The rhythmic thud of hooves against packed earth drew every eye in Rock's Heel. A massive brown warhorse carried its rider into the village square, each step deliberate and heavy with authority. Children who had been playing in the dusty street scattered like leaves in the wind, diving behind their parents' legs.
Even before Sir Tristan's features became clear to the gathered villagers, his presence commanded an immediate hush. Conversations died mid-sentence, replaced by anxious whispers that themselves faded to nothing as he surveyed them from horseback.
"That's the Duke's Knight," someone whispered.
Knights were hard to raise and harder to put down.
They constituted the bulk of the elite forces of nobles.
Sir Tristan had come to Rock’s Heel before, and it was clear that everyone remembered him. He had brought Ivor the first time—a wretched Fire Mage with little talent for anything that wasn’t creating chaos. However, being a friend of the Duke’s son, the Duke of Valtieri had decided to send the wretch away to take care of this little village.
Tristan dismounted with practiced efficiency, though a keen observer might have noticed the slight stiffness in his movements – the weariness his stern expression tried to mask.
Another backwater village, another petty dispute to settle, the man thought.
But the Duke's law had to be maintained, even in places that seemed barely worth the effort.
As his gaze swept over the villagers, he noted something unusual in their bearing. There was fear, yes – that was expected. But underneath it ran a current of something else. Not submission, not the usual cowed deference he encountered in such places.
"I come in the name of the Duke of Valtieri," Tristan announced, his steady voice carrying across the square. "Word reached us of an attack on your appointed village chief. Such actions cannot go unanswered." He paused, letting his words sink in. "Ivor has been taken, and I demand to know who was responsible. The Duke's law does not bend for vengeance or convenience."
The villagers exchanged furtive glances, but no one stepped forward. Tristan's irritation grew. He loathed when villagers didn’t fear the Duke—it made everything so much harder to settle. And it wasn’t that uncommon. Being away from the Duke meant they were not often enough reminded of the power of their lord.
“Let me ask again,” Tristan said, putting a hand on the large pommel of his sword, straightening his back atop his giant stallion and towering over all of them. “Where is the wretch?”
* * *
The threats hadn’t been enough to make them talk, but he had noticed a few of them looking surreptitiously at the only stone house in the village. He unsheathed his greatsword and shouted at the top of his lungs.
“You wretched lot! Get out of the house and prepare to face the Duke’s justice!”
Sir Tristan saw a woman go out, barely able to keep out what he thought was her son. The kid kept trying to sneak out of the door, especially after looking at him on the giant horse.
“It’s a knight! It’s a knight!” The kid shouted excitedly. That almost brought a smile to Sir Tristan’s lips—if only he wasn’t here for the grim business of delivering justice.
"Sir, I’m Madeline," the woman began, "I suspect you must be here for Ivor. I must speak the truth, even if it brings your wrath upon me. Ivor's rule brought nothing but suffering to this village. He was no protector, only a tyrant who prey—"
"The Duke's law," Tristan cut her off, his voice sharp, "cannot be undone by personal grievances, even if they are justified." His gaze hardened as he continued, "Chaos follows when people decide to enforce their own justice. Would you have us return to the days when might alone made right? When every person with a grudge could take the law into their own hands?”
There was a moment of silence that Sir Tristan used to check the tags on the two who had followed Madeline.
[Phoenix Pyromancer - Level 27]
[Bard - Level 10]
Bard? Sir Tristan raised an eyebrow but kept his stoic demeanor on his features. It wouldn’t suit his station him to act all surprised at the legendary Class appearing again in this backwater part of the country at the moment. He would investigate where the man got the Class only after delivering the Duke’s justice.
The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
Today, he came here to harvest the life of a criminal, not to research.
And that meant he was marginally more worried about the Phoenix Pyromancer than the Bard. Neither posed a real threat to a Level 129 Knight like him, but the ‘Phoenix’ part of her title made him suspicious.
Where have these people come from?
Madeline's courage seemed to falter under his harsh stare, but she didn't back down completely. "Sir, please. You don't understand what we've endured. The sickness that spread through our village, the way he used it to—"
"I understand perfectly," Tristan interrupted again, dismounting his horse in a fluid motion that belied his heavy armor. "I understand that someone decided they knew better than the Duke's appointed authority. Someone took matters into their own hands." His voice grew harder. "So I ask again – where is the one responsible for attacking Ivor? And what is of Ivor? Is he alive?"
No one responded. The silence stood heavy between Sir Tristan and the woman until he took one more step forward and the young man, the Level 10 Bard put himself between Madeline and the knight.
“Sir,” the young man said carefully, “you speak of the Duke's law, and you're right – it's important. But Ivor was no protector. He used his position to hurt these people. To steal from them. To threaten them when they were at their weakest."
Tristan's face darkened with sudden fury. Here was someone he could focus his growing irritation on. "And who are you to decide who lives or dies?" His voice rose, echoing off the stone house behind them. "Without order, without law, there's only bloodshed. Only death. If every fool with a grudge decided to become an enforcer, this village would be ash."
In two quick strides, Tristan crossed to Ted and seized him by his shirt front, lifting him until his feet dangled above the ground. The crowd gasped, but Ted didn't struggle, meeting the knight's gaze steadily despite his predicament.
"You dare lecture me about justice?" Tristan growled, "A mere Level 10 Bard? I've served the Duke longer than you've been alive. I've seen what happens when order breaks down. So, let me ask again, where is the perpetrator?"
Sir Tristan suddenly felt his Dangersense Skill go off.
As a Knight focused on defense, he was very keen on knowing where the next attack would be coming from and he felt a tremendous amount of power gather a few feet from him.
Tristan turned his head slightly, keeping Ted suspended with one arm as he observed the Phoenix Pyromancer. Her blonde hair seemed to crackle with energy as a massive orb of fire materialized above her palm.
The Knight wasn't particularly worried about a Level 27, even if she was a Pyromancer. However, the 'Phoenix' part of her Class made him hesitate. New Classes weren't to be underestimated, especially ones that carried the names of Ancient Beasts.
“Let Ted go,” the Phoenix Pyromancer with a buzz cut said.
"You would defy the Duke's law with fire and rage?" he asked, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl. His free hand drifted to the massive shield strapped to his back.
"I would defy anyone who threatens my companions," the young woman replied, the fire in her palm growing larger.
"Enough."
The single word cut through the crowd like a blade.
The villagers had followed Sir Tristan, worried, but not saying anything about who had taken over the Duke’s Law.
Now, though, everyone parted to reveal a fiery redhead in a gleaming set of dark armor sashaying toward him.
Sir Tristan dropped the Bard to the ground and read the tag above the woman’s head.
[Phoenix Healer - Level 16]
One couldn’t usually see the full Class unless he was at many levels beyond his opponents. It was only the disparity between Sir Tristan and the presents that allowed him to read their full Class.
A Healer in armor? She, too, has ‘Phoenix’ in her Class, the man thought.
Tristan almost laughed at the tag above her head, but something in his combat instincts screamed a warning. The way she moved, the confidence in her stride, the way the shadows danced across her armor—none of it matched her supposed Level.
"You're here for answers, Sir Tristan," the redhead said. "And I'll give them to you. But first, you're going to step away from my friends."
"You dare command a Knight of the Duke?" Sir Tristan said.
"I dare to stop injustice," the woman replied simply. "Whether it comes from a village chief or a Duke's Knight makes no difference to me."
A murmur ran through the crowd at her words. Even Heidi's eyes widened at Monica's boldness.
"You admit to attacking Ivor, then?" Tristan asked, moving toward her with his sword raised.
"I broke his teeth," Monica said matter-of-factly. "He was trying to throw a sick woman and her children out of their home. He attacked me with fire magic. I responded appropriately."
"Appropriately?" Tristan's voice dripped with skepticism. "You crippled a man appointed by the Duke's authority."
"I could have killed him," Monica pointed out. "Instead, I chose mercy. Something Ivor never showed to these people."
Finally, Tristan lowered his sword to the ground.
“So Ivor lives?”
“Oh no, I then burned him to death when it became clear to me that he was a useless waste of space.”
Sir Tristan sighed when he heard that.
“You just condemned yourself to death, Healer.”
“Sure,” the woman replied. “Is one death enough to expunge my record?”
“It will be,” Sir Tristan replied, now grabbing his shield and saying, “Enemy Magnet.”
Before she could even realize it, the woman was flying at breakneck speed toward his shield. Sir Tristan saw her try to twist her body and avoid his sword, but he simply stabbed her in the heart, looking heavily into her eyes as life died in her.
“Just wait for me. I would like a word,” the woman said, spitting blood on him. “Don’t go just yet…”
Then, she died.