1: Reminiscence in the Quiet Plains

As he looked at the reflection contained within his sword, he realized just how long it has been since then.

"Time is unforgiving, as always." He thought to himself.

A soft wind rolled across the field towards the man, bringing with it a melancholic past. A time where he was a prodigy dreaming of becoming a legendary martyr.

"Quite the martyr I turned out to be…" he whispered out into the soft yet relentless autumn winds. The knight proceeded to release a trailing sigh and went back to cleaning his blade.

The blade has never seen a speck of rust in all its years of service to the unnamed knight. After all, this beautiful Damascus steel edge is more of a memento to the knight than anything else; the last possession of a time long gone...

The last remaining memory of the time he had a name.

Years of being know as nothing more than 'sir,' 'you,' and 'knight' clouded his already terrible memory. He'd long since forgotten his real name.

A grave mistake, and he knew it.

Names are a blessing. To be named by someone grants a fraction of the namer's power to the recipient.

When he threw away his name, he not only threw away who he once was, but also lost his source of mana, which weakened him greatly.

It was a price he was willing to pay. He has missed the never ending usefulness of his colorless mana, but he has never regretted his decision once.

The knight suffered a slight jolt as he slit the tip of his right ring-finger on the blade.

"It's no use reminiscing anymore," he whispered, reasoning with himself. He knew it would be dangerous to continue daily maintenance while he was so distracted, so he sheathed his blade in its peculiar leather sheath residing on his back and began to pack up his few belongings.

The Unnamed Knight traveled from town to town, and was quite well known in the lower echelons of society. They saw him as a protector rather than a hero. To them, the Unnamed Knight was a reachable position. An Unnamed without a shred of mana, helping those in need, and asking for nothing more than two meals and a room in return. It was a life some kids aspired to live, while the adults envied his skill with the blade and overall adaptability.

However, only the knight knew the truth. His life was far from pretty.

Some days would go by without a crumb of food. The knight had never learnt how to use a bow or even hunt reliably, he could only farm and fish, two skills which were practically useless to a light traveler like the knight.

Food, as necessary to his survival as it might be, was not his most immediate worry. Another reason the lower echelons of the kingdom are in awe of this man, is because he has never shown his face. The knight changes his pieces of armor on occasion, the only exception is his head. The knight has never worn a helmet for as long as he's been an Unnamed. He only wears a gray mask, which covers his nose and mouth. This mask has never been taken off in the presence of others, the knight has always gone out of his way to eat and drink without prying eyes locked onto him like ancient statues. He fears a toothless past, long since buried in the sands of time.

He suddenly looked up, once again aware of his surroundings. They were finally here.

A pack of blood wolves surrounded him, growling through the pain of their hunger. The lack of prey caused the once docile pack of wolves to evolve into the beasts they are now. Large enough to be ridden, and strong enough to crack a boulder, no small settlements would have a chance at fighting one off, never mind 30 of them. Because of the hostility of the wolves and their recent destruction of coops and cattle, the knight offered to take care of the issue for a couple meals and dried rations.

He bit his lip and grimaced. "This would have been much easier if I had my mana…" He readied his sword anyways and began to step towards the pack leader, knowing full well there was millimeters of room left for error.

For as long as the knight wanted to remember, his life had been this way. He preferred to think it has been this way for as long as he could remember, however, some things are not easily forgotten.

His bladework would never leave him for as long as he lived. His unique fighting style was always an identifying characteristic of his identity as the Unnamed Knight. The way he moved through the battlefield as if he was a dancer, with clean and decisive strokes flowing easily into each other; light footsteps that made him seemingly shimmer when fighting in the early morning mists.

As the wolves were slain, one-by-one, they grew more desperate, their eyes glowing red and pulsating with malice. The knight did not falter at the horrifying sight, and instead began to move faster, silently accepting that his time was running out.

He knew that if the wolves were to grow any more, they would evolve into hellhounds, or even a legendary Cerberus. Hellhounds are not much stronger than blood wolves, but they are capable of forming and utilizing red mana, or sometimes a secondary element much worse than fire. As the knight was currently, he had no counter for an elemental attack.

The remaining five wolves began to howl as a great pain overtook them. The knight began to fear for his life, however he refused to let it affect his bladework, instead channeling it into his motions, moving him faster and faster.

Five wolves… four… three wolves… two-

Suddenly, the remaining two wolves let out a roar in unison, sending the knight flying backwards. He was thrown into the ground as the two wolves screamed in agony. The knight stopped thinking and threw himself at the stunned animals, swinging his blade at their exposed necks. Time was almost out, and he no longer had any room for mistakes. He no longer had any thoughts and moved solely on instinct and adrenaline, trying to survive.

There was little resistance as the blade went through the first wolf, like an oar through water. But, as the blade hit the second wolf, a shuddering impact echoed throughout his body. The skin on its neck was hardening and thickening. There wasn't an easy way out anymore.

Now, standing before the knight, stood a legend which would be told for generations to come. The newly created beast stopped screaming in pain, instead releasing a piercing howl;

Signifying to the entirety of the quiet plains that a Cerberus has been born.