The Way of KnightChapter 23 – The Marquis' EnvoyArrival at Eisenwald Marshes
The morning mist still clung thickly to Eisenwald's marshes when the sound of hooves shattered the silence. Militiamen stationed atop the crude wooden watchtower stiffened, bows drawn.
"Golden banner… with a winged lion!" one of them shouted.
"That's the crest of Marquis Helbrecht!"
Fenrir, overseeing the spear drills of the village youths, turned at once. His body was still wrapped in bandages, wounds throbbing beneath the cloth, yet his eyes were sharp. A faint but heavy aura of thick crimson—like molten lava—coiled around him, pressing against the men nearby.
He raised a hand. "Open the gate. But stay alert."
The wooden gates creaked open. From the mist rode forth two dozen knights clad in light armor, their polished lances gleaming in the pale sun. At their head, a man in his forties dismounted. Black hair streaked with silver framed a stern face; a black staff capped with the emblem of the winged lion rested in his grip.
"I am Sir Albrecht von Kesselring, envoy of Marquis Helbrecht. Who leads this place?" His voice was deep, carrying weight.
Fenrir stepped forward. His body was small, his face still boyish, yet the dense aura that bled from him made grown men pause.
"I am Fenrir Eisenwald, son of Baron Celdric Eisenwald. At present, I lead these men."
Albrecht narrowed his eyes. "You… are but a child?"
Fenrir did not flinch. Behind him, the Eisenwald militia stood tall, their loyalty etched in their stances.
"Marquis Helbrecht has heard strange tales," Albrecht said, stepping closer. "That a mere boy led peasants against Klaus the Iron Fang and Erhart, captain of mercenaries. Is this true?"
Fenrir's answer was calm, unyielding. "It is. They invaded our land. Eisenwald will not stand idle while wolves prey upon it."
Albrecht's gaze hardened. "And I heard you executed prisoners. That is no light choice. What gave you the right?"
Fenrir's chin lifted. "Discipline is born from blood. Had I shown mercy, this marsh would become a den for rebellion. Better to be feared for a moment… than destroyed forever."
Silence fell. The aura of molten crimson thickened around Fenrir, pressing like heat on the air. Knights behind Albrecht muttered, unsettled by the weight spilling from a boy so young.
Finally, Albrecht smirked faintly. "The words of a leader… not of a child."
Fenrir invited the envoy into the simple wooden hall that served as Eisenwald's seat. It was rough-hewn, but clean, its air thick with the discipline of men forged in hardship. A humble meal was set: roasted venison, root broth, coarse bread.
The dinner became another battlefield.
Albrecht probed the size of Fenrir's militia. Fenrir answered plainly but emphasized morale as their true weapon. Albrecht hinted at Marquis Helbrecht's fear that Eisenwald might become a nest of rebellion. Fenrir declared loyalty to the Empire. Every word Fenrir chose balanced carefully, neither groveling nor overreaching.
At last, Albrecht leaned closer, eyes narrowing. "Tell me, boy of Eisenwald. What is it you truly seek? Children your age study books, not lead wars. What do you want?"
Fenrir's gaze met his, eyes burning like coals.
"I will make Eisenwald a land no one can trample at will. If they call that ambition… so be it."
For a heartbeat, silence. Then Albrecht chuckled low. "Hah… intriguing."
When the meal was done, Albrecht rose, his voice echoing with formality.
"Marquis Helbrecht is impressed by your courage. Yet he wishes to see if Eisenwald can endure not merely by fortune. Thus, your family is summoned to his estate in the coming days. Prepare yourselves."
Fenrir's answer came firm, unwavering. "We will come."
The envoy's retinue mounted once more, departing into the fading mist, their banners leaving trails of gold in the air.
That night, Fenrir stood atop the wooden watchtower, staring at the pale moon that hung over marshes still stinking faintly of blood.
Marquis Helbrecht… will you prove a shield, or a shackle to Eisenwald?
His fist clenched. The crimson aura of molten lava rippled around him, throbbing as if it sought release.
Whatever trial comes, I will not waver. The path of the knight is strewn with thorns—but I will walk it, until the summit is mine.
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