It was midday. The sun stood high in the sky, glowing bright as ever. The sounds of carriage wheels and clopping hooves echoed down the rocky roads of the busy city.
The town of Kwatfense lay just northwest of Whitecave. It took about a week by carriage to reach—three days by horse, nearly half a month on foot.
It served as the main rest stop between Whitecave and Fork County. And in the heart of town stood an inn.
"Boar Inn" was carved into a weathered wooden sign, a crude yet massive image of a boar perched atop it.
A man stood outside.
Towering over everyone in sight, cloaked and hooded, a massive sword strapped across his back. In his right hand, he held the leash of a brown horse.
He tied the reins to the post, then walked toward the inn, pushing open the heavy double doors with one hand—effortlessly.
Unlike the last inn he'd stayed in, this one was quiet.
No rowdy patrons. No noise. Only the innkeeper... and a single hooded figure seated at the bar.
The man approached and sat beside them.
"What'll it be?" the innkeeper asked.
"Rum. A glass."
"Comin' right up."
The man glanced sideways at the figure next to him. Two wine bottles sat on the counter—one half-empty, the other bone-dry. Looked like they'd been here a while.
Silence lingered, until the figure finally spoke.
"…Never thought I'd see the Ebony Stallion Captain trade wine for rum."
"Qui—"
Cold liquid splashed over his hand.
"Here ya go, mate!" the innkeeper said, setting a wooden mug down, cutting him off mid-word.
The man glanced at the mug, then lifted it and drained it in one pull.
"Thirsty, huh?" the figure beside him smirked, tugging back his hood.
Blonde hair. Deep blue eyes. A face too clean for a soldier—no scars, no blemishes. And yet, his presence gave him away: a veteran knight. It was in the posture. The calm. The eyes.
"Haaaah... damn orcs burst my water pouch on the road here," the man muttered.
The voice was familiar. The same man Arthur had met before.
William Erickson.
"…How's the missy? I take it you did your job guarding her, Vice Captain Shai Jackson?"
A smirk curled on the blonde man's lips.
Shai Jackson—youngest ever to become Vice Captain in the Vargris Dukedom, rising to the rank at just twenty-three.
A core member of the Ebony Stallions.
The Vargris Dukedom boasted four main knight units:
The Silver Fangs
The oldest, most respected force in the Dukedom—once led by Duke Thorne Vargris himself during the war.
They symbolized discipline, loyalty, and the legacy of Vargris.
Each knight wielded a longsword. They donned silver armor and white capes bearing the snarling red-eyed wolf sigil—jaws open, ever ready to strike.
Currently commanded by General Knight Dustin Vargris.
The Cerulean Wings
Scouts. Strategists. Couriers of war.
They served as the brain and eyes of the battlefield—masters of infiltration, cartography, and rapid communication.
They wielded rapiers, spears, and bows, each knight trained for speed and precision. Their armor was silver with blue accents, capes dyed azure, marked with a hawk mid-screech, wings spread wide.
Commanded by General Knight Ziya Vargris.
The Crimson Guard
The Shield of the North.
When cities were besieged, they arrived first. When the dust cleared, they were the last to leave.
Immovable formations. Iron discipline. Brutal efficiency. Their duty was to protect supply lines, strongholds, and noble roads.
Their weapons were sword and shield. Silver armor adorned with red. Their capes bore a crimson shield crossed with a silver blade.
Commanded by General Knight Leoric Vargris.
The Ebony Stallions
The newest and most controversial unit—created by Duke Thorne himself ten years ago after the event known as the Mountain Massacres.
Mostly composed of common-born fighters and ex-mercenaries, they were resented by nobles and loved by the common folk. Proof that even a man born in the mud could ride among knights.
They wore standard Vargris armor, but with black capes marked by the image of a rearing black stallion, flames at its hooves.
They answered to no General Knight—only to the Duke.
Many among the elder council questioned their loyalty, wondering: if danger came to the Dukedom, would they protect the people... or only the Duke's bloodline?
The two men—Jackson and Erickson—belonged to this unit.
But to understand the weight behind these names, one had to understand what a General Knight truly was.
There were names in this world that echoed across the continents—not of rulers, but of forces.
The Martial Gods of the East
Masters of martial arts, refined to divine levels. Only five bore the title. The word "strongest" was insufficient—they embodied martial perfection. Each was a living philosophy of battle.
The Archmages of the West
On the continent known as the Land of Magic, only those obsessed with arcane mastery could thrive. Five reached the peak—the Archmages. If the Martial Gods ruled the body, the Archmages commanded the cosmos.
The Seven Kartika of the South
The southern continent, ruled by elves and saturated in ancient spirit magic. The Kartika were Aethermancers—beings who formed pacts with spirits, gaining unfathomable power and long life. One had lived for over a thousand years.
The Three Giants of the North
Dwarven paragons of engineering, defense, and genius. Their cities had never been breached. Their weapons could rival gods. The Giants were more than warriors—they were legacies cast in stone and steel.
And finally…
The General Knights of the Central Continent
Not merely commanders, but calamities clad in armor. Each one capable of ending a war alone.
Only three noble families commanded these goliaths of a force:
The Eldrenn Empire held two.
The Godfrey Dukedom had one.
And House Vargris... four.
Dustin Vargris
The Duke's younger brother.
Steel-eyed. Disciplined. Deadly.
He became the youngest General Knight in imperial history at age forty.
Known as The White Demon—a silent killer whose blade whispered through fog and blood.
But within the North, to his men, he was something more. A strategist. A protector. The very sword of House Vargris.
Some whispered he had already surpassed the Duke himself. But only those closest to them could know the truth.
Ziya Vargris
Daughter of the Duke's uncle.
Fierce. Free. Uncontainable.
She was called Humanity's Fastest.
Her spear moved faster than the eye could follow, faster than thought itself. Some whispered she moved faster than light—a whisper that might well be the truth.
They called her The Azure Flash. A bolt of blue death. Unseen, unrelenting.
Leoric Vargris
Ziya's younger brother.
Massive. Brutal. Unbreakable.
The Red Boar.
Not an insult—an honor.
He welcomed pain, broke dragons with his fists, shattered armor with raw strength. While others clung to swords, Leoric tore monsters apart with his bare hands.
He wielded a shield larger than a man, and a blade no other could lift—but he used them rarely. "Only to those who deserve it," he said.
He was Humanity's Strongest Shield—the wall of House Vargris.
Thorne Vargris
The Duke. The Legend.
The Strongest Human Alive.
He had never lost a duel. Not once. Not ever.
His fiercest rival? His own brother, Dustin.
Their most infamous battle took place on an uninhabited island in the north. They fought for days—neither breaking, neither yielding.
When it ended, the island no longer existed.
It was swallowed by their clash.
There were three more General Knights in the Central Continent—but those stories are for another day.
Those are the General Knights. The leaders of the core continent. The Shield that holds the never-ending storm. The Sword that cuts down all who arrogantly step in.
Together, the Seven General Knights were not simply warriors.
They were the wrath of the Central Continent.
To defy them... was to defy fate itself.
And in the world of Eldrenn, fate was not known for mercy.
"She's fine," Shai said, pausing to take a long pull from his bottle. "Though she wouldn't stop asking me how the young master was doing. I told her that with the captain at his side, he'd be safe even if the Generals themselves came after him. Didn't calm her one bit."
"Hmm… I see," William muttered.
Shai smirked. "What a doting sister she is. Unlike a certain other woman I regretfully call sist—ACCCHHH!"
His words cut short as his face slammed into the table with a crack.
William turned, unfazed, to see a hooded woman standing there—about the same height as Arthur. The culprit responsible for planting the Vice Captain's head into the wood.
"And who," she asked coolly, "were you just talking about, dear little brother?"
"Hello, Sherry," William muttered. "Glad to see you safe."
"Captain," she answered, dipping her head slightly. "It's good to see you well also. I reckon young master Arthur is doing fine?"
"Fortunately, yes."
"Glad to hear that."
"Youuuuu…" Shai groaned, slowly lifting his head. He grabbed Sherry by the collar and yanked her upward. "BITCH! The hell do you think you're smacking, huh?!"
Sherry didn't flinch. She dangled there, unimpressed, as Shai towered over her.
"Hooh…" she muttered. "So after becoming Vice Captain, my little brother finally grew some balls, huh?"
A heavy footstep echoed from behind the counter. The innkeeper appeared, carrying a plate. The noise must've drawn him in.
"Wha—" He froze, eyes bulging. The plate slipped from his hands and shattered against the floor. "Again?!"
The sight before him was chaos: a cracked counter, splintered wood, and a gaping hole in the floor.
Sticking out of it— leg, dangling upwards— was Shai.
"I'll pay for the damage," William said, raising his arm.
Outside the tavern, the scene hadn't changed much since the first time he arrived.
"You two need to tone it down with the squabbling. I don't know how many times the young master and I have had to cover for you."
"Hey, it's this stupid cow's fault, not mine," Shai snapped.
"Want me to put your face in the dirt again, dear little brother?" Sherry asked with an eerie smile.
"In your dreams. We'll see who's kissing the ground this time, you witch," Shai shot back, rolling up his sleeves and striking a fighting pose.
Sherry slid one leg back, smirking. "Go on, then. I'll even let you take the first swing."
"Enough!" William barked. He pulled something from beneath his cloak and thrust it at them. "Give this to Miss Mary."
It was a necklace with a black cord and an oval-shaped emerald at its center—the same gift Ivar had given Arthur earlier at the guild.
"What's this, Captain?" Shai asked, catching the necklace.
"It's an artifact," William said, untying his horse's reins. "It lets you speak with someone who holds its twin. Young Master Arthur has the other one."
The siblings studied the necklace, then looked back at him.
"Where'd you get something like this? It's crafted too well to be ordinary," Sherry asked.
"We met my brother at his guild. He's the one who gave it to us."
"Oh, Sir Ivar? That makes sense." Shai tucked the necklace into the pouch at his waist. "How's he doing, anyway?"
"He's fine—better than you can imagine," William replied, pulling his cloak back over his shoulders.
"Now, you two have another task to handle, don't you?"
Sherry and Shai exchanged a look and nodded.
"Do it quietly. Don't draw attention. Remember, as far as we know, we're on our own."
"Yes, sir," they said together, bowing slightly.
"I've got something important to take care of. Once you've finished, deliver that to Miss Mary without delay." William mounted his horse and tightened the reins. "I'll see you both next time. Take care."
"You too, sir."
With that, William spurred his horse toward the eastern gate, leaving the siblings behind.
He exited through the gate and pressed onward.
His meeting with the siblings was not the true reason he had set out alone, leaving behind the one he was sworn to protect.
What that reason was… remained unknown.
For now atleast.