The clouds on the horizon blazed crimson, scorched by the setting sun. On this spring evening, a splendidly adorned carriage rolled slowly along a road in the southern reaches of the Kurt Province, within the Empire's vast domain. Crafted from the finest materials, the four-wheeled carriage exuded an air of solemn grandeur. Its jet-black body, etched with intricate carvings and gilded flourishes, bespoke the lofty status of its owner.
Most striking of all was the family crest emblazoned upon it—a ring of irises entwining two crossed swords, their hilts crowned by a coronet wreathed in flames. To a noble versed in heraldry, this emblem was nothing short of astonishing. Across the entire Empire, few families could boast a crest with two crossed swords, a mark signifying that their lineage had produced at least one marshal of the realm. The coronet above proclaimed an even rarer distinction—a blood tie to the imperial house.
Ten armored knights rode before and behind the carriage, their steeds proud and their longswords gleaming at their sides. Their light armor shone brightly, but their demeanor betrayed a stark contrast—heads hung low, spirits dampened, as if weighed down by some unspoken burden.
Marde perched beside the coachman, a blade of grass dangling idly from his lips. He glanced at the fading light, sighed deeply, and leaned down to tap the carriage window. "Young Master Du Wei, shall we find a place to rest? The sky's growing dim."
Inside, Du Wei looked up from his book, interrupted mid-sentence. He slid open the window, his eyes catching the last glow of the sunset. "Very well," he said softly.
Marde nodded briskly. At that moment, a rider galloped back from ahead, reining in before the carriage. The young knight, clad in light armor, caught his breath before speaking loudly, "Master Steward, there's a small town up ahead. Looks like our only option for tonight."
Marde, once a mere stablehand, still flinched at being called "Master Steward." Yet the honest man tipped his hat to the rider. "The master's given the word. We'll rest there tonight."
Gazing at the young knight's earnest, resolute face, Marde sighed inwardly. A simple lad, full of zeal. This entourage, accompanying Young Master Du Wei back to the Rowling family estate, consisted of just these twenty knights.
For the eldest son of Earl Raymond, the Empire's second-highest military commander, to travel with only twenty guards, a steward, and a coachman was a paltry retinue indeed. In the capital, noble families would bring legions of servants and guards for even a casual outing to the countryside.
These twenty knights had been "carefully selected"—or rather, culled from the unwanted. Everyone knew Du Wei had fallen from favor within the family. The future of the Rowling House rested on his younger brother. Though never stated outright, it was clear Du Wei had been stripped of his status as heir.
To follow a disgraced master back to the ancestral lands was a bleak prospect. Ambition burned in every heart, and none relished the thought of languishing in the provinces under a discarded lordling, far from the glittering capital. Knights dreamed of catching the Earl's eye in the capital, of rising through valor and skill. When the call came to escort Du Wei, every man had shunned the task. None wished to squander their youth tending fields alongside a fallen noble.
Thus, the chosen twenty were a motley lot—either too unskilled to be of use, too solitary to fit in, or too young and naive to grasp their fate. Marde glanced again at the young scout. Likely one of the green ones, he thought, too simple to see he's been exiled with the rest of us.
Since leaving the capital, the mood had been dour. Only Du Wei remained unruffled. Despite his banishment, not a single complaint had passed his lips. Each day, he sat quietly in the carriage, engrossed in books brought from home, speaking little and treating all with a calm courtesy.
Shaking off his musings, Marde barked an order to quicken the pace. The former stablehand turned steward kept his spirits high. Exile or not, what's it to me? I was just a groom before. This is already a step up, thanks to the young master. Patting the coin pouch at his side, he grinned. A steward's pay, meager though it was, meant a few extra gold coins each month—a fact that warmed his heart.
They say the south breeds fine women, he mused. Soft skin, petite frames… maybe old Marde can find a wife in Kurt Province yet.
The town of Giant Wood was the only settlement for miles, home to a few hundred souls. Its sole tavern, aptly named Giant Wood Tavern, was the heart of its modest commerce. As the only watering hole, it never lacked for patrons seeking cheap ale, roasted meat, or the company of women who offered solace for a price. Even the humblest folk needed their distractions.
When Du Wei's caravan drew up before the tavern, he lifted his gaze from his book, closed it gently, and snuffed out the carriage's lantern. Stepping out, he glanced at the rusty iron sign swaying in the breeze. From within came a clamor of voices, the windows aglow with raucous light.
As Du Wei and his men entered, heads turned. A band of armored knights striding into a small-town tavern was no common sight. Du Wei trailed behind, letting his knights clear a space—a clean table, a safe circle around him.
Eyes followed him, sizing up the young noble. Tall for his age, Du Wei bore the lean frame of the Rowling lineage, though he lacked the robust build of a warrior. His fine doublet, edged with lace at collar and cuffs, marked him as aristocracy. His red hair, a hallmark of the Rowling bloodline, stood out vividly. Pale-skinned and slender, clutching a book, he struck many as frail, more scholar than lord.
The knights bustled about, unloading gear, while Marde tossed a few gold coins to the tavern keeper. Rooms were swiftly prepared, and hands were sent to tend the horses.
Du Wei endured the curious stares. Whispers rippled through the crowd.
"Look there! A noble lord!"
"What's a fancy lord doing in a place like this?"
"Oi, keep that chair he sat on, might fetch a good price!"
After a brief hush, the tavern's din resumed, all talk centered on the newcomers. In a backwater like Giant Wood, a noble in silks was a rare spectacle.
A few women, faces painted and dresses low-cut, tried to sidle up to Du Wei, but Marde shooed them off with practiced ease. Two of them cursed him in coarse local slang, but Marde just grinned. A drunken patron stumbled over, slurring, "Forget that scrawny lad, darling. Come to me!" He pinched one woman's backside, and she giggled, sliding into his lap.
Du Wei remained composed, sipping his ale. Even as fingers pointed and tongues wagged, he merely furrowed his brow slightly. His knights, meanwhile, slumped at their tables, the tavern's cheap perfume and stale beer only deepening their gloom. If only we'd stayed in the capital, they thought, where the world sparkles with promise.
Then, with a loud bang, the tavern door swung open. Four figures strode in—three men and a woman, their faces weathered by travel, their garb costly and foreign. Like Du Wei's party, they were outsiders.
The room fell silent, every man's gaze locking onto the woman. She was striking, perhaps nineteen, with flowing chestnut hair and a face that radiated bold allure. Her fitted leather armor, a deep azure etched with strange runes, hugged her form. Crafted from some rare beast's hide, it was clearly no common gear. Her shorts left her long, snowy thighs bare, a dagger strapped to one leg, a curved blade at her waist, and a small, elegant bow slung across her back, its quiver bristling with silver arrows.
Du Wei's sharp eyes noted the arrows' gleam—pure silver, an extravagant choice for weaponry. As she bent slightly, her armor's neckline revealed a glimpse of pale cleavage, and two nearby drunks gaped, their mugs clattering to the floor.
Her companions were no less imposing. One, a towering brute, wore heavy armor and carried a massive shield, his scarred arms and fierce demeanor marking him as a brawler. Another, lean and hawk-eyed, bore a longbow with a black string, his calloused fingers adorned with an iron ring—a clear sign of an archer's trade.
But it was the last figure that caught Du Wei's attention. Clad in a plain gray robe, the man blended into the background, his features unremarkable save for a cold glint in his eyes. Yet a single detail stood out—a silver leaf badge pinned to his chest.
The locals might not have recognized it, but Du Wei did, as did a few of his seasoned knights. That badge marked the man as a mage—a certified, first-rank mage of the Magic Union. Lowly though his station might be, a mage was a rare and formidable presence.
Du Wei's gaze lingered on the badge, a spark of intrigue kindling in his mind…