The Knight King’s slumber was disrupted by Grand Advisor Liam’s urgent knock on the chamber door. Dawn had barely broken, casting a faint glow through the windows.
“Sorry to disturb you, Your Grace,” Liam said, his voice low and grave, “but tumultuous news has spread like wildfire through the capital. The phrase ‘White god’ is on every tongue.”
The Knight King rubbed the sleep from his eyes, his expression stern. “What have you done to counter those rumours?”
Liam bowed. “The guards have apprehended four individuals spreading this news. I recommend public execution to quell potential unrest.”
The Knight King rose, his authority evident. “See to the arrangements, Liam. I will attend.”
Liam bowed again deeply. “As you command, Your Grace.”
With a nod, the Knight King dismissed Liam, his mind already grappling with implications.
Dawn’s pale light cast long shadows as the Knight King, resolute and stern, addressed the gathered crowd.
“Behold, those who sow discord with sensitive words, spreading turmoil throughout the realm. Their fate serves as warning: death by fire, purification for treason.”
Four condemned men stood bound, their faces etched with defiance and fear. One, with eyes blazing, spat words at the Knight King.
Jorak, self-proclaimed ruler, your soul is tainted. The gods curse you, yet you inflict suffering upon us. I’ve seen your demise – the god of Light revealed it. Your life will soon end, by the blade.”
The Knight King’s expression remained unyielding, unmoved by the man’s prophetic taunts. With a raised hand, he signaled the executioner.
Princess Elaine, observing from the palace windows, shuddered. The gruesome spectacle unfolding before her tested her resolve.
The executioner lit the pyre, flames engulfing the condemned. Their anguished cries echoed through the capital, haunting the assembled crowd. Families of the doomed men wailed, their loved ones reduced to smoldering ashes.
Following the public execution, the capital’s rumor mill ceased its chatter about the “White god.” Fear now muzzled whispers, and the lords and nobles who had gathered for the joust hastened their departure.
Lord Weah and Sir Cole’s concerns about the West’s vulnerability to the White god’s attacks were overshadowed by the Knight King’s swift action. Meanwhile, Sir Windor’s appointment as Interim Warden of the North signaled shifting priorities.
Within the palace, the Knight King summoned Sir Cole. Upon arrival, Sir Cole bowed. “Your Grace, you sent for me?”
The Knight King dismissed the attendants, ensuring privacy. “Sir Cole, I know you’re preparing to leave with Lord Weah for Westwood.”
Sir Cole nodded. “Yes, sire.”
The Knight King’s expression turned grave. “I have another mission for you, one requiring utmost discretion and loyalty.”
Sir Cole’s curiosity piqued. “What mission, sire?”
The Knight King’s eyes narrowed. “Details will follow in due time. Prepare yourself for any eventuality.”
Sir Cole bowed. “Understood, sire.”
As he turned to leave, the Knight King’s voice halted him. “Wait, Cole.”
Sir Cole faced the monarch, whose gaze conveyed deep appreciation.
“Cole, you are my most trusted knight. The realm owes you a debt of gratitude, as do I.”
A humble smile crossed Sir Cole’s face. “The honor is mine, sire.”
With a respectful bow, Sir Cole departed, leaving the Knight King to ponder the burdens of ruling.
SIR COLE’S CHAMBERS
In Sir Cole’s cozy chamber, warmth and camaraderie filled the air. Miley’s laughter echoed as she embraced her friends. “Wonderful to have us together again!”
Sir Barrys smiled wistfully. “Usually, our circle’s more complete.”
Sir Cole nodded, nostalgia in his eyes. “Rogan and Chirurgeon Breaus – may he rest in peace.”
Gareth added, “And Old Man Ding.”
Sir Barrys’ expression turned icy, haunted by memories. He had executed Old Man Ding on the Knight King’s orders.
Sir Cole placed a reassuring hand on Barrys’ shoulder. “Old Man Ding’s memory lives on. I loved him too. He’s now with Breaus in the afterlife.”
Miley shifted the conversation, her eyes sparkling. “No one’s mentioned my engagement to Sir Edric, the Dark Knight.”
Sir Cole raised an eyebrow. “Surreal, isn’t it? Sir Edric’s not exactly known for his charm or sociability.”
Miley smiled mischievously. “We’ve been secretly together for a while.”
Sir Barrys offered warm words. “I think you two make the perfect couple, Miley.”
Gareth remained silent, until prompted. “Well, fine…I’m not a fan of Sir Edric, and—”
A timely knock interrupted Gareth’s confession. He hastily rose to answer the door, revealing Sir Edric himself. Gareth’s shock momentarily froze him.
Sir Edric entered, his deep voice greeting each friend. “Sir Cole, Sir Barrys, Miley.”
Sir Cole welcomed him. “Our new Lord Commander!”
Sir Barrys echoed congratulations.
Sir Edric’s gaze settled on Miley. “I sought you throughout the castle. I figured you might be here.”
Miley smiled. “I was catching up with old friends.”
Sir Edric replied. “I see.”
As Miley and Sir Edric exited, Sir Edric cast Gareth a chilling glance, instilling fear.
The group’s warmth dissipated, instantly replaced by unease.
IN THE STREETS OF THE CAPITAL
In the outskirts of the Capital, dusk approached. Sir Gregory Potts and Sir Leon Potts patrolled the city on horseback, their watch nearing its end. Halting before a dilapidated, abandoned house, they spotted a slender youth crafting a sword. The clang of hammering echoed through the air.
Sir Gregory dismounted, a sly grin spreading. “Well, well, if it isn’t our dear brother Valery.”
Sir Leon hastily corrected, “Bastard brother, Gregory. Valery’s no true Potts.”
Sir Gregory chuckled. “Right, Leon. Valery, our beloved bastard brother.”
Their mocking tones echoed, but Valery remained focused, ignoring the jibes.
Sir Gregory goaded, “Speak up, idiot!”
Valery faced them, eyes unwavering. “What’s there to say? Sir Edric, the Dark Knight, humiliated House Potts.”
Sir Gregory’s anger flared. “Mention ‘humiliate’ and my house ‘Potts’ together ever again, and I’ll behead you myself!”
Valery stood tall, unflinching. “Your House Potts? I share that name, though bastard-born.”
Sir Leon sneered. “Yes, you’re a bastard, Valery.”
Sir Gregory raised his sword, its edge glinting near Valery’s neck. Yet, Valery displayed no fear.
Sir Leon intervened, “Let’s move, brother. No scenes.”
Sir Gregory relented, sheathing his sword. “We must report back from patrol.”
As they departed, an elderly woman, seated nearby, witnessed the exchange. Her sightless eyes seemed to pierce the darkness.
“Blind I may be, young man,” she said, “but I see the pain in your eyes. Your story will surpass theirs. They’ll be the abandoned ones, not you.”
Her cackling laughter filled the air as she reclined into her chair.
Valery resumed shaping his sword, his determination burning brighter.
Later that night, Under the veil of darkness, a lone figure clad in a brown hooded cloak traversed the castle’s shadows. With calculated stealth, he navigated through narrow corridors, avoiding torchlit areas. His eyes, accustomed to the dark, detected subtle movements.
Reaching the dungeon entrance, he produced a set of lockpicks, expertly manipulating the mechanism. The door creaked open, barely audible. He slipped inside, disappearing into the darkness.
Within the dungeon, dim torches cast eerie shadows on cold stone walls. The air reeked of mold and despair. The brown hooded figure glided past cells, avoiding detection.
His target: the maximum-security wing. A lone guard stood watch, engrossed in a flask. The figure crept closer, his footsteps masked by the guard’s stupor.
With swift precision, he dispatched the guard, silencing any potential alarm. The guard’s keys clinked against the stone floor.
The figure seized the keys and approached the heavily fortified cell. A single name etched into the door: “Sir O’Reilly.”
He unlocked the door, revealing a man in his late 30s, with wild, curly hair. Sir O’Reilly’s eyes, once bright, now dimmed by more than a decade of imprisonment.
As chains were removed, Sir O’Reilly gasped, incredulous. “By the gods…a savior?”
The brown hooded figure remained silent, his face hidden. With a slight nod, he beckoned Sir O’Reilly to follow.
Sir O’Reilly stumbled forward, freedom’s thrill coursing through his veins. “Who are you?” he whispered.
The figure remained shrouded in mystery, his brown hood cast over his face like a shadow as they both escaped the dungeon.
Pandemonium erupted within the city walls as the alarm bell tolled, signaling the prison break. Guards swarmed the streets, determined to recapture Sir O’Reilly and apprehend his mysterious rescuer.
Sir Edric, the Dark Knight and Lord Commander of the realm, directed the search. “Seal the gates! They won’t escape, unless they vanish into moonlight.”
As guards scoured the lower, middle and upper rings, Sir O’Reilly and the brown hooded figure, Harry, evaded detection. They sought refuge in an seemingly abandoned house, slipping inside unnoticed.
Breathless, they waited, listening as guards passed outside. Once clear, Sir O’Reilly turned to Harry. “Who are you? Why did you save me?”
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Harry’s reply was simple. “They call me Harry.”
Sir O’Reilly’s gratitude was palpable. “Harry, you saved me.”
Their hiding place, however, proved less secure than thought. A sword suddenly pierced the air, wielded by Valery, a impoverished resident of the lower ring.
Valery’s gaze narrowed. “What do you want?”
Harry swiftly intervened. “Please, help us. Our mission requires secrecy and success, for the realm’s greater good.”
Valery sneered, swords poised. “Greater good? You look like fugitives.”
Sir O’Reilly’s sharp tongue sparked tension. “You appear a dying man, forsaken by family.”
Harry signaled silence, his eyes locked on Valery. “We beg asylum for the night, in secrecy. May the kindness be repaid in multiples by the gods.”
Valery lowered his swords, his expression unyielding. “Don’t invoke the gods. Leave by dawn.”
Harry nodded, acknowledging the fragile truce.
Meanwhile, Sir Edric led the relentless search, patrolling the city through the night searching for the prisoner who escaped.
Pre-dawn darkness still shrouded the city, yet Sir Edric and his guards persisted in their relentless search for Sir O’Reilly and his mysterious rescuer.
Within the dungeon, now a crime scene, the Knight King arrived, his presence commanding attention. Grand Advisor Liam briefed him on the events.
“Your Grace, Sir O’Reilly was freed last night. An unknown rescuer overpowered the guards, and they escaped.”
The Knight King’s face contorted in fury. “Sir O’Reilly, the rogue knight, now loose. What of the guards?”
Liam’s reply was grim. “Slain, Your Grace.”
The Knight King’s eyes narrowed. “This bears the hallmarks of a calculated plot.”
Exiting the dungeon, he issued a chilling decree: “Inform Sir Edric: O’Reilly is to be killed on sight. No capture. A thousand gold pieces to whoever brings me his head.”
His anger boiled over. “I should have executed him years ago, instead of showing mercy with life imprisonment.”
Grand Advisor Liam cautioned, “Your mercy, 15 years past, spared his life.”
The Knight King’s retort was laced with regret. “That mercy now seems a grave mistake.”
With determined strides, the Knight King returned to his royal castle, leaving Liam to disseminate the deadly orders.
IN THE ABANDONED HOUSE
Within the abandoned house which they stayed, Harry and Sir O’Reilly conversed in hushed tones. Harry revealed, “Lord Reagan commissioned your rescue, testing my worth as the chosen one for this mission.”
Sir O’Reilly’s eyes widened. “Reagan’s faction has grown significantly since my imprisonment?. He was once a mere threat.”
Harry’s expression turned stern. “Show respect to Lord Reagan, our guiding light and Saviour. He sent me to save you, be grateful.”
Sir O’Reilly nodded. “I am, deeply grateful. Fifteen years in darkness, I doubted I’d see daylight again.”
Harry advised, “Thank the gods.”
Sir O’Reilly’s gaze turned thoughtful. “Yes, the gods.”
Valery, feigning sleep, now stood, his interest piqued. “Your tales intrigue me. You believe in the gods?”
Harry affirmed, “With unwavering faith, for I’ve seen them with my own eyes.”
Valery’s curiosity sparked. “A blessing, indeed. I’d love the gods to destroy my enemies.”
Sir O’Reilly asked, “Who would you have destroyed?”
Valery’s response was swift and cryptic. “None of your concern.”
As he approached the door, he warned, “Guards approach, Sir Edric’s horse…they come.”
Harry inquired, “What now?”
Valery’s betrayal was evident. “I’ll reveal your presence.”
Harry swiftly acted, entangling Valery’s leg with a rope. “You know too much, young man.”
Valery freed himself with his knife, but Sir O’Reilly drew his sword. “I’ll show you why they call me Sir O’Reilly the Great.”
Harry intervened, urgent. “No time, O’Reilly.”
Valery quickly rolled outside swiftly and shouted, signaling the guards, as Harry and Sir O’Reilly fled through the back door, seizing a horse.
Sir Edric, astride Soul Snatcher, gave chase, Sir Barrys followed.
The relentless pursuit continued for hours, traversing miles of unforgiving terrain. Finally, Harry and Sir O’Reilly reached the icy shores, a haven of sorts. Sir Edric and Sir Barrys, convinced they had lost their quarry, dismounted their horses, Soul Snatcher and her companion.
As snowflakes danced around them, Sir Edric declared, “This sacred place holds ancient secrets, guarded by Sir Orton. Westwood and Freeman ancestors’ knowledge rests here.”
Sir Barrys’ eyes widened in awe. “Gareth-ding spoke of this mystical site in our classes. The icy shores, a fabled haven.”
Sir Edric scrutinized the ground, bent down, and announced, “We shall follow these tracks, they couldn’t have vanished.”
Sir Barrys trailed behind, leading their hesitant horses through the intensifying snowfall. The animals resisted, sensing the biting cold.
As they ventured deeper, snow thickened, shrouding visibility. Icy landscapes unfolded, and biting winds howled. Sir Edric and Sir Barrys battled the elements, their determination unyielding.
Meters from the icy shores, Harry and Sir O’Reilly stood at odds, their breaths visible in the biting air.
“What are you doing?” Harry demanded, gesturing toward Lord Reagan’s hideout. “We must proceed.”
Sir O’Reilly refused, “I have pressing matters, a score to settle…and someone to meet.”
Harry’s face contorted in rage. “No time for distractions. My mission is to deliver you safely to Lord Reagan.”
Sir O’Reilly retorted, “Your rescue doesn’t grant you liberty to disrespect me.”
Harry spat, contemptuous. “I regret saving you. Prison suited you better.”
Sir O’Reilly ignored Harry’s jibe, focused on ascending the icy shores. Fierce gusts swept Harry’s disguise hood away, revealing his aged face.
Sir O’Reilly’s gaze locked onto Harry’s exposed features. “You’re…an old man.”
Harry bristled. “An old man who saved you, ungrateful wretch.”
Sir O’Reilly smiled mischievously. “Join me, Harry.”
He extended a hand toward the ice. Harry reluctantly followed, grumbling, “Only because Lord Reagan demands your safe return.”
As they climbed, Sir O’Reilly boasted, “In my prime, I was Sir O’Reilly the Great, before Jorak, the Current Knight King, imprisoned me.”
Harry shot back, “No one cares about your sad story.”
Sir O’Reilly chuckled, “Silence, then.”
Moments passed, then Sir O’Reilly quipped, “My balls are freezing.”
Harry’s frustration boiled over. “For the gods’ sake, shut up!”
Their banter echoed through the icy landscape, lost in swirling snow and fog.
As Harry and Sir O’Reilly’s heated exchange resonated through the icy landscape, Sir Edric and Sir Barrys, distant pursuers, caught snippets of their conversation. The echoes guided them, leading their relentless chase.
Sir Edric’s eyes narrowed, focusing on the faint voices. “They’re close, Sir Barrys of the west. Let’s move.”
Sir Barrys nodded, urgency etched on his face.
Their horses, sensing determination, pressed forward, breasting the snowstorm.
The pursuit tightened, Sir Edric and Sir Barrys closing in on Harry and Sir O’Reilly.
Harry and Sir O’Reilly stood atop the icy monolith, their banter momentarily forgotten. Suddenly, an arrow pierced the air, targeting Sir O’Reilly. Harry swiftly pushed him aside, dodging the projectile, but suffered a glancing blow.
Sir O’Reilly’s eyes widened. “Who shot that arrow?”
Harry grimaced, clutching his wounded arm. “Let’s leave, this place is treacherous.”
Sir O’Reilly refused, resolute. “Not until I claim what I came for.”
A towering figure emerged, sword and hair flowing like darkness. Sir O’Reilly’s grin returned, devilish. “Well, well, well… If it isn’t my Uncle or should I say Sir Orton, the snake.”
Sir Orton’s voice dripped venom. “I thought you rotted in prison.”
Sir O’Reilly retorted, “Would you condemn your brother’s son to death?”
Sir Orton charged, sword aimed at Sir O’Reilly’s head. “You rogue knight!”
Harry intervened, parrying the slash with his short sword. The blades clashed, sparks flying.
Sir O’Reilly drew his sword, joining the fray. The three combatants exchanged blows, their movements fluid and deadly.
Sir Orton’s sword danced, its length a formidable advantage. Harry and Sir O’Reilly fought in tandem, their synergy born of necessity.
The battle raged, the icy landscape echoing their struggle. Sir Orton’s skill proved formidable, but Harry and Sir O’Reilly held their ground.
Just as Sir Orton gained the upper hand, the ice beneath them shifted. A crevasse opened, swallowing Harry and Sir O’Reilly. They fell, their cries lost in the abyss.
Sir Orton stood at the edge, gazing into the void. “This isn’t the end, nephew.”
As Harry and Sir O’Reilly plummeted, the ice sealed above them, entombing them in darkness.
Sir Orton swiftly closed in, driven by his sworn duty. Unbeknownst to Harry and Sir O’Reilly, their fall had led them to a sacred repository of forgotten wisdom.
As consciousness returned, icy frost enveloped them, hastening their rise. Darkness reigned, and Sir O’Reilly’s voice trembled. “Harry, are you here?”
Harry’s response dripped with resentment. “You’ve doomed us, O’Reilly. Eternity in this abyss.”
Sir O’Reilly accepted responsibility, his tone laced with regret. “If we don’t escape, the blame is mine. Yet, I’d do it again if I had the chance.”
Harry’s anger boiled over. “Lord Reagan’s motives remain’s clear, and that is to bring you alive to the hide out.”
Sir O’Reilly proposed, “Perhaps he seeks me for the greater good.”
As they exchanged voices in the dark, suddenly a radiant light pierced the darkness, banishing shadows. Waves of luminescence replaced ice, revealing ancient relics, books and swords. Awe etched Harry’s and Sir O’Reilly’s faces.
Sir O’Reilly whispered, “So this is it, the ancestors’ knowledge…”
Harry’s wonder-struck voice trailed. “Magnificent…the gods have blessed us.”
Footsteps echoed, and Sir Orton emerged, stern. “Do not disturb the ancient wisdom.”
Sir O’Reilly’s curiosity got the better of him. “Uncle, this is it, the knowledge you’ve sworn to protect.”
Sir Orton commanded, “Leave now, O’Reilly. This sacred place is off-limits.”
Defying the warning, Sir O’Reilly reached for a sword. His hand burned instantly, and he shrieked in agony.
Sir Orton intervened, battling to restrain his nephew. Their struggle sent them tumbling out of the icy monolith.
Sir Barrys and Sir Edric, stationed below, watched as the pair crashed to the ground.
Meanwhile, Harry remained entranced by the ancient knowledge. His gaze fixed on “The Book of Life.” As he grasped it, a serpent emerged from inside the book as he attempted to open the first page, striking his left eye. Harry’s screams echoed through the cavern as blood rolled down from his left eye.
As Sir Orton and Sir O’Reilly crashed to the icy floor, Sir Edric and Sir Barrys swiftly drew their swords, flanking the pair. Sir Barrys positioned himself on the far right, while Sir Edric took the left, trapping Sir O’Reilly and Sir Orton.
Sir Edric declared, “The games are over, rogue knight O’Reilly. The Knight King demands your head.”
Sir O’Reilly seized Sir Orton, using him as a human shield. “Take one step closer, and I’ll slash his throat.”
Sir Edric sneered. “You think we care? Sir Orton would gladly sacrifice himself for the realm.”
Sir Barrys countered, “Our mission is to eliminate the prisoner, not harm the legendary Sir Orton.”
Sir O’Reilly’s anger flared. “You dare call me a mere prisoner?”
Sir Edric silenced him. “Your fate is sealed. No more words.”
Sir O’Reilly warned, “Come closer, and Sir Orton dies.”
Meanwhile, Harry descended via an alternate route, guided by the radiant light. He emerged from the icy monolith, witnessing Sir O’Reilly’s precarious situation. Their horse, near freezing, stood meters away.
Harry swiftly readied his mini bow and arrow, targeting Sir Barrys from behind. The knight fell, struck by the silent attack.
Seizing the distraction, Sir O’Reilly attempted to slash Sir Orton’s neck. Sir Edric intervened, delivering a long slash that halted Sir O’Reilly’s blade.
Sir O’Reilly broke free, exploiting the momentary chaos. Harry, mounted on their horse, guided him to safety.
Sir Edric swiftly gave chase, pursuing the escaping duo northwest. Sir Barrys lay alone, unconscious and bleeding on the icy floor.
Sir Edric pursued them relentlessly, Soul Snatcher’s pounding hooves devouring distance. As they escaped the snow’s grasp, a dense forest engulfed them. Sir Edric’s view obscured, he trailed from afar, his exhausted horse faltering.
Sir O’Reilly glanced back, a mix of relief and caution. “We’ve lost him.”
Harry’s weathered face creased into a weary smile. “Thank the gods.”
As they rode, Sir O’Reilly queried, “Where now, old man?”
Harry’s gaze fixed northwest. “Lord Reagan’s underground hideout, beneath an ancient tomb.”
Sir O’Reilly’s gratitude was fleeting. With swift, deadly precision, he drew his short sword and slashed Harry’s neck. The old man’s lifeless body tumbled from the horse.
Sir O’Reilly rode on, solo and unencumbered, his pace greater than before.
Sir Edric, re-emerging from the forest, beheld Harry’s lifeless form. Blood pooled around the corpse, staining the little bits of snow on the ground. Sir Edric’s eyes narrowed.
“Unbelievable. O’Reilly escaped…again. I hold you responsible, Sir Barrys of the West.”
Disheartened, Sir Edric abandoned the chase. He carefully lifted Harry’s body onto his horse and began the somber return journey.
Sir Edric returned to the Icy Monolith, his weary face a testament to his failed pursuit. Sir Orton, vigilant guardian of the ancient knowledge, approached him.
“Did you apprehend O’Reilly?” Sir Orton asked, his tone expectant.
Sir Edric’s reply was laced with frustration. “I lost him…again. He escaped, despite my best efforts.”
Sir Orton’s expression turned stoic, his focus returning to safeguarding the sacred site.
Nearby, Sir Barrys received medical attention, his condition precarious. Sir Leon Potts, Sir Gregory Potts and Sir Barrow Halton had already reached the Icy Monolith, accompanied by other notable knights as they converged around Sir Edric.
Sir Barrow inquired, “How did O’Reilly catch Sir Barrys off guard?”
Sir Edric’s gaze turned cold. “Foolishness and complacency led to this. Now, he may succumb to his injuries.”
Sir Gregory interjected, his voice tinged with accusation. “You seem relieved, Sir Edric. Did you intentionally abandon Sir Barrys to die?”
Sir Edric’s anger flared, his face inches from Sir Gregory. “You weren’t present; silence yourself! You dare question my command?”
Tension simmered as Sir Gregory seethed, his face reddening.
Sir Edric addressed the group, his tone authoritative. “We ride for the capital, now. We must report our failure to the Knight King.”
With solemn faces, the knights mounted their horses, departing the Icy Monolith and the heavy snow. The weight of their defeat hung heavy in their hearts.
As Sir Edric entered the grand courtroom, the Knight King’s piercing gaze awaited him. The air thickened with anticipation.
“Your Grace,” Sir Edric bowed, “Sir O’Reilly escaped.”
The Knight King’s face contorted in fury, yet a hint of expectation lingered. “Failure, Sir Edric. Who bears responsibility?”
Sir Edric stood tall, accepting blame. “I am accountable, Your Grace. This lapse will not recur.”
The Knight King’s expression softened slightly. “You’re not solely culpable. O’Reilly’s initial escape should not have happened to begin with.”
Sir Edric offered redemption. “I captured the accomplice who freed him.”
The Knight King dismissed the achievement. “He is of no use.”
A weighted silence followed before the Knight King spoke. “O’Reilly, the rogue knight, has escaped. Where did their horse head?”
“Northwest, my lord,” Sir Edric replied.
The Knight King nodded thoughtfully. Turning to Grand Advisor Liam, he decreed, “Liam, those rogue knights imprisoned for life – their sentence is here by commuted to death by fire, there shall be no pardon and mercy. I will attend the execution, ensuring all notable knights are present.”
Liam bowed. “Understood, Your Grace.”
The Knight King signaled Sir Edric to depart. With a final bow, the Dark Knight exited the courtroom.
Within the care room, Chirurgeon Bratos meticulously tended to Sir Barrys’ grievous neck wound. Gareth inquired anxiously, “Will he survive?”
Chirurgeon Bratos reassured, “He clings to life, though barely. The arrow shattered bones in his neck. Time will heal him, we westerners are renowned for resilience.”
Sir Cole’s concerned expression softened at the news. “Excellent. May Barrys recover swiftly.”
Chirurgeon Bratos nodded confidently. “He shall recover.”
A knock on the door interrupted; Sir Cole bid entry. Miley and Sir Edric entered, Miley rushing to Sir Barrys’ side.
“Will he heal?” she asked, worry etched on her face.
Chirurgeon Bratos nodded as he sutured the wound. “Yes.”
Sir Edric requested a private audience with Sir Cole. “May I have a moment?”
Sir Cole acquiesced, and Sir Edric inquired, “I’ve heard tales of Sir O’Reilly. Would you enlighten me on his past and imprisonment?”
Sir Cole’s expression turned solemn. “Years ago, when the Knight King forbade the worshipping of the gods. House O’Neil, Sir O’Reilly’s family, continued in secret. Sir Orton, his uncle, reported this to the Knight King, who ordered House O’Neil’s execution. Sir O’Reilly witnessed his family’s burning. Consumed by grief and anger, he attempted to assassinate the Knight King. But then he was Captured, however he was spared execution due to his knighthood and imprisoned for life, earning the nickname ‘Rogue Knight’.’’
Sir Edric’s understanding deepened. “I see. Thank you for clarifying.”
As Sir Edric prepared to depart, Gareth rebuked, “No words for Sir Barrys? What kind of knight are you?”
Sir Edric turned, his gaze steady. “My words won’t heal him. Sir Barrys of the West won’t be defeated by an arrow. Our tales are far from over.”
With that, Sir Edric exited, leaving the care for Sir Barrys to continue.
SIR DWAYNE’S CHAMBERS
Within Sir Dwayne’s opulent chambers, a guard entered, bowing respectfully. “Sire, you have a visitor.”
Sir Dwayne, sipping wine, inquired, “Who is it?”
The guard replied, “Sir Anfield Potts, sire.”
Sir Dwayne’s expression shifted from serenity to concern. He set his wine aside, his demeanor instantly grave. “Sir Anfield? Let him in.”
Sir Anfield entered, his presence commanding attention. Sir Dwayne rose, feigning warmth. “Sir Anfield, to what do I owe this unexpected visit?”
Sir Anfield’s tone was blunt. “Do not flatter yourself, Sir Dwayne. This is no social call.”
Sir Dwayne gestured to a nearby chair. “Please, sit. Share a cup of wine.”
Sir Anfield declined the wine, his focus very unwavering. “I’ve come to discuss your intentions, Sir Dwayne. Your plans to overthrow the Knight King and seize power.”
Sir Dwayne’s smile masked his true emotions. “What plans?”
Sir Anfield’s bold gaze pierced through the facade. “I’ve heard rumors of your eastern mercenary alliances, and your collaboration with Sir Edric, the Dark Knight. Treason, Sir Dwayne.”
Sir Dwayne laughed, attempting to deflect. “You speak treason? Preposterous!”
Sir Anfield’s voice remained steady. “This is no laughing matter. I will not tolerate disloyalty.”
Sir Dwayne leaned back, his smile taunting. “My house, Casterly, rose to prominence through struggle. Unlike your ancient lineage, House Potts, We Casterlys forged our path.”
Sir Anfield’s expression remained unyielding. “Is past hardship justification for usurpation?”
Sir Dwayne’s denial came swiftly. “Your words are misplaced, Sir Anfield. I harbor no such intentions.”
Sir Anfield stood, his eyes burning with conviction. “My house and I remain loyal to the crown. Any evidence of treachery will be reported to the Knight King.”
The air thickened with tension as Sir Dwayne’s smile faded. Sir Anfield departed, leaving Sir Dwayne lost in contemplation.
The capital’s knights gathered around Grand Advisor Liam, their faces solemn. “By the Knight King’s decree,” Liam announced, “any act of betrayal from the knights to the throne will be met with immediate execution and no mercy.”
With a sweeping gesture, Liam signaled the arrival of the condemned. A caravan emerged, bearing the rogue knights once sentenced to life imprisonment, now doomed to death by fire. The Knight King watched from his sit, his gaze unyielding.
The rogue knights were dragged to the execution site, their wrists bound by heavy chains. The Knight King raised his hand, and the pyre was lit. Flames engulfed the prisoners, their anguished cries echoing through the assembly.
Every knight witnessed the gruesome spectacle, their faces reflecting a mix of horror and resolve. Except for Sir Barrys, still combating his coma-induced slumber, his neck wounds a testament to his bravery.
As the fire consumed the traitors, the Knight King declared, “Let this serve as a warning to all knights.”
Sir Anfield’s gaze locked onto Sir Dwayne, standing across the gathering. Their exchanged glance was weighted with tension and suspicion.
The Knight King descended from his sit, approaching Sir Cole. “Sir Cole, attend me. We have matters of urgency to discuss.”
Sir Cole bowed, following the Knight King as they departed the somber assembly.
