"If thou art reading these words, it can only signify one of two things: thou art a foolish dreamer who seeketh to inflate thine ego by becoming a legend of songs and epic chronicles, like many others before thee, or thou art like unto myself, a different kind of naïve and innocent soul, born with the path of the Way flowing within thy blood.
"If thou belongest to the first group, this book is not for thee. Close it, forget it, and never open it again. But if thou belongest to the second, as I am certain thou dost, then proceed forthwith.
"The Way is not merely a manual for the warrior; it is a way of life that aligneth thee with the nature of all things. It leaveth no room for concern over the 'forging of legends' and other trifling concepts, insignificant to the invisible and immortal forces that govern this world.
"...".
Amethyst eyes read with concentration the words of a yellowed page floating in front of him like a surreal specter.
"...
"For the true legend is one that begins without intending to be a legend. It is the legend that is sown like a seed within the heart and sprouts in a sea of infinite spirals beyond mortal comprehension and the understanding of their gods. There is no legend more legendary than the one thou inscribest within thyself with the edge of its spirit.
"That is the legend of legends, the most supreme and authentic legend of legends, the true legend of legends, the noblest and primordial of legends. The mother legend of today's legends, the legends of yesterday, the legends of the day before yesterday, the legends of the day after tomorrow, and the legends of the day after the day after tomorrow... I reckon with this thou canst grasp the notion of legends.
"...".
"As the years go by and I reread this segment, my initial conclusion is reinforced: my Master wrote it while drunk…" judged his reader out loud, with a chivalrous voice befitting his armor, black as coal, covering his entire body. He was barely illuminated by the light of his "book," projected by an orange gem he held in his right hand, and the flame of his small torch, which he held in his left. A helmet with three straight and short vertical horns completely concealed his face; his eyes were barely visible due to the darkness of its slits.
"...
“Wilt thou be able to reach the end of the Way?"
With that eloquent question, the introduction of the extensive text came to an end.
A small detonation to his right caught the knight's attention; his violet cape and the sheath of his sword shook slightly as he turned towards its origin. He observed a black whirlpool with flashing discharges at the center of a crystalline mirror embedded in the walls of a cave.
At last... I swore it would be summoned faster.
The knight placed the torch in a nearby holder, letting go of it. Then, he closed his "book," stowed it in a special case, and stood centimeters away from the generated portal.
"When thou striketh as swift and potent as a lightning bolt.
"When thou learnest to meld with shadows and silence, to flow with thine surroundings like a stream of wind.
"When thine heart and warrior spirit burneth like fire, yet thine mind remaineth ever calm and serene like the waters of a lake.
"At that moment, thou shalt be solidifying thy progress upon the Way, and it shall be thy signal to return. The gate of the mirror shall open unto thee, and by invoking its power, thou shalt have to cross.
"Beyond it, the journey to the end of the Way awaiteth thee."
Vividly, that other excerpt from the book appeared in his memories, which he had memorized perfectly for years.
The time has come.
The knight swallowed saliva and, with a short leap, entered the portal.
Electric flashes in a dark tunnel flickered and dazzled him from all directions, feeling as he was propelled forward with a strong and straight pull aimed at a distant light on the horizon. He couldn't move a muscle, but he sensed how the distance to the light was rapidly closing, as if the space between both ends was folding and merging like a sheet of paper.
Before he realized it, he landed, squatting on the other side of the mirror. As he stood up, he found himself in a similar but smaller cave, illuminated by narrow straight fissures that allowed sunlight from the outside to enter.
Incredible! It was exactly as described! the knight thought, still amazed that the powers of that mirror were genuine. Now I just have to see if it took me to the city of Cirencre... The first thing I should see is that grand dome according to the manual.
He approached the fissures, which formed a doorway. To the left of it, there was a small rectangular panel. The knight pressed it with the palm of his left hand, and soon it began to glow with a faint bluish light. The ground shook a little. Sliding slowly, the hidden door began to open. The knight was bathed in countless rays of sunlight that made his armor gleam.
"Phew!" he emitted a short whistle as he exited the door and marveled at the elevated and magnificent perspective granted by the hill where he stood.
Cirencre, a city of beautiful multi-story stone and brick houses, observation towers, and a huge marble cathedral in its center. A wide dome protruded from almost its entire front end, with a bronze wheel at the pinnacle. To the east of the city, an extensive harbor could be distinguished, with several sailboats docked at its piers.
"It's... fantastic," the knight murmured. The door behind him closed again, blending with a small rock behind him. It's more beautiful than I imagined…
Encouraged, the dark knight began to descend the hill, following a path through a park with lush vegetation that led him to one of the city's cobblestone streets. The crowds around him moved aside as he passed, observing him with astonishment and extreme caution, especially noticing the intricate white diamond-shaped pattern on his violet cape. The knight was too distracted admiring the architecture of the buildings to notice this strange behavior.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
Along his way, he reached for a canteen hanging over his right shoulder.
Damn it... I forgot to fill it at the waterfall before coming, he lamented, noticing its lack of liquid and starting to feel plagued by thirst. He focused his attention on an establishment in front of him, whose sign hanging on its facade indicated that it was a bar-inn with an allusive illustration. Luckily, I wasn't so absent-minded as to come without coins.
He walked up to the entrance and pushed the door, stepping into its dim interiors, with a reception on the right and a spacious bar on the left. Groups of men conversed amidst shouts and laughter as they drank overflowing glasses at tables and the end of the bar, with its owner attending to them and engaging in friendly conversation.
The knight completely ignored the reception and headed for the bar. As soon as he set foot in it, the customers and employees noticed his presence. Their mouths closed in a sepulchral silence, and their faces turned pale as snow. It was as if death itself had made an appearance.
The owner, a fat man with a wrinkled face, gray beard and hair, stared motionless in fear as his unexpected visitor stopped behind the bar.
"Good afternoon, sir," the knight greeted him cordially.
"W-What... What do you want?! What brings you here?!" the owner nervously interrogated, his eyes wide open.
"Water, to fill my canteen," he replied, observing him and his employees with innocent curiosity. What's the matter with them? Why are they so uneasy? Don't they see wandering knights often? the traveler wondered.
"Ah... You want water?" the owner reiterated with a forced smile, trying to confirm that he had said that and not what he had expected.
"Yes, please," the knight confirmed, nodding slightly. "Do I need to pay anything?"
"No! Not at all!"
The owner turned to a blonde employee behind the bar, who was as petrified as he was.
"Ainora!" he called her by name. "Bring water!" She still hadn't snapped out of it, so he snapped his fingers. "Quickly!"
After that more imperative shout, the employee went to a small pantry behind her and retrieved a clay jug, which she placed shakily on the counter.
"Thank thee," the knight said politely. He opened his canteen and filled it with the water from the jug.
As he did so, the man rummaged through drawers in desperation. He took out a couple of bags and placed them on the table.
"Look!" he exclaimed nervously, revealing the contents of the bags: several handfuls of golden and silver coins. "Authentic Niespal gold! Dortman silver! It's all yours!"
"Thou art most gracious, good sir!" exclaimed the knight merrily, utterly misconstruing the man's intentions. Having completed the task of refilling his canteen, he continued, "But verily, there is no necessity for thee to bestow thy generous gift. Mine purpose was solely to replenish my canteen... Farewell! Once more, I express my gratitude!"
He turned his back after saying goodbye and proceeded to leave the premises.
"Huh?!"
All the tables in the establishment had been completely vacated.
Where did everyone go? he wondered, bewildered. Oh, right!
Suddenly, he remembered something important, causing him to turn back towards the bar.
"Pardon me, good sir, I am journeying to Netzach. Knowest thou the way...? Perchance not..."He faltered, unable to complete his question upon realizing that the owner and his staff had vanished as well.
How peculiar... The knight scratched his helmet. Maybe they were closing for their restful hour... he deduced. Well, I suppose I should return later.
With the same tranquility he had upon entering, the knight exited the local tavern, strolling once more through the city streets, just as desolate as the bar. He lifted a portion of his helmet, allowing him to bring his canteen to his mouth.
"Aaah..." He let out a great sigh of relief after taking a refreshing sip. He withdrew the canteen and lowered the piece again. "It is most refreshing!... Hm?"
Soon, he spotted something that caught his attention, drawing him toward it with the fascination of a child at the entrance of a circus: a circular plaza adorned with a pair of realistic and intricately detailed marble sculptures. These depicted two warriors—one in elegant light armor with his face uncovered, and the other taller figure donning a more voluminous full-body cuirass, billowing cape, and an impressive helmet featuring demonic visages on its sides and front, each adorned with a small pyramid-shaped horn upon their foreheads. The combatants crossed their weapons—an elegant rapier and a formidable double-edged sword, respectively.
It resembles my own! the knight noted, recognizing a few similarities between his armor and that of the more imposing warrior.
Let me see...
The knight lowered his gaze to a small plaque on a rock, describing the monument.
"The Thunderblade that defies the Dimension Cutter."
That was its name.
Monument to the duel of Santario Monteros, Lord of the Holy House of the Royal Rose, against the Abiyr Junini of New Eynsof during the Battle of Cirencre in the Nefeshic Wars, on the 12th of Signos in the year 1077 A.H.R, he read from an inscription below.
1077... Almost twenty years ago, precisely around the time of my own birth, the knight calculated, drawn to that detail. I wonder if those are the wars of which I heard tales during my training travels in Tiberland... Stories that spoke of a great war that transpired years past in a distant realm. A war in which the foremost maskirian kingdoms of Elvira and their 'great Holy Houses' fought against an infernal army... He furrowed his brow, recalling tumultuous memories. I had the opportunity to personally encounter one of those Houses...
His meditations were interrupted. He felt several individuals approaching him with a resounding trot from behind. Upon turning, he found rows of soldiers, armed with spears, swords, and round shields, standing in formation around him. Metal helmets resembling curved hats covered their heads, atop breastplates worn over lightweight garments. Their formations blocked all exits of the plaza.
As expected, the knight was taken aback by their appearance.
What are all these soldiers doing here? Is something amiss?
One of the blocks of soldiers parted on both sides, making way for a tall and muscular man who strode through them with powerful footsteps. His armor, adorned with intricate ornamental reliefs in the shape of salamanders and additional protective plates, signified his status and superior rank. His face was rectangular, with a rugged nose and features against the warm whiteness of his skin. His eyes were gray, like his closely cropped hair, styled back into a pronounced widow's peak. A goatee beard hung from his chin. Menacing steel spikes protruded from the head of a long mace he held in his right hand. An oblong shield was gripped by his left, protecting the upper half of his body.
That insignia!... This individual must be a noble of that ‘Royal Rose’ Holy House, just like the one on the monument. The knight's eyes focused on a relief in the shape of a rose on the left side of his chest, exactly like one of the statues he had just admired.
"Good afternoon, Ser!" greeted the dark knight, bowing forward before taking a few steps closer to him. "Troubles in the city? Bandits, beasts, Ashaim?" he inquired.
Impassive as a mountain, the stoic man with the mace and shield remained silent.
"No matter what it may be, thy solution has arrived: Ser Mavros of Havenfalls. My wandering sword for thy Lordship's safety," the dark knight introduced himself with a courteous tone befitting his self-proclaimed title. "Just say the word, and I shall be honored to offer thee my services."
The man ignored him. His attention shifted to the onlookers in the nearby buildings, peering out to observe the scene from their windows. Mostly children and teenagers.
"What are you all staring at?! Your lives are in danger!" he shouted at the top of his voice. "We have a demon among us! Hide yourselves immediately!"
The young ones closed their windows and retreated, immediately frightened by those final and imperative exclamations.
"Inan?! A demon?!" Mavros protested as he approached the leader of the troops, believing he had misheard.
The soldiers escorting him lowered their weapons and assumed a defensive stance, pointing them towards the dark knight, forcing him to step back. Unintentionally and unable to avoid it, Ser Mavros would wage the first of many battles in his journey.