The Last Knight

Chapter 6: Honor the Agreement… [Part1]

The sun was warm. Clouds drifted peacefully across the sky, slow and calm, untouched by war. The wind moved southward, carrying a strange silence with it, as if nature itself was trying to whisper something.

Dread stood alone. Before him, a hundred knights. At that time, his blade was still whole. Unbroken. Unchipped. Perfect. His eyes burned with fierce resolve.

Yet the knights before him burned with the same fire. Without a word, Dread raised his blade before his face, gripping it tightly with both hands clad in steel gauntlets. Then, they charged. A hundred warriors rushing toward him. But in Dread’s eyes… They were slow. Too slow. Weak. Unrefined.

They had yet to reach their full potential. Then Dread moved. One s***h. One dash. And ten knights were already down. Their knees slammed into the earth before their faces followed, crashing against the ground.

Silence.

Dread stood still with his blade lowered, its edge grazing the earth as a slow breath escaped him. Then he raised it again. Five knights surrounded him instantly. Front. Back. Left. Right. No escape. All angles covered.

Their blades came down at once. But just before impact... Dread stomped the ground. The earth split apart beneath them in a violent crack.

The shock destabilized all five knights instantly, causing them to lose balance and fall forward. Dread rotated. His blade became a silver arc.

All five fell. Then he shifted his stance. He raised his sword. Held it like a firearm. And with one smooth motion, he pulled the sheath free.

“For those who come after…” Dread whispered.

Then suddenly, he flew upward. And saw it. His King. A blade pierced through the King’s chest. Blood spilled. Time froze. Then... The King’s head fell.

“NO!!!”

Dread jolted awake. His scream echoed through the tent as he shot upright, gasping heavily for air.

His chest rose and fell violently. Sweat dripped down his face. Both hands covered his face as realization slowly returned. A dream. Just a dream. But the pain felt real.

“My King…” His voice cracked. He slammed his fist into the floor.

Frustration. Grief. Rage. All still alive. Still buried inside him. A long sigh escaped his lips. He cleared his throat and began collecting himself.

Slowly, he tied his long hair back into place. Then he grabbed his broken gauntlets and slipped them onto his hands. He wiped his face roughly and exhaled once more. Footsteps approached outside.

Dread froze for a moment. Familiar. Then the tent flap opened.

“Dread…” Tyr stepped inside. The morning sunlight poured in beside him.

Outside, the rain had finally stopped. The world was warm again, though the ground remained wet from the storm.

“Having nightmares?” Tyr asked quietly. Dread turned away slightly.

“I’m fine, Tyr.” His voice was calm again. Controlled.

“What brings you here?” He grabbed his sword and the lantern beside him.

“I was just leaving.” He attached the lantern to his waist first. Then secured his sword to his left side with a belt, movements precise and practiced.

“Well, if you’re really fine… then it’s better I tell you now rather than later.” Tyr’s expression darkened.

“Two knights were spotted nearby. Five towns away from here.” Dread immediately stopped adjusting his gear.

“They haven’t shown themselves yet,” Tyr continued, “but based on Cyrus’s description…” He paused.

“They’re from Zartorious IV.” The atmosphere inside the tent instantly changed. Dread’s expression hardened. No hesitation. No delay.

“Then I must leave before they discover I’m here.” He tightened the belt around his sword.

“I’ll search for another shelter.” Dread placed a hand on Tyr’s shoulder.

“I thank you, old friend. For lending me aid.” A faint smile crossed his face.

“I’ll repay you someday.” He walked past Tyr, but Tyr stopped him.

“Galahad and Evelyn are alive.” Dread froze. Tyr’s voice remained calm.

“They’re imprisoned. Chained deep underground.” His eyes narrowed.

“No one should be able to find them.” A pause.

“But Cyrus…” His expression shifted.

“He’s different.” Dread slowly turned.

“You remember the archer?” Tyr crossed his arms.

“She’s his partner.” A heavy sigh escaped him.

“They may use Galahad and Evelyn.” The implication hit immediately.

“Now that Durkenheim is gone,” Tyr continued, “there’s no reason for them to use overwhelming force unless something changes.” His gaze sharpened.

“Unless they receive direct orders.” A pause.

“Such as killing you on sight.” Dread slowly knelt, deep in thought. The silence stretched. Finally, he spoke.

“Taking lives is a sin.” His voice was quiet.

Measured.

“If I were an assassin…” His hand tightened into a fist. “…I would kill them both.”

Tyr remained silent.

“So no innocent blood would be spilled by their hands again.” Dread lowered his head.

“Galahad is not just another knight.” His eyes narrowed.

“He is ferocious. One of the best among Zartorious’s hidden layers.” His voice deepened.

“Do not underestimate him.” A bitter smile crossed his face.

“In all these decades, we never crossed paths until that day.” The memory flashed in his mind.

“I defeated him.” He slowly stood again.

“I broke him apart and took what mattered most to him.” A dangerous calm settled in his voice.

“In his story…” His eyes turned cold.

“I am the only man who survived to tell the tale.” Tyr stayed quiet.

“That he was defeated.” A pause.

“Not by an ordinary knight…” Dread’s eyes sharpened.

“But by Dread of Durkenheim.” Even knowing Galahad still lived unsettled him. But none of it showed on his face. Tyr exhaled.

“If I know Cyrus well enough…” He leaned against the tent post.

“He’ll use them to gain access to Zartorious IV.” Dread listened silently.

“He’ll want recognition.” Tyr’s tone became analytical.

“More influence. More trade. More business.” A faint scoff escaped him.

“More income. More reach.” His eyes narrowed.

“His economy would flourish.” He sighed again.