As the impending moment drew near, that night, once more, he delved into deep questioning. The pipe's effect manifested swiftly this time, and his body no longer obeyed his commands; it fell and fell relentlessly. At last, he must have been ready to face it. Weary of fleeing, a single question persisted in his exhausted mind.

"What if there is no end?"

This question had, in truth, gnawed at his very soul for countless years. The notion of time had ceased to exist not long ago. Attempting to count the sands within the hourglass he had etched into his consciousness became an insurmountable task after a while. The surroundings offered no glimmer of light; instead, an intensely dark void gradually numbed his senses, and his eyes failed to adapt to the decrepit, unfathomable abyss into which he continued to plummet.

Flashes of countless memories from his wild days in the untamed wilderness began to manifest like lightning, one after another, before his eyes. The hallucinations must have taken effect. He could discern the scent of mud-caked sweat and the lingering tinge of blood. The rumbling echoed in his ears like a thunderous avalanche, a sound that shattered his conscience, and the profound voice, ceaseless and haunting, echoed within him every single night.

He yearned for this night to be the last time he heard it. The roars seemed akin to a haunting, resonant song. Unaware, a faintly familiar memory surfaced in his mind. Fixating on the elusive recollection, he delved even deeper into the abyss of his memories, heedless of the consequences.

"What if there is no end?"

* * *

In the outskirts of Barnachia's city center, within the relatively orderly confines of a small tavern, a quartet of young men reveled in the festivities, savoring their newfound bond. These were four ambitious men, all aspiring to become knights, each with a distinct background. While two hailed from humble origins, the other two boasted noble lineage. Despite their divergent aspirations, they had taken a solemn oath to unite under a shared emblem, forging an unyielding brotherhood. Eager to commemorate their journey and the beginning of their shared path as comrades, they gathered at the Broken Arrow Inn with hopes to forge stronger bonds before venturing into their next chapter as knight candidates.

The innkeeper Wilbur Bregast, ready to deliver their drinks and hearty meals, cast a proud gaze upon the neatly dressed young men seated across from each other before speaking up.

"For the knight aspirant Ismeth Crimsongale, a fine vintage Moryl wine from the distant west and a well-done charcoal-blackened steak, cooked to perfection," Bregast announced, turning to the tall man seated at his left, his face contorting with displeasure.

The dark-skinned man prodded his steak with his fork, noticing its rock-hard texture. For a brief moment, a hint of distaste flickered across his face. He suspected that his colleague sitting opposite him had influenced the innkeeper to change his order, evident by the gratuity exchanged. He understood the crude jest aimed at his skin color, but he chose not to protest. Nothing could dampen his spirits today.

"Now you can be absolutely certain that the cow is truly dead, Ismeth!" exclaimed the fair-haired young man seated directly opposite, his noble gaze piercing.

In that moment, the innkeeper approached, extending the order to the fair-haired youth.

"For Derek O'Derylson, a Deryl wine from his homeland, and a well-done, well, let's say, juicy steak," the innkeeper presented.

"Your steak is somewhat less refined than a cheap whore's, Derek," Ismeth interjected, and they all erupted in laughter.

Derek forced a contrived, lopsided grin, though the jest stung him. As a member of the esteemed Deryl lineage, it was challenging for Derek to tolerate mockery from someone of lower birth like Ismeth.

Perceiving Derek's readiness to escalate the conversation, Elphered, the man with a dusky complexion, seated beside him, exercised caution and imparted his counsel to his companions. "Gentlemen, let us allow Bregast to tend to his duties. He has other patrons who require his service."

Derek and Ismeth shared a knowing glance, affirming their understanding, and offered a nod in unison. They held Elphered's wisdom in deep regard and redirected their focus to their meals, savoring the harmonious blend of flavors. And their faint hope for a bond of camaraderie permeated the atmosphere.

Today was a day of revelry, and regardless of their disparities, they were resolute in their determination to commemorate the occasion together.

"In honor of Elphered Gallantstone, a South Galantry malt beer and a serving of pork pastrami from his homeland," the innkeeper announced, extending the order to the dark-skinned man seated beside Derek.

"Now, here's a man who appreciates the offerings of his homeland," Derek remarked, raising his glass in a toast.

"Hold on, we're not done yet," Ismeth interjected, and the innkeeper continued his presentation.

"And lastly, for our esteemed pride of the region, Brad Silverhilt. Despite Brad's denial, a bear-slaying wine from the Dunhar region and a prime rib of a boar that swam in its own juices, causing the fire to flee at the mere sight of it."

A cold smile crept across Brad's broad face as he leisurely cracked his neck joints. Then, he nonchalantly shrugged his massive shoulders. Ismeth was well aware that this was Brad's telltale sign of brewing anger. Indeed, Brad was known to be the most short-tempered man he had ever encountered.

"It appears that some still underestimates the Brad I know. Many knights in training have tried and failed to match his prowess," Ismeth emphasized. Suspecting that Derek was behind this alteration in the order, he shot Derek a mocking glance and swiftly rose to his feet. Standing at nearly six feet five inches tall, maybe more, Ismeth towered over the table, his dark complexion contrasting with the gleaming teeth in his wide grin. He raised his bottle in the air.

"The sacred circle is complete. Now we can drink until the bottom is reached. I raise my glass, or rather, my bottle, to the four Illuen Knight candidates sitting at this table, including myself, who will embark on patrol duty tomorrow," Ismeth proclaimed with fervor and pride.

"A level below the lowest," Derek grumbled, discontentment evident in his tone, as he raised his glass.

"Every duty is important, Derek. Remember that Knighthood is a sacred calling," Elphered, the quiet but powerful figure, his long dark hair framing his face, objected.

Brad's gaze shifted to Elphered, nodding in agreement. "Indeed, Gallantstone. We must be vigilant and always strive to do our best in service to the Kingdom of Light."

Derek's tone softened as he raised his glass. "Then let us drink to the free peoples of the Kingdom of Light," he said, his voice filled with reverence.

Ismeth turned to Brad, the burly man sitting next to him. "And what do you toast to, my friend?"

Brad surveyed his fellow knights with a stoic gaze, his piercing brown eyes scanning their faces one by one. Then he softened, revealing a rare smile. "To brothers in arms," he replied, raising his bottle in a silent salute.

The others at the table echoed his sentiment, their bottles clinking together in a moment of camaraderie. The night was still young, and they had countless tales to share before the dawn.

Throughout their grueling training, spanning an arduous year and a half, the three prospective knights had remained strangers, devoid of any common ground. Yet, the arrival of Brad Silherhilt in the final three months of their preparation marked a pivotal turning point. Deep down, all three sensed that his inclusion would alter the course of their journey in profound ways.

Ismeth Crimsongale, who had previously lived as a purposeless vagabond, found a renewed sense of hope with the arrival of Brad. To Ismeth's perception, Brad seemed to be an ordinary commoner like himself, or so he believed, and this belief fueled his optimism for what the future held.

"We're partners now, Brad," declared Ismeth, his voice imbued with a resolute tone. "For better or worse, we're in this together. Until death do us part." He laughed then, a sound like crunching gravel that grated on Brad's nerves.

"We didn't promise to get hitched, Ismeth," quipped Brad, attempting to lighten the mood. "We will just patrol together."

Ismeth snickered. "Wow, you surpassed yourself so quickly, my half-giant half-human pal. The night is young, yet, you're full of booze, pewter hilt," he taunted, poking fun at Brad's surname.

In a swift, fluid motion, Brad twisted Ismeth's wrist, his grip unbreakable. He glared at the other knight, his eyes ablaze with fury. "Never make fun of my last name again, Ismeth," he growled, his voice low and menacing.

Ismeth winced, his wrist throbbing where Brad had just gripped him brutally. Despite his penchant for testing boundaries with his jokes, he moslty knew when he had overstepped his bounds. He shook his head, regret etched on his face. Since the first day they met, Brad had always been intolerant of disrespect, and Ismeth had no intention of tempting him any further.

The other two knight candidates at the table played ignorant, feigning indifference to the argument. It was their day, and they wouldn't let a minor disagreement ruin the celebration. They continued their revelry, exchanging laughs and banter as if nothing had happened.

Ismeth's impression of their training supervisor, Captain Percy Marveltov, was uncanny as he mimicked the man's mannerisms and intoned, "Without intelligence, there can be no victory. Combat and communication are inseparable."

"Aye, old Percy loved to hear himself talk," Ismeth remarked. "But seriously, what is our mission?" he asked his companions.

"We shall safeguard the people with tenderness. We'll cuddle them like a puppy," Derek quipped.

Ismeth continued, "And occasionally, we'll have to knock a few heads to keep the thieves at bay."

"Dare I ask, Ismeth, how often have you faced off against thieving scoundrels in the tapestry of your life?" Derek inquired with a mischievous glint in his eye.

"And pray tell, Derek, how many battles of true mettle have you graced with your presence?" Ismeth parried back, his words laced with a sly challenge.

Once again, anger dyed Derek's countenance a fiery hue. "I bear the blood of the Derylson lineage, Ismeth. We stand as the vigilant guardians of the border province, the vanguard against the marauding hordes of orcish and goblin ilk, emerging from the shadowed realm of the southwestern lands."

"If ever the fates decree an encounter with an orc or goblin, I'm sure that you will..." Ismeth's voice trailed off as he succumbed to uncontrollable mirth, his laughter echoing through the chamber.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

"Hold your tongues, esteemed gentlemen," Elphered interjected, his instincts warning him that Ismeth's jest threatened to traverse treacherous terrain. Turning to Brad, he posed a question, laden with curiosity. "What say you, Brad? Should the fates conspire to bring these two face-to-face with a true orc wielding a gleaming axe, how would they fare in such an encounter?"

When Brad joined their training squad in the last three months, Elphered Gallantstone derived great pleasure from the tests of bravery and physical prowess, as he had finally encountered someone who could match his own abilities. Despite frequently placing second in various competitions, he took pride in competing against such a formidable adversary, finding satisfaction in the challenge presented.

Brad's lips curved into a serene smile, followed by a solemn shake of his head, expressing a resolute negation.

"Dare ye ever engaged in combat with those diabolical entities, Brad?" Derek inquired, his curiosity mounting.

Brad bowed his head, his response tinged with uncertainty. "I have faced off against different demons," he replied, his tone laden with ambivalence.

"In the realm of Temple Knight training, perchance?" Derek queried further.

Observing the stern nod of Brad's head, a gesture Ismeth had witnessed several times before when tension coiled within Brad, he interjected, "Nay, Derek, clad in the guise of a drill sergeant," and erupted into raucous laughter.

Derek's countenance soured, signaling an end to the conversation. Meanwhile, Ismeth continued his jesting remarks regarding their forthcoming duties. When Elphered grew weary of the jests and japes, he stepped in, reminding Ismeth earnestly of the knight's code they embraced.

Whispers circulated among the knight candidates in their wards, alleging that Elphered, who had excelled in training, had been paired with Derek to keep an eye on him. The young noble, who had floundered in the physical exams, was believed to have been assigned a patrol duty purely due to his family's vast wealth.

Ismeth's story was straightforward: he hailed from a non-noble background and had a penchant for rebellion. His graduation from basic training was considered miraculous, a testament to his unyielding and combative nature.

In contrast, Brad's arrival in the final three months of the grueling year-and-a-half training had a different air about it. He remained a profound enigma to the others, a puzzle waiting to be unraveled—if only they had the courage to delve deeper. The question loomed before them: Was the effort to uncover his secrets truly worth it?

The decree authorizing Brad's transfer bore the signature of Lady Illaine De'Grace, the esteemed High Priestess of the Orion Temple. Lady Illaine not only held the distinguished position of being King Illuen D'Harven's sister but also wielded considerable influence as a member of the influential Council of Nine, which played a vital role in the governance of the realm.

In terms of hierarchy within the esteemed knighthood institution, the Temple Knights held the utmost prestige and esteem. Therefore, whispers and speculations regarding Brad Silverhilt's departure from such esteemed training permeated among the knight candidates. Many were eager to delve into the personal reasons behind his transfer, and a few even ventured to employ forceful tactics in their quest for answers.

Yet, Brad Silverhilt was not one to back down easily. With an imposing stature and formidable combat skills, he commanded respect. When he dispatched a few individuals to the infirmary in his first week, the unnecessary inquiries and taunts directed at him swiftly subsided. In truth, he was a man of integrity and honor. He harbored no desire to dominate others or engage in frivolous talk; instead, he consistently displayed discipline and served as an exemplar for his peers. To keen observers, it was evident that he was destined to be a leader. His countenance bore a resolute expression, and his unwavering demeanor set him apart.

Throughout the three-month training period, numerous drill sergeants pushed him to his limits. Although the reasons behind this treatment eluded the other knight candidates, Lady Illaine's command was clear: "Treat Brad Silverhilt as you would any other knight candidate."

The drill sergeants interpreted that statement as a belittlement of their abilities. In order to prove that their training was on par with that of the Temple Knights, they intensified the challenges imposed on Brad Silverhilt, often doubling or tripling the demands placed upon him. However, with each successful completion of the physical and psychological trials designed to test his limits, their frustration only grew. The early years of the Unified Illuthar Kingdom were marked by unrest and the aftermath of war, leaving the veterans scarred and hardened. Despite the claims of justice and equality upon which the knighthood system was founded, it had yet to be fully established.

Nevertheless, as Brad Silverhilt endured the unrelenting pressure, his unwavering determination became apparent to all the knight candidates who bore witness to his arduous trials. Over time, they grew to respect him, observing firsthand his unconquerable spirit in the face of overwhelming adversity.

The four knight candidates quickly formed a bond and became a somewhat tight-knit group. Illuen Knights followed a system of paired partnerships known as "Sword and Shield." In the final assessment on the last day of their training, Derek Derylson was paired with Elphered Gallantstone, while Brad Silverhilt was paired with Ismeth Crimsongale.

As the night wore on, the alcohol flowing through their veins potentiated, loosening their tongues, and leading the knight candidates, unused to relaxed socializing, into personal territory.

Derek prodded Brad, "What made you leave the Templars, Brad? You served with them for almost three years, right?"

"Two years," Brad corrected, inhaling deeply as he prepared to delve into his past.

Ismeth interjected, sensing Brad's discomfort, "Ah, the Templars. Everyone knows it's the most tedious job in the realm."

Elphered, a ninth-generation knight, interceded, "We all pledge our final oaths to the Great Orion, God of Enlightenment, to become knights in his name. And, for the kingdom, we swear loyalty to the Honorable High Commander, our king Illuen D'Harven. It's merely a procedural modification," he corrected Ismeth's inaccuracies.

"Ah, Elphered, the connoisseur of history. Ever since the foundation of the United Kingdom of Illuthia, the esteemed orders of knighthood have maintained a stringent division into three distinct factions: the Noble Bloods, the Devoted Disciples, and us, the Valiant Patriots," Ismeth retorted.

"Ismeth, I shall not indulge in fruitless debates merely for your amusement. The accurate appellations are indeed the Royal Knights, the Orion Knights, and the Illuen Knights. However, it is crucial to note that the aspirants of the revered Templar Order are meticulously chosen from the finest orders across the Illuthar Continent, a select group of the top one hundred candidates. They endure a grueling three-year crucible of training, ascending to become the epitome of distinction among their peers," Elphered calmly elucidated, effortlessly reciting the knowledge gleaned from chronicles.

"So, it appears our man Brad didn't make the cut. It's not all that bad, is it?" Derek jested, needling Brad.

"I resigned and left the Templar Order of my own accord," Brad replied firmly, giving Derek a steely glare.

"Why did you abandon such a distinguished position?" Elphered asked solemnly.

"Good salary too, I hear," Ismeth interjected, unable to resist.

"It wasn't the right path for me," Brad replied simply.

None at the table could contend that Brad had been ousted for his shortcomings in physical training. Over the past three moons, they had all witnessed Brad's valiant response to his superiors on the training grounds, as they sought to crush and cow him. He stood tall like a titan, unyielding to their pressure. Any test of knighthood posed little challenge to him. Yet, they all knew that the Templars were culled from among the candidates possessing not only brawn but also the potential for latent divine power.

Derek, with envy tinging his tone, questioned Brad, "Do you not aspire to tread the path of Supreme Orion, the God of Light?" Persisting, he prodded Brad, perhaps emboldened by the wine he had imbibed.

"Your tongue spews utter nonsense, Derek, spawn of Derek. We are all trudging the same path for the same end," Ismeth interjected.

With a sigh, Derek rose from his seat. "I am one of the Deryl scions! You, Ismeth, are but a commoner. Such insolence shall not go unpunished."

Ismeth, seemingly surrendering mockingly, spread his hands wide and swung them from side to side. "I would surrender to you, Derek, but the Knightly rules dictate that such a circumstance warrants a duel," he chuckled.

"We shall settle our differences, Ismeth," Derek retorted with anger, jabbing a finger in his direction.

"At any hour and any place, you desire, Derek. For we are both on the same path," Ismeth replied nonchalantly, stretching lazily in his chair.

Growing increasingly irritated, Derek, realizing he wouldn't receive the support he sought from Elphered, reluctantly took his seat once more.

"Ismeth of the nomads," Derek snarled, his lip curling in contempt. "Today, I care not for your existence. But mark my words, when I ascend to captaincy, and you're nothing but a lowly sergeant, we shall meet again."

Ismeth merely chuckled, undeterred by Derek's threats. Unwavering and impervious, it was a trait that had served him well.

"Let Brad, burdened with the misfortune of being paired with thee, ponder his fate from this point onward. After all, those who refuse to be bound by allegiance share a similar destiny," Derek added with a disdainful snort.

Throughout the night, leading up to this incident, there had been other taunts exchanged, but this particular one was too much personal for Brad to bear. Up until that moment, he had gritted his teeth and strived to remain as composed as possible. However, he reached his breaking point and finally exploded.

"What ails you, Derek?" Brad demanded, his voice low and venomous, his eyes narrowing sharply.

"If you deem your noble lineage grants you superiority, you are sorely mistaken. We all begin as knighthood candidates, starting from the very bottom. Prove your worth and earn your rank. Only then may you flaunt your arrogance to whomever you please. Until then, get the hell out of my sight!" Brad thundered, slamming his fist onto the table with a deafening boom.

Everyone fell silent, and even the other guests of the inn turned their attention to the table. Derek turned red as a beet, feeling small and insignificant in Brad's towering wrath. He suppressed his curses, succumbing to tears like a petulant child. Elphered, ever composed and rational, attempted to soothe Derek, but his efforts proved futile. Turning his attention to Brad, Elphered sought to mediate and bring about peace between the two.

However, Brad remained resolute. "Elphered, remove your companion from my presence," He reiterated his decision, refusing to engage in further conversation.

With Derek and Elphered departing without a word, Brad gulped down a mouthful of wine, cursing himself for succumbing to his wrath so easily. It was a fleeting moment of fury fueled by his own pride.

The night of revelry for the four knight candidates abruptly came to an end, as their camaraderie was fractured by this altercation.

Once again, Derek found himself diminished in the presence of Brad's formidable figure. For the last three months, he experienced a conflicting mix of terror and admiration, simultaneously trembling in fear of Brad's unyielding presence while also being unable to despise him, for there was something captivating about Brad's essence that Derek couldn't quite define.

Over time, Derek's secret admiration for Brad's unwavering determination grew, and he quietly began to emulate Brad's actions. Perhaps, one day, he could undergo the transformation he had always yearned for, but he had yet to comprehend that such a change wouldn't come easily, especially at the beginning of their journey.

Deep down, Derek knew that he himself was an arrogant individual who needed to be humbled, but he couldn't bring himself to admit it. Lost in the shell of his ruminations, Derek contemplated, "How can a single man emanate such an overwhelming aura of intimidation? Is it the piercing intensity of his gaze, the thunderous resonance of his voice, or the imposing stature that commands respect?"

The truth about Brad remained an enigma to all, as an undeniable primal force lay dormant beneath his outward demeanor, patiently awaiting to be unleashed.

"Come now, Brad. Pay them no heed. They are mere gnats buzzing in our ears," Ismeth consoled, attempting to soothe his comrade's frayed nerves.

"We shall see what tomorrow brings, Ismeth. This altercation may have dire consequences," Brad replied, his tone apprehensive and guarded.

"What could happen? A mere scuffle won't lead to our expulsion. At worst, we may face disciplinary action. It won't unseat us from our steeds," Ismeth jested, half-serious.

Brad scowled at his partner's nonchalance, his expression darkening. "You underestimate the gravity of our situation, Ismeth. Life isn't kind to us, and I can't always shield you. I have no noble lineage to protect me."

"Is that so?" Ismeth arched an eyebrow skeptically, aware of the rumors that Brad was being closely monitored by high-ranking officials.

However, Ismeth had witnessed firsthand the grueling training Brad had endured over the past three months, with their drill sergeant showing no mercy. Brad had faced it all with tenacity and an unyielding spirit, even when no one had shown him any sympathy.

Brad fixed his penetrating gaze on Ismeth, his voice steady and controlled. "Didn't we crawl through the same mud together, Ismeth?"

The phrase held great significance for any knight, but for Ismeth, it carried even greater weight. Ismeth had caused Brad trouble and inflicted disciplinary actions that had led to Brad being punished. Despite it all, Brad had never complained and had always protected Ismeth. It wasn't just Ismeth that Brad had taken under his wing, but his duty to protect all those under his charge. In doing so, Brad had pulled Ismeth back from the brink of giving up and ignited a fierce determination in him to succeed in their candidacy exams. Ismeth knew he owed Brad an immeasurable debt and was willing to repay it by safeguarding his companion at all costs, even if it meant sacrificing his own life.

* * *

On the next day as the two knight candidates made their way to the Ninth Bridge Post for their morning dispatch, Brad's worst fear came to fruition.

"Curse our luck!" Ismeth exclaimed in frustration.

"This is no mere coincidence, Ismeth," Brad replied sternly.

"Aye, we're damned, Brad. There's no other explanation for being assigned to the wretched Southern Outpost Area," Ismeth lamented.

"Are you so naive, Ismeth? Derek had a hand in this," Brad whispered, scanning their surroundings. If he caught sight of the spoiled noble anywhere nearby, he might have beaten him to a pulp.

"Truly? Then Derek will pay," Ismeth vowed in a spiteful voice, surprising Brad.

Brad let out a bitter laugh, knowing his partner's forgetfulness in such matters. But he wouldn't forget, and he'd make sure Derek paid for his treachery.

In the distance, Derek sneered as he watched them, safe in his own company. The contemptuous noble's scheming was not lost on Brad, who could feel the hairs on the back of his neck rise.