Raiyna had always suspected the knight was insane.Not the "eccentric drunk shouting at pigeons" kind of insane no, this was the real thing. Out of his mind, absolutely, irredeemably crazy.
And leaving his supposed treasure on the Black Mountain Peak? That was proof enough.
For days she had plotted how to get rid of him. Lure him into a trap, slip poison into his drink, maybe even push him down a ravine. At the time, it had seemed clever necessary, even. Because who in their right mind would believe some wandering fool calling himself the "Hero Knight"?
But after watching him fight… after seeing the casual way he bent lightning itself to his will… she couldn't deny it. Maybe just maybe he was who he claimed to be.
And yet, of all the stories she'd ever heard about the legendary Hero Knight the slayer of titans, breaker of armies, savior of cities but there's not one mentioned of him being fucking insane.
Her knuckles turned white around the hilt of her sword. A thin line of sweat rolled down her temple as her lips pulled into a strained grin. She could feel her pulse hammering in her ears.
The knight's words replayed in her mind."The Black Mountain Peak."
And with them came a memory seared into her bones.
A shadow blotting out the sun.Wings that stretched wider than the horizon.Fire, louder than thunder, swallowing everything she'd ever known.
The Black Dragon.
Even as just a silhouette in her mind, it was enough to twist her stomach and send her heart racing.
She forced her grin wider, as if mocking her own fear. But deep down, she knew: this wasn't madness. This was suicide.
Lard stepped forward.
It wasn't the usual swagger, no drunken grin, no cheap insult ready on his tongue. His face was carved in shadow grim, heavy, different. The air thickened, and everyone felt it. The shift in mood was like a stone dropped into still water, rippling through them until even the loudest of the gang dared not speak.
"Don't lie to us," he said, voice low and sharp.
The knight's grin never wavered. "I've no reason to lie."
"You couldn't have," Lard snapped, his tone rising, teeth grinding. "You couldn't have possibly hidden your damn treasure there."
He drove his axe into the ground with a thunderous crack. The earth split, dust exploding around his boots, the sound ringing like a warning bell.
"It's not funny," he barked, voice shaking with a fury that wasn't all anger. "Don't—don't you dare make jokes like that."
The knight tilted his head, grin still carved on his face, eyes gleaming with that unnerving calm."And why," he asked lightly, "would you think I'm joking?"
Lard's breath hitched. His grip tightened on the axe, knuckles white. He wanted to scream, to swing, to do anything to drown out the image clawing its way up from memory.
"Because…" His voice faltered, then hardened again, trembling despite him. "Because death is sleeping on that peak. And it takes whatever the fuck it wants."
Silence swallowed the camp.
Raiyna was the first to move. She stepped to his side, laying a hand on his shoulder. Her touch was firm, grounding. He stiffened, then slowly bowed his head.
No one else dared breathe a word. They only watched—wide-eyed, shaken—as the weight of his voice hung over them all like a storm that wouldn't pass.
Raiyna's hand was still pressed against Lard's shoulder, but her palm was slick with sweat. She forced herself to stand tall, though her chest was tight, breath uneven.
"From how confident you sound…" she said carefully, eyes locked on the knight, "you must be telling the truth."
Her lips tightened into a thin line. "Then how? How did you get past the Black Dragon and came back alive?"
The words dropped like lead into the silence.
A gust of wind stirred, carrying dust across the open ground. It whistled between the ruined boards of the tavern, the only sound in the dead stillness.
Even the mention of the name was enough.
The Black Dragon.
The embodiment of hellfire.
A nightmare that walked the earth, turning towns to ash with a single breath.
The shadow that no one in Solomir dared to speak of for long.
And here they were, staring at a man who claimed he strolled into its lair, left a fortune, and walked away.
Thorus was the first to break. His voice cracked as he spat out, "If you expect us to march to that peak, just to chase after your damn treasure then you might as well kill us now! It's no different than sending us to our graves."
His outburst rang true.
Every head lowered. Not a soul could argue. Thorus, the woodpecker-looking asshole… was right.
The knight's grin slowly faded. His posture didn't change, but the air tightened around him. Everyone froze, breath caught in their throats, as though the ground itself had grown dangerous.
His voice cut through, low and almost casual.
"Oh…" He tilted his head. "You mean that lizard?"
The knight's grin returned, wider than ever. Then, to everyone's shock, he laughed.
Not a chuckle. Not a polite laugh.
A booming, rolling laughter that echoed across the tavern grounds and rattled in their chests.
It went on far too long, like he wasn't laughing at a joke but at the very fear gripping them.
Finally, wiping a tear from his eye, he straightened.
"I get it. I understand why you're all scared."
Relief flickered across a few faces until he went on.
"But so what?" His teeth gleamed as his grin sharpened. "If you want to know the truth… yes, I strolled right up to that stupid lizard. Looked him in the eye. And then I told him—" he puffed out his chest, mimicking himself "'Hey, watch over this treasure for me, will you? I'm too lazy to dig a damn hole.'"
The gang froze.
Their jaws dropped.
A silence thicker than tar hung over the space.
And then—
"ARE YE OUTTAF YE BLOODY MIND?!" Ronald shrieked.
"Lazy?!" Raiyna shouted, eyes bulging. "You made the Black Dragon you-... your treasure holder?!"
Thorus fell to his knees. "We're all dead. We're actually dead."
For a moment, no one breathed. The knight's words "stupid lizard" hung in the air like madness itself.
Then, suddenly, Lard laughed.
It wasn't the hearty laugh of a man amused. No it was hollow, broken, the sound of someone who had been cornered too long. Tears welled in his eyes as his shoulders shook, and he tilted his head back toward the empty sky.
"Dad… do you hear that?" His voice cracked as he spoke to a ghost that wasn't there. "The man called the Black Dragon… a stupid lizard."
The gang fell silent. Not even Ronald's usual wit dared interrupt.
Raiyna's hand shot up to her mouth. She turned away, her chest tight, eyes stinging. Seeing her brother like this laughing in defeat, tears streaking down his scarred face was like a knife twisting inside her.
Lard wiped his face with a rough hand, his laughter dying into a grimace. Slowly, he turned back to the knight, his expression dark and resolute.
"You want me to fight the dragon? Really?"
The knight's grin never faltered. "Yes."
Lard slammed the butt of his axe into the ground, the earth splitting under the force. His voice trembled, but it thundered with fury.
"Let's not forget, knight, there aren't only greater beasts in that cursed forest. The closer you get to the peak, the more dire the monsters become. Dire beasts that make mincemeat out of men like us!"
The gang shrank back at his words. Even just the mention of dire beasts was enough to make their blood run cold.
Raiyna pressed her hand harder against his shoulder, as though she could anchor him from falling apart completely. Her eyes sharp, pained never left the knight.
And still, he grinned.
The knight didn't flinch. Greater beasts, dire beasts, even the Black Dragon they were pests in his eyes, nuisances that only earned a flick of his hand or a swat of his sword.
Jayl muttered nervously, "Maybe… maybe it's always like that for him. But near the capital, a dire beast attacked the borders not long ago. Took four three-circle master knight-class and two three-circle high mages to bring it down…"
The knight's grin didn't waver. "After proper training… only one of you will be enough," he said casually, like it was nothing. Then, with a snap of his fingers, he added, "Fine, if you all believe that, so be it."
He reached into his pocket and pulled something out. Everyone's jaw dropped in unison.
A platinum coin.
Not gold. Platinum. The metal gleamed like liquid light, the weight of it almost palpable even from a distance. One coin. One coin worth 1,300 gold coins enough for anyone to live a life of comfort, power, and luxury beyond imagining. And the knight casually held it between his fingers as if it were loose change.
"Oh, and one more thing," he said, lifting a hand to the sky.
Magic circles appeared. Not one. Not two. Not three. Not even four, like the healing spell that had left Advin gasping for breath. Five. Enormous. Immense. They spun and hummed above their heads, so huge that the clouds themselves seemed to bend around them. The rotation of the circles filled the sky with a quiet, terrifying power. Even the people of Laundry Town could feel it, some stepping outside their homes to stare upward in awe and fear.
Thorus let out a nervous chuckle. "Fuck… he's the real deal."
Raiyna's mind almost broke. She had heard stories of the Hero Knight the feats, the wars won, the monsters slain but nothing in those tales could have prepared her for this. It wasn't just power. It was absurd. It was catastrophic. It was… beautiful.
Every instinct screamed at them to run, to bow, to pray, to do anything but stand there. Even whispered magic from those five circles could erase life in the surrounding lands. And yet, here he was, grinning like the madman he truly was, the hero of countless legends, the man whose very existence had shaped continents and rewritten history.
The town could never have imagined that the stories were true. The fairy tales they'd laughed at, the myths about the hero knight? Not only were they real, but the man himself was far crazier than the legends ever hinted.
And his grin never left.
The magic circles rotated, humming with a promise of impossible power, filling the sky above Laundry Town and the gang could only stare, mouths open, hearts pounding, and wonder how anyone could survive a single day under the same sun as him.
Lard whispered, almost to himself, remembering his parents, their dreams, the world they had lost and his own promise. "How… how can he even achieve that?" His eyes were nearly hypnotized by the spinning, glowing magic circles above, the light reflecting in the tears forming in his eyes. The air around him seemed to hum with possibility and danger at once.
The knight's voice cut through the awe, calm yet commanding. "If you listen to me. If you follow my instructions… you too can achieve the impossible." His grin never faltered, but there was a weight to his words that made the world feel smaller, as if all limits had been lifted.
He let the words hang, then added with a casual flick of his hand, "Of course, if you run blindly to the treasure I hid… you'll die. But I will not let you die. I will make sure you have the confidence, the strength, and the skill to climb those paths with your heads held high."
The magic circles above them hummed and rotated, slowly dissipating into the sky like molten light dissolving into dawn. The air was charged, vibrating with the feeling of miracles just within reach.
Sein stepped forward, small and trembling, yet his eyes shone with bright intent. "What must I do, then?"
"Work hard," the knight said simply. "Work hard, and miracles can happen."
No one fully understood the knight's intentions not why he had subjected them to brutal training, not why he had revealed powers beyond their comprehension, not why he would help them save the tavern. But one thing was clear: maybe, just maybe, he could help the unknown, forgotten Laundry Gang rise and become something the world would never expect.
The knight broke the silence, his voice suddenly sharp, slicing through the tension. "I have conditions. Conditions that, if broken… I will take responsibility myself. And I will kill you."
A collective shudder ran through the gang. Their hearts pounded. Even the bravest among them felt their courage falter.
"But listen," he continued, the grin never leaving his face. "I have these conditions which you must imprint in your heart, soul and minds. You must never use your powers for evil. Once training begins, you cannot back down. And you must never, ever keep your heads down to anyone or anything again."
The weight of his words hit Lard like a tidal wave. He sank to his knees, tears streaming freely down his face. "Master," he whispered, his voice trembling with reverence, fear, and hope all at once.
Raiyna followed, her eyes glinting with unyielding resolve. She fell to her knees, feeling the full weight of the moment. She understood, in that instant, that everything she had lost, everything she had endured, had led her here. Fully believing, fully committing, she whispered, "Master."
One by one, the others dropped to their knees. Their voices trembled, hesitant at first, then stronger as they spoke in unison, a chorus of loyalty and awe. "Master," they called, each syllable carrying the weight of their lives, their failures, and their hopes for redemption.
The knight looked over them, tall and imposing, the hero of legend, the man whose grin had already reshaped their world. Above them, the remnants of the five spinning magic circles faded into the sky, leaving a quiet, electric calm.
The wind rustled through their hair and the tattered edges of the tavern, but in that moment, the Laundry Gang felt something they had never felt before—purpose. They were no longer a forgotten group of troublemakers, no longer ragged survivors of their shattered pasts. For the first time, they were something more.
The knight's eyes swept over them once more, warm and piercing at the same time. "This is only the beginning," he said. "From this day forward, you will grow, you will struggle, you will fight. And you will survive. Because if you don't… I will see to it myself."
The gang's knees pressed into the ground, but their hearts lifted. Hope mingled with fear, awe with determination. One by one, they repeated the word in their minds, tasting it like a promise, like a new birth:
"Master."
The legend of the Laundry Knights had begun not with grandeur or riches, but with a hero who had dared to believe in them when no one else would. And as the first rays of dawn kissed the horizon, the impossible no longer seemed so far away.
------
In the Black Mountain Forest a man in a simple robe suddenly stirred, breaking the stillness of his meditation. "What the fuck…" he muttered under his breath as he spun around, eyes wide, and sprinted through the sprawling base of the Black Mountain Bandits.
The fortress was a chaotic hive of violence. Big, burly men, each more terrifying than the last, wielded axes, swords, and maces. Some sparred in brutal competition, others fought to the death simply for sport, their laughter and screams echoing through the stone halls. Yet the man in the robe ignored it all, moving with an effortless focus, cutting through the madness as if it were nothing.
Those who recognized his rank stepped aside out of respect, giving him space as he passed. He was a high-ranking mage of the bandits, a figure both feared and revered, and even the most reckless of warriors dared not obstruct him.
Then, a shiver ran through the air. The mage felt it a tremor in the sky. His eyes widened. "Master," he called out, voice tight with unease, as he reached a massive wooden door. He pushed it open and stepped inside.
Within the chamber, a figure slumped on a makeshift throne, a woman resting her head gently in his lap. The mage approached, kneeling slightly as he spoke. "Master… I felt it."
The supposed master, calm yet alert, raised his gaze. "Yes. The concentration of mana… it is unlike anything we've felt in a long time. It could be…" He trailed off, the weight of his words hanging in the air.
"The Black Dragon?" the mage asked, tension creeping into his voice.
The master shook his head slowly. "Perhaps. But… no. This mana feels purer than the dragon's. It isn't angry. We have been making our offerings; there is no reason for the dragon to stir. No… this is something else."
A shadow detached itself from the corner of the room. From the darkness emerged a figure: red eyes glowing faintly, hair tied back in a long scarlet tail, draped in a massive lion's fur coat. The sword on his back was enormous, deadly, and bore scars of its own a weapon that had seen countless battles. His body was a living testament to war: muscle coiled like iron, skin scarred from a lifetime of conflict.
He stepped forward, voice low but commanding. "Whatever it is, we will investigate. I want the origin of this disruption identified immediately." His eyes swept over the gathered bandits, sharp and calculating. "Dispatch the Wolf Claw. Fast. Swift. Bring me news"
A tense silence fell over the room. Even the chaotic warriors outside felt the shift in power, the certainty in the red-haired man's command. Whatever had stirred the air above the mountains… it was dangerous.
The mage planted his staff into the packed earth with a thunderous crack. Light flared along the shaft and shot up, a bright arrow that split the dawn and raced over the bandit camp. The signal carried the master's command like a bell sharp, final.
Three men at the edge of the yard straightened at once. Each wore wolf-beast fur draped over one shoulder, teeth bared in grins that were half hunger, half relief. The captain of the Wolf Claw lifted a hand and whistled once a hard, staccato note and the shadows answered.
From between broken wagons and collapsed lean-tos the wolves came: great gray beasts, ribs like knotted ropes, eyes raw and rabid. They slipped through the gloom as if the dark itself were their cloak. Behind them the Wolf Claw moved men armed with crossbows, cleavers, and cruel knives, armor patched with scavenged metal, faces painted with the same feral hunger.
"The master has spoken," the captain said, voice flat and hungry. "We have a mission."
They flexed fingers around hilts, checked strings, spat, and grinned like men who'd been waiting a long time for purpose. The mage's message had given them that purpose.
"The origin is near Laundry Town," the mage said, low.
The words landed and the camp shifted. "Laundry Town," the captain repeated, tasting the name like bile. Eyes flashed everywhere, sudden fire lighting the faces of men used to burning things down.
"That forsaken stinking town with those bunch of stupid clothes washing miserables?" one scoffed, teeth flashing.
A low laugh more a snarl came from the man at the center. He curled his hand along the neck of the largest wolf, feeling the animal's hot breath against his knuckles. "If it pleases the master," he said, lips forming the promise like a blade, "I will raze that place to the stones."
He hauled himself onto the wolf's back with brutal grace, the animal's muscles bunching under him. A name came out of his throat like a vow.
"I am Hazar," he said, voice iron. "I will fulfill my duty and bring back news."
With that the Wolf Claw melted into the dark, men and wolves becoming one shadow, swallowed by the mountain road. The camp fell quiet in their wake, the echoes of boots and paws fading until the bandits were only memories drifting on the wind.
The mage bowed as the Wolf Claw melted into the dark. "They ride now, master."
"Good," the man on the makeshift throne said without turning. He folded his hands in his lap as if arranging knives. "The dragon will wake hungry soon. Prepare the men for the next raid."
The mage hesitated a moment, then added, "There is also word an envoy from the Kingdom will pass by Laundry Town in two months to collect taxes. Gustav will ride with them."
A slow, dangerous smile creased the master's face. He tapped a finger against the arm of his throne. "The Kingdom," he repeated, tasting the word. "They won't waste the resources to put down our nests outright logistics and pride make them careful. But that does not mean they are harmless."
He rose then, the motion deliberate. "Let them pass," he said. "Do not strike the convoy on the road. We are not fools chasing glory. We will not rouse an entire army for a single score. But" his eyes glittered-..."do not let them pass without consequence."
The mage inclined his head. "As you wish."
"You may go," the master said softly.
The mage bowed again and moved away, boots whispering across the floor. The chamber sighed with the sound of his departure.
For a long moment the master sat in silence. The only noise was the crackle of a brazier and the distant shouts of the camp. Then something moved behind him slow, enormous, the sound of a shadow settling.
From the darkness a silhouette unfurled: a great tiger, far larger than any natural beast, its fur ragged but its shoulders like stone. It stepped forward until its presence nearly filled the doorway, eyes two coals burning in the gloom. The master did not flinch. He turned a fraction, enough to show the beast the corner of his mouth.
"I know," the master murmured, as if answering some private hunger. He leaned in, the grin on his face baring teeth like razors. "I am hungry too."