The air around the Tree of the Condemned was suddenly pierced by a sharp, whistling sound. It cut through the tension like a blade, capturing the crowd's attention in a heartbeat. An axe, thrown with remarkable precision and speed, cleaved the rope that held Edgar aloft, sending him crashing down to the earth, his consciousness slipping away into darkness.
In that moment of chaos and confusion, a carriage burst forth from the throng of onlookers. Drawn by two powerful steeds, it cut a path through the crowd, its wheels churning up dust and debris. Inside the carriage, there were three unexpected saviors: Valleria, the girl with strikingly bright eyes, who had managed a daring escape from the castle's dungeon; her brother Darr, whose robust frame and keen gaze spoke of his resilience and sharp wit; and Turalon, a figure of undeniable strength and determination.
Valleria's eyes were filled with urgency and concern as she peered out of the carriage, watching the scene unfold. Darr, with expert hands, guided the horses, maneuvering the carriage with remarkable skill to reach Edgar. Turalon, ever the strategist, was already calculating their next move, his eyes scanning the surroundings for any signs of pursuit or danger.
As the carriage halted near Edgar's limp form, Turalon and Darr leaped out, their movements swift and coordinated. Turalon and Darr worked in unison to swiftly lift Edgar's unconscious form from the ground. With a sense of urgency driving them, they made their way towards the city's exit, the carriage wheels thundering against the cobblestone. Behind them, the chaos erupted into a frantic pursuit as about a hundred of King Ludrol's soldiers gave chase, their spears and arrows slicing through the air with deadly intent.
Darr, with the agility and reflexes of a seasoned warrior, parried the incoming arrows with his sword, creating a metallic symphony of clinks and clangs. Despite his skill, as they breached the city's boundary, an arrow found its mark, embedding itself deep into his chest. With a grimace of pain and determination, Darr deftly sliced the arrowhead off with his dagger, yanking the shaft through his wound. Ignoring the searing pain, he continued to drive the carriage, his grip on the reins unwavering, as if his body knew no harm.
Their escape was far from secured, as the king's guards relentlessly pursued them. The sound of horse hooves and shouts filled the air, creating a tempest of noise that seemed to chase the carriage itself. King Ludrol, standing amidst the tumult, was momentarily paralyzed by a cocktail of fury and disbelief. His face, usually a mask of composed authority, now twisted into an expression of incredulous rage. He couldn't fathom how his perfectly laid plans had unraveled so spectacularly.
The carriage thundered on, cutting through the open lands surrounding the city, the persistent clamor of their pursuers a constant reminder of the peril they were in. Darr, despite his wound, showed no signs of slowing down, his resilience shining through as he maneuvered the carriage with expert precision. The fate of Edgar, and indeed their own, hung in the balance as they raced against time and the relentless pursuit of King Ludrol's forces.
In the midst of their frenetic escape, Turalon reached into his cloak, withdrawing a small, luminous blue magic stone. This stone, a gift from the venerable magician Laryus, bore the engraving of a crescent moon, signifying its mystical origins and powerful capabilities. With a focused gaze and a voice resonating with arcane energy, Turalon invoked the ancient incantation, "Alan en dun." The air around them shimmered, and they were suddenly enveloped in a blinding cascade of light, a brilliant azure hue that seemed to dance and swirl with magical intensity.
In the blink of an eye, just as the king's guards were about to close in, the light reached its zenith, and in a flash, they disappeared, leaving behind a fleeting afterglow and stunned onlookers. The guards arrived at the spot only to find empty space, their prey having vanished into thin air.
The group materialized in the heart of the Slumbering Forest, amidst the hidden encampment that served as their sanctuary. The transition from the chaotic streets of Tuzmad to the tranquil forest was as abrupt as it was disorienting. Darr, still bleeding from his wound, was quickly ushered into the care of the camp's healers. They immediately set to work, their skilled hands applying pressure to the wound, cleaning it meticulously before dressing it with medicinal herbs known for their potent healing properties.
Meanwhile, Edgar, unconscious and unaware of the miraculous escape, lay on a makeshift bed. His neck, marked by the cruel embrace of the noose, was tenderly treated with an array of healing herbs. These herbs, gathered from the depths of the Slumbering Forest, were known for their restorative powers. The healers worked silently but efficiently, their hands moving with practiced ease as they applied poultices and healing salves to his bruised skin.
In the peaceful embrace of the Slumbering Forest, under the watchful eyes of Turalon and the skilled healers, Edgar and Darr found themselves in a haven, a sharp contrast to the perilous ordeal they had just endured. The camp, usually a hive of activity, was now a place of healing and recovery, a manifestation of the enduring solidarity and fortitude of those who had found sanctuary amidst its concealed depths.
Turalon and Darr's friendship had blossomed from a chance meeting in a bustling tavern on the outskirts of Tuzmad. Over mugs of ale and shared tales of adventure, a bond had formed between the two, stronger than any they had known. When Darr sought Turalon's assistance in rescuing his sister, Valleria, from the clutches of the king's dungeon, Turalon pledged his support without a moment's hesitation. Little did he know that this daring rescue would also lead to the unexpected discovery of Edgar, bound for the gallows.
As the light of the afternoon waned, Edgar's eyes flickered open, his senses gradually returning. Lying on a bed of moss and leaves, he found himself under the watchful gaze of Valleria. Her presence, a soothing balm to his jolted spirit, helped him gather his bearings. As he surveyed his surroundings, the familiar shadows and whispers of the Slumbering Forest enveloped him, a stark contrast to the dungeon's despair he had left behind. The relief of recognizing this hidden refuge was palpable, yet Edgar's mind teemed with questions about the miraculous escape and the uncertain path that lay ahead.
"So it’s true... The enemy of my enemy is my friend," Edgar spoke softly.
"Something like that. We need every willing person for the final assault," Valleria added.
"The final assault?" Edgar asked, puzzled.
"Rest first. You need to regain your strength," Valleria advised Edgar, leaving him alone to recuperate. Edgar drifted back to sleep and didn't wake up until the following morning, feeling ravenous. Tenzim seemed to have anticipated his hunger, entering with a substantial meal – a large piece of wild boar meat, freshly hunted by Tenzim himself, accompanied by fresh bread and a mug of wine. Edgar, forgetting all manners, grabbed the meat with his hands and devoured it hungrily.
Tenzim, slightly amused by Edgar's voracious appetite, understood that he hadn't eaten in nearly four days. He brought Edgar new clothes and a serpentine-bladed sword with a golden hilt, which surprised Edgar. He knew only one person who fancied such swords. Attached to the hilt was a note:
Edgar, Come to the Dwarf Lands, find me in Tazul. You’ll know how to find me once there. I need your help! - Marcus.
"Who is Marcus?" Tenzim asked, apologizing for reading the note.
"Marcus is my master. I was his apprentice for eight years," Edgar explained. "He taught me the ancient language, revealed some magic secrets, and the mysteries of this world. He needs my help; I must go!"
"I've prepared Lightning, your horse. I knew you would leave, and I intend to accompany you."
"Tenzim, I can't ask you to do more than you already have," Edgar said.
"You need my help, even if you are the hero of The Kingdom of the Sun," Tenzim replied with a hint of irony.
With a sense of urgency dictating their every move, Edgar and his companions swiftly prepared for the journey ahead. Provisions and water were gathered, and they mounted their steeds, each heartbeat underscoring the gravity of Marcus's summons. Edgar’s mind was clouded with frustration, lamenting the loss of the magic stone that would have granted them immediate passage to Tazul. He resolved that once in Tazul, with the rich resources of the magicians' library at his disposal, he would forge a new stone. Marcus’s expertise would be indispensable in this endeavor.
Their ride was swift, a blur against the landscape as they left their pursuers dwindling in the distance. Yet, for all the speed their loyal horses could muster, Edgar felt the weight of every passing moment. His thoughts turned bitterly towards the deceitful merchant who had swindled him, vowing internally to steer clear of such treacherous dealings in the future. Despite Turalon's stone, its power was limited, unable to transport them directly to Tazul. Edgar felt a nagging impatience; every mile traversed on horseback was a stark reminder of the time they could have saved, time that was precious in the face of the unknown challenges awaiting them in Tazul.
Their journey, a relentless race against the clock, had led them across the vast expanse of the Dion Plains. As the sun reached its zenith, the two weary travelers finally allowed themselves a moment of respite. They dismounted near a serene patch of land, where the grass seemed to dance under the gentle breeze. Their horses, grateful for the break, began to graze eagerly on the lush greenery.
Here, in the heart of the plains, the world seemed untouched by the turmoil that loomed over their quest.
As they sat down to eat, their meal was modest but nourishing. They shared bread and cheese, their conversation light but filled with the unspoken understanding of the journey that lay ahead. They still had about a day's travel before they would reach the Dul'Zare River, a natural landmark that marked a significant milestone on their path.
Their break was short-lived. With a sense of purpose renewed, they resumed their journey. The landscape around them slowly transformed as they approached the Dul'Zare. The verdant plains gave way to a more rugged terrain, and soon they were at the river's edge, facing the daunting bridge that lay ahead. The bridge, old and neglected, was a precarious crossing, its planks rotting and groaning under their weight. They crossed with deliberate caution, each step a calculated risk.
As dusk enveloped the world in its cool embrace, they decided to set up camp. The night sky, a tapestry of stars and soft moonlight, provided a tranquil backdrop to their campfire. Despite the weariness that clung to their bones, they found comfort in light-hearted banter. They spoke of many things – the adventures that awaited them, the challenges they had faced, and inevitably, the conversation drifted to the beauty of Princess Valleria. Her image seemed to bring a touch of warmth to the cold night, her grace and strength a topic that inspired admiration and affection.
"Believe me, the princess likes you," Tenzim teased. "She watched over you the whole time you were unconscious."
"It's just a kind gesture, Tenzim. Don't let your imagination run wild."
"Edgar, what does love mean to you?"
"Love is what some of us search for all our lives. It's what gave birth to our being and pushes us to the brink, making us do insanely passionate things for the one who has enchanted us... Love envelops us in a dizzying wave of harmony, transporting us to a realm where the fantastic and reality merge. Now, let's get some sleep!"
As dawn broke, the morning light painted the sky in hues of pink and gold. Edgar and his companion, having spent the night under the stars, set off once more. Their destination was the Land of Dwarves, a realm of mystery and ancient craftsmanship nestled in the heart of the mountains. Tazul, its capital, was a city renowned for its remarkable architecture and skilled inhabitants.
Their journey took them through rugged terrain, winding paths flanked by towering peaks, and valleys where the sun's rays seldom reached. As they traveled, Edgar reflected on the tales he had heard of the dwarves – a proud and hardy people, known for their prowess in mining and metallurgy.
Upon their arrival, they were greeted by a city that seemed almost magical in its construction. The buildings, crafted with exquisite detail, were indeed small, as if part of a miniature world. Each house, half the size of what they were used to, displayed intricate carvings and stonework, showcasing the dwarves' unparalleled skill.
However, the atmosphere in Tazul was different from what Edgar remembered. Gone was the open-hearted warmth that once characterized the dwarf community. The streets, usually bustling with activity, were eerily quiet. As they made their way through the city, they noticed dwarves hurriedly ushering their children indoors, locking doors behind them. Curious eyes peeked through narrowly opened windows, watching the two tall strangers with a mix of fear and intrigue.
Edgar felt a pang of sadness. In times past, the dwarves celebrated the arrival of outsiders, especially the "tall ones." Their city was a place of trade and camaraderie, where stories and goods were exchanged with joyful enthusiasm. But now, the air was thick with apprehension, the dwarves' actions speaking of a deep-seated fear.
What could have caused such a drastic change? Edgar wondered. Had some unseen threat cast a shadow over this once vibrant city? The answers eluded him, but one thing was clear – the Land of Dwarves was no longer the welcoming haven it once was.
As Edgar and his companion stood in the heart of Tazul, a solitary white pigeon circled above. Its presence was like a beacon of hope in the quiet, subdued atmosphere of the dwarf city. Edgar's eyes followed the bird's graceful flight until it descended towards them, revealing itself to be Loke, the renowned messenger pigeon of the wizard Marcus.
The pigeon landed on Edgar's outstretched arm, a small scroll attached securely to its leg. Edgar carefully unrolled the note and read aloud, his voice echoing slightly in the quiet streets: "Edgar, I am in the mansion on the hill!" The message was brief, but its implications were clear. Marcus, his old mentor, was close by.
They looked up to see a grand house perched atop a nearby hill. It towered over the surrounding dwellings, its architecture a blend of dwarven craftsmanship and an elegance that spoke of a different origin. Unlike the modest homes of Tazul, this mansion had a grandeur about it, with a door large enough to welcome even the tallest of visitors without the need to stoop.
They made their way up the hill. The mansion stood solitary, its presence almost imposing against the backdrop of the dwarf city. As they entered the seemingly deserted mansion, the sound of their footsteps echoed through the vast hallways. The interior was as impressive as the exterior, with high ceilings and walls adorned with tapestries depicting mystical creatures and enchanted forests.
Their initial impression of abandonment was soon dispelled when a little man, no taller than a child but with the features of someone far older, descended the stairs. His steps were measured, and his eyes sparkled with a mix of curiosity and caution.
The figure standing before Edgar was a middle-aged dwarf, well into his hundred and fifteenth year. His presence epitomized the remarkable longevity characteristic of his race, embodying the enduring vitality that dwarves were known for.
His appearance was marked by a lengthy beard that cascaded down to his waist, a symbol of wisdom and age among his kind. He was clad in a long, flowing robe that seemed to absorb the dim light of the room, adorned with intricate patterns and symbols that spoke of a deep connection to the mystical arts. In his right hand, he held a scepter, not just a symbol of authority but also a tool of magical significance. His small but piercing blue eyes scanned Edgar and his companion with an intensity that belied his small stature. This was Marcus, revered in Tazul as the most distinguished magician, a figure of immense knowledge and power.
Marcus's expression bore the weight of deep concern and unspoken troubles, yet his demeanor softened noticeably at the sight of Edgar. Here was his favorite pupil, the one in whom he had invested much time and wisdom. It was a reunion that brought a rare, albeit brief, respite from the burdens that clearly weighed heavily upon him. In Marcus's eyes, one could see a flicker of hope and relief, as if Edgar's presence alone had reignited a flame that had been dimming amidst the shadows of his troubled thoughts.
"Master Marcus! Forgive my late arrival, but I lost the stone you gave me."
"Forget the stone! To the west, a terrible army is gathering, ready to destroy the Land of Dwarves. The one calling himself the Lord of Demons has already destroyed five cities, and we are defenseless, soon to be mowed down like wheat."
"Our only chance is to immediately evacuate the city and head straight for the Kingdom of the Sun, where Lockdar will help us," Edgar suggested.
"It's too late, Edgar, we don't have time to get there. Over a hundred demonic knights are heading towards Tazul. Half the country is already devastated, it won't be long before we're invaded. Do you have the sword I sent you?"
Edgar, with a swift movement, drew the unique serpentine sword from its sheath on his back, presenting it proudly to his master. The blade, with its distinctive, sinuous design, shimmered under the dim light of the room. Marcus's eyes, initially lighting up at the sight of the well-preserved sword, gradually clouded with a tinge of somber reflection. He had harbored hopes that the sword, in Edgar's possession, would reveal or activate some latent power or significance, a rare miscalculation on his part. For Marcus, a sage seasoned in the ways of magic and foresight, such misjudgments were uncommon, and this one particularly stung, casting a shadow of disappointment over his usually keen intuition.
"Edgar, haven't you noticed anything unusual? Hasn't even a single sign appeared to you since you've been carrying this sword?" Marcus asked. "Everyone who has possessed this sword knew exactly what to do with it, including your father, the last bearer."
"What kind of sign should have appeared?"
Marcus himself didn't know the answer; he only knew that the sword was meant for people like Edgar and his father, but he couldn't understand why it remained dormant in the boy's hands.
Urgency gripped the air as Edgar and Marcus realized the pressing need to vacate the city with immediate haste. Their course was set for the enigmatic caves nestled within the formidable expanse of the Ice Mountains. Such a destination was chosen out of sheer necessity; the perilous journey to the Kingdom of the Sun, fraught with the risk of being intercepted by their relentless pursuers, rendered it an impractical choice. Marcus, with a tone laden with gravity, imparted that they had less than an hour before the arrival of the demonic knights in Tazul. This imminent threat hastened their preparations, instilling a sense of dire importance to their escape. The Ice Mountains, with their labyrinthine caves and treacherous terrain, offered a sanctuary, albeit a temporary one, from the encroaching menace that now threatened to engulf Tazul in its dark embrace.
"How do you know they will arrive in an hour?" Tenzim inquired.
As Marcus, with an air of solemnity and a wisdom born of years, raised his ancient scepter, he struck it against the ground, resonating a sound that seemed to echo through time. The scepter’s tip glowed, revealing a sphere of luminous crystal. Within this glowing orb, a startling vision unfolded – an imposing army of knights clad in sinister black armor, mounted on large, intimidating steeds of the same dark hue, was advancing towards Tazul with foreboding determination.
The scene within the globe painted a grim picture of the approaching peril. The knights' armor was a ghastly ebony, absorbing light as if made from the essence of the night itself, and their horses moved with a ferocity and speed that seemed unnatural, their eyes glowing with a malevolent fire.
Realizing the direness of their situation, Marcus turned to Tenzim and Edgar. Their faces, etched with concern, mirrored his own urgency. They knew they must act swiftly. The decision was made to convince the dwarven population of Tazul to seek refuge in the cavernous embrace of the Ice Mountains.
The mass evacuation was a spectacle of desperation and fear. About a thousand dwarves, their faces etched with anxiety, scurried hurriedly, gathering their most precious belongings. The urgency was palpable, as they had never before faced such a dire threat that forced them to abandon their ancestral homes. The dwarves moved in a hurried stream, a river of little people flowing towards the safety of the mountains.
Amongst them, the fear was almost tangible, each dwarf acutely aware of the strength and ruthlessness of their enemy. Rumors and tales of the black-armored knights' merciless conquests and the ruin they had brought upon several kingdoms circulated among the throngs, heightening the sense of impending doom.
As the procession of dwarves wound its way towards the mountains, a heavy sense of loss hung in the air. Their homes, their crafts, and their way of life, built and honed over generations, were being left behind, possibly never to be reclaimed. But the instinct of survival prevailed, and the dwarves pressed on, their faces set with grim determination, led by the trio of Marcus, Tenzim, and Edgar, who felt the weight of their responsibility to protect these innocent lives from the encroaching darkness.
The dwarves of Tazul, upon the urgent prompting of Marcus, Tenzim, and Edgar, plunged into a state of frenetic preparation. Their homes, once bustling with the everyday joys and sorrows of a peaceful life, now echoed with the sounds of hasty departure. They gathered their most precious possessions - a few handcrafted trinkets, heirlooms passed down through generations, and essential supplies - each item carrying a piece of their history and heart.
Parents clutched their children tightly, a silent promise to shield them from the impending chaos. The air was thick with a mix of fear and resolution, as families who owned ponies hastily saddled them, helping the elderly and the young onto the sturdy little mounts. Others prepared to travel on foot, their steps quick but heavy with the weight of leaving their homes behind.
As the procession of dwarves made its way towards the safety of the Ice Mountains, a dark plume of smoke rose ominously from the direction of Tazul. The knights in their black armor had descended upon the town. The speed of their arrival was alarming, and the devastation they brought was swift and merciless. The knights, finding their quarry vanished, unleashed their fury upon the deserted town.
Homes that had stood for centuries, bearing witness to countless stories of love, life, and laughter, were now being consumed by ravenous flames. The fire crackled and roared, devouring the wooden structures and artisanal workshops, leaving nothing but ash and sorrow in its wake. The streets, once filled with the cheerful bustle of dwarven life, were now ablaze, an inferno of vengeance wrought by the knights' hands.
From a safe distance, the dwarves could see the destruction of their beloved town. The sight of their homes, their memories, their very heritage being reduced to embers and smoke was heart-wrenching. Tears streamed down weathered faces, and children buried their heads in their parents' sides, unable to comprehend the loss.
Amidst the chaos, a solemn vow rose in the hearts of the dwarves – they would return one day, rebuild their homes, and reclaim their land from the ashes. But for now, survival was their only goal, and the distant caves of the Ice Mountains beckoned them with the promise of refuge. The journey was fraught with uncertainty, but united in their shared plight, the dwarves pressed on, led by the unwavering spirit of their protectors, determined to survive the darkness that had befallen their world.
Marcus produced a magical stone from his robe and handed it to Edgar. He explained that it had the power to astrally teleport him to only one place, the Kingdom of the Sun. He also mentioned they couldn't hide in the caves forever; their only hope was to seek assistance from Lockdar's army. Edgar and Tenzim used the stone to teleport and found themselves in front of King Lockdar Menums' castle. Tenzim was awed by the craftsmanship of Lockdar’s castle, significantly larger and more ornate than King Ludrol's, with numerous windows allowing sunlight to illuminate even the darkest corridor.
In the grand throne room of King Lockdar's castle, the air was thick with tension. The vast hall, usually echoing with the clatter of armor and the murmur of courtly discussions, was now absorbed in an atmosphere of solemn deliberation. At the center of it all, King Lockdar presided over the assembly with a regal yet troubled demeanor.
He was surrounded by the council of ten elders, each a paragon of wisdom and experience, their faces etched with the weight of years and the burdens of governance. Beside them stood the kingdom's ambassador, a man of diplomatic poise and keen insight, representing the myriad ties that bound the Kingdom of the Sun to its allies and neighbors.
Into this august gathering stepped Edgar and Tenzim. They approached the throne with respectful bows, aware of the gravity of the moment. Edgar, in particular, felt the king's gaze upon him - a mix of relief and mild irritation. King Lockdar had not received word from Edgar in three months, a lapse that was uncharacteristic of the young warrior, known for his diligence and loyalty.
King Lockdar's expression, usually a mask of stoic leadership, betrayed a flicker of concern. "Edgar," he began, his voice resonating through the hall, "your absence has been noted. The realm has felt the void of your sword and counsel." His words, though measured, carried an undercurrent of fatherly concern masked as a ruler's rebuke.
Tenzim, standing beside Edgar, shared a glance with his friend, understanding the complex dynamics at play. This was more than a mere update on their whereabouts; it was a subtle reweaving of trust and duty between a king and his valued knights.
The council members leaned forward, their attention fixed on Edgar, anticipating his response. The ambassador, too, regarded him with keen interest, aware that the actions of this renowned warrior could have implications far beyond the kingdom's borders.
In that moment, under the scrutiny of the kingdom's most powerful figures, Edgar knew that his words would need to convey not just his loyalty to the throne, but also the vital importance of the tasks that had kept him away. The fate of the kingdom, and perhaps much more, hung in the balance, waiting for his report.
"What happened? I haven't heard from you," Lockdar inquired.
"Demonic knights of that lord have destroyed Tazul's capital, and Marcus and the others are hiding in the Ice Mountains' caves. They need help," Edgar reported.
"I want five hundred knights to head to Tazul immediately and bring the dwarves here for protection," Lockdar commanded. Then, noticing Tenzim, he asked, "And who are you?"
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"My name is Tenzim. Former captain of Tuzmad’s army, now one of the four leaders of the Resistance."
"I've heard of you, a small army of mercenaries, barbarians, and bandits. If I'm not mistaken, the other leaders are your brother Turalon, Princess Valleria, and her brother Darr. If you ally with me, you won't need to hide in the Sleeping Forest like fugitives."
"How do you know all this?" Tenzim asked.
"Because Prince Darr and Princess Valleria have already accepted my offer, and now I await you and your brother to do the same."
"You need well-trained men... Why?" Edgar queried.
"Because fifteen thousand demonic knights are marching towards my kingdom, intending to reduce it to ruins," Lockdar revealed.
Tenzim, having struck a critical deal with King Lockdar, moved swiftly to execute his part of the agreement. His steps were purposeful as he made his way to the stables, where his loyal steed awaited, a silent witness to many of his clandestine journeys. Mounting with practiced ease, he set off towards the Slumbering Forest. His mission was clear - to relay the king's message to those hidden in the forest's depths, assuring them that the time for concealment was over, and they were now under the protection of the crown.
Meanwhile, Edgar stood in the resplendent throne room, amidst the king's most trusted advisors and warriors. The air was thick with strategies and plans, as they huddled around tables strewn with maps and scrolls. King Lockdar, a leader both revered and feared, presided over the discussion, his sharp mind dissecting every proposed tactic.
The defensive strategy revolved around the kingdom's army, numbering ten thousand brave souls. Yet, the gravity of their situation was palpable - a single demon possessed the strength of ten men, skewing the odds dangerously against them. The room buzzed with a mix of determination and underlying apprehension. Each man knew the threat they faced was unlike any other - a demonic force that required not just physical strength, but cunning, courage, and an unwavering will to protect their homeland.
Edgar, with his extensive experience and proven bravery, was a key figure in this council. His insights were crucial, his opinions sought after. As they continued to deliberate into the hours, plans began to take shape - strategies that would require every ounce of their collective skill and bravery to fend off the impending demonic onslaught.
Lockdar noticed Edgar's new sword and asked to examine it closely, remarking that he had seen it before. "Strange! I was certain your father destroyed this sword. The last time I saw him with it, he was in this kingdom's library, asking where to find a blacksmith to destroy the sword without damaging the hilt."
Edgar's face brightened with a possible clue. Apologizing for his weariness, he left the throne room and ascended the stairs to the second floor, leading to the kingdom's largest library.
Inside the vast room filled with hundreds of shelves and thousands of books, Edgar searched hastily among the history books, poetry, stories, magician's books, and more. Unsure of what he was looking for, he nearly gave up until he spotted on an old shelf near the exit a scratch resembling his sword. A large, thick-leather-bound book with a serpentine gold line akin to his sword's design caught his eye.
Edgar's fingers traced the stubborn spine of the book, his frustration mounting as it refused to budge from its place. In a fit of irritation, he struck it sharply. To his amazement, the book yielded, pushing back into the shelf with a soft click. A moment later, the shelf swung open, revealing a hidden room that seemed untouched by time.
Stepping into the concealed chamber, Edgar was immediately drawn to a table at its center. There, amidst a layer of undisturbed dust, lay a tome with a title that sent shivers down his spine: "The Stone of Xal'Nagus." Below the table, almost as an afterthought, sat a chest adorned with a golden lock, its secrets yet to be unveiled.
With bated breath, Edgar opened the ancient book to a marker that seemed purposefully placed, and began to read aloud:
"What you read now must remain a secret, as it has for thousands of years. Everything you know is but a lie. Mankind has been deceived throughout time. Reader, forget all that you know about the two gods, Nagus and Adunoss. They were never gods, just two highly skilled wizards. Nagus, the great wizard, introduced us to white magic. Envious, Adunoss created black magic, using it to grow much more powerful.
With his magic, Adunoss opened a portal to another dimension, bringing forth a demonic legion. He found a way to subdue them, giving him tremendous confidence in his powers, eventually leading him to war with the kings of the great kingdoms."
Upon learning this, Nagus created an artifact so powerful it gave him the strength to defeat Adunoss and the entire demonic legion. As Nagus neared the end of his time in our world, he transformed the artifact into a stone and then split it into two pieces. Exposed to sunlight, these pieces transformed into diamonds.
Edgar couldn't read further as the next page was torn. History seemed to be repeating itself. The Lord of Demons had found a way to open a portal to the demon world.
He needed to find those stones, but where? He had never heard of them; they could well be a myth. His gaze fell on the chest next to the table. Locked. He struck the lock with his sword in vain. Frustrated, he kicked the chest and dropped the sword. Picking it up, he noticed a key-like engraving on its golden hilt.
Could the sword be the key? He tried his luck. The tip fit perfectly into the lock, and as he turned the sword, the chest opened.
Inside was a grey magical stone with a sword plunged into the ground symbol. Beside it was a letter, which Edgar opened and read:
"Edgar... If you're reading this, your mother and I are no longer here. I'm sure you've read the page where I left a mark. Forgive me for hiding the missing page; it mustn't fall into the wrong hands.
This magic stone will take you to my crypt. There, you'll find the next clue. I'm sorry I couldn't be there for you. You have an important task now, for you are like me..."
It appeared his father had been leaving clues for years. But how to reach his father's grave? He didn't know its location, and the stone was useless without the magic words. Edgar left the library, certain he would find no more clues there. He returned to his room to rest, then ate in the castle kitchen, regaining strength for his journey.
With a sense of urgency, Edgar mounted Lightning and set his sights on Tuzmad. His journey was marked by urgency and caution, as he chose to bypass the treacherous Lymdor Desert with its chilling winds and merciless sands. As the days passed, each sunrise and sunset brought him closer to his destination, yet his provisions dwindled alarmingly.
Midway through his journey, the small village of Hallgrin emerged as a welcome respite. Edgar found solace at a humble inn, nestled at the village's heart. Here, he took the opportunity to replenish his dwindling supplies. While Lightning contentedly munched on fresh hay and quenched his thirst with cool water, Edgar savored a modest meal, the first decent food he had in days. The inn's warmth and the villagers' obliviousness to his identity provided a brief but much-needed respite.
Four days from his departure, Edgar's silhouette finally loomed on the outskirts of Tuzmad. The familiar landscape brought both nostalgia and a sense of foreboding. He noticed the kingdom had changed; there was an air of tension and suspicion. Wanted posters featuring his likeness were plastered across the city, each declaring a substantial bounty of two hundred gold coins for his capture. Navigating through the kingdom now required stealth and guile. Inspired during his stay in Hallgrin, Edgar disguised himself in farmer's clothes and a wide straw hat, disguising his features as best as he could, and delved into the heart of Tuzmad with a cautious yet determined stride. His business here was unfinished, and despite the risks, he was resolute to see it through.
He concealed his sword in a sack on Lightning's saddle. With his head bowed, he carefully navigated through Tuzmad's residents, avoiding recognition and capture. He left Lightning with a stablehand and headed towards the market, where all traders gathered.
Reaching his destination, he found the person he was looking for — recognizable by his bushy mustache and greasy hair. The merchant, not recognizing Edgar, asked what he wished to purchase.
"I'd like to buy a... magical stone!" Edgar demanded, pressing a dagger to the merchant's heart. Fear engulfed the merchant, his voice trembling as he pleaded for mercy.
"I've... sold it. I'm terribly sorry! Please, don't kill me!"
"Who did you sell it to?" Edgar asked, seething with anger.
"I don't know him, a stranger bought it. Please, have mercy, don't kill me. Here, take this," the merchant stammered, pulling a small black book from his pocket. "It's as valuable as your stone, teaching you to create your own magical stone."
"Fine, you might be spared. But if you even think of calling the guards like last time, my friends nearby will behead you," Edgar warned.
The merchant kneeled, hands raised skyward, thanking Xal'Nagus for his life, no longer daring to alert the guards.
Determined to recover his prized possessions, Edgar set his sights on the garrison's depot, the heart of the kingdom's military armory. The depot was a treasure trove of weapons and armors, a guarded fortress where the tools of war lay in waiting. His plan was to infiltrate this stronghold and reclaim his armor and the Phoenix sword, symbols of his prowess and identity.
Fate offered Edgar a fortuitous opportunity when he spotted a guard, heavily intoxicated, staggering out of a nearby inn. With a swift, calculated move, Edgar rendered the guard unconscious, a silent apology in his heart for the unsuspecting man. He dragged the guard to a secluded spot behind the building, quickly exchanging his clothes with the guard's uniform and armor, effectively donning a disguise that would grant him access to the garrison.
As he approached the garrison, the two lancemen guarding the entrance gave him no more than a cursory glance, allowing him to pass unquestioned. Inside, the garrison buzzed with activity, soldiers going about their duties, unaware of the intruder in their midst. A casual conversation with one of the soldiers revealed that the weapons of enemies were stored separately in the depot.
Edgar found the depot heavily secured, but his skills were more than a match for the lock that guarded the arsenal. Inside, he was greeted by a vast array of weaponry – hundreds of swords, armors, spears, shields, and axes.
His eyes scanned the room, finally resting on his armor. A wave of relief washed over him as he claimed it, but his heart sank when he realized his Phoenix sword was not among the myriad of weapons. The absence of his sword was a blow to his spirit, for it was more than a weapon; it was a companion in his journey, a part of his very soul.
Edgar, having retrieved his armor, concealed it along with his serpentine sword and old clothes in a sack. He left the room quietly, trying not to draw attention. Overhearing the garrison's blacksmith discussing the need to destroy several swords and shields, Edgar followed the blacksmith and his apprentice to their forge.
"Hey, you shouldn't be here!" the blacksmith protested.
"The captain sent me. My sword was stolen, and he said I could pick a new one from the forge," Edgar replied.
"Alright, take one from this table," the blacksmith gestured towards a selection of swords.
"What about that one?" Edgar pointed to his own sword, set aside.
"No, that one's reserved for the commander. He's looking for a good sword."
"I insist," Edgar said, drawing a sword from the table and pointing it at the blacksmith's throat.
As Edgar stood disguised in the blacksmith's forge, the keen eyes of the blacksmith and his young apprentice quickly saw through the ruse. They discerned that the man before them, clad in the garb of a guard, was none other than an imposter. Edgar, sensing the jig was up, lifted the helmet from his head, revealing his true identity. The revelation struck the men with a mix of awe and fear, for they stood before the man labeled as the city's most notorious outlaw, a figure both vilified and mythic.
Unperturbed by their recognition, Edgar brandished his sword with a confident smirk, challenging the apprentice with his gaze. "Go on, summon the king's soldiers," he dared, his voice echoing with a mix of defiance and resignation. The apprentice, visibly shaken yet compelled by a mix of duty and fear, scurried out of the forge.
In no time, the apprentice returned, not alone, but with a contingent of about twenty soldiers, their eyes gleaming with the anticipation of capturing Tuzmad's most wanted and claiming the substantial bounty that hung over Edgar's head. The forge, once a place of fire and metal, now became a stage for a showdown between a lone, formidable warrior and a band of soldiers, each driven by the allure of gold and the thrill of the hunt. Edgar, outnumbered but not outmatched, stood ready, his sword a glinting promise of a fierce resistance.
"Nedul'kin," Edgar uttered, holding out Marcus's magical stone. He teleported to the castle courtyard, retrieved his armor and sword from Lightning, and used the stone again to appear outside Lockdar's castle. If only this stone was as powerful as his lost one, capable of transporting him only within The Kingdom of the Sun or short distances.
Here, Turalon, Tenzim, Darr, and Valleria had arrived with their forces, preparing for the impending attack.
Inside the castle, Edgar donned Lockdar's gifted armor, attaching his cape and sword. Descending to the throne room, he found the four rebel leaders already consulting with King Lockdar. The king erupted upon seeing Edgar.
"I can't believe you risked your life returning to Tuzmad for a sword and armor. The Lord of Demons will attack in a few days, and you are to prepare the defense."
"Me? I'm sorry, Your Majesty, but I have other plans. You could appoint Tenzim; he was a captain..."
"I know who Tenzim was. What concerns me now is what matters to you more than the safety of this kingdom. What are your plans?"
"There are rumors of an artifact so powerful it can destroy all the demons in this world," Edgar said. "I could set out to find it."
"Yes, I've heard of it too," Lockdar replied. "There's a small problem... It's just a myth. If you want to chase fairy tales, be my guest. From this moment on, I revoke your title as the hero of the kingdom. Your recent foolish actions do not befit a hero."
"I'm sorry, Your Majesty, but my father left clues behind him, clues about this artifact..."
Lockdar didn't listen to anything else Edgar said, and even Turalon and Tenzim didn't believe it. Seeing he was being ignored, Edgar left the throne room and exited the castle.
Edgar held the enigmatic letter in his hands, its contents still a mystery, its origin shrouded in secrecy. He hesitated to speak of the clandestine chamber he had discovered hidden within the depths of the library, a room unknown even to King Lockdar. The letter, a relic he had unearthed in that very chamber, lay before him, its words whispering secrets of a forgotten past.
As he contemplated destroying the letter to keep its secrets safe from prying eyes, Edgar's attention was drawn to certain words that seemed to leap off the page, emboldened as if demanding notice. Intrigued by this subtle anomaly, Edgar approached a nearby merchant to borrow a pen and inkwell. With a steady hand, he traced the contours of the bolded words, underlining them meticulously.
The act of highlighting these words transformed the letter from a mere piece of parchment into a puzzle, its message hidden in plain sight. Edgar's mind raced as he pondered the potential significance of this discovery. Could these bolded words hold a key to unlocking the mysteries shrouded within the letter? The gravity of the situation weighed heavily upon him, for he knew that the information contained within this letter could alter the course of events, potentially influencing the fate of kingdoms.
"Edgar... If you are reading this letter, it means your mother and I are no longer here. I am sure you have already read the page where I left a mark. Forgive me for hiding the missing page, but it must not fall into the wrong hands.
The magic stone will take you to my crypt. There you will find the next clue. I'm sorry I couldn't be with you. But now you have an important task, for you are like me..."
It was clear that these words, arranged correctly, formed a message. He couldn't believe he was about to tear up the letter. He even managed to arrange those words, giving them meaning:
"I hid the missing page in my crypt. Read this letter alongside the magic stone."
Edgar took out the magic stone he had taken from the chest in the library. As he brought the magic stone close to the letter, under his father's message, the following words appeared in golden letters: "Ua' dum en tan!"
It was clear these were the magic words to activate the stone and teleport him. Without hesitation, he spoke the words. A grey dust surrounded Edgar, making him disappear.
Moments later, he found himself in a round, dark chamber. He found a torch and lit it, beginning to explore the room. It seemed to be built entirely of stone and without any exit. In the center, on a stone table, lay a marble coffin.
He wanted to put the magic stone in his pocket but noticed that in his hand was now only ash. The stone was created to be used only once, it seemed. Fortunately, he had with him the stone given by Marcus, which teleported him to The Kingdom of the Sun.
With trepidation, he opened his father's coffin, and to his surprise, it contained only a rusty sword and a piece of paper. He took the paper and read it aloud:
Although the two diamonds are no longer one, they remain just as powerful. One of the diamonds is hidden in the Land of the Dwarves, protected by them for hundreds of years. The second diamond is in the Kingdom of the Sun, known only to the reigning monarch, information passed from father to son.
Whoever succeeds in uniting the diamonds will enjoy the power of one alone. A power so great, it had to be hidden from us mortals.
Edgar understood. The Land of the Dwarves was attacked for one reason, the same reason the Kingdom of the Sun would be attacked. The Lord of Demons knew about these diamonds and wanted to seize them. Clearly, he feared someone using them against him, thus halting his ascent.
But why had Lockdar denied such a thing? He made Edgar look like a fool who believed in children's tales. He humiliated him in front of his friends, stripping him of his title as hero of the kingdom. The title didn't matter much to him, but he eagerly wanted to know the king's reason for lying about something so important.
As Edgar gazed upon the ancient sword resting in the coffin, a sense of wonderment filled him. Despite its rusted condition, it bore an uncanny resemblance to his own blade, both named Phoenix. The similarity was not just in name; the ore from which it was crafted appeared identical to that of his sword. Such a striking coincidence left Edgar pondering the deeper connection he might have had with his father, a connection he had been unaware of until now.
Compelled by curiosity and a sense of inheritance, Edgar carefully lifted the sword from the coffin. As he held it, he felt a strange connection, as if the sword was an extension of his own history and destiny. The rust on its surface spoke of age and neglect, but the craftsmanship and material hinted at a legacy that was intimately tied to his own.
Without lingering on the baffling questions of how he could have unknowingly replicated his father's sword, Edgar used his magic stone to teleport back to the Kingdom of the Sun. The weight of the sword in his hands was a tangible link to a past he was only beginning to uncover. Upon his return, he sought out the blacksmith, handing over the ancient Phoenix sword with a request to restore its former glory. He asked the blacksmith to carefully remove the layers of rust and to sharpen the blade, hoping to revive the sword's lost splendor.
Edgar strode into the grand throne room, where King Lockdar, deep in consultation with Tenzim, his newly appointed army strategist, paused their discussion as Edgar approached. Ignoring the customary protocol of kneeling, Edgar assertively laid a crumpled paper on the polished surface of the council table. It was the mysterious document he had discovered in the secret chamber.
The king's keen eyes quickly scanned the contents of the paper, his expression a mix of curiosity and concealed knowledge. Sensing Lockdar's silent inquiry about the paper's origin, Edgar chose to remain silent. The silence between them was heavy with unspoken understanding; it was clear to Edgar that Lockdar had long known the whereabouts of a crucial diamond, a secret now shared by Edgar as well.
Edgar's mind traced back to a long-past memory. Years ago, when Lockdar was merely a prince, he had commissioned an old blacksmith to forge a magical sword. Only now did Edgar piece together the puzzle – the enigmatic power of Lockdar's sword wasn't just due to its indestructible nature. It was more profound; whoever wielded the sword was bestowed with extraordinary powers, far beyond the capacity of an ordinary man.
The revelation cast a new light on Lockdar's ascent to power and the unusual victories he had achieved. The sword was no mere weapon; it was a conduit of immense magical strength, possibly linked to the very diamond Edgar now knew about. This understanding brought a mix of awe and wariness to Edgar. He realized the depth of the game being played within the kingdom's walls and the power dynamics that extended beyond mere politics or strategy. This was a game of ancient magic, legacy, and hidden truths – a game that Edgar now found himself an unwitting yet pivotal player in.
His uncle had somehow embedded the diamond into that sword, and King Lockdar always enjoyed its power. He could now explain the king's superhuman ability to fight five or six enemies at once.
"The diamond is hidden where no one but I knows. I had to poison the only other person who knew," Lockdar said in a fit of rage, unaware that Edgar had realized where the diamond was hidden.
In an instant, Edgar's world seemed to crumble beneath him, his footing unsteady as a torrent of fury and hatred engulfed him, all aimed at King Lockdar. The man he had trusted and looked up to for over a decade now stood before him, draped in the shadows of betrayal and deception. The revelation that Lockdar, his mentor and confidant, was responsible for the death of his beloved Uncle Falo, shattered something fundamental within Edgar.
The memory of Falo's last days came flooding back. To shield Edgar from the harsh reality and potential dangers that lurked in the kingdom, Falo had masked his suffering, claiming it to be a prolonged illness. Now, understanding the dark truth, Edgar's eyes blazed with an intense hatred, a silent scream of betrayal that didn't escape Lockdar's notice.
Lockdar, sensing the seismic shift in Edgar's demeanor, read the unspoken accusations in his once-loyal protégé's eyes. A flicker of uncertainty crossed his regal face, as he pieced together Edgar's newfound knowledge. He had always feared this day might come - the day when Edgar would uncover the grim reality behind his uncle's demise. Yet, he was unprepared for the raw intensity of Edgar's wrath, a testament to the deep bond Edgar had shared with Falo.
In that charged moment, the throne room became a silent battleground of unspoken truths and broken trusts, with Edgar standing on one side, his soul ablaze with the fires of vengeance and betrayal, and Lockdar on the other, cloaked in the shadows of his own making.
"You murdered my uncle, you criminal!" Edgar exclaimed, drawing his sword.
"I did what I had to at that time. Now, put down your sword, you're aware you don't stand a chance against me. What are you planning to do? The Lord of Demons wants you dead, so does Ludrol, do you want me to wish the same?"
"No! I'll make you wish you never hurt someone dear to me," Edgar shouted.
In a fleeting moment charged with raw emotion, Edgar sprang towards King Lockdar with a ferocity born of betrayal. His blade sliced through the air, aiming for the king, but Lockdar, with reflexes honed by years of combat, evaded just in time. Edgar's sword crashed down with such force that it shattered the royal throne, splinters of wood flying in all directions.
Lockdar, now standing, unsheathed his own sword in a swift, fluid motion, meeting Edgar's wrath with a defensive stance. The throne room was filled with the resounding clash of steel as Edgar, fueled by a tempest of anger and grief, engaged Lockdar in a relentless battle. Each strike and parry was a dance of rage and desperation, their swords weaving a deadly ballet in the grand chamber.
The cacophony of their duel drew the attention of Turalon, Valleria, and Darr, who burst into the room, their expressions turning to shock and disbelief. They stood frozen at the doorway, witnessing the king and Edgar locked in mortal combat. The air was thick with tension, and the sound of clashing steel reverberated off the walls, underscoring the gravity of the betrayal that had led to this moment.
This was no mere duel; it was a clash of ideals and broken bonds, a fight that went beyond the physical realm into the very hearts of those involved. Edgar's strikes were more than just physical blows; they were the manifestation of his shattered trust and the pain of deception, while Lockdar's defense was not only against Edgar's sword but also against the collapsing facade of the relationship he had built with his once-trusted protégé.
As the fierce duel intensified, King Lockdar, his eyes ablaze with determination, commanded his guards to stand down. "This traitor will fall by my hand alone!" he proclaimed, his voice echoing through the throne room. The king and Edgar continued their violent dance, swords clashing with a ferocity that spoke of deep-seated enmity and shattered loyalties.
In a pivotal moment, the king's sword, imbued with the unparalleled strength of the diamond, unleashed a devastating blow. Edgar's once formidable sword, known for its resilience and might, met its demise, cleaved cleanly in two by the unstoppable force of Lockdar's blade. The disparity in power was evident, the diamond in the king's sword rendering Edgar's weapon utterly powerless, a mere plaything in the face of such overwhelming might.
The king, seizing the advantage, struck again. His blade, sharp and unyielding, tore through Edgar's armor with ease, inflicting a grievous wound. Edgar felt a sharp pain, a warmth spreading across his chest as blood soaked his hand. He stumbled, his legs giving way beneath him. The world spun as he fell, his vision blurring. A coldness crept over him, a stark contrast to the warmth of his blood. Life seemed to ebb away from his grasp, his consciousness fading into darkness. Never in his life had he experienced such a profound injury, a wound not just of the body but of the soul, as he succumbed to the overwhelming might of King Lockdar.
As consciousness returned to Edgar, he found himself amidst an ethereal battlefield, a dreamlike vista unfolding before him. He stood in a vibrant field adorned with flowers of every hue, their delicate petals swaying gently in the breeze. Arrayed in front of him was a formidable army of demonic knights, their armor black as night, eyes glowing with malevolence. Behind Edgar, an unlikely battalion of common folk stood ready, gripping simple weapons like pitchforks, axes, and wooden spears with determination in their eyes. This scene, so vivid and surreal, was not new to him; it was a recurring dream from his childhood, a vision that had haunted and inspired him in equal measure.
The following morning, Edgar's eyes fluttered open to the familiarity of his room. He was no longer on that dreamy battlefield but instead surrounded by the comforting faces of Turalon, Tenzim, Valleria, and Darr. They watched over him with evident concern and relief. His chest, where the king's blade had struck, bore the marks of expert healing, attended to by the kingdom's most skilled healers. Their skilled care, a clear demonstration of their adeptness in the healing arts, was evident in the meticulous treatment Edgar received. Edgar, still gathering his thoughts, realized the depth of his friends' loyalty, standing by him through his darkest hour and aiding in his recovery.
"Edgar, you need to leave here as soon as possible," Princess Valleria said. "The king thinks you're dying, so he'll leave you here to live out your final hours."
"Still, we don't understand how you recovered so quickly. The wound closed on its own. Such a wound should have killed you," Turalon remarked.
"I've never seen anything like it; it's impossible for a wound like this to heal itself so quickly," Darr added.
Under the cloak of twilight, Edgar, aided by Turalon, Valleria, Tenzim, and Darr, made his way out of the castle. His movements were labored, the recent wound still tender, compelling him to rely heavily on Turalon's steady arm for support. The group was acutely aware of the danger their clandestine departure posed, yet their resolve to assist Edgar remained unshaken. They navigated the castle's dimly lit corridors with cautious steps, reaching the stables where Lightning, Edgar's faithful steed, awaited.
The quiet atmosphere of the stables was suddenly punctuated by the arrival of the blacksmith, bearing in his hands the Phoenix sword that Edgar had left for restoration. The sword, once dulled and rusted, now shone with a renewed brilliance, its edges honed to perfection, reflecting the first rays of dawn in a dazzling display. The blacksmith's skilled craftsmanship had breathed new life into the ancient blade, restoring its legendary magnificence. Edgar, mustering a nod of gratitude, gingerly took the sword, feeling a renewed sense of purpose as he gripped its familiar hilt.
"You won't believe it, Sir Argyle, but as soon as I brought it near the fire, it began to shine like a star," the blacksmith exclaimed. "There was no need to clean off the rust or sharpen it. I've never seen such a marvel in my life."
The blacksmith, with a knowing glance, extended the gleaming Phoenix sword towards Edgar. As Edgar's fingers wrapped around the hilt, a surge of inexplicable energy rippled through him, emanating from the sword and permeating his entire being. The sharp pain that had been a constant reminder of his recent wound now dissipated, leaving him bewildered and invigorated. For a moment, Edgar stood there, marveling at the sword, feeling an unearthly power that defied all logic. Could it be that this sword, reforged and reborn, possessed magical properties? The very idea seemed far-fetched, yet the evidence lay in his grasp. Such enchantment, he mused, could only be attributed to the legendary art of diamond forging, a craft shrouded in mystery and lore.
With a nod of gratitude to the blacksmith and a solemn farewell to his loyal companions, Edgar mounted Lightning. His mind was fraught with uncertainty, pondering his next steps in a world now fraught with formidable adversaries: the nefarious Lord of Demons, the once-trusted and now treacherous King Lockdar, and the ruthless King Ludrol. Each posed a grave threat, not just to Edgar but to the realms he had vowed to protect. As he rode off, the dawn's early light casting long shadows on the path ahead, Edgar's resolve hardened. He knew that the road before him was fraught with peril and uncertainty, but armed with his mystical sword, he felt ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead.
"It's impossible to heal from such a wound," Tenzim commented as Edgar rode away.
"You're right. That wound should have killed him instantly. I've seen men die from far less severe injuries," Turalon added.
Prince Darr and Princess Valleria remained silent, knowing something Turalon and Tenzim did not.
For two arduous days and nights, Edgar journeyed through the untamed wilderness, his heart heavy with thoughts of betrayal and disillusionment. As he emerged from the dense forests, the quaint village of Hallgrin came into view, its rustic charm offering a stark contrast to the turmoil within him. Hallgrin, a humble settlement nestled in the embrace of nature, seemed an ideal refuge for a weary soul seeking respite from the relentless tides of war and the broken oaths sworn to kings unworthy of loyalty.
Despite the allure of starting anew in this peaceful haven, Edgar knew that his journey was far from over. There remained a score to settle with King Lockdar, a confrontation that loomed over him like a dark cloud. His thoughts were conflicted; part of him yearned for the tranquility that Hallgrin promised, while another part was driven by a sense of unfinished duty. The weight of the Phoenix sword at his side served as a constant reminder of the path he had yet to tread.
As he rode through the village's narrow streets, Edgar's gaze fell upon the simple life of its inhabitants, unmarred by the intrigues of thrones and crowns. Here, farmers toiled under the sun, children played in the fields, and the elders shared stories under the shade of old trees. It was a life Edgar longed for, yet he knew it was not yet within his grasp. His battle with Lockdar was inevitable, a final chapter in his saga that needed closure before he could consider a life of peace.
With a sigh, Edgar decided to spend the night in Hallgrin, gathering his strength and resolve for the confrontation that awaited him. As the sun set over the village, casting a warm glow on the thatched roofs, Edgar contemplated his next move, torn between the desire for vengeance and the longing for peace.
"Wait until he finds out I wasn't dying. He'll lose his mind. No one who ever pointed a sword at him lived to see another day. I hope the four find a good enough explanation for my escape."
Hallgrin, nestled between the simplicity of Dornaran and the bustle of Tuzmad, was a village where life unfolded in harmonious rhythms. Here, the villagers diligently worked their lands, their hands shaping the earth and tending to animals, while artisans crafted goods imbued with the essence of their labors. The air was filled with the earthy scent of fields and the soft clinking of tools against wood and metal.
As the sun stretched its early morning rays across the village, children spilled into the streets and fields, their laughter and shouts filling the air. They played tirelessly, brandishing wooden sticks as swords, each one lost in fantasies of knighthood and grand adventures. As evening hues painted the sky, they would return home, bellies rumbling with hunger, only to dash back outside after a hasty meal, resuming their playful battles under the watchful eyes of stars.
Edgar, now a stranger in this idyllic village, felt the pang of hunger gnawing at him. His journey had left him penniless, and the last of his provisions had been consumed on the road. Wandering through the village, his gaze landed on an elderly man sitting serenely at his doorstep, his face etched with the wisdom of years. Approaching with a mix of hope and humility, Edgar greeted the old man and inquired if there was any work to be found in Hallgrin. His voice betrayed his need, yet he stood tall, the dignity of a knight undiminished even in his time of need.
"Good day! I'm new around here and looking for work. Do you know anyone who might need an extra hand?"
"Good day to you too, young man! You should speak with blacksmith Liam. I know he urgently needs an apprentice. You'll find his forge at the end of the village."
Edgar thanked the old man and headed towards Liam's forge with Lightning. He hoped to be accepted as an apprentice, given his familiarity with the trade – his uncle had been a blacksmith and taught him a few things. He finally reached Liam’s forge, where Liam seemed to be busy making horseshoes. Liam's cold tone upon seeing Edgar was disheartening. Edgar explained he was looking for a job and mentioned his skills in sword forging, learned from his uncle.
Liam sized up the young man. A tall, sturdy man of about forty-six with black, graying hair and a thick black beard, he looked more like a monk than a blacksmith. Liam was hesitant to take on the young stranger as an apprentice.
"I'm sorry, boy. I can't employ someone who's not from around here. You could be a thief, a criminal..."
"But I'm not. Well, if you don't want to give me a job, I'll try elsewhere."
"I'm sorry! No one here will give you work. Our village rule is to employ only locals. To become a resident of Hallgrin, you first need a place to stay and then the approval of the village's key figures."
"Who are these key figures? Where can I find them?"
"There are three. One is Garlin, the owner of the Cunning Fox Inn. The second is Arlam, right-hand man to farmer Anadin. You can find Arlam in the market, he's always got something new for sale."
"And the third?"
"I am the third. You'll need to prove to us that you're not a thief. To convince us, you'll have to work for us for a while, unpaid."
Edgar chuckled to himself, thinking of how shrewd these folks were. He was happy to spend his time here, hoping to become a resident of the village for a while. Liam agreed to provide him with shelter and food for the duration of his unpaid work, which greatly pleased Edgar.
The first thing Edgar needed to prove was that he wasn't a criminal. So, he didn't reveal his real name, instead telling the blacksmith that he was called Damyen. Given the bounty on his head, he couldn't risk exposing his true identity.
Liam showed him to the room where he would sleep, advising him to rest up for the next day's work. Edgar entered the room with small steps and ate some soup prepared by the blacksmith. Before extinguishing the lantern and going to sleep, he unwrapped the bandages from his chest. To his astonishment, the wound had completely healed, leaving behind only a barely discernible scar. He couldn't believe how quickly he had recovered. He had been injured before, but he had never experienced such a miraculous recovery.