Chapter 9 ( The last knight Volume 1 )

In the grand capital of Westbank, the city of Queen Ariya, hurried footsteps echoed like thunder through the marble halls of the throne room.

Royal Knight burst in, armor clanking loudly as he dropped to one knee before Solen, breathing hard from the long ride.

“My lord! My lord!” he gasped. “News from the east!”

Solen turned slowly from the great window where he had been staring at the distant river. His young face remained calm, but his eyes sharpened.

“Speak.”

“General Kimar of Eastbank  the butcher of the first capital outpost  has been slain along with hundreds of his soldiers. The outpost lies in ruins, burned to the ground.”

Solen’s brow furrowed. “Which force struck them? Another empire? A full army?”

The knight shook his head, still catching his breath. “It was no empire, my lord. No army. It was… a single man. The last surviving knight from General Kai’s final troop. Kaine Magnus.”

For a long moment, silence filled the vast hall. Solen’s gaze drifted back to the window, where the Riverside District shimmered under pale sunlight. A faint, bittersweet smile touched his lips.

“Kaine Magnus…” he murmured. “So he fulfilled his vow. He reclaimed the honor of his general and every brother who fell in the mud that day.” Solen straightened, voice steady and respectful. 

“His name should not be forgotten. Let it be recorded in the halls of honor. The Last Knight of Westbank… he died as he lived  with unbreakable will.”

The knight bowed deeper. “As you command, my lord.”

Solen remained at the window long after the knight had left, staring toward the east where smoke no longer rose. Somewhere out there, a lone knight had kept his Heavenly Vow.

“Rest well, Kaine,” he whispered to the empty air. “You carried more than steel on your shoulders.”

Far in the frozen north, within the Frost Throne Hall of the Great Frika Empire, Emperor Yuma sat unmoved as a royal knight knelt before him, wolf fur draped heavily around his neck.

“My lord,” the knight reported, voice low, “General Kimar of Eastbank has been slain. Hundreds of his men fell with him at the first outpost.”

Emperor Yuma leaned back on his throne of bone and iron, a slow, amused smile spreading across his face. His sharp eyes gleamed with cold calculation.

“How amusing,” he said softly, almost laughing. “Let them tear each other apart, one by one. The weaker they become, the sweeter our harvest will be.”

He waved a dismissive hand. “Continue watching, Tsuma. The south bleeds… and we wait.”

In the peaceful village of Oakrest, warm sunlight bathed the small fields and thatched huts in gentle gold.

Enid set her basket of freshly pulled carrots down beside the hut, wiping sweat from her brow. For a moment she stood still, staring toward the distant hills where the road disappeared into the trees.

“If he was here… he would have helped me carry this,” she said quietly, a sad little smile tugging at her lips.

Old man Oriana, sitting on a wooden bench nearby, shook his head with a tired sigh. “Forget about that man, girl. He is gone. Chasing ghosts and old promises. He won’t come back.”

Enid’s expression hardened, but her eyes stayed soft with stubborn hope. She turned to her father, voice firm and full of belief.

“Shut up, old man. I know he will come back. Once he fulfills his goal… once he finishes what he started… he’ll return to us. 

To the farm. To me.” She picked up the basket again, holding it a little tighter. “He promised me with his silence. I can still feel it.”

The old man said nothing more. He simply watched his daughter walk toward the garden, her steps slower than usual, carrying the weight of waiting.

High above on Messar’s Hill, the morning breeze gently scattered the last traces of fine gray dust across the grass all that remained of a knight who had once whispered his deepest regrets to the wind.

Enid never looked up.

But somewhere, in the quiet corners of her heart, she still believed.