Chapter 4: Silent Knight

Year of the Silver Dragons, 115 Crode

The light based claymore was a lot heavier than most novice knights assumed. Iridius, once a lord of war, was one to balance the weight of all weapons to near perfection, that those under him would not fail even if they could not forge weapons out of light. For this reason, the light claymore held a weight heavier than other light constructs but significantly lighter than a real claymore. Kyros and Melric knew this all too well. Drills started in the morning, way before dawn, when soldiers would have barbells dropped on their chests at exactly the same time each day. The ones who would be disciplined enough to sleep on time and wake up early would wait for their fates. Those who slacked would have an early trip to the medic. A couple of those trips meant you were done. You were not worthy of the Holy Knights and the great campaign.

The two complemented each other well. Each morning, their eyes would synchronise on sleeping and waking up and they were the first to grab the barbells. They would get into jogging form immediately and race out of the barracks at top speed. Kyros was pretty athletic, adding unnecessary flourish to his pace and occasionally making his races harder by constructing obstacles for him to evade or jump. It was pretty cute for the first few months. Following that, even the top generals had to admit it was becoming demoralising to the rest of the crew and a stern letter was sent his way. Kyros did not bother to open the envelope. The message was clear from the colour it was coated in.

Melric had good form. He could be better. He didn't care about being better. He just wanted to be good. That always worked out for him. He was good enough to catch up to Kyros. He was good enough to beat the average swimming records. He had a good enough eating pace to finish before the second round started in the afternoon. If you were good enough, you didn't have expectations set on you. Melric loved being a knight, but nothing came close to his passion to be slightly above mediocre. His tests had just the right score to pass. His practicals had the right amount of spirit to progress. If the required scores were higher, he'd just barely work harder. If the expectations were greater, he'd just barely scrape greater favour. For this reason, his commanders did not like him that much. But he could never be booted.

As soon as the two woke up that morning, there were summons presented in their barracks for them. If it came from a Dignified Knight, that was a disciplinary case, seeing as they were the highest on-the-ground officers of the Holy Knights. This one was different. It was purple and gold, meaning someone higher than a Dignified Knight summoned them.

"Early promotion?" Melric asked, excited.

Kyros examined the letter carefully. There was a seal that locked the contents that would only disappear when you chose to open the letter. This way, it could never be said the message was not passed on to the soldiers. His father was a Knight, one who was all too talkative about their conduct. There was only one reason they were being called with a purple letter.

"We're getting promoted, all right. But they're only doing this because it's an emergency. We're getting an early draft. My guess? Front lines."

Melric's soft eyes slowly relaxed as despair washed his body.

"We're not even official-"

"It's not the first time it's happened. My father had the same thing happen to him. Those stinkin' dragon spawn are getting too confident, too bold to approach our borders."

"Then don't open it, then! Are you crazy?"

"We'd be crazier if we didn't. Not from an office this high up. You had to know war would happen sooner or later, Mel. Now stop being a baby and lemme open the-"

Melric forged a small light knife. Kyros sent a jab to his face so quickly, he almost didn't see Kyros move. His knife shattered and disappeared. As he fell to the floor, Kyros sent an apologetic look his way.

"I get it. You're scared. I'm not made of stone, ya know? But we can't-"

Kyros' hand was shaking. He tried to steady it. No luck. He took deep breaths and continued.

"I'm opening it."

*******************

"Jethro!"

Jethro, who was up until that point snoring, jolted and stood in attention. His body was still conditioned to the military training he once had. A seal appeared before him in purple and gold, the colours of the Upper Ranks of the Holy Knights.

"What do you want?"

"Wretched soldiers coming your way!"

"Wretched?"

The seal was gone. Jethro cursed as he expanded his office to accommodate the emergency. Two stretchers burst through the door with a group of younger medics pushing them. The soldiers were badly wounded with sword cuts and lacerations messing up their skin. The wounds, however, seemed to be oddly scorched rather than the severed bleeding states most knights tended to be after fights. He went straight into business, ordering around several ingredients to be found as he prepared the mana cost to perform emergency healing. He poked around the skin, hoping his working theory would be false but slowly he had to accept that it was true. The knights were harmed with Light Magic, possibly their own.

Jethro finally got enough mana cost and summoned emergency healing. It was a weak spell that would leave scars but if he tried to mess with their bodies with a strong spell, he might end up killing them.

"Summoning: Blooming Roots."

Tendrils that looked like roots wrapped around their bodies and slowly began the healing process. He rushed through the doors of his office and straight ahead to another set of doors that led to his laboratory, taking the ingredients he found with him. Brown withered leaves, skin of a lizard, a bear's fur and dragon scales were all he could find on short notice. He placed them in a large beaker and placed an acidic solution with hints of stored mana cost and left it on a flame to mix. In about 10 minutes, the solution would boost the skin's ability to heal, reducing the scarring. He had time to think. What could have possibly led two knights to attack each other like that? Holy Knights were rarely known for reckless conduct. Discipline was either beaten into them or they were sent home. There was only ever one reason a knight would feel the need to harm themselves in war. Dishonour.

But that didn't make much sense because wretched soldiers did not officially have a rank. They hardly ever saw war, even during an emergency draft. Something was not adding up. He thought about the fact that he got an alert about wretched soldiers from official upper rank communication channels. It's not that upper management didn't really care for the lower class. Jethro had worked with them before. It's more likely that in an emergency draft, the wretched would be left to die. That's part of why they got that name in the first place. They were expendable. And more importantly, they would have no reason whatsoever to attack each other when the enemies of the kingdom were so many. Jethro had a choice. He could curb his curiosity and just do his job. More than likely, with those injuries, they expected the two to die while he treated them. He saw those wounds. Those soldiers could have appeared early enough to be saved by emergency healing alone. Someone had to have delayed them intentionally. Someone must have wanted them to die and not on the battlefield. Those two wretched held important information that the Holy Knights did not want to lose to the enemy but one that the wretched soldiers were not trusted to hold with their lives either. Jethro rushed back to his office and rummaged through his desk for a totem. Mothrigal had trusted him to hold one of his own, a high ranking communication totem that allowed him to always be connected in case of anything. Mothrigal was long gone but Jethro still made other friends. He inserted some mana cost and watched as a communication seal form.

"You never have any good news for me, Jethro."

"The sea has thrust its own to the sun to boil for eternity."

The message was clear to the receiver. The seal turned grey and lost all color; it was now fully encrypted and unlikely to be heard by anyone who was less powerful than the two men speaking.

"What you'd be asking for is probably going to get me demoted or killed."

"If they find out, yes. But I think there's a third option. It might also get you promoted."

"I'm listening."

"These wretched sent here, they have information about something. I'm going to guess it was a temporary promotion. But that isn't nearly enough to get them where they are now."

"You'd be right."

"What's the rest of it?"

"How do I get promoted after telling you everything? Do you plan on killing them? That might work."

"That's not an option. It never will be. What is an option however is silence. Their silence about everything that happened."

The person on the other side sighed.

***************

To say the war was brutal was an understatement. By the time the wretched got to the battlefield, they were welcomed with mangled bodies with bones sticking out and rotten flesh. Melric emptied everything he ate that morning. Kyros was more reserved. He had once walked the plains in search of his wounded father when he was a child. Nothing new or novel to him. But as prepared as he was, he knew in his heart that he couldn't lead these men. They were lambs headed to slaughter. He could practically see their blood on his hands. This was a fight they would not survive. They walked through the trenches, headed to the No Man's Land and preparing for-

A bone fairy rushed through them, snapped one of the knights with it's giant teeth, blood trickling down its muddy teeth. The others were ready to manifest their swords when Kyros stopped them.

"He's only hungry and he has his prey. Let's not give the fairy any more reason to attack."

They stood down and watched as their comrade helplessly screamed his last. The fairy was gone. Melric fell to his knees, tears flooding his eyes and a wail held nervously at the back of his throat. This was the horror that awaited them. Soldiers who held no rank were nothing but fodder to the fairies. No amount of training they had done this far was worth it.

"That was probably one of the most dangerous ones," Melric said, trying to console himself and his team.

"No. That was standard size. No need to downplay them."

"Could you try to be a little positive here? We don't have anything to hold on to but hope."

"I hope we survive one night here. Any less than that and we'll be branded cowards."

"Then if that's the case, let's go back. I don't care about being called a coward."

"You should. To die honorably is better than to live shamelessly."

Melric couldn't argue with that. Nobody could. The night was worse than anything they saw in the trenches. One by one, the soldiers were picked off by the fairies. Occasionally, they would band together and kill one or two but their victories were short lived. There would always be another ready to attack. And soon, at the crack of dawn, there were only five soldiers left. They survived the night. They fulfilled their duty. Nobody expected them to fight and win the war. They just wanted to avoid the punishment that came with non compliance. The five braved the trenches once more, returning to the base they once called home. When they arrived, Kyros realized that their fight was far from over. He had known that the mission was purposely left to them so those higher ups could flee the barracks safely without having to worry about the wretched. But standing before them were Arch Bishops and Bishops of the Holy Knights, the first and second Upper Rank officials. One of them probably sent the letter to promote them. And now, after their faithful service, they were ready to cut their losses.

"Blessed Knight Kyros and Blessed Knight Melric, step forward."

They did.

"In a better time, we would be talking about your immeasurable service to the Holy Knights for braving the wild as the wretched. But alas, you are the highest ranking knights here, and punishment must be given for faulty conduct. Your seniors will be dealt with, rest assured that will be swift. But as for you, your mission of engaging the enemy was a failure. You did not so much as stop a platoon which would have saved this barrack from shame."

The Arch Bishop didn't believe his own words. Protocol held his tongue from being honest. This was ridiculous. Wretched soldiers being given an impossible mission then being admonished for it. He could imagine Kyros as his own kin, a son before an unyielding father, and his entire being recoiled in shame. He knew it. Kyros knew it. They all knew it. This was a scummy affair.

"For your conduct, we shall spare your wretched fellows from harm. But you have to bear the cost. For your sake and that of the Holy Knights. Bear the shame faithfully that the-"

"I'm sorry, I can't hear more of this," Kyros interrupted.

"Pardon?"

"I am not loyal enough to the cause to hear blatant crap like this. If you want us to die, then give us space and let's get on with it. I'm too tired to take any of you seriously."

A light claymore was forged and swept across Kyros' chest in a flash. The Arch Bishop did the same to Melric, who was too stunned to move.

"Have it your way, brave knights."

**********

"That's the way I heard it went down," the voice said.

"Thank you."

Jethro got to work. He went back to the lab and took his solution. He returned to the office and smeared the solution over the scabs that formed on the skin, slowly watching them heal over half an hour. Their physical scars were gone and their vitals seemed stable. Over the course of two hours, Jethro slowly introduced mana to their system to ensure their vessels were functioning properly and they were capable of using mana themselves. It wasn't unheard of for fighters to lose their ability to break down mana despite being alive. Such people wouldn't live for too long. A body that had been used to mana is going to be sustained by it over time. The body builds an affinity [addiction, Jethro would correct in his books] to mana in ways that would be destructive without it. But these soldiers were fine. Probably a little too soft. Then again, they were newbies.

Kyros woke up first. Melric followed. Jethro was calm as he searched for the words to say.

"You're wretched so you can't afford emergency medicine like most knights. I don't think your bill was footed by your superiors since they probably expected you to die. I'm not sure if that's more of an insult for you or me. So you owe me a favor. And I'm immediately cashing it in."

"What do you want?" Kyros was direct.

"Your silence. I promised I'd completely heal you against popular wishes as long as you never talk about what happened. Maybe you get promoted-"

"I don't care about promotion."

"You should, Kyros. As long as you're going to remain a knight, you won't have a say if you've got several annoying people on your back. Climb those ranks and then do whatever you want. But to get there, you need to shut up about this."

Kyros thought about it. Melric remained silent and stared at the ground. When he finally had resolve, he stood up.

"I don't care about the knights. But I do care about the bastard that almost killed me. If what you say is true, then I'm going to find them. You think they'd have a problem with me killing such a man?"

"No. The knights believe in honor but also discipline. If your version of discipline is killing an idiot who is a liability to the knights, and you're high enough in the ranks to get away with it, it'll happen. But there's a chance that happens to you too if you set that precedent."

"If I'm that powerful, I'll relish the fight that comes my way. Thank you, Jethro. I won't waste my second chance."

"Sure. Now get out of my office. I have sleep to catch up on."