The Last Knight

Honor the Agreement [Part 2]

“So he’ll offer you an agreement.” Dread remained still.

“Either your head…” Tyr looked him directly in the eye.

“Or something else entirely.” His voice lowered.

“Something that could turn his world upside down.” He paused.

“For better.” A beat. “Or for worse.” Then Tyr placed a hand on Dread’s shoulder.

“Keep your head high.” His voice softened. “I still have my owl.” A small smile appeared.

“I’ll keep feeding you information.” He nodded.

“It’s the best help I can offer.” Dread said nothing.

“My bird will know where you’re heading.” Tyr’s smile faded.

“After all…” A heavy sadness entered his voice.

“I know exactly where you plan to go.” He shook his head.

“And I’m not pleased about it.” Dread stared ahead.

“It’s the only way, Tyr.” His voice was firm. As he stepped outside the tent, morning sunlight washed over him. The rain-soaked land stretched into the distance.

“In this journey…” He looked toward the horizon.

“Things will only get harder.” A pause.

“And harder.” His hand rested on the hilt of his sword.

“And far more will come.” Tyr stepped beside him. For a moment, neither spoke. Then Dread asked quietly.

“If he honors some kind of agreement…” His eyes shifted toward Tyr. “He won’t stop there, will he?”

Tyr slowly shook his head. “No.” A single word. Heavy with certainty.

“Your journey will be deadly, Dread.” His voice carried no comfort, only truth.

“Zartorious IV isn’t the only one hunting you anymore.” The wind passed between them.

“Many groups are.” Tyr stepped away with a faint smile.

“And none of them will stop.” He left Dread standing alone. Silent. Still. Thinking. The battlefield had changed. This was no longer a war fought with swords alone. It was a game of strategy.

A game of survival. A game of kings and monsters. And Dread stood alone on one side of the board, facing countless opponents across from him. Yet despite being outnumbered… He was still the only one making the first move.

“By the way, Tyr…” Dread stopped just before leaving.

“I think this belongs with you.” He raised the lantern. A soft glow radiated from within it. Unlike before, the flame was calm, almost peaceful. Its light carried none of the violent intensity it had shown in Galahad’s hands.

Tyr stared in surprise. “How is it this calm?” He slowly reached toward it.

“In Galahad’s hands, it was a weapon of destruction.” The moment Tyr’s fingers touched the lantern, the flame changed.

Its peaceful glow darkened instantly, shifting into a hotter, unstable light. Dread narrowed his eyes.

“The lantern…” He studied it carefully.

“It appears ancient.” His gaze remained fixed on the flame.

“And it reacts to the nature of whoever holds it.” Tyr frowned.

“What do you mean?”

Dread exhaled. “If the person changes…” His voice lowered. “The lantern changes too.”

He looked directly at Tyr. “When you were angry earlier…” A faint smirk crossed his face.

“That flame became scorching.” Tyr’s expression shifted.

“And its explosion was stronger than what Galahad produced.” Silence followed. Tyr slowly looked back at the lantern in his hands.

The glow dimmed again. “Good.” He whispered. “At least you figured that much out.”

His expression darkened. “But the true origin of this lantern…” His grip tightened.

“That’s what worries me.” The lantern’s light flickered again, this time carrying traces of black within the flame. Tyr’s eyes narrowed.

“We need answers.” “And soon.”

Elsewhere. Far from Tyr’s camp. Cyrus descended a long flight of stone stairs with the archer walking silently beside him. The deeper they went, the colder the air became.

It felt wrong. The darkness surrounding the stairway felt unnatural, as if the walls themselves were soaked in malice. Even the silence carried weight.

By the time they reached the bottom, a prison awaited. Knights in dark armor stood guard throughout the underground corridor.

Each wore a sword at their waist and held long spears in disciplined silence.

The moment they saw Cyrus... They knelt on one knee. A sign of absolute respect.

“What brings you this far below, my lord?” One of the knights spoke with formal precision. Cyrus smiled.

“I’m here to see our new prisoners.” His eyes sharpened slightly.

“Garrison, son of Archiles.” The knight lowered his head.

“I understand.” He rose immediately.

“I’ll lead you to them, my lord.” Garrison turned and began walking. Cyrus and the archer followed. As they moved deeper into the prison, distant voices echoed through the halls. Then louder.

Shouting. Cursing. Screaming. Mockery. Desperation. The further they walked, the more twisted the atmosphere became. Eventually, they stopped before a heavy iron gate.

Two guards stood behind it, both silent and motionless. They simply stared. Garrison reached toward his gauntlet and revealed a hidden key. The lock clicked. The gate slowly creaked open.

“This prison…” Garrison spoke quietly, almost to himself.

“…has become the depths of temptation, my lord.” The moment they entered, chaos erupted around them. Prisoners shouted insults.

Some screamed threats. Others laughed like madmen. A few slammed violently against their cells, trying desperately to break free. But the reinforced bars never moved. Some prisoners sat motionless.

Empty. Broken. Already dead inside. Others remained chained to the walls alone, quietly waiting for death to claim them. Cyrus walked through all of it without changing expression.

Then finally... They reached Galahad’s cell.

“Galahad broke out of his own cell not long ago.” Garrison’s voice remained cold and ruthless.

“He became a problem.” He glanced toward the chained figure lying face-down inside the cell.

“So I handled it personally.” His expression never changed.