Jason Greakor

LOYALTY AND HONOR: sacred words that guide a soldier's every action. We pledge ourselves to kingdom and king. But when the ultimate test arrives, when family and king clash, most of us would choose blood over crown. It's a testament to the power of human bonds. However, there are those who defy this instinct, those who place duty above all else. I've met one such extraordinary individual right here in this garrison.

Pinix Riven was a Northerner, though you wouldn't guess it from his stature. Short and lean, he was always clean-shaven, his hair neatly trimmed. His sharp features and youthful vigor belied his age, though the burn scar on his forehead was a constant reminder of a past ordeal. He wore it with a strange pride, a badge of honor, rather than a mark of shame.

People call him the Madman. Why? The answer lies in his dark past. Before arriving here, he lived in Frostburg County, where he committed a horrific act. He murdered his wife, burning her alive in the village square in front of everyone. As he committed this heinous crime, he screamed, "Any traitor to the kingdom deserves to burn!"

The village elder promptly accused him of murder, and the townsfolk cast him into the dungeon. Unbeknownst to them, his wife was a traitor, a spy for the eastern empire. After a thorough investigation by imperial agents, incriminating letters, though charred, revealed her deception. The tale spread like wildfire, whispered in taverns and mill towns. Some hailed him as a patriot, a defender of the realm. Others saw a monster, a man who could laugh as he reduced his own wife to ashes. The local baron, recognizing his loyalty, rewarded him with gold and a place in his retinue. Yet, he eventually fled his homeland, perhaps haunted by the loss of his son, who vanished after the tragedy.

"Southerner," Captain Pinix intoned, gesturing towards the leather bag. "Your father wished me to deliver this to you." I untied the bag to reveal a treasure trove: ten mana stones, radiant and pulsating with the energy of the Shaniyar Mountains. "One per night," he ordered. "Every recruit gets five, but your father, the Vice Commander, insisted on a special dispensation. Can't argue with the second-in-command, can I? And this," he indicated a vial of shimmering liquid, "is a blueshower potion, a potent elixir to fortify your body. Consume it after each stone. Now, be gone."

He announced his intention to resume his writing. I merely saluted and retreated, disappearing into the corridor and towards the kitchen. Outside, the wind raged, a wounded beast clawing at the fortress. I had exchanged the sun-kissed fields of the South for this frozen hellhole. This so-called garrison was more a tomb than a stronghold, a desolate place awaiting its final occupants.

A lunar cycle had waned since the harrowing ordeal in the woods. My wounds, though deep, had mended, but the enigmatic archer remained a phantom, a shadow in the mist. The aura knights, their lifeless forms recovered from the riverbank, served as grim reminders of the encounter.

Father advised me not to dwell on the incident. He believed the archer to be an ice elf from the Dragon Peninsula, who ventured across the sea, avoiding the Northern Garrison’s patrols, in search of rare herbs. This elf, he claimed, was exceptionally powerful, even for an visir. Father considered me fortunate to have survived, let alone killed the dark wolf. Perhaps the elf's injuries from the previous encounter with the aura knight had prevented pursuit. Regardless, he was relieved that I lived.

I joined the Northern Regiment as my father had wished. Though I'd feigned enthusiasm, my true motivations lay elsewhere. "I want to serve," I'd lied, "to protect the realm, to grow strong." But my ambitions were far more personal. I had my own agenda, a path diverging from my father's expectations. Despite my respect for him, circumstances had forced me down a different road. And the rumors of his affair with the garrison commander further complicated matters, leaving a bitter taste in my mouth.

Northern garrison was a place of hardness. Stone, the color of ash, dominated the landscape. The garrison itself was a sprawling, haphazard affair, built more for defense against nature’s fury than any human foe. Its walls were thick, but they did little to stem the relentless cold that gnawed at our bones.

Inside, the great hall was a cavernous space, filled with the acrid smoke of countless hearths. Men huddled around these, their faces etched with lines of fatigue and cold. Their armor, dull and rusted, hung forgotten on the walls.

“Hey, hey! So, how’d your meeting with that lunatic go?” The grinning boy inquired. We were the same age and rank, Recruit Number Fifty-Four, Gary the Wise. He was my go-to source of information. Having arrived six months before me, he knew nearly everything about the garrison and its inhabitants, hence his moniker. Though he never divulged his true surname, he quickly became my first friend upon my arrival, as we shared a room.

"He wasn’t in a foul mood today. I guess I got lucky,” I replied, ladling a bowl of soup. Food was meager and unsatisfying. Salt-cured meat, stale bread, and watery broth were our daily fare. Wine, a luxury reserved for the highest-ranking officers, mocked the comforts I’d abandoned.

We found a table and began to eat. “Your guy. At the corner table on the left,” Gary whispered.

"What?" I exclaimed, turning my head towards the indicated table. "Ouch!"

"Don't make it obvious, Jason," Gary admonished, poking my ear. I would have punched him if it weren’t for our friendship. That was a terrible habit of his. "Alexen Druine, number two on your list."

"When did you see my list?" I asked, my tone serious. He started eating his bread with a knowing grin. I kicked his foot, and he jumped like a startled frog, exclaiming, "Ah!" He began to cough violently. I patted his back, and a piece of bread flew from his mouth. He continued coughing, his eyes wide with shock. "Look at the attention you've drawn," I said, grinning. He glanced around nervously, realizing everyone in the hall was staring at us. He apologized to everyone and sat back down.

"That was cruel, Jason," he said, his face flushed with embarrassment and the aftereffects of choking. "I'm your roommate, bro. You can't hide everything from me. Last night, that piece of paper was on your bed while you were sleeping. I just happened to glance at it, and, well, you know how good my memory is."

"Accidentally, you say," I replied, sipping my soup. "So, tell me about him. You seem to know quite a bit."

"After what you just did, I'm not going..." He trailed off, unable to meet my cold stare. Everyone said I had a chilling look when I was serious, and my eyes seemed dead. It was quite effective. "Fine, fine, I'll tell you. Alexen came here about a year ago from the same county as you. I heard he used to be a blacksmith for a noble house. Now, he's the vice-head of our Garrison smithy. But it's kinda strange," Gary said, shaking his head mysteriously.

Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

"How so?" I asked.

"Why would he come to this hellhole from a place like the Turian barony? That place was famous for its weapons, and blacksmiths were highly respected. And he was assigned to the Turian house itself," Gary said, his eyes narrowed in curiosity. He liked to play detective sometimes.

"Maybe he was caught up in a tax scandal or got involved with a powerful knight," I speculated. I had no real idea. Captain Jashua had simply given me the names. My task was to learn about them and their activities. Now that I think about it, I heard rumors of a scandal in Turian County a year ago, right around the time he arrived here at the garrison.

"Oh, oh, and why don't you just say he seduced the Baroness herself, Jason?" Gary said sarcastically.

"Well, I don't know, okay? And yeah, I like to be ignorant, so don't ask me again," I replied, draining the rest of my soup.

"Yeah, you like to be so ignorant. Didn't you hear about the butt scandal?" Gary asked with a chuckle. I shook my head. I'd heard rumors, but I didn't know the details. The name itself was both creepy and humorous. He continued, "There was a blacksmith in Turian who supplied a unique instrument: the Anal plug. You can imagine its uses. It became quite popular, not just among women but men as well. And when the church found out, they charged the man with serious blasphemy but never found the original supplier. I'm a hundred percent sure that man Alexen was behind it all."

We finished our meal and pushed our bowls aside. The hall was slowly emptying, the lingering smoke of the hearths dissipating into the frigid night air. The corridor, dimly lit by oil lamps, stretched out before us, a silent sentinel guiding us back to our quarters.

"I've got a few things to take care of," Gary said, his eyes darting around the hall. "See you later."

"Alright," I replied, somewhat puzzled by his sudden urgency. He always seemed to have "things to do" around this time, disappearing into the labyrinthine corridors of the garrison. An educated guess would be that he was meeting with a girl, but where and who she was remained a mystery.

His departure left me alone with my thoughts. I retreated to our shared room, a small, cramped space that barely accommodated two beds. The wind howled outside, rattling the windowpanes and sending shivers down my spine. I gazed out at the distant mountains, their peaks shrouded in a perpetual blanket of snow.

A glimmer of light caught my eye, emanating from the direction of the mage's sanctuary. It was a small, inviting beacon in the vast darkness. A short distance away, nestled high in the mountains, was the sanctuary of the female mages. Our commander, a formidable spellbringer, resided there. Gary had spoken of its comforts, its warmth, and even a soothing hot spring. The mages, with their arcane power, were clearly more valued than we knights. They descended only for critical missions or urgent matters. Their superiority was undeniable, and we could only accept our place in the hierarchy.

Coming back to my small, cramped room I lighted a candle, it illuminate by the flickering orange and blue flames. Two narrow beds, a small desk, and a single window were its only furnishings. A stack of books lay haphazardly on the desk: dull treatises on national duty and flowery love poems. These were my father's gifts, a constant reminder of his expectations. Gary, with his penchant for the dramatic, had no doubt been perusing them again. I snatched them up and shoved them under my bed, out of sight.

Gary's tales of Alexen Druine were certainly intriguing, but I needed more concrete information to complete my report. I'd already sent the intel on Kirien Blaze to Slacia, but I wasn't sure if Jashua had even read it. The sudden Rhoadnian attack had escalated the skirmish into a full-blown war. As Captain of Lord Merwin's personal military, Jashua was undoubtedly preoccupied with the conflict. News of a Rhoadnian retreat had reached us, but the cost had been high. A timely reinforcement had saved Slacia from falling, but the casualties were significant. I hoped the Captain was safe and well.

War, huh? If I weren't on this mission, I'd likely be out there fighting the invaders. Most knights my age would jump at the chance, driven by the allure of honor and valor. But war is a fickle mistress, capable of snuffing out a life in the heat of battle or elevating a soldier to heroic heights. It's a gamble, especially for young, inexperienced knights. Not that I'm afraid, but I'm glad to be here and not on the battlefield. I prefer the thrill of adventure to the heavy weight of war.

Ever since I left Dreynoir County, I've had my fair share of adventure. I could have easily perished in Kirien's hideout. But despite the danger, I've relished every moment. I've always dreamed of leading a hunting squad or becoming an Enforcer, capturing murderers and criminals.

I tucked the writings into my bag and retrieved the bag Captain Pinix had given me. The mana stones glowed with a faint white light, their air elemental energy palpable. I took out two. The Captain had instructed me to use one per night, but he didn't know I was a Visir. I could easily use three or even four, but two would suffice for now.

I shrugged off my heavy, fur-lined coat and pulled on a simple shirt, its soft fabric soothing my skin. I sat on my bed, two stones cupped in my hands. I began to breathe deeply, the cold air filling my lungs. I closed my eyes and visualized my crown, a ring-shaped object slowly rotating around my heart. It was a fascinating experience, seeing the crown in our minds, though in reality, we merely felt its shape as our essence touched it.

The ring was marked with an array of lines, like the grooves on a greave called Cresta. Each Cresta represented a level of power. The first Cresta was innate, present from birth for those born with a crown.

Those who attained ten cresta took their first step into the world of magic. From there, the path diverged into three classes: Aura Users, Mages, and Wielders. I awakened my aura at eleven, reaching forty cresta. Twenty cresta were needed to become a Sa'liq, thirty for a Visir, and fifty for a Knyaz.

There was a rank beyond Knyaz, but it was a distant dream, even for me. As one aged, gaining additional cresta became increasingly difficult.

There were ways to increase these lines, such as constant mana usage and refining the crown. This required rigorous training or constant combat. However, there were shortcuts, one of which was in my hands: the mana stone. These stones contained pure mana, captured from a mountain storm by a powerful archmage. They were expensive, which is why the garrison only provided them to recruits once.

I began to draw the mana, a cold stream coursing through my veins. It reached my crown, which began to spin as it absorbed the pure energy. Every crown had its unique affinity with nature. Mine resonated with the wind, granting me the power to wield it. As my crown spun faster, drawing more and more mana, a sharp pain seized my heart. I shouldn't have used two stones.

After the initial agony of my folly, the flow of mana began to slow and eventually ceased. My breathing was labored, my heart pounding. The rotation of my crown had slowed. I counted my lines, relieved to find they remained at forty. With a sigh, I opened my eyes, my vision slightly blurred. The first thing I saw was Gary, his eyes fixed intently on my chest, uncomfortably close.

"What are you doing?" I asked, startled. He flinched backward, standing up straight, a look of embarrassment on his face.

"How are you not dead?" he asked, his expression a mix of amusement and disbelief. "Taking two high-concentration mana stones is suicide, you know. We're supposed to absorb one over a week, little by little. You're a total monster." He pointed towards my bare chest, my shirt torn to shreds. "Your chest was glowing so brightly, I thought you were going to explode. But thanks to those creepy black roots that appeared all over your body, it eventually calmed down. Did you join some satanic cult from the East?"

"What? No," I replied, catching my breath. Black roots? Did I lose control? "I have forty lines, you know. The Captain said I could take two per night. It should be easy, right?" Not so easy, I thought. But wait, those were high-concentration stones. I thought the garrison only gave their juniors low-grade items. I was wrong. Yet, I still hadn't leveled up after absorbing two high-grade mana stones. Had I reached my limit?

"Did he say two? Well, he's crazy, so yeah," Gary muttered, jumping onto his bed. "Well, I'm off to sleep. Good night, pal."