Thud! Thud! Thud!
The frantic rhythm of boots hammering down the wooden stairs reached my ears. Moments later, a sharply dressed man appeared, gasping for air as if he had just outrun death itself.
"Sir Knight!" he called out, his voice a frantic blend of urgency and profound respect.
"I am Albert, the manager of this branch. Please, follow me, sir," he urged, gesturing toward the upper floor.
"Where to?" I asked, still baffled by this sudden, extravagant treatment.
"To my private office."
"You needn't have troubled yourself to come down just to greet me," I said, attempting to diffuse the tension.
"No, sir. I would not dare act with such insolence toward a Knight," he replied instantly.
"It is only a title," I whispered, though Albert paid me no mind. He bowed deeply, insisting that I lead the way.
A small sigh escaped me. It seemed easier to play along than to remain the centerpiece of the adventurers' whispers below. I ascended the stairs with Albert trailing a respectful step behind until we reached a door already held open. The receptionist from before stood beside it, a permanent, polite smile etched onto her lips.
The Compact in the Inner Sanctum
Once inside, the heavy door clicked shut, sealing away the rowdy atmosphere of the hall. Albert gestured toward a plush leather chair. He did not sit immediately; instead, he stood rigid, placed his right hand over his heart, and offered a formal bow.
"I am deeply honored to welcome a Sir Knight to our humble guild."
"Yes, yes... thank you," I replied shortly, beginning to chafe under the excessive protocol.
Finally, Albert took his seat opposite me. Between us, atop a polished teak desk, lay several weathered scrolls.
"Is it true, sir, that you seek a map to the Demon King's fortress?" he asked, his face hardening into a mask of seriousness.
"It is."
Albert reached for the oldest-looking scroll and unfurled it with trembling care. "This is the map. It is a relic of immense value; each branch is permitted only a single copy."
"I only need to know the path. Perhaps you would allow me to transcribe it?" I suggested.
"That is no problem, sir. However... may I ask your purpose for seeking this place?"
I met his gaze squarely, my eyes steady. "I intend to raze that castle to the ground—and its master along with it."
Albert's expression turned to stone. "Truly?"
I nodded without a hint of doubt. The fire in my chest did not flicker.
"If that is your intent... then take the map. Consider it our contribution to the cause," Albert said, sliding the scroll toward me.
"Thank you, Albert. Oh, one more thing... on my way here, I heard rumors of the fall of Velanor. Is it true?"
Albert went silent. He stared blankly at the desk for a long moment before answering in a voice heavy with sorrow.
"That tragedy occurred fifteen years ago, sir."
I recoiled as if struck. "You mean... the city is truly gone?"
"Yes. Velanor no longer exists upon the face of this earth."
The answer was a physical blow. Fifteen years? I had been so insulated by the peace of the Far East that news of a world-shattering catastrophe had only just reached my ears. I could still see the faces of my masters whenever they spoke of Velanor's glory—their eyes shining as they described a beacon of knowledge and strategy, a place where the mightiest heroes gathered. It was the home of the most magnificent Magic Tower in all of Eldryn.
How could such a bastion crumble so completely?
"What actually happened there?" I demanded.
Albert sighed, a sound so weighted it felt as though he were unearthing a buried nightmare. "No one suspected it, sir... but it turned out the city's very protectors were the monsters," he whispered.
"What?" I could scarcely believe my ears.
"Sir Duke Herold, Sir Duke Edwin, and Sir Duke Levin... the most revered Knight Commanders. They were Demons in disguise."
The names hit me like a lightning strike. Those names were not strangers to me; they were the former pupils my masters had been most proud of. It was impossible that those three were traitors—let alone demons.
The Tragedy of the Coronation
"It began during the coronation of the new Master of the Magic Tower, Sir Duke Tharion Velkar," Albert continued. "While the city was celebrating, the three Knight Commanders launched an assault from within. The world turned to chaos in a heartbeat."
I listened intently, every word cutting like a jagged blade.
"The Elven and Dwarven hosts, along with the adventurers, fought desperately to repel them. But the strength of the Knight Legions under their command was too great. They could not stop the rot from spreading. Meanwhile, Sir Duke Herold and Sir Duke Levin... they carried out a bloody massacre inside the palace itself."
"And what of the mages? The Magic Tower was famed for a magical prowess that had no equal."
I searched for logic in such a rapid collapse. It was impossible for thousands of elite mages to be quelled so easily.
"They were the first to fall, slaughtered by Sir Duke Edwin," Albert replied, his voice sinking. "The enemy was cunning. They knew that to break Velanor, they had to stop its heart—the Magic Tower—before a single defensive spell could be cast."
I could only shake my head, a mixture of regret and cold fury roiling in my gut.
"When Sir Duke Tharion Velkar realized Velanor was at its end and could not be saved... he made the bitterest choice of all," Albert said. "He unleashed the Spell of Ruination—a forbidden magic that leveled the entire city to incinerate the demons feasting upon its blood. He sacrificed himself and every soul within the walls. In that cataclysm, only one survived."
"Who?" I asked.
"Princess Sylveria... the sole heir of the Elven Kingdom, Elaranthiel. It was she who told the tale of that night."
"Only one?"
Albert nodded weakly. "Three hundred thousand lives vanished in an instant. All of it... in a single night."
"Three hundred thousand..." I repeated the number, the scale of the loss almost impossible to fathom.
"That tragedy changed everything," Albert added. "Since that night, the Elves have ceased sending reinforcements to the Western Front. The Dwarves followed suit. They have shuttered their kingdoms, their trust in humanity utterly shattered. Meanwhile, the human kingdoms are desperate; they've begun withdrawing their Knights from the front lines just to protect their own borders from the goblins and orcs running rampant."
"Without the Elves and Dwarves, the Western Front is merely waiting to collapse," I remarked, seeing the darkening future of the continent.
Silence filled the office. I sat there, drowned in a deep sympathy for Eldryn's fate. I had no more questions left to ask.
A Name that Shakes the Earth
"Forgive me, sir?" Albert broke the silence.
"Why do you apologize?"
"As far as I know, the Knights who hold a Gold Token can be counted on one hand. I know almost all of their names. If you wouldn't mind... may I know your true name?"
I leaned back into the leather chair. "Just call me Rowan."
"Rowan?" Albert knit his brows, scouring his mental archives. "Rowan..."
I watched his face. Suddenly, his skin turned ashen. His eyes went wide as he stared at me in disbelief.
"Sir... Sir Rowan? Rowan of the Kingdom of Eldoria?"
"That is correct. Why? Have you heard of me?"
Without warning, Albert bolted upright from his chair. The sheer suddenness of it startled me. He stood as straight as a spear, his face flushed with a mixture of awe and excitement.
"It is an infinite honor to stand before the Slayer of a Thousand Orcs!"
"The what?" I blinked, stunned. Since when had I acquired a title like that?