Last knight

A storm

Overmus sent the messenger sent by Ares to eat, then waved the letter in his hand and said to Foli, who was silently trimming his nails with a dagger: "Moran has arrived, safe and sound. Foli, you... will regret this."

Since Moran left, Foli no longer had that lazy, carefree expression. Instead, he was replaced by an overwhelming sense of despair. Foli sighed and stopped what he was doing, looking up at Overmus, who did not avoid his gaze. The two stood like statues, locked in a silent standoff for what felt like an eternity. Suddenly, Foli burst into laughter, tossing the dagger aside as if throwing away all the recent frustrations. Though the laughter was forced, it still marked a return to his old, carefree self. He strode toward the stairs, laughing as if he had just heard the funniest joke. But Overmus calmly repeated, "You... will regret this."

Foli turned around lazily and smirked, "Should I regret it now? Why did I even bother saving Ares, who had a broken leg, when I was surrounded by enemies, fighting for my own survival?" Overmus wiped his lips forcefully and said nothing more. However, as he descended the stairs, he shook his head and muttered, as if to himself or perhaps as a warning to Foli, "There’s no cure for regret."

"There’s no cure for regret."

Hundreds of miles away, in a nameless border town, Moran said the same thing to Ares, who had come to visit her at the clinic. This left Ares puzzled, as he had no idea why Moran would say such a thing. Ares smiled and said, "Moran, don’t be like this..." But Moran coldly repeated, "There’s no cure for regret."

Ares grew annoyed. He stopped smiling and stared coldly at Moran, unable to tolerate this baseless blame. Even if Moran had married Foli, it didn’t make sense for her to be so angry just because Ares hadn’t said goodbye before leaving. Ares tilted his head and pointed at Moran, saying, "Enough. Remember this: Foli is my brother, my commander, and my savior. You... what right do you have to treat me like this?"

With that, Ares stormed out. Moran, who was cleaning the clinic, dropped the cloth in her hand. She leaned on the table to steady herself, trying not to fall. "What right?" she whispered, laughing bitterly. Her heart felt heavy, as if something was stuck in her chest. She repeated the words Ares had thrown at her before leaving, and suddenly, she thought she understood. Tears streamed down her face, dampening the midsummer air.

Ares, halfway home, was caught in a sudden summer rain that drenched him completely. Perhaps the rain helped him cool down and think. Why was Moran so upset with him? If it was because Foli had left without telling her, then her anger made sense... It dawned on him. The answer was simple. The earlier frustration seemed to wash away with the rain, and Ares turned around, running back to the clinic. But just then, the sound of a horn echoed through the wind and rain—enemy attack!

A reflex deeply ingrained in his mind took over. Ares stopped in his tracks and sprinted toward the fortress gate facing the canyon. He was young, but he wasn’t some noble boy singing beneath his lover’s window. He was a soldier, a professional who had faced life and death.

Ares drew his ever-present bow, leaping into the air to dodge an incoming arrow. He released the string, and the hollow-point arrow whistled through the rain. As he landed and rolled, another arrow grazed his scalp, leaving a burning sting that only sharpened his focus. He fired another arrow mid-run, and another enemy fell at the gate, clutching his throat.

The battle raged on. Ares was not a great commander, but no one could deny he was a formidable warrior. Even as his young body grew battered and bloodied, his fighting spirit never wavered. By the time reinforcements arrived, Ares was barely standing, his armor in tatters and his body covered in wounds. Yet, he had held the gate.

The empire’s military initially wanted to charge Ares with negligence for leaving the gate open and failing to light the signal fire. But the fortress had been saved, and thanks to Foli and Overmus’s efforts, Ares’s heroism became the talk of every social gathering, from cocktail parties to taverns. The story spread that Ares had single-handedly defended the fortress while dozens of soldiers fled. Even the Senate and the King took notice.

In the end, the Pope intervened, declaring Ares a model of knightly honor. The King, though wary of the Church’s influence, ultimately sided with Ares, stating, "The victor should not be blamed."

When Foli and Overmus visited Ares, he was wrapped in bandages like a mummy. Moran had stitched over seven hundred wounds, half of which she sewed while Ares held the gate against hundreds of enemies. After days of recovery, Ares was finally able to sit up and eat. Soon after, he was inducted into the Order of the Templars, though curiously, he was not granted any land—a rare exception for a knight of his stature.

As Ares spent his two-week leave on Foli’s estate, the question lingered: why had he been denied a fief? But for now, Ares was content to rest, his body healing and his legend growing.

This translation aims to capture the emotional depth, action, and political intrigue of the original text while adapting it to a more natural English flow. Let me know if you'd like further adjustments!