----Chapter 3----
The rain had stopped, leaving the road to Ragnafiore slick and thick with mud.
Dawn's pale light stretched across Arcaun, illuminating the graves of those lost. Mist rose in fragile threads, curling over the freshly turned earth and tombstones.
Villagers lingered near the graves, their faces pale and lined with grief. Hands clasped tightly, some shivering in the morning chill, murmuring prayers that drifted in the soft wind.
Each small gesture, a bowed head, a hand brushing a tear, a child clutching a token, spoke volumes of sorrow and fragile hope.
Azre and the knights stood quietly, each feeling the weight of Arcaun's tragedy press upon them. Executioner rested at Azre's side, its faint glow reflecting across the wet earth.
Eldhar adjusted his gauntlet. Nilda checked her rapier. Thalia tightened the string of her bow. Aven brushed mud from his shield.
The grief of the village seemed to linger in the air, heavy and almost tangible, pressing on every shoulder.
Rowan stepped aside, adjusting the straps of his armor with methodical precision. Every movement felt ritualistic, as if fastening steel could shield him from the sorrow in his chest.
His gaze lingered on the mist-wrapped tombs, recalling the faces of the villagers they could not save, the whispers of those who had trusted them.
A soft voice broke the quiet.
"Hey… Rowan."
He turned, seeing Eida, granddaughter of the old woman who had died. Her eyes were red, the corners damp with tears, yet she moved with quiet determination.
"Eida!?" Rowan breathed, a pang of emotion tightening his chest.
"I… I'm sorry," she whispered, voice trembling.
"For all the trouble we caused you and the other knights… and thank you for saving Grandma. Thank you for trying."
Rowan nodded slowly, chest tight. "Granny will always live in my memory. And so will you, Eida. Don't give up… live on. Carry her courage, her love, with you."
Eida wiped her tears and offered a fragile smile. "Yes… you're right, brave knight."
They shared a low, tentative chuckle, grounding themselves amidst the lingering grief.
"By the way… you're heading to Ragnafiore, right?" she asked.
Rowan nodded, sword sheathed at his waist, the leather strap cold against his fingers.
Eida leaned closer, voice barely above a whisper. "According to my sister in Ethille, bandits have been prowling the roads. Killing merchants, robbing nobles… It's dangerous. She warned me to be careful."
Rowan's jaw tightened. "We'll remain vigilant." He paused for a heartbeat, letting her words sink in. The path ahead was uncertain, but the knights could not falter now.
Nearby, Zian and Nina approached Azre. Zian wiped her tears, her voice steady despite the trembling in her hands.
"I still have Nina. I won't give up. Garin left her in my care… and I'll protect her with my life."
Azre placed a comforting hand on Zian's shoulder, feeling the girl's small frame trembling beneath her fingers.
"Yes, Zian. Be strong. You still have Nina… and me as well."
Nina tugged gently on Azre's arm. So she knelt slightly, lowering herself to meet the girl's earnest gaze.
Then, unexpectedly, Nina pressed her lips to Azre's cheek. "Be careful, Lady Knight. And… make sure to visit us sometimes."
Azre blinked, heart warmed by the simple gesture. "Ah… I will, Nina." She lingered a moment longer, letting the weight of their grief and hope settle together.
The knights mounted their horses, the muddy road slowing each step. Each hoof sank into the thick earth, splattering mud along armor and cloak.
Rowan rode beside Eldhar, leaning close to speak over the creaking of saddles and the snort of horses.
"Captain, the bandits… they've been spotted near Ethille. Merchants and nobles targeted… it's worse than expected."
Eldhar's horse halted mid-stride. Sunlight glinted across his armor, revealing tension carved into his features.
The road ahead seemed longer now, heavy with both mud and the anticipation of violence.
"Change of plan, Purge Knights," he said, voice firm.
"Our report to the King can wait. We ride to Ethille first. These bandits will not continue unchecked."
The knights adjusted their formation, faces set with grim determination. Mud, rain, and fatigue would not slow them. Justice demanded their presence.
✦ ✦ ✦
Far from the muddy roads, shadows stirred in a ruined hall.
A hollowed man sat upon a throne crafted from skulls and skeletal remains.
His eyes were dark, unblinking, and seemed to pierce through the gloom. The floor beneath was littered with grotesque arrangements of corpses, their limbs twisted in macabre patterns.
He sniffed the air, tilting his head, and a wicked grin spread across his face.
"Hmmm… I can smell it," he murmured, voice low and cruel. "Blood… more blood…"
A hollow laugh echoed through the hall, chilling the silence. "Interesting. I can sense their presence. I hope my puppets make this far more… entertaining. Hehehehe."
Shadows around him pulsed as if alive, responding to his will. His gaze stretched across distant lands, toward the muddy roads where the knights rode toward Ethille.
✦ ✦ ✦
Steel rang against steel, the cries of men echoing across the morning mist. The clearing had become a maelstrom of chaos.
Firelight from toppled torches flickered over the mud-streaked earth. Ethille's militia fought desperately to protect a noble carriage, but they were being cut down, one by one, beneath the Black Fang's ruthless onslaught.
At the center, Darkan towered, brutal and terrifying. The jagged mark on his forehead pulsed faintly, as though alive. Each swing of his blackened battle axe cleaved the air with lethal precision.
"Spill their noble blood! Ethille will burn today!"
The Black Fang surged forward, wild and unrelenting. Yet the ground seemed to answer another force. The Purge Knights arrived, polished steel flashing in the sun, a shining wall of disciplined order amidst chaos.
"Knights of the Purge! Drive back this scum! Protect Ethille!" Eldhar's voice cut like a blade through the chaos, rallying both militia and knights alike.
Rowan led the charge, blade striking true, movements precise and deadly. Each parry and thrust carried both skill and urgency.
Thalia's arrows rained upon the enemy, finding gaps in armor and flesh alike. Azre's Executioner crashed through shields and bones, scattering foes with each swing.
Nilda's rapier danced in lethal arcs, protecting the wounded and innocent alike.
The Black Fang faltered. Their confidence shattered under the knights' coordination and precision.
Viera, militia captain, glimpsed Eldhar across the melee. Relief surged through her chest.
"Eldhar!" she shouted, thrusting her blade into a bandit. Memories of campfires, shared bread, and laughter with the young mercenary flared, lending her courage amidst the chaos.
The noble carriage shook under repeated strikes. A young woman stumbled into the open, gown torn and hair tangled by firelight.
"Stand your ground!" she cried. "Ethille still stands while we stand!"
Darkan laughed cruelly, surging forward, axe raised. Rowan intercepted him, steel clashing with brute force. Sparks flew like fireflies.
The fight narrowed to Rowan and Darkan. Brute force against disciplined skill. Rowan's parries held, steady and unyielding, until Darkan was forced to one knee.
Blood dripped from his lips, eyes blazing with fury.
"This… is not over boy! I will remember you!" Darkan spat, staggering into the forest shadows.
Silence fell, punctuated only by measured breaths and the groans of surviving militia.
The noblewoman approached Rowan, trembling.
"You saved me," she whispered, voice tight with emotion. "Twice, you placed yourself before death for my sake. I owe you my life."
Rowan bowed. "You owe me nothing, my lady. A knight's duty is to shield the innocent. That is all."
Nearby, Eldhar's gaze lingered on the forest edge, where Darkan had disappeared.
Even as the clearing quieted, he could feel it. The calm was a fragile mask. Somewhere beyond the trees, danger still waited.
The Purge Knights regrouped, mud and blood streaking armor and faces alike. Horses snorted nervously, ears flicking to shadows.
A faint, unnatural rustle drifted from the edge of the forest.
Though unseen, the hollowed man's presence pressed upon them like a cold wind, palpable and unrelenting.
Every nerve was on edge. The storm of conflict was far from over, and the first threads of darkness had already begun to twist around the land.