A Seemingly Ordinary Knight

It was early morning, but the sun's rays were blocked by thick clouds that hung low in the sky. The once-promising day had quickly darkened, and a sense of impending rain loomed over the land. Distant rumbles of thunder echoed across the plains, as the sky slowly filled with dense, brooding clouds.

On the dirt road beneath the gathering storm, Sir Francis's convoy moved steadily along. Sir Francis led the group on horseback, his eyes frequently shifting upward to the dark sky above. The carriage carrying the mother crystal traveled at the center, flanked by guardsman on either side, all alert despite the ominous weather.

"The rain's coming, and it won't be gentle," Sir Francis thought, feeling the air grow heavier. "Could turn to hail if those clouds thicken."

His grip tightened on the reins. They had to continue, but he knew if the storm worsened, they'd need to find shelter soon. For now, though, they pressed on, determined to reach Westdel, no matter what the skies had in store.

From the sky, a single drop of water broke through the thick clouds, falling swiftly to earth. It landed atop the carriage, and within moments, more followed—first a drizzle, then the steady rhythm of rain began to tap against the convoy. In the distance, the low rumble of thunder grew louder, a storm brewing on the horizon.

Sir Francis scanned his convoy, noticing the growing agitation among his men. The rain didn't bother him personally, but the storm that seemed to be brewing would be a different matter. He had no intention of being caught in its full force. As he debated their options, one of the guardsmen called out to him, waving his arm and pointing to a distance.

Sir Francis turned his gaze to where the guard was pointing and spotted what looked like a small settlement nestled at the edge of a forest.

He nodded in acknowledgment, and without hesitation, ordered the convoy to change course. "Head to the settlement for cover," he commanded with urgency in his voice.

Behind them, the storm gathered strength, hail beginning to fall as the winds picked up. The convoy quickened their pace, horses galloping faster as the riders pushed forward, eager to outrun the brewing tempest.

The convoy arrived at the supposed settlement just as the rain intensified. To their surprise, there were no signs of life—no villagers, no activity. It was an abandoned village, worn by time and neglect. Though the sight was disappointing, Sir Francis maintained a calm, positive demeanor. He quickly assessed the area and spotted a large, dilapidated structure that looked like it had once been a hall. Though in disrepair, it was still spacious enough to shelter the carriage.

With a decisive nod, he ordered the guardsmen, "Bring the carriage inside the hall."

The men moved quickly, guiding the horses and the carriage into the shelter. As the sound of hail began tapping against the rooftops, Sir Francis also directed his men to find refuge for themselves.

"Take shelter in the nearby buildings," he called out, gesturing toward the several abandoned houses that dotted the village.

Despite the unsettling atmosphere of the empty village, the guards obeyed without complaint, each one seeking a roof over their heads as the storm finally broke in full force.

Inside the dimly lit hall, two guardsmen, Sir Francis, and Sylvia tended to the carriage. The mother crystal remained secure, but the storm outside showed no signs of easing. Rain mixed with hail pounded down with an almost deafening force, while fierce winds howled through the cracks in the old structure. It was clear this storm would last a while.

Outside, the guards who had taken cover near the abandoned houses stood watch, faces tense as they observed the raging weather. The cold wind whipped through the village, but no words were exchanged among them. All eyes were fixed on the storm, silently hoping it would pass soon.

At the hall's entrance, where a large door had likely once stood, Sir Francis stood with his arms crossed. His gaze was locked on the storm, his expression serious and filled with concern. He weighed their options carefully, wondering when—if ever—they could resume their journey with the mother crystal safely. The storm had delayed them, and time was something they couldn't afford to lose.

Sylvia moved beside Sir Francis, crossing her arms and holding her shoulders as she trembled slightly from the cold. Her eyes remained fixed on the storm outside, and she muttered with an annoyed expression, "Well, this sucks."

"Yup, it really does," Sir Francis replied, his tone matching her frustration.

"And we still have one more day's journey to Westdel." His voice carried a hint of disappointment, his gaze still locked on the worsening weather.

Turning to Sylvia, he asked, "The mother crystal—how's it been so far?"

"I haven't detected any magic coming from it, nor do I feel affected by it," Sylvia responded. "So far, everything seems fine."

Sir Francis nodded, acknowledging her answer.

With a sigh, he shifted the conversation.

"How long have you been an apprentice mage?"

Tilting her head slightly, Sylvia replied, "Almost ten years now, but I've still got a long way to go before becoming a full mage."

"You haven't taken the Royal Mage exam?" Sir Francis asked, curious.

Sylvia's face turned a bit shy, and with a small, embarrassed smile, she admitted, "I failed once."

Sir Francis smiled softly, offering no judgment.

Sylvia, now more determined, clenched her fist. "Next time, I'm sure I'll pass," she said confidently, her expression now resolute.

There was a brief silence between Sir Francis and Sylvia, broken only by the rumble of thunder, the patter of rain, and the crackle of hail against the old building.

Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, Sylvia hesitantly asked, "How... how was Sir William?"

Sir Francis frowned slightly, puzzled by the question. "What about Sir William?"

Sylvia, now sounding more embarrassed, stammered, "I... I just want to know how long you two have known each other?"

Her cheeks flushed a deep red, and she avoided eye contact, though her curiosity seemed genuine.

Unbothered by her nervousness, Sir Francis took a moment to think before answering. "I've known Sir William since I was still a soldier in training. He joined later, though—I'd been training for a year before he came along."

Sylvia's eyes sparkled with interest as she listened.

Sir Francis continued, "He was born into a noble family. With his connections, he could've skipped the training and become a knight apprentice right away. But instead, he chose to start from the beginning, training alongside common soldiers, those of peasant origin like myself." His tone was calm, with a hint of admiration for Sir William's humility.

Sylvia nodded in understanding, her interest piqued. After a pause, she shyly asked, "What is Sir William like... in real life?" Her voice was soft, almost timid.

Sir Francis closed his eyes, hand on his chin as he pondered how to respond. Then, abruptly, he opened his eyes and said in a stern tone, "He's a ladies' man."

Sylvia's face immediately twisted in confusion, and she muttered, "Eh?" as if she didn't quite understand.

Sir William has a certain charm. His polite and calm personality, especially toward women, paired with his princely demeanor, always catches their attention. Simply put, He's like a character out of one of those romance tales.

Suddenly, without warning, a blinding flash of light pierced the stormy sky. The crack of thunder was deafening, and in the blink of an eye, one of the abandoned houses where the guardsmen had sought shelter was struck by lightning. From Sir Francis's perspective, everything seemed to move in slow motion—the force of the thunderbolt blew the structure to pieces. Debris flew in all directions, and the guardsmen, along with their horses, were thrown into the air as if they were mere leaves caught in a gale. They landed hard on the ground, some knocked unconscious, while a few of the panicked horses bolted from the scene.

For a moment, Sir Francis was stunned, caught off guard by the sheer destructive power. But his instincts kicked in, and with a sharp, commanding voice, he shouted,

"SECURE THE CARRIAGE!"

The guardsmen near him immediately moved to follow his order.

However, just as Sir Francis turned to assess the chaos outside, another powerful force surged through the air. A howling wind swept through, decimating the hall and the nearby buildings. The entire structure buckled under the force, collapsing inward as the storm raged.

Sir Francis, Sylvia, and the guardsmen inside were thrown violently. But with his quick reflexes, Sir Francis twisted his body midair and rolled upon landing, planting his foot firmly on the ground to stop himself. Sylvia, using her magic, stabilized herself mid-fall, landing softly beside Sir Francis, her eyes glowing faintly from the spell she had just cast. The carriage had toppled onto its side, but thankfully, it remained shut and intact.

As Sir Francis scanned the area, he saw that two of the guardsmen with him had managed to regain their footing, immediately drawing their weapons in preparation. But before they could regroup, a chilling, familiar laugh echoed through the storm, cutting through the sounds of the rain and hail like a blade.

"He, he, he..."

Sir Francis's heart sank as he lifted his gaze toward the sky. Floating above them, silhouetted against the storm clouds, were three figures, each perched on broomsticks. Their cloaks billowed in the wind, and their eyes glowed with malicious glee.

It was them—the witches. The same witches who had attacked Rothrosia Castle before. Their cackles filled the air as they hovered, the storm seemingly at their command, ready to unleash more chaos upon Sir Francis and his convoy.