A decade ago, serfs in Bretonnia were insignificant, treated by the lords as little more than livestock or property. They were tools for extracting income, disposable pawns sent to die in battle so that the knights could charge from the sides or rear. But times had changed, quietly and profoundly, under the reforms of King Ryan. At some point, the serfs noticed that their tithes had been replaced by fixed taxes, and hard work was rewarded. At some point, even the knights, once disdainful of serfs, had no choice but to acknowledge their contributions on the battlefield.
The Duchy of Bastogne was a place that deeply valued tradition. While this meant stubbornness, slow progress, and decay, it also meant a profound pride in their homeland, culture, and customs. The knights of Bastogne were proud of their special place in the kingdom. This was the land of the first knight king, Arthur, the birthplace of Bretonnia's greatness. From the Red Dragon Duke to the lowliest serf, everyone took pride in being from Bastogne.
Tainville was one such village, ruled by the infamous Baron Gascoigne. He was well-known throughout Bastogne, not for his valor or virtues, but for being an unapologetic drunkard. Locals often joked that Gascoigne had only two states of being: "wildly drunk" and "completely unconscious." But beyond his drinking, Gascoigne was also known for his cruelty. He squeezed every last penny out of his people, taxing even those who couldn't afford to eat. The serfs hated him, but Gascoigne had the legal right to rule, protected by his uncle, a vassal to the Red Dragon Duke, Berchmond.
Today, however, a veteran of the Old Guard returned to Tainville, riding a sturdy warhorse, clad in full uniform and a dwarven rune-forged half-plate armor. A large pack and blanket were strapped to his back.
His name was Nikolai, a serf from Bastogne who had fought as an infantryman in the Great Expedition of Eight Peaks. He had survived battles like the Siege of Giant's Tower, the Battle of Iron Rock, and the final confrontation at Titan's Gate. Through these harrowing experiences, Nikolai had risen to legendary rank and had been promoted to the elite Old Guard, earning the status of a free man. Known for his fearlessness and unwavering resolve, he was celebrated for his role in the kingdom's military successes.
Wearing the distinctive deep blue coat, white collar, and red shoulder epaulettes of the Old Guard, along with his bearskin hat, Nikolai was greeted with cheers and admiration as he entered the village. The serfs, who had been toiling in the fields or chatting, rushed to welcome him back.
It had been a year and a half since Nikolai last saw his family—his wrinkled parents and his younger siblings. His elder brother was still performing corvée labor for the baron. The sight of Nikolai in his Old Guard uniform was so awe-inspiring that many serfs could not help but kneel, addressing him as "milord."
The fame and honor of the Old Guard had spread throughout the kingdom, and for serfs, these soldiers were a symbol of hope—their one chance to rise from the ranks of the lowly to the nobility. The achievements of these serf-born soldiers had repeatedly proven their worth, and now, they were the pride of the entire kingdom.
As a captain of a dragoons unit, Nikolai was on leave and had returned home to relocate his family, a privilege granted to officers. His pack was filled with war spoils and gold coins. The baron's castle was nearby—a walled estate of no more than 800 square meters. The two tax collectors appointed by Baron Gascoigne clearly coveted Nikolai's wealth, but seeing his uniform, medals, and the weapons he carried, they thought better of it.
From his family, Nikolai learned that their lord, Baron Gascoigne, was in trouble. The problem stemmed from a new law enacted by King Ryan, which declared that any knightly family failing to produce a qualified knight within four generations would have their lands confiscated and their noble titles revoked.
Unsurprisingly, Baron Gascoigne was one of those failures. His life had been dedicated to nothing but drinking, taxing, and womanizing. Though he held a knight's title, he had never once seen battle and had no intention of doing so—a complete waste of his lineage.
Upon hearing about this law, the baron panicked. He cursed Ryan's reforms, complaining that noble bloodlines should enjoy certain privileges and benefits—after all, weren't the lands of Bretonnia won through the sacrifices of their ancestors? Why should they lose these advantages now?
Finding no support from his uncle or even Duke Berchmond, Gascoigne, in a fit of desperation, decided to seek an easy target. With the snows of March melting, the baron assembled a force of 200 men and marched into the Arden Forest, hoping to wipe out a band of Beastmen or goblins and thereby secure his position.
Drunk on several bottles of beer and wine, and with two crates of alcohol in tow, Gascoigne set off into the forest with his troops. Days passed, and there had been no word from him.
After hearing this, Nikolai reluctantly decided to stay in the village for a few more days, waiting for the baron to return so he could formally announce his family's relocation.
That night, Nikolai lay on the uncomfortable wooden bed in his parents' home, enjoying the peaceful silence of Bastogne. He quickly fell into a deep sleep.
In his dream, Nikolai saw her—the Lady of the Lake. She smiled at him, but her eyes were cold, devoid of emotion. Her words were as icy as the winter frost.
"Monsieur Nikolai?"
"I am here, my Lady!" Nikolai dropped to his knees in fear, speaking in the most humble tone. "Command me, my Lady."
"Darkness is coming to Tainville," the Lady said, her beautiful face and figure shrouded in mist. Her voice was faint, like a whisper on the wind.
Then, she vanished into the fog.
The next morning, Nikolai awoke, taking several minutes to realize that the dream had been real. He kept the Lady's message close to his heart as he went about his day. It was market day in Tainville, and the village was bustling with activity. King Ryan's reforms had even touched this conservative corner of Bastogne. The market was now full of a variety of goods, from grains and vegetables to chickens, lamb, and even industrial tools. Though it was not as grand as the markets in the city of Gisoreux, it was lively.
Serfs haggled over prices and cursed their baron, secretly hoping he'd never return.
Nikolai and his family strolled through the market, excited about his return. They bought two chickens, a large slab of lamb, and even a barrel of Imperial beer, planning to feast that night.
However, before they finished their shopping, someone screamed, "Beastmen! The Beastmen are coming!"
"Run for your lives! The Beastmen are attacking!"
"Those filthy creatures are charging toward the village!"
Chaos erupted as the market turned into a frenzied mass of people screaming and running in all directions. The serfs were terrified, unsure of what to do.
Nikolai quickly called for calm, shouting for everyone to stay focused. As an Old Guard veteran, he commanded authority, and his voice rang out above the panic. He assured the villagers that the baron's castle was nearby and that the nobles wouldn't allow the village to be destroyed by Beastmen. They would surely send troops.
But reality soon crushed his hopes.
A small Beastman warband, numbering in the dozens, charged into the village, their bodies adorned with the severed heads of Baron Gascoigne and his soldiers. These chaos creatures—gor and ungor—plundered half the village, slaughtering innocent peasants and setting fire to the crops.
Yet, the baron's castle remained silent. The garrison shut the gates and refused to engage. Baroness Shelley, the baron's wife, was so terrified by the sight of the Beastmen that she nearly fainted. She ordered that no one be allowed into the castle and that no resistance should be offered. "These damn Beastmen just want to loot! Once they've had their fill, they'll leave. Don't provoke them! Not a single arrow! Anyone who defies me will be executed!" she screeched.
"Yes, my Lady!" The castle guards, loyal to the baroness's command, refused to fight. They stood by as the Beastmen ravaged the village.
Nikolai witnessed the carnage, his heart burning with righteous fury. As a member of the Old Guard, honor and duty now defined him. He couldn't run, and he wouldn't retreat.
He had to fight.
"Cowards! Useless parasites!" Nikolai spat, his rage boiling over. "You've forsaken your knightly vows! These are your people, Baroness! How can you abandon them?" He rode his warhorse up to the castle gates, shouting, "Open the gates! Give me command of the soldiers, and I'll deal with the Beastmen!"
"You won't fool me!" Shelley stood defiantly atop the castle walls. "Don't underestimate the resolve of a noble lady! The Beastmen will leave once they've eaten their fill. I won't open the gates."
"You're no noblewoman; you're a coward! A blight on the kingdom!" Nikolai roared. "You're unworthy of your title
!"
"Noblewoman?" Shelley scoffed. "Not every lady can wear a corset like mine."
"Scum!" Nikolai gripped the hilt of his curved sword, exhaling in frustration. He had no desire to argue further. Instead, he pulled out a large banner, planted it in his pack, and turned his horse back toward the village.
The crops were being trampled, houses burned, and the Beastmen continued their rampage. Without leadership or knightly guidance, the serfs scattered in every direction.
At that moment, the rousing melody of the Marseillaise began to echo through the village. A banner flew high amid the flames.
The banner was red, white, and blue, emblazoned with golden fleur-de-lis and the Holy Grail. Captain Nikolai of the Old Guard Dragoons galloped through the village, waving the flag, singing the anthem of the Old Guard, The Marseillaise: "People of the kingdom! Awaken! The most perilous hour is upon us!"
The powerful battle hymn, the sight of the banner, and the gallant figure of the Old Guard soldier stirred something deep within the hearts of the serfs. Though they were often weak, fearful, and untrained, the destruction of their homes, crops, and families had pushed them to the brink. Now, seeing a symbol of hope, they found a strength that surprised even themselves. With an Old Guard leading the charge, they gathered whatever weapons they could—pitchforks, hammers, clubs—and rallied beneath the banner. In no time, Nikolai had assembled over 200 villagers.
"Follow me! Charge!" Nikolai drew his curved sword. "For the Lady and the King!"
"For the Lady!" the serfs roared, charging toward the Beastmen.
The Beastlord, busy dismembering a four-year-old girl and devouring her flesh, heard the sound of the approaching charge. Looking up, it snarled, "Meat… more meat… more to eat!"
Rushing toward him was a man in a tall bearskin hat adorned with colorful plumes, clad in dwarven-forged rune-plate, a deep blue cloak, and pristine white breeches. The man's fury was palpable as he shouted, "Kill! Kill these chaotic filth!"
The Beastlord's battle lust vanished instantly. Fear overtook it as it staggered back. "Old… Old Guard!" it stammered, terror choking its voice.
"Old Guard! Old Guard!"
"No… no meat!"
"Steel… steel kills us!"
The sight of Nikolai's Old Guard uniform sent waves of fear through the Beastmen. Their morale wavered, and many began to retreat in panic.
Seizing the opportunity, Nikolai led the charge, firing his musket to kill a gor before slashing his way to the Beastlord. Caught off guard, the Beastlord fumbled through a few desperate attacks. Nikolai, wielding his finely crafted dwarven steel curved sword, found an opening and, with a powerful strike, severed the Beastlord's sword, head, left shoulder, and arm in one swift blow.
Blood sprayed in all directions, and the Beastlord fell with a wretched howl. Taking advantage of the moment, the serfs, emboldened by Nikolai's leadership, charged wildly at the disheartened Beastmen, quickly routing them.
By the end of the battle, over sixty percent of the Beastmen warband lay dead, and the survivors fled back into the forest, seeking easier prey.
Tainville was saved, and Nikolai had single-handedly killed seven or eight Beastmen. But the Old Guard's anger had not subsided. With the villagers at his back, he marched toward the baroness, demanding answers.
If you can't even protect your own people, how can you call yourself a noble?
The serfs followed Nikolai, chanting his name, the name of King Ryan, and the Lady of the Lake. The castle guards hesitated, seeing Nikolai's blood-soaked sword and the Beastlord's severed head. Ashamed and fearful, they lowered their weapons and opened the gates.
Confronting them was Nikolai's furious question.
Why didn't you fight? Why didn't you protect your people? Are these serfs not your subjects?
The baroness screamed at the guards for allowing "peasants" into her noble castle. She ordered Nikolai to leave at once or face the full force of the guards. In Bretonnia, any serf who harmed a noble faced death by execution, along with their entire family.
The tension at the castle gate was palpable, with hundreds of people on the verge of a violent standoff.
At that moment, the light of the Lady shone brightly.
The Lady of the Lake appeared in a blinding flash of light, stepping from the mist with a gentle smile. Everyone dropped to their knees, offering their deepest reverence to the kingdom's guardian, the Lady of the Lake.
The Lady nodded in acknowledgment, then turned to Nikolai, raising the Holy Grail to his lips. "This is your due. You are a true warrior, an Old Guard of Ryan. In you, I see the virtues of a knight."
"Thank you, my Lady!" Nikolai's eyes brimmed with tears. He now understood the meaning of the dream. He had passed her test and earned the right to drink from the Holy Grail. In front of all the villagers, Nikolai bowed his head and took a sip from the Grail.
His life was forever changed. From that day on, he would no longer be a mere mortal.
He was the first Holy Grail Old Guard.
"The glory of the Grail belongs to all of Bretonnia," the Lady's voice echoed through the castle, cold and resolute. "The Grail is not honored by bloodlines. Bloodlines are honored by the Grail. The virtue of a knight is to defend the land, not to be parasites of the kingdom!"
Baroness Shelley trembled uncontrollably and fainted on the spot.
It was over. Everything was over.
The guards knelt before the Lady, awaiting their fate.
"Nikolai, that is your name, is it not?" The Lady paid no attention to the baroness or the guards. She spoke kindly to Nikolai, the Old Guard captain. "Do you have a surname?"
"No, my Lady. I only have a first name," Nikolai replied, kneeling before her.
"Shall I give you a surname?" she asked with a mischievous smile.
"It would be the greatest honor!" Nikolai bowed again.
The Lady smiled even more mischievously. "Davout. I grant you the name Davout."
"From this day forward, your name shall be Nikolai-Davout!"
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