Chapter 3 ( The last knight Volume 1 )

The next morning, pale sunlight slipped through the cracks in the wooden walls. Kaine woke to the sound of quiet arguing outside the small hut.

“I told you to leave him!” Enid’s father hissed. “He’s a Westbank knight. If anyone finds out we’re sheltering him, this entire village will be put to the torch!”

“I already saved him, Father,” Enid replied, her voice firm. “He was dying in the mud. I couldn’t just walk away.”

“You’ve always been like this,” the old man sighed heavily, sounding exhausted rather than angry now. 

“Once you dig your heels in, there’s no stopping you. Fine… keep him. But if trouble comes because of this, it’s on your head.”

Enid stepped back into the hut with a small, satisfied smile. She found Kaine already sitting up, listening.

“Don’t mind him,” she said softly. “He’s just worried. But he’s given up arguing  he knows I won’t change my mind.”

Kaine nodded slowly. He understood stubbornness well.

Enid clapped her hands once. “Anyway, since you’re awake and not dying anymore, you’re going to earn your keep. Father needs help in the fields. The harvest doesn’t care about wars or vows.”

Kaine didn’t hesitate. Right now, survival was everything. If working the land kept him hidden and repaid the debt he owed this girl, then he would do it without complaint.

“Alright,” he said simply.

Enid looked surprised for a second, then grinned. “Good. Let’s start with the hard part.”

She led him behind the hut to a small clearing where his dented armor and the torn Westbank banner still lay in a sad pile.

“Burn it,” she said, her tone turning serious. “Every piece. If Eastern soldiers ever come sniffing around and find Westbank steel or that banner… the whole village suffers. My father, me, everyone here.”

Kaine stared at the armor that had once been part of his identity. The faded emblem, the broken plates, the sword that had failed to protect his brothers. For a long moment, silence hung between them.

Then he nodded.

They gathered dry branches and kindling. Kaine struck the flint himself. As the flames rose and began devouring the last remnants of his old life, he watched without blinking. 

The metal glowed red before twisting and melting. The banner curled into black ash, carried away by the morning breeze.

When only smoke remained, Enid placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“It’s just metal and cloth,” she whispered. “You’re still breathing. That’s what matters right now.”

Kaine said nothing, but the knot in his chest loosened just a little.

The rest of the day disappeared into hard, honest labor.

Enid’s father  old man Oriana  watched Kaine with wary, narrowed eyes as he handed him a worn hoe. The fields were small but demanding: 

rows of wheat swaying in the wind, potatoes ready to be dug, and vegetables that needed constant weeding after the heavy rains.

Kaine worked without a word of complaint. His body still screamed with every swing of the tool, every bend and pull, but he welcomed the pain. It reminded him he was alive. It reminded him he was healing.

Enid worked nearby, occasionally glancing over with a mix of curiosity and amusement.

“You swing that hoe like you’re charging into battle,” she teased during a short water break, tossing him a waterskin.

Kaine caught it and took a long drink. “Old habits die hard.”

“Well, they’d better die fast out here,” she laughed. “For now, you’re not Sir Kaine Magnus, proud knight of Westbank. You’re just Kai  a distant cousin who came to help after his own farm got ruined by the rains. Understand?”

He gave a small nod. “Kai it is.”

Old man Oriana remained mostly silent, but Kaine could feel the man’s reluctant acceptance. He had stopped fighting Enid’s decision. The daughter had won this battle long before Kaine woke up.

As the sun climbed higher, the simple rhythm of farm work slowly settled into Kaine’s bones. 

The remote village of Oakrest felt worlds away from the blood-soaked battlefield and General Kimar’s cruel laughter. 

Here, the only enemies were stubborn weeds and tired muscles.

Yet every quiet moment  when he paused to wipe sweat from his brow  his mind drifted back to the blood moon, the burning corpses, 

And the vow he had whispered over his general’s headless body. I will avenge everyone… no matter what.

For now, though, he would work the fields. He would hide. He would grow stronger in silence. The Heavenly Vow could wait. Survival came first.

To be continued...