A Seemingly Ordinary Knight

At the village recently ransacked by goblins, guardsmen were busy unloading supplies from carts and distributing them to the relieved villagers. What was once a scene of despair now showed glimmers of hope, as the people received aid. A small encampment had also been established, with guardsmen scouring the nearby forest for any remaining threats.

Sir Francis sat on a crate near one of the carts, wiping his face with a damp cloth. His armor, stained with goblin blood, lay beside him. Despite the battle, Sir Francis appeared unscathed, without a single cut or bruise. Nearby, however, the guardsman who had fought alongside him was being tended to by Sylvia in a makeshift tent.

Sir William walked up beside Sir Francis, a playful grin on his face. "Tough battle?" he asked, referring to Sir Francis' recent encounter with the goblins.

Sir Francis held a damp cloth to his face, his gaze steady as he replied, "Not so much. Dweller goblins are easy to predict. It's the soldier goblins that can be troublesome." His tone was calm, almost indifferent.

Sir William smirked. "Even soldier goblins are no match for Sir Francis the Brave," he said, emphasizing the title with a wink.

Sir Francis chuckled, a small acknowledgment of the flattery. He stood up abruptly, stretching his back, then turned his gaze to Sir William. "Well, we should continue our journey then," he said, his tone slightly mocking but sincere. "We've got a savior to send off to."

With that, they both readied themselves to move forward, knowing that their next task awaited them.

Outside the entrance to the village, a line of carriages stood in place, guarded by watchful soldiers. Sir Francis and Sir William, now on horseback, approached the convoy. As they rode up, Sir Francis glanced at Sir William and asked, "How was the savior?"

With a teasing grin and a subtle, exaggeratedly puzzled expression, Sir William replied, "Who?"

Sir Francis's face immediately began to pout, his expression showing clear irritation at the jest. He looked like a child upset with a parent, and Sir William couldn't help but chuckle softly at the reaction. "He's rested enough," Sir William finally replied with a grin. "He insists on continuing the journey without further delay."

Still looking slightly annoyed, Sir Francis gave a glance that said all he needed to—he wasn't in the mood for games. Amused by his friend's attitude, Sir William subtly stifled another laugh, keeping his tone calm despite the humor he found in the situation. Sir Francis soon shook off the teasing and asked, "What about old man Drogo, the village chief?"

"He's fine," Sir William said, his voice returning to its serious tone. "The chief guardsman promised to leave a few men behind to guard the village. I also requested him to send word to the main city for more reinforcements."

Sir Francis didn't bother with more words and simply nodded in acknowledgment, his expression steady as they prepared to continue their journey.

It was late in the afternoon, almost evening, as the line of carriages continued their journey. The fading sunlight bathed the path in a warm, golden hue, casting long shadows across the road. The wooden wheels creaked as they rolled over the uneven terrain, while dust swirled lazily in the air. Guardsmen rode alongside the convoy, their eyes alert despite the tranquil atmosphere, ensuring the safety of the valuable cargo they escorted.

At the front, Sir Francis and Sir William reined in their horses as they approached a split in the road.

The path ahead diverged—one toward the Magic Academy, and the other to the city of Westdel, nestled in the rolling hills.

Sir Francis cast a glance at Sir William, who had been tasked with escorting Akimitsu to the academy.

Meanwhile, Sir Francis and Sylvia were responsible for safeguarding the carriage carrying the mother crystal, destined for Westdel.

"Well, here's where we depart," Sir Francis said, breaking the silence as they paused at the fork in the road. His tone was calm, though there was an underlying weight to his words.

Sir William gave a brief nod, his smile faint but genuine. "I'll leave you and Sylvia with the mother crystal then," he replied, his voice steady, though his concern for the task ahead was evident.

With a final nod of respect, the two knights urged their horses forward in different directions. The carriages followed suit—Sir William's convoy headed northwest, toward the Magic Academy, while Sir Francis led the remaining group west, toward Westdel.

As they parted ways, the clattering of wheels and hooves echoed in the cool evening air, each group setting off into the unknown, where new challenges awaited.

The sun had already dipped below the horizon, and the early night had settled in. Sir Francis's convoy had decided to rest for the evening, planning to continue their journey to Westdel at first light.

A makeshift camp had been set up near the edge of a forest, nestled against the foot of a hill. Several guardsmen took turns patrolling the perimeter, their eyes scanning the darkness for any sign of danger. The carriages, including the one carrying the precious mother crystal, were securely shut and closely guarded.

Inside one of the tents, Sir Francis sat cleaning his equipment, wiping his shield free of goblin blood stain from the earlier battle. His movements were steady and focused, the repetitive task offering a moment of quiet after the day's chaos.

Outside, a fire pit crackled, casting flickering shadows against the nearby trees. A cauldron bubbled above the fire as one of the guardsmen stirred the contents, preparing dinner for the group.

Close to the fire, Sylvia sat quietly, soaking in the warmth as the night air had grown chill. Several guardsmen were seated nearby, sharing in the warmth of the fire and the calm of the evening. Above them, the night sky was clear, stars twinkling brightly against the black canvas. Occasionally, the sound of owls hooting or the distant howl of wolves could be heard, though no immediate threat seemed to linger. The horses were tethered a short distance away, with one of the guards keeping a close watch over them and the convoy's equipment. The breeze was gentle, a soft reminder of nature's calm after the day's turmoil.

The guardsman preparing the meal handed a plate to Sylvia, who accepted it with a warm smile. "Thank you," she said, and the rest of the guardsmen began enjoying their meals as well. Sylvia took a small sip of the stew, its light and creamy broth melding with tender pieces of meat. As she ate, her ears caught snippets of a conversation nearby. Several of the guardsmen were discussing Sir Francis, marveling at his prowess in defeating the goblins earlier that day, almost single-handedly and without sustaining any injury.

Curious to hear more, Sylvia shifted closer to the group and politely joined the conversation. "Pardon, I overheard you all talking about Sir Francis just now?" she asked.

One of the guardsmen looked up and nodded, "Yes, we were."

A flicker of interest lit up Sylvia's eyes. She leaned in and asked, "How did Sir Francis earn the title 'Sir Francis the Brave'?"

The guardsmen exchanged glances, as though contemplating how best to answer. Finally, one spoke up with a tone of admiration. "Before Sir Francis was appointed a knight, he was an adventurer, known for his reckless—yet brave—approach to any quest he was given."

Sylvia, now more intrigued, was about to ask further when another guard interrupted, "He holds many titles and was well-known in the adventurer's guild."

"What titles?" Sylvia inquired, eager to know more.

The guardsman smiled and began listing them. "The Slayer of Goblins, The Bear Killer, Wolf of the East, Night Hunter..."

Sylvia's eyes widened in amazement at these grand titles. But then, one of the guardsmen spoke more somberly, "It's a shame, though, that Sir Francis was born into a peasant family."

Her curiosity shifting, Sylvia asked with a slight frown, "Why is that?"

The guard explained, "Among the knights of Rothrosia, Sir Francis is ranked the lowest because of his family background. Most of the knights come from noble families, some are even direct relatives of the royal family."

Hearing this, Sylvia felt a pang of pity mixed with a subtle flash of anger.

The guardsman continued, "Because of that, Sir Francis is often given the oddest jobs compared to the others."

Sylvia's brow furrowed. "What kind of odd jobs?" she asked, trying to understand the full extent of the situation.

Another guard chimed in, "Once, he was ordered to help find lost livestock. And another time, he had to hunt for a rare deer for a noble family."

"Can you imagine that?" another added with a shake of his head. "A knight doing menial tasks like that."

The guard who had spoken first nodded. "But despite all of it, Sir Francis completes every task without a single complaint."

The admiration in their voices was clear, and Sylvia simply nodded in response, though her expression reflected her growing disdain for the treatment Sir Francis had endured. Despite her calm demeanor, a quiet frustration stirred within her at the injustice Sir Francis faced because of his lineage.

Inside Sir Francis's camp, an empty plate rested on top of a wooden crate, and beside it, his armor—now clean and glistening—reflected the flickering light of the campfire. Sir Francis lay on a makeshift bed, his exhaustion evident as he closed his eyes for the night.

Unbeknownst to the convoy, in the bushes nearby, a fox quietly observed them. At first glance, it appeared to be an ordinary fox, but its gleaming red eyes hinted at something far more sinister.

The fox continued to watch in silence.