A New Knight Appears

The sharp, unmistakable sound of steel striking steel rang through the silent grounds as Argon's blade met Harold's gauntlet. The force of the blow jolted the veteran knight, his grip faltering and his sword tumbling onto the sandy ground. A hush fell over the spectators, the sudden outcome of the fight leaving them speechless.

"Shameful!" Ser Lancel, one of the Baron's sons, broke the silence, his voice ringing out in clear disapproval. "He should be lashed for such tactics."

The Baron, however, dismissed his son's comment with a wave of his hand. "While I agree it was rather rude, a win is a win," he declared, his voice steady and authoritative. "Argon now ranks second among our knights."

With the healing artefact in effect, Harold's injury was far from severe. He retrieved his fallen sword, his hand still clutching his wrist, but the sting was quickly fading. Despite the underhanded move, he showed no anger towards Argon, understanding the desperation that comes with a fight.

Baron Eldrige commanded Argon to kneel before him. As Argon did as told, a sudden seriousness filled the air.

As Argon knelt on the sandy ground, the Baron began the knight's vow. His voice, commanding and resonant, echoed throughout the silent yard, and every word hung heavy with the weight of tradition.

"In the name of the King of Seric, and by the power vested in me, I charge you with the sacred duty of knighthood. Do you, Argon, swear to uphold the honor and the dignity of this noble calling?"

Argon replied with a firm, unwavering, "I do."

"Do you pledge your sword and your life to your Baron, your King, and your Kingdom, to defend them against all enemies, to hold true to your word, and to never falter in your duty?"

"I do."

With Argon's vows taken, the Baron concluded the ceremony, his voice booming out with finality, "Then by the powers vested in me, I now name you Ser Argon, a knight of this realm. Arise, and join your brothers in arms."

A moment of silence fell before the Baron spoke again, his voice resonating with authority and finality. The grounds have a half-hearted applause, acknowledging Argon's ascension among their ranks. The harshly contested duel had ended, but for Argon, a new journey had just begun.

And thus, with the sacred vows spoken, Argon was no longer a common man but Ser Argon, a knight of the Kingdom of Seric.

The Baron, with a satisfied nod at Argon's acceptance of the vows, turned and signalled with a broad sweep of his hand. "In accordance with tradition," he said, his voice ringing out with authority, "you will be granted a fief, a stretch of land to govern and protect in my stead. Further, to acknowledge your station, you shall don the Dayless Armor, a symbol of your loyalty and service to our cause."

As if on cue, several servants emerged from the shadows, carrying an exquisite set of armour. It was a magnificent sight, a full suit of armour, completely pitch-black except for the helmet. The Dayless Armor, so named for its dark colour, was a sign of honour and duty among the knights and a visual testament to their pledge of service.

Argon, still standing tall and proud from his knighthood ceremony, watched as the servants approached, carrying the armour pieces with the utmost respect. Every plate was polished to a mirror sheen, the material looking as hard and resilient as the knights who wore them. The chest plate bore the intricate crest of the Baron, a sign of his direct service to the lord.

"We thought to present you with a helmet, but seeing as you already possess one," the Baron said, his eyes flicking to the unique black helmet Argon owned, "we'll let you keep that. It seems fitting, after all. The Dayless Armor for a knight who wears a Dayless helmet."

The suit of armour was placed on a stand, waiting for its new owner to don it and step into his new role fully. Argon's journey was just beginning, and this armour would stand as a testament to his pledge of service and duty.

Along with the armour, a servant stepped forward, carrying a sheathed weapon with a reverence that underscored its importance. Unsheathing it slowly, the servant revealed a sword that matched the armour in its dark elegance. The blade was obsidian-black, gleaming under the light with a menacing brilliance. Its hilt was equally impressive, wrought with intricate designs that seemed to meld into the shadow of the blade itself. It was a masterpiece, a weapon forged not only for battle but for status.

The Baron gestured towards the sword, his eyes glittering with an unreadable expression. "This," he announced, "is the Dayless longsword. As with the armour, it's a symbol of your new status. It won't ever rust or chip - a testament to the unyielding spirit of the knights it represents. A perfect weapon for a knight of your calibre, Argon."

With an expectant glance towards Argon, the servant extended the Dayless longword to him. As Argon reached out and grasped the hilt, he could feel the balance and weight of the sword in his hand. It was flawless, a weapon fit for his new path. With the Dayless Armour and Sword, he was truly a knight of the realm.

The Baron, still seated on his makeshift throne, let out a booming laugh. His eyes sparkled with cruel mirth as he glanced at Brolan. "Who knows?" he bellowed, his voice echoing through the training grounds. "Maybe even you will find a place among my knights, Brolan. It seems my current roster lacks the grit to stand their ground."

His words were clearly meant as a joke, a jibe at his own knights more than anything else, but Argon and Brolan could only share a tense glance at his comment. They dared not to laugh, not to even smile at the Baron's humour. It was a precarious situation, standing before their lord who, moments ago, elevated Argon into his own ranks.

With a subtle bow, they both withdrew, eager to leave the tension-riddled grounds. The eyes of every knight, council member, and servant seemed to burn holes in their backs as they departed, the echo of the Baron's laughter still ringing in their ears.

Upon reaching their new dwelling, Argon and Brolan exchanged a quick, knowing glance before stepping inside. As the heavy wooden door closed behind them, shutting out the world, they simultaneously let out sighs of relief, their bodies sagging slightly as they finally allowed themselves to shed the armour of formality and restraint.

The stone walls of their house seemed to absorb the tension they'd been carrying, the simple domesticity of the space serving as a stark contrast to the power-laden atmosphere of the Baron's manor. They were home - at least, as much of a home as they had in this new, complicated life. For a moment, they simply stood there in silence, letting the day's events sink in.

Becoming a knight, a vassal to the Baron, was no small matter. It meant status and power but also a chain binding them to the Baron's will. For Argon, it was a step up, a symbol of his prowess. For Brolan, it was a reminder of the world they were now part of, a world where he was seen as nothing more than a slave.

Yet, for now, they could breathe. The day had ended, they had a roof over their heads, and tomorrow's battles still lay ahead. For now, they were just Argon and Brolan, two friends in a strange land, navigating the currents of power and politics as best they could.

With a crooked grin, Brolan clapped Argon on the shoulder. "Well, shit, master," he exclaimed, a tone of genuine admiration in his voice. "You climbed up the ladder quicker than a rat up a drainpipe. Bet those fancy-ass knights are pissing themselves with rage."

Argon couldn't help but let out a low, rough laugh at Brolan's words. "Let 'em," he retorted, his eyes gleaming with newfound confidence. "Seems like only that snarky bastard Garrick is worth a damn in a fight."

Brolan's eyebrows shot up at this. "I dunno, master," he said, sounding sceptical. "That old prick Harold looked like he had you on the ropes there for a bit."

Argon scoffed, waving his hand dismissively. "That old fuck? He had his moment, sure," he conceded, a cocky grin spreading across his face. "But it didn't last for long, I'll best him again. Mark my words."

With a sceptical glance, Brolan said, "Well, if you say so, master. Still feels like you're playing a high-stakes game with that Eldrige." He scratched his head, appearing both perplexed and a bit irritated. "But why'd you go and show off your three artefacts to Garrick? You practically gift-wrapped that information for him."

Argon only grinned. "Because, Brolan, now we've got a backer. Eldrige will want to keep us safe, seeing what we can offer. Once he hears about my three beauties and how they add to my strength, he'll be even more bound to us."

His brows furrowed, and Brolan continued his line of questioning. "But why can't I reveal my attribute one? Why can't I get a shot at becoming a knight? I'm no slouch in a fight, am I?"

"Listen up, Brolan," Argon started, his tone sharp. "You going from a slave to a knight? That's a shitload of a leap. If that happened, I can promise you, those pricks would want us dead by dawn."

Brolan opened his mouth to protest, but Argon raised a hand, cutting him off. "Besides," he continued, "you're my fucking trump card, my secret weapon. These clueless bastards have no idea about your power. We've got an element of surprise. Let's not go throwing that away by revealing our hand too early."

"Fine, I get it," Brolan concedes, shifting his gaze to the floor. "So, about this fief. You're getting richer by the second, aren't you?"

"Our wealth," Argon corrects him abruptly. "You're stuck with me, you thick-skulled fuck. As my fortune increases, so does yours."

Brolan manages a weak smile at this. "And the knight title?"

Argon shrugs, a cruel grin spreading across his face. "It's a decent start, sure. But fuck that, it's not enough. I'm not aiming to stay at the bottom of the food chain. I have my sights set higher. Way higher. I'm aiming to become a bloody noble."

Brolan cocks his head to one side, disbelief etched onto his face. "And how the fuck are you planning on pulling that off?" he inquires, scepticism thick in his voice.

Argon shrugs nonchalantly, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "Fuck if I know. But that's the fun of it, isn't it?" He stands up, brushing the dust off his trousers. "We take it one goddamn day at a time, hold onto the power we already got, and try not to get ourselves killed. Sound like a good plan?"

Brolan nods, a grin slowly creeping onto his face. "Sounds like a damn good plan, Master."

Argon claps a hand on Brolan's shoulder, an impish grin spreading across his face. "It's been one hell of a day, mate," he declares, a twinkle of mischief in his eyes. "Time to celebrate. Let's take the rest of our fucking gold and see if this shithole town has a brothel."

Brolan's eyes light up at the suggestion, and he cracks a broad grin. "Now there's a fucking fantastic idea, Master," he laughs, a burst of energy filling his voice. "Clearly, that knighthood's done wonders for your wisdom."