Dromos 30, Imperial Year 1643
Thornreach, Northern Boreas – Vlad's Workshop
The snow had stopped falling, and the world outside was a silent expanse of white. Inside the workshop, the alchemical bulbs burned steadily, casting their yellow glow over the workbenches. Vladislav Eisenberg sat at his desk, a quill in his hand, a blank sheet of parchment before him.
He had been sitting there for an hour.
The armor of Zero stood on its stand behind him, the white cape hanging motionless. The helmet's single lens reflected the light like a cold star. The shotgun, the rifles, the pistols – all were cleaned, oiled, and ready. But the weapons were not what he needed to forge tonight.
He needed words.
Rules, he thought. Principles. A code that will outlast me.
He had seen too many mercenary bands fall apart – leaderless, directionless, betraying their own for coin. He had seen too many knights serve corrupt lords, their honor bought and sold. He wanted something different. Something that would endure.
He dipped the quill in ink and began to write.
One: Embrace possibility.
He paused, rereading the words. A knight must always believe that things can get better; that there is always hope.
Vlad had spent a hundred years believing the opposite. He had seen the worst of humanity – the slavers, the murderers, the corrupt nobles. He had concluded that the world was broken beyond repair, and that all he could do was remove the worst offenders, one by one.
But that was not enough. He knew that now.
If I do not believe in a better world, he wrote, I cannot build one. Hope is not naivety. It is the foundation of action.
He set down the quill and looked at the armor. Zero was not a symbol of fear, like the Raven. Zero was a symbol of possibility. A blank slate. A beginning.
Two: Listen to your conscience.
A knight must act by inner morality, not external command.
Vlad had been a soldier in no army, a servant to no lord. His only master was his own judgment. But he had seen too many men – good men – follow evil orders because they were told to. Because it was their duty. Because they feared the consequences of refusal.
No more, he wrote. My knights will answer to their own hearts. If an order feels wrong, they will not follow it. Even if I am the one giving the order.
Three: Follow the honorable path.
A knight must choose justice, even when it is hard.
Justice was not always clear. Vlad knew that. The slaver, the murderer, the corrupt duke – those were easy. But what of the starving peasant who stole bread? The soldier who killed in war? The woman who poisoned her abusive husband?
Hard choices define us, he wrote. Easy choices reveal nothing. My knights will not take the easy path. They will take the right path, even if it costs them everything.
Four: Lead from the front.
A knight must share the danger, never ask others to do what he would not.
Vlad had never sent anyone else to do his killing. He had always been the one to pull the trigger, to drive the blade, to stand in the line of fire. He would not change that.
I will not command from a throne, he wrote. I will stand beside my knights. Their blood is my blood. Their risk is my risk.
Five: Accept the weight of steel.
A knight who kills must be prepared to die.
Vlad had killed hundreds. He had never feared death – not in his past life, not in this one. But he understood the weight of it. Every life he took was a weight on his soul. He had learned to carry it, but he had never forgotten.
If you are not willing to die, he wrote, you have no right to kill. My knights will face death as they face life – with open eyes and a steady hand.
Six: Freedom is the right of all living beings who have the right to live.
A knight does not enslave, cage, or chain.
This was personal. Vlad had seen slavery in this world – orcs, beastfolk, even humans bought and sold like cattle. He had killed slavers. He would kill more.
Every being that draws breath has the right to live freely, he wrote. My knights will fight for that right. Not because it is profitable. Not because it is commanded. Because it is just.
Seven: Listen to both sides of a coin.
A knight does not judge without hearing the full story.
Vlad had made mistakes. Early in his career, he had killed a man based on incomplete evidence – a merchant accused of selling weapons to enemies. Later, he learned that the merchant had been framed by a rival. The guilt had never left him.
I will not repeat that error, he wrote. My knights will investigate. They will question. They will seek the truth before they pass judgment. And if the truth is unclear, they will hold their hand.
Eight: Actions have consequences.
A knight takes responsibility for what he does.
Vlad had never fled from his actions. He had never blamed another for his choices. But he had seen men who did – who rationalized, who justified, who found someone else to bear the weight.
My knights will own their deeds, he wrote. Good and bad. They will not hide behind orders, or circumstances, or necessity. They will stand before the world and say: I did this. I am responsible.
Nine: Violence is not the answer, but if the situation calls for it, you are to not hesitate to take a life.
Mercy where possible, decisive force where necessary.
This was the hardest tenet to write. Vlad believed in mercy – he had spared targets when the balance was uncertain. But he also believed that some evils could not be reasoned with, could not be redeemed, could only be stopped.
Violence is a tool, he wrote. A dangerous tool. Use it only when all other tools have failed. But when you use it, use it without hesitation. Hesitation kills the innocent.
He set down the quill and read the nine tenets aloud. His voice echoed in the quiet workshop.
"Embrace possibility. Listen to your conscience. Follow the honorable path. Lead from the front. Accept the weight of steel. Freedom is the right of all living beings. Listen to both sides of a coin. Actions have consequences. Violence is not the answer, but when it is, do not hesitate."
He nodded. They were not perfect. They would be tested, challenged, perhaps broken. But they were a beginning.
He picked up the quill again and wrote at the top of the parchment:
The Black Knights.
That would be their name. Not because they wore black – though they might – but because they operated in the shadows, unseen, unknown. They would be the darkness that protected the light.
He set the parchment aside and turned to the armor.
Dromos 31, Imperial Year 1643
The Workshop – Final Refinements
The Zero armor needed finishing touches.
Vlad worked through the night, adjusting the fit, reinforcing the joints, polishing the plates. He added a hidden blade to the left vambrace – spring‑loaded, silent – and a small compartment in the right gauntlet for lockpicks. The cape was re‑stitched with steel wire, making it resistant to cutting. The helmet's lens was recalibrated to adjust to different light levels, a trick of alchemical glass.
He tested the mobility. The armor was lighter than it looked, the plates articulated to allow a full range of motion. He could run, climb, fight, and shoot without restriction.
He tested the durability. He struck the chest plate with a hammer. The steel held. He stabbed the pauldron with a dagger. The blade skidded off.
Good, he thought. Not invincible, but enough.
He placed the helmet on the stand and stepped back.
Zero was ready.
He walked to his desk and picked up the parchment with the nine tenets. He read them one more time, then folded the parchment and placed it in a waterproof tube.
The first recruit, he thought. I will find them. I will test them. And if they are worthy, I will give them a copy of this code.
He looked at the map on the wall – the Free Cities, Mercia, Valdria, the northern wastes. Somewhere out there, a dozen potential recruits waited. Disillusioned knights, mercenaries with consciences, former guards who had seen too much corruption.
He would find them. One by one.
The work was not all that mattered. But it was a start.
End of Chapter Twenty-Three