A flash of lightning rolled over the darkened night skies, it’s loud crack reverberating all across the landscape.

‘What a downpour...’ She thought.

It had been raining for quite a few days now, and it did not seem like it would be stopping anytime soon.

She hoped for nothing more.

At least this way it felt like the world understood her pain. Like it had sent this rain as a form of showing her sympathy, of consoling her… Of weeping for what is to be her fate.

She had always liked the rain— it’s sound when hitting the roof tiles, it’s smell when drenching the ground… To others it might have seemed like something weird, or perhaps depressing, but to her it just felt mysteriously calming. Yes, to her, this rainy night would have been nothing short of ideal.

If only things had been different, by now she would have grabbed a big cup of hot chocolate and a nice book to read. She would likely do so in the attic, and she would certainly end up falling asleep. She would then wake up in the morning, covered by a blanket that she did not bring and hugging a pillow she did not remember having. Though they would definitely bear her mother’s scent.

‘Ah… If only things had been different...’

And so her thin fingers of alabaster reached for the old piano’s keys.

First it came a shy single note, almost smothered by the tapping of rain hitting against the windows of the room. Then it came a chord, and then two, three— a melody. A slow, sad melody that echoed throughout the halls of the estate. It’s notes were the words she could not bear to speak, their rhythm the feelings she could no longer suppress.

A few months had already passed since her brother had gone missing, it was unlikely that he would ever return at this point. She knew something must have happened, she even had her own suspicions as to what. But there was nothing she could do. Not her nor her sister, not anymore.

Her experienced fingers danced over the lustrous keys, pouring onto them all of that which she had kept hidden inside. All the things left unsaid, all the deeds left undone, all the mistakes, all the regrets… Deftly, she turned these feelings into song, a music born of her inner self.

Tomorrow is to be her engagement, hers and her sister’s. Come morning they will be taken away by that pathetic buffoon of a man— no, of a pig. They had been caught in a trap, one they were truly and fully unprepared for.

Her father had left for the capital with most of the estate’s knightage, then her brother took whatever men remained and ended up leaving as well. Although sir Gareth and Camille had stayed behind, there was hardly anything those two could have done, given the current circumstances.

“Iris…?” The lithe blonde called out her name, while walking down the stairs that led to the second floor. Her beautiful face was stained from leftover tears, her eyes moist and slightly swollen from crying.

“I’m sorry Alice, did I wake you up?” She asked, her tone soft and gentle, giving pause to her dancing fingers and ceasing the sorrowful melody. That blonde girl was her twin sister, Alice. A young, delicate girl, with platinum blonde hair and a figure that could be called the very definition of petite. It felt much like looking in the mirror, since the two of them are identical twins. The only difference being that Alice has a small mole under her left eye, while Iris has one under the right eye.

“No…” Alice muttered, while dragging her feet across the room. “I couldn’t fall asleep.” Sadness was evident in her silky voice, as she tried her best to show her sister a smile.

Iris understood her plight, since she herself had trouble sleeping as of late. The uncertainty of their fates weighed heavily upon their shoulders, threatening to crush them at any given moment.

It had already been a few months since the merchant caravans had stopped coming to the earldom… By now, most of their supply warehouses had been emptied, and the twins were starting worry about how they would keep themselves fed. Reports of missing persons, and of entire villages being massacred, kept increasing by the day. Fearing for their lives, the majority of the earldom’s populace had decided to flee for one the neighboring territories. Eastshire, which already had a low population to begin with, was now pretty much an abandoned land, where only those who had nowhere else to go remained.

Claiming that she was pregnant and that Leonard had fled to avoid taking responsibility, Aveline de Lance made use of her father’s influence to demand obscene amounts of money as a form of compensation, leaving the Taylor estate in the brink of bankruptcy.

After the King’s death and the prince’s disappearance, Duke Pryce ascended to throne. He now goes by King Bartholomew Pryce, and has vowed to protect the prince’s wife and daughters, as well as the throne, until the day in which he returns from his absence.

Lord and Lady Taylor, who had left for the capital many months ago, seem to have never actually reached their destination. The latest rumors say that their entourage was attacked by bandits. The Lord and the Lady, although still reported as being missing, are now presumed to be dead.

From all the servants the Taylor estate once had, now all but four remained. Sir Gareth, his daughter Camille, the young maid Annie and the cook Leila. And even with only those few servants, the girls could still barely afford to pay them. Things had changed much in the last few months…

“Are you not gonna play anymore?” Alice asked, sitting in a brown velvet armchair that stood by the window, crossing her legs in elegant manner— with all the grace expect of a noble lady.

“Do you want me to?” Iris offered her a warm smile, even though she too felt like crying.

“I… I just don’t want to be alone tonight.” A few tears dropped from Alice’s eyes, as she started hugging her own knees. That sight stung deeply at Iris’ heart. That her shy, yet ever so cheerful sister was now in such a state… And that there was nothing she could do or say to console her… It hurt. It hurt so much that she felt like her heart had been pierced by hundreds of needles.

“I see…” Iris muttered. She rose from the piano stool and made her way to Alice’s side, her delicate hands reaching for her sister’s, who offered no resistance in return. The two of them held hands in silence for a few moments, before she finally spoke. “Don’t worry, Alice. I will always be by your side.” She could not be sure, for she could not tell what their life would be like from tomorrow onward. It would be good if they could remain together, since suffering alone is much harder. But deep down, she wanted to fight, to say that they would not touch her— nor her sister, while she still drew breath.

Yet, she was afraid.

She had never seen battle, never taken a man’s life. Although she was confident in her spells, the same was not true for her body’s ability to fight. She was small and delicate, her muscles had never been trained and her soft, milky skin had never suffered so much as scratch. She had been sheltered for her entire life, protected by others from all the ugliness the world had to offer.

Although they were twins, she had always acted like a big sister towards Alice. She was always the stern one, the one who wouldn’t cry, the one who wouldn’t show weakness in front others…

But still...

… She was afraid. She could not help but be afraid. So afraid, in fact, that her thin, pale legs were trembling beneath her dress. Would she be able to keep that facade up? Would she be able to remain the big sister for much longer?

She too wanted to cry, she too wanted to be saved. But if she broke down and fell apart now… What would become of her sister? What would become of that frail little girl, quivering and crying before her? Her hands were so small, her arms so thin… It felt like they could break with the slightest touch. Was she too like that? She should be. Yes, her own hands were as small and her own arms as thin as her sister’s. Of course they were. They had always been. After all, the two of them were identical twins.

She felt helpless.

“We will find a way out of this.” She lied. There was no way out, she had already tried all she could. Come morning, the baron would arrive with his men and take them away, regardless of their will. He would even use force, if necessary. Actually, he would definitely use force, even if just to further humiliate them. That’s the kind of man the baron was.

“Hum...” Alice nodded, deep down she knew her sister was saying that just to comfort her. Still, it helped, even if only a little, to ease the sadness growing inside her heart.

Theirs was the house of an Earl no longer. Using Leonard’s disappearance, as well as some charges of mismanagement of the land as a pretext, the newly crowned king had stripped the Taylors of their title. The twins were then to be wed to baron Braumen, who had conveniently purchased their family’s debts to the crown. As for the tittle and rights to the land, those would be handed over to Aveline’s child, once he or she came of age.

A ruse, a carefully elaborated one, but a ruse nonetheless. The twins knew their father, mother and brother had likely been murdered. They couldn’t exactly say why, but it certainly had something to do with the king’s death, the prince’s disappearance, and the duke’s ascent to the throne. Only a fool would not notice a pattern in such events.

Their parents had likely voiced their opposition to the duke, and paid with their lives for it. Leonard, their brother, was probably killed to avoid someone looking too deeply into this matter. And now, it would be their turn to be silenced, with a marriage that was nothing short of a death-sentence.

Baron Braumen had been married for many times now, all of them to young girls. None of them had ever survived for more than a year or two, and it was highly unlikely that the fate of the twins would be any different. Everyone knew of the rumors about the baron— a maniacal sadist who liked ‘breaking’ young girls. Some even went as far as saying that he had a torture dungeon in his basement, where he kept his many ‘wives’.

“Young lady Iris, young lady Alice, I brought you some tea.” The one calling out to them was the maid Annie, a young woman with shoulder length chestnut hair and a homely air about her. She was holding a tray with two white porcelain teacups, filled by steaming hot and fragrant anise tea.

“Thank you, Annie.” Iris said, carefully grabbing one of the teacups from Annie’s tray. “I’m sorry to have kept you awake.” She had not requested for tea, but now that it had been served she would be more than glad to indulge.

“Thank you.” Alice did the same, trying her best to show a smile through her tear-stained face.

“It is my pleasure to serve you, young ladies.” The maid bowed politely. “Please go ahead and drink, It should help the two of you relax a bit.”

And so they did. Anise was, after all, one their favorite types of tea. And if nothing else, it would at least warm them up a bit.

But—

“Uh…What...? S-Sister… I’m getting kinda… Sleepy...” Alice’s eyes fell shut, as her body relaxed against the armchair.

“Annie… You…!” Iris gathered some mana in the palm of her right hand, readying an offensive spell. Alas, it was too late. All strength had suddenly left her body, her world falling into the depths darkness.

##

Within the confines of a poor lit room, the old man swung his sword.

How long had it been now? five years, maybe six? Perhaps a little more... It felt heavier than he remembered, but somehow, it also felt just right. Old age was a scary thing… He could hardly remember the last time he had reason to wield a sword.

Though masters could greatly increase their lifespans through the accumulation of aura, such achievements were never within his grasp. He might have been a knight, at some point, but he was also a commoner— the son of a local farmer, actually. He had never gone to a fancy military school, nor had the opportunity to train under a famous master. All he had was achieved through his own effort, through the blood and sweat that he shed on the field of battle.

As such, he had no choice but to retire once his age became too much of a burden.

‘It’s time to pass the torch to the younger generations, old friend.’ Or so his lord had told him, all those years ago.

The old man poised himself in an inside right guard. He took a deep breath and went for a thrust, then a step forward, switching to a hanging left and going for an upward strike. Finally, a classic high guard and a downwards vertical strike.

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

His shoulders and knees hurt a bit. It wasn’t weird, considering he was already sixty eight years old, and had been leading the life of a civilian for close to a decade. His aura also felt dim— not like it was ever that great, in the first place, but now… Well... It certainly felt like time had taken it’s toll.

Taking a minute to rest, the old man was overtaken by a wave nostalgia. The teachings of an old friend flooding into his mind.

‘Mana and aura are the two main energies used by the people of this world.’

‘Mana is used for magic, it exists in nature and within all living beings. The amount of mana one has is called their mana pool, it defines overall magical talent, as well as the kinds of spells that that can be used. Not everyone has the aptitude to use mana, though the aptitude is hereditary. If the parents have it, so will the child— to varying degrees. All nobles have the aptitude to use mana, even if some prefer to use aura instead. Having a strong mana pool is usually a symbol of true nobility, of a strong lineage of people that dedicated their lives to magic. It is, in a way, a badge of honor, and also the reason why nobles consider themselves superior to others. Needless to say, it also weighs heavily on the notion that nobles should only marry other nobles; though it is indeed true that if a noble with a high quality mana pool were to bear the child of a commoner with a poor quality one, the child would have either a mediocre mana pool or a low quality one.’

‘Aura is a much simpler subject to approach, at least when it comes to its concept. It is a manifestation of physical prowess in the form of energy. It can only be achieved through lots training and hard work, it is also considerably harder to master than mana. To develop aura, one is required to practice martial arts. Aptitude is not hereditary, since contrary to mana, no one is born with aura. Those who use aura often have healthier bodies and sharper senses. Having aura does not impede someone from also having a high mana pool, though if they will ever use that mana for anything— other than displaying their societal standing— is another matter entirely.’

‘Reaching a certain degree of mastery with either mana or aura can increase one’s life span to varying degrees, though mana usually comes ahead on that front.’

Someone knocked on the room’s door, breaking the old man away from his reminiscing.

“Father? I’m coming in.” The voice of young woman warned him, from the other side of the door.

Thus entered Camille, the young knight initiate. A fair skinned brunette with bluish gray eyes and a toned body, standing at about 174cm tall. She wore a white blouse under a short and tight jerkin, lace-up leather pants and thigh-high boots. A sheathed sword loosely hanging from her belt. She was the old man’s only daughter, his most precious treasure. He was already a little over forty years old when his wife gave birth to her, that was the happiest day of his life.

“Ah, Camille… Is everything ready?” The old man asked, breathing heavily and with sweat pouring down his face.

Camille nodded, handing the old man a towel. “Yes. I have seen to it that the girls are safe. Annie and Leila are caring for them.”

He took it from her hands, and immediately used it to wipe off his sweat. “I see… It’s almost dawn, you should leave soon.” He dismissed her with a heavy heart, for he wanted her to be as far away from this place as possible.

The young woman grimaced, her eyes moistening a little. “I… I wish to help you don your armor, father.” She pleaded, holding back her tears.

As an answer, the old man smiled. It was a warm, gentle, yet bittersweet smile. “Very well.” He sheathed his sword, then walked closer to his beloved daughter, presenting his body to her.

One by one she fitted him with the pieces of the armor, fastening their belts with great care along the way. It was an old armor, one that had seen many a battle. There were no signs of rust, but lots of old scratches decorated its surface.

No words were spoken by the young woman.

No words were spoken by the old man.

There was nothing to be said, for their eyes alone were enough to convey their feelings.

Once she was done helping him with the armor, she went for a shield that hung on the wall, at the back of the room. A heater shield, it’s left side white, it’s right side green. With the crest of an oak tree at its center, the crest of house Taylor— the crest of Easthire.

She could hold back no longer… A few tears escaped from her eyes, sliding across her face and dropping on top the shield, as she carried it towards the old man. She took a knee before him, presenting him the shield— as squire would to a knight.

He received it, still in silence. Then, he too knelt. His hands reached for her face, and tenderly caressed her flushed cheeks. He smiled. His eyes, like hers, were a little moist from tears. After a brief moment of parental love, he kissed her forehead and stood up to leave the room.

“Father…!” Camille shouted, making the old man stop on his tracks, right when he was about reach for the door handle. “You are my pride, what I aspire to be! Sincerely, and with all my heart, I wish you luck in the coming battle!” She yelled her feelings out to him, still on her knees and with head bowed, as tears pooled on the ground beneath her.

The old man answered with a nod, without ever turning his back to face her.

##

Alone he stood, at the crack of dawn.

His stance was proud and resolute, for there were no doubts left on his mind. No fear, no hesitation. Although the ceaseless rain drops felt like icy razors brushing against his skin, his face still bore a serene expression.

Under the cover of the night, his daughter and the two servant girls had sneaked the young ladies out of the estate. Leila had come from a family of hunters, so she knew of good places to hide and ways to avoid the checkpoints that the baron’s men had set up along the way. They would travel north, and hopefully, would be able to avoid their eventual pursuers for long enough to cross the borders and flee the kingdom.

The twins would have never agreed to this plan, since it would not only mean fleeing from the debts their family had incurred, but also abandoning those who still trusted them. They would be branded as cowards and traitors, just like what had been done to young lord Leonard. The Taylor family’s name would be dragged through the mud, and erased from the history of the kingdom.

Those two girls would have never accepted that, they would surely choose to suffer, if only to preserve the honor of house their house. ‘They are Taylors through and through…’ The old man couldn’t help but smile as he thought about them. ‘I’m sure that they will find a way to rebuilt the family.’

Yes… The old man believed in them. Given time, they would surely stand back on their feet, meet a good husband, give birth to healthy children, and rebuild the Taylor family.

And for that reason he had Annie sedate them. A powerful sedative made out of hemlock, bryony, and henbane, among other things. Something usually given to injured soldiers, to help them sleep through the pain of their wounds.

He knew they would curse him, that they would likely resent him. But he did not care. He had already lost the lord, the lady and the young lord. He sat back and watched, as others tormented the two young ladies, as they took away the Taylor’s fortune, and brought the Earldom to ruin. All because he was retired… Because he was too old to protect them.

And now… Now they wanted to force the young ladies to marry that disgusting pervert of a baron. They wanted to seal their fate with a marriage that would be nothing but a death-sentence. They wanted to put the final nail in the coffin of the family to which he owed so much.

They wanted for him to sit back once more, and watch as they broke the girls he had sworn to protect… The precious daughters of his lord.

But he would sit back no longer.

And thus he stood alone. Defiantly, like the light of the morning sun as it shone through the dark clouds of rain.

His enemies approached— fifty men, no less. The accursed baron was with them, riding in a covered wagon that was being pulled by two palomino horses. And with him was the traitorous Aveline, though now with a much larger belly— and a scarred face. She was likely already on her seventh or eight month of pregnancy, or so it would seem.

The old man knew he would not come out of this alive, he had never even intended to do so. He only wanted to stall for a little bit of time, so that maybe those five girls could gain some extra distance.

Perhaps it was a foolish thing to do, anyone in their right mind would certainly think so. They would say that by choosing to fight here, the old man would only be throwing his life away. That his would be a useless sacrifice, that it would have been better for him to have stayed by the girls’ side, and to have watched over them as best he could.

Yet, he could not bear to do it.

He could not bear the thought of these damned animals, ravaging the land that he so hardly fought to protect. The thought of them sullying the places that he loved, and all the memories he had made. He could not bear the thought of those who had taken away his lord, violating whatever precious things he still had left.

But above all else, he could not stand the thought of them doing so unopposed.

And so, there he stood—

For his honor, and for the honor of his lord. For that of lady Taylor, and for that of young lord Leonard. For the honor of the young ladies, may they be safe wherever fate may guide them. And of course, for the honor of his dear daughter, Camille. May she be able to find happiness, and live a long and prosperous life.

So, even if alone, let it be known that there someone stood. Someone bearing the crest of house Taylor, the Oak of Eastshire. Let it be known that there stood a son of this land, one willing to shed his own blood and sacrifice his very life to defend it.

Let it be known that there stood a lone knight, his figure so gallant and brave.

The old man readied his shield and unsheathed his sword, pointing it’s tip towards the approaching group of enemies.

“Halt.” Thus he commanded, in an austere tone. “Thread not forward, you curs. For ahead stands the Taylor estate, my Lord’s domain.”

An outburst of laughter followed the old man’s warning, the most noticeable one being Aveline’s shrill chortle.

“If it isn’t sir Gareth! Have you perhaps gone senile already?” Aveline waved at the old man, clearly mocking his act of bravery.

“I shall warn you one more time.” The old man said, holding his sword at the ready. “Thread not forward, least you wish to face my sword.”

Aveline frowned, retching as if disgusted by sight of the old man’s figure. “Yup, he’s gone senile… Boys~, go deal with this pathetic old fool.”

Five men approached him, all laughing and mocking the foolish old man he was. Two of them wielded halberds with both hands, one had a long sword and a round wooden shield. The last two wielded staves— two mages. His enemies had their guards lowered from underestimating him, and that would most definitely cost them their lives.

He moved, much faster than what should have been possible for his old body. First he would deal with the mages, the most troublesome ones.

All caught by surprise, they could barely react before the first blow had already been dealt. A shield charge, straight to the chest of one of the mages. The old man immediately followed the shield-charge with a forward thrust of his sword, piercing through the chest of that very same mage.

‘One down.’

A cleaving, sideways strike, came from one of the men wielding a halberd. A clumsy full swing, a pathetically telegraphed blow. But what else to expect from men that served under trash like baron Braumen?

The old man dodged the swing from the halberd with a back step, and rushed towards the last mage. He seemed to be conjuring something, but he was so pathetically slow… ‘Lady Iris and Lady Alice could both have cast such a spell in less than one tenth of the time that is taking for this sorry excuse for a mage.’ Not wanting to give him the opportunity to finish his cast, the old man unleashed a vertical slice, cutting trough the mage’s staff and belly— his guts immediately spilling forth. He howled pathetically, unable to endure the pain, but was soon silenced by another blow from the old man’s sword. This time, cutting his head off clean.

‘Two down.’

The man that wielded a sword and shield seemed a little panicked, as he came brandishing his sword erratically. The old man blocked the first and second blows with his shield, then parried the third and riposted with a thrust from his own sword.

‘Three down.’

A blow from one of the two halberds grazed his side, while he blocked an overhead swing from the other with his shield. That was a heavy blow, his shoulder and elbow keenly felt how heavy it was. Perhaps he really had gotten too old for this… Not that it mattered anymore.

The old man’s sword started to glow with a pale blue light, as he infused it with his aura. He poised himself into a back right guard, this would probably be the last of his strength.

He stepped forward with an explosion of speed, unleashing a sideways upward strike that cleaved through the body of the first halberd wielder. Using the momentum of his devastating blow, he switched to a hanging left guard and unleashed another similar strike, only this time it was downwards, cutting through the second halberd wielder.

‘Five down.’

He breathed out hard. His body was exhausted, he would likely no longer be able to fight. Old age was truly a terrifying enemy.

“Oooohh~! Bravo~♪, bravo~♪!” Aveline started clapping, as if the fight had been just a show to keep her entertained. “But you know—“

Following her words, came the sound of projectiles ripping through the air— making their way towards the target. One hit his left shoulder, one hit his right chest, two to hit his left tight and one hit his abs. Though his armor had managed to absorb some of the impact, all five bolts had pierced his flesh.

“— That you have no chance, right?” Aveline finished, as she gestured towards a line of crossbowmen. Five had already fired and were now reloading, five more stood behind them at the ready.

The old man did not answer her, he instead staggered back to his initial position. He had lost most of his strength, but his right hand still held tightly onto the hilt of his sword.

“Thread not forward...” He took a stance, as best as he could.

“You know… You’re kind of pissing me off.” Aveline jumped out of the wagon, with agility unbecoming of a woman so heavily pregnant. “You old fuck, who do you think you are to stand in my way?” Then, she stretched her right arm, hands open and palm pointed at the old man.

[“AIR BULLET”] She conjured the spell, and a greenish, apple-sized ball of energy flew towards him, at an incredible speed.

The old man reacted quickly, raising his shield to try and block the magical projectile.

A loud, metallic ‘klang’ echoed as the spell collided against the old man’s shield. Though he had managed block the impact, his left arm was now broken.

Without giving the old man a chance to recover his stance, Aveline advanced with a jumping knee kick, that struck right at the center of his chest— armor and all.

He almost fell, his right knee touching the ground, but somehow managed to endure by stabbing his sword into the ground— using his it to help support the weight of his body.

“Since you are being such a good little dog, let me tell you something interesting.” Aveline showed the old man a sadistic smile, while curling a lock of hair around the index finger of her left hand. “You know this lord you speak of? I killed him. I stabbed him in the back and then fed his body to the pigs.”

Delighted by the sound of her own voice, Aveline couldn’t help but lick her lips. “Your lady? She died with a smile on her face, while bouncing on top of some random criminal’s cock. On her last moments she was begging to be fucked some more. Can you believe it? That slut was cumming her brains out while being strangled to death!” She started laughing, maniacally, like always. “And your young lord? He died like a little bitch, begging for his life while I repeatedly shoved my dagger into his guts.”

She approached the old man, a dagger now in her hand. “And those twin loli brats? Oh~, you have no idea how many plans the baron has for them.” She poked out her tongue and gave the blade of her dagger a lick, all while maintaining eye contact with the old man. “He told me that he’ll start by removing their teeth, then he will amputate their arms and legs, since he has no need for those. Can you just imagine how cute they’ll look once he’s done with them~?”

“I see...” The old man muttered. There was no anger, no rage on his voice. If anything, he seemed relieved.

“Oh~, you seem rather calm… I thought you would start despairing right about now.” Aveline mocked him, walking even closer— just a few centimeters away.

The old man smiled. Though his strength was gone and his body was under immense pain, he had finally found his answer.

Thus, he stood up in order to face her.

“I am thankful.” He declared.

“Thankful, you say?” Aveline scoffed at his unexpected answer.

“Yes. I am thankful that you told me of their fates, so that I may wash away the shame you brought upon them.” The old man told her in earnest.

Aveline giggled in response. “What the fuck are you talking about, old man? Did you forget that you are surrounded?” She taunted him, both arms spread as if saying she had nothing to fear.

To answer her mockery, the old man raised his sword in a high guard, using even his broken left arm to hold its hilt. “Have you not noticed, child?” He asked, a peaceful smile on his face.

Aveline frowned in annoyance. “Huuuuhhhh~? You gonna try me, you old piece of shit? Boys, fire at will!” She shouted her command, but no bolts were fired by the crossbowmen.

Then, she finally realized, and a chill ran down her spine. Right now, at the angle that she was standing while facing the old man, her body was completely blocking the crossbowmen line of sight. A few of the baron’s soldiers, noticing what was about to happen, started running towards the two of them.

But it was already too late.

Though he should no longer have any strength left, the old man’s sword glowed once more with the pale blue light of his aura.

Aveline’s face went pale with fear, as she raised her dagger to try and parry the oncoming blow. “D-don’t, I’m preg—” She tried to plead, but the old man’s sword came down before she could; cleaving through everything in its path, until it was met with the ground.

“I am Gareth of Eastshire, knight of house Taylor.” The old man declared with pride. “Old I may be, but as long as I draw breath, none shall live that dare threaten my Lord’s children.”

And once more a barrage of projectiles ripped through the air.

##

‘Ah, my lord… ‘

‘Though unworthy, this foolish old man has taken revenge in your stead.’

‘Tell me, my lord, have I washed away all of your shame?’

‘Have I honored the position that you granted me?’

‘Have I... Fulfilled my duty as your knight?’

At that moment Gareth was smiling, for he was an old man no longer.

He was a Knight.

##

End of Chapter 1: The Knight of Eastshire.