The morning was cold, and the sky was covered with heavy gray clouds. A long dirt road stretched between small towns, and along that road a worn wooden wagon slowly rolled forward. Two tired horses pulled it while several armed men walked beside it.
Inside the wagon sat a group of slaves, their hands chained together, their bodies exhausted from the long journey.
Among them was a boy.
His name was John.
He was about fifteen years old. His clothes were torn, his face covered in dust, and his body looked thin from hunger. Yet his eyes were different from the others. They didn't carry the empty look of surrender… there was still something burning inside them.
A large man with a thick beard rode ahead of the wagon, laughing loudly with his men.
He was the slave trader.
One of the men glanced toward the wagon and asked with a smirk,
"How much do you think we'll sell these for?"
The trader laughed.
"Doesn't matter. Even dogs have a price these days."
The men burst into laughter.
John lowered his head slightly, but his hands tightened around the cold iron chains.
Only a few months ago, he had been living in a small hut with his uncle in one of the poorest parts of the kingdom. Life had been hard, but at least he had been free.
Until that day.
The day his uncle sold him.
A few silver coins… that was all it took.
Suddenly, the wagon stopped.
The slave trader raised his hand.
"We stop here."
Ahead of them stood a small tavern near the entrance of a town. Dim lights glowed through the windows, and the sound of laughter and chatter drifted outside.
The trader smiled cruelly.
"Let's collect a little extra money before we continue."
The men dismounted their horses and stormed into the tavern.
Inside, several travelers and workers sat around wooden tables drinking and talking.
The peace lasted only seconds.
One of the trader's men slammed his fist on a table and shouted,
"Everyone put your money on the table!"
An older man stood up angrily.
"This is a place to rest, not—"
He never finished his sentence.
A brutal punch knocked him to the ground.
Tables flipped over.
People screamed.
Women rushed to hide behind walls, and some men tried to resist, but the trader's men were armed and ruthless.
From the wagon outside, John watched everything.
His heart pounded.
Anger burned inside his chest… but there was nothing he could do.
Then suddenly…
The noise stopped.
The shouting disappeared.
Even the trader's men fell silent.
At the entrance of the tavern stood an old man.
He was tall despite his age. Long white hair fell over his shoulders, and his eyes were calm… yet strangely intimidating.
And there was something else.
He stood on only one leg.
One of the men laughed loudly.
"Look at that… a crippled old man."
A few others joined the laughter.
But the old man didn't laugh.
His eyes slowly moved across the room, looking at the injured people lying on the floor.
Then he spoke in a quiet voice… cold as winter.
"You've ruined my peace."
A large man stepped forward, raising his sword.
"And what are you going to do about it, old man?"
In the next instant…
The old man disappeared.
No one saw him move.
Then—
CRASH!
The large man was thrown across the room, smashing through a wooden table.
Everyone froze.
"What the—?!"
But the old man was already moving.
A swift strike with his wooden staff knocked one man unconscious.
A spinning kick sent another crashing into the wall.
A quick turn—
Another man collapsed.
The slave trader's men rushed him together, but the old man moved between them like a shadow.
Every movement was precise.
Every strike was devastating.
From the wagon outside, John watched with wide eyes.
He had never seen anyone move like that.
Within less than a minute…
All the men were on the ground.
Only the slave trader remained.
Panic filled his face as he tried to run for the door.
But the old man's staff struck his leg.
The trader collapsed to his knees.
The old man walked toward him slowly.
For a moment, he simply stared down at him.
Then—
One final strike.
Silence returned to the tavern.
After a few minutes, some slaves managed to break the lock on the wagon.
They began climbing out.
John stepped down slowly, his eyes still fixed on the old man.
That man…
Was no ordinary person.
John hesitated for a moment.
Then he walked toward him.
His voice was tired but steady.
"Please… teach me how to use a sword."
The old man didn't answer right away.
He simply looked at the boy.
He studied the thin body… then the eyes.
A long moment of silence passed.
Inside his mind, the old man thought quietly:
This boy…
His body… strangely perfect.
He sighed softly.
How many years have I searched for a student…
Yet none were worthy of inheriting what I have left.
He looked at John once more.
Then he turned and began walking toward the door.
Without looking back, he said:
"If you're serious…"
"Follow me."
John stood frozen for a second.
Then he ran after him without hesitation.
He didn't know where they were going.
He didn't know what awaited him.
But in that moment…
The journey had begun.
The journey of the man who would one day be known across the world as…
The Golden Knight.