Chapter 18: The Knight

  Ethan lay in a pile of hay, listening intently to his growling stomach and breathing in the musty smell of the straw beneath him. At the nearby tables, burly men were devouring meat and chugging ale, boasting to one another about their exploits on the battlefield and in bed. Their raucous, lewd laughter filled the air. Beside each man’s chair rested a weapon—some still stained with dried blood.

  On the hay bales next to Ethan, a few thinner men lay as listlessly as he did, as if half-dead.

  This was a mercenary tavern in Aery City, a gathering place for all the men in town with no real skills, willing to risk their lives for money. They worked as thugs, bodyguards, or even accomplices to bandits.

  The aroma of meat wafting over from the tables clashed sharply with the musty hay. Ethan suddenly daydreamed: what if those burly men picked a fight with him? He would leap up in anger, beat them all senseless, then sweep every scrap of food left on their tables into his hands. But the men were fully absorbed in their own little world of beer, beef, and chatter—they did not even glance at him, as if he were beneath their notice.

  Besides, he was not quite hungry enough to start a fight over a few pieces of meat. Earlier, one of the men had even bought a round of drinks for the entire tavern in a moment of drunken generosity. It might have been a rare burst of recklessness, but it had still snuffed out Ethan’s petty, vengeful thoughts in embarrassment.

  The money Chris had lent him should have been enough. After buying a good horse and essential supplies, he had some left over. Ten days ago, when he had found that hanged merchant in the wilderness, he still had eight silver coins and over thirty copper coins. The poor merchant had run into a band of goblins in the wild. The goblins had not killed him, but had stolen every last bit of goods he had bought with his life savings. So Ethan had given the merchant his horse and all his money, then walked the rest of the way to Aery City.

  Ethan suddenly found himself longing for the days in the wild forests. At least he had never had to worry about food there—catching one large prey would feed him for days. But in this city, where humans lived in crowds, everything came with a price. If you wanted something, you had to buy it with money. To get money, you had to trade your labor, your time, your freedom—and you even needed the skills to make that trade. Otherwise, you had to steal, cheat, or rob.

  Ethan realized he was not cut out for life in this human settlement. He had no way of following the established rules and customs of daily life—like getting used to taking orders at work, or exchanging meaningless tasks for things he needed, like food. Nor did he have the ruthlessness to ignore those rules; the moment he thought about how his actions might affect others, he could not bring himself to rob them. And stealing or cheating? Those were skills beyond him. To do that, you needed not just cruelty, but also a willingness to see yourself as inferior to others—too afraid to face them head-on, so you resorted to dirty, underhanded tricks to take what they had.

  Yet humans were social creatures, after all. No matter how much one preferred living alone, deep down, there was still a desire to connect with others of the same kind. Even now, starving, Ethan stayed in this city where food was hard to come by. Watching other people go about their lives, listening to the clatter of carriages, the crowing of roosters, and the barking of dogs in the streets—all of this gave him a sense of peace he could never find alone in the wilderness.

  He just could not get used to the way of life this strange environment demanded. It was like a wild dog trying to live among domesticated ones—uncomfortable, yet drawn to the scent of so many of its own kind. If he could stay in the city, he would rather not go back to the wild. So he had come here to try his luck. Even if he had no other useful skills, he could still handle manual labor. And maybe, just maybe, he could find out something about that damn forest here.

  He had wandered around the city for a long time, asking everyone he met about “Whispering Woods” or the “Forest of Unspoken Words.” Not only had he found no answers, but he had even come close to being arrested as a heretic. Aery City was in the midst of a heretic panic; soldiers were searching everywhere, and he had seen people dragged away screaming more than once.

  The tavern door creaked open. A young man stood in the doorway.

  Every eye in the tavern turned to him. He was not one of them. The young man wore a knight’s uniform—worn, but meticulously clean, with a cloak that was clearly just for show draped over his shoulders. His handsome face still held a hint of youth, and his hair was groomed as neatly as his uniform. This must be a client, Ethan thought. The men lying next to him lifted their heads, suddenly regaining a little energy.

  The young man glanced nervously around the tavern at the men—some fierce-looking, others sprawled out drunk. He spoke up, his voice as steady and loud as he could make it: “I am Knight Rodhart. I have come to recruit a brave soul to be my squire.”

  The tavern erupted in laughter and curses. The burly men went on eating and drinking. The men next to Ethan flopped back down, lifeless again.

  The young man stood in the doorway, as if reciting a manifesto: “What I ask for is unwavering faith, a kind heart, and unshakable loyalty to one’s master and the code of chivalry.”

  An even louder wave of laughter and swearing followed. One man on the hay bales called out: “How much do you pay a day?”

  “I have no money to offer,” the young man replied, continuing to recite his speech in a rhythmic tone. “But what I can give to those who follow me is far more valuable than money—noble spirit and great honor. Their name will be forever inscribed beside mine, and bards will sing of them for all time.”

  The tavern exploded in wild, unrestrained laughter. The burly men stamped their feet and banged their fists on the tables, as if they had just heard the funniest comedian in the entire continent. Even the men on the hay bales laughed, suddenly lively again. One burly man laughed and called to the bartender: “Where’d you dig up this joker? I’ll tip him!”

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  The bartender shook his head with a smile, then walked over to the young man—whose face was now bright red. “Everyone here’s a tough guy who fights for money,” he said. “You’ve got the wrong place. Try the countryside.”

  The young man tried his best to keep persuading them: “I am going to the woods south of the city to carry out a dangerous but noble mission. Is there any brave soul willing to come with me?”

  A drunk burly man stood up, squinting as he approached the young man. He pointed at the young man’s face and said: “This little liar’s actually pretty good-looking. If he were a woman, I might be interested in taking him out for a good time.”

  The young knight—already on the verge of anger—clenched his fists and glared at the man. He tried to keep his voice steady, but everyone could hear the tremor of rage in it: “By the name of the gods, if this man dares to insult a knight again, I will wash away his sin with his own blood.”

  The burly man’s eyes widened. He reached out and shoved the young knight in the chest. “What’s that? You wanna fight?”

  He’s gonna hit him in the stomach. Ethan watched as the young knight’s shoulders dropped slightly, and he knew the knight was about to strike.

  There was a dull thud. The young knight’s right fist slammed into the man’s abdomen. The man doubled over, then dropped to his knees, his forehead hitting the floor. The beer and meat he had just eaten gushed out of his mouth. The four other men at his table grabbed their weapons and charged over at once.

  Step forward, half a step left, elbow him in the ribs, then knock him into the others. Ethan watched the knight sink into a lower stance and move forward, silently guessing his next move.

  Facing the men with weapons, the knight did not back down—he charged straight at the first one. As the man swung his sword down, the knight spun to the left, dodging the blade. At the same time, he drove his elbow into the man’s ribs. There was a dull thud, and the man grunted, staggering to the right—just in time to block the weapons of the two men on his right. Those two men quickly pulled back their blades.

  Spin around, then hook punch to the jaw. Ethan predicted it in his mind.

  The man on the left had just lifted his mace above his head when the knight’s fist slammed into his jaw. The sound of breaking bones was loud enough for everyone in the tavern to hear. Ethan could even tell the man had lost about five or six teeth.

  Get up, knee him in the chest, grab the last man’s right hand and twist it back, then chop his neck—that’ll finish it. This young knight was quite skilled. Ethan felt his powers of observation and his mind growing sharper by the day. He could never have seen someone’s movements so clearly or predicted their next moves like this before. It must have been from all that meditation practice. Even though he had pawned the book, he had long since memorized the meditation methods in it and still practiced them every day.

  The knight had twisted the last burly man’s arm behind his back. The man screamed like a stuck pig. The knight looked at the men groaning on the floor, then let go of the man’s arm—annoyed and angry, but seemingly unable to bring himself to harm the man, even though he had just talked about drawing blood.

  He turned to walk toward the door. The man he had just released picked up a sword from the floor and stabbed at the knight’s back.

  Mid-stab, a hand reached out from behind and grabbed the man’s wrist. With a squeeze, the sword fell from the man’s hand. Then Ethan twisted the man’s arm back in the same way the knight had done earlier. The man resumed his screaming—but only for half a second. A blow to the back of his neck silenced him at once.

  “You’re going to the woods south of the city?” Ethan asked. He had no leads anyway, and Chris had mentioned the forest was in the south. Going with this young knight to take a look—maybe he would get lucky.

  The knight’s face lit up with surprise and joy. “You’re willing to follow me?”

  Ethan shook his head. “I’ll just go with you to take a look.”

  The knight did his best to persuade him: “Then will you help me complete a mission? If we succeed, I’ll pay you.” He was a quick learner—he knew to mention money now. But he still did not forget to add his manifesto: “And it’s a very honorable mission too.”

  Ethan frowned and thought about it. Getting a meal out of it did not sound bad. He nodded.

  Outside the tavern, the knight mounted his horse. Ethan walked beside him, munching on the beef he had grabbed from the burly men’s table. The knight was excited about his successful recruitment, and kept asking Ethan about his background and ambitions. Ethan only gave brief answers—saying he was a wanderer from the capital.

  “My friend Ethan, your manners are really not fitting for a knight’s assistant,” the knight said, watching Ethan lick the grease off his hands. He probably thought it was undignified, so he gently pointed it out. “You’re no different from a street beggar.”

  Ethan wiped his hands on his clothes. “Do you have to talk like that?”

  The knight paused. “All knights talk like this,” he said—this time in a normal tone. “Have you met other knights?”

  “Yes,” Ethan replied. Sanders, the captain of the mercenary group he had once joined, and that annoying Clovis—both were knights.

  “Really?” The knight sounded surprised. “I’ve never met one. I only know what bards sing about and what’s in books—this is how knights are supposed to be. Weren’t the knights you knew like this? Where were they from?”

  “Captain of the Paladin Order,” Ethan answered.

  This reply made the knight react immediately. He leaned forward sharply on his horse, getting close to Ethan’s face. His eyes were filled with excitement and awe. “Really? What were they like? How did they talk?”

  Ethan looked at him, worried about the angle his back was bent at. “They looked about like you. But they didn’t talk as stiffly as you do.”

  “Is that so?” The knight straightened up, letting out a sigh that held both joy and disappointment. He gazed off into the distance, lost in thought, as if imagining that kind of demeanor. “Yes… it’s better to talk more casually. That’s how a knight’s grace shines through. Only true heroes are true to themselves.”

  As they talked, they walked out of the city. Ethan learned that this young “knight” named Rodhart was not actually a knight at all—he was just a recent graduate from the Knight School in Erathia, and this was his hometown. His only family member had been his grandfather, a local squire who had dreamed of a knight’s life. The old man had spent every last coin he had to send his grandson to the Knight School—a place that was usually only for nobles—hoping he would become a real knight. Unfortunately, the old man had died in poverty the previous year. Rodhart had only found out about it after graduating, so he had traveled all the way back to bury his grandfather.

  Outside the city, Rodhart looked around to make sure no one was watching, then said to Ethan: “My friend Ethan, now we’ll go complete this noble mission. Have you heard about the Imperial Envoy?”

  Ethan shook his head. “No.”

  The knight’s face lit up with excitement, his eyes shining with the passion of youth. “I overheard it from the soldiers at the town hall. The Lord Imperial Envoy, who came from the capital to inspect, ran into a group of bandits just outside the city yesterday. The Lord Envoy was taken hostage. The bandits are demanding a huge ransom from the local officials, and the town hall’s in a total mess right now. If we can rescue the Lord Imperial Envoy before the army does—can you imagine what a great achievement that would be? I’d become a real knight!” He looked at Ethan, his eyes glowing, as if he were happy for Ethan too. “And you’d get to share in that great honor.”

  “Hope it doesn’t take too long,” Ethan said, yawning—sounding as tired as an old man.