Last knight

The game behind the garrison officer taking office

"Though a bit older, he’s still quite handsome!"

The palm leaves swayed endlessly in the scorching summer heat, much like the colorful flags waved by the crowds lining the streets. Perhaps even the trees were eager to catch a glimpse of the legendary knight who had single-handedly defended the fortress.

The small river outside Thebes had reportedly turned muddy the day before, as the young women of the city had flocked to its banks to bathe. They had then doused themselves in the finest perfumes and applied the brightest lipstick, hoping to catch the eye of their idol.

Meanwhile, the well-dressed noblewomen on the balconies above, though unable to match the radiant smiles and sunlit freckles of the girls below, knew how to sway their corseted waists within their wire-framed skirts. Their powdered faces, adorned with jewelry worth more than the dreams of the young girls, exuded a mature charm. Their white-gloved hands held delicate parasols and crimson fans, which only accentuated their allure. Some even wore wide-brimmed hats with ostrich feathers trailing down their backs. Occasionally, a stifling breeze would carry their scent and perfume into the air around them.

A group of children sprinkling holy water passed by, followed by the city’s clergy chanting hymns in praise of the Lord. The men and devout believers exclaimed in awe, "Look! Three cardinals! By the heavens, it’s as grand as the inauguration of an archbishop!"

"Ignorant fools! The city defense commander is a Templar Knight himself!"

"One of the thirty-six Templar Knights! So young... whose daughter could be worthy of him?"

The men’s chatter was soon drowned out by the screams of the young women.

"Though a bit older, he’s still quite handsome!"

"That older one is Duke Bouvanaba, the Minister of Military Affairs! You ignorant peasants!"

"Good heavens, the scar on his face is so attractive!"

"He’s so cool!"

"Look, is that the bow he’s carrying? The one they say can kill a dozen men with a single shot?"

Ares, as cold and aloof as ever on his horse, might not have known how "cool" he appeared. But one thing was certain: the lightweight armor specially crafted by the Church, reportedly blessed by the Pope himself, with its exaggerated shoulder guards and prominent chest plate, made him look undeniably dashing. Of course, if one noticed the beads of sweat covering his forehead, it was clear that while he might have been cool, he was certainly sweltering.

When Ares arrived at the city defense headquarters and finally removed his armor, Foli and Overmus, who had arrived earlier, greeted him with playful slaps. The three clasped each other’s hands—a symbolic first step.

Duke Bouvanaba, the Minister of Military Affairs, was preparing to return to the capital. If not for the fear of being overshadowed by the Church, a mere city defense commander would never have received the honor of being escorted by the minister. Before leaving, he told Ares not to see him off and instead called Foli over. "Boy, Andoril was a good friend of mine, you know? Our relationship was like yours with our young hero, Ares. Andoril was a harsh man in his time, but he once said, 'In matters of war, consult Foli Ford.' I believe you have the capability to do great things. Come see me at the ministry on the first of next month."

As the duke turned to leave, he casually added, "Oh, and Anthony Juli... he’s still young and a bit naive. If you have the time, keep an eye on him for me." With that, the duke departed.

Overmus, caught off guard, was thrown to the ground by Ares in a playful wrestling match. Ares was delighted—he had never been able to best Overmus in one-on-one combat before. Overmus, rubbing his sore back, laughed and cursed at Ares, but his mind was elsewhere. He had noticed Moran, who had arrived earlier with them, standing in a corner, her eyes fixed on Foli as he chatted with the duke. There was a venomous glint in her gaze.

Overmus hadn’t let Ares throw him to make him happy; he was simply distracted, trying to understand why Moran was acting this way. At her insistence, Foli and Overmus had not entered the city with Ares. Did she think Foli was stealing Ares’s spotlight?

Foli hadn’t noticed this, and even if he had, he would have likely brushed it off with his usual nonchalance, saying something like, "Love is blind." Overmus knew Foli well and didn’t plan to discuss it with him. Foli was a master of deflection, and Overmus often ended their debates by saying, "Your sophistry is a stain on your knighthood."

But Overmus left the headquarters early, leaving Foli and Ares puzzled. He didn’t—and couldn’t—explain his sudden departure, simply citing family matters. Six days later, he appeared at his home in the capital, Peloponnesus. The journey usually took eight days, but Overmus had made it in six, though no one knew he had stopped briefly at Foli’s fief, Argos. The heat was unbearable, and even the usually diligent militiamen had sought shade.

Old steward Varucule was surprised to see Overmus return without Foli, but Overmus cut him off with a wave. "Uncle Varucule," he said in a low voice, "I need to confirm something. Did you raise Foli from childhood?"

"You could say that..." The old man’s cloudy eyes narrowed with suspicion. Despite knowing how close Overmus and Foli were, the steward, having witnessed Baron Hydra’s betrayal of Foli’s father and endured years of exile, trusted no one.

"Uncle," Overmus said firmly, "I know Foli’s background isn’t what the official records say. He’s no commoner’s child, and neither are you, if I’m not mistaken. But listen, I’m not here to uncover that story."

The old man remained silent, his hand subtly moving toward the dagger at his waist. Overmus ignored the shift in the steward’s demeanor and continued, "Moran, the female doctor who often visits... do you know her?" After explaining Moran’s behavior, Overmus urged, "You think something’s wrong, don’t you? Tell me. I need to reach the capital by tonight, and no one can know I was here. If someone is targeting Foli, they’ll notice you next."

The old steward hesitated. His late master had once told him, "If my son grows up to be a man, and the taxes are less than thirty percent, don’t seek revenge for me. Don’t even mention my feud with Hydra. Hydra is a bad man, but if he’s a good finance minister, my grudge against him means nothing."

Now, the taxes were at ten percent.

But Foli was like a son to him. After a moment, the old man finally said, "Valkyrie." Then he turned and walked upstairs, leaving Overmus with only that cryptic word.

Overmus spent seven days and nights in the capital’s famous Tower Library before returning to Argos, where Foli had also returned. Overmus shared his findings: "Valkyrie. They’re mythical figures from the barbarian tribes of the snowy north. Legend says they are warrior maidens who serve the barbarians’ chief god. They ride across the sky in shining armor, searching for the souls of heroes to bring to their god’s hall, where they fight for him..."

"Stop, stop," Foli laughed. "Even if old Varucule is right, and you’re right, you can’t seriously think Moran is a Valkyrie, can you? Ha! Besides, if they’re looking for heroes, they should come for me. My record is far more impressive than Ares’s..."

"You’re not a hero," Overmus said sternly. "Let’s be honest. Your politeness is a mask for your rudeness, your cruelty, your cunning. You’re not even a knight. You may be a victor, and you might even become a great man, but you’re no hero. Definitely not."

"Fair enough," Foli nodded. "So, I’m not the gullible type, right? Fine, fine, don’t get worked up. We just see things differently. I don’t believe Moran is a Valkyrie unless you can prove it."

Overmus grabbed his hat and made to leave, but Foli stopped him. "Alright, I’ll stop playing dumb. It was just a joke. No need to take it so seriously."

"Who would want to use Ares for their own purposes? Who has that kind of influence?" Overmus tossed his hat aside, tugging at his hair in frustration. Perhaps Moran’s resentment toward Foli and Overmus stemmed from their presence hindering her control over Ares. But the real question was: who wanted to control Ares?

Foli sat down slowly and poured Overmus a glass of water. In a rare moment of seriousness, he said, "There’s only one possibility: Moran was sent by the great King of Peloponnesus. That’s why I didn’t want to discuss it. Even if we’re right, we’ll have to pretend we don’t know."

This translation aims to preserve the intricate character dynamics, the blend of humor and tension, and the underlying political intrigue of the original text. Let me know if you'd like further adjustments!