A Few days later.
The sun was low in the sky as the three knights rode into the desolate village. The air smelled of soot and charred wood, the once-thriving homes now nothing more than collapsed structures, their remains scattered across the barren ground. No signs of life—just silence.
Sir Roderick, the leader of the group, dismounted first, his armor clanking softly. "This doesn't feel right," he muttered, eyes scanning the horizon. The village had been completely destroyed by an explosion, but there were no traces of what had caused it.
Sir Alistair, always the skeptic, kicked at a pile of rubble. "A strange kind of explosion," he said, squinting. "No scorch marks. No craters. No burning debris. It's like it vanished, like smoke."
"Maybe it wasn't an explosion," Sir Elara, the youngest of the group, suggested as she moved closer to a half-collapsed barn. "Maybe something else happened."
"Whatever it was, it left no survivors," Roderick replied grimly. His sharp gaze flicked to the ground, where something gleamed in the dirt. "What's that?"
They hurried over. It was a sword—blue, gleaming even in the dim light. Sir Roderick knelt and picked it up, his brow furrowing. The hilt was worn, but the blade seemed to pulse with an unusual energy.
"This sword... it's from the Order," Sir Elara whispered, recognizing the design engraved into the steel. "One of ours."
Roderick's heart sank. "No," he said, his voice tight. "This sword... this belonged to Sir Jareth. He was supposed to be here. With the other knights."
Alistair crossed his arms, staring at the blade. "You think he survived?"
"No," Roderick replied quietly. He stood up, wiping the dirt off his gauntlet. "There's no way. He must've been here when whatever happened occurred."
The knights spread out, carefully inspecting the area. But the deeper they searched, the more they found nothing. No bodies. No clues. Only the eerie remnants of a village that had simply... vanished.
Minutes turned into hours. They found no answers. No sign of a battle. No trace of an enemy. Just the quiet hum of unanswered questions.
Finally, Alistair let out an exasperated sigh. "We're chasing shadows. There's nothing here, Roderick."
Sir Roderick, holding the blue sword tightly, glanced around the wreckage. His voice was hard. "There has to be something. We're not leaving until we know what happened."
But no matter how much they searched, the answers never came. The village remained lifeless. The sword remained blue. And the mystery remained unsolved.
"We're not going to find anything," Elara said quietly, her voice almost lost in the silence. "I think... I think we're supposed to leave it here."
Roderick stared at the sword one last time, his knuckles white as he gripped it. Finally, he gave a slow nod. "Let's go."
As they turned to leave, the sound of hooves fading into the distance, the only thing left behind was the silent ruins of a village that had once been. And the unanswered riddle of what had truly happened.
Four years later.
Alden hunted, battled, and survived. He fought through injuries, through hunger, through exhaustion.
His body adapted, growing stronger with every victory. The monsters that once haunted his nightmares became mere steppingstones on his path to mastery.
He clashed against packs of Nightstalker wolves, their fangs snapping inches from his throat. With precise movements, he weaved between their lunges, his sword carving through fur and muscle. Blood sprayed against the dirt, and when the last wolf fell, Alden stood victorious, his chest heaving.
He battled venomous wyrms, their twisting bodies striking with fangs dripping poison. One coiled around his arm, its teeth sinking into his flesh. Pain flared, but Alden had long since conquered pain. With a savage twist, he drove his blade through its skull, its body twitching as he ripped the weapon free.
Giants fell before him, their roars shaking the forest. One swung a tree trunk as a club, the force splitting the ground as Alden narrowly dodged. He launched himself forward, scaling its arm in an instant. His sword found its mark in the beast's neck, severing its lifeline. The giant collapsed with an earth-shaking thud.
Flesh-eating insects swarmed him, their tiny mandibles biting through armor and flesh alike. He set the air ablaze with fire, their bodies bursting into ash as he moved through the chaos, relentless and unyielding.
With each battle, he honed his skill. His blade became an extension of his will, his body a weapon forged in the crucible of endless combat.
By the time he turned eighteen, the forest no longer felt like a prison. It was his domain. He had fought enough to prove his strength, and now he could leave.On the morning of his eighteenth birthday, he stood before his master, his sword still dripping with the blood of the last monster he had slain.
His master, silent as ever, studied him. Then, with a slow nod, he finally spoke."You have won."
Alden exhaled, feeling a weight lift from his shoulders."You may leave this place," his master continued. "And with each battle you fight beyond these trees, you will earn the merits needed to become what you were meant to be—a Holy Knight."
Alden sheathed his sword, staring at the world beyond the forest.
He had survived. He had conquered.
Days later, his feet carried him to the gates of the Lionfelt household. Before him stood the towering walls of the noble estate, the crest of the Lionfelts emblazoned upon the iron gate. His journey had led him here.