The Tale of Kazimir

On a chilly morning, an icy breeze swept through the streets of the quaint town of Radom, where the formidable Knights of Dark Rose were stationed.

Apart from the Knights of Dark Rose, Radom was primarily inhabited by farmers and merchants who traversed the roads connecting the town to nearby cities, engaging in the bustling trade of goods.

Among them was Kazimir, the son of a merchant. Unlike his father, he harbored no desire to merely sell wares; his aspirations soared higher, fueled by a burning determination to seek glory through the path of combat.

"Kazimir, hasten your steps! We must deliver the goods before the break of dawn," bellowed his father from outside, diligently packing the ox-drawn carriage for the journey to sell their wares in another city.

"Yes, father," Kazimir replied reluctantly, his eagerness to join the Knights of Dark Rose conflicting with the duty he felt towards his father. However, the stark reality remained—his father now stood alone, having lost his wife and eldest son, Kazimir's brother, to a horde of orcs in an invasion that occurred just a few years back.

As Kazimir packed up the carriage with goods, his thoughts drifted to the allure of venturing into the unknown, imagining the thrill of besting the enemies that threatened the kingdom.

Once the goods were securely packed, they mounted the carriage, guiding the two oxen as they pulled the laden vehicle. Seated at the front, they embarked on their journey.

As they traversed the town and ventured into the fields of flourishing vegetables, numerous farmers greeted them warmly.

"Have a safe trip, you both!" shouted one of the farmers diligently tending to his crops.

"Thank you, old Kowalski!" replied Kazimir's father, his voice carrying gratitude, while Kazimir offered a respectful smile and lowered his head in acknowledgment. 

Kazimir's upbringing in the ways of courtesy was a testament to his mother's influence, hailing from a knightly family in service to the local lord.

Kazimir's father was keenly aware of his son's aspirations, and he harbored no desire to quash them. "Listen carefully, Kazimir," his father began, glancing gently at his son from the side, "after this journey to the capital, I'm thinking about retiring."

Kazimir's eyes gleamed with anticipation as he gazed at his father. "But are you sure, father? Your business is thriving, and you're not so old yet."

His father directed his gaze forward, a gentle smile playing on his lips. "That may be true, but a father knows his son's ambitions, and I cannot bear to hinder yours." "When I look at you, you remind me of your mother; she, too, preferred to fight rather than trade... that fighting spirit is what I loved about her," he added warmly.

Moved by his father's words, Kazimir shed a tear and responded fervently, "Thank you, father!" If they weren't on an ox carriage, he would have kowtowed three times to express his deep appreciation for his father's gentleness.