Norton cautiously approached, slipping on a pair of black leather gloves to protect against any possible toxins or magical effects lingering on the book. Summoning his courage, he picked up the hefty tome.
Nothing happened.
To examine his prize, Norton dismissed his arcane sight and ignited a pale flame of witchfire for illumination. As he began to read the book's cover, his eyebrows shot up, and a look of disappointment crossed his face, reminding him of a past conversation with his sister Juana.
Norton had been in the castle library with Juana when the conversation took place. He was engrossed in a history book, catching up on this world's basic concepts, while Juana read a pharmacology text.
On that day, Norton was particularly intrigued by the chapter on the Sigmar Empire—the largest human empire in the Old World and Sylvania's enemy—and read intently. To Norton, the empire's ability to subdue Sylvania, other human nations, northern barbarians, and hordes of orcs and monsters signified some extraordinary capabilities.
However, the more he read, the more he realized the empire’s political system was archaically feudal—little more than a confederation of ten states, each ruled by an Elector Count who collectively elected an Emperor. The Emperor had only nominal control and wartime command, receiving no taxes or troops from the Elector Counts otherwise.
Within each Elector Count’s domain, numerous factions, independent free cities, and religious sects existed with little regard for the Emperor. Beneath them were layered strata of lesser nobility and knights.
Beyond these internally nominal factions, the Sigmar Empire was rife with enemies, from bandits lurking in its dense forests to chaos-tainted savages in some provinces and countless forest goblin tribes in its northwestern woods.
Norton confirmed the book's contents with others, who assured him they were accurate, leaving him stupefied—how could a state beset by enemies on all sides and from within possibly endure? It seemed miraculous!
But that wasn’t what came to mind upon seeing the book he held. Rather, it was his eighth critique of the Sigmar Empire’s feudal backwardness.
"Actually, sister, don’t you find this arrangement problematic?" he'd asked.
"What’s problematic?" Juana had replied.
"Well, those human knights—training their martial skills day after day, waiting for a lord's call to arms. Then, when summoned, they rush to battle, only to die before making any significant achievements. Doesn’t that seem problematic to you?"
"Why would you think that? Isn’t it good?"
The difference in values made communication difficult. Recalling his sister's puzzled expression following his question left Norton speechless.
Loyalty, fine; feudal duty, sure; pursuit of glory, yes—but wars over foolish feudal squabbles, saline lands, rickety wooden forts, a few jars of wild honey, or trivial offenses... such causes made Norton uncomfortable. If wars were fought over such trivialities, what did his past wars in the starry battlefields against alien bugs mean?!
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Norton believed wars should be grand and sweeping, a colossal clash between species for survival, honor, and gain—an epic struggle, not for a mere patch of saline soil.
Thus, when Norton reached the tomb's deepest chamber, only to discover that his efforts had yielded nothing more than a copy of the "Imperial 791 Knights’ Enfeoffment Code," his anger was understandable.
"This is worthless except as kindling!" Norton fumed, tossing the book to the ground. He intended to burn it, but reconsidered, remembering that even a fly is a bit of meat. Though lacking practical value, as an antique, it might fetch a decent price.
Though Sylvania’s neighbor, the Sigmar Empire, was a feudal mess with poor finances and little interest or ability to purchase such items, the southern Tyrellian Merchant Republic was filled with patrons of culture, and the Agibian Kingdom had many pretentious nobles. Surely, someone would pay well for this codex.
This thought eased Norton's frustration. His gaze softened, and he realized he had only spent half an hour. There was no rush to explore other funerary items. Perhaps he could glean some knowledge from this book.
Norton picked up the Knights’ Enfeoffment Code and began to read. Immediately, the magically sensitive high-sorcerer-in-training sensed something amiss.
The book was peculiar. Though inert when untouched, upon opening and reading it, Norton found no discernible script—not the common tongue, elvish, dwarven, basic undead, arcane glyphs, or even chaos language.
It contained instead the essence of rules, order itself, expressions of ability and standards—abstract, metaphysical concepts in the form of pure, unfettered magic wind embedded within its pages. Though tangible, the book was an abstract entity—a vessel for "rules."
"This is a twelve-dimensional manifestation item..." Norton realized, as he struggled to close the book, his remaining magic completely exhausted. No, it was worse—his pale complexion and sweat-drenched forehead revealed his physical resources were severely taxed. Yet, despite his worsened state, Norton couldn't help but smile.
"A pure law vessel... In this world's terms, this is a conceptual armament, isn't it? And it’s related to knights... In this place, nothing may be more valuable. With minor changes, this could be used to 'ennoble knights'... How ironic, given my recent mockery of the knight class's obsolescence and clumsiness, yet soon I might rely on my 'ennobled' undead knights to conquer the land." He couldn’t help but chuckle at the thought.
However, another realization wiped Norton's smile: "This example of the code doesn't wield full power, if I'm right. It's likely a copy rather than an original, thus weaker, needing more magic to activate... But it's still invaluable... And if this is a copy, the original must be in the main tomb. Eventually, it’ll belong to me."
Finding such a treasure at the start, experiencing the swing from the depths of despair to the heights of joy, vastly improved Norton’s mood. Moreover, this Knights’ Code manuscript helped him deduce the identity of the tomb’s owner.
Though a six-year-old child might not have encountered much knowledge, basic facts were widespread. Conveniently, the tomb's owner was someone of significant status, well-known enough to be considered common knowledge.
A man known as Alanson, the greatest, most cunning, and successful emperor of an era, built an empire responsible for the majestic, sprawling necropolises within Sylvania. His Knights’ Code was accepted as the "absolutely correct truth" by all human nations.
Despite the shifting sands of history, the empire's fall, and changing global politics, the knightly system endured. It remained steadfast, even appearing as a class or title among some non-human realms and political entities.
When the world's intelligent beings collectively recognized the concept of "knight," a once-buried Knights’ Code companion copy regained life, elevated through endless epochs to become a "rule carrier."
"Too lucky, too lucky, too lucky, too lucky, too lucky, too lucky..." Upon realizing the book's true value, Norton rolled on the ground with joy, treating it as his second-most-prized possession after his own life.
With such an asset, coupled with sufficient magic and corpses, Norton could easily raise a legion of Black Knights. Unlike ordinary liches or vampire lords, limited to animating remains of life-knights, Norton could use this rule carrier to "ennoble" knights, empowering unqualified corpses and strengthening his undead cavalry forces.