Chapter 6 ( The last knight Volume 1 )

In the grand capital of Westbank, the city of Queen Ariya, each passing day felt like drowning in the River of Sorrows.

The heavy boots of a Royal Knight echoed through the vast throne hall, armor clanking with every measured step. He dropped to one knee before the throne, head bowed low.

“My lord,” the knight said, voice steady but laced with unease, “the attacks from Eastbank have suddenly stopped.”

Solen sat motionless on the throne, his young face carved from stone. Through the enormous arched window behind him, 

the Riverside District stretched out like a jagged scar  the wide river glittering coldly under gray skies, separating two empires that had once known peace.

“I see,” Solen replied. His voice was quiet, yet it carried the weight of a hammer striking still water.

The knight hesitated, then continued. “They have gone silent, my lord. No raids, no skirmishes… nothing.”

Solen’s fingers tightened on the armrest. “They are no longer striking the heart. They are circling the edges of our empire, probing for weakness. Unpredictable. Dangerous.” He turned his gaze fully to the knight. 

“Bring all our border villages and outlying settlements closer to the four capitals. The edges are too exposed now. We cannot afford to lose more lives to their games.”

The knight rose with a deep bow. “Understood, my lord.”

As the knight’s armored footsteps faded down the marble corridor, Solen remained alone in the echoing hall. 

His eyes lingered on the distant river, where the ghosts of fifty thousand dead still seemed to drift on the current.

“General Kai… Kaine…” he whispered to the empty air. “Wherever you are, hold on.”

Far to the east, on the windswept slopes of Messar’s Hill, Kaine stood like a shadow against the pale morning sky.

From this vantage, the village of Oakrest lay small and peaceful in the valley below little more than a cluster of thatched roofs and green fields. His eyes kept drifting back to one particular hut near the edge of the woods. 

Even from this distance, he could almost see the old oak tree where Enid had once rested her head on his shoulder.

His chest tightened. The memory of her tears, her broken voice calling him a coward, burned hotter than any wound he had carried from the battlefield.

“No…” he muttered, forcing his gaze away. “I cannot lose focus now.”

The Heavenly Vow pulsed inside him like a second, merciless heartbeat a constant reminder that every breath he took was borrowed time. 

His feet began to move again, carrying him down the hill and onto the long road east, even as his heart begged him to turn back.

For days he walked, the landscape blurring from rolling hills to dense forests to rocky plains. Enid’s face haunted him in every quiet moment:

 her gentle laugh in the fields, the warmth of her hand brushing his, the raw pain in her eyes when he had said those cruel words. Each memory grew sharper, more bitter, harder to push away.

The plain sword at his side  the one he had secretly forged during his nights in Oakrest  felt heavier with every step. It demanded blood. It demanded purpose.

One cold dawn, when the weight became too much, Kaine stopped in the middle of an empty road. He drew the blade and held it before him, eyes burning with resolve.

“Sword of Bloodshed,” he spoke aloud, voice low and steady, as if addressing an old companion. “That is your name now.”

For a moment nothing happened. Then, as if the sword itself answered his will, a deep crimson glow ignited along the edge of the blade. The metal shimmered, the edge lengthening and sharpening until it gleamed with unnatural hunger. 

Power thrummed through the hilt and into his arm  the first true awakening of the Heavenly Vow.

Kaine stared at the glowing weapon, feeling both strength and dread coil in his chest.

He sheathed the blade and continued walking.

Days later, the first outpost of Sriea  one of the four great capitals of the Eastbank Empire  rose on the horizon: a fortified watchtower surrounded by wooden palisades and watchful guards.

Kaine did not slow down.

He moved like a storm. The Heavenly Vow surged through his veins, lending his tired body terrifying speed and power. 

Steel clashed, men shouted, and within minutes the outpost lay in ruins bodies strewn across the ground, banners torn and trampled.

Only one Eastern guard remained alive, crawling backward in terror as Kaine approached, the glowing Sword of Bloodshed dripping crimson.

Kaine grabbed the man by the collar and lifted him effortlessly off the ground.

“Run,” he growled, voice cold as winter steel. “Go back to your masters. Tell General Kimar that Kaine Magnus is coming for him. If he truly possesses any honor, he will face me alone. His death has arrived.”

He released the trembling soldier, who scrambled to his feet and fled into the distance without looking back.

Kaine stood amid the wreckage, breathing heavily. The glow of the sword slowly faded, but the fire in his eyes burned brighter than ever.

Yet even as victory pulsed through him, a single image refused to leave his mind: Enid on her knees in the dust, sobbing as he walked away.

He turned his face toward the distant capital and whispered through gritted teeth,

“I will finish this… before the vow finishes me.”