[Page 84]
Year #### Today, I crossed paths with a young man unlike any I've ever met. He called himself Raiking, arriving in plain black robes devoid of any emblems or markings linking him to the prestigious five major clans. At first glance, I dismissed him. Sure, he managed to secure a place among the elite, but after decades in the military, I've seen countless 'prodigies' come and go. Some fade before they can shine; others etch their names into the chronicles of history.
What about this boy's fate? He's a dead man walking.
And he has no one to blame but himself. In this kingdom, it's a well-known truth: you don't challenge the major families and survive to tell the tale.
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[Page 87]
Year #### Against all odds, the young man known as Raiking is still standing strong. Now, as the head instructor of the elite class, I've spent countless hours observing him. He's unlike any other prodigy.
Reflecting on my own past, I too was celebrated as a supreme talent. I claimed my place among the elite with ease. Yet, even with a clear path ahead, I found my thoughts drifting. Should I forsake the military for a life in trade, or wander the continent as a mercenary for hire?
In youth, no one truly knows their destiny.
Raiking, though, is cut from a different cloth. His conviction is unwavering. When he gazes out the academy windows, it isn't with the aimlessness of a child unsure of his future. It's the intense look of a conqueror, viewing this classroom not as a sanctuary of knowledge, but as a cage holding back his inevitable rise to power.
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[Page 98]
Year #### Whispers have begun to circulate through the academy halls. The students claim Raiking hunts outlaws in the dead of night. More alarmingly, they say he has slain one of the Seven Bandit Chieftains.
How much of this is truth?
It is difficult to say. He could have simply stumbled into a deadly encounter and been saved by a passing hidden master. Or perhaps the tales are nothing but schoolyard fabrications.
I intend to unearth the reality of the situation. Raiking never lingers for post-lecture discussions, and he is a ghost at all social gatherings. Therefore, under the guise of mentoring him, I will pull rank. I will use my authority as head teacher to compel him to share a drink with me.
Alcohol is the universal solvent for secrets. It either brings forth the absolute truth... or highly exaggerated fables.
We shall see.
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[Page 111]
Year #### The boy was nothing like I expected. Membership in the elite class naturally breeds a certain arrogance. It is practically part of the curriculum—teaching them to take pride in the legacy they are destined to carve into the world.
But Raiking transcended mere aspiration. He held no pride. No fragile hopes. His drive was forged from pure, unrelenting necessity.
On my walk home after our conversation, I paused by a rain puddle. Looking down, my trembling reflection told the story of my life.
In my youth, I harbored grand illusions of becoming a hero. I wanted to shield the innocent from the ravages of war. I wanted to ensure no one else would have to grow up an orphan.
So, I bled for my rank. I climbed the military ladder. I earned my stripes as a sergeant, and upon completing my mentorship, the mantle of General awaits me.
I was proud of those accomplishments—until I spoke with Raiking. Now, I am haunted by a single question: at what point did I surrender my aspiration to save the world?
Did it slip away unnoticed? Or did I simply calculate the unbearable toll such a dream demands?
My wife. My children. My soldiers. My students.
To truly reshape reality, a man cannot be anchored by the fragile constraints of mortal attachments. The road to true heroism requires a toll paid in absolute sacrifice.
When did I become so terrified of losing what I have built? Could I ever muster the courage to face the abyss again, knowing it could take everything from me?
I know I cannot. But Raiking can. Therefore, I will guide him as best I can. Perhaps he can prove to an old soldier that heroism is not just a myth.
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[Location - Northern Border Military Camp]
Elinea sat quietly across the table from Dia'Tia. The shuddering sigh that slipped from the giantess's lips was deeply unnerving. Her face did not reflect the triumph of a commander who had uncovered a strategic advantage; it bore the hollow grief of a weeping heart.
"What did you find?" Elinea asked softly, her voice barely stirring the candle flame.
Dia'Tia lifted her heavy, solemn gaze. "What type of man kills his own friend?"
"Scum," Elinea replied, cold and unhesitating.
Scum... Dia'Tia pondered, staring down at the worn, closed cover of the Compassionate General's ledger. "Then tell me," she said aloud. "If Raiking is truly a monster without redemption, why did he spare my life?"
"I... I cannot say."
Had he struck her down, it would have been simple to accept the kingdom's narrative—that he was just a cold-blooded traitor who earned his execution. But his mercy shattered that logic. Dia'Tia was a stranger; she held none of the mentor-student bond Raiking had shared with the General. He also clearly knew her rank. In the brutal mathematics of war, assassinating a Vanguard Commander destroys morale far faster than butchering a few generals.
So why? she agonized silently. Why show mercy to me, yet deal death to the man who believed in you? What is the actual truth buried beneath the blood?
---
Meanwhile, back in the present, the grand halls of Greenhollow buzzed with tension as the projection faded to the next scene. Every immortal in the room harbored questions about the impossible history they had just witnessed.
Morgal was the first to break the silence. "Hmm. I must admit my surprise, Dia'Tia. You actually possess a mind behind those fists."
Dia'Tia crossed her arms. "Hmph. It is only natural that someone still stunted in her growth hasn't learned to look past appearances."
A vein pulsed visibly on Morgal's forehead. "You're entirely right," she replied, flashing a dangerously sweet smile. "Your absolute lack of feminine charm made me completely ignorant to the truth."
A matching vein throbbed on Dia'Tia's head. "Listen to me, you little brat..."
While the two titans clashed, the Princess remained perfectly still, her eyes locked on Raiking. Dia'Tia's strategic depth was a revelation, but it paled in comparison to the world-shattering truth of Raiking's past.
He wasn't some monstrous force of nature from the Northern wastes destined to crush Dawnfall.
He was one of them.
He had donned their armor, fought beside them, and spilled his blood for their kingdom's future.
If destiny had been just a touch kinder... might we have fought side by side?
"Alas..." came the weary whisper of Sir Lerikmen, his voice heavy with the same haunting thought.
If this history leads to the betrayal I fear, the Princess mused, her blood turning to ice, then my ancestors committed the most monumental error in human history.