"My apologies for the theatrics," the knight said, his tone likely deliberate. "However, I suspect you have begun to question the true nature of this mission."

You mean saving Death Runners? Dunn thought ruefully, his gaze lingering on the scorched remains of the maiden. Why had she been killed? He couldn’t understand the reason. Was it something to do with the engine? Did it take all her energy? Is this what happens? he suddenly felt pity for sanguines.

The knight stepped into the room, pushing the door wider as he entered. In the center of the dimly lit chamber, Dunn noticed a man kneeling, bound in heavy rusted chains. The man’s white robe was stained with dirt and blood, and his face bore a mash of scars. His slightly green, oily skin and locked black strands made him seem like a crossbreed—a mixture of hornbreed and maw.

The man’s body was marred with burns, evidence of deep torment. Yet, what truly unnerved Dunn was not the prisoner’s condition but the others in the room. Familiar faces stared back at him. Rollo and Adolla were present, their expressions contrasting starkly. Adolla wore a sly grin, while Rollo’s disdain was evident in the dismissive curve of his lips.

As Dunn’s gaze wandered, he spotted a notary with dark gold hair standing in the far-right corner of the square, black-walled room. The space was also etched with the same symbols as the door. And as always, just looking at it, made him feel a growing weakness. Eternal lamps hung from the ceiling, casting flickering light that banished the shadows.

“What is all this?” Dunn asked, suspicion gnawing at him. His unease grew as his eyes fell once more on the chained man. Was he the prisoner requiring such elaborate precautions? And if so, why?

The chaplain, accompanied by the sole surviving maiden, approached the bound figure and declared, “This is a mutant.”

A heavy silence followed, stretching uncomfortably.

“Damn, the prideful son!” Dunn roared, his voice echoing. “What is the meaning of this?” His eyes widened, and his grip on his blade tightened. Adolla, Rollo, and the radiant knight all turned their attention to him, their expressions ranging from indifference to amusement. Am I the mad one? Dunn wondered, his thoughts racing. Surely not. This is a mutant. They should have summoned the invigilator by now. Why leave it here? Don’t they know the presence of the profane removes the Warrior’s gaze?

The Waygate incident was one thing, but now a mutant too? Is this campaign nothing but a congregation of blasphemy?

Rollo pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing heavily.

What? He was surprised by that reaction. Am I wrong to react like this? Dunn thought. As he glanced around, he realized everyone, even the notary, was watching him with mild bemusement. They must have their reasons. The radiant knight wouldn’t act without cause.

“Explain,” Dunn said, his voice terse.

Adolla scoffed loudly. “Explain?” He mimicked Dunn’s tone mockingly. “And what will you do if we don’t? Fight us?”

“I have Knight Plate,” Dunn retorted sharply.

“A pitiful shortcut,” Adolla sneered, folding his arms. “Don’t worry. I’ll show you its worthlessness. After this, you and I—duel.”

Dunn stood stunned by the sheer absurdity of Adolla’s words. All shard-armor are shortcuts! he wanted to yell, but he clenched his jaw, swallowing his anger. Taking a calming breath, he turned to the chaplain. “What is happening?” This time, he spoke with some respect. Warrior help me, he thought, if there’s a valid reason for this. I nearly damned myself.

The chaplain, seemingly satisfied with Dunn’s change in demeanor, answered with grave sincerity. “This mutant is the reason the golden knight is here. It has uttered heretical prophecies about a horror that might emerge in the distant future.”

“It spoke of a god,” the chaplain continued, his tone low but firm. “The god of the giants is returning.”

Dunn froze. “What does this mean?”

The chaplain pressed on. “Do you recall the last attack? A suspiciously coordinated assault by giants, many arriving through a waygate. If you thought your clash with Adolla caused it, you were mistaken. It was him.” The chaplain gestured toward the chained man. “The giants sensed his presence and sought to silence him.”

“To kill him?” Dunn asked, dubious.

“Yes,” the chaplain confirmed. “They wanted to ensure his revelations about the so-called Duskbringer never reached us.”

Dunn’s mind flashed back to the words of an armored giant he had slain during an intense skirmish.

The chaplain elaborated. “During the Third Millennium, when the Eleven Gods saved humanity from the Mad King and the false heretic deities, the Duskbringer—god of the giants—was among those defeated. According to ancient texts, he was impaled on his throne by the Warrior God.”

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

At this, everyone except the golden knight and the chained man pumped their fists into the air, a gesture of reverence.

“But,” the chaplain added grimly, “the giants have found a way to resurrect him, possibly with the fairies’ help. We suspect they were behind the fall of Parin Hive City in the northern domination.”

Dunn reeled from the revelations. Relief washed over him that his clash with Adolla hadn’t led to disaster, but the thought of facing a god? It felt insurmountable. I’m barely at the Desolation Class, he thought bitterly. And now this?

The chaplain continued ominously. “A terrible age is upon us. An informant in the SSO reports another unsealing—possibly in Canen, the Empire’s capital. It suggests the return of heretic gods is imminent.” He locked eyes with Dunn. “This man spoke your name.”

“What?” Dunn staggered, his heart pounding. The thought that a mutant—a being tied to such an ominous prophecy—had uttered his name filled him with some level of dread. “Why did it say my name?”

“That we do not know,” the chaplain admitted. “But the fact that it survives under the weight of its knowledge suggests the god of the giants remains dead. However, we need answers, and for some reason, the mutant will only speak to you.”

The golden knight stepped forward, his voice like thunder. “If your relevance to this prophecy proves harmful to the Empire, I will kill you. I apologize in advance.”

A cold shiver ran through Dunn. He could feel the weight of the knight’s words pressing on him. Dying to a knight wouldn’t be so bad, he thought passively.

The chaplain gestured for Dunn to approach the chained man. Taking a steadying breath, Dunn stepped closer, his heart pounding. He glanced at Adolla, who smirked mockingly, and Rollo, whose indifference remained unshaken. Would anything impress him? Dunn wondered.

Standing before the man, Dunn hesitated. Should I touch him? He refrained, choosing instead to observe the silent figure. Is he even alive?

Adolla burst into laughter. “Look at you,” he mocked. “You thought you were important, didn’t you? It’s probably a different Dunn. Your name isn’t unique.”

“Perhaps we were wrong,” the golden knight murmured thoughtfully.

Suddenly, the chained man lifted his head, his eyes wide with extremity. “Watch out! It’s consuming you!” he cried hoarsely. He shook his head, muttering incoherently before locking eyes with Dunn again. “No... not that Dunn... this Dunn. Yes, yes…” He paused, his voice trembling. “No matter what, don’t pick up the armor.”

The man collapsed, his body limp.

Silence filled the room.

Does this mean I die now? Dunn’s thoughts veered as he eyed the radiant knight, the imposing figure’s spear glinting with a sharp edge. Perhaps, if he fought with all his might, he might manage an escape. But escape would brand him a traitor, and even if he succeeded in evading the knight, the encampment teemed with enough shard-bearers to capture or kill him without breaking a sweat. Resistance would be an act of sheer fruitlessness.

Still damped in silence, the chaplain moved with deliberate steps toward the limp body of the mutant. He crouched, placing two fingers on the man’s neck to check for a life beat. After a moment, he straightened slightly and announced, “He lives. He’s merely unconscious.”

The golden knight remained unmoved, his armor radiant. He took several purposeful strides toward Dunn and, with a commanding tone, asked, “Do you have any knowledge of this ‘armor’ he spoke of?”

Dunn’s gaze flickered uneasily between the dismissive Rollo, the smirking Adolla, and the notary standing stoically in the shadows. Shaking his head, Dunn replied, “I know of no such thing. Unless it refers to my former shard plate or this knight plate I currently wear. But even then, the warning was against donning it, and that I have already done.”

The knight regarded him for a long, tense moment before shifting his attention to the notary. “Bring a contract,” he commanded.

As if awaiting this exact order, the notary—a slender figure with dark gold hair and a single golden dot adorning his right cheek—reached into his robes and withdrew a folded parchment. Moving with the practiced step of one accustomed to such things, he approached the knight, but despite that, the difference between their heights made one seem a child, the other a giant.

Reaching the knight, the notary bowed deeply and offered the parchment with both hands. “Here it is, sir,” he said with deference.

The radiant knight didn’t spare the notary a glance. Instead, his focus remained fixed ahead as he said, “Draft it such that Legionnaire Dunn is rendered incapable of speaking about anything he has witnessed here without my explicit authorization. Should he attempt to break this bond, the penalty will be the ignition of his very soul.”

Dunn felt a cold shiver crawl down his spine. The words brought the image of the scorched maiden. He had heard tales of binding contracts and their severe repercussions, but this was a level of lethality he had never imagined. Of course, it was bound to exist, he thought.

The notary nodded, retrieving a quill from within his robes. After a few fluid, practiced movements, he began writing on the parchment. When he finished, he raised his eyes to meet Dunn’s and spoke, “I will need your blood to seal the bond.”

Dunn hesitated, apprehension flaring. But he knew resistance was futile. With a resigned exhale, he flexed his wrist, allowing the red gauntlet encasing his hand to dissolve into a plume of black smoke and fire. The armor vanished, leaving his hand bare.

Extending his hand toward the notary, he watched as the man pricked his finger with a small, sharp tool. A bead of crimson welled up, which the notary deftly collected. Using the blood as ink, he continued writing on the parchment, the quill scratching softly against the surface.

Once finished, the notary scrutinized his work, his eyes glowing faintly with an ethereal transparent light as if verifying its sanctity. With a sudden burst of fire, the parchment disintegrated into ash, vanishing completely.

“It is done,” the notary intoned solemnly. “A copy will be sent to the Tome Vault for preservation.” He stepped back into the shadows, his role complete.

As the parchment burned away, Dunn felt an indescribable sensation ripple through his body. It was as if invisible chains coiled around his very heart, binding him in ways both physical and unknowable. He couldn’t articulate the feeling, but if needed to, he might have described it as iron shackles tightening around his heart. Maybe that was what it was--chains around his heart.

The golden knight inclined his head slightly, acknowledging the completion of the binding. “Prepare yourself,” he said, his voice as cold and commanding as ever. “We depart soon—”

“Not so fast,” came a voice from the corner of the room.

Adolla stepped forward, a grin plastered across his face. The audacity of interrupting a golden knight—a direct servant of the sovereign ruler—was staggering. Yet Adolla seemed entirely unbothered, his steps measured and hard as he closed the distance between himself and Dunn.

“Don’t forget,” Adolla said, his grin widening, “we have a duel.”

What in the shattered heavens? Dunn’s mind reeled, his expression caught somewhere between disbelief and exasperation.