, muttered, "Two years by myself. It's usually a hobby I do whenever I'm free. I'd practice on a tree or something."

Sol was surprised by Caulot's talent. He has talent, unlike me, he thought. But regardless, it makes me happy that he trusts me. It reminds me of the old days with Zephyr.

For some reason, Sol felt a wave of sadness thinking about those days, but he quickly brushed those thoughts aside. I'm not going to waste this opportunity. I found someone who I actually consider a friend. He may not be Zephyr, but I'll help him achieve his dream. I'm going to move forward.

Sol felt better after clearing his thoughts. They both lay on the grassy floor, gazing up at the sunny sky. Fluffy clouds drifted lazily across the blue expanse, casting intermittent shadows. Leaves rustled in the gentle breeze, creating a soothing melody of nature's own. The air was filled with the refreshing scent of the outdoors, and Sol couldn't help but savor the simple beauty of the moment.

Chapter Text

Several days had passed since Sol's arrival in this new world. Contrary to his initial expectations of venturing out and exploring its mysteries, he found himself staying close to Caulot. Together, they practiced swordsmanship, foraged for fruits and vegetables, and attended to various chores.

Sol couldn't help but notice a remarkable improvement in his swordplay. It was as if he had wielded a blade countless times before, despite never having touched a weapon in his old world. His movements flowed more smoothly, his strikes were precise, and his defensive maneuvers seemed almost instinctual.

As he sparred with Caulot in the clearing, Sol felt a newfound confidence surging through him. His footwork was agile, and he effortlessly parried Caulot's attacks, countering with skillful strikes of his own. The sword felt like an extension of his arm, responding to his every thought and command.

However, progress in other areas proved elusive; he occasionally picked up poisonous plants, filling entire baskets with them, only for Caulot to explain their dangers before disposing of them. Navigating the forest was still a challenge, but he was gradually growing more adept.

During these days, Sol found himself engaging in conversations with TEL, eager to learn more about the Holy Roble kingdom.

"Tell me, TEL, what else have you discovered about this country?"

Sol leaned against a tree, its brown, textured bark providing a stark contrast to his gleaming black armor. The surrounding vegetation was bathed in soft sunlight, creating a picturesque scene.

"Master, I've gathered information about the country's ruler, Queen Calca," TEL responded, his blue gemstone eyes radiating life.

Upon hearing the mention of a female ruler, Sol felt a sense of unease. A woman leading a country? She might be one of those feminists. I'm surprised this nation even thrives.

"It appears that Queen Calca's authority is more prominent in the northern regions," TEL continued. "In the southern parts of Roble, local nobles tend to maintain greater control."

Well, that clarifies why the south remains intact; the north must be in disarray, Sol thought to himself.

Politics were not his forte, but he held a strong aversion to feminists and their claims of being ideal rulers. The memory of past encounters with such individuals rankled within him, making him apprehensive about a woman holding power.

"Wait, is this queen married? Wouldn't a king not be ruling instead?" Sol asked, his curiosity piqued.

"No, master, she is not married," TEL responded. "Rather, I've heard rumors that she is in a polyamorous relationship with two women, both of whom are sisters, but I cannot validate this claim."

Sol had thought correctly, and a smirk tugged at his lips as he contemplated this information.

So she is one of those feminists, no wonder she went lesbian, he mused, She must be one ugly and fat woman who probably wanted a man, but because of how despicable she was, had to resort to this desperate method.

His amusement led to a chuckle as he considered his accurate guess. There was another reason for Sol asking TEL about the politics - he didn't want to present himself as a foreigner. He was trying to learn whatever he could to avoid unnecessary attention.

Ironically, though, his armor was already an attention magnet. Whenever he attempted to remove it and try regular clothing, he felt naked and exposed; it just didn't feel right to him. This was even truer when he tried to take off his helmet. Although he had shown his features to Caulot, he stopped taking it off near him. It just felt wrong, like he shouldn't be doing that.

Brushing these mysterious feelings aside, he looked at TEL, who stared intently at Sol, perhaps intrigued by his reaction to the political information.
There was one thing that Sol wanted to know about TEL.

"TEL, if I may ask, what are you exactly? I still haven't remembered anything from back then. I'm glad you helped me, but I just need to know what you are and why you serve me."

TEL tilted his head, his blue gemstone eyes gleaming with curiosity.

"My name, TEL, stands for transsubstantive entity lower-class."

Sol stuttered, trying to grasp the meaning. "Transsubstantive? What does that mean?"

TEL reached out to a nearby thicket, and his robotic leg magically turned from metal into a green substance.

"I believe it means the ability to change one's composition upon touch."

Sol was amazed by the demonstration but felt ignorant for not asking earlier. He had previously witnessed TEL's incredible ability but hadn't paid much attention, still being taken aback by this new world.

"As for why I serve you, it was because I was made to die for you," TEL said, bowing slightly. However, Sol had other ideas.

"No, you only serve Ausar, and I am not him. If you want, you can leave me here," Sol offered, leaving the choice to TEL.

TEL looked at the black-armored knight, his gemstone eyes gleaming with curiosity. He could sense Sol's sincerity.

"It was true that I was always secretly displeased with Ausar. He was always so ruthless, and I even feared him. With you, however, I feel a difference," TEL admitted.

"A difference?" Sol questioned.

"Yes, master. I want to see this redemption of yours. Maybe you could do better than Ausar. I really want to see your journey, and I'm already pleased by your current progress," TEL responded.

"Pleased? I haven't done anything yet," Sol remarked, puzzled.

"You have," TEL nodded his three-lobed head. "You showed actual compassion to that boy, Caulot. Ausar would've either shown fake sympathy or demonstrated extreme cruelty."

"Cruelty?" Sol inquired further.

TEL looked down, his tone somber. "It's better if you don't know, master."

"I see," Sol replied, deciding not to press the matter further. Clearing the forming silence, Sol said, "I'm glad, though. I actually really like talking to you, TEL."

TEL looked at him. "I appreciate the kind words, master."

"Also, no need to call me master. I'm not Ausar, alright?" Sol suggested.
TEL was intrigued. "Then what shall I call you then, master?"

Sol grinned behind his helmet. "You can call me Sol, then. If that's not suitable, then I suppose 'Master Sol' works."
"Very well, Master Sol," TEL echoed gleefully.

"Anyhow, I should take my leave. Caulot's probably wondering what's taking me so long," Sol said.

TEL nodded and left, leaving Sol alone. Sol made his way to the nearby clearing where Caulot was waiting.

"Well, you sure took a long time," Caulot commented, sounding somewhat annoyed.

Sol chuckled, shrugging his arms. "Sorry, I had to use the restroom again."

Caulot eyed Sol, then shifted his focus. "Right, well anyway, want to do our training? I think I've been making great progress. I think my muscles are getting bigger too!" He stretched before flexing his muscles.

"Doubt it. We've only been training for a few days, but yeah, let's do our workout," Sol agreed. The two of them left the clearing, jogging to keep a similar pace with each other.

Sol's failed duel with Caulot had been an eye-opener. It showed that while he might be physically strong and incredibly fast, he lacked any combat skills. If Caulot could take him down, there were probably much more dangerous opponents out there.

It might be true that I was physically fit in the old world, but I doubt that standard would hold here, Sol thought to himself.

He quickened his pace, sprinting ahead. Caulot managed to catch up but barely. After a while, they rested on a slope, gazing down at the nearby village. It was still early morning, and the sunlight bathed the ground in a warm glow. The village nestled at the foot of the gentle slope presented a picturesque scene of rustic charm. Quaint cottages with thatched roofs glistened with dewdrops in the morning light. Constructed from timber and stone, the buildings exuded an air of enduring simplicity.

Winding cobblestone pathways meandered through the village, connecting the cottages like a web of interconnected lives. Flowering vines adorned the fences, adding bursts of color to the scene, while carefully tended gardens boasted an array of blossoms in various stages of bloom.
At the heart of the village, a modest square opened up, adorned with a stone fountain where water bubbled and danced, creating a soothing melody. A few market stalls, still shrouded in cloth and untouched by the bustle of the day, promised fresh produce and handmade goods for the villagers later in the morning.

In the distance, the village chapel, a small, weathered building with a sloping roof, stood as a symbol of faith and community. Its spire reached skyward, casting a shadow upon the ground where villagers gathered each week to seek solace and connection.
Surrounding the village, verdant fields stretched as far as the eye could see, a patchwork quilt of crops and wildflowers. The fields whispered stories of hard work and the promise of harvests yet to come.

Overall, the village was a place untouched by the rush of the modern world, where the rhythm of life flowed in harmony with nature's cadence. It was a tranquil haven, basking in the soft embrace of early morning, awaiting the arrival of its people to breathe life into its serene streets once more.
Caulot had caught his breath and was dazzled that Sol still wasn't tired after all.

Amazing, even after all that running, he's still not out of breath, Caulot thought.

He found it incredible that despite wearing that armor, Sol wasn't exhausted at all. Staring at the silent village once more, something caught his eye - an old friend, or rather, potentially something more.

"Wow, Nadine sure has grown," he muttered to himself.

"What?" Sol faced Caulot, now sitting upright.

Caulot smiled while looking at the faraway person of affection.

"That's Nadine right there. I really like her. She's an old friend."

Sol looked at Nadine, a young girl with brownish-blonde hair, who was busy in the backyard of her medieval house, a modest distance away from him.
From his vantage point, Sol observed Nadine's diligent work as she tended to her laundry in the cozy backyard. The early morning sunlight painted a gentle halo around her, casting a warm radiance on the tranquil scene. Her diligent efforts and the soft hum of her melody filled the air, creating a serene backdrop to the waking village.

The medieval house, with its timbered walls and thatched roof, was a charming addition to the rustic landscape. Vines of ivy clung to its walls, and a well-tended garden bordered the backyard. A small wooden fence marked the boundaries, adding to the picturesque scene.

Sol clenched his gauntlet. "I see, and do you have feelings for this woman?"

Caulot turned red while facing Sol. "Um, er, uh..." Caulot struggled to speak, but Sol could easily tell.

He's in love, eh? No, he has a crush, but I doubt this woman cares about Caulot.

A rage that Sol all knew too well began to surge inside of him. Memories of his haunting past, the trauma, and the misery of back then.

It all started like this, didn't it? Both Zephyr and I experienced this feeling and paid dearly for it. I'm going to protect Caulot from that; he doesn't deserve to feel the same misery we did.

He glared at the young girl, anger swelling up within him.

"Don't bother, Caulot."

"W-what?" Caulot stammered.

"She isn't worth the effort, Caulot. You will go through nothing but a path of misery." Sol looked at Caulot, anger could be heard in his voice.

"I don't believe..." Caulot began, but Sol cut him off.

"SHE ISN'T! She will do nothing but take everything away from you. You will lose everything you ever cared about. Women are nothing but useless pigs who manipulate men. We are better off without them."

Fury was evident in Sol's voice. Sol got up from his rest, walking upwards from the slope.

"Let's go; we don't want to be seen by the villagers."

Caulot followed him, their walk back to the shack was silent. He found it hard to believe that was Sol. He broke the awkward silence, replying to Sol's vengeful comment.

"I still don't believe what you said." Caulot had imagined his voice to be adamant, but only a whimper came out.

"What? What did you just say?"
Caulot tightened his body, closing his eyes.

"I think what you said is wrong!"

Sol grabbed his arm, squeezing it.

"You know nothing; you've only seen one side of them. For all we know, she's probably having an affair with several men."

"That's not true!"

"Oh yeah? Let me clarify this with you, Caulot. That creature will probably target an older man-someone with actual wealth and status. Why do you think she'd bother with you? What do you have to offer her?"

"I-I..." Caulot stammered, completely overwhelmed by Sol's aggression.

"That's precisely it. Women only see men as objects of affluence. They don't care about us; we're nothing more than pawns to them! They'll swiftly abandon you if you're not useful. Women always have it easier; someone is always there to take care of them. But us men, no one looks out for us."

He felt a sense of satisfaction after his tirade. He recognized that Caulot had been wounded by his words. Nevertheless, it was necessary; he had to shield Caulot from those 'scoundrels.' He didn't want to witness the same fate befall Caulot.

"Do you grasp it now, Caulot?" Sol muttered, trying to calm himself.

"What about mother? Was she like that with father?"

"Probab-"

Caulot teared up and rushed off to the shack, leaving Sol alone.

"Damn it," he muttered, his head hanging low.

He had realized he had made a mistake, letting his trauma spill onto Caulot.
I should probably apologize. I truly regret saying that, he thought to himself.

He made his way to the shack; its exterior appeared more inviting than its interior. Just outside the shack's doorway, Sol overheard Caulot talking to someone. He mentally prepared himself to make amends.

I shouldn't have insulted his deceased mother like that. What was I thinking? I'll set things right.

"He's right; I truly have nothing. I can't earn a single coin. Why was I even born, Mother?" Caulot said, clutching his bag tightly. Sol discreetly observed from the doorframe.

"I don't know what to do, Mother. Soon, we'll both starve. Once they clear the forest, I'll truly have nothing. No one will allow me to tend to their fields or work with their livestock. I just wish you had left more than this bag. If only I had some wealth."

Caulot cried, his voice cracking, tears streaming down his cheeks, and pain piercing his heart. Sol felt that pain too, a pain he knew all too well.

I've experienced this feeling before. That crisis where you question your purpose. That dread when you feel utterly useless.

He hung his head in regret, understanding what Caulot was going through. He retreated from the doorway, leaving the vicinity of the shack and re-entered the forest once more.

"TEL, I require your services once more."

TEL appeared before Sol. "Yes, Master Sol? What do you need?"

"I need money-cash, coins, anything. Where can I find it?" Sol inquired of the robotic creature.

"Do you wish to access your treasury?"

Startled by this, he asked, "Treasury? I have a treasury?"

"Yes, Master Sol, follow me," TEL signaled Sol to follow him, retracing the same path they had taken on Sol's first day.

The scenery was familiar, with the same clearing facing the mountainside that Sol had come from.

"Master Sol, please place your hand on that rock surface."

Initially hesitant but trusting TEL's guidance, Sol laid his palm on the surface. The two metallic doors opened before him, just as they had on his first encounter with this world. He entered the chamber, which he had come to know as the Phoenix chamber. Inside, the same metallic superstructure awaited him.

"Inside here, Master," TEL echoed, gesturing toward the doorway adjacent to the armory.

Sol followed TEL's lead, entering the door, and faced the same hand symbol panel. Similar to his experience in the armory, he placed his palm on it, and the doors slid open to reveal something incredible.

Sol stood on the threshold of the treasury room, bathed in the soft, golden glow emanating from countless stacks of shimmering gold coins. The room was an expansive chamber adorned with ornate pillars and arches. Alongside the golden treasure, priceless artifacts adorned with intricate symbols were neatly arranged on gleaming marble pedestals. Each artifact told a story, and the symbols engraved upon them seemed to hold ancient secrets.
The air was thick with the scent of history and wealth, a heady mixture of aged parchment, polished metal, and the faint mustiness of time. The room appeared almost limitless, its contents stretching far and wide.

The gold coins were piled high in gleaming stacks, and the artifacts whispered a symbol Sol had never seen before. It was a treasure trove beyond imagination. As Sol entered the treasury, his boots clattered against the gold coins, and he bent down to pick up a coin bearing that strange symbol. He focused on it, feeling a sense of déjà vu wash over him.

Why do I have this feeling of déjà vu? Where have I seen this symbol before?

Then, it struck him. A sudden rush of voices overwhelmed him, all incoherent, yet he somehow grasped their meaning. It was a painful experience, his heart aching with agony, though he couldn't understand why. He scrambled to his feet, sprinting back to TEL, who awaited him in the doorway.

"C-Close it, TEL. I never want to see it again."

"Huh? Why, Master Sol?" TEL questioned, tilting his head in concern.

"That room... it's cursed. Those voices... What were they, TEL?"

"I'm not sure what you're referring to, Master."

Still traumatized by the ordeal, Sol stammered, "I kept hearing voices, cursing me, condemning me, and screaming."

"I'm not certain about those 'voices.' I will investigate that later. But do you wish to learn more about this treasury?" TEL replied, concern evident in his mechanical voice.

"Please do. Maybe I can find out where those voices are coming from."

"Very well, Master Sol. The treasury you now possess and its contents are a result of Ausar's collaboration with Galath. In one cycle, both of them bombarded the world with asteroids, forcing the subsequent civilization to mine these celestial bodies." TEL bowed his head, almost in shame. "Ausar enslaved that civilization, compelling them to mine relentlessly for thousands of years."

Sol was shocked by this revelation. While TEL had previously informed him about Ausar and Galath's past actions, he had never truly felt the weight of their malevolence. Now, he did. Those voices had rudely awakened him to the magnitude of their crimes. The anger they displayed was understandable; he despised women, and he had good reason to, but he didn't believe they deserved such suffering. He left the metallic doors of the treasury, lowering his head in misery.

I'm sorry, Caulot. I tried, but I can't use that gold. I just can't.

TEL followed Sol as he exited the hall containing more rooms, returning to the outside world. The same scenic view greeted him, a strange contrast to the horrors he had witnessed in the treasury. It brought him a sense of calm, and now he pondered how he would earn money. Originally, he had hoped to live off the treasury, but that seemed impossible. He could only come to one conclusion.

It appears I'll have to enter the village and find a job, he thought nervously.

He had only seen the village from a distance, usually when it was devoid of people. He had no idea what to do, but he knew he had to work. That was how he could truly help Caulot.

Chapter Text

Nestled within the Roble region, the charming village of Refugio Aurora finds its abode in a picturesque valley, ensconced by lush forests that gracefully envelop one side of the settlement. Although currently designated as a village, its burgeoning development promises an eventual elevation to the status of a town. What distinguishes Refugio from the commonplace is its pivotal role as the last bastion of verdant woodlands in South Roble. This sylvan haven stands as the principal source of timber for the western ports and the wellspring of construction materials for the burgeoning cities in the east. The village has garnered substantial attention and investment, particularly from influential noble houses.

To safeguard their interests, the village's patrons have wisely enlisted mercenaries from the northern territories, renowned for their expertise in combatting formidable beasts. Additionally, a cadre of knights upholds order within the village, while skilled artisans have been commissioned to enhance the local infrastructure, ensuring utmost efficiency for the laborers in the lumber industry. These judicious measures have engendered a well-developed village that beckons the adventurous spirits and toiling souls in search of opportunities.

Adding to the village's allure, it has become a focal point for religious devotion, with the presence of priests from the venerable Church of the Great Four and valiant paladins hailing from the Holy Order. Their collective concern is vested in warding off any malevolent occurrences within the encompassing forest and shielding the villagers from the perilous onslaught of untamed creatures. In summation, Refugio Aurora stands as a thriving crucible of possibilities, poised for a luminous future.

As Sol entered the bustling village, he was immediately struck by the lively atmosphere that now enveloped it. The once tranquil streets had transformed into a hive of activity, with villagers going about their daily routines. Sol noticed how attractive everyone was in the village.

Why does everyone here look attractive? Is it because I've been spending time with Caulot? He felt guilty after thinking that, he still had to make amends to Caulot.

Market stalls had opened up, revealing a vibrant display of fresh produce, colorful fabrics, and various handmade goods. The air was filled with the tantalizing aroma of street food being prepared, and the sounds of laughter and conversation echoed through the narrow cobblestone pathways.
Yet, amid this newfound energy, Sol couldn't ignore the cautious glances cast his way by the villagers. Their eyes held a mixture of curiosity and wariness, and it was clear they regarded him with a degree of apprehension.

Mothers hurriedly pulled their children close, vendors paused mid-sentence when he approached their stalls, and groups of villagers fell into hushed whispers as he passed. It was as if they expected him to be a representative of the law, a knight enforcing order in their bustling community.
Sol couldn't help but feel the weight of their scrutiny as he moved through the village, a silent observer in his distinctive black armor. Though he had no intention of imposing any laws or authority, he understood the villagers' caution, for his appearance was far from ordinary in this transformed and lively setting.

Well, I can't blame them for their worry. They probably think I'm a law enforcer, like those police officers back then, Sol pondered, empathizing with the villagers' caution.

Who should I approach for a job? What skills can I offer?

He mulled over his options, his thoughts interrupted when something caught his eye - a family of five. Two parents and three young children. The parents looked relatively young, perhaps close to Sol's age. Their children appeared to be in the early toddler stage.
Seeing this family stirred emotions in Sol.

I wonder... What are Mama and Papa doing right now?

A surge of regret and longing washed over him. He hadn't reconciled with his parents, hadn't apologized for his outburst. But dwelling on it now felt futile.

I can't afford to get sad at the moment. I need to find work, he reminded himself.

He approached the family, noticing their expressions shift from joy to anxiety. The father, with hands pressed together in gratitude, stepped forward to address the armored knight.

"M-may we help you, sir Knight?"

Sol found it difficult to articulate his request but managed to convey, "Uh, I'm looking for work. Where can I find it?"

He hoped his message came across despite his struggle with words. They exchanged uncertain glances, and the father blinked twice, seeking clarification.

Sol made it clear, "Work, I'm looking for work. Anything will do," though he couldn't help but snort at his own difficulty with words.

The father blinked again, then suggested, "Well, I'm sure the farmers could use extra hands to deal with their Lanca."

He pointed in the direction of the farmhouse, explaining how to reach it.

"Alright, that will do," Sol responded, ready to depart. However, the father stopped him.

"W-wait, sir Knight!"

Sol turned, curious. "Hm?"

The father hesitated before continuing, "Why work on a farmhouse? With your equipment and skills, I'm sure you could earn much more if you worked in a security detail for the lumber camps."

"Lumber camps?" Sol inquired, not quite sure what that entailed.

The father explained that these camps were established by nobles to clear land for farming and mining operations, but they were often at risk of attacks by Rojos, hence the high demand for protectors.

"I see," Sol replied thoughtfully, "Well, I think I'll consider it."

He left the family to their own devices, and they nodded in respect before heading to their respective destination. As he made his way to the farmhouse, Sol pondered,

Yeah, I don't think they would accept me just yet.

He acknowledged his impressive growth in swordsmanship but felt he wasn't quite ready to take on a knight's role.
After a nearly ten-minute walk through the village, during which Sol had to navigate through the numerous curious onlookers, he finally arrived at the farmhouse. It lay on the opposite side of the village. The farmhouse had an ageless charm about it, nestled amidst the plains. Sturdy stone walls, adorned with ivy, stood as a testament to its enduring history. The thatched roof, weathered by countless seasons, added a rustic touch to the landscape.

Wooden shutters adorned each window, giving the house a warm and inviting feel. A stout wooden fence enclosed the farmhouse, offering both protection and a touch of quaint elegance. The golden fields of wheat surrounded the farm, and nearby, a small herb garden thrived, bursting with the fragrant scents of rosemary, basil, and thyme.

The golden fields of wheat surrounded the farm, and nearby, a small herb garden thrived, bursting with the fragrant scents of rosemary, basil, and thyme
Sol stood by the wooden fence, waiting for some time. He spotted two men in the distance, one of them had noticed him and was jogging his way towards the mystic knight.

"May we help you, sir Knight?"

"Yes, I'm looking for work," Sol replied.
The man chuckled, "We aren't interested in protection. No need since we aren't close to the forest."

Sol snorted, "I'm looking for any work, anything will do." He was determined to find employment, regardless of the nature of the job.

The farmer blinked, then scratched his beard in contemplation.

"Well, I suppose you could handle the farm animals," he finally suggested.

With that, he opened the gate, allowing Sol to enter, and motioned for him to follow. They eventually reached a barnhouse situated next to a meadow scattered with imposing horned creatures.

"This is the barn, where we keep our harvested crops for sale or for animal feed," he explained before adding with some distaste, "And over there are our Lancas."

He pointed towards the meadow where several dozen of these large, horned creatures grazed the field.

"Lanca?" Sol repeated, genuinely intrigued.

He had heard of Lancas from Caulot, but this was his first opportunity to see one up close. From a distance, they appeared significantly larger and more muscular than cows, with massive horns and a metallic-like coating that made them look rather imposing.

The farmer chuckled at Sol's amazement. "Never seen a Lanca before?"

"No," Sol admitted. "I've only ever heard of them."

"Well, then it's your lucky day," the farmer remarked with a hint of amusement as they entered the meadow, bringing Sol face to face with the formidable Lanca herd.

Goddamn, why are they so big and why do their hides look like that?

Sol couldn't help but exclaim inwardly, although he maintained his composure in his full suit of armor. He could tell by the farmer's amused reaction that his astonishment was quite evident.

"Yeah, unlike in the other kingdoms, our cattle are quite special," the farmer explained with a hint of pride, scratching his beard as he casually brushed the smooth hide of one of the Lancas. "This one is Big Betsy; she's a heavy one."

Sol was still somewhat taken aback. "Wow, so what am I supposed to do with them?"

The farmer tilted his head in thought, his eyes scanning Sol's armor.

"I suppose you could handle the Lancas. If one gets enraged, you should be fine," he suggested with a chuckle.

"Antonio! Come here for a minute," he called out to a group of ranchers, and one of them separated from the group to approach the farmer.

"Yes, Mr. Cedric?" Antonio responded softly while mounted on his horse. He glanced at Sol with a slightly worried expression.

"Show this gentleman the ropes. He's a newcomer," Mr. Cedric instructed, grinning at Antonio.

Antonio blinked several times in surprise before nodding in agreement.

"Very well, Mr. Cedric," Antonio acknowledged.

The farmer seemed to suddenly remember something and turned to Sol, who stood beside him.

"Ah, I had almost forgotten proper introductions. My name is Cedric. I manage this land for our lord, and the man on the mount is Antonio; he leads the ranchers."

"My name is Sol, pleasure to meet you, Cedric," Sol replied, offering his hand for a handshake. Cedric accepted the handshake but frowned slightly.

"It's Mr. Cedric, remember that, son."

"Erm, yes, sir," Sol replied, slightly taken aback.

He felt an inexplicable need to show respect to Mr. Cedric. Cedric went on to explain further details to Antonio before making his way back, leaving both Sol and Antonio alone.

"So, Sol, why work here? I'm sure you could find higher-paying work, considering you're a knight and all," Antonio inquired curiously.

Sol looked up at Antonio, who was still mounted on his horse, feeling uncertain about how to respond to his question.

"I'm not sure I have the skills necessary to work for them," Sol admitted, and Antonio squinted at him, trying to read the fully armored man's expression.

Seems like a lack of confidence, Antonio thought.

He then asked, "Very well, I assume you at least know how to ride a horse, yes?"

Sol hesitated before answering, "Um, no, I've never ridden on a horse before."

Antonio decided to dismount his horse, saying, "Well, there's a first time for everything." He handed the horse's reins to Sol and prepared to mount again.

However, the horse had different plans. Reacting to Sol's movements, it suddenly bolted away, leaving Sol holding the reins, wide-eyed and surprised.

"Oh, shit!" Sol screamed as he lost control and tumbled off the horse, hitting the hard ground several times before finally coming to a stop. Antonio watched in disbelief, gasping initially but then realizing that Sol was okay.

He wasn't lying about not having any skills, Antonio thought, unable to suppress a snicker.

He rushed over to Sol, who had quickly gotten back on his feet.
Sol, determined not to give up, said, "I'd like to try again."

Antonio stammered, "W-what?"

"Please, one more time! I won't fail," Sol pleaded with the head rancher.

He really doesn't give up, Antonio thought, impressed by Sol's persistence.

He decided to give Sol another chance, but it took several attempts before Sol could finally grasp horse riding. Along the way, there were more mishaps, including the horse kicking Sol, dragging him alongside the reins, and even attempting to bite his gauntlet. However, Sol didn't give up, and eventually, he succeeded in riding a spare mount, joining the other ranchers in the field.

"That was quite the performance over there, knight boy," one of the ranchers chuckled, and the others joined in, sharing a laugh at Sol's earlier mishaps.

However, Antonio hushed them quickly.
"Now, ladies, Sol here succeeded, despite a rather embarrassing start," Antonio announced. Sol blushed at the attention and couldn't help but feel a strange sense of anger resurfacing.

"Regardless, the Lanca aren't going to herd themselves! Get to it!" Antonio shouted, taking charge and commanding the ranchers to get to work.

Sol followed suit, riding his mount carefully. But something felt peculiar to him.

Why do I have this feeling that I've ridden a horse before?

Sol wondered, realizing that he was now riding the horse almost perfectly in sync with the other ranchers. His riding was flawless, and he seemed to be following their lead effortlessly.

Is it normal to get this good at horse riding this quickly?

Sol pondered as he effortlessly followed the ranchers, helping them keep the Lanca within their designated meadow. The horses shifted from one plain to graze to another, and this cycle repeated several times before they took a break.

"I'm actually quite impressed, Sol. Even after that abysmal start, you pressed on, succeeded, and even exceeded my expectations. You sure you've never ridden before?" Antonio asked, genuinely curious.

"I'm not sure, it felt like I've ridden a horse many times before," Sol replied, looking puzzled by his own newfound skill.

"Hah? How does that work?" Antonio seemed baffled by Sol's explanation.

Before Sol could elaborate, one of the ranchers shouted, interrupting their conversation.

"God fucking damnit! Big Betsy is stuck again!" one of the ranchers exclaimed, followed by groans of annoyance from the others.

Antonio sighed and ordered the ranchers to prepare ropes to free Betsy from her muddy entrapment. Sol joined in, helping to tie the ropes to Betsy's horns and connecting them to other Lanca, attempting to coax them into pulling her out. However, despite their efforts, a good quarter of an hour passed, and they made no progress.

"This is why we don't allow Betsy near the mud! Now we're going to be stuck here till nightfall," another rancher complained, leading to more groans and sighs from the group.

Sol, looking puzzled, turned to Antonio and asked, "What does he mean by staying till nightfall?"

Antonio faced Sol and explained, "Since Betsy is the pride of the herd due to her size, we can't leave her here stuck. Instead, we'll have to keep pulling until she's free, even if it means staying with her until tomorrow." He spat on the ground in frustration.

Huh, that explains the general annoyance. However, I can't stay here until tomorrow; I need my paycheck, Sol thought to himself.

He approached the stuck beast, Betsy, and noticed the sorrow in her eyes due to her predicament.

Well, here goes nothing!

Sol grabbed Betsy's horn and pulled. The other ranchers noticed his attempt and chuckled at what they saw as a desperate idea. Sol could feel that mysterious surge of rage again, but he ignored it. To the ranchers' astonishment, he managed to pull Betsy, setting her free from her muddy trap.

Unbelievable, I had an idea that I was strong, but not this strong. How did I even get this strong?
Sol pondered as he looked at his armored hands. I wonder what else I could do?

He couldn't help but wonder about the extent of his newfound abilities as a deathless, far stronger than the average person.

Antonio, still in disbelief of Sol's feat, raced over to him and stammered,

"H-How did you do that?"

Sol looked at him and replied, "I'm not sure, I just did."

Suddenly, Sol felt a force nudge him from behind. He quickly turned around to see Big Betsy, her eyes filled with joy as she brushed her massive head against Sol's armor.

Antonio laughed and remarked, "Guess Betsy likes you, eh?"

The other ranchers were equally astonished by what they had witnessed.
Eventually, the group of ranchers, led by Antonio, made their way back as the afternoon was coming to a close. The ranchers herded the Lanca into their respective barns, and Mr. Cedric greeted them. Antonio dismounted from his horse, explaining what had occurred and the treatment of the Lanca.

Mr. Cedric furrowed his brow, and Sol couldn't tell if he was angry or surprised. Cedric eventually approached Sol, grabbed his palm, and placed a few coins into it. Sol, startled by this unexpected reward, asked,

"Ur eh, um sir?"

"It's your due, and I hope the extra convinces you to work further for us."

Sol looked at the coins, 8 copper 1 silver. All containing a symbol that he's never seen. It wasn't the symbol he saw at the treasury.

"Mr Cedric, what's this symbol on this coin?" Sol asked politely.

Cedric looked at the coin before facing Sol, "that's the symbol of the god of business. The other one is from the merchant guild. You really must not be around here, eh?"

"I see," Sol took the coin, and placed it inside of his shield.

I've only ever heard of the four great gods from Caulot; are there more gods here?

"Now Sol, how about it? Wanna work for us further? If you use more of your strength, we'd be willing to pay more," Cedric asked Sol, happy that he had earned some money.

"I'll work for you," Sol said to Mr. Cedric, who grinned brightly at his response.
"Wonderful, see you tomorrow then."

With that, they departed. Mr. Cedric, Antonio, and the other ranchers made their way back. Sol left the farm, entering the village. He wandered back to the edge of the forest, and on the other side of the village, he spotted Caulot practicing with his wooden sword. Caulot noticed Sol approaching from the village.
"Sol, where were you? I thought something happened to you," Caulot questioned, concerned.

Sol replied,
He felt a pang of guilt as he looked at Caulot, and he couldn't help but apologize, "I shouldn't have said those things to you, Caulot. I'm sorry."

He bowed slightly before retrieving his coins and showing them to Caulot.

"We won't starve, I promise you that."

Caulot gasped, clearly surprised, and stammered, "H-how did-"

"I overheard your monologue, so I got a job. It's not a lot, but it's something. Wonder what we can buy with it."
Caulot was overcome with emotion. "Thanks, Sol. I'm not sure what I would do without you."

Sol tried to keep the mood light, suggesting, "Maybe we can save enough to buy you a helmet. That way, you can work too, and you won't ever have to worry about how others look at you."

Caulot nodded tearfully, wiping the tears from his brow.

"I'll work too," he affirmed, showing determination and gratitude.

As Sol and Caulot entered their shack, Sol suggested, "I know you will, now come on. Let's cook dinner."

A smile passed between them, and Caulot grinned back. Inside, Caulot set to work preparing his stew, and Sol watched, learning from the young boy while keeping an eye out for anything that might remind him of his distressing forest experience.

Their routine continued, much like their earlier days. They would wake up, train, tend to necessary chores, forage for food, and finally rest outside the shack.
Sol removed his helmet as they prepared to eat the stew, but he couldn't help but notice that familiar feeling of discomfort that had been bothering him recently.

Why do I feel this way when I take off my helmet? Sol pondered.

This sensation had only begun after he met Caulot, and he couldn't pinpoint the cause. He slurped on the stew, finding it much more enjoyable this time, though it still wasn't perfect. Quickly, he re equipped his helmet to ease that unsettling discomfort, ensuring it sat perfectly on his head.

"So what do we do tomorrow then? Since you are working and all."

Caulot asked, sitting right across the fireplace which lit the nightly ambience.

"I still want to train with you, so what I'm thinking of doing is training with you early in the morning then head back into the village to work. I won't be able to do any chores, but in return I might be able to buy something."

"Oh," Caulot replied, he was a bit saddened that he wouldn't be able to spend much time with Sol, but he quickly cleared those emotions away.

"That works just fine Sol, also I promise not to look at Nadine again."

"Good, who knows what that women is scheming. Her existence in itself nearly broke us apart, I'll make sure to never fall for her traps ever again," Sol's voice echoed with bitterness and anger, a sentiment that puzzled Caulot.

But you were the one who said all those things, Sol. Nadine didn't really do anything, Caulot pondered silently, refraining from pushing Sol on the matter to avoid further aggravation.

Yet, he couldn't shake off his curiosity about the root of Sol's deep-seated resentment towards women.
With Sol now sound asleep, Caulot smiled softly, acknowledging that beneath Sol's complexities and occasional outbursts, there lay good intentions and genuine efforts to mend their bond. He gazed up at the starry night sky, each twinkling light a source of comfort in their shared solitude. Humming a soft, soothing tune, Caulot allowed the night's tranquility to embrace them both, eventually drifting into slumber alongside his companion.

Chapter Text

The port city of Puretomarino of South roble lies on the western coast of the Roble Holy kingdom. A direct sea route from Rimrun is available, which aids in its passage of travelers who visit Rimrun for the winter holidays or Holy days. At the heart of Puretomarino lies its harbor, a bustling nexus of trade and commerce. Ships of all sizes, their sails billowing with the hopes of profit, find safe refuge within the sheltered harbor's embrace. A maze of docks, piers, and quays stretches out, a vibrant web of activity where goods from distant lands exchange hands. Here, sailors' chants harmonize with the calls of seagulls, and the briny scent of the sea mingles with the rich aroma of spices and exotic wares.

Beyond the harbor, the city's rugged coastal beauty unfolds. Rocky shores, adorned with tenacious vegetation, guard the city against the sea's relentless advances. Weathered cliffs plunge into the waves, their majestic grandeur serving as a reminder of nature's unwavering presence. While beaches are scarce, the rocky coast possesses its own enchanting allure, captivating the hearts of artists and nature lovers alike.

While beaches are scarce, the rocky coast possesses its own enchanting allure, captivating the hearts of artists and nature lovers alike
The city itself is a testament to both maritime heritage and medieval charm. Stone buildings with terracotta roofs line the streets, bearing witness to 200 years of seafaring tradition. Along the waterfront, these structures boast vibrant colors and nautical motifs, celebrating Puretomarino's deep-rooted connection to the ocean. Cobblestone streets meander through the city, leading to bustling markets, taverns, and guild halls. Each building tells a story of both practicality and cultural richness.

Inside the comfortable confines of her family's home in Puretomarino, Veela sat by a small window that overlooked the bustling streets of the port city. The room was adorned with trinkets from distant lands, exotic fabrics, and the subtle fragrance of spices-testaments to her family's prosperous trading ventures.

Veela, a young woman of eighteen with striking black hair and vibrant green eyes, gazed out of the window, lost in her thoughts. She was in a gown, a contrast to her surroundings that reflected her unique position in this bustling coastal city.

Her father, a respected merchant, had always nurtured her talents. While it was unusual for women to practice magic in Roble, her abilities had earned her family's support and admiration. Yet, Veela couldn't shake a sense of restlessness that had been building within her.

She contemplated the sea beyond, its horizon a realm of endless possibilities and mysteries. Tier 2 magic-the power she possessed-was both a gift and a burden. The desire to explore the true depths of her abilities gnawed at her, a thirst for knowledge and adventure that she couldn't ignore.

As she pondered her future, the soft footsteps of her younger brother, Tavion, approached. He was a boy of sixteen, recently married, and still adjusting to the responsibilities of adulthood.

"Veela," he called out gently as he entered the room.

"What occupies your thoughts on this fine morning?"

Veela turned to face him, a flicker of a smile crossing her lips. She could see the curiosity in his eyes, mirrored by her own eagerness for discovery. Tavion's presence was a reminder of the bonds that tied her to her family and the city they called home.

Turning her attention to Tavion, who had settled into a nearby chair, she couldn't help but share her thoughts.

"Tavion, I can't help but think of Her Majesty, Queen Calca," she began, her voice laced with fondness.

"She's a symbol of strength and kindness, a beacon of hope for our kingdom."

Tavion, however, wore a faint frown, his expression one of bemusement mixed with mild exasperation.

"Veela, you think too much of her," he chided gently.

"You're too fond of the queen. It's as if you've placed her on a pedestal even higher than the cliffs of Puretomarino."

Veela chuckled, a hint of blush coloring her cheeks.

"Perhaps I do, dear brother. But you must understand, Queen Calca embodies the ideals and virtues that our kingdom stands for. I've written so many letters to her, and this summer when she visits the Palace of Roble, I'll finally have the chance to present them to her."

Tavion couldn't help but smile at his sister's enthusiasm. While he might not share her fervor for the queen, he respected Veela's unwavering devotion.

"Very well, Veela," he said, rising from his chair. "Just remember not to become as manly as Remedios Custodio, or I might not recognize you."

Veela laughed, her eyes sparkling with mirth.

"Oh, please! I promise not to grow a mustache or start wearing plate armor."

Tavion grinned mischievously.
"And you won't be charging into battle with a sword the size of a tree, will you? You were quite the little tomboy when we were younger."

Veela couldn't help but laugh at Tavion's playful jest. His humor always had a way of brightening her spirits.

But as the laughter subsided, Veela decided to delve into a more serious conversation.
"You know, Tavion, Father doesn't truly appreciate my gift," she said, her voice tinged with a hint of sadness.

Tavion frowned, his eyes filled with concern. "What do you mean, Veela?"

She leaned closer, her voice lowering as she shared her thoughts.
"He sees my magic as a means to aid his business ventures, and I do, willingly. But deep down, I sense that he considers it more of a burden than a blessing. It's difficult for him to find suitors for me when they discover I can wield magic."

Tavion's expression grew thoughtful, and he reached out to place a reassuring hand on her shoulder.
"Veela, you mustn't let that trouble you. Your abilities are a gift, and one day, the right person will appreciate them for what they are. Father's concerns are his own, but I believe in your potential."

Veela smiled, touched by her brother's words. It was moments like these that reminded her of the unwavering support she had within her family, even when the world outside held its doubts.

"Thank you, Tavion," she said, her eyes brimming with gratitude.

A soft knock echoed at the door. A maid, dressed in a neat and modest uniform, entered the room, her eyes cast respectfully downward. "Forgive my intrusion, young master and mistress, but breakfast has been served. Your presence is requested in the dining room."

Tavion nodded to the maid with a polite smile. "Thank you, Mary. We'll be right there."

With the interruption acknowledged, Veela and Tavion rose from their seats and made their way to the grand dining room. The opulence of their family's home was most evident here, with a long, polished wooden table that could easily accommodate a dozen guests. Intricately carved chairs with plush cushions awaited their occupants, and fine silverware and crystal glasses gleamed in the soft morning light.

Veela and Tavion exchanged smiles as they greeted their mother and father, who were already seated at the head of the table. The room was bathed in the warm glow of sunlight filtering through heavy curtains, and the aroma of a delicious breakfast wafted from the serving platters that covered the table.

Their mother, a graceful woman with a gentle smile, looked up from her plate as they approached.
"Good morning, my dears," she said warmly, her eyes filled with affection. "I trust you both slept well?"

As they took their seats, Isabela turned to Tavion, inquiring, "Has Adelina settled in yet? I've noticed she is absent this breakfast."

Tavion replied, "Good morning, Mother. Adelina is in our room; she's still asleep. We're adjusting to our new life together."

Alejandro, the father, couldn't resist a teasing comment, "Ah, Tavion, a good husband should always be by his wife's side, not letting her sleep alone."

Isabela gently chided her husband, "Alejandro, you know it can be difficult for a young lady to adjust to a new house, especially with your son."

With a hint of sarcasm, Alejandro remarked, "Well, she should be by her husband's side."

Veela, ever curious about her family's businesses, politely interrupted her father, "Father, may I ask how our trade routes to the Bahruth Empire are progressing? I've heard that their demand for our exotic goods has been increasing."

Alejandro's eyes lit up with enthusiasm for the topic.

"Indeed, Veela, trade with the Bahruth Empire has been nothing short of exceptional. Our spices, textiles, and unique artifacts have captured the imaginations of their people. In fact, some of their nobility have developed a particular fondness for our goods. It's a prosperous venture that continues to grow."

Veela leaned forward with interest, her eyes sparkling.

"That's wonderful to hear, Father. Do you think we should consider expanding our market to the Re-Estize Kingdom as well? I've heard rumors that their aristocracy appreciates fine craftsmanship."

Alejandro nodded in agreement but with a hint of reservation.

"We have indeed traded with the Re-Estize Kingdom in the past, but their nobility has been known for its... instability. Recently, the security and economics of the Bahruth Empire have shown significant improvement. I have more faith in their nobility's integrity and ability to honor our trade agreements. It might be wise to prioritize the Bahruth Empire over the Re-Estize Kingdom in our future endeavors."

As the family delved into more details about potential trade partners, Veela couldn't help but bring up another aspect that had been on her mind. She knew it was a subject that might not align with her father's views.

"Father, I've also been considering the inclusion of magical items in our trade portfolio," Veela ventured.

"There's a growing demand for enchanted goods in various parts of the kingdom, especially among adventurers and mages. Perhaps we could explore the possibility of acquiring magical items from reputable sources."

Alejandro's expression shifted, reflecting a degree of reluctance.

"Veela, you know I have reservations about dealing with magical items. The costs can be high, and there's always a level of unpredictability when it comes to enchantments. It's a market I've always been cautious about."

Veela couldn't deny her father's concerns, but her own experiences as a magic caster made her more optimistic.

"I understand your concerns, Father. However, with my knowledge of magic and the connections we've established, I believe we can find reliable sources. Magical items can fetch high prices, and their demand is only increasing. It's a niche market with significant potential."

Isabela, Veela and Tavion's mother, interjected with a gentle tone.

"Perhaps it's worth considering, Alejandro. Veela has a point, and her insights into magic could be an asset in ensuring the quality of any magical items we deal with."

While Alejandro appeared reluctant, he couldn't dismiss the idea entirely, especially when presented by both his wife and daughter. He sighed, conceding, "Very well, Veela. We can explore the magical items market cautiously. But you must use your knowledge and connections to ensure we only deal with reputable sources and maintain our family's good name."

Veela's eyes lit up with gratitude as she nodded in agreement. The prospect of contributing to the family's business endeavors in a way that aligned with her magical talents brought her a sense of fulfillment.

Their discussions continued, covering various aspects of trade, business ventures, and family matters. Just as the conversation was flowing smoothly, the door to the dining room opened, and Adelina, Tavion's wife, appeared.

Adelina, with her light brown hair and brown eyes, had a radiant presence. Her entrance seemed to brighten the room, and her smile was warm and welcoming.

"Good morning, everyone," Adelina greeted, her eyes filled with affection.

"I'm sorry for my late arrival. Tavion, darling, I hope I didn't miss anything important."

Tavion rose from his seat, a fond smile on his face.

"Not at all, my love. You're right on time for family discussions."

Veela exchanged a knowing glance with Tavion, and the unspoken understanding between them was palpable. With a warm smile, she turned to Adelina and said,

"Adelina, I was wondering if you'd like to accompany me to a beautiful jewelry store in town. It's a charming place with exquisite pieces, and I think you'd enjoy it."

Adelina's eyes lit up with curiosity and anticipation.

"A jewelry store? That sounds lovely, Veela! I'd be delighted to go with you."

Tavion, having understood Veela's intention and respecting her desire for some sisterly bonding time, maintained his supportive smile and nodded, letting the two of them embark on their excursion.

Alejandro and Isabela exchanged glances, mildly surprised by this unexpected development but ultimately allowing it, as they were intrigued by the idea of Adelina and Veela bonding.

Before leaving, both Adelina and Veela approached Alejandro and Isabela to offer their respectful goodbyes.

Adelina curtsied gracefully, a sign of her respect.

"Thank you for having me in your home. We'll return soon."

Veela followed suit, showing her reverence for her parents.

"Father, Mother, we'll be on our way to the jewelry store. We promise to be back in no time."

Isabela smiled warmly at the two young women.

"Enjoy your outing, my dears. Have a wonderful time."

Alejandro, though often reserved, acknowledged their departure with a nod.

"Make sure to stay away from the more obscure areas."

As they left the dining room, the elegant manor awaited them. It was a grand and stately residence, with high vaulted ceilings, ornate chandeliers, and luxurious furnishings that spoke of the family's success in trade. Deep red carpets lined the floors, while large windows allowed the warm morning light to bathe the rooms in a golden glow.

Veela and Adelina made their way through the main hallway, flanked by several maids who had been attending to the family during breakfast. As they passed, each maid bowed respectfully in acknowledgment of their departure, offering words of well-wishes.

"Safe travels, Miss Veela and Miss Adelina."

"Enjoy your day out, ladies."

The tall, ornate wooden doors of the manor opened to reveal the world beyond. The sunlit courtyard, with its well-tended garden and a sparkling fountain at its center, welcomed the two young women. The gentle breeze carried with it the scent of blooming flowers and the distant sea, further enhancing the enchanting atmosphere.

As Veela and Adelina strolled through the courtyard, the beauty of the surroundings seemed to bring a serene quality to their conversation
As Veela and Adelina strolled through the courtyard, the beauty of the surroundings seemed to bring a serene quality to their conversation.

Adelina couldn't help but feel a touch of nervousness as she finally asked Veela, "Why do you want to go to the jewelry store, Veela? You know, I'm still not used to all this."

Veela turned to Adelina with understanding in her eyes.

"I can see why this might make you nervous, Adelina. It's a lot to take in, and you may feel like you aren't needed. But I wanted to do this with you, not just as your sister-in-law but as your friend. Sometimes, it's good to enjoy some freedom, away from all the formalities."

Veela offered a warm smile, her eyes reflecting a sense of sincerity.

"And here, away from the watchful eyes of our family, you can talk somewhat frankly with me, Adelina. I want to know you better, and I hope you'll let me in. Today is just a small step towards that."

Adelina's anxiety began to ease as she realized Veela's genuine intentions. She felt a growing sense of camaraderie with her sister-in-law, looking forward to this outing as a chance to bond and share their thoughts.

With newfound comfort in their blossoming relationship, Veela and Adelina exited the peaceful courtyard. They took a short stroll, the bustling sounds of the nearby marketplace growing louder with each step. After about five minutes of walking, they found themselves standing before the charming jewelry store that Veela had mentioned earlier.

The store's facade was adorned with intricately designed wrought-iron accents, and a polished brass sign hung above the entrance, proclaiming its name in elegant, cursive letters: "Aurelia's Adornments." The large display windows showcased a dazzling array of jewelry, from delicate necklaces to ornate rings and finely crafted earrings. The jewelry glistened under the warm sunlight, drawing in passersby with its captivating allure.

Veela turned to Adelina, her eyes twinkling with excitement.

"Shall we, Adelina?" She extended her arm toward the store, inviting her sister-in-law to step inside. With a sense of anticipation and curiosity, they entered "Aurelia's Adornments."

As they stepped into the shop, a soft chime signaled their arrival, and the ambiance of the store enveloped them. The interior was beautifully decorated with warm lighting that highlighted the jewelry on display. Adelina's eyes widened in amazement at the sight of countless sparkling gems and meticulously crafted pieces of art.

A friendly voice called out from behind the counter, "Welcome back, Miss Veela."

The shop owner, a middle-aged woman with a warm smile, recognized Veela from her previous visits.

Veela smiled in return. "Hello, Aurelia. It's lovely to see you again."

With an understanding nod, the shop owner allowed the two women to explore the store at their own pace. Veela and Adelina began browsing through the exquisite pieces, their voices filled with excitement as they discussed which jewelry caught their eyes and appealed to their individual tastes.

"This sapphire necklace is absolutely stunning," Veela remarked, delicately lifting a silver necklace adorned with a vivid blue gemstone. She turned to Adelina. "What do you think, Adelina?"

Adelina examined the piece with a thoughtful expression.

"It's beautiful, Veela, but I'm more drawn to the intricately designed bracelets over here." She pointed to a display of elegantly crafted bracelets with delicate engravings and sparkling gem accents.

Veela observed Adelina's fascination with the bracelet, and a thoughtful smile graced her features. Without hesitation, she reached for the bracelet, her fingers gently brushing against the intricate details.

"I must say, Adelina, it suits you perfectly," Veela remarked with genuine admiration. She turned to her sister-in-law, her green eyes sparkling with warmth. "Would you like to buy it, Adelina?"

Adelina, though deeply drawn to the bracelet, was initially hesitant. Her heart swayed between her desire to own the piece and the worry of appearing greedy. She contemplated the question and replied with a modest smile,
"No, Veela, you really don't have to buy it for me."

Not taking no for an answer, Veela gently but playfully dragged Adelina by the arm over to the middle-aged woman who ran the store. The shop owner smiled warmly at them, her eyes curious.

"Found anything interesting, Miss Veela?" the middle-aged woman inquired.

Veela beamed with excitement and held up the bracelet for the shop owner to see.

"Indeed, I have! Adelina has a keen eye for elegant jewelry, and this bracelet is simply exquisite. We'd like to purchase it."

The shop owner's eyes twinkled with delight as she admired the choice.

"Ah, an excellent selection, Miss Veela. A truly exquisite piece. Let me prepare it for you."

As the shop owner began wrapping the bracelet in an elegant box, Veela turned to Adelina with a warm smile.

"You'll love it, Adelina. It's a small gift from me to welcome you into our family."

Adelina's cheeks flushed with gratitude, and she couldn't help but smile back.

"Thank you, Veela. I appreciate it more than I can express."

The shop owner carefully finizaled packaging of the bracelet, turning to Veela with a polite smile.

"That will be 10 gold and 5 silver, Miss Veela."

Veela's eyes widened in surprise at the price.

"10 gold and 5 silver? That's rather costly."

The middle-aged woman's smile didn't waver, but her tone held a firm note.

"Miss Veela, this bracelet is a work of art, crafted with the finest materials and skill. However, just for you and as a welcome to your family, I've offered a discount."

Veela could sense that the shop owner wasn't open to bargaining, and she respected the value of the beautiful bracelet. She retrieved the necessary coins and handed them over.

Adelina, her new bracelet in hand, thanked the shop owner, and the two women left the jewelry store, their hearts filled with the beauty of the piece and a newfound connection between them.

As Veela and Adelina left the jewelry store, their hearts were light, and their steps were filled with newfound camaraderie. They strolled through the bustling streets of Puretomarino, sharing stories, and enjoying the vibrant atmosphere of the marketplace.

Making their way back home, Veela overheard a snippet of conversation from a group of pedestrians. It was a man who spoke disdainfully of her royal grace.

"Bah, what does it matter that she's strong? Calca is old, unmarriable, and polygamous. Not the kind of queen we need." He said drunkenly, the other men of the group nodded in agreement. Their debacle attracted nearby spectators, including the duo.

Veela was deeply offended by the man's disrespectful words about the queen she held in high regard. Her magic surged within her, and she decided to teach the man a lesson. With a swift and discreet wave of her hand, she cast a minor spell on the man's clothes,

[Dirty]

The man who had been the target of Veela's spell found his clothing in a state of disarray. His once-clean attire was now marred by splotches of mud and dirt. Streaks of grime ran down the front of his shirt and trousers, while his previously polished boots were now covered in a layer of filth.

Chaos ensued as the man, now realizing the state of his attire, began to blame his companions for the embarrassing situation. Accusations flew, and the heated exchange escalated into a brawl between the men, drawing the attention of passersby and a few concerned paladins who happened to be nearby.

Amidst the commotion, Veela walked away from the scene with a satisfied smile on her face, knowing that her minor enchantment had served as a fitting response to the man's offensive comments.

Adelina, who had watched the entire incident unfold, turned to Veela with a bewildered expression.

"Veela, what just happened?"

Veela shared a knowing smile with her sister-in-law before explaining.

"You see, Adelina, during my studies, I came across certain magical spells. In the Theocracy, they have spells to clean one's attire and gear, making them pristine. I simply learned a way to reverse such spells and apply them to another person, temporarily causing their clothes to become dirty. It's a minor enchantment, but it served its purpose."

Adelina, with a sense of bewilderment still lingering, looked at Veela with a newfound respect.

Queen Calca, you truly don't want to cross her, especially when Veela's around, she thought to herself.

Despite her initial shock, Adelina couldn't help but appreciate Veela's kindness for herself and defending the honor of the queen.

As Adelina and Veela made their way through the bustling streets of Puretomarino, the day unfolded in a picturesque manner. The sun cast long, inviting shadows across the cobblestone streets, bathing the city in a warm, golden glow. A gentle sea breeze carried with it the faint scent of salt and blooming flowers, infusing the air with a touch of enchantment.

Chapter Text

Veela, carrying a bouquet of vibrant wildflowers, entered the modest, cozy home of her dear friend, Rosa, nestled within the urban enclave of Puertomarino. The dwelling showcased the architectural finesse of the time, with timber walls adorned in intricate carvings that spoke to the craftsmanship of an era rich in tradition.

Veela wore an open blue and white dress that flowed gracefully with her movements. The colors harmonized with the flowers she carried, and her black hair cascaded down in gentle waves. Her green eyes sparkled with warmth as she exchanged greetings with Rosa.

Adelina, Veela's sister-in-law, stepped into the home wearing a black and blue dress complemented by a vibrant red cloth. Her light brown hair framed her face, and her brown eyes conveyed both curiosity and kindness. The contrast of their attire added a touch of diversity to the gathering, mirroring the unique personalities that enriched Rosa's home.

The entrance, marked by a weathered wooden door, welcomed guests into a space that exuded warmth and history. Inside, tapestries depicting scenes of local life adorned the walls, adding a splash of color to the intimate setting. A central hearth, its flames dancing in a simple stone fireplace, cast a comforting glow over the room.

The furniture, fashioned from dark wood, offered a nod to both simplicity and elegance. The dining table, dressed in wooden plates and pewter goblets, awaited the feast prepared with care by Rosa. The inviting aroma of roasted meats, hearty stews, and the subtle hint of herbs lingered in the air, creating an olfactory tapestry that transported visitors to a culinary journey of rich flavors.

Rosa, a resilient figure with a gaze as deep as the roots of an ancient tree, welcomed Veela with a determined smile as she crossed the threshold. Her strong presence became evident as she effortlessly carried a heavy pot from the hearth to the dining table, a task that spoke volumes about her resilience. The muscles in her arms, sculpted by years of hard work and determination, flexed subtly beneath her sleeves. She donned a dress in faded black and blue hues, modestly adorned with a touch of white cloth. The attire, simple yet elegant, spoke to the timeless grace that resonated with the rustic charm of her home. The fabric draped in a way that suggested both comfort and a quiet strength, subtly reflecting the resilience of the woman within.

Rosa's reddish-brown hair framed her face, complementing the earthy tones of her home, and her gray eyes held a depth that mirrored the wisdom acquired through life's challenges. Veela and Adelina observed, realizing that the mother's strength extended beyond the physical – it was a quiet, indomitable force that shaped the atmosphere of the cozy home.

"Veela, it's good to see you," Rosa said with a warm embrace, her voice tinged with a hint of sadness.

Veela returned the embrace and held her friend at arm's length, her vibrant green eyes filled with concern.

"Rosa, how are you holding up? And how is young Mateo?"

Rosa's smile wavered for a moment as she thought of her son, Mateo, a bright and energetic boy who had brought light into her life even after the darkness of her husband's loss.

"I'm as well as I can be, dear Veela, and Mateo... He's growing every day, just like his father."

Rosa is a widow then, I should be respectful to her. Adelina mused, while unfamiliar with Rosa, she greeted her with a formal but friendly tone.

"Good day, Mrs Rosa. I'm Adelina, Tavion's wife. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Rosa's eyes flickered with recognition as she gazed at Adelina. "Ah, Adelina, dear, I remember you from the wedding. It's a pleasure to see you again."

Adelina, feelingfelt a pang of remorse for not recognizing Rosa earlier, spoke with sincerity. "I apologize, Mrs. Rosa. I should have remembered you from the wedding. Please forgive me."

Rosa offered a forgiving and understanding smile. "There's no need to apologize, dear. It was a whirlwind of emotions for me when I got married. I understand how it might slip one's mind. Your presence today is what matters most."

Adelina couldn't help but sense a deep sadness resonating from the older women. Adelina, while engaging in the heartfelt conversation, couldn't help but contemplate the challenges she must face as a widow.

it must be difficult for Rosa, Adelina mused, feeling a sense of sympathy and sadness for the young mother. society tends to cast shadows over widow women, and they often find it nearly impossible to secure a second marriage. Even worse, if a widow has a child, she's not only grappling with her own grief but also shouldering the responsibility of a child in a society that prefers men to fulfill such roles. I wonder... How is she even getting by?

Adelina’s ponder was interrupted by Rosa, "Thank you for visiting me. Now, why don't you join me for lunch? Oh and while you are at it, would you please set the flowers on the table." Veela and Adelina exchanged glances and responded with enthusiasm. "We'd be delighted, Rosa."

As the three women gathered around the dining table, the warm aroma of a home-cooked meal filled the air. Veela and Adelina had brought a small bouquet of flowers. A blend of lavender, yellow, red, and blue, added a burst of color to the table, symbolizing gratitude for Rosa's hospitality.

Rosa graciously accepted the bouquet of flowers, a radiant smile gracing her face. "Thank you, both of you. These are lovely. They brighten up the room just like your presence does."

Rosa, with delicate hands, arranged the bouquet in a vase, placing it at the center of the table. Veela beamed with gratitude at Rosa's words, accepting the compliment gracefully. "It's a pleasure to bring a bit of brightness to your home, Rosa."

As the trio settled around the table, Veela, curious about Mateo, inquired, "And where is young Mateo, Rosa?"

Rosa's eyes twinkled with affection. "Oh, he's outside, playing in the garden. Let me tell you about the time he tried to convince the neighbor's cat that he's the feline whisperer."

Adelina, intrigued by Rosa's mention of Mateo's feline whisperer skills, leaned forward with a smile. "A feline whisperer, you say? Please, do tell us more about this charming tale."

Rosa couldn't help but giggle, a light and infectious sound, as she prepared to share the tale of Mateo's escapade with the neighbor's cat. "Oh, you won't believe the lengths he went to make friends with that cat. One day, he decided to serenade it with his own made-up cat language, complete with meows and all. I must say, the cat seemed more confused than impressed!"

Adelina chuckled, picturing the adorable scene. "A feline serenade, you say? Mateo sounds like quite the imaginative young lad."

Veela joined in, "I can only imagine the look on the cat's face. Did it eventually warm up to Mateo's unique talents?"

Rosa, still smiling, continued, "Surprisingly, yes! After a few days of serenades, the cat began to visit regularly. I suppose it appreciated the entertainment, or perhaps it just couldn't resist Mateo's charm."

As Rosa finished her story, the door burst open, and in ran Mateo with youthful exuberance. He sported a green tunic paired with peach-colored pants, a vibrant blue cloth draped over his shoulder. His black hair tousled with the energy of his adventures, and his gray eyes gleamed with mischief, mirroring the same captivating shade as his mother's.

"Hey, Mateo," Rosa scolded playfully, "you should at least say hello before you dive into the meal."

Mateo flashed a mischievous grin, "Hello, everyone! But, um, where's the food?"

Veela chuckled, "It's alright, Rosa. He's just excited. Kids and their endless appetite for fun and food!"

Rosa playfully squeezed Mateo's cheek, making him squirm with laughter.
"You're lucky you're so charming, young man. Now, let's enjoy this meal together.”

As they settled into the meal, Veela turned to Mateo with a warm smile. "Mateo, how old are you now?"

With a mouthful of food, Mateo grinned and proudly announced, "I'm 7!"

Veela chuckled, "Such a big boy already!"

Mateo grinned happily, his youthful exuberance infectious. Adelina, always ready to bring joy to the moment, chimed in with a humorous remark.

"You know, Mateo, when I was 7, I thought I could speak to plants. I'd give them pep talks and tell them all my secrets. But, shh, don't tell anyone – plants are excellent secret keepers!"

Mateo's eyes widened with amusement, and he giggled, imagining Adelina having top-secret conversations with her leafy confidants. The lighthearted banter continued, adding a sprinkle of humor to their delightful gathering.

After savoring the last bites of Rosa's delicious meal, Mateo hopped up from the table, his energy seemingly boundless. "I've got to check on my secret hideout in the garden!" he exclaimed, rushing towards the door.

Veela and Adelina exchanged amused glances as Rosa chuckled, "He's like a whirlwind, that one. Always on the move, even after a hearty lunch."

As Mateo disappeared into the garden, Rosa leaned in, her eyes expressing both pride and a hint of exhaustion. "Honestly, I don't know where he gets all that energy. Sometimes I think he has a secret stash of sunshine hidden somewhere."

Adelina, with a playful smirk, quipped, "Maybe he's been having those secret talks with your plants, Rosa. They must be sharing their sunlight tips!"

Rosa laughed, a sound that echoed the warmth of her home. "Wouldn't surprise me at this point! But seriously, it's a relief to see him so lively. Keeps the house buzzing with life, even on the quietest days."

As they settled with their cups of tea, the fragrant warmth filling the room, Adelina gently broached a more delicate topic. "Rosa, if you don't mind me asking, what happened to your husband? I hope I'm not prying too much."

Rosa's gaze softened, and she took a thoughtful sip of her tea before responding. "His name was Javier. We were deeply in love, and he had this way of making every day feel like an adventure. But life had its own plans, and he left to serve in the army. However he got rotated to serve on the wall….. and well he left us too soon."

Huh? Why was he conscripted to serve the northern Roble army, doesn't the northerners not do that? Adelina wondered, however she could sense the weight of Rosa's words, and offered a sympathetic nod. "I'm so sorry to hear that, Rosa. Losing a loved one is never easy." However curiosity nagged Adelina, “But why did he leave you and Mateo to serve in the army? Especially the northern army”

Rosa took a deep breath, her eyes reflecting both sadness and pride. "Javier was born in North Roble. Despite living in South Roble and marrying there, he was always considered a North Roble citizen. When he was conscripted and forced to enlist in the defense against the Demi-Human races in the Albellion Hills, he had no choice but to go. He died defending us from the threat they posed."

Adelina, moved by the involuntary sacrifice, lowered her gaze. "That's an immense burden to bear. He truly gave everything for his people, even when he had no say in the matter."

Rosa nodded, a mixture of sorrow and admiration in her expression. "He believed in the unity of Roble, and that belief cost him his life. Even though I struggle to comprehend his choice, I find solace in the idea that his sacrifice, misguided as it may seem to me, was driven by a deep sense of duty and love for our homeland. Mateo and I honor his memory every day, holding on to the love and strength he left behind.”

However, as she continued, a hint of bitterness tinged Rosa's words. "Honestly, sometimes I can't fathom why he risked his life for that wall. I never saw the point of it. Even if the wall fell, South Roble would be fine. The bay protects us. Javier's sacrifice seems almost... misplaced, defending something that had no impact on us."

Adelina, understanding the complexity of Rosa's feelings, spoke gently, "It must be difficult, Rosa, to grapple with the reasons behind his sacrifice."

Rosa sighed, her gaze distant. "Difficult doesn't begin to cover it. I appreciate his dedication to Roble, but I can't help but be bitter. He left us for something that, in my eyes, had little bearing on our safety."

Veela, with a thoughtful expression, gently interrupted, "Rosa, I understand your perspective, but I disagree with your worldview. Roble is like a sword, and the North is the blade while the South is the hilt. One cannot be truly useful without the other."

Rosa, intrigued yet skeptical, asked, "Why do you see it that way, Veela?"

Veela explained, "The unity of Roble is its strength. The wall might seem distant, but it protects the entire realm, ensuring the safety of both North and South. Javier, in defending the wall, was safeguarding not just one part of Roble but the entirety of our homeland. The North and South are intertwined, each crucial for the other's prosperity. It's the delicate balance that makes Roble resilient.”

Rosa, her expression softened but still tinged with anger, responded, "I understand what you're saying, Veela, but it's hard for me to shake off the bitterness of losing Javier."

Veela gently grasped Rosa's hands, her eyes filled with empathy. "I know the pain is deep, Rosa, but believe me, there will come a day when Roble won't suffer at the hands of the Demi-Humans. Queen Calca is working tirelessly to bring about a new era, an era of hope and peace for Roble. Men like Javier won't have to sacrifice their lives to defend the wall. It will be a time when the unity of our realm will bring about lasting tranquility."

Rosa, though still carrying the weight of grief, found a glimmer of solace in Veela's words. The hope for a future without the need for such sacrifices began to kindle in her heart, and she nodded, appreciating the comfort and vision of a better Roble.

Veela, feeling Rosa's sadness, gently held her hands and said, "I know it's tough, Rosa, but imagine a future where Roble is peaceful. These three gold coins are a small gift to help you, a sign that there's hope for better days."

Putting the gold coins in Rosa's hands, Veela added, "Let these coins be a reminder that you're not alone. We're here to support you, and things will get better.”

Adelina observed the exchange, so that's how she's being taken care of, she thought. Veela is financing Rosa's life. But do my in-laws know about this? She pondered the implications of this silent support.

Adelina, discreetly noting Veela's compassionate support for Rosa, allowed the conversation to gracefully shift. Veela, sensing the moment, gently remarked, "Well, it's getting quite late, and we should probably head back."

Rosa, understanding the need to part ways, called out to Mateo, instructing him to bid his farewells. However, Veela intervened with a warm smile, "Oh, that won't be necessary, Rosa. We had a wonderful time, and there's no need to disrupt Mateo's playtime. Please give him our regards."

As Veela and Adelina respectfully said their goodbyes to Rosa, expressing gratitude for her hospitality, they stepped out into the evening. The soft amber hues of the setting sun cast a warm glow on the streets of Puertomarino. Cobblestone pathways wound through the medieval enclave, lined with timber-framed buildings adorned in quaint carvings. The evening bustle included merchants closing up shop, their wares neatly arranged, and townsfolk going about their activities. The occasional snippet of conversation, accompanied by the distant sounds of laughter, painted a picturesque scene of a community winding down as Veela and Adelina headed home, however she couldn't help but question Veela's aid to Rosa.

"Veela, does your family know about you helping Rosa? It seems like a significant contribution."

Veela nodded, "Yes, they are aware. Javier, Rosa's late husband, was a close friend of my father, Alejandro. However, it's been a while since my father visited. He claims it's due to a busy schedule, but I suspect there might be more to it.”

Adelina, intrigued by the possibility of hidden reasons, questioned, "What do you think might be the reason, Veela?"

Veela sighed, "I'm not entirely sure. I've asked my father about it, but he never gives a clear answer. The few times I've brought it up, I thought I saw him pained by the question.”

"I see," Adelina acknowledged, her curiosity lingering as she processed Veela's words. Breaking the thoughtful silence, Veela turned the conversation toward a lighter note.

"But enough about my family matters. How did you find Rosa and Mateo, Adelina?" Veela inquired, her green eyes filled with genuine interest.

"I truly enjoyed the visit to Rosa's house," Adelina responded, her tone reflecting sincerity.

"Yet, I couldn't help but sense the undercurrent of sadness from the moment Rosa greeted you. It's as if her smile masked a deeper sorrow.”

Veela nodded in agreement with her observation. "You're perceptive, Adelina. Rosa has been through a lot, and even after all these years, the pain of Javier's passing lingers in her heart. It's a wound that time struggles to heal.”

Adelina's gaze turned reflective. "It reminded me of my grandmother, you know. She lost her sibling at a young age, and there was always this subtle sense of missing someone, a quiet sorrow that never completely faded. Even in the warmest moments, there was a shadow of loss."

As they walked through the bustling streets of Puertomarino, the fading sunlight casting long shadows, Veela didn't immediately know how to respond to Adelina's revelation. The weight of unspoken emotions lingered in the air, casting a subtle veil over their conversation.

The sounds of the evening, the distant chatter of townsfolk, and the occasional clop of horse hooves became a backdrop to their shared thoughts. The awkwardness between them was palpable, like a delicate dance around uncharted territory.

Veela glanced at Adelina, her green eyes reflecting a mix of empathy and uncertainty.

"It's... hard to find words in moments like these," Veela admitted, her voice carrying a note of vulnerability.

Adelina nodded, understanding the challenge of expressing emotions that transcended casual conversation. "Indeed, some sentiments defy simple articulation."

Their steps continued in a comfortable silence, each lost in their own contemplation. The streets of Puertomarino gradually transformed as they approached the more affluent part of the city. The quaint charm of Rosa's neighborhood gave way to grander architecture and meticulously kept gardens.

As they turned a corner, the imposing mansion that belonged to Veela's family came into view. The estate stood as a testament to the wealth and influence that Veela's family wielded. Tall, ornate gates opened into a cobblestone courtyard, leading to a sprawling mansion adorned with elaborate carvings and lush ivy climbing its walls.

As Veela and Adelina ascended the marble steps, the grandeur of the mansion contrasting with the warmth of Rosa's modest home, the imposing double doors swung open. A line of maids, clad in neatly pressed uniforms, stood in a precise formation within the opulent foyer, their eyes attentive.

"Welcome back home, Lady Veela," the head maid, a woman of dignified poise, greeted in a formal tone, a practiced blend of respect and professionalism.

Adelina received a similar acknowledgment, her title pronounced with measured courtesy.

"Thank you," Veela responded with a nod, acknowledging their presence. The mansion's air carried the scent of polished wood and a hint of beeswax, the meticulous care evident in every detail.

Adelina, standing amidst the grandeur, looked momentarily perplexed as if she had forgotten something. After a brief pause, she turned to Veela with a light chuckle.

"I should probably check in with Tavion. I don't want him to think we got lost in the city's labyrinth."

Veela smiled, understanding the dynamics of familial responsibilities.

"Of course, Adelina. Family first. Tavion might be in the study. I'll catch up with you shortly."

As Adelina made her way towards the study, Veela remained in the foyer, surrounded by the hushed efficiency of the mansion's staff. The grand tapestries, hanging with regal splendor, seemed to silently witness the interplay of tradition and modernity within the walls of the esteemed household.

Veela decided to ascend the grand staircase, the polished wood steps leading her to the second floor. As she reached the midway point, a large glass plane caught her attention. The fading sun painted the sky in hues of amber and rose, casting a warm glow over the landscape. The city below seemed to stir with life, yet from this vantage point, it exuded a peaceful charm.

Veela took a moment to soak in the breathtaking view, the sun's descent signaling the close of another day in Puertomarino. The sky transformed into a canvas of warm hues, with streaks of orange and pink casting a serene ambiance. The city below shimmered with the fading light, and a gentle breeze whispered through the air.

As the vibrant colors painted the heavens, Veela couldn't help but smile brightly. In that quiet moment, overlooking the beauty of Puertomarino, she whispered to the breeze, "I have a feeling that everything will be alright for Roble.”

Chapter Text

Galath's corporate headquarters sprawls beneath an ethereal, soft glow, with autonomous robots navigating seamlessly between workstations, deftly managing tasks. The walls are adorned with mesmerizing holographic displays, projecting intricate data visualizations and creating immersive virtual collaboration spaces. The ambient hum of state-of-the-art machinery intermingles with the focused energy of employees interacting with their transparent holographic desks. Neural interfaces facilitate effortless communication, enveloping the workspace in a sleek and cutting-edge environment. In this fusion of technology and ingenuity, the air resonates with innovation, creating an efficient and inspiring atmosphere that transcends traditional office norms.

In this fusion of technology and ingenuity, the air resonates with innovation, creating an efficient and inspiring atmosphere that transcends traditional office norms
Amidst the bustling atmosphere, Mr. Galath, distinguished in his tie and tailored suit, showcased a weathered beard, and conversed with his subordinate. They delved into discussions about financial plans and forthcoming technological developments. Gortoel, Galath’s bodyguard, keenly observed the employees' movements in proximity to the CEO, ensuring a vigilant watch over the secure environment.

"Mr. Galath, the transportation technology is nearing completion; however, our scientists and engineers have encountered a specific challenge," the man stated, his lab coat layered over his distinguished tie and suit.

"Head of the Science and Engineering Branch, Thorne, am I correct in understanding that the transportation disks result in the explosion of organic materials, while inorganic materials can be transferred seamlessly?" Mr. Galath inquired, locking eyes with the blond-haired man.

"Um yes, Mr. Galath, regrettably, our team has been unable to find a solution to this predicament. I was hoping you might be aware of any potential solutions," Thorne replied, a hint of surprise in his voice due to his correct deduction.

"Perhaps the issue lies in energy efficiency. Organic materials, given their inherently complex structure, might demand a more efficient energy system and a more potent energy source for seamless transportation.”

"But, Mr. Galath, the energy system is already the most advanced of its kind, utilizing an entire nuclear power plant to power the transportation disks.”

Mr. Galath paused, turning to squarely face the head scientist. "Thorne, I have confidence that you and your team will find a solution to this problem. Considering your team's prowess in designing the energy system, I trust you'll discover a solution," he affirmed, conveying both assurance and encouragement.

"I understand, sir. My team and I will work diligently to find a solution."

In front of the group of employees—Thorne, Gorteol, and Mr. Galath—another employee approached. Wearing the same tie and suit as the other employees, he had brown short hair and a faded beard. Unfamiliar with the individual, Gorteol sensed danger. His time in the army and police force had honed his ability to detect looming threats, akin to a finely tuned radar. Acting swiftly, he positioned himself in front of the CEO, hand resting on his sidearm.

“Identify yourself!" Gortoel commanded,

Could he possibly be a corporate spy for our rivals?! No he wouldn't have approached us if that was the case, so who is he?

The mysterious man replied, “I came here all the way for you, old man. Is this how your underlings treat your esteemed guests?" His voice carried a noticeable sense of annoyance and underlying hostility.

The jaws of the employees dropped, no one had ever talked in such a tone with the CEO, in fact no one had ever dared to.

“H-how dare you address Mr Galath like that! Kno-"

Gortoel came to a sudden halt, a shiver running down his spine as an unsettling sense of dread washed over him. The intensity of the man's glare seemed to penetrate his very core, triggering an instinctual fear. His cheek hairs stood on end, and a cold sweat formed on his brow. Gortoel, usually composed, found himself momentarily paralyzed by the palpable danger emanating from the mysterious guest.

"Gortoel, no need to be on alert. This man is actually an old friend of mine." Galath reassured him, placing a calming hand on his shoulder. "We will continue this talk at my office; the rest of you can take your leave," he commanded. Thorne and the other employees followed the order, leaving Gortoel to guide both Galath and the man to the CEO's office.

The CEO's office stood as a bastion of opulence and cutting-edge technology, surpassing the rest of the workspace in both grandeur and sophistication. Tasteful art adorned the walls, framing a wide windowed screen that offered a panoramic view of the bustling ground floor below.

Equipped with advanced amenities, the office featured a state-of-the-art holographic workstation and ambient lighting that seamlessly adapted to the CEO's preferences. It went beyond mere luxury, reaching a pinnacle of advanced secrecy. Nanotech-infused soundproofing absorbed even the faintest murmurs, creating an acoustically impenetrable space.

The door, fitted with biometric locks and a neural recognition system, permitted entry only to authorized personnel. Smart windows, embedded with dynamic privacy glass, automatically adjusted opacity based on external visibility needs. Quantum encryption algorithms shielded communication devices, ensuring imperviousness to potential interception.

This convergence of cutting-edge architecture and hyper-advanced technology transformed the room into a haven of unparalleled secrecy and privacy. Every detail reflected a seamless fusion of luxury and innovation, creating an environment that truly befit Mr. Galath's stature.

“Gortoel, stand by the doorway. Make sure no one else eavesdrops or attempts anything devious."

"Yes sir!” Gortoel replied, Galath and the man secluded themselves into the office. Leaving him to ponder

Is it safe to leave the CEO alone with that man? He's dangerous. The way he glared at me felt like a lion sizing up its prey. I'm skeptical that he's Mr. Galath's child; he didn't refer to him as his son, and the way he talked doesn't sound like a son. Either way, I'll make sure no one else gets a peek at their conversation.

Both Galath and the man seated themselves, Galath claiming the top chair, a symbolic perch of authority, while the man settled into the lower one. Across the long table adorned with empty chairs awaiting Galath's guests, they faced each other. A brief pause lingered before the CEO decided to break it.

"So, old friend, what brings you here?" Galath inquired, his words laced with a subtle mix of familiarity and intrigue. He had originally considered giving his guest snacks but remembered how he despises food made by insects.

The man turned to face Galath, a steely gaze meeting the CEO's eyes. "My work in the Middle East is nearly done. Project Omega, on my part, will soon be concluded. Most of the world governments are entangled in the fight against the terror of the East. I'm only curious about things on your end," he explained, his words revealing a calculated focus on geopolitical manipulation.

Acknowledging the man's statement, his tone betraying a sense of anticipation. "Soon, my experiment will begin. I wonder if any other fascinating specimens will appear. I doubt you would care about that. However, I'm still rather interested in why we couldn't discuss this on a secure channel," he remarked, a calculated curiosity underlying his words.

The man grinned, a sinister satisfaction in his expression. "Just wanted to see you squabbling with those insects of yours. I found it enjoyable. That, and I wanted to discuss something rather important," he revealed, his amusement contrasting with the gravity of the impending discussion.

Galath replied, his voice a measured blend of authority and amusement, "I'll have to ask you not to harm my employees. Some of them are part of my collection, and a few have shown interesting characteristics." A chuckle escaped him before he resumed, "So, what is this important topic you wanted to discuss?" His demeanor, a mix of casualness and calculated control.

The man bit his lip in frustration before revealing his dilemma.

"It seems that our distraction has somewhat failed."

Galath furrowed his brow, “I see, they have taken the bait.” Galath coldly stated as he had planned for this to happen.

Squinting his eyes the man responded "how so? Wasn't part of our plan not to prevent prying eyes on what we are doing here?"

"Originally it was, but a certain investigator caught my attention, I wish for him to enter my lair. So I can know him better of course.” Galath smiled, similar to how a man smiles when he finds his first love.

The man crossed his arms before responding to his friend's desire, "just like old times, I'll never understand your infatuation with those animals, they are lower than us. We are immortal, unkillable. Even if they were an amazing specimen, and became like us. At the end of the day, they are just human rats.”

Galath crossed his arms before noticing a bright red car, old fashioned for its time on ground level leaving the parking area. The guest looked too, before questioning the CEO.

“Oh who's that? Seems like your rats need a new leash."

"That's Adram, seems like he's doing his little escapade.” Galath continued "I've had my eyes on him as another specimen, his greatest strength is his ability to forgo any and all morals to achieve what he wants, his attempt at trying to fill that void within, even at his own detriment later on is always so fascinating.”

“Let me guess, he's seeing a married whore isn't he? Reproducing like the animals they are. I bet the husband is one who ignores his family and the wife whores herself out to feel that lost connection." He chuckled because he had seen such behavior before.“In any case I cannot wait for it to occur, watching those rats running around once doomsday hits is always so cathartic.”

Galath smirked coldly, it was his time to remark on his friend.

“You never do change, Nihilus.”

…

Sol stirred from his sleep as the warm afternoon sunlight streamed through the cracks in the aged wooden walls of the barn. The air inside was filled with a comforting blend of hay, dust, and the earthy scent of livestock. The barn itself, weathered by years of use, stood proudly with a creaking roof that insulated the warmth of the structure.

The spacious interior of the barn housed a mix of tools, feed sacks, and harnesses neatly organized on rough-hewn shelves. Sunlight filtered through the gaps in the wooden slats, creating a dance of dust motes in the air. Sturdy wooden beams supported the loft overhead, where bales of hay were stacked with precision.

Outside, the barn was surrounded by the vastness of the ranch. Expansive fields stretched to the horizon, dotted with grazing cattle, including the gentle Lanca, their long, curved horns adding a picturesque touch to the landscape. Pockets of wildflowers adorned the landscape, adding vibrant hues to the rustic scene. A rustic wooden fence enclosed the immediate area around the barn, defining a small courtyard. The sound of a distant creek added a soothing melody to the pastoral setting.

Facing the now-roused Sol was Antonio, the roughly middle aged man wore a stoic expression, his brown hair contrasting well with the pale green eyes, his attire consists of a worn, broad-brimmed hat, shielding his face from the sun. His shirt, once vibrant, is now faded and stained from years of hard labor. A simple vest, weathered by the elements, provides a layer of protection. Sturdy leather pants and well-worn boots complete his practical ensemble, bearing the marks of countless hours spent working on the ranch.

"Sol, your tasks for the day are complete. Your hard work from dawn till dusk should be more than enough. Feel free to leave; Mr. Cedric should have your wages prepared for you."

“Ah I see, thank you Antonio. I'll head out now." Sol headed to the barn doorway before Antonio stopped him.

Antonio's concerned eyes studied Sol. "Rare sight, catching you asleep. Everything alright? Heard some mumbling, and who's this Nihilus? Someone important to you?”

Sol's muscles tensed, an unexplainable rage surging within him. It felt like an instinctive response, an overwhelming desire to silence Antonio upon the mere mention of that name, Nihilus. It was as if an unseen force sought to conceal something, urging Sol to keep it hidden.

“I don't know, I've never heard that name," Sol quickly responded, his voice carrying a hint of confusion. With those words, he briskly removed himself from the barn, his armor hiding the anxious turmoil that stirred beneath.

Who is this Nihilus person? And that dream? What was it even about? It felt so familiar yet distant.

As Sol stepped out of the barn, a voice called out, capturing his attention.

"Good work today, Sir Sol. Your efforts haven't gone unnoticed." The woman, her hands adorned with soil and hard work, presented a woven basket. It cradled an array of vibrant fruits, freshly harvested vegetables, and a succulent slice of tender meat. Sol, though initially hesitant, accepted the humble offering.

“No need for lunch Miss Avondale, I would've been fine without it.”

Avondale giggled, her blue eyes focused on the armored man. "No need to be humble, you do work the hardest out of all the farmhands." Her words carried a genuine warmth, and a playful glint sparkled in her eyes.

Sol narrowed his eyes, she wasn't lying. Sol had indeed done a sizable portion of the work, from maintaining large swathes of land, pulling Betsy from her reoccurring entrapment, carrying heavy farm equipment to even moving plowers.

“Fine, I'll take it."

"I'll see you tomorrow then!" she exclaimed, waving goodbye to the departing Sol. As he left, he glanced at the basket he had received.

I wonder what poison she put on this junk this time?

As Sol walked towards Mr. Cedric's office, his gaze caught a pair of Lanca peacefully grazing in the expansive field.

I'm sure Lanca won't get easily poisoned by this garbage!

Sol carefully emptied the contents of the basket near the ground where the Lanca were peacefully grazing, ensuring not to leave any trace of the basket behind.

That filthy Avondale really thought she could deceive me? Her pathetic gifts won't manipulate me.

Sol maintained the facade of showing some care for the women on the farm, recognizing that expressing his deep-rooted hatred could lead to unnecessary trouble. Sol felt a sense of relief, knowing he wouldn't have to encounter her today. He had managed to save enough money for a helmet, and with his upcoming paycheck, it seemed he would have sufficient funds.

As Sol approached Mr. Cedric's office, he observed its simple yet robust design. The weathered wooden structure, standing among the ranch buildings, emanated an unassuming charm. The slightly worn door, marked by the echoes of countless knocks, hinted at the office's daily bustle. A modest, neatly carved sign confirmed its identity as Mr. Cedric's domain. This practical structure seamlessly blended with the rustic ambiance of the ranch. Knocking twice at the worn door, shaking the ambience of the office a voice called.

“Come in."

Entering Mr. Cedric's familiar office, Sol was greeted by the well-known sights. The seasoned oak door, a bit creaky from age, opened to reveal the room's functional simplicity. Inside, the familiar wooden desk, adorned with parchment, quills, and a small candle, sat in its usual place. A few oil lamps illuminated the room, creating a cozy atmosphere. The afternoon sunlight filtered through a small, curtained window, casting a warm glow on the well-worn wooden floor.

“Ah, here for your paycheck?”

Reaching into his drawer, Mr. Cedric retrieved a pouch filled with coins and pushed it toward Sol on the surface of his desk.

"Thank you, sir. It's been a pleasure working with you."

Sol accepted the pouch of silver, counting the contents – a total of 10 silver coins. He was momentarily stunned. Was it usual to receive this much money? Was it normal? After all, he had only been working for a week.

“If I may ask sir, why do my wages keep increasing like this?"

Mr. Cedric chuckled, his weathered gray hair complementing his matching gray eyes, which peered out from a face marked by the passage of many years.

"Absolutely! Your contributions are exceptional. You manage tasks that would typically require a small team, effortlessly handling plows and demonstrating boundless energy. Your expertise with Betsy, addressing her frequent challenges, significantly eases the burden on your fellow ranchers. Your role extends beyond the usual ranch work, playing a pivotal part in the intricate task of Lanca herding.”

Sol was taken aback; never before had he received such a heartfelt compliment, let alone one of this magnitude. A sense of fulfillment washed over him, realizing the genuine acknowledgment of his importance and the value of his contributions.

"In any case, what do you plan on using this money for? Do you have a lady in need of support?" Cedric grinned. Sol, however, flinched in momentary disgust at his response but quickly composed himself. If it hadn't been for his armor, Cedric might have noticed his acute disdain.

“No, I plan on buying a helmet."

“A helmet? What for? Don't you already have one?" He inquired, pointing at Sol's helmet.

“Not for me, for a good friend of mine. I'm thinking if it would be alright if he works with you.”

Mr. Cedric furrowed his brow, then nodded in agreement. "Well, if you're vouching for this friend of yours, he must be good. Alright, bring him in tomorrow, we'll see what he's got.”

“Thank you sir!" Sol bowed his head before leaving for the exit.

Leaving the farm and entering the village-town sprawl of Refugio, Sol navigated through winding paths and bustling streets. The town exhibited a lively array of shops and cottages, the air filled with the aroma of various goods and the sounds of chatter.

Following the mental map he had formed over the past few days, Sol finally arrived at the armory shop he had noted earlier. However, to his surprise, a new sign adorned the storefront, but it was in a language unknown to Sol. Peering through the shop's plain glass, he observed a shop cleric meticulously polishing weapons and armor, their skilled hands bringing a gleam to the metalwork.

Entering the shop Sol faced the nervous looking cleric.

“M-may we help you?"

Sol looked around the shop before replying, "What helmets are you currently selling?”

The cleric blinked twice, before stuttering "W-well you see sir we either sell leather or steel helmets, but they are usually considered into one set. I don't believe we can sell them individually.”

“I see, I'm willing to pay extra if you would, what are the prices of a complete set anyway?”

"A full horseman set should cost around One-twenty-five silver. A full plated armour would be much more expensive while a leather set would only be around sixty silver.”

One-twenty-five or sixty silver?! I don't have that much.

"However since you are only interested in buying a helmet that would be fifteen percent of the total set price, plus the additional cost that you mentioned earlier."

"Would you mind if I examine the helmet?” Sol requested, folding his arms while maintaining eye contact.

"Of course,” with that the cleric went through the door behind him, and after a few moments he came out with a burnished helmet.

"Here it is sir, one of our finest helmets.”

Lending out to the intrigued Sol, examining the helmet he noticed a few issues with it. Firstly it was too large for Caulot, he had already gotten a rough measurement of Caulot’s head however the largest issue was that it did not cover his entire face. Sol was well aware that buying a helmet that didn't conceal Caulot's looks would result in him being ostracized.

“I require a different helmet, this small" Sol placed his hands apart describing both the width and height of the required gear “and it needs a mask, one that covers the entire face."

The cleric squinted his eyes before his brows flashed upwards, almost as if a candle lit above him.

“Hold on, I think there might be something like that.” Heading inside the room he had entered previously he quickly retrieved it before placing it in front of the counter.

“Here it is, it was a standalone piece made by some blacksmith in the Re-Eztize kingdom, however it's not that great of a quality.”

Sol picked up the piece, the helmet, though serviceable, bears the marks of pragmatic craftsmanship. The steel is more functional than ornate, with visible seams and rough edges. Despite its utilitarian design, the helmet provides a solid barrier, and the worn leather lining inside speaks of practical durability rather than extravagant comfort. Its two eyeholes, though not perfectly horizontally aligned, create an unconventional feature that might seem impractical for most, yet strangely fitting for Caulot, aligning precisely with his unique needs.

“This will do, how much is it?"

The cleric blinked twice before grinning “that will be seven silver please."

Sol grabbed seven silver coins from the pouch he received from Mr Cedric and placed it on top of the counter. The cleric counting it before smiling and placing the helmet in a cloth bag “that will do, do you wish to buy anything else?"

"No,” Sol said adamantly before taking the bag and leaving the store, the cleric dumbfounded but also curious about the black knights antics.

I wonder what house he serves under? Still what a strange helmet he bought.

Sol headed back to the forest edge, where Caulot's shack laid, eagerly awaiting the approaching knight he shouted.

“Sol you’re back! How was work today?"

Sol chuckled “it was good, had a few troubles with the animals, one of them even gave me food."

Caulot blinked twice, how would an animal give you food anyway?

“Regardless I got you a gift,Sol took out the helmet from the bag, Caulot's eyes sparkled in awe.

"Is-is that for me?!”

Sol replied "That's right, I finally earned enough to get you a helmet, sorry I wasn't able to get a full armour set though.”

"No this is perfect! It's a great start.” Taking the helmet from Sol he had to stop himself from squealing in joy. Sol couldn't help but smile at his friend’s antics.

“Anyhow I put a word in for you, you'll be working with the farm starting tomorrow."

Caulot froze, his eyes looked at Sol with concern. “Tomorrow? I don't think I'm ready for it."

Sol placed his palm on Caulot’s shoulder before shifting in to reaffirm to him “it'll be alright Caulot, I'm with you plus you won't have to worry about anyone judging you now that you have that helmet. Let's work together, get yourself a full set of armor and go on a cool adventure together!"

Caulot's eyes sparkled “Just like the thirteen heroes?"

Sol laughed before replying “of course, now let's have dinner. What did you cook up this time?"

Chapter Text

Under the soft morning light, a vast stretch of grassy plain lay before them, adorned with dewdrops that sparkled like tiny jewels. The air carried the gentle scent of earth and wildflowers, while a light breeze hinted at the warmth of the day to come.

Three figures stood out against the green backdrop. Cedric, the weathered elder, observed the young boy, Caulot, who fidgeted under his gaze and muttered a shy greeting.

"Um, pleasure to meet you, sir."

With a sigh, Cedric turned to Sol, who stood beside Caulot.

"So, Sol, do all your friends prefer wearing helmets?"

Sol replied, "Sorry, Mr. Cedric. Caulot hides his face because of a scar he's had since birth. I hope you'll still consider letting him work here."

"Well, I did promise you, and he doesn't seem all that unfit. I'm sure we can find some role for him," Cedric mused, stroking his chin as he contemplated young Caulot's potential tasks.

"Very well," he continued, addressing Sol and Caulot, "work with Miss Avondale. Help her set up a dining area; we'll be hosting an important guest today."

Sol frowned, disappointed that Caulot wouldn't be working alongside him. His thoughts were interrupted by Cedric's next instruction.

"Sol, attend to your duties diligently. Our guest is a knight of the lord, here to collect our taxes. Impress him with your strength; I have a feeling he might take an interest in you."

Perplexed, Sol questioned, "Interest in me? Why?"

Cedric grinned knowingly. "Isn't it obvious?"

Before Sol could press further, Cedric departed, leaving both Caulot and Sol to their tasks.

Sol sighed, glancing at Caulot's helmet before responding, "You better make your way to Avondale. I suspect she'll be waiting for you near Mr. Cedric's office."

Caulot blinked behind his helmet, his voice muffled as he questioned, "And where would that be? And what does Avondale look like anyway?"

"That building over there," Sol pointed out, gesturing towards a weathered structure. Caulot listened as Sol provided a thorough description of Avondale, though he couldn't help but notice a subtle bitterness in Sol's tone as he spoke of her.

Before Caulot could question his friend's strange behavior, Sol abruptly departed, leaving Caulot standing alone in the open field. Determined to carry out his task, Caulot made his way towards the office. As Caulot approached, he saw a woman who matched Sol's description. Avondale had a sun-kissed complexion, framed by waves of blonde hair cascading down her shoulders. Her piercing blue eyes held a hint of weariness, a testament to her hard work. She was dressed in worn farmer attire, a practical white-green dress that bore the marks of toil in the fields. Despite the dirt smudges, there was a certain grace to her movements as she awaited Caulot's arrival.

"Oh, and who might you be, Mr. Knight?" she said cheerfully, her voice carrying warmth and curiosity.

Caulot straightened himself, noting that the woman was a head taller than he was and undeniably pretty.

"I-I'm Caulot," he stuttered slightly, "Cedric told me to look for Avondale and work with her."

"Ah, you must be Sol's friend, right? The one Mr. Cedric mentioned," she replied with a smile, extending her hand in greeting. "I'm Avondale. Pleasure to meet you."

"P-Pleasure's mine," Caulot stammered, unable to conceal his blush behind his helmet.

Avondale chuckled softly before getting down to business. "Well, if Cedric sent you with me, he must want you to prepare meals for our guests. Do you know how to cook Caulot?"

Caulot nodded, albeit nervously. "Y-Yes, I can. I've cooked meals for Sol, so..." He trailed off, noticing Avondale's eyes gleaming with interest.

"What food does Sol like?" Avondale leaned in, her curiosity piqued. "I've been preparing meals for him, but I'm never sure what he likes. He's always saying 'that's fine' or whatever. At least be honest with a lady," she teased, her playful tone revealing her genuine interest in Sol's preferences.

Caulot chuckled nervously. "Well, he... he likes hearty meals, I suppose. He's not picky." He avoided mentioning Sol's particular preferences, unsure how Sol would feel about sharing such personal information.

Avondale giggled in response. "Haha, fair enough. Well, let's get to work then. Meals won't cook themselves," she said, Avondale led Caulot into the kitchen, a cozy yet bustling space filled with the aroma of freshly baked bread and savory stews simmering over an open fire. The walls were made of rough-hewn stone, adorned with copper pots and pans hanging from hooks. Wooden shelves lined the walls, holding earthenware jars filled with herbs and spices, while wooden barrels containing grains and flour stood in one corner.

A large wooden table dominated the center of the room, surrounded by sturdy wooden stools. Cauldrons bubbled over the flames of the hearth, tended to by a pot-bellied cook stirring them with a long wooden spoon. On the table, various ingredients were spread out, including baskets of root vegetables, sacks of flour, and plump sacks of grain.

In one corner of the kitchen, a heavy oak door led to a root cellar, where preserved fruits and vegetables were stored for the winter months. A small window near the hearth let in a shaft of sunlight, casting a warm glow over the bustling kitchen.

As the duo chopped vegetables and stirred pots over the crackling fire, Avondale regaled Caulot with tales of Sol's remarkable feats around the farmhouse. Caulot listened with a mixture of amazement and familiarity, having witnessed Sol's abilities firsthand during their time together.

"Caulot, do you know where Sol came from?" Avondale's sudden question caught Caulot off guard, causing him to momentarily pause his task.

"From what he told me," Caulot replied, his voice slightly muffled by his helmet, "he came from a faraway land and probably arrived by the sea. I'm not sure which kingdom he came from."

Avondale nodded thoughtfully, her expression becoming serious as she considered Caulot's response. Then, with a determined air, she resumed her culinary tasks alongside him, the comforting warmth of the kitchen surrounding them.

"I see... say, does Sol have a woman with him?" Avondale inquired, her tone gentle yet curious.

Caulot was taken aback by the question, hesitating before replying, "No, he doesn't. And it's probably better he doesn't ever have one."

Surprised by Caulot's response, Avondale paused in her chopping, her gaze turning to him with concern. "What do you mean by that? Everyone deserves at least someone, you, me, and Sol."

Caulot shifted uncomfortably, feeling the weight of Avondale's words. "I'd rather not talk about this..." he murmured, his voice trailing off as he focused on his task, unwilling to delve further into the topic.

As the hours passed, Avondale wisely chose not to press Caulot further on the matter that seemed to trouble him. Together, they diligently prepared the meals, while other farmhands busied themselves with setting up for the summit. As other farmhands bustled about, setting up for the summit, a large tent with light blue canvas caught the eye. Its white sheets billowed gently in the breeze, anchored securely by wooden stakes driven into the ground. The tent stood prominently amidst the surrounding farmland, its vibrant colors contrasting with the verdant fields.

In the distance, beyond the boundaries of the farm, gentle hills rolled into the horizon, adorned with grazing livestock and patches of lush greenery. Lances stood tall and proud, their metallic glints catching the sunlight as they grazed the lands far away.

Before long, the long-awaited knight and his squire arrived, greeted by Mr. Cedric. Caulot and Avondale were among the first to present themselves at the summit. They entered a large central tent, its sturdy canvas walls erected to block out the elements, with tables set neatly inside.

Inside the tent, the atmosphere was charged with anticipation. Mr. Cedric was engaged in conversation with two men seated across from him. The man fully clad in gleaming armor, with brown hair and piercing green eyes, stood tall and imposing. His armor, crafted from polished steel, reflected the dim light of the tent, showcasing the intricate engravings of his noble lineage. A long sword, double-handed and finely crafted, hung at his side, its blade gleaming with a deadly edge. His helmet, adorned with intricate designs, revealed his stern yet determined visage, a symbol of his unwavering resolve.

On the other hand, the leather-clad man exuded a different kind of presence. With his gray-black hair and dark purple eyes, he possessed an aura of mystery and stealth. His armor, fashioned from supple leather and reinforced with metal plates, offered both flexibility and protection. At his waist, a long blade rested in its sheath, while a smaller dagger was securely fastened to his torso, within easy reach for swift and precise strikes. Despite his lighter armor, there was no mistaking the readiness and vigilance in his stance, a testament to his skill as a seasoned warrior of the shadows. Caulot and Avondale approached cautiously, their dishes in hand, ready to contribute to the gathering.

"How is our lord, Sir Rodrigo?" Mr. Cedric inquired, addressing the heavily clad knight.

"Hmph, he's fine," Sir Rodrigo replied gruffly, his tone tinged with disrespect. "He might be old, but he won't die until Roble is secured."

A chuckle escaped Sir Rodrigo's lips, but the man beside him shot him a glare, clearly disapproving of the comment. Caulot couldn't help but sense the underlying tension in the air, and he wondered if the man beside Sir Rodrigo had an urge to smack the knight for his disrespectful remark about their lord.

A bead of sweat broke on Mr. Cedric's brow before he broke the tense silence with a hint of humor. "Well, would you be interested in taste-testing our lord's bounty before he gets the chance?"

Both Caulot and Avondale stepped forward, carrying dishes under Mr. Cedric's approving gesture. As they laid out the dishes on the table for the two men, Sir Rodrigo abruptly snatched Avondale's arm, startling her and causing Caulot to tense with concern.

"Well, well, Cedric," Sir Rodrigo chuckled, his tone laced with amusement. "I didn't know you had good taste in women, eh?" His hand lingered on Avondale's arm, but she visibly shifted uncomfortably, trying to discreetly move away from the man's touch. Sensing Avondale's discomfort, Caulot swiftly intervened, his protective instincts kicking in. With a determined stride, he moved towards Sir Rodrigo and pushed the knight aside, his action assertive yet controlled. The force of the push caused Sir Rodrigo to lose his balance and stumble backward, forcing him to stand up abruptly from his seat, his expression shifting from surprise to irritation.

"Let her go!" Caulot began to protest, his voice firm with determination, but before he could finish his sentence, a swift blow from the other knight, the one in leather armor, struck Caulot's helmet. The impact was forceful, knocking Caulot's helmet off and sending it clattering to the ground. As Caulot's scarred face was revealed, a hushed gasp of astonishment swept through the tent. Not only were the onlookers taken aback by the sudden violence, but also by the sight of Caulot's visage. Whispers of shock and pity rippled through the crowd, mingling with the tension that hung thick in the air.

Caulot's scarred face, now unveiled for the world to see, drew Avondale's gaze. She couldn't hide her shock, and a flicker of discomfort passed through her eyes. Shyly, she backed away, seeking refuge behind Mr. Cedric.

"Oh? I didn't know South Roble had demi-humans," Rodrigo snorted with contempt, his tone laced with disdain and hatred. With a swift and deliberate motion, he drew out his sword, the metallic ring echoing ominously in the tense silence of the tent. The glint of malice in his eyes reflected his deep-seated animosity towards Caulot..

Cedric's desperate plea pierced the tense atmosphere. "Wait! He's human!" he shouted, his voice filled with urgency and desperation. However, his words fell on deaf ears as the knight, consumed by rage and hatred, swung his blade with intent to end the whimpering boy's life.

Avondale's hands flew to cover her eyes instinctively, shielding herself from the grisly scene unfolding before her. As she hesitated, a quick black smear brushed the corner of her eye. Summoning her courage, she dared to peek through her fingers and was met with a sight that defied belief.

There, amidst the chaos, stood Sol, the black-armored knight, his presence unexpected yet resolute. With swift and precise movements, he intercepted Rodrigo's blade, parrying the lethal strike aimed at Caulot. Avondale's heart swelled with a mixture of relief and disbelief as she witnessed Sol's timely intervention, his arrival offering a glimmer of hope in the midst of darkness.

Blocking the knight’s blade just inches from the whimpering boy’s head, Sol's swift action spared Caulot from certain harm. With a deft maneuver, he slid his sword along the knight's blade, poised to strike at Rodrigo's helmet. However, the knight swiftly ducked, countering with a powerful kick that sent Sol flying backward.

The black-armored man quickly regained his footing, his resolve unwavering as he pointed his vile blade menacingly at his opponent.

“You sure have the nerve trying to kill Caulot.” Sol felt that anger dwelling inside of him again, It was a familiar feeling, he took a quick look at the knight.

I’ve seen him before! He was the one back in the forest! The one who took credit for my kills!

Now Sol understood why he felt that rage again, not only had this man taken his work, he also had tried to kill Caulot.
"Oh? Not bad?" Rodrigo's laughter echoed through the tense air. "I didn't know there was a skilled warrior in these lands. Cedric, you sure have a strange ability attracting interesting people."

Cedric, sensing the escalating tension, swiftly intervened, jumping in between the two men in an attempt to de-escalate the fight. His expression stern and determined, he aimed to diffuse the animosity before it erupted into further violence.

"Sol, Sir Rodrigo, please stop fighting!" Cedric's voice cut through the tension, filled with urgency and desperation. "Sol, I'll pay you extra, and Sir Rodrigo, I'll add an extra bonus for the tax!"

"Mr. Cedric, while your offer is tempting, I'm declining," Rodrigo declared firmly, his gaze unwavering. "The warrior in front of me is far too interesting to not fight."

Cedric had hoped his offer would calm the two men down, but Rodrigo remained unmoved, his expression resolute as he calmly declined. The air crackled with unresolved tension as both men stood their ground, unwilling to back down from the confrontation.

After all, he had kept up with me without relying on martial arts alone.

Sol surged forward with a swift charge, his blade cutting through the air with a menacing whistle as he aimed a horizontal slash at Rodrigo's torso. Yet, to Sol's astonishment, Rodrigo unleashed a flurry of martial arts techniques in response.

[Ability Boost]

With a surge of energy, Rodrigo's movements became fluid and precise, his strengthened body displaying a remarkable agility as he effortlessly dodged Sol's strike. With a swift pivot, he darted out of the tent, his departure leaving the black-armored knight puzzled.

That sudden speed, what was that?

As Sol swiftly exited the tent, Rodrigo wasted no time in unleashing a powerful blow, his blade humming with latent energy.

[Cutting Edge]

With a deft swing, air gathered around Rodrigo's blade, slicing through the canvas behind Sol with precision. Reacting with lightning reflexes, Sol barely managed to dodge the lethal strike, his heart pounding with adrenaline.

Thinking quickly, Sol countered by slashing at the knight's blade. To his surprise, his strike connected, causing the knight's blade to clash with his own, locking them in a fierce deadlock. The clash of metal reverberated through the air, marking the onset of a heated confrontation between the two men.

"You sure are impressive, not using martial arts and all," Rodrigo exclaimed, his interest evident in his tone. "In any case, what's your name? Ironically, we had started fighting without even introducing ourselves."

Sol, still locked in a blade-to-blade struggle with the knight, responded with a steely resolve, his voice low and intense. "My name is Sol," he stated firmly, his gaze unwavering. Then, with a hint of defiance, he added, "What's yours, you smelly old shit?"

Rodrigo chuckled at Sol's retort, his laughter echoing through the tense air. "You sure have a sharp tongue, Sol. My name is Rodrigo, and I'm going to take you down."

[Ability Boost]

With a surge of energy, the locked blades suddenly blew upwards, causing both men to momentarily lose their balance. Rodrigo seized the opportunity, preparing to slash upwards at the black knight. However, Sol's reflexes were quicker; he swiftly sidestepped the attack, narrowly avoiding Rodrigo's strike.

Now I remember, martial arts, I remember TEL telling me about it. Apparently it makes one stronger. In any case I need to take him down!

As the intensity of the duel between Sol and Rodrigo escalated, the commotion drew the attention of everyone within the vicinity. Farmhands, Caulot, Cedric, and all others present spilled out of the tent, their eyes wide with fascination as they bore witness to the unfolding spectacle.

With sunset approaching, the clanging of blades reverberated through the air, mingling with the soft sounds of nature awakening. The nearby lanca, grazing peacefully in the fields, turned their heads in curiosity at the sudden disturbance.

"Gareth! Take down that demi-human! The one who wears that obnoxious helmet!" Rodrigo's voice boomed across the field, his command directed at the leather-armored man. Without hesitation, Gareth sprang into action, dashing towards Caulot with lethal intent.

"Caulot, behind you!" Sol's urgent cry pierced through the chaos of the duel, snapping the boy out of his trance-like state of amazement.

Reacting swiftly to his friend's warning, Caulot instinctively ducked, narrowly avoiding Gareth's incoming blow. The strike grazed his shoulder, making only momentary contact with the leather holster at his side. With a quick recovery, Caulot stood upright, facing the leather-clad knight with determination in his eyes.

Sol's gaze flickered briefly towards Caulot, who stood resolute despite his lack of weaponry or combat experience. With each parry and block against Rodrigo's relentless assault, Sol's determination only intensified.

I need to finish this duel, there's no way that Caulot could take him out without a blade.

As Gareth lunged forward, intent on exploiting Caulot's apparent vulnerability, he aimed his strike at the boy's unprotected torso. However, to his surprise, Caulot's reaction was swift and unexpected. With a resolute determination, Caulot raised his arms in a defensive stance, his movements guided by instinct alone.

A surprising clang echoed through the air as Caulot successfully parried Gareth's thrust, his makeshift defense holding firm against the leather-clad knight's attack. The unexpected turn of events left Gareth momentarily stunned, his momentum disrupted by Caulot's unexpected resilience.

"When you dodged my first attack, you grabbed my spare blade, didn't you?" Gareth questioned, his voice tinged with a mix of surprise and admiration as he observed Caulot's resourcefulness.

With a subtle smirk hidden behind his helmet, Caulot remained silent, his eyes gleaming with determination as he awaited Gareth's next move. Deciding to leverage his advantage in reach, Gareth began thrusting his longer blade at Caulot with precision and speed. Despite Caulot's desperate attempts to dodge, he found himself unable to close the distance between them due to Gareth's superior length. With each thrust, Caulot narrowly avoided being struck, but he could feel the pressure mounting as he struggled to find an opening.

Realizing he needed to change tactics, Caulot made a bold move. Ignoring the minor scratches he received in his dash forward, he closed the distance between himself and Gareth, determined to engage him in close combat where his shorter blade could be more effective. However, Gareth was prepared for such a maneuver. With a practiced fluidity, he swiftly revealed his ace, a move honed through countless battles against opponents of Caulot's stature.

[Greater Ability Boost]

As Gareth's longer blade retracted, poised to strike at Caulot's vulnerable neck, Sol sprang into action with lightning speed. With a firm grip, he seized Rodrigo's sword arm, easily overpowering the knight's martial prowess. With a swift motion, Sol withdrew the blade and hurled it across the farm ground towards Gareth, forced to block it, his imminent attack was disrupted.

With Gareth momentarily thrown off balance by the unexpected turn of events, Caulot seized the opportunity to strike. Using the dull edge of the blade, he expertly knocked the leather-armored man off his feet, sending him crashing to the ground in defeat. With Gareth subdued, Caulot swiftly pointed his blade at the defeated opponent, asserting his victory.

Meanwhile, Rodrigo, distracted by the absurdity of the sudden turn of events, was caught off guard as Sol delivered a powerful punch, knocking him down. With both Rodrigo and Gareth now defeated, Sol and Caulot emerged victorious from the chaotic duel that had unfolded across the farmland.

To Sol's surprise, Rodrigo managed to regain his footing, the punch had dealt damage, staggering towards his blade. Despite his defeat, a chuckle escaped his lips as he addressed Sol with a hint of amusement. "Congratulations," he began, his voice tinged with admiration. "You've piqued my interest. Do you wish for the both of you to join us?"

Sol's brow furrowed in confusion at Rodrigo's unexpected offer. "Join you? What do you mean?" he questioned, his tone laced with skepticism.

With a determined expression, Rodrigo retrieved his blade and extended a hand to help Gareth to his feet. As both men stood facing Sol and Caulot, they exchanged a meaningful glance before Rodrigo finally gave his answer.

"To serve our lord, Old Purple, and join his order of Knights," Rodrigo continued, his voice carrying a persuasive tone. "Join us, Sol. You have potential that is wasted here."

Sol was shocked to hear that name, Old Purple. He had heard it from TEL, a legendary noble who had served the previous king, but he had not known that he owned these lands.

"And where is that?" Sol inquired.

Rodrigo grinned. "At Puertomariono."

Chapter Text

As night fell over the tranquil farmgrounds, Sol lugged the cumbersome supplies towards the waiting carriage, its wooden frame standing stoically against the darkness. The air was crisp with the scent of grass and earth, and the occasional rustle of leaves whispered through the night.

Caulot, standing nearby, had pleaded with Rodrigo for an extra day's respite, but his request fell on deaf ears. With a resigned sigh, Rodrigo collected the taxes from Mr. Cedric and made his way back to the carriage, his figure outlined by the soft glow of lantern light.

"Oi, better say your goodbyes to these farmhands," Rodrigo called out gruffly, his voice carrying over the peaceful night air. Sol and Caulot exchanged a nod, silently acknowledging the finality of their departure, before turning towards the group gathered nearby.

As they approached, the farmhands paused in their tasks, their faces illuminated by the flickering lantern light. "Listen, Sol," Cedric began, his voice carrying a hint of remorse as he addressed the black knight. "I'm sorry that this entire debacle happened." He paused, his expression reflecting disappointment at the unexpected turn of events. "My intention was for Sir Rodrigo to recognize your strength, perhaps even take you as a squire."

His words hung heavy in the air, a solemn acknowledgment of the unintended consequences that had unfolded. Despite his initial intentions, Cedric couldn't help but feel a pang of regret for the chaos that had ensued.

Sol chuckled softly, his tone carrying a hint of wry amusement. "Well, your plan did technically work, with a few hiccups, unfortunately." He placed a reassuring hand on Cedric's shoulder, offering a small smile to alleviate the tension that lingered on.

Amidst the somber air, Avondale interjected with a heavy heart, shouldering the weight of guilt. "It's all my fault," she confessed, her voice tinged with regret. "If I hadn't let that knight touch me, this wouldn't have happened."

The weight of Caulot's guilt hung heavy in the air as Avondale offered her apology, her words laced with sincerity and regret. "Caulot, I'm sorry for being scared of your face," she confessed softly, her voice tinged with remorse. "I shouldn't have been. You must have been suffering greatly."

Sol's calm assertion cut through the tension like a knife. "Yes, Avondale, it is your fault," he stated, his tone unwavering despite the shock it elicited from those present. "If you hadn't tried to seduce Rodrigo, Caulot wouldn't have been in danger, but of course, you just had to cause an issue."

Avondale recoiled, her composure faltering as she struggled to process Sol's accusation. Cedric's anger flared in response, his voice rising in defense of Avondale. "And how is this her…” Cedric's protestations fell on deaf ears as Sol's bitterness spilled forth unchecked. "Of course it was her fault, she was clearly trying to manipulate everyone," Sol spat, his words heavy with disdain as he directed his ire towards Avondale, who now wept openly under the weight of his accusation.

Avondale's tears only seemed to confirm Sol's conviction, prompting him to deliver one final barb before turning away in disgust. "Ah, there we go, her crocodile tears," he sneered, his tone dripping with contempt. "I'm leaving before you all decide to blindly defend her."

With that, Sol departed, leaving behind a palpable sense of tension and resentment among the group.

"You bastard, get back here Sol! Apologize to Avondale!” Cedric's voice thundered through the night, his anger palpable in the crisp air. But despite the force of his demand, the black knight remained unmoved, his resolve unyielding to the storm of emotions around him. Sensing the tension escalating, Caulot stepped forward.
Caulot's voice quivered slightly as he spoke, his words carrying a weight of earnest sincerity. "I-I apologize on behalf of Sol," he began, his gaze shifting between Cedric and Avondale. "I know he may seem rude and unapologetic, but I know for certain that he's a good man."

His tone softened, reflecting a genuine belief in Sol's inherent goodness despite his recent behavior. "I don't know what caused him to be like this," Caulot continued, a note of confusion evident in his voice. "But deep down, he would do the right thing."

Cedric's tense expression softened slightly at Caulot's words, a semblance of understanding dawning in his eyes. The tension in the air seemed to ease as Caulot's apology resonated with the group.

Turning to face Avondale, Caulot's voice carried a genuine sense of regret tinged with disappointment. "Miss Avondale, I really appreciated cooking with you," he began, his tone earnest and heartfelt. "I honestly was excited to continue working with all of you, but unfortunately, events have occurred and I can no longer work with you."

Avondale, touched by Caulot's sincerity, wiped away her tears and offered a grateful smile. "Thank you, Caulot, I appreciate it," she replied softly, her voice filled with emotion.

Cedric stepped forward, his paternal warmth evident in his gaze as he addressed Caulot. "It's alright, Son," he said reassuringly, placing three bronze coins in Caulot's palm. "You did well here. Take this. This is your first paycheck. You earned it."

Caulot's eyes sparkled with gratitude as he looked down at the coins, a sense of accomplishment swelling within him. He thanked both Avondale and Cedric before making his way to join Sol.

"Well, you two sure caused a commotion," Gareth exclaimed, his grip firm on the horse reins as he addressed Rodrigo. The moonlight painted a silvery sheen over the grassy plains, casting long shadows that danced in the night. "Are we heading out yet? We've been waiting for hours at this point!" Gareth's voice carried a note of impatience, echoing across the tranquil landscape.

"Yes, preparations are done. Ready the horses; we are leaving," Rodrigo announced decisively, his voice cutting through the nighttime stillness. With practiced agility, he leaped onto the wooden carriage, taking his place beside Gareth. Sol and Caulot were already seated inside, their faces illuminated by the soft glow of lantern light. As the carriage rumbled to life, they waved goodbye to the farmhands, bidding farewell to the familiar faces of the farmgrounds.

As the carriage rolled along the outskirts of Refugio, Caulot's shack came into view, its silhouette faintly illuminated by the moonlight. Sol glanced at Caulot, his gaze curious. "Say, Caulot, did you forget anything back at the shack?" He inquired, turning to face his companion. Caulot's eyes briefly flickered towards his old home before he shook his head.

“No, there's nothing important back there," he replied quietly, his voice tinged with a hint of nostalgia. In that fleeting moment, memories of his past flickered through his mind, but he quickly pushed them aside, focusing instead on the journey that lay ahead.

"I see," Sol responded thoughtfully, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Well, I suppose we can now start our adventure, although it seems to have begun earlier than expected." He chuckled softly before turning to Rodrigo with a question. "How far are we from Puertomarino?"

Rodrigo glanced backward at the black knight, his gaze briefly lingering on Sol's helmeted visage. "Half a day's journey on horseback," he replied, his voice carrying a hint of weariness from the long day's travels. "We'll probably reach there by morning, I reckon."

"I see, I don't know much about these lands," he began, "but do you mind telling me more about Old Purple and the other Nine Colors?"

Rodrigo frowned, his irritation evident as he regarded the black knight. "Just ask someone around the city," he grumbled dismissively. "I can't be bothered. I'm going to sleep now, and you should too." With a swift motion, Rodrigo placed his helmet over his face, signaling his intent to rest. Gareth, now left to manage the horses alone, cast a sidelong glance at Rodrigo before focusing on his task.

Hours passed, Under the embrace of the moon's soft glow, the grassy plain stretched out endlessly, a vast expanse that seemed to merge seamlessly with the star-strewn sky above. The darkness of night revealed the true essence of the land, casting shadows that danced in the moonlight.

Boulders dotted the landscape like silent sentinels, their weathered surfaces catching the faint shimmer of starlight. Not a single tree broke the horizon, leaving the terrain open and exposed to the elements. Instead, clusters of bushes clung to the earth, their twisted branches reaching out like gnarled fingers in the night. Sol couldn't sleep, his undying nature keeping him awake. So, he found himself lost in thought, his mind wandering aimlessly in the quiet of the night.

It seemed TEL was correct; there were scarcely any trees to be found in South Roble.

Suddenly, the carriage lurched to a halt, jolting Caulot and Rodrigo awake from their slumber. They both sprang to attention, their senses sharpened as they realized something had disrupted their journey.

Gareth's voice broke the stillness of the night, his words carrying a sense of urgency. "Nature calls," he announced, swinging down from the carriage. "I'll be back soon. If any of you need to relieve yourselves, do it now. Once I return, Rodrigo, you take the reins." With that, he disappeared into the darkness.

A groan of annoyance escaped Rodrigo as Gareth departed, disrupting his momentary peace. He shifted uncomfortably, feeling irritated at being roused for what seemed like an unnecessary interruption. Quickly, he closed his eyes again, hoping to reclaim the precious moments of sleep he had lost, eager to maximize his rest before the journey resumed.

Caulot sighed in relief before nudging Sol gently. "I need to do it too," he whispered, his voice barely audible in the quiet of the night. "Do you mind watching over me?"

"Of course," Sol replied softly. They both disembarked, heading toward another bush on the opposite side of Gareth's. Caulot quickly began his natural escapade, while Sol found a rock to block his view from the others, ensuring Caulot's privacy.

Sol's impatience mixed with his reluctance to waste time drove him to summon TEL immediately. "TEL, I require your services right now," he declared, his curiosity tugging at him. Three blue eyes materialized from the rock, reflecting TEL's readiness to assist.

"Yes, master, what do you require?" TEL's voice emanated from the stone, mirroring Sol's urgency."

“What do you know about Old Purple and the Nine Colors? Rather, who is Old Purple exactly?"

TEL emerged from the rock, resuming his usual form before addressing Sol's inquiry. “From what I've gathered from spying on others," he began, his metallic voice tinged with information. "He seems to be a Marquis who received his title decades back for his services to the old king."

"Received? What did he do to receive the title of purple?" Sol's curiosity piqued further, his mind swirling with questions about the prestigious honor. He knew that special individuals could receive the title of the nine colors if they demonstrated exceptional talent or gifts, but priests were typically barred from such distinctions.

"Do you remember when I told you how the current Queen lacks total control over the south? Well, that's not entirely true," TEL began, his metallic voice resonating with knowledge. "There has been one Marquis who has helped maintain national cohesion throughout Roble. That is Marquis Octavio Delacruz. During his youth, he assembled his fellow noblemen and created a system of honor and virtue. He persuaded the southern nobles to aid in the defense of the great wall and developed necessary infrastructure up north."

Sol's perplexity echoed through the night air. "Why would he do that? He could've easily just kept to himself and only cared about south Roble."

TEL's response resonated with insight. "I suspect it's because he yearns for a true united Roble," the metallic voice intoned. "He cares little for his own personal wealth, and because of his sacrifices, he was granted the title purple by the previous king, for helping maintain control over the south."

"That is indeed very interesting," Sol remarked, musing over the newfound knowledge. "However, I still find it strange that someone like Rodrigo would serve under him. He definitely lacks virtue," he chuckled before turning his attention back to TEL.

"One last question," Sol continued, his curiosity unabated. "What's Puertomarino like exactly? What should I expect there?"

TEL responded, his metallic form shifting slightly. "Puertomarino is a coastal city, controlled by House Delacruz, headed by Old Purple himself. The city serves as his home base. You may be expected to meet with his knight's order, and from what I've gathered, there might be a duel required for you to join them."

Sol examined his blade holster, feeling the weight of the vile blade nestled within. "A duel, eh?" he mused aloud. "I might be able to handle that." With a decisive nod, he turned his attention back to TEL. "In any case, you should leave soon."

“Farewell, master," TEL's metallic form dissolved into the ground, leaving behind only the serene scenery. Sol retraced his steps back to the carriage, where Caulot had already finished attending to his needs. Together, they returned to the waiting carriage, ready to continue their journey.

Rodrigo this time was wide awake with Gareth now resting. Caulot silently nodded to Rodrigo, indicating that they were done and ready to head out, with that the carriage moved onwards to Puertomarino.

As the first light of dawn began to cast its soft glow upon the rugged mountainous terrain, the travelers found themselves awake and alert. From their vantage point on the outskirts, they beheld the sprawling city of Puertomarino nestled below the mountain peak. Rodrigo's earlier assertion proved true; they had indeed reached their destination by early morning. The city's buildings and streets were just beginning to emerge from the shadows, hinting at the bustling activity that lay ahead. With a sense of anticipation, the group prepared to descend into the heart of Puertomarino and embark on the next chapter of their journey.

As Caulot and his companions entered the outskirts of the city, a palpable change in the air greeted them. Gone was the tranquility of the countryside, replaced instead by an energetic buzz that seemed to permeate the very atmosphere. The scent of sea salt mingled with the aroma of freshly baked goods from nearby bakeries, creating a tantalizing mixture that hung in the air.

The outskirts were alive with bustling activity, with people hurrying to and fro, merchants setting up their stalls, and the sound of horses' hooves echoing against the cobblestone streets. Buildings of various shapes and sizes lined the thoroughfares, their facades painted in vibrant hues that added to the lively ambiance of the area.

Caulot's eyes widened in amazement as he took in the sights before him, his excitement evident in the broad smile that graced his face. It was a scene unlike any he had ever witnessed, a stark contrast to the quiet simplicity of his life in the wooden shack.

As the carriage came to a stop, Rodrigo wasted no time in disembarking, his authoritative voice cutting through the din of activity as he shouted instructions to his companions.

“I hope you two enjoyed your sleep,” Rodrigo quipped, his voice tinged with sarcasm as he pointed towards Caulot and Sol seated in the carriage. "Now fetch me some breakfast!” With a casual toss, he hurled a bag towards Sol, who deftly caught it before examining its contents. Inside, several silver coins glinted in the morning light.

“Make sure to bring some for me," Gareth muttered, his voice muffled as he lay on the front side wood of the carriage, clearly not keen on leaving his comfortable spot. Obliging Gareth's request, Caulot and Sol made their way into town, entering the bustling marketplace where vendors hawking their wares and buyers bustled about, eager to strike a good deal. Amidst the lively scene, Sol couldn't help but comment on the vibrant atmosphere surrounding them.

"Wow, Caulot, look at this place," Sol exclaimed, his eyes wide with wonder as they navigated the bustling streets of Puertomarino. "This is a proper city unlike Refugio."

Caulot faced Sol, his helmet concealing his excited expression. "This is my first time being outside of my village," he admitted, marveling at the sights around him. "Is it like this in nearly every city, Sol?"

Unbeknownst to Caulot, Sol had experienced cities far grander, with skyscrapers towering into the sky and populations rivaling entire countries. However, he still found charm in Puertomarino. To him, it felt alive, vibrant with its bustling streets and lively atmosphere. With a chuckle, he responded to Caulot, "If you think Puertomarino is the best you'll see, you are deeply mistaken." His words carried a hint of amusement, knowing that there were even more awe-inspiring cities waiting to be discovered beyond their current horizon.

While Sol couldn’t see Caulot’s face he could sense his war smile hidden beneath his helm, “I wonder what they look like!” he exclaimed, excitement evident within his voice. The duo had been wandering around the city bazaar, trying to find somewhere to get food, before Sol spotted something.

At first he thought it was an apparition, but it was a woman with reddish hair, walking down a busy pathway across from the duo, someone that made Sol remember something truly disturbing, the time when he lost nearly everything.

"Caulot, take this pouch, I'll be back soon," Sol instructed hastily, thrusting a small pouch into Caulot's hands before disappearing into the bustling crowd.

"Wait, Sol! I don't even know where to go!" Caulot cried out, his voice echoing in the bustling street. But Sol had already departed, leaving Caulot stranded amidst the throngs of people.

Caught off guard by Sol's sudden departure and change in demeanor, Caulot felt a pang of concern prickling at the edges of his mind. Something seemed amiss, a shift in the air that he couldn't quite put his finger on. Ignoring the hustle and bustle around him, Caulot made a split-second decision. I should stalk Sol, he thought to himself, the urgency in his mind matching the unease in his heart. I feel like something's wrong. With determined steps, Caulot set off in the direction Sol had vanished.

With that, he retraced his friend's path, hoping to catch up, but to no avail; he had been hopelessly lost. Before trying to make his way back to where Sol left him, he accidentally stumbled into someone, causing him to drop his pouch.

“I-I’m so sorry. I didn’t—” Caulot stuttered, facing the two women he had stumbled upon and looking them in the eye through his visor.

“Be careful next time, Sir Knight,” she said playfully, while picking up his pouch and placing it in his palm.

Caulot was stunned, his gaze fixed on the green-eyed woman before him, a sense of awe washing over him. Before he could gather his thoughts, the woman beside her chided Caulot, "Well, Sir Knight? What do you have to say to someone who did a nice thing for you?"

“Um, thank you, miss?” Caulot stammered, feeling a flush of embarrassment creeping into his cheeks beneath his helmet.

"Now, Adelina, I'm sure he didn't mean any harm. If he were a pickpocket, I would have noticed. He's probably just lost," the woman said reassuringly, her voice gentle and understanding.

“If you say so Veela,” Adelina acquiesced, her tone softening as she relented. With the tension diffused, Caulot felt more at ease to continue his conversation with the two women.

“My name is Caulot, and I was looking for my friend,” Caulot introduced himself, his voice muffled slightly by his helmet. “He and I split off. We were originally looking for food but we couldn’t find any shops.”

Adelina and Veela glanced at each other before giggling. "You do know that this entire block is dedicated to bakeries and foodstuffs, right? It says it on the signs there," Veela said, pointing to the signs above them.

Caulot blushed. “T-thank you,” he stammered, slightly bowing down to hide both his embarrassment and to express gratitude for wasting Veela and Adelina's time.

Veela giggled before reassuring him, “It’s alright, not everyone is able to read, and that’s fine.” She glanced quickly at Adelina before continuing, “In any case, I hope you find your friend. We have to be leaving now. Goodbye, Caulot.” With that, the two women respectfully departed, leaving Caulot to ponder their encounter. He couldn't help but feel drawn to Veela; she reminded him of how Sol was when they first met.

She’s a bit like Sol, hopefully she doesn’t hate men.

With that, Caulot made his way to the store Veela had pointed out. As he entered, the baker welcomed him, her eyebrows lifting in curiosity at the sight of the young boy wearing a helmet. "How may we help you?" she inquired politely as Caulot perused the array of available pastries.

"I need breakfast for four people. How much would that cost? And what would I get?" Caulot inquired, his voice muffled slightly by the helmet.

She quickly brought out a small apple pie with honey, adorned with nuts, alongside several slices of almond cake. “This should satisfy four people. Would you like anything else?” the baker offered kindly.

Caulot drooled while looking at the pastries before calming himself and asking, “How much will that all cost?”

Quickly replying to her customer's question, the baker said, "That would be three copper coins." She brushed aside her hair as Caulot looked at his purse. Rodrigo had given them five silver coins, and quickly he placed one silver forward onto the cashier's table.

Taking the silver coin, she placed ten copper coins before happily commenting, “Have a good day!” She arranged the pastries in a paper bag and pushed it forward towards Caulot.

Caulot took the bag of pastries and stepped out of the store, onto the bustling city square. He looked around, his gaze drawn to the crowds of Puertomarino.

Now to find Sol.

Chapter Text

Sol trailed the woman, oblivious to the bustling crowds around him, his attention laser-focused on her every move. He shadowed her through street after street, pausing only when she paused for purchases or to gaze into shop windows. Sol experienced an unprecedented pull, not of desire but of something far more sinister—an unsettling animosity festering deep within him. As he followed, a troubling thought raced through his mind.

She couldn't be her, this is another world, there's no way that bitch is here.

Sol continued to trail the woman, maintaining a cautious distance. Whenever she glanced around, he nonchalantly veered away, masking his intentions. But as soon as her gaze returned forward, he resumed his pursuit. Uncertain of her destination, Sol remained resolute in his determination not to let the woman who had stolen everything from him escape.

I will get my revenge, I will avenge Zephyr.

Sol cautiously approached the woman's home, situated in a quaint suburban area. The house, constructed of sturdy timber beams and thatched roofing, exuded an aura of rustic charm. Ivy crawled up the sides, adding a touch of natural elegance to the humble abode. Hiding behind the wall from a nearby alleyway, he made his way to the house's window.

Sol peered through the window, the dim light within revealing only fleeting glimpses of the woman's silhouette, shrouded in mystery, and obscured the details of the interior.

The woman yelled out into the empty house, her voice echoing faintly through the rustic interior.

"Mateo? Where are you?”

A young boy burst out from inside the house, his quick footsteps echoing in the quiet surroundings, before throwing himself into his mother's arms. "Here, mama, what did you get?" he asked eagerly.

"Lunch and dinner," Rosa replied before tossing an apple to Mateo.

She knew he would struggle with it; however, he was at the age where his teeth needed removal, so she hoped this would aid him. To her surprise, Mateo ate it all relatively quickly before claiming.

“I was hungry before, but now I'm ready! Let's play hide and seek mama!"

She chuckled at the young boy's boundless energy. "Didn't see this energy when cleaning the dishes, now did I?"

Mateo slumped at her comment, his enthusiasm momentarily dampened. Rosa noticed his reaction and winked at her son.

"Well, I suppose it wouldn't hurt if it was for a short while," she conceded with a smile.

She sat down on the chair before facing the table top and closed her eyes, she began counting out loud.

Excitement glinted in Mateo's eyes as he dashed off to another room, eager to hide from his seeker. When the countdown reached twenty seconds, Rosa shouted out, "Ready or not! Here I come!"

But before she could take her first step, a knock came from behind her - someone was at the front door. Internally groaning, Rosa had hoped she could spend more time with her son than dealing with unrelated tasks. She even wanted to set the table nearby and wanted to feed Mateo a new recipe she discovered. She approached the door and peered through the eyepiece.

As Rosa peered through the eyepiece, her eyes widened at the sight before her. Standing at the front door was a towering black-armored knight, the darkness of his armor contrasting sharply with the golden lining that creased through his helmet and body. The intricate details of his armor gleamed in the faint light, catching her eye. A small shield with a similar textured design was strapped to his left arm, adding to the imposing figure he cut. At his left hip, a formidable blade was holstered, hinting at the knight's readiness for battle.

A knight!? What would one be doing here? Maybe it's an announcement from our Lord? But his armor is different than the other knights, not even the paladins wear such armour.

Rosa hesitated for a moment before opening the door, revealing the imposing figure of the black knight standing in the doorway. Towering above her, his black armor exuded an aura of strength and mystery, highlighted by the intricate golden lining that adorned it. The knight's presence commanded attention, and Rosa couldn't help but feel a mix of apprehension and curiosity as she faced him.

“Sir Knight, has the lord announced anything?" Rosa inquired, her voice tinged with a hint of nervousness as she shook the knight out of his trance.

"You... have we met before?" he queried, taking a tentative step forward.

"Um, what?" Rosa stepped back, feeling dwarfed by the knight's towering presence, before his voice boomed in a sudden shout.

"Yes we have! Tell me, why did you do it? Why did you take Zephyr from me?!”

The knight forced her back onto the table, its surface slanting slightly backwards as Rosa found herself pinned beneath the imposing figure. With a menacing aura surrounding him, the knight questioned her, his tone intimidating. Despite the fear rising within her, Rosa summoned her courage and responded firmly, her voice steady despite the situation.

“I-i don't even know who you are? Or who this Zephyr is!"

"Don't lie to me, I saw what you did! Tell me, do you really enjoy seeing good men suffer?!" The knight's grip tightened around Rosa's arm, causing her to wince in pain. "Tell me! Why did you do it?!" his voice thundered, demanding an answer from her.

"I don't even know who you are!" Rosa cried out in frustration, her voice tinged with fear and desperation.

"Now let me go!"

With a burst of adrenaline, she slapped the knight across his metal visor. The impact reverberated through her hand, causing her more pain than it did to the knight's armor. However, the action ignited an ancient rage within Sol, fueling his determination even further.

How dare she soil the armor of the immortal, I shall make her yield before me.

He quickly placed his palm on the woman's face before throwing her onto the table, grabbing her arm he quickly twisted it, a short scream emerged before Sol kicked her onto the ground, a part of her clothing torn off.

"Now you understand how he felt. This isn't even a fraction of the misery he went through!" Sol screamed at her, his voice filled with fury and vindication. However, Rosa could only weep at her fate, overwhelmed by pain and fear.

Across the room, Mateo peeked out from the closet, his curiosity piqued by the commotion. However, as he witnessed his mother being tortured by the black monster, horror washed over him, freezing him in place. Unable to move or make a sound, his fear and anxiety consumed him, tears welling up in his eyes as he watched helplessly.

It had been a few agonizing minutes since Sol had begun his torturous interrogation. With each passing moment, his relentless assault on Rosa intensified. He delivered brutal kicks and punches, each blow calculated to inflict maximum pain while carefully avoiding delivering a fatal blow.

His goal was not just to harm Rosa physically, but to break her spirit and maximize her suffering. Despite her cries and pleas for mercy, Sol showed no signs of relenting, his determination to extract whatever information he sought unyielding.

"I'm going to humiliate you in the same way you humiliated him," Sol declared, his voice dripping with malice as he drew out his vile blade with his right arm.

With deliberate cruelty, he proceeded to strike Rosa's hair, each cut designed to strip away her beauty and dignity.

"The greatest way to inflict misery on a woman is to take her beauty," he sneered, before ruthlessly shaving her scalp bare.

Sol had instinctively wrapped cloth around her mouth to stifle her screams, the entire scene feeling surreal to him. It was as if he had performed such acts countless times before, as if he were an expert in the art of torture and cruelty. And yet, how could it be? Sol had never committed such horrors before.

Sol's descent into depravity reached its zenith as he mercilessly shaved off Rosa's eyebrows before delivering a final, brutal kick that sent her crashing to the ground, unconscious. Her labored breathing filled the room, her torn clothing leaving her bruised stomach bare and her hair scattered across the floor.

A strange sense of fulfillment washed over Sol, as if a weight had been lifted, yet a deep horror began to grip him as he slowly realized the extent of his actions. Collapsing to the ground, he was consumed by overwhelming guilt and horror at the atrocities he had committed. The realization of what he had done sent shockwaves of revulsion through him, leaving him shattered and broken.

What… What have I done?!

Sol, overcome with horror and confusion, ripped off his vile helmet and cast it to the ground. His mind raced with panic for a few agonizing minutes, grappling with the enormity of his actions and the darkness within him.

Finally, with a deep breath, he managed to calm himself, his resolve returning. Determination hardened in his eyes as he commanded TEL, steeling himself for what lay ahead. Despite the horrors he had committed, Sol knew he must press forward and confront the consequences of his actions.

“TEL I need you," he cried out, a hollow response was his reception.

Why isn't he responding?! He always appears when I command him.

Sol called out again, his voice tinged with anger and frustration. A blue halo emerged from the corner of the house, signaling TEL's response. The robotic dog solemnly walked towards Sol, its head low as it glanced at the unconscious woman. With a sense of gravity, TEL finally responded, acknowledging Sol's call for assistance.

“Yes, what do you need?"

"TEL, what do I do? I... I don't even know what happened," Sol confessed, his voice wavering with uncertainty and guilt. He struggled to articulate the events that had unfolded, the weight of his actions bearing down on him. Taking a deep breath, he settled into a seat, attempting to calm himself amidst the turmoil of emotions swirling within him.

TEL gazed up at Sol, his metallic face devoid of any expression, the visage of his helmet lying discarded on the floor nearby.

"I think I need to kill her. I can't let anyone figure this out," Sol confessed to TEL, his voice strained with desperation. With trembling hands, he readied his blade, consumed by fear of the consequences and the darkness lurking within him. He felt the chilling presence of the other self, the one who relished the idea of what he was about to do. But before he could act, TEL swiftly intervened, halting Sol in his tracks.

"We wouldn't need to kill her, master. We could erase her memories of this incident," TEL suggested calmly, offering a more humane alternative to Sol's desperate plan.

Sol's tense expression softened with a sense of relief at TEL's suggestion. "You can? Please do it, TEL."

TEL nodded slowly before approaching Rosa. With careful precision, he placed his robotic paws on her forehead, his blue halo fading in and out as he began the process of erasing her memories of the traumatic incident.

Mateo watched the entire incident unfold from the safety of the closet, his young eyes wide with both fear and fascination. The sight of the majestic robotic creature with its three blue eyes sent shivers down his spine, yet he couldn't tear his gaze away. His heart pounded with horror as he wondered if the creature would lead him to the black monster who had taken his mother from him. However, to his relief, the creature seemed to look away, as if disappointed, before departing, leaving the black monster alone.

As the black-clad figure donned his hideous black crown and departed, leaving poor Rosa lying on the ground, her once beautiful hair strewn across the floor, blood spattered all around, and her fingernails cruelly clipped, Mateo's heart ached with sorrow and fear for his mother.

Mateo slowly emerged from the sanctuary of his closet and approached his comatose mother with hesitant steps. Strangely, he didn't scream or cry; instead, he felt numb, unable to fully process the horrific events that had unfolded before him. All he knew in that moment was the overwhelming sense of loneliness that enveloped him, as he realized he was now all alone in the world.

…

Hours had passed since Sol went on his escapade and Caulot’s worry grew proportional to the time he spent searching for Sol, after he had bought breakfast he had made his way to Rodrigo. Of course they asked him where Sol went. Caulot had told them honestly what had occurred before both Rodrigo and Gareth glanced at each other with concern. Rodrigo mentioned how they had to make themselves present to the castle before sunset. That was their deadline or else they’ll miss their opportunity.

Caulot quickly scanned the nearby alley, taking note of the sun’s position, we still have some time, come on Sol, where are you?

Caulot checked another alleyway before accidentally stumbling over a metallic object. As he looked up from his fallen state, his eyes widened in surprise. However, his surprise quickly turned to relief when he realized it was Sol.

"Sol, where were you? I've been looking all over for you," Caulot exclaimed, reaching out to grab Sol's hand and pull him forward.

But to Caulot's dismay, Sol didn't budge. In fact, he remained completely still, resembling a statue in the middle of the street.

"Sol! Snap out of it! Remember why we came here?" Caulot urged, his voice tinged with concern and urgency.

Sol's body quickly snapped out of its trance, and he glanced at Caulot, confusion evident in his eyes.

"How long was I out for?" he asked, his voice tinged with bewilderment.

"Nearly half the day. Look, it's nearly sunset," Caulot replied, pointing at the sun sinking low behind him.

“I see, I don’t really remember what had happened beforehand, we should make our way to Rodrigo.”

Caulot wore a worried face before explaining to Sol the situation, Sol, understanding what was going on, questioned Caulot “I see, and where would this meeting place be at?”

Caulot pointed behind Sol, a castle on an elevated hill greeted the duo. Sol glanced at Caulot giving him a nod before they both began jogging to the castle.

As Sol and Caulot approached the castle gate, they were met with the sight of guards wearing formidable plate armor, each bearing a symbol on their caps. Just as they were about to enter, the guards stationed above on the castle walls halted them in their tracks.

"Halt! This castle is under our Lord's control. State your business!" one of the guards commanded, their tone stern and authoritative.

Sol responded “we’re here with orders from Sir Rodrigo.”

The guard acknowledged his answer before questioning further “and who might you two be?”

“My name is Sol, and the one beside me is Caulot," Sol answered confidently, providing their identities to the guards.

After a brief pause filled with tense anticipation, one of the guards left momentarily, leaving an uneasy silence hanging in the air. Moments later, the guard returned and nodded to the guard controlling the gate. With a creak, the gate was opened just wide enough for Sol and Caulot to squeeze their way through, granting them entry into the castle grounds.

“You are allowed to enter, meet with Rodrigo at the barracks”

As Sol and Caulot entered the castle courtyard, they were greeted by a scene of bustling activity and disciplined order. The gate closed behind them, sealing off the outside world and enveloping them in the protective embrace of the stronghold.

The castle grounds were immaculately kept, with well-manicured lawns and neatly trimmed hedges bordering the pathways. Tall stone walls surrounded the courtyard, their imposing presence a testament to the castle's strength and fortitude. Towers loomed overhead, their sturdy battlements manned by vigilant guards keeping watch over the realm.

Within the courtyard, men sparred with each other, their movements fluid and precise as they trained with wooden swords. The clang of metal against wood echoed through the air, accompanied by the shouts and grunts of exertion from the combatants. Soldiers drilled in formation, their disciplined movements a testament to their rigorous training regimen.

Sol couldn't help but feel a sense of familiarity wash over him as he observed the scene before him. It was as if he had witnessed it all before, as if he had once commanded his own troop and led armies into battle. Yet, deep down, Sol knew that he had never wielded a blade or held command over soldiers. The feeling of déjà vu lingered, a puzzling mystery that added to the enigma of his ‘buried’ past.

The exterior of the barracks presented a formidable sight, standing tall and imposing against the backdrop of the castle grounds. Its walls were constructed from sturdy stone, weathered by years of exposure to the elements, while wooden beams reinforced the structure, adding to its strength and durability.

The entrance was flanked by two stone pillars, their surfaces adorned with intricate carvings depicting scenes of battle and valor. Above the doorway, a wooden sign bearing the emblem of the castle swung gently in the breeze, creaking softly as it moved.

They arrived at the doorstep of the barracks, to their surprise Rodrigo wasn't waiting for them inside but rather outside of it. Ordering the guard to leave the duo he faced Sol asking him.

“You sure enjoy causing grief to others eh?"

Sol went cold, a chill traveled across spine.

Does he know? No Rodrigo couldn't have known.

Sol readied his stance preparing for an attack before Rodrigo chuckled and faced Caulot.

“Man it must be rough for you kid, does Sol always have the habit of leaving you alone?" He then faced Sol “can't believe you let the kid do all the chores, next time do it together.”

"Tonight, you two will be tested," Rodrigo declared, his voice solemn yet resolute.

"Whether you are worthy of joining our ranks. This will test both your skill and, most importantly, your honor. To see whether you bear what it takes to be a knight of our Lord, who was granted the title Purple by our pompous royalty.”

As Rodrigo announced his plans, a knight approached the trio, his imposing figure clad in armor reminiscent of Rodrigo's but on a grander scale. Behind both Sol and Caulot, the knight stood, his presence commanding attention, adorned with a cape bearing the emblem of the old purple flag.

Rodrigo, ever vigilant, immediately saluted the approaching knight, a gesture of respect and recognition. He then waved for Sol and Caulot to follow suit, signaling the importance of the newcomer's presence.

The knight's armor was an impressive display of craftsmanship, resembling that of Rodrigo's but more grandiose in scale. Each piece of armor was meticulously forged, boasting intricate detailing and embellishments that spoke of the knight's noble lineage and status. The chest plate bore the emblem of the old purple flag: a striking purple cross with a majestic blue eagle emblazoned upon it. This symbol of honor and loyalty to their cause was proudly displayed, gleaming with a polished sheen under the sunlight.

His helmet, adorned with a plume of feathers, obscured his face, adding an air of mystery and authority to his presence. A flowing cape, bearing the same emblem as his armor, trailed behind him as he moved, billowing with regal elegance. The combination of polished armor and flowing cape created a commanding silhouette, signaling the knight's esteemed status and unwavering dedication to his cause.

“Sir Wasfed, these two will be the ones who will be tested tonight.”

Sir Wasfed wasted no time in addressing them, his attention focused particularly on Sol. "So, you must be the black knight who took on Rodrigo and won without using martial arts," he stated, his voice resonating with a hint of admiration.

"Impressive indeed. Gareth has spoken highly of your exploits. You will undoubtedly make a fine addition to our order.”

Sir Wasfed's voice carried both authority and honor as he addressed Caulot.

"And you must be the young boy who took on Gareth," he began, his tone respectful yet firm.

"Despite lacking strength, you still challenged Gareth, a superior opponent. That is bravery indeed."

Caulot stood a little straighter, a flicker of pride shining in his eyes at the acknowledgment of his courage.

"You will also be needed," Sir Wasfed continued, his words carrying weight as he acknowledged Caulot's importance in the upcoming trials.

Sir Wasfed's gesture of placing his palm on their shoulders conveyed both reassurance and encouragement. Sol and Caulot felt a sense of solidarity as they stood side by side, ready to face the challenges ahead.

Turning his attention back to Rodrigo, Sir Wasfed spoke with authority, "It'll soon be time for the initiation. Let these two prepare themselves." His words echoed with a sense of inevitability.

Rodrigo nodded in understanding as Caulot voiced his question to Sir Wasfed.

"Prepare ourselves? What do you mean, sir?" Caulot inquired, his curiosity evident in his tone.

"For the duel, of course," Sir Wasfed replied, his voice carrying the weight of authority. "Within the barracks is an armory. You are allowed to use any equipment available to you."

Caulot's eyes widened in excitement at the prospect of the duel, but then narrowed in curiosity as a question formed in his mind.

"Wait, if this is a duel, why would we be using steel weaponry? Wouldn't wooden swords do?" he asked, his voice tinged with curiosity and a hint of uncertainty.

Caulot's worry gnawed at him as he contemplated his lack of experience with actual weaponry. The memory of his near-death experience flashed through his mind, reminding him of the dangers that awaited him in the upcoming duel. Doubt crept in, overshadowing his confidence in his ability to wield a sword effectively. Would he be able to survive, let alone win, against skilled opponents?

He glanced beside him at Sol, who stood almost motionless, his expression unreadable. Sol's calm demeanor contrasted with Caulot's inner turmoil, adding to his apprehension. But amidst his uncertainty, Caulot found solace in the knowledge that they were in this together, facing the challenges ahead as a team.

Sir Wasfed, noticing Caulot's expression, addressed them with understanding.

"You still have time to prepare," he announced, his tone reassuring.

"I'd recommend polishing your skills with Sol. In the meantime, Rodrigo and I will attend to our lord. Once that's finished, we'll come back for you."

With that, Sir Wasfed departed, signaling for Rodrigo to join him. The two knights left the duo standing at the entrance of the barracks, leaving them to contemplate the upcoming challenge and prepare themselves for the trials ahead.

Sol motioned for Caulot to enter the building, and together they stepped inside. The sight that greeted them was one of deserted beds, still kept in good condition despite their lack of use. Ahead of them stood a door leading to the armory, the room where they would find the weapons and armor needed for their preparations.

Making their way to the door, they pushed it open and entered the armory. What they saw took their breath away: numerous weapons and armors were scattered across the room, each one designed in a similar fashion to what Rodrigo and Wasfed wore. Swords gleamed in the dim light, shields stood proudly against the walls, and suits of armor stood sentinel, waiting to be donned by the warriors who would wield them in battle.

“This will do," he affirmed, his gaze sweeping across the array of weapons and armor before them. "Caulot, I know you are worried, and you have every right to be. Neither of us know martial arts. The only way we can win—no, survive this—is by choosing our equipment wisely."

With Sol's reassurance echoing in his mind, Caulot felt a sense of relief wash over him. He trusted Sol's judgment and knew that they would face the challenges ahead together, as a team. With renewed determination, the duo began preparing for the climactic duel that awaited them.

Chapter Text

Old Purple’s castle sat in the middle of Puertomarino, overlooking the western coast of Roble. Made out of solid stone, it stood as a symbol of strength and history. Surrounding it were larger, posh buildings, each adorned with intricate details and colorful banners, reflecting the wealth and sophistication of the area.

Sitting in his chair, Octavio, titled Old Purple, looked through the window from the top story of the castle tower. His old age had blurred his vision, but he could still make out the cityscape of Puertomarino. This was the city he had spent his entire life building, transforming it from a simple fishing village into one of Roble’s most important maritime cities.

“It's beautiful," he muttered to himself, gazing at the city bordered by pristine beaches that stretched out to meet the azure waters of the sea. The golden sands shimmered in the early light, and the gentle waves created a soothing melody as they kissed the shore. The sight filled him with a profound sense of pride and nostalgia, recalling the countless efforts and sacrifices made to see this vision come to life.

"Sir Old Purple, Lord Antonio Cohen has arrived to meet you. I've already seated him in the dining hall," a voice announced from behind him. It was his personal aide. Old Purple turned slightly, raising his arm as a signal for the aide to escort him. The aide, ever attentive, stepped forward to assist Old Purple, offering a steadying hand as they made their way through the grand corridors of the castle towards the dining hall.

The aide held Old Purple's hand, supporting the old man as he walked, albeit slowly. They left his office, traversing the main hallway, and were saluted by knights and guards as they passed. The grand corridors echoed with their footsteps until they reached the dining hall. There, seated at a long table, was an elderly man wearing a coat adorned with a blue and red emblem, signifying his leadership of House Cohen.

“What brings you here, Antonio?" Old Purple questioned, before seating himself across from the nobleman.

Antonio, already eating from the plate a servant had given him, looked up and mused, “I'm here to discuss your support of the Queen.” He chewed on his Lanca steak, savoring the flavor before quickly swallowing.

Old Purple signaled for the aide to leave the duo, then retorted, "As I told you ten years ago, I will not forfeit my favorable stance on Queen Calca.”

"I know the Queen hasn't made any mistakes in her rulership," Cohen began, his voice measured and authoritative. He leaned back slightly in his chair, his expression contemplative as he spoke. "But eventually she will. Her reforms might be popular, but it's like placing a board on a hole of a sinking ship. Won't change the outcome."

Old purple's demeanor remained composed as he delivered his rebuttal. "Her rule is not a sinking ship," he stated firmly, his voice carrying a tone of conviction. With a slight lean forward, he continued, "She has made some very important reforms. Her opening up the summer palace in Rimrun to the masses has boosted Roble’s position within the human countries. Even demi-humans from faraway lands come there to show their gratitude. I doubt such a reform would've passed through the old king."

Cohen sighed, "What about our military might though? Calca doesn't seem to care much about what happens beyond the wall. It doesn't help the fact that we are behind in magic technology compared to both Bahruth and Re-Eztize. My son's travels there made that much apparent.”

Cohen crossed his arms before continuing, "while importing magical technology is a viable strategy, it's still pitiful that we need to buy it rather than develop our own. That's just one example of Calca wasting Roble’s time on things that aren't necessary. I'd honestly prefer a ruler such as Jircniv. While his rule was bloody, his empire is one of the more developed human nations.”

Old Purple felt a surge of annoyance at the high noble's response, but he remained composed as he calmly retorted, “You forget the fact that Jircniv would most likely execute you for being too ‘inefficient’ for his rule.” He straightened up in his seat, his tone firm. "Calca is capable. However, what makes her truly wonderful is her ability to not stoop low, refusing to act corruptly. Her showing mercy to people who doubt her or sneer at her, even though they pose a threat to her rule, is something Emperor Jircniv could never do. That's why I consider Calca to be more impressive than the emperor, and that's why she has had my support from the very beginning.”

Cohen wrapped his handkerchief around his neck, a gesture of disdain. “Heh, and that's why they call you old purple—wise but also too old to make sense,” he quipped with a hint of sarcasm. “Yes, I'll commend Calca for her morality. However, ruthlessness is required to rule, and I believe her brother, Prince Caspond, would've made a better ruler.”

He quickly grabbed a chicken leg before dipping it in sauce. "Doesn't help the fact that Calca doesn't have an heir," he remarked between bites, "so even if she does pass such reforms, they could easily be reversed if the next heir ends up lacking her compassion.”

Old Purple defiantly responded, "That is for Queen Calca to decide. In any case, did her uncle set you up for this?”

“Duke Denis doesn't need to bother himself with such affairs,” he began, his tone measured. Rising from his seat, he faced Old Purple directly. “I'm simply discussing this with you on a personal basis.” He paused, locking eyes with Octavio before continuing, “If this is about your title, you should know that you are already respected. Even if Calca removed your title, you'd still be heavily respected, both in the south and north of Roble.”

"This has little to do with my title," Old Purple stated calmly from his seat across from Count Cohen. "Even if she did remove my title for a good reason, I would accept it for the benefit of Roble.”

Octavio narrowed his eyes at the lord. "You're after something else. We've had this discussion before. What is it you want from me, Cohen?”

His brows furrowed before he responded to Old Purple. “My eldest son Edrurdo needs a wife. I was hoping you would lend one of your granddaughter's hand for him.”

“If it were one of your other sons, I might have considered it. However, Edrurdo's reputation precedes him. He frequently visits brothels in Deboni, lacking both morals and character. He isn't worthy of marrying one of my grandchildren.”

Cohen rose abruptly from his seat, his voice raised in anger. "My son Edrurdo is more than worthy of being your in-law! He possesses the potential to one day surpass even Remedios the White herself! It would be wise of you to consider my offer seriously.”

"I'll have to decline, Cohen. However, I don't wish to leave you empty-handed. How about I permit the trade of seafood in exchange for iron ore? I'll sweeten the deal as compensation for rejecting your marriage proposal.”

Cohen smiled. "Yes, that'll do. I'll have my proxy handle the details." With a nod, he neatly arranged the plates as they were before and made his way out of the dining hall.

“In any case Octavio, I bid farewell. Perhaps you'll consider my offer," Cohen stated as he made his way out of the dining hall.

"Indeed," Octavio mused, watching Cohen depart. "I know Calca is different from the norm, however perhaps that's what Roble needs, change.”

Count Antonio looked back at the famed Old Purple. “Perhaps, or those changes will lead to its fall,” he remarked cryptically before exiting the dining hall, leaving the elderly man alone with his thoughts.

Old Purple then ordered his aide from the next room. Entering the room, the aide saluted Old Purple.

“Your orders?"

He looked at the young man. "Just prepare me a steak, and some wine too.”

…

As night fell over Old Purple Castle, shadows danced across its ancient stone walls, casting eerie shapes in the moonlight. The air was cool and still, with only the distant sound of crickets breaking the silence. Sol and Caulot stood before the looming structure, its towering spires reaching up towards the star-studded sky. Caulot's nerves were palpable, his hands clammy, and his body trembling slightly beneath his armor. Beside him, Sol exuded a calm confidence, his posture steady and unwavering despite the tension in the air. Though their faces were obscured by their helmets, the contrast in their demeanors was starkly evident as they prepared for the duel ahead.

"Sol, I'm not sure about this," Caulot admitted, his voice tinged with uncertainty. "I've never used a spear."

The black knight faced the young boy, who now stood clad in gleaming plate armor that shimmered under the moonlight. The armor, polished and intricately engraved, offered both protection and agility, while his helmet remained unchanged.

"You'll be fine," Sol reassured, his voice steady. "I gave you a spear for its increased range, and it's relatively easy to use. Ancient lords used to arm their peasants with them; they're quite effective. And you have your secret weapon too; you should be fine.”

Caulot looked up at the black knight. “Well, if you insist,” he replied, his voice tinged with uncertainty. He checked his side blade, ensuring it was securely fastened. Sol had instructed him to always have it with him, in case someone got too close and he needed to switch blades.

Caulot's voice quivered slightly as he posed the question, "What about you, Sol? You didn't take anything from the armory?”

"I have my own plans. For now, let's wait for Sir Wasfed and Rodrigo to arrive.”

As Sol said that, both Rodrigo and Wasfed arrived, exchanging a quick glance before addressing the younger duo with commands

"Your time is up. I hope you're ready," Wasfed commanded. Rodrigo nodded, signaling both Caulot and Sol to follow them.

As they made their way to the battle arena, the night air was filled with anticipation. People hurried towards the arena benches, eager to witness the upcoming duel. Knights patrolled the area, their armor gleaming in the moonlight as they ensured order and security. Pages and squires bustled about, setting up the arena for the event, their movements quick and purposeful. The atmosphere crackled with excitement, the energy palpable as they approached the grand entrance of the arena.

The four of them walked towards the indoor battle arena inside the lord's castle. It was constructed of polished wood and marble pillars, with seating arrangements for spectators.

"Both of you will be in the waiting area," Wasfed directed, gesturing towards the door leading to the designated space. "The first match will soon begin. In the meantime, both me and Rodrigo will be beside our lord." With that, he and Rodrigo took another door leading up to the stairs, while Caulot and Sol entered the waiting area.

Descending down the stairs, Sol and Caulot were greeted by two other knights and what appeared to be a receptionist.

Is that a receptionist? Do those even exist in this world?

"Ah, so the other duelists have arrived. Very well, then I will explain how this duel will work.”

Both Caulot and Sol listened in, hoping to score any advantages in their upcoming duel.

"Before we continue, I'm a page of Sir Wasfed. I'll be acting as your coordinator, and I will decide who duels whom.”

I see, of course it wouldn't be like a receptionist, this page doesn't even have a computer.

The brown-haired page continued, "Our matchmaking is rather simple. Since there are only four contenders, we will have two matches. I will decide who fights whom and in which order. The winner of each duel will become a knight of Old Purple.”

I see, so the rules are simple enough.

Sol quickly glanced at the other knights. One wore full plate armor and wielded a large mace, while the other carried a longsword and wore chainmail, surprisingly without a helmet.

Usually, the fully plated knight would be the more dangerous one; however, the other one concerns me.

Sol had an instinct that the helmetless knight was more dangerous; something about him rang alarm bells in Sol's mind.

“Now for the matchmaking for the first round, I will have Caulot, referred by Sir Gareth, and Maximulis, referred by Sir Terrey,” the page announced, pointing to both Caulot and the helmetless knight.

"And the last match will be Sol, referred by Sir Rodrigo, versus O'Lerrey, referred by Sir Phenoe," the page continued, pointing to Sol and the fully plated knight.

This is really bad. I was hoping to deal with Maximulis, Sol thought, eyeing his opponent.

He threw a worried glance at Caulot but found him somewhat relieved by the matchmaking.

"Caulot, why are you so relaxed?" Sol questioned the boy beside him.

“Because I wasn’t matched against you, and I got the less scary opponent."

Sol frowned under his helmet, but before he could say anything, the page cut him off.

"Caulot and Maximulis, you two head to your respective battle zones. Once the gate opens, it's a battle. Remember, Old Purple is spectating this match. Leave a good impression.”

Both duelists exchanged glances, silently sizing each other up before heading towards their designated gates. As Caulot neared the gate, a nauseating sensation washed over him, his stomach churning with nerves.

It's now or never!

As the gates swung open, Caulot and Maximulis emerged, their figures illuminated by the torchlight, presenting themselves to the audience of knights and servants of Old Purple. From his elevated perch atop the highest tower of the arena, Old Purple watched, seated in a grand chair flanked by three knights donning identical armor. Below them, the arena sprawled out, its construction a mix of sturdy wood and elegant marble towers rising at intervals, lending an air of grandeur to the battleground below.

"Rodrigo, the one wearing that peculiar helmet. Was he the one who gave Gareth trouble?" Octavio inquired, his tone tinged with curiosity.

Rodrigo, positioned beside Octavio, bowed respectfully before responding, "Yes, my lord. That was Caulot.”

"The one who doesn't use martial arts? Yeah, he will definitely lose against Maximulis," Sir Terrey remarked confidently.

With red hair, piercing blue eyes, and a rugged appearance, his muscular build was evident even through his armor. Octavio and Rodrigo turned their attention towards him as he spoke.

Old Purple's curiosity was piqued as he asked Terrey, "Why do you say that? If he gave Gareth trouble, he certainly might be able to pull it off."

Terrey responded confidently, "Because I personally fought against him and nearly lost. The only reason I won was because of my superior armor. His skill in martial arts is not to be scoffed at.”

"Perhaps, but I'm more interested in this black knight Rodrigo fought,” the knight to the left of Rodrigo interjected. It was Sir Phenoe, with his blonde hair, green eyes, and noble appearance that drew attention from Rodrigo.

Octavio interjected into the conversation, "Regardless of the outcome, whoever comes out on top will become part of my personal retinue.”

The match began, with both duelists meeting each other and assuming their stances. Caulot noticed his opponent wearing a cloak, concealing his body but leaving his face exposed.

Why is he wearing a cloak? Where'd he even have the time to put one on?

Caulot thrust his spear forward, but Maximulis swiftly evaded with a graceful dodge.

[Greater Evasion]

Maximulis effortlessly sidestepped the attack and countered by swinging his longsword at Caulot's spear, aiming to break its wooden shaft. Anticipating this move, Caulot swiftly deployed the short sword attached to a chain that he had concealed. Maximulis cartwheeled backward to evade the unexpected strike, eliciting cheers from the crowd.

Maximulis pressed forward, seeking to close the distance between them, but Caulot remained vigilant. As Maximulis advanced, Caulot seized the opportunity and swiftly stabbed at him with his spear. A clang resounded through the arena as the two weapons clashed, surprising Caulot with the force of the impact.

Did I hit him?!

However, Caulot's keen eyes noticed a hole in Maximulis's cloak, revealing a steel plate beneath. "You sure have quite a few tricks up your sleeve, but so do I!" Maximulis retorted, his voice piercing at Caulot's morale.

As Caulot attempted to strike again, he felt a surge of panic grip him.

Didn't Maximulis just wear chainmail? Did he switch to plate armor while he was on the gate?

These thoughts raced through his mind as Maximulis grabbed hold of his spear. With that, a tug of war ensued between the two, each vying for control.

[Greater Ability Boost]

Maximulis's superior strength easily overpowered Caulot, snatching the spear from his grip and swiftly slashing at him. The force behind the blow broke Caulot's shoulder plate, eliciting a painful groan from him beneath his helmet. Maximulis then threw the spear to the ground and readied his blade, a confident declaration escaping his lips.

“You really are impressive, you held out longer than most fighters I've fought. And they all used martial arts."

Caulot, undeterred, clenched a fistful of sandy ground and hurled it at Maximulis's face. The knight deftly dodged the sandy projectile, swiftly turning to face Caulot who was now charging at him with his blade raised high.

“So forgive me for defeating you!"

[Cutting Edge]

The air gathered around Maximulis's blade as he slashed it at Caulot, aiming for a decisive blow. However, hidden behind his helmet, a grin spread across Caulot's face. With a swift motion, he threw his own blade high into the air, drawing the attention of both the crowd and Maximulis.

Now's my chance! Go for the spear!

Summoning all his strength, Caulot dodged Maximulis's initial slash and rushed towards the spear lying on the ground, blood seeping from his wounded shoulder. As Maximulis turned his attention to the thumping footsteps, Caulot seized the opportunity and slashed at Maximulis's neck with the spear. However a smile spread across Maximulis's face before he swiftly launched into his martial arts technique.

[Fatal Edge]

A strong slash, seared across Caulot's body diagonally, blood poured through the sandy environment, gasping for breath he made out several robed figures heading towards him before passing out.

With a roar echoing through the crowd, Maximulis raised his blade triumphantly. Panting heavily, he glanced up at Old Purple, catching the figure nodding in approval. A smile crept across Maximulis's face as he made his way back to the gate, casting a last glance at the fallen warrior now being tended to by priests. Heading back, he prepared to receive the congratulations of the young page.

Sol, observing the match from his gate and witnessing Caulot's defeat, felt a pang of sadness for his friend's loss.

Damnit, I should've fought against him, not Caulot.

Sol observed O’Lerrey from across the arena, noting that unlike Maximulis, he seemed prepared and unlikely to change his armor or gear.

I'm going to win this match, not only for me but for Caulot too. I won't let his suffering go to waste.

As the gates swung open, both fighters entered the arena. O’Lerrey's massive armor made him seem even larger in the arena than he had appeared in the waiting hall. In contrast, Sol's black armor blended with the night, its golden lining shimmering like the torches that illuminated the background.

O’Lerrey strategized on how to take down the black knight standing before him.

I'll use my defensive martial arts, I doubt he'd be able to penetrate it. From what I know he doesn't use martial arts so he should only be slightly more dangerous than that armored boy.

[Fortress]

A defensive martial arts was deployed over O'Lerrey's armor as the black knight struck. Despite the force behind the blow, his blade only managed to scratch the surface of O'Lerrey's sturdy armor.

Fast! How is he that quick? I didn't see him deploy any ability boost arts.

[Smash]

He quickly swung his mace at the swift-moving knight, but Sol deftly dodged the attack, drawing cheers from the crowd. Spectating the match from the perch. Rodrigo wss taken aback by Sol's agility, watched on in surprise. “Unbelievable… he's even faster than the last time I fought him.”

"Not only that, those moves? What martial arts is that? Even the way his stance was weird. What form is that?" Sir Phenoe questioned, his curiosity piqued as he analyzed the black knight. The momentary silence was broken when Old Purple spoke up..

“There's a good chance that O’Lerrey the tower will be defeated by an invisible spear.”

The fighting continued below, O’Lerrey sensing something was off by the way the black knight was fighting and the damage he took even after using fortress used his senseful martial arts.

[Possibility Sense]

Impossible?! 0% chance? I can't defeat this knight?!

He noticed that the black knight had been striking in one specific location, doing hit and runs while stabbing at one location. He noticed a small crack in his armor.

I see what he's doing, he's slowly chipping away at my armor, while I may not be able to defeat him. I might be able to stall this fight till he's exhausted. In which case!

[Invulnerable Fortress]

The impenetrable defense left the knight's attacks useless, stunning the audience into awe, including Old Purples personal retinue who watched alongside their lord.

"Unbelievable, never knew he had such a trump card. Looks like you were wrong, Sir Purple," Sir Phenoe commented, only to notice the old man cracking a small smile.

The black knight charged at O’Lerrey, responding to his assault, and skillfully blocked the cracked armor with his weapon, aiming to neutralize the advantage it provided.

Now there should be no way for him to defeat me!

He was certain that even if he managed to hit the black knight in any other place, his invulnerable Fortress would protect him and his armor from any damage.

The knight leaped, readying his blade for a slash. O’Lerrey could only scoff at it, but his confidence turned to horror as the knight's strike shattered his chest plate, the armor with the highest defense, sending pieces flying and blood spurting forth.

A heavy thud reverberated through the arena as O’Lerrey fell, defeated. The black knight stood atop his fallen opponent, raising his blade in triumph. But there were no cheers, only stunned silence from the audience of knights and laborers, as well as the retinue of Old Purple. However, one figure broke the silence, Old Purple began applauding Sol's victory.

Chapter Text

Veela ran across the street, carrying her dress similar to how a princess would. Drawing eyes from the crowd she headed to the central main cathedral that rested in Puertomarino. Thoughts raced around her.

Please let this be someone else!

Passing through street after street she finally reached the main door, she immediately found the nearest sister and questioned her about the whereabouts of the healing quarters.

“Sister, where's the healing quarters?!" Veela asked frantically, catching the sister off guard.

“Um it's down the corridor on the left wing of the cathedral but are you hurt anywhere?"

“I'm fine sister, I just need to see if someone is down there or not."

“Are you a family member?" The sister stared at the green eyed women.

“No, I'm a family friend," Veela replied, her eyes fixed on the corridor ahead. However, just as she was about to proceed, the sister gently tugged at Veela's dress, preventing her from escaping.

"Unfortunately, only family members or those who are sufficiently injured are allowed to enter the healing ward."

"But I—" Veela began, feeling a wave of defeat wash over her. She knew that no argument she made would convince the sister to grant her access to the healing ward. Just as despair started to set in, she heard a familiar voice calling out to her.
"Ah, Veela, what brings you here?"
Turning to face the voice, she saw an elderly man in priestly robes, his senile face smiling warmly at her.
"Ah, Father Pedro, I'm here to see if Rosa is in the healing ward.”
The father scratched his chin thoughtfully. “I'm not aware of anyone by that name, but I will allow you to enter the healing ward and check for yourself."
“Father?!" the nun exclaimed, her eyes wide with surprise. Father Pedro turned to her and gently assured her with a calm demeanor.
"Veela is a trustworthy person. Her father has always been a generous donor to the temple, so it wouldn't be asking too much for her to check on an old friend."
The sister looked downwards before bowing respectfully to the father.
“In that case, how about I escort you to the healing ward?"
“I would be delighted, Father Pedro," Veela said, bowing respectfully. The duo then made their way to the left wing.
Passing by several priests and sisters, they made their way to the door of the healing ward, adorned with a symbol showcasing the four great gods of the past. Father Pedro opened the door, revealing a vast hall filled with hundreds of beds, each occupied by the injured and sick. Dozens of magic casters moved among them, healing people in droves.
“Now, Veela, do you mind describing this Rosa person?"
Veela turned to Father Pedro. “She has reddish-brown hair, and she's a middle-aged woman.”
Father Pedro noted Veela’s description before signaling to one of the casters for assistance.
“Is there a woman named Rosa under our care?" Father Pedro asked.
The magic caster bowed respectfully. “Yes, Father. May I escort you to her?"
They followed the caster to a bed where a woman was sitting upright. The sight weighed heavily on Veela's heart.
There on the bed was Rosa, her hair gone. While the healers had done a commendable job on her physical appearance, Veela could sense they hadn't been able to heal the turmoil within Rosa. Beside the bed sat Mateo, slumped in a chair, unmoving like a statue.
Rosa looked at Veela, noticing her quiet presence, and smiled weakly.

“Hi, Veela. It's been some time. Sorry you had to see me like this."

Veela fought back tears, struggling to maintain her composure. She gently took Rosa's hand and looked into her eyes.

“Rosa, none of that matters. What happened to you?"

“I... I'm not sure. All I remember is that I was playing with Mateo, then I heard a knock. The next thing I knew, I woke up here at the temple.”

Veela's expression turned to concern as she glanced at the young Mateo, who sat quietly in his chair.

"And Mateo? Is he doing alright?"

Rosa glanced at the young boy before turning back to Veela with a sorrowful expression.

“He's physically fine, but he's been traumatized. He won't even speak to me. Whatever he saw explains my predicament.”

Rosa sighed and pulled the quilt closer for comfort. "Strangely, nothing was stolen. It was as if someone wanted to make me suffer. I asked the paladins about it, and they suspect it could be the work of a demon.”

“Maybe, but at least you're safe now. You don't need to worry about anything else. Just rest, Rosa. I'll take care of the rest,” Veela replied, gently resting her palm on Rosa's shoulder. Rosa fought back tears before making a request.

"If you can, take Mateo with you. I should be discharged soon; the healers just need to do a quick check-up.”

"Alright, Rosa. I'll make sure he has a good time. Maybe I'll take him to a few dress shops. I'm sure he'd look magnificent with a tiara,” Veela chuckled, successfully lightening the mood. Rosa managed a good chuckle before her gaze returned to her blanket, her thoughts drifting.

Not wanting to press further, Veela gently picked up Mateo. Taking his hand, she was taken aback by his unresponsive demeanor, contrary to Rosa's earlier assurances. Normally, Mateo would eagerly resist or show excitement, his liveliness a defining trait. Now, he offered only a limp reaction and a hollow expression that unsettled Veela deeply. This wasn't the Mateo she knew. Summoning her courage, she bid farewell to Rosa.
“Goodbye, Rosa. When I return, Mateo will be his cheerful self again." Veela said, hoping her words would sound more reassuring but realizing they fell flat. Rosa nodded in understanding. Veela left the temple with Mateo holding her hand, expressing gratitude to both the healers and the paladins who had assisted Rosa.
Before they could depart, Father Pedro intercepted Veela.
"Leaving so soon, Veela? I was just about to bring out my special tea."
Veela bowed respectfully, noticing Mateo staring blankly at the ground. Father Pedro quickly added, "I also have some new toys for the children. I'm sure the young one would enjoy them."
Veela giggled at his offer before politely declining, "No thank you, Father. Mateo could use some fresh air."
He frowned before stepping closer to Veela and whispered in her ear.

"Veela, the healers haven't found any physical abnormalities; she's fully recovered. However, her memory loss remains unexplained." He scoffed softly. "Not only that, the Paladin order confirmed there was no magical presence in her home during the assault. The likelihood of demonic involvement is very low. Be cautious."

Veela felt a wave of anxiety and nodded in understanding before leaving the temple. Father Pedro waved goodbye to both of them. Still troubled by Father Pedro's information, Veela slapped her forehead in frustration.

Now's not the time to worry about that. My biggest concern should be finding a place for Mateo.
Veela made up her mind. The first stop would be the bakeries. She knew Mateo would surely enjoy some sweets.
Leaving the cathedral's staircase behind, she entered the bustling marketplace, her eyes scanning the various bakery storefronts.
"Ah, here it is!"
Fergouts Bakery stood prominently among the shops in Puertomarino, renowned for its quality and even endorsed by the Old Purple as one of the best bakeries he had ever tasted. Veela stepped into the storefront, surprised by the line of customers waiting inside.
"I guess having the famous Old Purple endorse your store really boosts sales."
Veela joined the line, which extended outside the store, only to notice a sign that caught her attention.
"VIP Lounge? When did stores start offering something like that?"
She decided to break away from the line, making sure to take Mateo with her. The people in line quickly filled her spot. Veela then approached the entrance of the VIP lounge, where she was stopped by a female clerk.
“Please show your membership pass."
Veela wasn't entirely surprised by the requirement; after all, VIP areas were typically exclusive.
“A membership pass? Where can I get one, and how much does it cost?"
The clerk held up a finger. "A membership pass is just one gold coin. Your child is exempt from this, of course."
One gold coin for a permanent membership? That's not too bad, Veela thought.
Veela reached into her purse and presented a gold coin to the clerk.
"Here you go. And just to clarify, he's not my child, but a friend."
The clerk blushed slightly, understanding Veela's remark, and handed over a Fergouts VIP pass. She then gestured for Veela and Mateo to proceed up the stairwell to the upper floor of the store.
The VIP lounge of Fergouts Bakery was a sanctuary of luxury amid the bustling marketplace of Puertomarino. As Veela and Mateo ascended the narrow stairwell, they emerged into a cozy chamber adorned with plush velvet curtains and wooden beams intricately carved with floral motifs. Soft candlelight flickered from ornate sconces mounted on the stone walls, casting a warm glow over the room.
In one corner, a small hearth crackled gently, filling the air with the comforting aroma of freshly baked bread. Low tables crafted from polished oak were scattered around the room, each set with linen napkins and delicate porcelain plates. Cushioned benches lined the perimeter, draped with rich tapestries depicting scenes of pastoral life and mythical creatures.
In the midst of the luxurious VIP lounge, a large round table took center stage, adorned with an impressive spread of freshly baked pastries, pies, and breads elegantly presented on silver trays. Nearby, a well-appointed serving station offered an array of fine wines, meads, and steaming pots of herbal teas and aromatic coffees, adding to the ambience of opulence and refinement.

Veela couldn't help but be impressed by the room's extravagance, even by her own standards. While she didn't recognize every guest, a few familiar faces caught her eye. One guest in particular, however, stood out among the rest, his shiny armor gleaming under the ambient light.

“One more plate, please! These cupcakes are heavenly!” a loud, rough voice boomed as a red-haired knight called out to the waitress, who nervously served him.

It was Sir Terrey, a familiar acquaintance to Veela from his frequent visits to procure merchandise, especially armaments and imported magical gear. Spotting Veela, he exclaimed, “Veela's here too? You've got to try these cake slices!” He laughed heartily, while Veela sighed inwardly and approached him.
“Well, this is quite unexpected, seeing you here, Sir Terrey. I would have thought you'd be too deep in your cups by now,” Veela remarked, brushing a strand of hair from her face.
“Today is a special day. I've met someone intriguing, and I'm celebrating with these sweets,” Sir Terrey replied, a glint of enthusiasm in his eyes that suggested more than just a passing interest.
"Met someone?" Veela retorted with a hint of sarcasm. She noticed Sir Terrey setting his cupcake down on its plate, his demeanor suddenly serious, catching her off guard.
“It was a black knight. He won the duel and is on his way to becoming part of Old Purple's personal retinue,” Sir Terrey explained.
Veela knew about the annual tournament held to select knights worthy of serving the lord, but she couldn't quite grasp what made this particular knight so exceptional.
“He was something else, Veela. He defeated a knight without using martial arts. I've never seen anything like it before. The way he ended the fight was absurd too; only Old Purple clapped while the rest of us and the audience were too shocked to react."
Veela's eyebrows shot up at the description of this black knight. She quickly questioned, “Perhaps this knight is a demi-human? I can't see how it would be possible to defeat a human knight without using martial arts."
“True, but we don't have any evidence for that. Anyway, I feel sorry for your kid next to you. He must be bored out of his mind."
Veela interjected quickly, “He's not my—"
“But seriously, Veela, you'd make a terrible mother. You should probably give him up to the church.”
[Dirty]
A spell was cast, sending a spray of dirt onto Terrey's armor and cape. Despite the unexpected mess, he remained composed.
“See, this is why you'd make a terrible mother,” Terrey calmly remarked.
Veela sighed, brushing off the dirt from Terrey's armor. “As I've been trying to tell you, he's not my child; he belongs to Rosa. I've been asked to look after him for the time being.”
Sir Terrey swiftly slid a plate filled with cupcakes toward the young boy before attempting a light-hearted joke.
“Your mom is quite stubborn—" He paused abruptly, catching the intense gaze of the young boy. The eyes reflected trauma, fear, and a hint of anger, leaving Terrey momentarily speechless.
“Veela, what did this young boy go through?"
Veela cast her gaze downward, a somber expression crossing her features. “His mother was attacked by something. He's been like this ever since."
“I see…” Sir Terrey paused, his voice softened with concern. “Tell me more, Veela."
He guided both Veela and Mateo to a nearby chair, settling them down as Veela recounted the harrowing ordeal that had befallen Mateo and his mother. Sir Terrey listened intently, his expression growing solemn as he processed the details.
“I'll look into this. A young boy shouldn't be going through that,” Sir Terrey declared with determination. He then picked up a cupcake, holding it gently in front of Mateo's mouth, a gesture meant to offer comfort and distraction.
“Say ahh.” Sir Terrey coaxed, offering the cupcake to Mateo, who hesitated before turning away. With a resigned sigh, Sir Terrey turned to Veela.
“Mateo would never eat from your hand; you look far too scary and dirty.”
“Come on, Veela, what did I do?” He shrugged. “Anyway, I'll be leaving soon.” Sir Terrey motioned to the waitress. “Give these two the Fergouts special; it's on me.” He placed several coins on the table before departing. Veela thanked him, and Sir Terrey waved a casual farewell as he walked away.
Minutes later, the Fergouts special arrived—a golden cake adorned with golden apples around a central chocolate pillar. Veela eagerly indulged in large slices, savoring the gift, while Mateo nibbled cautiously.
“It doesn't taste…”
Veela heard a faint whisper and looked around, only to see Mateo, for the first time, speaking aloud.
“It doesn't taste…” He swallowed hard, a tear escaping down his cheek. Veela quickly embraced him, holding back her own tears as she expected Mateo to cry, but he remained stoic. She wiped his cheek gently and said softly,
“Guess this place isn't what you expected.”
She swiftly instructed the waitress to pack up the remaining treats from Fergouts before they left the VIP lounge, Mateo in tow. Stepping into the central plaza, Veela pondered where to take Mateo for entertainment. Her gaze fell upon a shop that exuded glamor—a clothing boutique specializing in dresses.
“No, there's no way Mateo would enjoy that. Boys hate shopping,” Veela mused aloud, recalling how her younger brother Tavion despised shopping, especially for clothes.
Then, a mischievous thought crossed her mind—an excuse, perhaps, to indulge in some shopping of her own.
Maybe if I made Mateo try on a dress, it would at least get a reaction out of him.
Clearing her thoughts she entered the shop, a relatively large size building littered with clothing of all sizes attached to clothing racks. Veela's first move was to bother the clerk at the central desk.

“Hi there, is there anything that would suit this young lad here?”
Veela patted Mateo's back, hoping for any reaction, but he remained stoic and silent. The clerk, confused by Mateo's lack of response, looked to Veela for guidance. Veela leaned in and whispered something in the clerk's ear, prompting the clerk to swiftly lead Mateo to the nearest changing room.
Several moments later, the clerk reappeared with Mateo, now dressed in a pink dress. Nearby clerks watched with amusement, curious about the unfolding situation.
The pink dress selected for Mateo was made from a fine, soft fabric that shimmered subtly in the dim light of the clothing shop. It was tailored with loose, flowing sleeves and a bodice that gently hugged the figure without being overly restrictive. The neckline was modest yet elegant, adorned with delicate embroidery in silver thread that traced floral patterns along the edges. The skirt cascaded down in gentle folds, reaching just below Mateo's knees, allowing for ease of movement.
The dress was adorned with small pearl buttons along the sleeves and down the back, adding a touch of refinement. Its soft pink hue, not too bright nor too pale, complemented Mateo's complexion and gave him an unexpectedly gentle appearance amidst the robust surroundings of the shop.
Veela, however, felt disappointed by Mateo's lack of reaction. He stood there impassively, staring blankly at the ground. Veela sighed softly, signaling to the clerk to help Mateo change back into his regular clothing. Meanwhile, she headed towards the changing rooms herself, selecting a dress from one of the racks.
After a while, Veela emerged in a new outfit befitting the higher echelons of society, one that would have been suitable for royal balls. The gown she wore drew the admiration of the clerks in the shop. Approaching Mateo with a flourish, she held out her hands before him.
Veela's green dress was a masterpiece of tailoring, designed to catch the eye and exude elegance. The fabric, a rich emerald green satin, shimmered softly under the ambient light, reflecting hints of gold and silver thread woven into intricate patterns. The gown featured a bodice that was fitted yet not constricting, adorned with delicate lace and embroidery along the neckline and sleeves.
The neckline itself was slightly plunging, a daring but tasteful choice that hinted at Veela's confidence and status. The sleeves, long and flowing, cascaded gracefully down her arms, tapering to fitted cuffs embellished with small, iridescent pearls. The dress accentuated Veela's slender figure, cinched at the waist with a wide silk sash of a lighter shade of green, embroidered with floral motifs in golden thread.
The skirt billowed out from the waist in luxurious folds, pooling elegantly around Veela's feet as she moved. Each step she took caused the skirt to sway and shimmer, drawing attention to the intricate craftsmanship and the fine quality of the fabric. The back of the dress dipped into a gentle V shape, adding a touch of allure without compromising modesty.
“A beautiful lady has come to ask you for a dance, Mateo. Will you accept her offer?” she said playfully, hoping to see a spark of reaction from him. Veela had anticipated that Mateo might be at an age where he would blush or show interest in girls, but to her disappointment, Mateo continued to stare blankly at her. She sighed softly, retreating back to the changing room to switch back into her original attire.
Deciding against purchasing the gown, Veela and Mateo left the store and made their way to the central plaza. As they walked, they noticed a large crowd gathering ahead, piquing their curiosity.
Ah this must be the celebration for that new knight.
Veela scanned the bustling crowd, recognizing the celebration for the new knight. Spotting Adelina and Tavion among the gathered throng, she moved towards them quietly, aiming to surprise Tavion. However, he sensed her approach and swiftly turned to confront her.
“Well, Veela, what brings you here? I thought you were supposed to be looking after Mateo?” Tavion's concern for Mateo was evident as he glanced towards the boy, then back at Veela, awaiting an explanation.
"At least take him somewhere joyful, maybe buy him something nice," Tavion snorted, his disapproval evident. "Honestly, what a waste of your allowance."
Veela bristled at her brother's criticism, but she quickly formulated a sharp retort. "Well, if you think you can do better, why don't you look after Mateo? I doubt you'd even think to treat him to sweets."
Their exchange was tense, each holding their ground until Adelina intervened. "Now, now, Tavion, Veela is doing her best. Let's not argue in front of Mateo."
Adelina's calm intervention diffused the tension smoothly. She understood their shared concern and frustration over Mateo's situation.
However, their brief respite was interrupted by the sudden cheers and admiration from the crowd. The four of them turned to see a parade of Knights of Old Purple, accompanied by men with trumpets. The center of attention was a chariot drawn by four horses, carrying two men. Veela presumed them to be the victors of Old Purple's contest, where the prize included a chance to join his retinue. Yet, she knew well that Old Purple had the final say on who joined him, regardless of the tournament's outcome.
Veela's attention was captured by the two winners of the parade. One wore a traditional noble's attire, complete with a sword at his side. The other, however, drew Veela's gaze more intensely.
The black knight, adorned with intricate gold patterns on his armor that resembled a crown, stood out amidst the procession. He carried a blade on his left hip and a hand shield on his arm. Veela understood why Sir Terrey had been so captivated by him; there was an aura of mystique and power surrounding the knight that intrigued her deeply. She felt a strange fascination with him, sensing that he was more than just a skilled warrior, though she couldn't quite pinpoint what it was.
Before Veela could ponder further, she felt a sharp tug on her right arm. Mateo, beside her, was now shaking uncontrollably.
“Mateo, are you alright?” Veela asked in concern, her heart sinking as she heard him speak for the first time, pointing trembling fingers at the black knight.

“B-b-black monster,” Mateo blurted out in fear, tears streaming down his face as he buried his head against Veela's side. Nearby eyes from the crowd, along with Tavion and Adelina, gathered around them.

“What happened, Veela?” Adelina asked urgently, motioning for Tavion to stand by her.

Veela lifted Mateo, who continued to sob uncontrollably. She used her handkerchief to wipe away his tears as she hurriedly led them away from the crowd, Tavion and Adelina following close behind. Glancing down at Mateo, still pointing at the black knight with a look of horror, Veela couldn't shake a chilling thought.

Black monster? Why would Mateo say that? And what did he mean by 'he's back'?

She looked back at the black knight and suddenly realized the truth. Mateo was identifying the knight as the black monster responsible for Rosa’s attack. If that were true, justice could only be sought through one avenue she knew of.

“The Holy Paladin Order,” Veela murmured to herself, her mind racing with the implications.

Chapter Text

It had been four days since Sol had won the tournament and endured the ensuing festivities. Now, within the barracks, he sharpened his blade, aligning it with the sun's light. A reflective glow emanated from the Vile Blade, and he recalled the knights' comments about it—its lack of a guard and its unusual weight. His new cape, adorned with the Old Purple insignia, matched those worn by nearly every knight. Though he couldn't help but feel a sense of nostalgia, he knew the sentiment wasn't truly his own.

He ignored those thoughts and, as he stood up, he heard footsteps in the hallway. When he approached the door frame, Sol saw Caulot standing there, clad in plated armor similar to Rodrigo's but less detailed and elegant. However, Caulot still wore the helmet Sol had given him.

“Sir Sol, Sir Terrey is awaiting you on the castle grounds." Caulot saluted the black knight before relaxing his stance.

“Caulot, no need for the formalities. I might be a rank higher than you, but you're still a friend to me," Sol said, waving his hand at the young boy.

“Well, I wish I could, but Sir Phenoe might reprimand me for that," Caulot replied, smiling under his helmet. After his loss against Maximulis, he had been certain he wouldn't be able to stay with Sol. However, he was pleasantly surprised when Sir Phenoe offered to take him on as his squire. Apparently, the knight had been impressed by Caulot's effort and swordsmanship and wanted to mentor him.

“Well, Squire Caulot, I'll meet up with Sir Terrey now. Do take your leave.” Sol held back a giggle as he said this, giving Caulot a pat on the back before departing. As he walked down the pathway, he passed several knights engaged in their morning drills. Finally, he approached the red-haired knight standing in the middle of the castle grounds.

“Sir Sol, we'll be patrolling the city's outskirts. Keep an eye out for any unwarranted activity," Sir Terrey said, staring intently at Sol. Sol noticed the unusual scrutiny but decided to play along, keeping his thoughts to himself.

"I understand, Sir Terrey," Sol replied, falling in step with the red-haired knight. He wondered why Sir Terrey's attitude had subtly changed. After the tournament, Sir Terrey had been relatively engaging and open towards Sol, but now he seemed reserved, with a hint of suspicion in the air.

He followed the knight outside the castle, weaving through the bustling crowds of Puertomarino. The marketplace was lively as always, and Sol felt a sense of belonging, as if he had a role in it all. He felt a sense of accomplishment, finally being useful to society. Yet, something in the back of his mind nagged at him, a whisper of guilt. He stopped in his tracks as the memory surfaced, and Sir Terrey noticed.

“We haven't reached the outskirts yet, Sir Sol. You shouldn't be tired already."

“It's fine, just thinking of something," Sol replied. Before the duo could resume their journey, a squad of armored men approached. Sol recognized them immediately by their insignia—Roble's emblem of justice and peace. The Holy Paladin Order greeted the knights.

“Good to see you, Sir Terrey," the Paladin said, shaking hands with Terrey before turning to face Sol. “And who might this good sir be?”

“Sol. I've recently been knighted."

The Paladin's brow raised in hidden impressment before stating their business. “Quite a few high-ranking Paladins have gathered in Puertomarino. We're ensuring ample security for the headmaster.”

Sir Terrey assured the Paladins, “Of course, our Lord will accommodate the headmaster."

With that, the Paladins departed, leaving the knights to their routine. Sol turned to Terrey with a question.

“Headmaster? Who is he?"

Terrey explained, "Considered the central command of Paladins in the south, a counterpart to Remedios Custodio in the north. He primarily operates out of Dobeni but will be visiting Puertomarino."

That explains the recent influx of Paladins.

“However, unlike in other kingdoms, the Paladins here have the authority to put even lords and their subordinates on trial if they've committed crimes. This means that if a peasant was wronged, they could complain to the Paladins, and with the power of the crown, they could supersede the rights of nobility.”

Sol’s interest was piqued. From what he knew of the medieval era, lords held considerable power over their serfs, often with few checks on their actions as long as they remained loyal to the king.

“That, and Paladins have the ability to detect lies, which makes them very effective against pathological liars.”

Terrey explained as they walked down the stairs. Sol listened attentively, following the knight through the city outskirts where the grassy plains became more apparent with every step. Sol was eager to ask more about the Paladins' abilities, but Terrey preempted him with a question of his own.

“What about your duties, Sol? How are they going?”

"It's going fine. I had hoped Caulot would've become a knight alongside me, but I suppose him being a squire was unavoidable," Sol replied. He wanted to sigh, but remained alert to his surroundings, unwilling to let his guard down.

Suddenly, Terrey adopted a more haughty demeanor. "Ever heard of Fergou’ts Bakery?"

"No, is it particularly special?”

Sol was taken aback by Terrey's sudden change in demeanor but couldn't help hiding a slight chuckle at his antics before replying, "And where would this bakery be, anyway?”

Terrey suddenly stood right beside Sol, using hand gestures to direct him towards the bakery. Sol listened quietly, waiting for Terrey to say something that caught his immediate attention..

"As for Caulot, I'm sure he'll eventually reach knighthood," Terrey remarked with a snort before continuing. "He did make quite an impression among the knights, not as much as you, but enough to convince Sir Phenoe to take him as a squire."

"True, but it's a bit off for him to address me like that. If he knew martial arts, he might have won against Maximulis," Sol sighed beside Terrey as they walked through the pathways of Puertomarino residences.

“Well, all seems to be going well for him, I suppose," Terrey replied before silence fell between the two as they walked and scouted the nearby area. Sol broke the silence with a question.

“About the Paladins, how does this lie detection work?”

Terrey faced Sol, shrugging his shoulders. "No idea. You're better off asking the Paladins themselves about it. I believe it must be some form of innate ability.”

Sol nodded in understanding before posing the question that had been bothering him the most.

“Sir Terrey, sorry for asking, but I noticed you were somewhat cold with me initially. Is there something going on?” Sol inquired.

Terrey froze, then slowly turned to face Sol, catching him off guard.

“It's because…”

Before finally facing Sol and giving the biggest grin, "Because I look cool when I act like that!”

Sol paused in utter shock but also found it delightful.

Well, I suppose my suspicions were somewhat unfounded.

While Sol thought that, he couldn't shake the feeling that Terrey's response was somewhat fake. Nevertheless, he chose to ignore it and replied to Terrey's confession.

“I thought I had wronged you in some way. Really had me worried there, Sir Terrey," Sol admitted.

Terrey laughed before replying, “Well, not me exactly." He rubbed his chin, but his response sent a cold shiver down Sol's spine. Before either of them could delve further into it, they heard a shout. Both knights bolted towards the source. The screaming grew louder, the shouts becoming more discernible.

“Thief! Thief!" A shop owner screamed, with several bystanders shouting for the guards. Two young men were seen bolting away from the store. In an instant, Terrey sprung into action, employing his martial arts skills.

[Greater Speed]

With a flash, Terrey left Sol's side and swiftly pursued the thief. With a powerful blow, he knocked the man to the ground and pinned him down.

“Sol, I've got this one! Don't let the other one get away.”

The other thief sprinted through the town, and Sol, with his agile and deathless nature, quickly closed the gap. Within seconds, he was nearly upon the thief. However, at the last moment, the thief made a sharp turn, squeezing through an alleyway. Sol followed, but his armor made it difficult to maneuver through the narrow spaces. The scraping sound of metal against the walls echoed loudly as Sol pursued. The thief glanced back, letting out a squeal of panic at Sol's relentless pursuit.

Who the hell designed this city? Why are the alleyways so hard to pass through?

Sol and the thief maintained the same speed as they emerged from the maze of alleys, arriving at the foothill of the grassy plains. Rocky boulders scattered around them, and Sol caught sight of the thief's silhouette darting across the uneven terrain.

Only way to catch him is to break these boulders!

Sol equipped the Vile Blade on his right arm, drawing it from his left hip. With swift and precise movements, he began slicing through the boulders one by one. Each strike cleaved the massive rocks cleanly in half, sending thick dust billowing into the air. The once clear plains were now shrouded in a dense cloud of dust, obscuring visibility and creating an eerie atmosphere.

After slicing through nearly fifteen boulders, Sol finally spotted the thief. The smaller boulders that surrounded him were dwarfed by the larger ones, their shapes blurred in the dusty haze that hung over the rocky landscape.

As the thief shrieked in fear upon the dwarf boulder being cut. Dust swirling around Sol's entrance, the setting sun cast an orange glow on his armor. Just as Sol moved to apprehend the thief, an arrow whizzed past him. With a quick slice, Sol deflected the arrow and turned to face the source.

Ahead stood a group of armored men, each adorned with identical metallic helmets and armor, though their weaponry varied. Two among them wielded bows, positioned slightly behind were four spearmen, and leading the group was a heavily armored knight wielding a giant longsword. The sunset illuminated their figures, casting long shadows across the dusty plains.

“State your business! Attacking a lord's knight is indicative of treason!" Sol commanded boldly, his voice cutting through the tense atmosphere.

As he spoke, a woman emerged behind the archers. Her jet black hair cascaded over her shoulders, and her eyes shimmered like emeralds in the fading light. She wore a stylish open dress that combined hues of blue and black. The dress flowed elegantly around her, its fabric rippling with an iridescent sheen that caught the last rays of the setting sun, giving her an ethereal appearance.

The woman's unexpected presence added intrigue to the standoff on the dusty plains, her attire blending sophistication with a hint of mystery.

“Knight Sol, I wish to ask you this: were you the one who assaulted a woman a week ago?"

Sol froze. How does she know? No, who is she exactly?

“And why does that matter? You attacked a knight of Purple! Who cares if some woman was assaulted a week ago?!" he retorted, trying to mask his shock with defiance.

Her face contorted in anger as she spat out her words with malice. “Her son saw you assault that poor woman from the closet. Don’t try to deny it and accept your sins!” she shouted at the black knight.

Sol's mind raced. He wasn’t aware the woman had a son, and if she did, wouldn’t TEL have informed him? As the pieces fell into place, a realization struck him.

I see, TEL knew but didn't tell me. It seems he has abandoned me.

A sense of loneliness and regret washed over him, but beneath it all, a spark of anger began to grow.

He quickly remarked, "So what if the bastard saw a black knight beating his mom? What concrete evidence is there of me doing it? Maybe she deserved it for raising such a blind brat.” He felt that familiar anger rising again, the same rage he had felt when he had beaten that red-haired woman. But this time, he knew he was losing control.

Her face twitched with fury before she ordered the armored knight to charge at Sol. The knight slashed much faster than Sol had anticipated, and he barely dodged, the blade scraping against his armour. However, something else caught his attention.

Fast! And without martial arts too? Are they even human?!

Sol quickly parried the two spears thrust at him, then slashed at one of the attackers' helmets, revealing their identity. The creature had a head that resembled a fish, with blue aquatic scales, pointed teeth, and a fish-like jaw. Sol was bewildered by this sight.

“I’m aware that you possess incredible abilities, which is why I brought demi-humans to counter you," the woman said, wearing a smug grin. "You might be able to defeat human opponents, but you will surely lose against your kind."

The sight of her mocking grin angered Sol.

A woman dares mock me? I'll wipe that smirk off her face, he thought, feeling the fury build within him.

However, the fish people immediately began their onslaught. The archers fired continuously, while the spearmen maintained their distance, keeping the black knight at bay. The armored knight blocked Sol's attempts to advance on either the spearmen or archers.

Sol quickly seized a dagger from the fish knight's belt and hurled it straight at the woman.

“Eat this, you bitch!"

The blade flew through the air, about to impale the woman, but one of the archers quickly parried it with his short sword. His action caught the angry glare of her green eyes. The armored knight intervened, preparing his blow, but Sol anticipated the move and dodged just in time.

As Sol was about to strike the fish knight, he felt the wind shift behind him, sensing an incoming blow. He dodged just in time, and a massive white blade swung down, barely missing him and the fish knight. The white blade quickly turned to its sharp edge as the knight prepared to strike again. Sol rolled out of the way, dust billowing from the powerful impact.

What is that?!

A white, angelic-like creature wielded the blade. Its design was relatively simple, but Sol had a feeling the woman had something to do with it.

“Charge!" she shouted. The angel responded by dashing at Sol, who quickly engaged it, parrying several strikes. However, the spearmen and archers launched their attacks, thrusting and shooting in unison. In the midst of this chaos, the fish knight exploited an opening, hurling Sol against the nearest boulder. The impact cracked the rock, sending a plume of dust into the air.

The women quickly approached Sol, standing in front of him while his back was lying on the boulder.

“Tell me, why did you do it? What did she even do to you?" The woman's voice cracked with grief as she confronted Sol. He knew he was in the wrong, but his anger consumed him. Though he knew that woman wasn't the one who killed Zephyr, her resemblance was enough to prevent him from feeling any remorse.

Despite looking injured from the blow, Sol was unharmed. He quickly responded in rage, “It's because she's a woman!"

One of the fishmen shouted at the woman, “Lady Veela! He's going to attack!"

Sol swiftly slashed at Veela's neck, hoping to decapitate her. However, a metallic thud followed as the angelic guardian intervened, protecting Veela. Her face now filled with resolve, she immediately counterattacked and ordered the fishmen to attack. Three of the spearmen advanced, hoping to pin Sol in a corner.

They moved in unison, using their martial arts to coordinate their strikes, attempting to overwhelm Sol with their combined assault.

[Greater Ability Boost]

[Dragon Fang Thrust]

A consecutive two-hit thrust from all three spearmen was about to land on him. However, Sol took a strange stance, and when they were within range, he sprung towards them, quickly breaking their spears and knocking each one unconscious with the back of his sword.

Sol felt a weird nostalgia when he took this stance, almost as if he had used it many times before. He found it odd that he could move like this despite never training it with Caulot. The knight and the remaining spearman cautiously approached him. The knight, acting as the vanguard, prepared to block any attacks with his shield while the spearman positioned himself to stab at Sol.

The knight charged, raising his shield defensively, while the spearman moved to flank Sol. Despite the coordinated attack, Sol’s newfound stance and movements gave him an edge. He parried the spearman's thrust with ease and delivered a powerful strike that sent the knight staggering back.

This isn't just a stance; it feels like second nature, Sol thought, bewildered by his own agility and precision.

[Capacity Building]

[Greater Ability Boost]

The spearman, relying on his enhanced strength, thrust at Sol. However, to his horror, Sol grabbed the spear and threw him to the ground, knocking him out. The knight charged next, but Sol gripped his right arm and punched him with his black gauntlet, denting the helmet and causing blood to spurt out. The knight crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

Veela looked on in horror. She knew the knight was strong, but she hadn't anticipated he would be able to take down an entire squadron of demi-human warriors and knights. The bowmen, in a desperate last attempt, drew their daggers, but Sol cut down every single one of their attacks. He knocked one out with the base of his blade and the other with his Vile Shield. Now, only the woman who had orchestrated this ambush remained.

“Hey whore, all of your boyfriends are down," he sneered at her.

Veela's eyes blazed with fury. She began casting a spell, her angelic guard standing protectively beside her. The air around them shimmered with magical energy as she chanted, preparing for a final confrontation.

[Dirty]

Thick brown dirt mixed with water splurged at Sol, Veela attempting to obscure his vision and take him by surprise. As the muck splattered around him, Sol was momentarily blinded, but he could still hear Veela's scornful words.

“There, live amongst the dirt, you worm.”

Her insult fueled Sol's anger, and he charged at her with malicious intent. Veela swiftly engaged her magic, the air crackling with energy as she prepared to defend herself against the enraged knight.

[Shield Of Faith]

Sol slashed, but his blade missed its mark with a whizzing sound. A strange sensation coursed through him, unfamiliar and unsettling. Veela's magic pushed back his blade, deflecting his attack with a force that surprised him.

I should've decapitated her? Why did it push back?

The angelic guardian launched a swift attack, its blade aimed directly at Sol. He reacted instinctively, raising his shield to block the powerful strike. Meanwhile, Veela stood behind the guardian, her eyes glowing with focused intent as she prepared for her next move.

Before Sol could discern her intentions, Veela began her summoning ritual. The air around her shimmered with divine energy, swirling and coalescing into a radiant form that took shape beside her. An angelic being emerged, its presence exuding a sense of ethereal grace and power.

[Angelic Guardian]

A similar creature to the one attacking Sol emerged, standing aloof before Veela commanded it to strike. Sol reacted swiftly, ducking under the initial attack and engaging with the two angels that approached him. He moved fluidly between their strikes, anticipating their movements as he prepared to counterattack.

Just as Sol was about to launch his own assault, Veela pointed her fingers, conjuring a burst of flames directed at him.

[Continual Flame]

The magical flames engulfed Sol, their light and appearance dazzling but lacking in heat or smoke. Sol tried to disperse or extinguish them, but they persisted, creating a distraction that allowed the angels to press their advantage. With coordinated strikes, they managed to land a blow on Sol, creating a dust cloud as he was knocked back.

As the dust settled, Veela's horror became palpable as she realized the situation. However, to her surprise and Sol's determination, he had managed to raise his shield in time, blocking the angel's blade from delivering a fatal blow. His hand shield above his head, Sol gritted his teeth, holding firm against the celestial assault.

Sol's determination surged as he thrust his blade upward, slicing through the angel's belly with a powerful strike. The celestial creature was caught off guard, its form cleaved in two before dissipating into a fine mist. Veela, witnessing the devastating outcome, reacted swiftly.

“Pull back! Don't let him reach you!" she screamed urgently at the remaining angel, who attempted to retreat in desperation. However, Sol closed the distance with alarming speed, catching up to the angel before it could escape. With a decisive motion, he swung his blade and decapitated the celestial guardian. The angelic form dissolved into a smaller mist, leaving only Veela and Sol standing on the battlefield, the magical flames still flickering around him.

She quickly drew out her knife, knowing this was a desperate move. Veela neither had the mana nor any other items to attack the knight. Rushing at him despite not being trained in the blade, she was aware that if she could aim for the gaps in his armor, she might incapacitate him.

However, as she charged, dirt clung to her beautiful blue dress with black linings and accents of white cloth. The elegant fabric, once pristine, now bore the marks of her desperate struggle.

She charged at Sol, and just before her knife could stab him, he slapped her across the left cheek, sending her sprawling to the right. He then thrust his foot onto her stomach, pinning her down.

“So, how did you manage to convince Terrey to backstab me like this?" Fury emanated in the air, a sense of grief at the loss of an important colleague and anger at Veela's deception.

Veela’s eyes shot up in shock, her thoughts raced with one question.

How did he figure it out?

“He was acting strangely—”

He continued, this time his voice filled with anger, “Did you seduce him? Tell me what you did that made him believe you over me?!” His foot dug deeper into her stomach.

Veela spat on Sol’s armor, refusing to respond to his rambling, and gave a final, defiant grin. Sol couldn't help but remember his painful memories.

This is exactly how that bitch got away with murder, seduction, tricking good men to fight amongst themselves. I won't repeat the same mistake twice.

He raised his blade, ready to decapitate the helpless woman, and as he was about to strike, a familiar scream emerged from behind him.

“Sol! Don't!"

Chapter Text

"Sol, what are you doing?!" The scream pierced through the air, quickly morphing into frantic questions. Sol spun around to face the source of the voice. It was Caulot. Even through the young boy's helmet, Sol could sense the shock and horror etched across his face. The sight before him was something Caulot had never imagined, and it was clear that the reality of the situation was just beginning to sink in.

"Caulot, this woman is an enemy of our Lord!" Sol shouted back, his voice tense with urgency. "She's a dangerous criminal who needs to be executed!" His words were sharp, cutting through the chaos as he tried to justify the brutal scene before them.

Caulot looked at the woman pinned beneath Sol, his visor locking onto her eyes. For a moment, time seemed to freeze as recognition dawned on him. A sharp gasp escaped his lips.

"Sol! I know this woman! Her name is Veela!" He exclaimed, his voice trembling with shock. The revelation caught Sol completely off guard, the name hanging heavily in the air between them.
Sol looked down in dismay, his expression hardening as he pressed his steel boot deeper into her stomach.

"How do you know Caulot, whore?" He sneered, his voice dripping with contempt. After a tense moment, he abruptly removed his boot, stepping back to stand beside the defeated Veela.

Caulot, who had cautiously approached the two, sensed the simmering tension between them. He opened his mouth to speak, hoping to deescalate the situation, but before he could utter a word, Veela interrupted.

“You were that boy before? W-why are you with this man?" Veela gasped, pointing weakly at Sol before turning her bruised face toward Caulot, her eyes pleading for answers.

Caulot blinked in confusion, his mind racing to make sense of the situation. "Veela, what’s going on?" He said, his voice a mix of concern and disbelief. "Why is Sol doing this to you? What did you do? Both of you?" He glanced between Sol and Veela, desperate for an explanation, as the tension between them tensed like a rope being pulled by horses.

Caulot's eyes widened as he noticed flames flickering from Sol's armor. "Fire! Sol, there's fire! Are you hurt?" He shouted, rushing forward in concern.

But Sol brushed off Caulot's worry with a dismissive wave. "I'm fine," he growled, his voice cold and unwavering. "This woman brought demi-humans to assassinate me. She's a danger to our Lord. We must execute her!" His words were laced with anger, his focus solely on the woman at his feet.

Caulot was taken aback, his eyes darting across the battlefield. Scattered around the plain were several fish-like warriors, some struggling to rise from the ground. The sight filled him with unease as he quickly turned back to Veela, desperate for answers to Sol's damning accusation.

“Don’t believe him,” Veela stuttered, her voice trembling as she clutched her abdomen in pain. “He’s not a knight; he’s a tyrant. He abused his authority to assault an innocent woman.” She crouched lower, her gaze shifting between Caulot and Sol, her eyes filled with both fear and defiance.

Caulot turned to Sol, waiting for his response, but what he heard left him baffled.

“Again, I didn’t assault some whore,” Sol snapped, his tone defensive. “Stop accusing me, woman, and put out the fire you started on me.”

Veela scoffed, her expression filled with disdain. “The way you act is exactly how scum behaves.”

Sol, clearly ticked off by her words, quickly tried to explain himself to Caulot. “She attacked me first! I was just hunting a thief. And not only that, she deceived Sir Terrey!” His voice grew more frantic as he continued. “Caulot, don’t let her sweet talk deceive you too. D-don’t turn on me like that.” He had hoped to sound firm, but the last part came out in a wimpish, almost pleading tone, betraying his unease.

Veela chuckled softly, sensing that Sol wouldn’t dare harm her with Caulot so close. “It doesn’t matter what you say, scum,” she retorted, a hint of satisfaction in her voice. “The Paladin Order will find you guilty, and when they do, you’ll lose all your privileges.”

Sol's face twisted with anger as he drew his sword, the blade gleaming menacingly in the light. “Not if I kill you first, succubus!” He spat, his voice trembling with barely contained rage.

Veela recoiled in shock at his sudden outburst, but a flicker of relief crossed her face as Caulot quickly intervened. He stepped between them, his hands pressing firmly against Sol's chest, pushing Sol back. "Sol! Don’t!" Caulot pleaded, his voice urgent and desperate. "We can take her to court and prove your innocence! Don’t make this worse, please, Sol." His eyes searched Sol's, hoping to find a trace of the man he once respected.

Caulot’s pleading seemed to cool Sol’s anger. Caulot nodded in approval, as he turned to face Veela.

“Veela, please dispel the fire. Let’s take this to court rather than continuing this fight,” he said, his voice steady but firm.

Veela, eyeing the helmeted boy with a mix of caution and grudging respect, waved her hand. The odorless flames that had been licking at Sol's armor vanished, leaving him unscathed.

“Listen, Caulot,” Veela said, her voice laden with urgency, “that man isn’t a good person. He’s evil, a man who’s a wolf in sheep's clothing, and one day he might harm you too.” Her eyes locked onto Caulot’s, trying to convey the gravity of her warning as the tension in the air hung thick.

Caulot faced Veela with unwavering resolve. “Sol is a good person. Sure, he has his flaws, like any man, but deep down, he’s good. I know that for sure.”

Veela, noticing Caulot’s growing frustration, began to make her way toward the city. As she left, she cast one final, somber remark over her shoulder. “Caulot, you’re a good person. I truly hope you don’t get caught up in this mess.” Her voice carried a note of genuine concern as she disappeared from view. With that, Veela departed, resuscitating the fallen warriors from their slumber. The warriors, begrudging but resigned, accepted their defeat and followed her away.

Caulot turned his gaze to Sol, seeking answers, but found none forthcoming. Sol, however, quickly focused on the thief who had instigated this disaster. The thief lay motionless on the ground, and Sol hurried to check for signs of life. Noticing the faint rise and fall of his chest and the steady beat of his pulse, Sol grabbed the thief by the leg and began dragging him across the plain.

"Sol, couldn’t you carry him—” Caulot hesitated before continuing, “—more humanely?”

“No, not for this scum,” Sol replied coldly. “I’m going to make him answer for his deeds. Now come on, Caulot. Let’s meet up with Sir Terrey.”

With the thief in tow, they made their way to the outskirts of town.

The demi-humans struggled to regain their footing, their client, Lady Veela, attending to their wounds. The knight who had served as the vanguard removed his helmet, his expression one of regret.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “I didn’t expect him to be that strong.”

Veela, her voice tinged with frustration, replied, “It’s fine. We should have been better prepared.” She then slumped in remorse. “I’ll transfer the sum as we agreed on.”

The fish knight scanned the battlefield, noting his brethren's distraught state. He was tempted to take the gold and leave, but his sense of honor held him back.

“No…” He coughed through his gills, “we failed to take down that piranha. However, I’m sure I can help in other ways.”

Taken aback, Veela pondered his proposal. “Then spy on that scum for me and report back with everything he says or does.”

The knight grinned and, with a nod, began removing his armor, revealing his scaled body. Once fully equipped for stealth, he departed to scout the area.

The journey back was marked by a tense silence between the duo. Caulot wanted to ask Sol about the events that had unfolded, but sensing the underlying tension, he decided to keep his questions to himself.

Upon entering town, Sol and Caulot attracted the ire of the citizens with Sol’s grim cargo. The thief, humiliated, was dragged across the street, drawing murmurs and curious glances from the crowd. Eventually, they reached Sir Terrey, who had been reinforced by several junior squires.

Sol threw the thief at Sir Terrey’s feet and demanded a private conversation.

“Sir Terrey… A word,” he said firmly.

Terrey, shocked by Sol’s unscathed condition, reluctantly agreed. He ordered his squires to take the thief away.

“Very well, Sol,” Terrey said, “shall we discuss this matter alone?”

Sol scoffed. “No, Caulot will be with me.”

Terrey glanced at the young boy, who appeared intimidated by his gaze, before leading Sol and Caulot to a secluded alleyway for their discussion.

“Why did you deceive me like this?” Sol demanded, his voice edged with frustration.

Terrey responded stoically, “Because I trust Lady Veela far more than I do you.”

Sol’s grip tightened on his gauntlet. “What did that succubus use to seduce you?”

Terrey's eyes narrowed, his voice taking on a steely edge. "Do not address Lady Veela in such terms. She is a woman of honor, known for her integrity and unwavering sense of duty. Her father, a respected merchant, has built his reputation on fairness and honesty. To speak ill of them is to show your ignorance of their true character.” Sol finally calmed his anger and asked, “That thief—was he really a thief? And those warriors I fought, who were they? At least tell me that.”

Terrey straightened himself and looked at Sol. “The warriors were fish people from the northern coast of Roble. Our kingdom has had a friendly relationship with them; they were mercenaries for hire.”

He continued, “From what I can gather, you must have run afoul of a larger scheme…”

“I defeated them,” Sol cut in, interrupting Terrey before he could finish.

Terrey was taken aback by Sol’s resolute claim. “You’re either a monster or a pathological liar,” he said, adjusting his chest plate. His shock was evident, struggling to reconcile Sol’s determination with the evidence at hand.

“Regardless, the Paladin Order will figure out the truth,” Terrey said with a confident smirk playing on his lips.

Sol’s heart sank, a wave of anxiety flooding over him at the fear of his actions being exposed. Caulot, who had witnessed the events firsthand, stepped in to support him.

“Sir Terrey, I appreciate Lady Veela’s help, but I believe Sol is innocent,” Caulot said firmly. “He didn’t deserve to be attacked. And Sol didn’t run; he fought them all by himself.”

Terrey locked eyes with the slit in Caulot’s helmet. “Tell me, Caulot, do you think Sol is the type of person who would attack an innocent woman? Has he ever shown any hatred before?”

Caulot was taken aback. “I—I don’t know,” he stammered, casting a nervous glance at Sol.

Terrey narrowed his eyes at Caulot’s response. “So you do know something, don’t you, Caulot?”

Flustered, Caulot struggled to find words, but before he could respond, Sol interjected sharply. “Does it really matter? There’s no solid proof of the crime. What’s true is that bitch attacked me, and you cooperated with an enemy of the Lord.”

Terrey folded his arms, his expression defiant. “No, I wasn’t aware that the thieves would divert you. I was only instructed to bring you here.”

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving Sol and Caulot standing alone in the dim light.

“Sol, this seems really bad. What do we do?" Caulot asked, worry evident in his voice.

Sol clenched his gauntleted fist, frustration tightening his grip. "We can fix this," he reassured, though his voice betrayed the tension within. "I'll prove my innocence."

Just a few meters away, the fish knight slipped into the shadows, quietly disappearing into a nearby sewer. He swam swiftly through the underground currents and emerged from the other side, where Veela awaited him, standing silently on the grassy bank above.

He lowered his head respectfully and replied, "I overheard him confronting Sir Terrey. It seems that boy might be hiding something."

"I see," Veela responded thoughtfully. "Thank you for your help."

The fish knight sputtered nervously through his gills, "Th-thank you, Lady Veela. I wish you luck in your endeavor."

With that, he slipped out of the sewage exit and disappeared onto the open plain, leaving Veela alone with her thoughts.

If what he says is true, then perhaps Caulot is involved as well ,Veela thought, her mind racing. She tried to recall the details of when she first met the strange boy. Wait... no, that wouldn't make sense. Around the same time Rosa was assaulted, Caulot was shopping for bakeries, she realized, feeling a slight sense of relief.

Still, Veela had a nagging feeling that she was close to uncovering something important. Deciding it was better to piece things together later, she turned and began making her way back.

Meanwhile, Sol and Caulot had also decided to return. However, Sol couldn’t shake a growing sense of dread. Something deep inside warned him that returning to the castle might bring disaster.

“Caulot," Sol said, his voice laced with unease, "Before we head back, there’s something I need to do first.”

Caulot shot a worried glance at Sol. "Sol, promise me you won’t attack Veela. We’re already in hot water as it is."

Sol snorted in frustration but kept his voice steady. "I promise, this has nothing to do with her. I just need to check something." He paused before adding, "You can head back. I’ll be right behind you."

Caulot hesitated but eventually nodded, turning to leave. The moon cast a pale glow over his black armor as he made his way back, the streets gradually emptying as the common folk hurried indoors. Sol, watching Caulot disappear, slipped into a nearby alley, vanishing into the shadows.

Wait, what was I supposed to do? Sol felt a wave of confusion wash over him. A moment ago, he had been so sure of his next step, but now that he was here, standing in the alley, he felt hopelessly lost.

What should I do?! Panic crept into his thoughts. That bitch has me cornered. If I get caught, what will happen to Caulot?

His mind raced as he contemplated the dire situation. He knew that if the paladins discovered it was him, he’d be arrested. Worse still, he might never see Caulot again. And if things went bad, Caulot might suffer for simply being close to him.

I can't let that happen, he thought bitterly, but the question remained: what could he do now?

How do I deal with their lie detection? Sol thought angrily. His frustration boiled over, and he slammed his gauntlet against the wall. The impact sent a dull thud through the alley, but then something unexpected happened.

Almost immediately, a hidden panel on his right arm gauntlet sprang open with a soft click. Sol's eyes widened in surprise as the panel, sticking out awkwardly, cracked open. It had never done that before. He stared at it, alert and confused, wondering what it could mean.

"What... What is this?!" Sol gasped, staring at the strange buttons now revealed on his gauntlet. He had no idea what they were for, but with no other choice, he pressed one.

Click.

Nothing.

Frustrated, he tried another, then another, but still nothing happened. His patience ran thin, and with a surge of anger, he smacked his left hand against the panel.

Suddenly, flames exploded from his body. "SHIT!!!" he screamed, panicking as the fire engulfed him. Desperately, he flailed and tried to escape the blaze, but it was no use. The heat consumed him, his strength faded, and with a final gasp, everything went black.

When Sol regained consciousness, a familiar sight greeted him. Just like the first time he had opened his eyes, he was met with the cold, imposing metallic superstructure looming above. He slowly rose to his feet, disoriented but somehow... alive. The scent of the place, sterile and metallic, filled his senses, grounding him in the strange reality. He glanced down—his armor was gone. He stood naked, exposed.

“I... I died?” Sol muttered to himself, still trying to comprehend what had just happened.

His eyes fell upon the exit, and instinctively, he made his way to the chamber of bodies—his bodies. There, lined up like copies on display, were countless versions of himself. But as he surveyed them, his heart skipped a beat. One body was missing.

He stared at his hands, the reality of his situation sinking in. "Was I... awakened?" he whispered. Sol had always known he was deathless, but this experience—dying for the first time—felt unsettlingly wrong.

Leaving the chamber behind, he walked through the cold corridors until he reached the main hall. The vast emptiness of it felt eerie. He remembered calling out to TEL before, the entity that had always appeared when summoned.

“TEL! Are you here?!” His voice echoed through the hall, but there was no response, only silence. Sol frowned, a sense of loneliness creeping into his heart, gnawing at him in a way that felt unfamiliar and unsettling.

Suddenly, like a jolt of lightning, a realization crashed into him—something was different this time. Something had changed.

"My armor! Where is it?!" Sol's heart raced as panic overtook him. He scanned the area until his eyes landed on the familiar sight of the armory door. Rushing over, he placed his hand on the glowing blue lock screen, and with a soft beep, it granted him biometric access.

The door slid open, revealing his collection of weapons, armor, and rings—items that had once held great meaning. Yet, as he stared at them, there was no sense of connection. They felt distant, like relics of a past life.

Frantically, he searched the room until his gaze settled on it—the armor. His armor. The one that had defined him, the one he had worn into countless battles since arriving in this world. It wasn't just protection; it was his identity. Seeing it now, he felt a strange mix of relief and unease.

Sol laid his hands on the armor and felt a deep sense of relief wash over him. Slowly, methodically, he began to put it on—first the boots,then the chest piece, the helmet, and finally the gauntlet. Once it was all in place, he felt whole again, the familiar weight of the armor restoring some sense of control. He checked his shield to see if his pouch was still there, and it was. But something else felt off—something was missing.

He turned back toward the stand, his eyes catching a glint of light. There, resting on the stand, was a ring—a wedding ring of sorts. He lifted it, ready to slip it onto his finger, but he hesitated as his eyes drifted to a set of other rings neatly arranged beside it, each glowing with a different color.

"A fiery ring?" Sol murmured, picking up one of the rings. The reddish hue of it gleamed under the fluorescent lights, its surface textured like flame. At its center was a large, circular jewel that pulsed faintly. Sol pondered its meaning, turning it over in his hands.

Rings... That woman... she was using magic, he thought, recalling the encounter. These rings... could they have similar powers?

Sol couldn't be sure if the rings held any power, and he wasn't certain how to test them. He sighed, his gaze shifting from the fiery ring in his hand to the array of weapons and armor scattered around the armory. Most of it failed to leave any impression on him—mundane tools for warriors like him—until his eyes landed on a particular golden set.

The armor was stunning, exquisitely handcrafted from white and gold-colored metal, with intricate details that shimmered in the light.

This armor... it's gorgeous, Sol thought, captivated by its beauty. He stared at it for a long moment, feeling an unspoken connection to its craftsmanship, though he wasn't sure why.

After tearing his gaze away, he continued to scan the room and noticed another door—a door that felt unfamiliar to him, as if it had always been there but had somehow gone unnoticed. Something about it beckoned him to investigate further.

This door doesn't connect to the hall... where does this lead? Sol wondered, curiosity pulling him forward. He placed his hand on the door, and with a soft hiss, it slid open to reveal a large, brightly lit room. Fluorescent lights bathed the space in a harsh, sterile glow. Sol stepped through, his armor clinking softly in the quiet.

What is this room’s exact purpose? He thought as he cautiously walked further inside.

The walls were plain and smooth, almost too clean, as if they were meant for something far more precise than what the rest of the structure suggested. Sol looked up at the ceiling, where the bright white lights beamed directly down on him, casting long shadows around his form.

Why does this room feel different?

Well, since I'm here, I may as well test this ring, Sol thought, determined to figure out its power. If I can master it, I could easily kill that woman.

"Magic!" He shouted at the empty room, dramatically thrusting his right hand toward the opposite wall. But nothing happened. Frustrated, he glanced down at his hand and decided to remove his gauntlet, exposing his bare skin to the cool air. The reddish-orange ring gleamed brightly on his finger.

Fire… he mused. Perhaps I need to invoke a fire spell?

"Fire!!" Sol yelled again, striking the same pose at the same wall, only to be met with the same frustrating result—nothing.

"Damn, why isn't it working? How did that woman do it?" he muttered, his irritation growing. "I wish TEL was here... he'd at least tell me what I'm doing wrong."

The mention of TEL made him pause, a pang of loneliness creeping in. Every time Sol needed guidance, the metallic dog appeared, loyal and ready to assist. But now, in this strange room, TEL was absent, leaving Sol to grapple with the situation alone. As his thoughts circled, a memory of something TEL once said struck him like a bolt of lightning.

"I suppose it's more like commanding it while envisioning it, master," TEL had told him once, in that calm, almost matter-of-fact tone.

The idea intrigued Sol. Maybe that's the key, he thought. It's not just about shouting commands—it's about truly visualizing what I want to happen.

Facing the wall again, Sol took a deep breath. This time, he didn’t shout. Instead, he focused his mind on the image of flames—how they would feel, how they would move, how they would surge forth from the ring. He concentrated on the heat, the flicker of fire, and the power that came with it.

With his hand outstretched, Sol silently commanded the flames, envisioning them in every detail.

Fire! Sol commanded in his mind, envisioning a fierce flame erupting from the ring and igniting the wall before him. He pictured the fire leaving the ring, burning brightly, scorching the metal surface. He was certain it would work this time—after all, TEL had guided him with similar instructions before, and it had worked with his armor.
But nothing happened. No flame, no heat—just an awkward, deafening silence that seemed to mock his efforts. Sol frowned, feeling the weight of disappointment settling in. He glanced up at the ceiling, deep in thought. What am I missing?
Determined not to give up, Sol tried different approaches. He wiggled his fingers, attempting to channel the energy through precise movements. When that failed, he tried shouting louder, as if volume alone could somehow spark the magic. He even combined gestures with his commands, hoping that a more dramatic approach might trigger the ring’s power.
Yet, no matter what he did, the result was the same—nothing. The room remained cold and silent, his efforts leaving him feeling frustrated and slightly ridiculous.

None of his attempts worked, and finally, Sol slumped down against the cold steel wall, defeated. He stared up at the towering metal around him, feeling the weight of his failure pressing down on his shoulders.
If they figure it out... will I have to hide like this forever? The thought gnawed at him, and he gritted his teeth in frustration. No, I want to experience the beauty of this world. I don't want to go into hiding.
He lightly bumped his head with his fist, trying to knock some sense—or maybe inspiration—into himself. Think, there has to be a way to fix this!
But no matter how hard he thought, the answers eluded him. The exhaustion from his efforts and the tension of the situation finally caught up with him, and slowly, his eyelids grew heavy. Despite his resistance, sleep took over, pulling him into a deep slumber.
In his dreams, a vision unfolded before him. He was wearing his armor, standing atop what seemed like a hill, but it was shrouded in darkness, an impenetrable gloom that swallowed the landscape. The air felt thick, heavy with an ominous presence. As he stood there, a single thought echoed in his mind, almost like a whisper from the shadows.
[Dark: 15]
Suddenly, a powerful force crushed onto Sol in the dream, an overwhelming pressure that felt like it would suffocate him. Yet, despite the intensity, he stood unharmed, as if the force had no true power over him. When he finally woke, he was back in the metallic hall, the cold walls surrounding him as before. But something was different—he felt strangely invigorated, as though the weight of his frustration had been lifted.
With renewed determination, Sol rose to his feet. Maybe this time... he thought, the memory of the dream still fresh in his mind.
He extended his hand toward the wall once more, focusing intently. This time, he imagined the fire more clearly, feeling its heat, seeing its flicker in his mind’s eye. He thought of the command as he had before, but now with a deeper understanding, as if that mysterious dream had unlocked something within him.
[Fire: 1]
A tiny string of flame emitted from the ring, dancing in the air before it connected with the wall, leaving a small scorch mark. Sol stared in disbelief for a moment, then a grin of pure joy spread across his face. I did it!
Eager to see if he could do more, Sol quickly gave the next command, pushing the newfound power further.
[Fire: 2]
But this time, nothing happened. The flame sputtered out before it could even form, leaving Sol puzzled. He looked down at the ring, frowning in confusion, and then shook his hand, as if that might somehow reset the magic or kick-start it back into action. Why did it work before and not now? he wondered, frustration bubbling up inside him.
He waited, feeling the seconds stretch into what felt like minutes. Maybe there’s a delay, a cooldown, he speculated, his mind racing to make sense of the strange mechanics of the ring. After what felt like an eternity, he decided to try again.
[Fire: 2]

A much larger string of fire shot out from the ring, crackling with intense heat and force as it slammed against the metal wall. The impact was powerful, but the metal surface remained unscathed, as if it was designed to withstand such magic.

So there’s a cooldown to it, Sol thought, his mind already turning to the mechanics of the ring. I wonder how long it lasts?

He pondered how he could measure the time between casting commands, but for now, he was content with the progress he'd made. The fact that he could now summon fire at all was a significant step forward. Satisfied, Sol decided to leave the metallic chamber.

As he walked back through the armory and into the main hall, he took the time to observe his surroundings more closely. The main hall, which he had passed through countless times before, suddenly seemed different—full of details he had never noticed. The blackened steel frame of the structure gave the place an imposing, almost ominous atmosphere. Several doors lined the hall, each locked with biometric hand panels that glowed faintly, awaiting the touch of an authorized user.

What caught his attention most, though, was a staircase leading to a second level. He had never noticed it before, or perhaps he had never paid it much mind. But now, with his newfound curiosity and the strange dream still lingering in his thoughts, the staircase intrigued him. Where does it lead? he wondered, feeling a pull to explore further.
Without hesitation, Sol began to ascend the stairs, each step echoing in the quiet hall. As he climbed, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something important awaited him at the top—something that might finally provide answers to the swirling questions in his mind.
When he reached the top of the stairs, he found himself in a small, cubical room. The space was stark and unadorned, with walls of the same blackened steel as the rest of the structure. What caught his attention, however, were the four doors—each one centered on a different wall, almost inviting him to choose a path.
Unlike the first floor, these doors had no biometric locks. They stood there, waiting, as if whatever lay behind them was meant to be discovered. Sol took a moment to consider his options, then decided to choose a door at random, his curiosity getting the better of him.
He approached one of the doors and pushed it open. The metallic doorway slid aside smoothly, revealing what lay beyond. As Sol stepped through, his breath caught in his throat. The sight before him was both shocking and eerily familiar.
“What… what is that?” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

Chapter Text

Calca sat on her grand throne, the weight of her crown feeling heavier after hours of political debate, policy adjustments, and receiving reports from the various noble houses. The elegant chamber was filled with the muted whispers of advisors and dignitaries, their faces betraying their own fatigue, but Calca maintained her regal composure despite the growing exhaustion. Beside her, her childhood friend sat calmly, exuding an air of quiet confidence. Unlike Calca, she seemed unfazed by the day's burdens, her eyes sharp as she observed the proceedings with a composed serenity.

As the discussions began to wind down, a familiar voice broke through the crowd. "Your royal highness, will you not take me as your husband?" The young nobleman, Alfonso, stood boldly before her, his voice confident but laced with an edge of hope.

Calca's gaze softened, but her response was unwavering. "Alfonso," she began, her voice steady, "I admire your courage, and I truly appreciate your devotion. But I must respectfully decline your offer." She bit her lip for a moment, then added, "I’m sure there are many fine women who would gladly take your hand."

Some of the nobles surrounding Alfonso stifled laughter at his failed attempt, their hushed giggles echoing softly through the chamber. Alfonso, though his face betrayed a hint of defeat, was not so easily deterred. Straightening his posture, he stood tall amidst the bowing crowd and spoke again, his voice brimming with renewed determination.

"Such harsh words, Your Highness," he began, his eyes flickering with a touch of drama. "I fear not even the lovely Kelart could heal these wounds." His gaze shifted to the brown-haired woman seated beside the queen, his words drawing attention to her.

Kelart, Calca’s trusted companion, rolled her eyes at the comment, clearly unimpressed by his theatrics. Without missing a beat, she lifted a hand and cast a healing spell.

[Heal]

The faint glow of magic briefly illuminates her fingertips.

"The Queen's allocated time has been exceeded," Kelart interjected firmly, descending from the stairs. She moved swiftly, gracefully guiding the nobles and commoners out of the throne room, her voice carrying the authority of someone who had done this many times before.

As the room began to empty, Calca's eyes caught sight of one figure still lingering. She smiled softly, recognizing the familiar presence that remained.

“Remedios, it's good to see you again,” Calca said, her tone warm with relief. After hours of formality, the sight of someone she trusted deeply was a welcome reprieve.

Remedios, standing tall in her gleaming plate armor, draped in a white cloak with the insignia of Roble proudly displayed on her chest piece, bowed her head slightly. "Your Majesty, it is wonderful to meet you again," she responded, her voice strong yet respectful. She then turned toward Kelart, offering a polite nod. "You too, Kelart."

Kelart smiled at her sister. "It is good to see you again, sister." She then shifted her attention back to Calca, who still sat regally on her throne. "Calca, you know you don’t have to listen to all their complaints," Kelart advised, her tone gentle but firm. "It could weaken your rule if we tried to accommodate every request."

"I disagree, Kelart. I have to listen to my people,” Calca said, leaning forward slightly, her sharp gaze meeting Kelart’s eyes. "After all, rulers exist to serve the people."

Before Kelart could respond, Remedios chimed in, her voice firm. "I agree with Calca. Our people’s voices should be heard, and I doubt that listening to all of them would cause any real harm. It's part of our duty."

Kelart sighed, her shoulders slumping just slightly as she recognized the familiar disagreement resurfacing. Not wanting to reignite old debates, she relented with a nod. “Very well,” she said before swiftly changing the subject. "Remedios, what's the situation down south?"

Remedios handed over a few reports in the form of light paperwork. Despite her exhaustion from the constant barrage of documents and endless management tasks, Calca appreciated the gesture. At least Remedios made it more manageable.

"According to the tour my counterpart in the south conducted," Remedios began, "it's much the same as before—discontent brewing, particularly towards Calca's reign."

Kelart let out a soft scoff at her sister's words. "Figures. The south was never happy with our rule. It feels like no matter what we do, they'll always find something to criticize."

Remedios continued, her tone measured but direct. "Most of the southern nobles still believe that Calca's older brother, Prince Caspond, would have been a better fit to rule."

Kelart's annoyance flared instantly. "I’ve told those fools time and again—Prince Caspond himself refused the throne and entrusted it to Queen Calca." Her voice was sharp, frustration clear in every word.

Calca, ever perceptive, quickly stepped in to diffuse her friend’s growing irritation. "Now, now, Kelart," she said softly, offering a calming smile. "Many of the southern nobles may have had their preferences, but the majority of our people remain content under our rule. It's important to remember that."

She leaned back slightly, continuing in a more thoughtful tone. "Besides, we have Old Purple. His efforts to maintain unity across South Roble have been invaluable. Without his guidance and influence, things could be far more divided."

Kelart brushed aside her long brown hair, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Yes, but for how long? Old Purple is nearing his deathbed, and from what I’ve heard, his successor hasn’t even been chosen yet."

Calca tapped her cheek thoughtfully. "That is quite worrying. We can only hope that whoever takes his place will continue his legacy and keep Roble united."

Remedios cleared her throat, catching both her sister's and Calca's attention. "Speaking of Old Purple, I received a rather interesting report."

Both women looked at her with curiosity.

"One of Old Purple's recently recruited knights has been accused of assault," Remedios revealed, her voice heavy with concern.

Both Calca and Kelart appeared surprised by the revelation before Kelart spoke up. "That's quite concerning. Old Purple was one of the few nobles known for enforcing a strict moral code among his retinue."

Remedios nodded. "Apparently, the knight committed the crime before joining his ranks."

Calca narrowed her eyes, a deep frown forming. "Even so, Old Purple has always been perceptive in spotting those who might cause trouble. This is a serious blow to his reputation, especially at such a critical time.”

Remedios quickly pointed out something intriguing from the report. "According to the records, this knight has bested skilled martial artists despite having no formal training. I even heard a rumor that he defeated several fishmen in battle."

Kelart's face immediately turned to alarm. "That could only be possible if he—"

"Yes," Remedios interjected, "it's likely he's a demi-human." She paused before adding, "Regardless of his race, he showcases abilities that might rival even Adamantite adventurers."

Before Kelart could issue any commands, Calca raised her hand, stopping her. "If this knight is innocent but has been discovered to be a demi-human, he shouldn't be punished for that alone." Her voice was firm, but compassionate. "We must ensure that his actions are judged fairly, not based on his race."

Both Kelart and Remedios turned to Calca, concern evident on their faces. “Your Majesty,” Remedios began, her tone edged with worry, “I know you have a compassionate heart, but what if this knight is a demi-human from the Abelion Hills? What if he's infiltrating to climb our ranks, only to assassinate you?”

Calca listened thoughtfully but remained composed. “If he is guilty of any crime, he will be judged by the laws of Roble,” she said firmly. “But I do agree—we cannot be careless. We must remain watchful.”

Her eyes shifted between the two women, her voice steady as she continued, “Kelart, Remedios, I trust you both to handle this situation. Keep an eye on him, and ensure the truth is uncovered without jumping to conclusions.”

Both Kelart and Remedios knelt before Calca, their voices in unison. "Yes, Your Majesty." With that, the two sisters rose and exited the throne room, leaving Calca alone with her thoughts.

As the silence settled, Calca found herself wondering. Is there any man who would love me? She drifted into a daydream, imagining what such a man might be like—a figure who could understand her burdens and offer the warmth she craved behind her regal facade.

Her musings were interrupted by the creak of the throne room door. She straightened as a man with long blonde hair and wearing elegant clothing stepped inside, his smile warm and familiar.

Calca’s face lit up with a smile of her own. "Brother, it's good to see you."

(...)

Veela sat on her bed, the soft morning sunlight filling her room. She gazed out the window, deep in thought, before shifting to get a better view. As she leaned forward, a sharp pang of pain shot through her body. Her fight with Sol had left her more injured than she’d let on, and even with healing magic, the lingering aches were a constant reminder. She winced, thinking of ways to better hide her condition from her family.

Before she could dwell on it further, a gentle knock came at her bedroom door.

"Come in," Veela said softly, her voice betraying her fatigue. The sound of the door opening helped mask her troubled thoughts.

A maid entered, her face kind but concerned. "Lady Veela, breakfast is ready. Your parents are waiting for you."

“Very well,” Veela replied, rising carefully from the bed. She smoothed out her dress, making sure she looked presentable, and slipped on her heels. With a deep breath, she made her way downstairs, pain still subtly tugging at her movements.

Upon reaching the main hall, she headed toward the dining room where her family awaited. Her father, mother, Tavion, and Adelina were already seated at the table, and several maids stood attentively around them, waiting in silence. Veela took her place, doing her best to hide the discomfort that lingered beneath her poised exterior.

Veela's father, Alejandro, gave her a steady, penetrating look as she carefully seated herself in the vacant dining chair, mindful not to aggravate her injuries. The room was thick with silence before Alejandro finally spoke, his voice low but laced with tension.

“Veela, I understand your anger over Rosa’s assault,” he began, his jaw tightening. “I have my own grudge against the scoundrel who did it.” He clenched his teeth, clearly restraining his emotions. “But accusing a knight from Old Purple’s retinue of such a crime—that’s going too far.”

Veela took a quick breath, steadying herself before responding. "Father, I was skeptical too," she said, her tone sharp but controlled. "But after seeing Mateo’s reaction to that knight, and witnessing his behavior during our battle, I’m convinced he's unfit for knighthood. Even if he isn't guilty of the crime, he has no right to carry that title."

Veela’s mother, Isabella, cut in sharply, her voice rising in frustration. "Veela, what made you think it was a good idea to take on that knight? Do you realize how dangerous that was?"

Veela met her mother’s gaze, her expression firm but tired. "Mother, my angels protected me, and the warriors I hired were more than enough to ensure my safety." She paused briefly, muttering under her breath, "I just wasn’t expecting him to be that strong."

Before Isabella could respond, Tavion spoke up, his voice calm but serious. "I was there when Mateo had his outburst. He pointed right at that knight, calling him a monster. Both Adelina and I saw it."

Adelina, sitting quietly beside him, nodded in agreement. "It was clear something about that knight shook him deeply."

Alejandro snorted, exhaling sharply before letting out a weary sigh. "While Mateo's reaction is certainly a clue, it's still not enough to justify ambushing a lord's knight, Veela." He shot his daughter a stern side-eye, his disappointment palpable. Veela, feeling the weight of his gaze, lowered her head slightly, a flicker of regret crossing her face. But she quickly straightened up, her resolve firm.

"Allowing scum like him to roam the streets, abusing his authority, couldn't wait for some slow process of justice. He had to be dealt with, Father."

Alejandro leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming lightly on the table. "I understand your frustration, and I agree that the knight’s behavior was unacceptable. But you put yourself—and others—in unnecessary danger. We should've handled this more strategically." He paused, his eyes meeting Veela's. "A silent complaint to the paladins would have brought justice in time. Then we could've sought our own... quiet revenge on the bastard."

Veela remained silent, her father’s words sinking in. She realized now how much Rosa’s assault had clouded her judgment, and the weight of her actions pressed heavily on her. Stirring up this trouble, she wondered if she had truly made the right choice.

Alejandro sighed, his tone shifting to one of weariness. "Well, regardless, the lord and I have a good relationship. But this debacle—" he paused, rubbing his temples, "—could very well sour it. If the knight is proven innocent by the Order, I fear I won't be able to protect you, Veela. I can appeal to him, but it’ll be up to his decision and the Paladin Order's judgment."

Isabella interjected, her voice sharp but concerned. "And let's not forget that you dragged Sir Terrey into this mess. You risked his title and honor in the process. His family won’t appreciate what you've put him through, Veela."

“Now now mother, even if Veela didn't bring him into this mess I'm sure he still would've gotten involved as he is a family friend." Tavion defended Veela from their mothers constant scorn.

Adelina, who had remained silent about the ordeal, executed her course of action. “I am good friends with Sir Terrey’s younger sister. I'm sure I can cushion whatever fallout may occur.”

Isabella eyes glint in joy “very good my daughter, see Veela? This is how it's meant to be. I ought to have you married."
"Now, Mother," Tavion continued, still defending Veela, "one of the main reasons Sir Terrey is friendly with us in the first place is because of Veela's idea to sell magical equipment. Without that, we would never have crossed paths with him."

His words successfully eased the tension, preventing any rift from forming between Veela and their mother, and subtly safeguarding his wife Adelina from being pulled into the growing storm.

Alejandro, watching his family bicker, let out a tired sigh. “We all have our opinions on this, but the food is getting cold. I’m sure the maids would rather not see their hard work wasted.”

Everyone glanced at the maids, who shifted uncomfortably under the sudden attention, before turning their focus back to the meal. The family settled into the meal—lanca stew mixed with vegetables, accompanied by several side dishes of fresh fruits. The room, previously tense with debate, grew quiet as the maids moved gracefully around the hall, serving and attending to details. After several minutes of quiet dining, everyone felt content and stuffed, the earlier tension now replaced by a temporary calm.

“See, honey? Don’t you feel better now?” Alejandro said, looking across the table at his wife. Isabella gave a guilty smile, her earlier frustration melting away.

“Yes, dear, I’m sorry for getting angry,” she replied softly.

Alejandro nodded in approval, content with the calmer atmosphere. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Veela rising from her chair.

“Tavion, I’m going to visit Rosa. I need you to come with me," Veela said, her voice steady. "Adelina, you’re invited too.”

Alejandro raised an eyebrow, surprised by Veela’s sudden declaration but seeing no harm in the gesture. “Very well, Veela,” he said, offering a small smile. “Give her my condolences, and let her know we’re all thinking of her.”

As the trio left the dining hall and stepped into the front garden, Tavion quickly spoke up, his tone questioning. “Veela, you didn’t really need me to visit Rosa. What’s going on?”

Veela turned slightly, giving him a calm yet pointed look. “Father likely wouldn’t want me doing anything alone. And besides,” she added with a faint smirk, “it’s considered rude for gentlemen to leave women unescorted.”

Tavion and Adelina exchanged worried glances, their concern evident. Tavion broke the silence with a weak, “I see,” though it was clear he suspected there was more to it than Veela let on.

Soon after, the trio departed their manor, riding in a chariot drawn by horses, with the driver expertly guiding them with the crack of his whip. Tavion sat beside Adelina, casting glances at his sister, while Veela sat across from them, her focus fixed on the window. The blur of pedestrians and bustling city streets passed by, unnoticed by her, as her mind wandered.

Tavion looked at his sister with concern. “Veela, what’s on your mind right now?”

Veela sighed, her gaze still fixed on the passing scenery outside. “A lot. I’m not even sure what I’m going to say to Rosa,” she said with a soft chuckle that quickly turned into a snort. “I wanted to meet her, and now I don’t even know what to say.”

Adelina, sitting beside Tavion, gave Veela a compassionate look before reaching out to gently hold her hands.

“To be honest, I don’t even know what the right words would be,” she admitted. Veela looked puzzled for a moment, unsure of what her sister-in-law meant.

“But I’m sure she’ll be happy to see you,” Adelina continued, her voice reassuring. “Just letting her know that you care and that you’re doing your best for her will be more than enough.”

Veela's eyes welled up at Adelina’s kind words, but she quickly wiped them away, sighing in quiet gratitude.

"Thanks," she said softly, though the weight of everything still hung over her. "I still feel so much pressure."

Before she could say more, the chariot came to a steady halt. Glancing out of the window, Veela saw the familiar street where Rosa lived. Her heart beat a little faster as Tavion, ever the gentleman, took the lead and opened the chariot door.

“Well, ladies?" he said with a playful grin. "Care for a walk?"

Adelina blushed at his remark, while Veela, despite her nerves, couldn’t help but roll her eyes. The trio stepped out of the chariot, with Tavion signaling the driver to remain there.

As they walked through the quiet residential street, Veela felt a rising sense of anxiety. Each step toward Rosa's house seemed heavier, but as she finally stood in front of the door, her nerves eased a little. She took a deep breath, bracing herself for the conversation ahead.

Veela gently knocked on the door, her brother Tavion and Adelina standing beside her. When Rosa opened it, Veela’s eyes were immediately drawn to the cloth wrapped around her friend’s head, concealing the scars from the assault. The sight stirred a deep sense of guilt and concern in her.

"Rosa, how have you been holding up?" Veela asked, her voice soft but laced with worry.

Rosa forced a smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. "I’m doing fine, Veela. It’s good to see you too, Adelina." She glanced at Adelina, who gave a small, bewildered smile in return. "Well, no need to keep you waiting. Come on in!"

As they entered, the small group took seats around the dining table. The atmosphere was heavy, the unspoken tension clear. Veela’s gaze shifted to Mateo, Rosa’s son, slumped down in his chair. His sullen posture and distant stare made Rosa sigh, a deep weariness evident in her eyes as she watched him.

"Come on, dear, Veela and Tavion are here to see you," Rosa said softly, gently caressing her son's head. "At least give them a smile." But Mateo’s blank stare remained, his expression unchanged. The painful silence that followed weighed heavy on the room, making everyone uneasy.

Veela, feeling the pressure to keep the conversation going, cleared her throat and spoke up. “Rosa, do you remember when we brought Mateo back after he had that anxiety attack?”

Rosa’s face twisted with a mixture of pain and frustration, but she quickly composed herself. "Yes, I do," she replied, her voice tight with emotion. "In a way, I was relieved he finally showed some reaction to everything." She sighed deeply, her hands moving restlessly as she cleaned the tabletop. "Even though," she added with a sad smile, "I would've preferred it if it had been something a bit more positive."

“Well, thanks to those unfortunate circumstances, we've been able to locate a potential suspect,” Veela said, breaking the heavy silence. Adelina and Tavion stayed quiet, watching the conversation unfold. The moment those words left Veela’s mouth, Rosa’s attention was immediately drawn, her expression shifting.

Veela pressed on. “It’s still under investigation. The paladin order is reviewing the evidence, but there’s a strong possibility he’s the culprit.”

Rosa looked down for a moment, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of the table. After a pause, she lifted her head and gave a small, tentative smile. “Thank you, Veela. I was trying to move on… honestly, I’m still unsure about all this. But if you believe this is the right thing to do, then I won’t stop you.”

Veela smiled before adding "Well, Father sends his regards too.” Rosa scoffed upon hearing mention of Veela’s father.

Rosa rolled her eyes, placing her hands on her hips. "If he’s so fond of sending regards, maybe he should follow through and actually visit us sometime!" Her playful tone quickly shifted to one of frustration. "He hasn’t even bothered to visit once since Javier passed away." The sorrow in her voice was unmistakable, the weight of loss hanging heavy in the room.

Tavion, who had stayed quiet up until now, offered a composed response. "I agree, Rosa. He probably does have time to visit you. I’m not sure why he hasn’t… but regardless, you know that we’ll always be here for you." His words were calm and reassuring, but the sadness in Rosa’s eyes lingered.

Rosa let out a heavy sigh, her gaze shifting to Mateo, who remained unresponsive. "And what am I going to do for him? For Javier?" she whispered softly, almost to herself, as she quietly prepared the dinner.

Veela, who had been expecting more conversation, found herself enveloped in an unsettling silence. The atmosphere grew eerily still—neither Tavion nor Adelina spoke, and Rosa was now focused on gently hand-feeding Mateo, her movements tender but weighed down by the sorrow of a mother trying to reach her son.

In that quiet moment, Veela felt an unexpected wave of loneliness wash over her. Despite being surrounded by her loved ones, the silence and the weight of everything left her feeling strangely isolated, as if the connection between them was fraying under the burden of unspoken grief.

(...)

Caulot had been a nervous wreck ever since Sol disappeared two days ago. The atmosphere around him had grown tense, with the other knights and squires eyeing him with suspicion, as if Sol's alleged guilt cast a shadow over them all.

As he walked down the stone-paved corridor, his footsteps echoing off the walls, he noticed the large wooden doors ahead were left wide open. He planned to pass by without much thought, but the sound of hushed voices from the adjacent room piqued his curiosity. Unable to resist, he took a cautious peek inside.

Three men were gathered around a circular table, their faces tight with worry. Their conversation was low, but the words carried a sense of gravity.

“He has no heirs, and for a scandal of this scale to break out…” one of the men murmured, his voice trailing off as if the implications were too dire to complete.

The noble beside him added, "Even the southern paladin commander is here." He turned toward the man standing next to the others. "Felipre, what do you make of this?"

Caulot, peering through the doorway, he was surprised Felipre hadn’t noticed him. As he continued to listen, Felipre flashed a grin. “This could be our chance to elevate ourselves. If the Duke of Dobeni believes Old Purple has lost his touch, and we show him we're the better alternative, we might secure more power for ourselves.”

The other two men smiled before one of them responded, “Yes, but his retinue is unlikely to back down. They won’t just abandon the lord. We should tread carefully.”

Caulot felt a wave of disgust wash over him. He quietly pulled back from the doorway and continued down the corridor, his mind racing. Alone now, he slowed his pace, deep in thought.

“Why is everyone trying to take advantage of this? It’s not fair.” Caulot wasn’t troubled by the fact that people kept their distance from him—he had grown used to that. What troubled him most was how easily they sought to exploit Sol and the difficult situation he was in.

However, the weight on his mind went far beyond the schemes he had overheard. Sol, where are you?! Everyone thinks you ran away, and I don't think I can defend you any longer.

Lost in thought, he suddenly felt a warm hand on his shoulder. Startled, he turned around to see Sir Phenoe standing behind him. Instinctively, he snapped into a salute.

“S-Sir Phenoe…”

The knight waved his hand dismissively. “At ease, Caulot.”

Caulot relaxed, the tension easing from his shoulders.

Phenoe gave him a sympathetic look. “This must be hard for you, Caulot. You don’t deserve the pressure the others are putting on you.”

"It's fine, sir. I'm just worried about Sol. If he doesn’t return by the time the Paladins arrive, he’ll automatically be found guilty.” Caulot took a deep breath, struggling to keep his emotions in check. "I-I can't let that happen. Sol has always been there for me, right from the start. I can't lose him, sir."

Phenoe's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “I also find it hard to believe that someone who’s looked after you so well would commit such a disgraceful act.” He gazed out from the balcony for a moment, then smiled warmly at the boy. “I believe he’s innocent too, Caulot. And I’ll stand by you to defend him.”

Caulot blushed, his gaze following Phenoe’s to the horizon where dawn was breaking over the cityscape of Puertomarino. Despite the weight of his worries, he couldn’t help but feel a momentary sense of awe at the beauty below. But the peace was short-lived as a commotion erupted near the castle gate, drawing the attention of nearby knights and squires.

Both Caulot and Phenoe quickly left the balcony and made their way down to the castle grounds. As they approached, Caulot’s heart leapt.

There, surrounded by a crowd of knights, stood Sol. He walked confidently across the grounds, stopping right in front of Caulot and Phenoe.

“Caulot, sorry for the wait. I’m back.”

Chapter Text

The sea breeze swept around her, brisk and invigorating, carrying the scent of salt and the endless horizon. After two days at sea, she had grown accustomed to the rhythmic sway of the galley, the constant undulating motion now a familiar companion. Her holy counterpart, however, was not faring as well. She approached Neia on the deck, her face pale and drawn, the morning light casting shadows beneath her tired eyes.

“G-good morning, Neia,” she muttered, her voice strained. She pressed a trembling hand over her mouth, struggling to hold back the rising wave of nausea.

Neia’s expression shifted between concern and exasperation. “Just try not to puke on the deck again, alright? The captain already gave me a stern warning after the last time.”

The woman staggered toward the railings, leaning heavily against them as she bent over, letting the fresh air wash over her. "Well, Neia, we should be approaching Puertomarino soon. Is this your first time in the south?”

Neia nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Ever been to the south, Tamaitra?”

Tamaitra swept a strand of her long, unruly red hair behind her ear and adjusted her worn, fraying robes. As a priestess, her role was to embody a sense of purity and grace, but her current appearance, disheveled and tired, suggested she had endured a rough journey.

“I went there once when I was younger,” she replied, her tone reflective. “It’s more developed than the north. Cities and ports instead of endless forests. But I doubt that bow of yours would be of much use there.” She gestured toward Neia’s bow, slung across her back, the polished wood catching a glint of sunlight.

Tamaitra’s brow furrowed as she continued, “I still find it strange, you carry both a sword and a bow. Are you really a paladin in training?”

Neia let out a weary sigh. “I am a paladin. I just happen to be skilled with a bow as well.”

“I remember you shooting a rat that was nibbling on the grain from the other side of the ship. With skills like that, you could become the next ‘Mad Archer,’” Tamaitra teased, her voice lilting with amusement as she broke into a playful grin.

Neia shot her a sharp, annoyed look before muttering under her breath, “I don't want to be like my father.”

But to Neia's dismay, Tamaitra caught her words. Her eyes widened in realization. “Wait, that makes sense! No wonder you seemed so familiar. You’re Pabel Baraja’s daughter, aren’t you?”

Neia turned away, deliberately avoiding Tamaitra’s cheerful curiosity, her expression darkening as she faced the open sea. After a tense pause, she shifted the conversation. “Tell me, Tamaitra, what do you think of faith?”

The priestess’s playful expression faded, replaced by a solemn look. “Faith in the Four Great Gods, of course,” she replied, her sudden shift in tone catching Neia by surprise.

“It’s vital for humanity to believe in higher powers,” Tamaitra continued, her voice steady and sincere. “It’s what keeps our societies grounded, our communities united. But why do you ask, Neia?”

Neia turned to face her, then shifted her gaze back to the horizon, where the sea stretched endlessly. “Paladins don’t necessarily need to swear an oath to the Four Gods. But you clerics, your devotion is tied to those vows. Many paladins choose oaths tied to ideals like justice, peace, or even harmony. I’ve been wondering... what should my oath be?”

Tamaitra rubbed her chin thoughtfully, considering Neia’s words. A gentle smile touched her lips as she offered, “Why not make an oath to be a protector?”

Neia turned to the priestess, a glimmer of hope in her eyes. “Yeah, that could work,” she said softly. But before she could continue, Tamaitra interrupted her.

“Although, the real question is, would you want to?”

Neia frowned, puzzled by the priestess’s cryptic response. “What do you mean, Tamaitra?”

Tamaitra’s gaze was steady, her voice thoughtful. “Well, if you embraced being an archer, you might protect people even more effectively. But since you’re so determined to become a paladin, you might never fully realize that potential.”

Neia’s expression tightened with annoyance, her patience wearing thin, she’d already heard similar doubts from her mother. “And what exactly is your point?”

Tamaitra met her frustration with a calm smile. “In a way, by choosing to focus on archery, you could end up embodying the true spirit of a paladin more than if you clung to the title. You’d be saving lives, wouldn’t you?”

Neia’s shoulders relaxed as the words settled over her, easing the tension in her features. She took a deep breath before replying, “Well, yes, but... that’s still not what I want. I want to be a proper paladin. Like my mother.”

Tamaitra studied the young woman intently, ensuring she caught every nuance of Neia’s expression, the flicker of determination that lingered behind her eyes.

“According to the teachings of the Four Great Gods, putting your own desires aside to save others is what makes a true hero,” Tamaitra said, her voice carrying a quiet conviction.

Neia's expression turned contemplative as she weighed the words. After a moment, she replied, “I could do that as a paladin, too. I just want to fit in, to be seen by others—to be recognized.” Her voice softened, the weight of uncertainty seeping through. She sighed deeply before continuing. “I don’t want to end up like my father... with that same stern scowl on his face.”

Before Tamaitra could respond, a sharp shout rang out from the captain’s quarters, cutting through the conversation.

“Land ahoy! Puertomarino, just westward!”

Both Neia and Tamaitra turned, looking out over the sea to see the bustling city port coming into view. Sunlight gleamed off the distant rooftops, and the outlines of ships crowded the harbor. Tamaitra’s shoulders sagged with relief, a faint smile breaking the tension that had settled between them.

“Well, I guess I won’t be annoying you or the captain much longer,” she said with a lighthearted chuckle.

Neia shot a pointed look at the red-haired priestess. “You do realize we still have the journey back, don’t you?”

Tamaitra groaned in annoyance, her frustration evident as the ship rocked gently against the harbor of Puertomarino. After a short while, the vessel docked, and both Neia and Tamaitra disembarked. The priestess, eager to set foot on solid ground again, moved a bit too hastily and collided with something solid and metallic.

“I-I’m so sorr—” Her voice faltered as she looked up, her words dying in her throat when she realized who she had bumped into.

It was none other than the headmaster of the Southern Paladin Command, Edmondoru Vasquez—a man of imposing stature in his early forties. His muscular build filled out the polished armor he wore, and his faded brown hair framed a face defined by a sharp jawline and stern features.

“No need to apologize, miss. And good to meet you, Miss Neia,” he said with a polite nod. “How's your father doing?”

Tamaitra stood frozen in place, the shock evident on her face, while Neia mustered a nervous response, glancing between the headmaster and the ground.

“G-good to meet you, sir.”

To their surprise, the headmaster let out a hearty laugh, the sound echoing across the docks. The unexpected burst of laughter caught both his paladin attendants and the two visitors off guard, momentarily breaking the tension in the air.

“I was honestly expecting the same stern look of approval that your father always gives. Sorry, you caught me off guard.” The headmaster’s tone was lighter than expected as he extended his hand to Neia. After a moment’s hesitation, she reached out and shook it, her grip tentative.

As their hands met, a sudden realization sent a jolt down Neia’s spine. She quickly pulled back and reached into her satchel, retrieving a neatly rolled scroll. She bowed slightly before offering it to the headmaster. “Almost forgot, sir. I was instructed by Grandmaster Remedios to deliver this to you.”

Edmondoru took the scroll, carefully unrolling it as he cast a quick, assessing glance at both Neia and the still-stunned priestess beside her. His expression remained unreadable as his eyes scanned the contents.

“Well, it looks like you’re more important than I initially thought, miss,” he remarked with a curious lift of his brow. He turned his attention to the priestess, his tone shifting to one of polite interest. “Would you mind sharing your name as well?”

Tamaitra, still visibly shaken by the unexpected encounter, managed to stammer out a response. “T-Tamaitra, my name is Tamaitra.” As she spoke, her voice wavered, but gradually, she found her footing, her tone growing steadier with each word.

The headmaster clasped his hands together, a subtle tension in his posture. “Now, shall we head for the central castle?” he suggested, his voice carrying a note of anticipation.

With that, the paladin attendants flanked Neia and Tamaitra, positioning themselves behind the pair and their headmaster as they began their walk through the bustling streets.

As they moved, the headmaster glanced at the nearby stores, his gaze thoughtful. “So, Neia, why do you think we've been summoned here?”

Neia blinked in surprise, caught off guard by the direct question. “T-to determine if a noble's knight is guilty?” She ventured, her uncertainty clear.

The headmaster chuckled softly, though his expression remained serious. “Well, yes, that’s part of it. But there's more to this matter than a simple investigation. After all, Grandmaster Remedios wouldn’t have sent you if we only needed to uncover the truth.”

Neia scratched her head, her brow furrowing as she tried to piece it together. Finally, she admitted, “Sorry, Headmaster, I really don’t know.”

The headmaster leaned in closer, lowering his voice so only Neia could hear. “It has to do with Miss Tamaitra, the priestess you’ve escorted here.”

Neia’s eyes widened at his words. She glanced over at Tamaitra, who seemed blissfully unaware of the gravity of the conversation. The priestess was distracted by the bustling market, her attention caught by the colorful displays in the shop windows, her earlier unease replaced by childlike curiosity.

Neia still couldn’t piece together what made Tamaitra so important, and by the time they reached the castle stronghold, she had more or less given up trying.

Her thoughts drifted as she took in the sight before her. The castle, perched atop a rugged mountain, loomed against the sky. It reminded her of the summer palace of Rimrun, though it was smaller and lacked the same grandeur. What stood out, however, was how heavily fortified the stronghold was—knights and squires patrolled the grounds with vigilance, their eyes constantly scanning the surroundings for any sign of trouble.

As they approached, the castle gates swung open, and they were greeted with a brief but ceremonial display: a small parade of knights standing at attention, their armor gleaming in the afternoon sun. The knights offered a formal salute as Neia, Tamaitra, and the headmaster passed through, the sound of their synchronized movements echoing against the stone walls.

Once inside, the headmaster turned to Neia and Tamaitra, his expression serious. “To bring you both fully up to speed on the situation, Neia,” he began, his voice taking on a more authoritative tone, “the knight under investigation recently joined the ranks of Old Purple. He has been accused by the daughter of a prominent merchant—of assaulting innocent women.”

Neia and Tamaitra both nodded in understanding, yet they were caught off guard by what the headmaster revealed next.

“Strangely, the knight disappeared for several days right after the accusations were made. Many assumed he had fled to avoid prosecution,” the headmaster continued, his tone thoughtful. “But, oddly enough, he returned on his own and is currently being held in the prison.”

Neia raised an eyebrow, her voice laced with suspicion. “That’s... unusual. Most people accused of such crimes would have vanished for good. Are we sure he’s the perpetrator?”

The headmaster sighed, rubbing his temple in frustration. “Not entirely. The only evidence we have comes from the victim’s son, who ‘claims’ he witnessed the assault.”

He paused, glancing between Neia and Tamaitra, his expression a mix of irritation and weariness. “To make matters worse, this entire ordeal has erupted into a full-blown scandal. The accuser attacked the lord’s knight before we even had a chance to begin our investigation.”

Neia and Tamaitra exchanged uneasy glances, the weight of the situation settling heavily as they absorbed the complexities unfolding around them.

Tamaitra spoke up, her tone cautious. “That’s... incredibly reckless. If the knight is proven innocent, the accuser could be charged with sedition for attacking a lord’s knight.”

The headmaster snapped his fingers, nodding in agreement. “Exactly. And that’s why the outcome here is crucial.” He gestured toward the castle, his gaze sharpening. “If the Paladins confirm the knight’s guilt, Old Purple’s reputation will suffer considerably. But if he’s innocent, we’ll have a different kind of crisis on our hands.”

“Wouldn’t Old Purple want to protect this knight, even if he’s proven guilty?” Neia asked, her voice carrying a note of suspicion. “How come the accuser wasn’t silenced?”

Her question drew surprised glances from both the headmaster and Tamaitra.

“Neia,” Tamaitra began, brushing aside a stray strand of red hair, “you do know that Old Purple is considered one of the most honorable nobles in the South, right? I highly doubt he would attempt to obstruct justice, no matter the consequences.”

The headmaster nodded, supporting the priestess’s sentiment. “I’ll have to agree with her on this. I’ve known Lord Old Purple for years; he’s never been one to shy away from the truth. If anyone will get to the bottom of this, it’s him.”

Feeling the weight of their combined trust in the lord, Neia pressed on, trying to make her point clear. “M-maybe, but don’t you think we should at least consider the possibility of the lord’s influence over the outcome?”

The headmaster rubbed his chin thoughtfully, giving her a measured look. “You do raise a fair point, Neia. But I doubt it would sway things much. We Paladins possess the ability to detect lies, and that skill will be used if needed.” His tone grew more resolute. “Regardless of the outcome, we’re under orders from the Queen herself to see justice served.”

The headmaster turned to Tamaitra. “And I trust you already know your role here, Miss Tamaitra.”

She nodded, her gaze steady, while Neia glanced between them, curious about what was left unsaid. Just then, a knight stepped forward, announcing his presence with a firm voice.

“Honored guests from afar! Welcome to Lord Old Purple’s abode. Though we wish your visit had come at a better time, you will still be hosted with the respect and care deserving of such company.”

The headmaster extended his hand warmly. “Good to see you again, Sir Wasfed.”

The knight grasped it in a firm handshake. “You as well, Headmaster Edmondoru.”

They proceeded into the castle hold, Neia and Tamaitra following closely behind. Eventually, they arrived at the courtroom—a large, stately chamber with walls and vaulted ceilings polished to a gleam. The public, on Lord Old Purple’s orders, was permitted to attend this trial, creating a quiet, expectant energy in the air.

At the far end, seated in a high-backed chair, was Lord Old Purple himself. His age was evident in his frail frame and lined face, yet his bearing conveyed a residual strength. Neia found herself wondering how such an elderly, weary-looking man had once achieved the esteemed rank of one of the Nine Colors.

They settled into the observer stands, and soon, the courtroom prepared itself for the trial. The headmaster crossed to the judge’s seat, taking his place with an air of solemn authority. Before him stood the victim, the witnesses, and the accused, each ready to give their testimony.

Neia cast a quick glance over the individuals on trial. Her gaze softened as it landed on the victim—a woman—and then the witness, a child. Her eyes moved to the accused knight, and a strange feeling prickled at her senses.

Odd, she thought. Whenever I look at him, I sense something unsettling, a quiet danger. Could he really have done it?

As Neia’s mind raced through the possibilities, the headmaster’s powerful voice cut through the silence, drawing her attention back to the trial.

“Today, we gather to determine if Sir Sol, the newly appointed knight of Lord Old Purple, is guilty of assault against Rosa,” he announced, his voice echoing across the chamber. “We will begin with the testimony of the accuser.”

A woman stepped forward, her long black hair falling neatly around her shoulders. She wore a refined black dress that spoke of her elevated status, and her green eyes held a glint of determination. As she took the stand, the headmaster and several Paladins silently activated their Zone of Truth, ensuring that honesty would prevail.

[Zone Of Truth]

“Veela, representative of the accuser, you are now bound by oath to speak only the truth,” the headmaster declared, his voice firm. “Any falsehoods you utter will be detected by myself and the attending Paladins of this court.”

Veela inclined her head in a graceful nod, offering a slight bow. “I understand, Your Honor.”

The headmaster cleared his throat, signaling her to proceed. “You may begin your testimony.”

Veela drew a steadying breath, her face strained as she looked towards the accused knight, her gaze sharp with restrained resentment. “I firmly believe that the accused”—she pointed at the knight, her hand trembling slightly as her voice wavered—“is responsible for the assault. He is unworthy of his title, devoid of respect for women, and utterly lacking in empathy for those who suffer. He is… dishonorable.”

Her words came thick with a mix of anger and pain, her composure barely holding. Though she fought to maintain a controlled tone, the headmaster noted the anguish simmering beneath her steady demeanor.

“Veela,” the headmaster continued, his tone measured, “I am aware that you orchestrated an ambush against Sir Sol. Did you sustain any serious injuries during that encounter?”

“Yes, Your Honor,” she replied, her voice quivering with restrained anger. “Even after I was defeated, Sol was vile enough to strike me further.”

A murmur rippled through the courtroom as spectators whispered among themselves, and the Paladins exchanged quiet confirmations that Veela’s words held no deception. Alejandro, Veela’s father, looked on with a mix of horror and fury, his eyes narrowing at the black-armored knight. Neia, observing the scene, felt a sinking certainty.

So he really did do it…

The headmaster raised his gavel, striking it down to restore order. “Veela, I recognize that you are likely still in pain. We will allow you to rest and summon a healer to attend to your injuries. You may provide further testimony later.”

Veela blinked in surprise, then offered a grateful nod before stepping down. As she exited, the headmaster called for the next witness. “Sir Terrey, take the stand.”

Sir Terrey approached with an air of confidence, his armor gleaming as he took his place before the court.

“Sir Terrey,” the headmaster began, his tone now hardening, “it has come to our attention that you assisted in the ambush against your brother-in-arms, Sir Sol. Are you fully aware of the gravity of this matter?”

Sir Terrey responded immediately, his voice calm and measured. “Yes, I understand my actions were legally wrong. However, I trust Lady Veela over Sol, and from the way Sol has addressed and treated her, I wouldn’t be surprised if he truly committed the assault.”

The headmaster leaned forward, his tone probing yet controlled. “And what led you to take such a drastic action? What reasoning compelled you to participate in this ambush?”

Terrey paused, choosing his words carefully. “It was the face of grief,” he replied, his voice softening. “The look in young Mateo’s eyes—Rosa’s son—it spoke volumes. I felt I had to investigate. When Lady Veela informed me that Sir Sol was a suspect, I chose to trust her without hesitation.”

The headmaster regarded him with a raised brow, visibly intrigued by the depth of Terrey’s conviction. “I see,” he said, nodding thoughtfully. “Thank you, Sir Terrey. I will now call the victim herself to the stand. Rosa, if you would, please step forward.”

As Terrey left, he nodded respectfully to Rosa, who rose with visible hesitance, stepping toward the witness stand. Neia noticed a large, white bandage wrapped around Rosa’s scalp, a stark reminder of her recent ordeal.

What could she have endured to leave her so wounded?

"Rosa,” the headmaster began gently, “I understand you have no memory of the assault itself. But I must ask, is there anything—anything at all—that you recall from that terrible day?”

Rosa hesitated, her gaze flicking briefly to Veela, who offered her an encouraging smile. “I don’t remember much, Your Honor,” she replied slowly. “But there is… one thing that recently came back to me.”

The headmaster straightened, his attention sharpening. “Go on,” he urged.

Rosa closed her eyes, concentrating. “I remember… a knock at my front door,” she said, her voice wavering as she dredged up the memory. “After that, everything goes blank until I woke up in the temple. I don’t know who knocked, but I believe it was likely the perpetrator.”

The headmaster raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Interesting,” he murmured. “Thank you, Rosa.” He then turned to the observers. “I now call upon Father Pedro, head priest of the Temple of Puertomarino.”

Father Pedro, a dignified man with a calm bearing, descended gracefully from the stands and approached the bench, coming to stand beside Rosa.

“Your Honor,” he began, inclining his head respectfully, “I was responsible for treating Miss Rosa after the incident. Her memory loss, however, is not due to any physical injury—nor does it appear to be caused by any known spell.”

The headmaster’s brow furrowed. “Yes, Father Pedro, we’re aware. But what exactly are you suggesting?”

Father Pedro’s gaze swept across the room, finally resting on the headmaster. His voice dropped to a grave tone. “I believe, Your Honor, that this may be the work… of demons.”

The courtroom erupted into murmurs and gasps, tension thickening as the crowd absorbed the priest’s ominous words.

Neia glanced nervously at Tamaitra. “How could it be demons? South Roble hardly faces any kind of external threat.”

Tamaitra responded in a steady voice, a calm contrast to the rising chaos around them. “Regardless of Roble’s troubles, the four great gods are watching over us. We are protected.”

The headmaster struck his gavel forcefully, his voice commanding over the commotion. “Father Pedro, I must insist that you refrain from speculating on matters as grave as demonic involvement. You’re alarming the public needlessly.”

Father Pedro met the headmaster’s gaze, his tone unwavering. “I understand, Your Honor, but I believe my concerns are warranted.” He took a steadying breath before continuing, “Reports have come to me of strange sightings throughout the city—symbols of unknown origin marked in hidden corners. And now, we have this assault.” He turned to address Old Purple directly. “I shared these findings with our lord, and while he investigated, I am convinced that these events bear the mark of demonic influence.”

The courtroom erupted, voices rising in alarm and shock. The headmaster hammered the gavel again, his voice straining to restore calm.

“Order! I will have order in this court!”

The courtroom gradually quieted down as the headmaster gestured for Father Pedro to take a seat among the observers. With a sigh of relief, the headmaster turned back to the proceedings, ready to call forth another witness.

“I would now like to summon Mateo, Rosa's son and witness to the crime."

As the young boy made his way down from the observer stands, guided gently by Tavion, anxiety weighed on him. His heart pounded, and his breath grew heavier with each step he took toward Sol, who stood solemnly at the witness stand.

"Young Mateo," the headmaster spoke gently, “I know you've endured unspeakable trauma, and since that day, you've remained silent. I only ask that you point to the person who attacked your mother."

Rosa looked at her son, her grief raw and unmasked. She longed to comfort him, to wrap him in her arms, but she knew his testimony was needed first.

Mateo, visibly trembling, took a deep, shaky breath and raised a finger, pointing toward Sol. “H–Him,” he stammered, his voice barely a whisper. His accusation sparked a wave of murmurs and shifting glances throughout the room. Beside Neia, Tamaitra lowered her head, shaking it in quiet disbelief.

“I suppose the knight is guilty.”

The headmaster struck his gavel once more, demanding silence. He then requested that the accuser’s side step down and signaled for the defense to begin their testimony.

“Sir Rodrigo, member of Old Purple's retinue, please take the stand.”

Rodrigo, clad in his armor, took his place to Sol’s left. He let out a heavy sigh. “I was the knight who recommended Sir Sol.” Pausing, he drew a deep breath before continuing. “I put his name forward because he demonstrated his worth by taking down several skilled knights—without resorting to martial arts.”

Turning to face Sol, Rodrigo added, “I would even go so far as to say that he may one day be as formidable as the renowned Remedios Custodio.”

Gasps rippled through the courtroom. Neia, like many others, was visibly stunned by the bold comparison. Only Old Purple remained unaffected, his expression as impassive as ever.

The headmaster cleared his throat. “That is quite a statement, Sir Rodrigo, and I find myself partially in agreement. However, I must ask—do you believe Sir Sol to be honorable? Is he the kind of man who would protect the weak?”

Rodrigo scratched his head, glancing downward with a hint of shame. “Truth be told, he did stand up for his friend Caulot once—against me, actually—when I was about to strike him.” He let out a quick snort, then sighed. “In a way, yes, he does have a sense of loyalty and a willingness to protect the vulnerable.”

The headmaster looked toward the assembled paladins, who nodded in silent confirmation of Rodrigo’s honesty, then turned to Veela, seated among the accusers.

“Lady Veela, you previously claimed that Sir Sol displays misogynistic tendencies. Could you elaborate on this?”

Veela rose, casting a look of disgust toward Sol. “That man not only verbally abuses women, but he also uses excessive force. He’s notorious for slandering words, especially directed at women.” She took a deep breath before continuing. “He even went so far as to blame the victim herself, suggesting that she brought the attack upon herself.”

The headmaster’s brows raised in surprise as he turned to the paladins once more; they nodded solemnly, verifying Veela’s words. A murmur of unease swept through the courtroom, and even Neia’s gaze shifted to Sol with a look of growing distrust.

“Well, Rodrigo,” the headmaster said, now studying Rodrigo’s expression closely, “in light of Veela’s testimony, what do you have to say? Were there other occasions when Sol acted…” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “…in a manner unbecoming of a knight?”

Rodrigo cast a defeated look toward Sol. “Truth be told, I don’t know much about Sir Sol. I do recall him scolding a farm girl once, but I’m unsure if that’s relevant to all this.”

The headmaster narrowed his eyes. “And you didn’t consider the consequences of bringing someone like him into the ranks of the esteemed Old Purple?”

Rodrigo swallowed hard, stammering, “Yes, but… how was I supposed to know that Sir Sol would embroil himself in such troubles?”

“A knight’s duty is to thoroughly assess those they recommend,” the headmaster replied with a disappointed sigh. “Now, I will ask Sir Sol’s closest friend, Squire Caulot, to take the stand.”

Rodrigo stepped down, frustration evident as he walked past Caulot, who appeared anxious.

“Caulot, Squire to Sir Phenoe. What is your relationship with the accused?”

Caulot took a nervous glance at Sir Phenoe, who gave him an encouraging nod. Then he looked over at Sol, who sat motionless, his expression unreadable. Drawing a steadying breath, Caulot turned back to face the headmaster.

“Your honor, Sir Sol and I are close friends,” Caulot said, glancing toward Sol with a hint of gratitude. “Without him, I wouldn’t be here today. He’s the reason I’m alive, and I believe he’s innocent.”

The headmaster raised an eyebrow, recognizing Caulot’s sincerity. “Oh? Even with his… questionable behavior?”

“Yes, it’s true—Sol has his issues with women. But he would never go so far as to assault one. He has honor.” Caulot cast a worried look at Sol, who remained seated and as still as a statue.

Before Caulot could continue, an angry voice erupted from the crowd. “And why should we trust you? You’re friends with that devil!” More voices joined in, filling the room with murmurs of outrage.

Neia glanced over at Sol, noting the subtle shift in his posture. Though still seated, he seemed tense, almost ready to spring to his own defense.

The headmaster’s face darkened. He struck his gavel sharply, his voice cutting through the noise. “Anyone who disrupts these proceedings will be forcibly removed from the courtroom!”

Silence settled over the courtroom as the headmaster turned back to Caulot. “I understand your loyalty to him, but with such strong evidence against him, why do you still believe in his innocence?”

Caulot clenched his fists, his face contorting as he weighed the risk of his next move. Finally, he reached up, hesitating only a moment before removing his helmet. A collective gasp rippled through the court as his face was revealed.

Caulot’s features were strikingly misshapen: his eyes were uneven, one sitting noticeably higher than the other, and his skin was riddled with deep-set acne scars and angry, red blemishes. His nose was crooked, as though broken and never set properly, and his thin, chapped lips only added to his rough appearance.

“It’s because he saved someone like me,” he said, stepping out of the witness stand and moving to the center of the court, meeting their gazes directly.

“Tell me,” he continued, his voice trembling, “would any of you have risked your life to save someone like me? Someone as hideous as this?” His words echoed in the courtroom, raw and vulnerable. “No—you wouldn’t. Most people wouldn’t care if someone like me were left to die. But Sol did. He’s the only one who ever looked past this.”

Caulot’s voice cracked, and he blinked rapidly, fighting back tears. The courtroom watched, many averting their eyes, as Caulot’s raw pain laid bare the depth of his loyalty and gratitude.

The headmaster regarded Caulot with sympathy before letting out a weary sigh. “I understand your feelings, Squire Caulot, but I would like to keep our dialogue brief.” He turned his attention to Sol. “At the time of the assault, just before you joined Old Purple's order, where was Sir Sol?”

Caulot froze for a moment, recalling the day Sol had inexplicably vanished. “I don’t know for certain. All I remember is that he told me to buy pastries. He didn’t seem like himself back then,” he admitted, his brow furrowing in concern.

Caulot's testimony piqued the headmaster’s interest, prompting him to direct his questioning toward Sol. “Sir Sol of Old Purple's order, did you assault Rosa, mother of Mateo and wife of Javier?”

Sol, who had remained silent throughout the proceedings, finally spoke, his voice steady yet quiet. “No.”

Veela muttered under her breath, “That’s obviously a lie—” but her words were abruptly interrupted by one of the Paladins, who shouted, “He’s telling the truth! There’s no deception in his response!”

Chapter Text

The courtroom was silent, the air thick with tension as murmurs broke out among the Paladins. Confused glances were exchanged, their unease apparent. Even the headmaster seemed momentarily unsettled.

Sol’s gaze swept across the room before he turned to the judge, his voice calm. “Is that all, Your Honor?”

The headmaster hesitated, studying the accused before composing himself. “Sir Sol, there are rumors suggesting you might be of demi-human origin. This court requires clarification. Can you confirm or deny these claims?”

Sol glanced around once more, his expression steady. He took a deep breath before replying, “I certainly look human, don’t I?”

A few in the court chuckled quietly at his response, sensing the humor in his tone. The headmaster, however, raised an eyebrow—not amused, but curious. He seemed more interested in how Sol had answered than the words themselves.

Clearing his throat, the headmaster pressed on. “At the time of the assault, where were you? According to Squire Caulot, you were absent during those crucial hours.”

For a moment, Sol froze. He closed his eyes beneath the shadow of his helm, composing himself. Then, he spoke, his voice calm but with a trace of something deeper.

“I simply wandered the city,” he said. “I wanted to experience this land. Its beauty is captivating—untouched by the hands of immortals.”

He rose from his seat, his movements deliberate. Turning to the headmaster, he gestured lightly toward the windows. “Don’t you agree, Your Honor? This land is beautiful, isn’t it?”

The headmaster was momentarily stunned by Sol’s response but quickly regained his focus, his sharp gaze narrowing on the knight. “You’re an odd one, Sol. I’ll grant you that. You seem to enjoy this city more than your duties. Yet, you show little regard for the order of knighthood.”

His eyes flicked to Veela, standing silently to one side, before addressing the matter at hand. His voice grew stern, each word landing like a hammer blow. “It has come to our attention that you have spoken falsehoods about virtuous women, used unnecessary force against them, and at times refused to fulfill your sworn duty to protect and serve.”

He slammed his fist against the desk, the sharp crack of impact echoing through the chamber. “These actions, Sir Sol, are a direct violation of the very principles on which knighthood is built!”

Sol could feel the headmaster’s frustration pressing down on him like a weight. Bowing his head in thought, he paused, then lifted his voice with deliberate calmness.

“I must disagree with you, Your Honor,” he said firmly. “A woman’s role is to remain indoors, to care for the family, and to remain loyal to her husband.”

A murmur of approval rippled through a small section of the courtroom, but the headmaster’s disapproval was evident. His tone was sharp and commanding as he retorted, “Sir Sol, I need you to speak with relevance and clarity for justice to proceed.”

Sol’s expression remained indifferent, his voice betraying no emotion. “And what, exactly, do you mean by that?” he asked.

“For starters,” the headmaster replied, his tone growing colder, “you could explain whether these unsavory accusations against you are true.”

Sol frowned, his eyes narrowing beneath his helm. “Of course, they are true,” he stated bluntly. “A woman must be disciplined—beaten, controlled, and emotionally tempered. Without that, they would bring chaos to the lands.”

The room fell into a heavy silence, tension simmering just beneath the surface. Sol then turned his attention to Veela, his gaze cold and detached.

“And so what if a woman was attacked?” he added, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. “Perhaps she deserved it for her sins.”

His words hung in the air like poison, drawing gasps and uneasy whispers. Sol’s hand rose as he pointed directly at Veela, his intent clear, his actions chilling.

“For example,” Sol continued, his voice laced with disdain, “that green-eyed witch is likely scheming to bring chaos to this city. She used me as a pawn—a conduit for her disruption.”

Gasps filled the room as he pressed on, ignoring the growing unease. “That is why I defended myself. She’s a threat to our Lord and to this nation.”

A heavy silence settled over the courtroom. The faces of those who had nodded in agreement moments earlier now betrayed shock and disbelief. A knight—sworn to honor and integrity—had stooped to such a low.

“I see,” the headmaster said at last, his voice measured yet tight with barely restrained emotion. He paused, pressing a hand to his mouth as if to collect his thoughts. “It seems that Veela’s testimony about your character holds some truth.”

He leaned forward, his gaze piercing. “While you are innocent of all formal charges, Sir Sol, I cannot ignore the lingering feeling that you deserve some form of punishment.”

Turning his attention to Veela, he called out, “Lady Veela.”

She rose from her seat, her poise commanding the attention of everyone present. The room seemed to hang on her every movement as she prepared to speak.

“Do you mind disclosing what exactly transpired between you and Sir Sol?” the headmaster asked, his fingers brushing his chin. “We are particularly interested in your reasoning for orchestrating the attack against him.”

Veela cleared her throat, her voice steady yet carrying an edge of tension. “I became aware of his true nature after Mateo’s encounter with him,” she began. “That was when I became certain—he was the one.”

She hesitated, her words faltering as she weighed the risk of continuing. But then, with a quiet resolve, she pressed on.

“I purposefully informed Sir Terrey of what I had uncovered,” she admitted. “I asked him to lead Sol into a situation where he could be ambushed.”

The headmaster interrupted, his voice sharp. “This is when you hired the bandits, correct?”

A tense pause filled the chamber, the weight of her confession looming over everyone. Finally, she nodded, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes,” she said. “I hired the bandits to stage the scenario and bait him. Once the plan was set in motion, I ordered them to retreat to the ambush point.”

The courtroom was stunned by Veela’s bold confession. Before anyone could interject, she continued.

“I also ensured that the victims of the bandits’ theft were compensated,” she said firmly. “And both bandits were apprehended by Sir Terrey.”

Her gaze shifted to Sol, her expression twisting with disgust. “Even if this man is innocent of the charges, it’s clear he doesn’t deserve his title. He is a danger and should be kept far away from the general public.”

The headmaster furrowed his brows, his tone skeptical. “And how, exactly, did your ambush fail? From what I’ve heard, you had the advantage in numbers.”

Veela turned to him, her composure unwavering. “I hired several fishman mercenaries from the northern coasts to ambush him,” she explained. “Additionally, I summoned my guardian angel to aid us.”

Her voice faltered slightly as she continued, the memory of the confrontation clearly unsettling her. “Even with all of our preparation, he somehow managed to defeat us all.”

She raised her hands, gesturing as if replaying the battle in her mind. “I’ve never seen anything like it. He didn’t use martial arts or any known fighting technique. His strength was... unnatural, inhuman.”

Veela turned her eyes back to Sol, her disgust now tinged with fear. “I believe this creature is a demon wearing the guise of a man. He’s clearly manipulating the Paladin’s zone of truth to hide his true nature.”

The murmurs in the courtroom grew louder, uncertainty rippling through the gathered knights and observers. Veela took a deep breath, her voice resolute as she delivered her final accusation.

“He’s hiding something. No ordinary human could defeat trained demi-humans, let alone overcome a summoned angel.” She turned her focus to the knights of the court, her words cutting through the noise. “Not even our Lord’s most elite warriors could triumph against such a force.”

The headmaster raised a brow, her reasoning drawing a sharp tension in the room. He leaned back, silent for a moment, before turning his sharp gaze to Sol.

“Sir Sol,” the headmaster began, his voice heavy with authority, “Lady Veela’s accusations are... thorough.” He paused, exhaling slowly through his nose as if weighing the gravity of his next words. “You must now prove to this court that you are of human origin.”

The room fell silent as the headmaster glanced briefly at Father Pedro before continuing. “And most importantly, that you are not of demonic origin.”

As Sol listened to the headmaster’s words, a surge of anger began to well up inside him—not at the accusations against him, but at the reality of what he now had to do.

Without a word, he reached for his helmet. For the first time since revealing his face to Squire Caulot, Sol removed it. The air in the courtroom seemed to grow heavier as the full force of his presence filled the room. His tanned skin, sharp features, and striking black hair framing deep brown eyes caught the headmaster by surprise.

“I see,” the headmaster said, leaning forward slightly. “Sir Sol, you must be a foreigner. Which kingdom do you hail from?”

Sol hesitated, his face unreadable as he thought deeply. After a pause, he spoke. “I come from a land far away,” he said slowly. “A place so distant that reaching it would be impossible.”

The headmaster’s eyes narrowed. “And how, exactly, did you come to be here?”

Sol’s gaze rose to meet his judge’s, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his face. “I... I don’t know,” he admitted. “I awoke in these lands, with only fragments of memory about where I came from.”

The headmaster rubbed his chin, his expression contemplative. “You mentioned something earlier about ‘immortals.’ Care to elaborate on what you meant by that?”

Sol froze, his regret palpable. He hadn’t intended to let that word slip. Yet, cornered by the question, he chose to speak the truth.

“The land I came from was ruled by immortals,” he said, his voice heavy with the weight of memory. “They enslaved humanity, using us as tools for their power and ambition. I... suppose I must have fled them somehow.”

A hush fell over the courtroom. The headmaster’s stern gaze softened briefly, a glimmer of sympathy breaking through his otherwise composed demeanor. Yet before he could respond, a sharp, familiar voice cut through the silence, shattering the moment.

“Don’t believe him!” Veela’s voice rang out, sharp and venomous. “He’s clearly trying to manipulate you, to make himself look like a victim!”

Heads turned toward her, the court murmuring once again. Sol’s jaw tightened, a twitch of annoyance breaking through his otherwise stoic expression. His patience was wearing thin.

Veela, undeterred by the mounting tension, continued boldly. “His suffering does not justify his behavior! And just because he looks human doesn’t mean he is.”

The headmaster’s patience finally snapped. He slammed his gavel down with a sharp crack that silenced the room. “Lady Veela, do not disrupt this court!” he barked.

Veela bowed stiffly, her lips pressed thin in reluctant apology. The headmaster turned back to Sol, ready to continue.

“Sir Sol, as she has mentioned, jus—”

Before he could finish, the unmistakable sound of a sword being drawn echoed through the courtroom. Sol had unsheathed his blade, the polished steel catching the light. Gasps rippled through the hall as the paladins drew their weapons in response, panic swelling.

But to their shock, Sol didn’t strike at anyone. Instead, he turned the blade toward himself, pressing its sharp edge against his cheek. With one deliberate motion, he cut a diagonal line across his face. Crimson blood welled from the wound, streaming down his tanned skin.

The room froze in stunned silence as Sol swung his blade downward, droplets of blood scattering across the pristine marble floor.

“There,” he growled, his voice heavy with fury. “That’s your proof. I can bleed, and so does humanity.”

His burning gaze locked onto the headmaster, then shifted to Veela, his glare sharp enough to cut steel.

“Are you satisfied?” he demanded, his voice cold.

The courtroom remained in stunned silence, every eye fixed on Sol. Even the headmaster was caught off guard, his mouth hanging open before he slowly tapped his gavel, regaining control of himself.

“Sir Sol…” the headmaster began, his voice low and cautious.

Sol didn’t reply. Instead, he calmly re-equipped his helmet, concealing his bloodied face once more.

The headmaster sighed deeply, motioning for the paladins to lower their weapons. “Please do not do something like this again,” he said, his tone gentler.

Once the tension eased, the headmaster composed himself and turned to the gallery. He straightened, raising his voice.

“Old Purple, Lord of Puertomarino, and Merchant Alejandro, step forward!”

The two men hesitated before staggering to the headmaster’s desk. Their confusion was evident as they exchanged glances. The headmaster addressed them firmly.

“The Paladin Order has deemed Sir Sol innocent of all charges brought against him,” he declared. “However, in light of his behavior, I entrust you, my lord,”—he gestured to Old Purple—“to determine a punishment suitable for your knight’s actions.”

Turning his attention to Alejandro, the headmaster’s expression hardened. “And you, Merchant Alejandro, as the father of Lady Veela, must accept the consequences of her actions. I will leave it to you to ensure she faces whatever punishment she deserves for her part in this.”

Alejandro bowed low, his face shadowed with regret. “I had a feeling this day would come. Attempted sedition is no small crime,” he said somberly.

The headmaster nodded, his expression tinged with sympathy. “I hereby sentence Sir Sol to suspension from his knightly duties. He will be required to perform manual labor for the duration of one month.” His tone carried both authority and finality as he turned to Lord Old Purple.

“I leave it to you, my lord, to determine the tasks he must undertake to serve our nation during his suspension.”

Then, shifting his gaze to the stands, he called out, “Sir Rodrigo!”

Sir Rodrigo stood at attention, his brow furrowed as the headmaster continued. “You are to take on the responsibility of re-training Sir Sol. Shape him into a knight of virtue and honor—not one who lets brute strength dictate his path.”

Rodrigo bowed deeply. “It will be done, your honor.”

The headmaster’s attention turned to Alejandro, his tone hardening. “As for Lady Veela, I cannot overlook her actions. For treachery against a knight of the Lord, I sentence her to death.”

Gasps echoed through the courtroom, the severity of the judgment sending ripples of shock. Alejandro’s face turned ashen, his body trembling. The weight of the pronouncement hung heavy in the air, and even those who harbored resentment toward Veela averted their eyes in solemn discomfort.

Veela, however, remained still, her gaze lowered to the floor. There was no plea, no resistance—only quiet acceptance of her failure to uncover the true culprit.

Just as the headmaster was about to proceed, Old Purple finally spoke, his voice carrying the gravity of his years. “Your honor,” he began, his tone slow and deliberate, “I humbly ask that Lady Veela’s sentence be commuted to house arrest for one month.”

The elderly lord paused, steadying himself with a deep, raspy breath. His frailty was evident, but so too was his resolve.

“I am at fault,” he admitted, bowing his head slightly. “It was my failure to recognize the faults in my own knight. Though Lady Veela accused the wrong person of a grave crime and acted rashly in attempting to ambush Sir Sol, she demonstrated a courage few possess. She sought the truth where I was blind.”

He raised his head, his eyes heavy with regret as he addressed the court. “I swear to you all, this will never happen again.”

The courtroom murmured in surprise at the humility of Old Purple’s words, his willingness to shoulder blame silencing much of the anger directed at Veela.

The headmaster leaned back, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. His stern expression gave way to one of contemplation. “The attempted assassination of a knight is no small matter—it is treachery, plain and simple.” His voice softened slightly as he regarded Old Purple. “However, your plea for mercy is compelling.”

He paused, the courtroom holding its collective breath as they awaited his verdict.

“I hereby sentence Lady Veela to one month of house arrest,” declared the headmaster, his voice echoing through the chamber.

Alejandro, who had been standing beside the High Lord, exhaled deeply in relief. Bowing low, he exclaimed, “Thank you, my lord!”

The elderly High Lord gave a faint, kind smile, though his age showed in the weariness of his gaze. He extended his hand toward the merchant, who eagerly grasped it. “It is fine, my child,” the High Lord said, his voice carrying a paternal warmth. “Your daughter will learn from this and become a fine woman yet.”

The headmaster cleared his throat, reclaiming the attention of the court. “I hereby declare that the investigation into the assault is ongoing. Sir Sol, the first defendant in this case, has been found innocent.”

He surveyed the room, his piercing eyes scanning for movement or objection. “Both parties have made their amends,” he continued. “However, if anyone in this court has information regarding the attack, step forward now.”

A heavy silence fell over the courtroom, punctuated only by the shifting of feet and hushed murmurs. Some turned their heads, searching the faces of those around them for signs of a witness. But none came forward.

The headmaster let out a slow sigh. “Very well. This court is adjourned.” He struck his gavel, its sharp crack signaling the end of proceedings.

The attendees began to file out, their conversations muted, their expressions a mix of relief and lingering unease.

Neia, who had been observing the trial from a seat near the back, kept her gaze fixed on Sol as the room emptied. Something about him gnawed at her thoughts.

I still feel like he had some part in this, she thought, her brow furrowed.

She felt a nudge on her shoulder. Tamitra, her fellow Paladin, stood beside her, her expression calm yet thoughtful.

“Let’s go, Neia,” Tamitra said quietly. “We should probably meet with the headmaster.”

Neia gave a small nod, and the two rose, making their way toward the castle’s main hall. The crowd outside the courtroom streamed around them, a tide of movement and muffled voices.

“That knight,” Neia muttered, raising her voice to be heard over the din. “He’s the polar opposite of what a knight is supposed to be!” Her tone carried both frustration and conviction.

Tamitra glanced at her, then turned her gaze upward. Her eyes lingered on the grand fresco adorning the hall’s ceiling, a majestic depiction of Paladins standing firm against a horde of demi-human beasts. The Paladins’ noble figures guarded a crowned ruler at the center, their faces etched with determination.

Tamitra let out a slow sigh before replying. “You’re right,” she said, her voice quieter but resolute. “That knight... He’s more like the beasts we’re sworn to fight against than the noble knights we’re meant to be.”

Her words hung in the air as the two continued through the hall, their steps echoing faintly against the polished stone floor.

Here’s a more polished and simplified version of your scene, preserving the emotional depth and flow:

Neia scowled angrily, her voice sharp. “That’s not how a knight is supposed to be! They’re supposed to defend their Lord and his people, not ridicule and insult them!”

Tamitra’s heart skipped a beat at the intensity of Neia’s expression. The two walked in tense silence out to the castle grounds, Neia’s irritation plain for all who glanced her way.

Before long, they crossed paths with the Headmaster, flanked by his Paladin escorts.

“Well, Miss Neia, Tamitra,” the Headmaster greeted with a faint smile. “What did you think of my performance as judge?”

Tamitra opened her mouth to respond, but Neia cut in, her tone unwavering. “You should’ve arrested that knight and stripped him of his honor.”

The Headmaster nodded, his expression thoughtful. “Yes, you’re right, Neia. I could have. But I believe I made the right choice here.”

Both women exchanged curious looks, prompting him to elaborate. “That boy, Squire Caulot—Sir Sol took care of him. That tells me Sol isn’t completely lost. He still has the capacity to care and protect.”

He sighed deeply, his gaze drifting to the cityscape beyond the castle walls. “He just needs guidance,” he said softly, his tone laced with regret.

Neia’s rigid stance softened as she considered his words. She looked down, her thoughts swirling, and caught movement from the corner of her eye.

It was Caulot, walking alongside Sol. The pair drew cautious glances from the other knights as they made their way through the castle grounds. Sol’s imposing figure contrasted sharply with Caulot’s tense demeanor.

As they reached a secluded alleyway, Caulot turned to Sol, his expression resolute.

“Sol,” Caulot began, his voice steady but laced with a nervous edge. “I need to say something.”

The pair halted mid-stride. Sol turned, his sharp eyes scanning Caulot, whose demeanor had shifted. There was tension in the air—thick and suffocating.

Caulot clenched his fists, his face darkening with anger. It was the first time Sol had seen him like this, his usually plain features twisted in raw emotion, making him almost unrecognizable.

“Sol, I’m done with you,” Caulot declared, his voice breaking slightly as he tried to steady himself.

A chill ran down Sol’s spine. He frowned, trying to mask his unease. “What do you mean?” he asked cautiously.

“I can’t defend you anymore,” Caulot shot back. “Your actions, your words—it’s too much. I can’t keep turning a blind eye. This is the last straw.”

Sol’s eyes narrowed in confusion. “Caulot, we’ve been through everything together. Since the beginning,” he said, his voice softening as he reached out to place a hand on his friend’s shoulder.

But Caulot jerked away, smacking Sol’s hand aside with more force than necessary.

“Don’t!” Caulot barked, stepping back as though even Sol’s touch disgusted him. “You want to know what’s wrong? It’s your damn mouth. That woman—you know she suffered. She didn’t deserve what you said about her.”

Sol’s expression hardened, a hint of defiance flickering in his dark eyes. “What I said was true,” he said coldly.

Caulot glared at him, his chest rising and falling as he fought to rein in his anger. “No, it wasn’t,” he hissed. “Did you even look at her? Her eyes, Sol. She was in pain—real, undeniable pain. And you mocked her for it.”

He paused, his voice dropping to a bitter murmur. “Veela was right about you. You’re no knight. You have no honor. You don’t deserve to be one.”

The accusation hit Sol like a physical blow. His jaw tightened, his heart pounding with a mix of anger and desperation. “Caulot,” he said through gritted teeth, “why are you saying this? Why are you doing this to me?”

“Why?” Caulot snapped, his voice rising. “Because I want to understand, Sol. I want to know why you are like this.”

Sol’s hands balled into fists at his sides as he searched for the words. His voice came out sharp and venomous. “It’s because she’s a damned woman!” he spat. “They all are. Liars and cheats, every last one of them. They cry and deceive to get what they want, and fools like you fall for it every time.”

He took a shaky breath, his mind consumed by a familiar image—a face he could never forget. Her piercing green eyes haunted him like a specter. “It’s all her fault,” he growled, his voice trembling with bitterness.

Caulot looked away, tilting his head back to gaze at the sky. The clouds shifted lazily above them, a stark contrast to the storm brewing between them. “You’re wrong, Sol,” he said quietly. “Not all women are like her. What about Veela? Yes, she’s made mistakes, and sure, she’s deceived people. But her heart’s in the right place. She helps those in need, even if it costs her.”

He turned back to Sol, his expression resolute. “After everything I’ve heard—the court’s testimony, their accounts, and your words—I’ve made my decision. I can’t stand by you anymore. I’m leaving, Sol. For good.”

Panic flickered in Sol’s eyes. “Caulot, don’t let them fool you! It’s all lies—that witch set me up!” he pleaded, his voice rising in desperation. “I was proven innocent! I didn’t do it!”

But Caulot shook his head slowly, his face heavy with sadness rather than anger. “Innocence isn’t just about what the court decides, Sol. It’s about what’s in here.” He tapped his chest, his voice trembling. “And you? You’ve lost something far more important than a verdict.”

Caulot hesitated, his brow furrowing. “So then why,” he began, his tone quieter, “do I feel like you think I did?”

Silence fell between them, broken only by the soft chirping of birds overhead. For a moment, it seemed like neither would speak again. Then Sol broke the stillness.

“Even if I did do it,” Sol said, his voice laced with indifference, “why would it matter?”

Caulot’s entire body tensed. His eyes twitched with barely restrained fury, and at last, something within him snapped. He let out a guttural cry, tearing his helmet from his side and charging at Sol with it, intending to strike him down.

But Sol was faster. He caught Caulot’s arm mid-swing, his grip like iron. Without hesitation, he slammed his fist into Caulot’s face. Blood erupted from the younger man’s nose as he staggered backward.

Fueled by rage, Sol grabbed Caulot by the collar and lifted him off the ground as though he weighed nothing. Caulot’s body hung limp, his legs kicking feebly. But something in Sol’s mind clicked, pulling him back from the brink.

“W-what have I done…” Sol muttered, his voice barely audible. He let go abruptly, and Caulot crumpled to the ground.

Caulot groaned, his hand clutching his bloodied face. He shakily picked himself up, his trembling fingers reaching for his helmet. Instead of wearing it, he hurled it at Sol with all the strength he could muster. The helmet clattered to the ground at Sol’s feet.

The look on Caulot’s face said everything. His silent fury and deep betrayal cut deeper than words ever could. Without a word, he turned and staggered away, each step slow and uneven as though the weight of their broken bond bore down on him.

Sol stood frozen in the alleyway, his breath heavy, his fists trembling. His gaze fell to the helmet lying on the ground—the same helmet he had bought for Caulot not long ago. Blood now smeared its once-pristine surface.

For a moment, he did nothing. Then, moving slowly, Sol picked up the helmet and began walking back toward his quarters.

People in the streets watched him, their gazes lingering on the faint bloodstains marring his armor. Quiet gasps and murmurs followed him, but Sol paid no attention. His mind was elsewhere.

When he reached his room, he shut the door behind him, the lock clicking softly in the stillness. He set the bloodied helmet down on the small wooden table at the foot of his bed.

His eyes dropped to his armor. The crimson stains stood out starkly against the dark metal, a grim reminder of what had just transpired.

He looked back at the helmet. Memories of Caulot flooded his mind—his laughter, his loyalty, and now, his anger. Sol clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white.

“This feeling…” he whispered to himself, his voice cracking. His chest tightened as tears welled up in his eyes. “I’ve felt it before…”

The regret hit him like a wave, overwhelming and suffocating. His knees buckled, and he sank into the nearest chair, his hands shaking as they covered his face.

“I’m alone again…” Sol murmured, the tears now streaming freely down his cheeks.

Chapter Text

Nearly a week after the verdict, Sol found himself in a precarious situation. Almost overnight, his standing had diminished significantly. Though he remained a knight of the Lord, he was now relegated to menial tasks. His work at the docks was far easier than his time on the farm in Refugio, yet it came with relentless hostility.

A sharp kick to his helmet jolted Sol from his near-comatose state.

"Oi, Blackguard! You're needed to unload the ship. Get to it!"

Sol looked up to see the Wharf Chief—a man in his early sixties, his white hair unkempt and a permanent scowl etched across his weathered face.

The port was a cacophony of activity, the air thick with the briny scent of salt and fish. Wooden piers stretched into the murky waters, creaking under the weight of workers and cargo. The cries of gulls mixed with the shouts of merchants haggling over shipments of grain, wool, and wine. Crates and barrels were stacked haphazardly, some spilling their contents onto the worn planks. The sea beyond churned restlessly, its surface broken by the towering silhouettes of galleys.

These massive vessels, their hulls darkened by years of use and spray, bobbed gently as they rested in their moorings. Rows of oars jutted from their sides like the ribs of a great beast, their tips barely skimming the water.

Sol staggered toward the newly moored ship, ignoring the chief’s gaze as he trudged past. He stole a glance at his fellow workers; most looked upon him with disdain, their expressions a mixture of contempt and resentment.

As he stepped onto the ship, the deck groaned underfoot. Sailors and dockhands were already hard at work, heaving heavy cargo onto their shoulders and hauling it down the gangplank. Sol wasted no time, gripping a massive bundle and hoisting it with ease. The feat drew mixed reactions—some cast wary glances of awe, while others sneered in silent spite.

As he descended back to the docks, a few workers took the opportunity to hurl small pebbles at him. They bounced harmlessly off his armor, but the gesture was not lost on the surrounding sailors. Some looked on in confusion, not knowing of the verdict and its meaning.

After an hour and a half, the ship was finally unloaded, and Sol’s labor for the day was done. As he stepped off the dock, the workers continued their jeering, their laughter harsh and mocking.

The dockhands were clad in coarse linen tunics and frayed woolen trousers, stained with salt and sweat. Some had rolled up their sleeves, revealing sunburnt arms crisscrossed with old scars. A few leaned against crates with smirks, arms folded, while others gestured crudely, spitting onto the dock as he passed.

“Oi, Blackguard! Make sure not to accidentally hit a gal!” one called out, setting off another round of laughter. Sol ignored them, his expression hidden by his helm.

As he entered the city, the atmosphere shifted. The marketplace, usually a lively sprawl of merchants hawking wares, fell into a hushed stillness. Vendors averted their eyes, some gripping their coin purses tighter. A mother pulled her child closer, whispering hurriedly. Passersby instinctively stepped aside, as if his mere presence carried an unseen weight.

A child suddenly ran too close to Sol, only for his mother to snap at him.

“Tony, get away from him!” she hissed.

The boy scurried back to her side as she continued her scolding.

“Stay away from that man. My brother-in-law says he’s a blackguard,” she muttered, casting a wary glance at Sol before turning back to her son.

“A blackguard?” the child echoed, his brow furrowed.

“Yes. I heard the paladins investigated him. He’s nothing more than a muck-scraper of the knights.”

The boy wrinkled his nose in disgust. “Hope I never end up like him.”

For Sol, these encounters had become almost routine, happening with relentless consistency. Everyone hated him. The disgusted looks, the whispered insults—he still didn’t understand why they called him "Blackguard." Yet, despite their efforts, he never truly cared. What hurt him most was Caulot’s coldness.

Whenever Sol tried to approach the squire, Caulot would turn away without a word. If he called out to him, he would act as if he hadn’t heard, his gaze fixed elsewhere.

His hatred festered toward the woman who had torn everything apart. He blamed her for everything. But whenever he indulged in that anger, a sharp guilt crept in, whispering that perhaps he was the reason for his own downfall.

As he wandered the quieting streets of Puertomarino, lost in thought, a familiar voice broke through his haze.

“Sol!”
Sol turned to face the source of the voice. Standing before him was Rodrigo, a familiar figure clad in polished plate armor. His breastplate gleamed under the dimming evening light.
Around them, the city streets bustled with life despite the late hour. The stone-paved roads, lined with timber and brick buildings, echoed with the sounds of merchants closing shop and distant voices haggling over leftover wares.
"Rodrigo… Have you come to insult me too?" Sol asked. He hadn't seen the knight since the trial.
To his surprise, Rodrigo simply exhaled before speaking. "Sol, I know you're going through a hard time, but you have to keep moving forward." He crossed his arms. "Yes, you brought this upon yourself with the way you handled things, but I'm certain that if you prove your worth, people will start to reconsider their opinion of you."

Sol slouched, his expression bitter. "The only reason you care is because your name is on the line here."

"That’s one reason," Rodrigo admitted, his gaze steady, "but there's another."

His voice lowered slightly as he continued, "Ever since your trial, every liaison of Old Purple has come under scrutiny. The opportunistic nobles will use this to their advantage."

Sol raised an eyebrow. "And why should I care? I'm certain everyone hates me now."

Rodrigo was quick to respond. "I'm in the same boat, you know?" He sighed. "Old Purple won’t even look at me anymore, and my position is in question." He hesitated, then added, "Listen, I know you're hurting over the boy leaving you."

Sol twitched at the mention of Caulot. The words cut deep, dragging him into memories that only worsened the ache in his chest.

Rodrigo pressed on. "If you still care about him, then repair your standing—so that he doesn’t suffer any more than he already has."

Sol remained silent, his face unreadable. Rodrigo waited for a response, but none came. Without a word, Sol turned and began walking toward the castle.

As he left, Rodrigo called after him, his voice sharp. "Don't be a coward just because things aren’t going your way, Sol!"

But to the knight’s dismay, Sol didn’t react. He kept moving forward, each step toward the castle met with uneasy stares and hushed murmurs.

When he reached the gates and requested entry, the guards ignored him at first. Only after he raised his voice in demand did they begrudgingly comply. The gate creaked open at an agonizingly slow pace, forcing Sol to wait several minutes before he could finally step inside.

The courtyard was no different. As he walked through, knights either turned their heads away, brushed past him without acknowledgment, or paused in their tracks to whisper among themselves.

Among the hushed whispers and scornful murmurs, Sol caught a glimpse of Caulot escorting Sir Phenoe. The squire stood out like a sore thumb, his helmet removed, exposing his hideous features. Yet, none of the knights paid him any mind. Their contempt was solely reserved for Sol.

He cast a sorrowful glance at his former friend before continuing toward his quarters—his only refuge from the misery that surrounded him.

But when he arrived, his heart sank. Scratched into the wood of his door, deep and jagged, was the word “Blackguard.”

He hesitated before reaching for the handle. As he did, distant footsteps echoed through the hall. A quick glance to his right revealed several knights peering around a corner, their eyes alight with cruel anticipation.

The moment he pushed open the door, a bucket swung toward him. The scalding steam warned him just in time—boiling water. Instinct took over, and he dodged, narrowly avoiding the scalding trap. In a swift motion, he unsheathed his sword and severed the rope, sending the bucket clattering to the ground. The water spilled across the room, soaking the floor and drenching his bed.

The watching knights burst into hurried footsteps, scrambling away before he could retaliate.

Sol exhaled a long, weary sigh before shutting the door behind him. He sat down on his now-damp mattress, his gaze falling on Caulot’s helmet—the blood long since dried.

His thoughts spiraled. What did I do wrong? What did I do to deserve this?
The answer came bitterly.

I'm an idiot. He smacked his helmet in frustration. I ruined everything because I let my emotions control me.

His mind drifted back to the promise he had once made to himself—to change. Why the hell can’t I keep that promise?

Then, unbidden, her face surfaced in his mind. The green-eyed woman. The one who had dragged him into this mess.

No… that wasn’t right. I used to blame her, but the more I think about it… I was the one who brought this upon myself.

A deep sigh escaped him. Now he understood how broken men felt. Not just the hopelessness—but the quiet, creeping acceptance of it.

What can I do to fix this? How can I get Caulot back?

His life felt empty without the boy.

He wondered, thought of solutions but most just wouldn't work, even if I did act heroically, would the people even forgive me?
He decided to lie down, though sleep rarely came to him. He didn’t feel tired in the usual sense, but there was a heavy, powerless weight pressing on him. Dread—quiet, creeping dread. And somehow, resting felt like a shield against it.
By the time dawn broke, Sol stirred from his uneasy rest. Ironically, he felt more exhausted than before, despite his very nature denying such fatigue.
Rising slowly, he prepared himself for yet another grueling day at the port. Before leaving, he slipped Caulot’s helmet into a strapped leather pocket, securing it close to him. As he fastened his gear, a sudden knock at the door broke the morning stillness.
Opening it, he found a familiar face—Rodrigo, already dressed in full gear.
Sol tilted his head. “What are you doing here?”
Rodrigo snorted. “I’m here to accompany you. Thought we could talk along the way.”
Sol scoffed, unimpressed. “Don’t you have more important things to do?”
“None more important than you. Besides,” Rodrigo added with a shrug, “I’ve also been assigned to help at the docks.” He gave Sol a sideways glance before motioning for him to follow.
As they made their way out of the castle and into the waking town, Sol couldn’t help but notice how different the atmosphere felt. The scowls remained, but the hostility had quieted. People kept their distance.
Rodrigo grinned. “Well, Sol, enjoying my charm?”
Sol raised an eyebrow. “What are you talking about?”
“With my presence and reputation,” Rodrigo said, clearly pleased with himself, “most people respect me enough not to bother you. That’s why you should stick close—I can help you rebuild what you’ve broken.”
Sol gave him a sideways glance, noting how boldly Rodrigo spoke, before they finally reached the docks.
To Sol’s surprise, his arrival wasn’t met with the usual jeers. Instead, there was only silence. The Wharf Chief simply gave them a brief nod. A stark contrast to yesterday’s insults.
“I suppose we should begin, then,” Rodrigo said, the early morning light catching on his armor in a scattered gleam.
Without a word, Sol reached for a heavy bundle of ship supplies and hoisted it with ease.
Rodrigo’s eyes widened. “S-Sol, you’re carrying that all the way to the ship?”
“I’ve carried heavier. Big Bertha was much worse,” Sol muttered casually as he hoisted the supplies.
Rodrigo’s jaw dropped as he watched Sol walk off toward the ship with effortless ease. He blinked a few times, then snapped out of it and begrudgingly began grabbing what he could.
The newly moored crew stared in awe at Sol’s strength and pace, while the veteran dockworkers shot him their usual disdainful glares. For hours they labored—hauling goods, cleaning the ships, and unmooring foreign vessels.
By the time dusk began to settle, Rodrigo collapsed to the ground, utterly spent. Gasping for air, he fumbled for his water flask and glanced at Sol, who stood upright, calm, and unaffected by the day’s work.
“Sol… has anyone ever told you you’ve got an absurd level of endurance?”
Sol gave a quiet, melancholic look before answering, “I used to work like this with Caulot. He used to comment on it.”
Rodrigo, still breathless, gave a short reply. “I see...”
Silence fell between them. The cries of gulls faded into the soft chirping of birds, while a gentle breeze from the sea rolled over the docks. At that moment, Sol felt something close to peace.
And then he spoke.
“Rodrigo… how do I fix this?”
Rodrigo’s head lifted. His brows furrowed, surprised by the question.
“Sol, if I had known you’d land yourself in this mess,” he sighed, looking away, “I would’ve stopped you from joining us altogether.”
Then he looked back at Sol, eyes sharp. “The only way to salvage your shattered honor is to serve the people of this city—even if they hate you.”
Sol sighed deeply. It wasn’t the answer he’d hoped for, but deep down, he knew it was the only real one.
“I see…” he murmured, trailing off before finishing his thought. “I don’t care much about honor. All I care about is Caulot. I’ve lost a lot... but losing him hurt more than anything.”
Rodrigo’s face softened, just as he was about to speak—
BOOM.
A thunderous explosion rocked the city. The windows of nearby homes shattered. Screams erupted from the streets—shouts, cries, chaos. Neither knight could make out the words at first, but one repeated cry pierced through it all:
“Demons! Demons!!”
Sol caught sight of them—small, bat-like creatures with jagged wings and ember-glowing eyes, darting through the sky like cinders in a storm. Their leathery bodies twisted unnaturally, claws scraping rooftops as they swooped and shrieked. Trails of smoke hissed in their wake, staining the early evening sky with soot and fire.
Below, Puertomarino had descended into pure chaos.
Flames licked at the wooden structures, devouring homes and market stalls. Screams echoed through the stone streets as citizens fled in panic—some dragging children, others abandoning carts and wares in their mad rush for safety. A once orderly port now drowned in smoke, confusion, and terror.
From alleyways and shadowed corners, more demons burst forth—twisted, scrawny things with elongated limbs and spiked tails, clawing their way toward screaming civilians. Steel rang out as a few guards and knights tried to mount a defense, but they were scattered and overwhelmed, struggling to regroup against the onslaught.
Rodrigo stood stiff, eyes wide at the unfolding nightmare. His hand trembled as it hovered over the hilt of his blade, breath caught in his throat. Then, with a sharp inhale, he drew his sword, the steel singing as it left its sheath.
“Sol! Let’s go! We can’t just sit here—people need us!”
But Sol didn’t move.
“Sorry, Rodrigo. I have no intention of helping.”
Rodrigo turned to him, shocked. “Sol, you bastard! People are screaming for help! Can’t you hear them?!”
“I hear them,” Sol replied coldly. “But why should I help? Even if I do, they’ll still hate me.” He paused, his tone bitter. “I’m not interested in saving people who’d cheer if I died.”
Rodrigo clenched his jaw. “And what about Caulot?” he snapped. “You’re just going to let him be torn apart by demons?”
Those words cut deep. Sol stiffened, his hand trembling slightly.
“Just… give me some time, dammit,” he muttered. “Let me decide.”
Rodrigo, though furious, exhaled slowly. His voice came quieter, but firm. “Then decide. But make sure whatever choice you make... isn’t one you’ll regret.”
With that, he turned and rushed toward the city center, blade in hand. Around them, the docks had emptied. Workers had fled to ships, hiding wherever they could.
Sol sat alone on a wooden log, firelight flickering in the distance. He reached into his pocket and pulled out Caulot’s helmet. Memories flooded back, but one struck him hardest—Caulot, beaming with excitement, speaking of exploring the world and one day wielding a blade of his own.
“You…really did want to go on an adventure, huh?”
A tear slipped down Sol’s cheek. He gritted his teeth. In a single, fluid motion, he drew his blade. The steel gleamed in the growing flames. And then, without hesitation, he sprinted toward the inferno—toward the battle, the city, and the chaos that awaited him.

Chapter Text

Flames erupted across the city as panicked citizens darted through the streets, shadows of winged demons blotting out the sky. Knights and paladins stood their ground, shields dented by relentless blows, blades dulled from constant use.
Rodrigo burst into the burning marketplace, sweat pouring down his face. The heat choked his breath, the chaos muffling even his own voice.
“Knights! Hold your ground here!” he shouted, stabbing his sword into the scorched earth for emphasis.
The soldiers quickly rallied, forming a protective circle around him. Rodrigo turned to the nearest knight, a man whose armor was blackened and bloodied.
“Report! What the hell happened?!”
The knight stumbled forward, gasping. “I—it came out of nowhere, sir! One moment it was calm, and then... everything erupted!”
A shriek pierced the air. Rodrigo’s eyes snapped up as a cluster of bat-like demons dove toward them.
[Greater Ability Boost]
In an instant, Rodrigo blurred forward. His blade flashed once, twice—demonic horns and claws hit the cobblestones with a wet crunch. He spun, scanning the surroundings.
“Shield formation!” he barked.
The knights obeyed without hesitation. Their shields locked together, forming a wall around Rodrigo and the wounded behind him.
“Where’s the Lord?!” Rodrigo shouted, scanning the carnage. Then something struck him. “Where are the civilians? Was an evacuation ordered?”
“We don’t know, Sir Rodrigo,” the knight replied, shaking his head. “There was a flash—blinding light. After that... the streets were empty.” He paused, breathing heavily. “The Lord is still in the castle, but... I fear those beasts—” he kicked the severed head of a demon “—may have gathered there.”
Rodrigo bit his lip, gauntlets clenching. “Hold formation,” he barked. “Fan out, shield up. If you find any civilians, get them out of the city!”
He turned toward the mountain-top castle. “I’ll retrieve the Lord.”
Without waiting for a reply, Rodrigo sprinted through the burning streets. Demons shrieked overhead and lunged from alleyways, but he cut them down one after another. The closer he got to the castle, the more intense the heat became. Flames licked at the buildings. Smoke choked the air. His steps began to falter. He staggered, breath ragged. His sword slipped from his hand and clattered against the stone. He dropped to one knee, the world spinning around him.
A low growl echoed behind him. Before he could rise, a demon lunged from the shadows, sinking its fangs into the exposed joint of his armor. Agony exploded through his shoulder as blood sprayed across the ground.
“Fuck—fuck! Get off me!” Rodrigo roared.
[Greater Strength]

[Greater Ability Boost]
Power surged through him. He seized the demon by the skull and crushed it in one brutal motion. The creature’s body fell limp at his feet. But the cost was immediate. His limbs trembled from overexertion. His breathing became labored. He collapsed, surrounded by flames.
From the smoke, dozens of the same winged demons emerged. Leering, mocking. Ember eyes, grotesque fangs, curved horns. They laughed as they closed in. Rodrigo struggled to sit up, his limbs trembling, vision swimming in the heat. His chest heaved. He closed his eyes, bracing for the end.
A memory surfaced—his mother’s arms wrapped around him, soft and warm. The scent of baked bread. Her lullaby. Before the sword. He clung to that moment, choosing to die with peace in his heart.
Then— a flash. Screams, demonic, not human. The shhk-shhk of steel slicing flesh. The crack of bones. The coppery scent of blood filled the air. Rodrigo’s eyes snapped open. A lone figure stood before him, wreathed in shadow and fire. A towering knight in pitch-black armor, blade dripping with demon blood. The devils fell before him like wheat beneath a scythe.
In seconds, the horde was gone—torn apart by a blur of inhuman precision. The world grew silent. Only the crackle of nearby flames remained. Sol strode toward Rodrigo and looked down at him. A slight smirk touched Rodrigo's lips.
“So,” Rodrigo wheezed, “you’ve finally decided to help, huh?”
Sol ignored the jab. He reached down, gripping Rodrigo by the collar. “Where’s Caulot?”
Rodrigo blinked, trying to focus. “The boy? He’s probably at the castle,” he murmured, nodding weakly in that direction.
Sol exhaled slowly, the tension in his frame loosening. Then he asked, “And you?”
Rodrigo coughed. “Leave me. I’m spent. Burned out. I pushed too hard with my martial arts.”
For a moment, Sol said nothing. Then, wordlessly, he bent down and hoisted Rodrigo over his shoulder—effortless, like lifting a sack of feathers.
“S-Sol—what are you doing?!”
“Shut up and recover. We’re going to the castle.”
They sped toward the castle like twin bolts of lightning. Rodrigo clung awkwardly to Sol’s shoulder, wind whipping past his ears. What stunned him most wasn't the speed — it was that Sol wasn't even using martial arts.
“Look out! Demons ahead!” Rodrigo barked.
He expected Sol to drop him and engage. Instead, Sol lunged forward, Rodrigo still in tow, and cleaved the nearest demon in two. The extra weight seemed to add momentum, each of Sol’s blows landing with thunderous impact. Demons fell in heaps, shredded by pure force.
Rodrigo stared, wide-eyed. Carrying someone and still fighting like this? That’s not just strength, it’s experience. Sol... when would you even need to fight like this? Who did you carry? And why?
Before he could press the thought, they arrived. The castle gates stood wide open, Rodrigo frowned. Why would the gates be open during an invasion? He scanned the area, looking for signs of battle or forced entry, but Sol gave him no time to dwell. The black knight charged into the courtyard. The sight wrenched Rodrigo’s stomach.
Corpses lay scattered like broken dolls. Castle guards, once proud defenders, were reduced to charred husks. Armor melted into flesh. Smoke clung to the air like a curse. At the edge of the yard, Rodrigo spotted a familiar figure — Gareth. One of his own. A close friend that had only recently been knighted, now reduced to a corpse. Rodrigo bit down on his lip harshly.
“Rodrigo,” Sol’s voice cut through the fog, “where do you reckon the Lord would be?”
Rodrigo blinked, momentarily pulled from his grief. “Wait… I thought we were going for Caulot first?”
Sol looked up toward the keep, his jaw tense. “Knowing him, he’s probably defending the Lord. Doing his duty. He has honor.”
Rodrigo glanced at Sol. There was something in his voice, admiration, maybe even regret.
Then Sol pressed forward. The demons surged again. Rodrigo, still strapped to his shoulder, felt every jolt, every spin, every swing. His stomach churned with each impact.
If we live through this, he thought, I’m making that bastard carry me again just to ask questions.

The castle courtyard, once a sanctuary of lush gardens and stone fountains, now reeked of charred grass and festering rot. Blood soaked the cobblestones. Mangled bodies, knight and demon alike, lay half-buried in scorched soil. The air stank of sulfur and death.
Sol and Rodrigo pushed through the massive castle doors, only to find more horror waiting. The grand entry hall, with its towering columns and painted ceilings, had become a slaughterhouse. Dozens of demons crowded the chamber, their eyes burning with malice, their claws dripping with gore.
Rodrigo stirred. “Sol… let me off here.”
Sol glanced down at him. “You sure about that, old man?”
Rodrigo scowled and slammed a fist against Sol’s helmet with a dull clang. “Dammit, I’m not an old man! I’m seasoned!”
The black knight chuckled.
“Put me down,” Rodrigo growled, gripping the hilt of his sword. “I’ve got a message to send. These devils think they can burn my city? They’re about to learn otherwise.”
Sol felt the shift in him—a flash of fire behind weary eyes. He let Rodrigo down gently.
The knight took a shaky breath, rolled his shoulders, and raised his sword high. “Time for round two.”
With a roar, Rodrigo charged forward, blade flashing. Sol followed a heartbeat later, steel drawn, the two of them plunging into the storm.
(...)

Caulot struggled to keep his breathing steady. Just an hour ago, he’d been sound asleep. Now, he was fighting for his life. Chaos surrounded him. Screams. Steel. The roar of fire. He had barely managed to cling to the Lord’s entourage, sticking close behind senior knights and squires who carved a path through the demonic swarm. But the fighting was relentless.
“Caulot, to your right!”
Sir Phenoe’s warning rang out—Caulot dropped just in time. A jagged blade whooshed overhead, narrowly missing him. He planted his foot, twisted his torso, and slashed with everything he had. His sword connected, carving into the demon’s neck. It crumpled to the floor, lifeless.

That was his fourth unassisted kill, he panted, sweat pouring down his face, the heat from the burning castle walls pressing in on him like a furnace. He had no martial arts ability to rely on—only timing and nerves. He wasn't meant to be here. His role had been to support the more experienced fighters: flank the distracted, finish the wounded.
Yet he was still alive, he cast a quick glance at the man they were all dying to protect. Old Purple stood calm amidst the chaos. Even as flames licked at the high ceilings, even as blood soaked the marble floor, he gave his orders as if directing a morning drill.
“Sir Terry, Phenoe, Wasfed, continue clearing a path. Once we reach the central hall, we’ll access the emergency tunnel and escape.”
The dozen knights and squires around him were flagging, their swords slower, their steps heavier. There were no priests to replenish their strength, the ambush had come too quickly. They fought on sheer instinct and duty now.
Caulot tightened his grip on his sword. Then—a snarl. A break in the formation. One of the demons slipped past the line, its claws outstretched, charging directly for the Lord.
“NO!”
“Lord! Look out!” Wasfed shouted, lunging forward.
Too far! I won’t make it!
Caulot watched in horror as the demon closed in. Until, to everyone's surprise, Old Purple didn’t move. Instead, with calm precision, he drew his short sword and swung. The blade flashed. The demon’s head hit the floor with a thud.
Old Purple coughed from the effort but stood firm. “Hold the line, men! If even an old man can fight—then so can you!”
A roar of renewed spirit surged through the hall as the knights tightened their ranks. Steel clashed again. The momentum was theirs—at least for the moment.
The group pressed on, carving their way to the floor above the central hall. Reinforcements trickled in—survivors from the scattered defenses rallying to the Lord’s side. But with every man gained, it seemed a dozen more demons rose up to meet them.
Caulot panted. His limbs trembled, and each breath burned in his chest. He wasn’t used to this kind of battle. He wasn't trained for it. In the chaos, his thoughts drifted—unbidden—to a familiar face.
Sol... where are you?
He had told himself he was done with Sol. That he’d severed their bond. But now, surrounded by blood and fire, Caulot couldn't shake the hope that his only friend had survived.
After what felt like an eternity, the battered group of fifty reached the central hall. Their chests rose and fell heavily, armor clanking with every breath. Many collapsed to one knee, blades trembling in their grasp.
Old Purple turned to face them.
“Knights and squires of honor,” he began, voice hoarse yet commanding, “our escape is within reach.”
He stepped forward and twisted an unlit torch mounted on the wall. A soft click echoed, and a section of stone slid inward—then sank into the ground with a heavy grind, revealing a shadowed passageway.
The hall erupted in cheers, victory, at last. Before a single step could be taken, the floor trembled. A quake violent and sudden, most of the men stumbled, some falling flat as the ground beneath them cracked. Then silence, they turned slowly toward the source of the rumbling, and what they saw drained every ounce of hope from their faces.
A thunderous crash echoed through the hall as a monstrous, one-horned demon broke through the far wall.
The knights rallied instinctively on one side, blades raised in desperation. Opposite them stood the towering beast—seven meters tall, its jagged, scaly body glowing with molten orange veins, like cracks in volcanic stone. Smoke hissed from its nostrils. A grotesque horn jutted from its misshapen skull.
Worse than the demon… was the man standing behind it. A cold, mocking laughter rose from the shadows, and out stepped Lord Phillipe.
“L-Lord Phillipe?! What are you doing over there?” Wasfed's voice cracked as he demanded answers.
Phillipe smiled like a man unburdened by shame. “Me? Oh, Wasfed. I’m just reclaiming what’s rightfully mine.”
He raised a hand and pointed it at the elderly man behind the knights.
“Old Purple! Relinquish your title, your lands, and your rule, or I’ll take them by force.”
A stunned murmur rippled through the knights.
Wasfed stepped forward. “You’re insane! You sided with devils—for power?”
Phillipe scoffed, amused. “And what’s wrong with that? Once I kill Old Purple and pretend to defeat the demons, I’ll be hailed as the savior of the realm. The land will be handed to me gladly.”
His words echoed across the silent battlefield—madness clothed in ambition.
Old Purple narrowed his eyes. “You fool. I’ve already named an heir. Even if I fall, the title passes on.”
He took a breath and added, voice steady, “And if you think the Crown—or the southern lords—will reward you for orchestrating your own theater of heroism, you understand neither politics nor legacy.”
Phillipe’s grin widened, manic now. “Then I’ll go further. Once I seize this moment and stand atop a mountain of corpses, our Queen won’t dare overlook me. When the dust settles, she’ll have no choice but to name me… King of Roble.”
Phillipe expected gasps of horror, cries of betrayal, something that would give him the satisfaction of breaking them. Instead, they laughed. It started with a low chuckle, then rolled through the hall like thunder.
Even Sir Terrey, his armor bloodied and worn, couldn’t help himself.
“The local bootwasher has a better chance of marrying the Queen than you.”
Even Caulot, breathless and exhausted, managed a smirk.
I never thought someone could be dumber than I am ugly.
Phillipe’s smile twitched. Then cracked.
“Dammit—dammit! I’ll kill every last one of you!”
With a snarl, the one-horned titan stepped forward, and attacked. The once-cheerful defenders snapped to action. Seven knights surged ahead, led by Sir Terrey.
[Greater Ability Boost]
[Greater Strength]
[Cutting Edge]
Terrey’s blade howled as it gathered the air around it, the wind forming a sharp spiral. The seven coordinated, driving their weapons straight into the creature’s massive heel.
BOOM
A plume of dust exploded outward, for a heartbeat, hope flickered in their eyes. Then the dust cleared. The demon’s flesh hadn’t even cracked, their cheers turned to gasps of dread.
Phillipe’s laughter rang out. “Fools! SLASH THEM TO BITS!”
The demon’s single eye glowed a furious red. It crouched slightly, then lunged. Its monstrous horn swept in a wide arc, and the knights were too slow.
SLASH.
Four men were cut down instantly, reduced to torn armor and gore. Terrey screamed as his arm was severed mid-air, and the others crumpled, groaning through torn muscle and shattered bone. Clutching his bleeding stump, Terrey collapsed to one knee. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't scream. He knew what he had to do. Whispering a prayer, and activated the one technique he thought he’d never have to use.
[Dull Pain]
With blood pouring from his wounds, Terrey roared, “You lot—run! Get the Lord out of here!"
The knights froze, staggered by his command. Wasfed stepped forward, desperation in his voice. “Terrey, don’t! We can all make it out together!”
A crimson line traced down Terrey’s chin as he spat blood onto the floor.
“No. If I’m going out… I’m taking that bastard with me.”
He stepped forward. His severed arm hung useless at his side. Heh… at least my good arm still works.
[Capacity Building]
[Gale Acceleration]
Some of the knights watched in awe, not yet understanding. Wasfed did, his eyes widened. “Terrey! Don’t!”
[Limit Breaker]
[Limit Breaker: Mind]
Terrey’s body surged—lighter, faster, a blur of focus and pain.
[Flow Acceleration]
[Fatal Edge]
[Fourfold Slash of Light]
[Instant Counter]
The air around him cracked with energy. He launched himself at the demon.
BOOM.
Like a trebuchet unleashed, Terrey flew toward the demon, his blade howling like a storm. The first strike opened a deep wound along the demon’s midsection. The next strikes came like lightning, four slashes each perfectly timed, each aimed at the same spot.
The air burned white-hot, the demon shrieked, stumbling from the sheer force. Its claws whipped forward, but Terrey was faster.
CLANG.
He parried mid-air with a final, instinctive counter, staggering backward as blood poured from his wounds like a fountain. He dropped to one knee, panting, vision blurring.
Did I do it? He glanced back at his brothers-in-arms.
“It was an honor to serve under you... my lord.”

He didn’t even see the horn coming. One blink, and the world went red as the demon slammed its head into Terry, crushing him. Red gore splattered across the marble floor. Silence swept through the remaining men—shock etched into their faces. Phenoe, standing beside Wasfed, broke the trance. He turned to the newly recruited squire.

“Caulot! Take the Lord and get out of here!”

Caulot shook his head in protest. “But I can fight, sir!”

Phenoe placed a firm hand on the boy’s shoulder. “You're the youngest of us. You have no martial arts... You won't stand a chance.” Before Caulot could reply, Old Purple stepped forward, his voice unusually firm.

“Phenoe, I may be old, but I won’t abandon my men to die. We will all escape. Together.” A tense silence followed. Phenoe hesitated, he couldn’t openly defy his lord. But Wasfed spoke up.

“Forgive me, my Lord. Not all of us can escape. All we can do is buy you and Caulot time.”

For the first time, Old Purple's stoicism cracked. His lips trembled slightly as he surveyed the bloodied hall and the knights ready to die in it. Then, with sudden resolve, he unsheathed his sword and raised it.

“If any man suggests I flee again, then take my sword... and abandon your knighthood!”

A heavy stillness followed. Caulot was no different, panicking under the pressure, he felt a rising, suffocating despair. But as he spiraled, his mind flashed back to something Sol had told him back in the village:

When it counts, step forward. No one will push you.

Then, he stepped forward. His small frame looked almost out of place among the armored warriors, Caulot met the lord’s eyes.

“Then I’ll take your blade, and with it, your will to live. Now come with me!”

He took the sword and gripped Old Purple by the arm, pulling him toward the secret tunnel. Behind them, Wasfed exhaled a shaky breath, watching the boy vanish into the passage with his lord.

“Thank you, Caulot...”

With that, he turned toward the towering demon, gathering what remained of their strength. Caulot gritted his teeth as he dragged Old Purple down the corridor. Screams echoed behind them, the dying breaths of knights who stood their ground.

“Lord! We're entering the tunnel!”

Old Purple was silent for a time, then finally spoke, voice cracking.

“I’m sorry... If only I had seen this coming...”

Caulot didn’t respond. He just gripped the sword tighter, keeping his eyes on the darkness ahead. Both men, weary and breathless, stopped to rest. The tunnel ahead stretched in flickering torchlight, but behind them, Caulot caught something. A sudden swish in the air. Without thinking, he lunged toward the elderly man.

Thunk

He missed deflecting the object. A reddish, veiny spike pierced his right arm. A surge of pain exploded through him, and he collapsed, gasping. Looking down, he saw the grotesque object lodged deep in his flesh, pulsating faintly. He tried to yank it free, only to recoil in agony.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,”

A voice oozing with malice emerged from the shadows, Phillipe. Old Purple spun around, his face livid.

“W-What did you do to my men?!”

Phillipe laughed. “Isn’t it obvious? I killed them, and now it’s your turn.”

From the gloom behind him, another demon slithered forth. Smaller than the horned titan—but sleeker, more agile. Its claws clicked on the stone as it stepped forward.

Caulot, clutching his wounded arm, staggered to his feet. He grit his teeth. “Go, my Lord! Get out of here!”

In the narrow corridor, torchlight danced against Old Purple’s weathered face. For a moment, the unbreakable Lord trembled. A single tear rolled down his cheek. Then, he ran faster than Caulot had ever seen.

Phillipe moved to pursue, but Caulot tackled him with all the strength he had left. “I-I’m not letting you through…”

Phillipe snarled. “You insect.”
He seized the red spike embedded in Caulot’s arm, and twisted. Caulot screamed, crumpling backward. But he rose again, sword trembling in hand.

Phillipe scowled. The demon at his side hissed. They lunged as they did, Caulot, heart thudding, breath ragged, looking back. He remembered the lonely village, he remembered Sol—the man who gave him purpose. He remembered laughter, training, honor, and hope. Now, though the end loomed close, he smiled through the blood and pain.

“At least… I’ll die with some purpose.”

(...)

The darkened silhouettes of Sol and Rodrigo stepped into the central hall, and froze. Before them laid a slaughterhouse. Blood pooled across the marble floor. Bodies, mangled, burnt, unrecognizable, were strewn like broken dolls. Pieces of armor clattered quietly where they’d been torn from their owners. The stench of death was suffocating.

Rodrigo dropped to his knees and vomited. “Wasfed… Terry… Phenoe… all of them… how could this happen?”
His voice cracked beneath the weight of it. But Sol stood still, his fists clenched, trembling. His eyes locked on the towering figure at the end of the hall.

The titan. Horned. Covered in fresh gore. It touched the ceiling, tossing bodies aside like ragdolls. Sol wasn’t looking at the demon, he was looking for one thing.

“Where…”His voice started as a whisper, then grew. “Where is Caulot?!”