A Seemingly Ordinary Knight

The castle yard was a scene of devastation. Craters marred the ground, clouds of dust lingered in the air, and the cries of the wounded mingled with the shouts of soldiers helping their fallen comrades. "What a mess," Sir Geoffrey muttered, his voice tight with frustration. He surveyed the destruction with a grim expression, his hands clenched at his sides.

One of his subordinates approached cautiously. "What about the boy who appeared from the blast, Sir?" he asked hesitantly.

"Angus took him to be treated," Sir Geoffrey replied, his gaze still fixed on the chaotic scene before him. "The King ordered that he be taken care of. We can't afford to overlook anything in times like these."

The subordinate nodded, though a flicker of doubt crossed his face. "And what about Sir Francis?" he asked after a moment, glancing around as if expecting the knight to appear any second.

Sir Geoffrey paused, his brow furrowing. "Now that you mention it, I almost forgot about him," he said, rubbing his temple in exasperation. "Where in the blazes did he—"

Somewhere at the outskirts of the city, far from the castle's ruined courtyard. A civilian carriage trundled along a dusty road toward a temporary military base camp hastily set up after the attack. Soldiers bustled around, unloading supplies, securing the perimeter, and tending to the injured. The camp buzzed with activity, a testament to the resilience of Rothrosia's defenders.

The carriage came to a stop, and the heavy door creaked open. A booted foot hit the ground, followed by the figure of Sir Francis, looking slightly worse for wear but upright and alert. He stepped down from the carriage, his armor still damp from his impromptu swim, a determined look on his face.

Clang!

The metallic sound echoed through the camp as Sir Francis's armor hit the ground, followed by a loud sneeze. He was sitting on a small wooden stool in front of a large, bubbling cauldron that sat over a roaring fire, wearing only his inner clothes. His upper body armor was discarded to the side, leaving him shivering slightly in the cool night air.

"Rats!" he muttered to himself, his face scrunched up in annoyance. He sneezed again, wiping his nose with a cloth. The dampness from his impromptu flight into the river had left him chilled, and his pride was even colder.

"I heard you flew like a bird today," came a teasing voice from the tent entrance.

Sir William, a fellow Knight Errant, stepped inside, his youthful face lighting up with a mischievous grin. He was a bit younger than Sir Francis, with a carefree air about him that always seemed to rub Sir Francis the wrong way.

"Tsk," Sir Francis responded with a dismissive flick of his hand, his eyes narrowing. He was in no mood for banter, especially from someone who had the luxury of not being catapulted through the air like a rag doll.

"Come on now, don't be like that. I'm just joking," Sir William said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. He chuckled as he took a seat on a nearby log, watching his friend's sour expression.

Sir Francis continued to pout, his face resembling a child sulking after being denied a sweet treat.

"The boy that suddenly appeared—seems the King has taken him in," Sir William said, his tone more serious now.

"What boy?" Sir Francis asked, his curiosity piqued despite his lingering irritation.

"Oh, right, you were too busy swimming with the fishes," Sir William teased, flashing a sheepish smile.

Sir Francis's face twitched with annoyance, but he leaned forward, clearly more interested in the boy's story than in trading barbs.

Sir William continued, "He appeared after the energy blast. Or should I say, from the blast itself."

Sir Francis's brow furrowed, his eyes widening slightly. "What?" he said, his voice tinged with shock and disbelief. "You've got to be joking. We don't know who he is or where he came from. He's probably one of those wretched witches' subordinates!" His tone grew sharper, tinged with anger at the thought.

"I don't know the details," Sir William admitted, holding up his hands defensively. "But it was Angus who assured the King to take him in."

"Angus?" Sir Francis repeated, his anger momentarily replaced with confusion. "Why would he vouch for a complete stranger?"

"Exactly," Sir William said, nodding slowly. "A bit fishy, isn't it?" He looked around cautiously, as if someone might be listening in on their conversation. "We should keep an eye on this boy, Francis. If Angus trusts him, maybe there's more to this than we know. But if not…"

Sir Francis grunted, his mind racing. "If not, then we'll deal with it. One way or another."

The two knights sat in silence for a moment, the crackling of the fire filling the space between them.

Early the next morning.....

The camp was buzzing with activity when a loud, incredulous voice echoed from the main tent. "What?!" It was Sir Francis, his frustration evident.

"But—" he started, but was swiftly interrupted by the imposing figure of Sir Dunham, the chief knight of Rothrosia's forces. Built like an ox with a broad chest and a commanding presence, Sir Dunham's deep, hoarse voice left no room for argument. "You are assigned to defend the northeastern gate of the city. It seems the commotion caused by the witches has attracted the attention of goblins."

Sir Francis let out a long sigh, clearly unhappy but knowing better than to argue with Sir Dunham. He nodded reluctantly, accepting his orders. Sir William, standing beside him, couldn't help but hold back a smile, finding humor in his friend's predicament.

Inside the castle walls, in one of the lavishly decorated rooms, a massive bed sat in the center, its frame adorned with intricate carvings and draped in luxurious fabrics. The room, filled with regal decor and soft candlelight, felt serene despite the recent chaos. On the bed lay the mysterious boy, still dressed in his strange, modern clothing, his face peaceful as if in a deep, untroubled sleep.

Standing beside the bed, the Royal Mage Angus observed him closely, his brow furrowed in thought. The King entered the room quietly. He was a short, elderly man with a balding head, his long beard and mustache adding to his dignified appearance. He approached Angus, his eyes fixed on the boy.

"How is he?" the King asked, his voice low and filled with concern.

"He's stable," Angus replied, his gaze never leaving the boy.

The King hesitated before speaking again. "Do you think he's the one?"

Angus shook his head slightly. "I'm not certain," he said, his tone cautious. "There's something unusual about him, but we can't jump to conclusions."

The boy's face remained calm, undisturbed by their presence or the weight of their discussion. The King's expression grew more serious as he watched him.

"I must consult the goddess," Angus finally said, breaking the silence. The King nodded, his face reflecting the same seriousness.

"Yes, that would be wise," the King agreed. Both men stood quietly for a moment.

Meanwhile at the temporary military encampment...

"Ugh," Sir Francis sighed, his shoulders drooping dramatically. "Why me?" he muttered, glancing at Sir William with a pitiful expression, as if pleading for a reprieve.

Sir William's face contorted slightly in a mixture of amusement and mild disgust at the sight of the grown man pouting like a child denied a treat. "You know exactly why," he said with a knowing smirk. "Sir Francis the Brave, also known as the Slayer of Goblins."

The mention of that title made Sir Francis wince. It was a name that carried both fame and a heavy burden. Years ago, before he had earned his knighthood, he had fought and single-handedly decimated a goblin nest, saving countless villages in the process. The feat had earned him renown, and since then, he had been called upon to deal with any goblin-related issues, much to his dismay.

Sir William continued, "No one is more suited for this task than you."

Sir Francis straightened up slightly, his expression shifting from dismay to reluctant resolve. Sir William walked toward the camp exit, his movements brisk and purposeful. "See you later then," he called over his shoulder.

Sir Francis, his brow rising in curiosity, asked, "Where are you headed?"

"To the castle," Sir William replied, pausing briefly. "I've been summoned to assist Sir Gedeon with a certain matter."

"A certain matter?" Sir Francis repeated, his expression puzzled.

Sir William gave a nonchalant wave without turning around. "I'll tell you later, after we've finished investigating it." He continued walking, the tent flap closing behind him, leaving Sir Francis alone with a thoughtful frown on his face.

He took a deep breath, then straightened himself up and stretched, shaking off his earlier reluctance. With a determined look, he nodded to himself.

"Right, time to go."