In the middle of the night.
Baron Duval's Castle.
In the main stables of the outer bailey, only a single, dim oil lamp was lit.
Norton, wrapped in a thick woolen blanket and carrying a bucket of freshly mixed oats, pushed open the stable door.
A cold wind, carrying snowflakes, slipped through the crack in the door, making him shiver.
"This damned weather..."
He cursed under his breath, quickly shutting the heavy wooden door and carefully sliding the bolt into place.
The stable was well-sealed, effectively shutting out the howling wind.
Norton hung the oil lamp on an iron hook on the wall. The flickering flame cast dancing shadows across the walls, enveloping the entire stable in a hazy, yellow gloom.
Although the sound of the wind was gone, a lingering chill from outside still hung in the air.
He walked over to Red Leaf's stall. The warhorse stood quietly in the shadows, its eyes gleaming faintly in the darkness.
"Hungry, are we?"
He said, placing the feed bucket into the manger.
Red Leaf pricked up its ears warily but didn't immediately step forward to eat.
Seeing Red Leaf's hesitation, a flicker of irritation rose in Norton.
He thought of Murphy, that kid who only got to stay in the main stables because of Lord Lawson's luck.
'Why should a bumpkin like him win this warhorse's trust?'
Norton suppressed his displeasure and said again in the gentlest tone he could manage, "Go on, eat up. You don't want it to get cold."
Red Leaf finally ambled forward and began to lower its head to eat.
Norton leaned against the stall partition, watching the warhorse.
In the dim light, the warhorse's powerful muscles rippled slightly with each chew.
At that moment, Norton felt it with sudden clarity: he was truly back in the main stables. He had reclaimed the position that rightfully belonged to him from the boy who had only gotten ahead through another's good fortune.
"Murphy..."
Norton muttered the name, his voice laced with obvious disgust.
'That bumpkin only got to keep enjoying the fine treatment in the main stables because Lord Lawson was lucky enough to survive.'
'And he, Norton, an experienced Groom, had to suffer in the common stables just because Lord Leo's warhorse died in battle.'
The injustice of it all filled his heart with resentment.
The sound of the night watch's footsteps came from outside the window, and Norton temporarily pushed his thoughts aside.
Only when the footsteps faded into the distance did he resume observing the feeding Red Leaf.
This warhorse, which had originally belonged to Lord Lawson, was now under Lord Leo's name due to its former master's good fortune. As a consequence, he, Lord Leo's long-time Groom, had been able to return to the main stables.
Red Leaf suddenly raised its head, looking toward the door with caution.
Norton waited patiently until it lowered its head to eat again.
Although he was filled with contempt for Murphy, Norton maintained a professional attitude toward Red Leaf, the horse that had once been Murphy's charge.
He knew that winning a warhorse's trust required time and patience.
"Don't you worry, I'll be the one taking care of you from now on,"
Norton said softly, reaching out to stroke Red Leaf's neck.
The warhorse shied away slightly, but this time it didn't completely avoid his touch.
This subtle change gave Norton a sliver of satisfaction. After three days, the horse was at least starting to accept him.
Norton walked over to the manger and grabbed a handful of the remaining oats.
The plump grains shone with an inviting luster in the dim light.
He recalled his time in the common stables, where even the horse feed was moldy hay.
Meanwhile, Murphy had been enjoying these high-quality oats in the main stables. The contrast made Norton's discontent burn even stronger.
"But now," Norton murmured to himself, "this is all mine."
He watched the quietly eating Red Leaf and imagined Murphy suffering in the common stables at this very moment. A cold smirk touched the corners of his lips.
'That bumpkin who got by on luck was finally driven out by a real Groom like me.'
The oil lamp suddenly sputtered. CRACKLE. Norton glanced back but saw nothing unusual.
By now, Red Leaf had finished its oats and was watching him quietly.
Norton gently blew out the oil lamp, plunging the stable into darkness.
In the last glimmer of light, he seemed to see Murphy's detestable face.
"This is fate."
Norton muttered to himself in the darkness.
He habitually made the sign of a crescent moon embracing a star over his chest and prayed softly, "May the starlight of Oriane guide my Path, may the light of truth protect my life."
Just then, a bone-chilling gust of wind suddenly poured in from outside, making Norton shudder.
He frowned. 'I'm sure I shut the door properly. Is there something wrong with the bolt?'
'This won't do!'
'If Red Leaf catches a chill because the stable door isn't sealed tight, I'll be the one to blame.'
As a Groom, he had to fix this door immediately.
Norton groped his way toward the entrance, his hands searching for the door in the darkness.
He forcefully pulled the door shut again, making sure the bolt was firmly in place.
The sound of the howling wind immediately lessened.
Then, he turned and fumbled around, wanting to relight the oil lamp.
His fingers explored the wall, searching for the iron hook that held the lamp.
Unlike what the ignorant, know-it-all common servants speculated, the main stables didn't actually need a charcoal brazier burning at all times.
These warhorses had thick coats and were far more resistant to the cold than humans.
Besides, for fire safety reasons, as long as the stable was sealed tightly and had enough dry hay, it was sufficient.
The charcoal fire was mostly for the Groom on night duty to keep warm.
Thinking of this, Norton couldn't help but feel a sense of pride.
Back in the common stables, you couldn't find a single ember of charcoal. The Grooms had to huddle next to the draft horses for warmth.
But now, not only could he enjoy a charcoal fire, but he could also care for precious warhorses in this warm main stable.
This contrast further convinced him that he was the one who belonged here, not that upstart Murphy who got by on luck.
Norton finally found the flint and steel. With a sharp STRIKE, the oil lamp was relit.
The instant the lamp flared to life, he suddenly felt a shadow fall over him from behind.
He flinched, startled, and was just about to turn his head when he felt a cold sensation on his neck. Then, his consciousness faded to nothing.
Under the swaying lamplight, a strange, disheveled figure, looking like a beggar, stood behind Norton, a Knight's Sword in hand.
This figure was none other than Murphy.
The previous afternoon, he had used a message from Tom as a pretext to leave the castle. He visited the homes of Hank and Bart, and finally kept watch at Tom's side as he lay dying.
After Tom breathed his last, Murphy used the cover of night to dig up the Knight's Sword he had buried two years ago near his family's collapsed farmhouse.
After putting on a disguise, he slipped silently back into Baron Duval's Castle, evading the patrols along the way. He snuck into the main stables just in time to see Norton giving Red Leaf its nightly feed.
Holding his breath and focusing his mind, he approached stealthily, striking the moment Norton relit the lamp.
Now, Murphy gripped the still-dripping Knight's Sword, feeling the cold touch of the hilt and the weight of the Longsword.
He had only one thought in his mind.
'This sword... is truly sharp.'
'Worthy of a follower, indeed.'