"...Miss! Can we an order over here please?" A growing number of cries began to fill the taproom.

"Hey girly, I've been starving now for hours!" Another patron chimed in frantically waving at server.

Someone shouts from across the room. "Quit dilly-dallying, and do yerr job!"

Desk Girl clicked her tongue, ignoring their antics. She signed gently at the boy hiding beneath his arms, "Sorry, got a bit carried away. I'll come back to take you order once I'm done with the regulars."

Desk Girl turned to leave but paused.

"It's Sera by the way." She added, as an afterthought.

"...Leondre." A voice replied, muffled beneath the sleeves of a cloak.

A rare smile formed on Sera's face as she left, before slipping under her usual tight lipped expression. When she was a good distance away, busy with other customers. Leondre finally raised his head exhaling in relief.

[Idiot, why are you relieved? She actually tried talking and you blew her off!]

In truth, Leondre was learning how to socialize, especially with girls near his age. It wasn't until the middle of his second year, when he turned 16 and the instructors began calling him a "prodigy". That the constant disregard and isolation from the other students finally stopped.

Most of his classmates were obsessed with having something to show for. From excelling in classes, and showing off at drills. Or having a friends in high places.To your families prestige and affluence. In the eyes of many; if you didn't stand out, then you were nothing. Unbeknownst to this, with his parents consent, Leondre had entered the Royal Academy under the guise of a small unknown noble family. Only the Dean and the Grandmaster knew the truth.

The estate never prepared him for what he dealt with next: To know a group of people or someone, detest being around you. That no one wished to speak with you or even have an conversation. But instead of admitting it; they ignored your voice, pretending it does not exist.

Leondre learned two lessons that year. Some things cut deeper than bone, and no one liked to truely be alone.

"Anyone ever tell you, you day dream to much?"

Nearby, a chair moaned in protest as it was dragged across the floor over to his table. If Leondre could describe the man who just sat at his table in one word, it would be average. Not as an insult, but observation. Brown hair and eyes, fair skin. Plain features, normal height, and maybe in his mid twenties.

Average.

"Pardon, it's just a habit of mine. If this is your usual spot, I'm sorry I'll move to another." Leondre quickly apologized, moving off the table.

"Nothing to be sorry for, and I'm a guest like you. So sit, I prefer eating with company." The man motioned for Leondre to sit down.

"I–is their something you want or need from me?" Leondre said, a little uncomfortable being with the stranger.

Cendric shrugged indifferently as he spoke between spoonfuls of food. "Your a little young for an knighthood. How old when you became a squire?" The gears in his mind were working at full pace, formulating a plan.

[Mithra, Bodhem, Ygritt, or whoever the hell performed this miracle. Thanks for throwing me a bone. Just wish it could have been earlier, like seventeen years sooner.] Infront of Cendric was the fourth son of Marquis Saloma, Leondre vae Marras.

From his attire and eavesdropping on the boys conversation with Desk Girl, or now, Sera. Cendric guessed was Leondre from the Royal Academy. The gryphon sewn to his waistcoat, partially covered by the cloak, made it blatantly obvious.

From what he remembered, the Royal Academy offered two paths; military or academics. Those who wished to have a military career, after four years, could begin squiring under a Royal Knight or start climbing the ranks as a newly commissioned officer in the army.

The system was similar to the Knight's Seeker Academy, excluding the enrollment of commoners. The King apparently fancied himself something of a reformist. Already, in collaboration with the Temple, he's begun implementing a region wide school system. Teaching common children how to read and write, as well as basic mathematics.

"It's err, complicated. The Grandmaster"— Leondre trailed off as he realized something—"how do you know all this?"

[He's not as naive as he looks.] Cendric thought approvingly.

"The Order of the Knight's Seeker at your service," Cendric unbuckled his arming sword tossing it onto the table, "Doubts? Check the stamp its under the grip, on the pommel."

The weaponry given at the eve of ones knighting is a symbol their knighthood. Upon the creation process, a blacksmith will stamp the coat-of-arms of their respective order onto the weapon.

Leondre tentatively picked up the blade holding it by the chape, or tip of the scabbard. He scanned over the faded leather grip, catching a faint whiff of wax. Looking further down, he found himself staring into the clearly etched eye of The Knight's Seeker.

The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

"There is no doubt, that's a genuine stamp if I have ever seen one. It is an honour and pleasure to meet you Ser...?"

"Cendric Forrester." He offered, after swallowing the last bit of food off his plate.

"Ser Forrester is it um, rude of me to inquire why you are here?" Leondre asked meekly, recalling no highways on the map within the vicinity of Crestwood.

"Should you not show your stamp as well? If you ask for something, be prepared to give in return." Cendric said with his arms crossed, shaking his head.

"R–right, please, I meant not to question your character." Leondre apologized profusely, scrambling to unstrap Roi Soleil from his waist. Cendric took the weapon without a hitch, partially drawing it from the sheath. His eyes immediately popped open at the sight of the bluish glow.

[They gave this kid a sacred relic? What in the seven hells were they thinking!] Cendric mutely cussed the bastard who made this decision. A weapon like that belonged in the hands of a paladin or king and queen. Someone you'd be hard-pressed to steal from. He may not have cared for Leondre, but even Cendric saw no point placing such a valuable artifact, and young talent, in great peril.

"Is. I mean, Ser Cendric Forrester, are you all right?" Leondre asked nervously. The man so far had been calm and collected, a scowl was now present on his face.

"Not your fault, bit surprised tis'all. Also drop the formalities, this isn't the academy, Cendric will do." Continuing his examination. The seasoned knight once again nearly broke his compsure, when he saw the insignia on the crossguard of the blade.

The Ironwood.

[No fucking way.]

The Royal Academy, Knight's, and Crown. All three entities were represented under one bird, The Gryphon. The sacred white branches of the blue leafed ironwood tree, however, was not a coat-of-arms. It was a symbol, that stood at the center of the national flag and temples dedicated to Mithra. An honor of the highest accords recognized in not one region, but all. The realm.

An awkward silence descended upon the table, with neither party knowing what to say. Leondre wanted to politely get his sword back, but was too shy to ask. While Cendric contemplated using the boy in his original plan or taking the relic for himself.

At last, Cendric slid Roi Soleil back in place. "You must have been blessed by All-Mother herself, or perhaps her children." He remarked, passing the encased longsword over to Leondre.

"Thank you, but it's really too much credit Cendric."

"Piece of advice; lose the uniform, replace the sword, and get some experience. When no ones around, practice with it when you can.

"I appreciate the—" Leondre started, but Cendric cut him off.

"To answer your first question, I'm here as a knight-errant, not a Seeker. Just began my quest, but it's already costed me most of my funds. I plan to register with the Adventures guild today, hopefully I can find some work around here."

"Do you plan to visit the ruins? I've read in several accounts how most contain treasures or priceless tomes from the Ruma Empire." Leondre said, barely hiding the excitement in his voice. In reality he was still thinking about the story of the dasmel trapped in the ruins below.

Cendric held a fist. "Let me stop you right there," He lifted one index finger, "First, the ruins are off limits to non-guild members, not to mention dangerous." Next his middle finger rose up, "Second, most if not all the ruins have been looted already. This means traveling farther inside their depths, which is suicide without rations and a party of three or more."

"Oh, I see..." Leondres face crumbled under the harsh truth.

[Why does he resemble a puppy so much?] Cendric thought sourly. If he was going to get audience with Duke Alden or Marquis Saloma, Leondre was his best bet. But the kid was still wet behind the ears, or inexperienced. Too innocent. Gullible.There were no entourage of loyal houseguards, or a companion to help him. He lacked confidence, and seemed to have self-esteem issues.

[These aren't the makings of a Knight of The Realm, they're the marks of a teenager who's still growing up.]

The sheer ridiculousness of the situation made it difficult for him not to start cracking up. It was as if Leondre was the main protagonist in one of those romantic drama's. Except someone replaced all the heroic qualities with flaws, and changed the setting to an apathetic and much harsher environment.

"Why don't you come join me today? We can both register as adveturers, and I can't promise. But if someone's willing to join us, we might be able to search the ruins." Cendric said between coughs.

Leondre anxiously tapped the table. "Become an adventurer. Would that not interfere with my duties as a knight?"

"What duties? Your a"—he scooted a little closer to Leondre—"Knight of the Realm." Cendric patted the boys curly hair. "There hasn't been a conflict since the Dukes rebellion. You're bound to no Order of chivalry, and technically, not even the King.

"That is true, but the King, His Royal Highness—"

"Going on a limb here Leondre, you aren't a student anymore. You recently graduated, probably at the end of your first-year."

"Actually, the ceremony was held a day before the end of our second-year. Really, I should be a third—"

"What I'm saying," Cendric interrupted before Leondre could explain, "Is, you may be a genius or some favored pupil, but you're sorely lacking in experience. Your "brother" knights will also see you as nothing but a upstart, they'll strip you of that sword and title right after your life."

"It's just I...Happened so fast! What–what should I do? Leondre blurted out.

Unworthy. Lacking. Impudent. He had tried his best to push them away, but the doubts kept crawling back, 'Why me?' There were other fourth or fifth years with real talent and experience, some even had awakened their blessing. They had the privilege of training under the Royal Knights tutelage.

"Rein yourself." Cendric said softly, but there was a hard edge to his voice.

It reminded Leondre of the older drill intructors at the academy. Normally they would yell out orders, but if they began speaking quitely; everyone would flinch.

Leondre shuddered nervously, "Sorry." He felt the heat rising from back the of his neck, his outburst had attracted an audience. Sera who was picking up dishes several tables away, looked him concerned.

'Are you fine?' Her eyes seemed to say.

'Yes, don't worry.' Leondre broke away, pulling his hood up so no one could see his embarrassment.

[How can I proclaim to be a knight, if I can't even conduct myself in public. Ser Forrester is right. If my fellow knights challenge me, I won't even last the first round of a duel, let alone a real battle.]

"...Cendric I'd like to come, if that's okay with you."

"Anyone ever tell you, you're too polite whelp?" The ends of Cendrics mouth curled into a wolffish grin.

"Whelp?" Leondre questioned.

"Your new nickname. We can't have people wondering why a young pup such as yourself, goes by Ser Leondre." Somehow, his grin became even wider.

"Why not Leondre or Leo?"

"Say that to anyone we come across then. To me, you'll be whelp." Cendric stood up, leaving a couple coins on the table. "Now let's get going, I need to visit a healer first."

"Is it serious?" Leondre walked behind Cendric, looking over him. He expected to find a bandage somewhere or noticeable limp.

"No, my arm is just bruised to hell." Cendric said, rather casually.