HUP! HUP!
The rhythmic shouts echoed across the training field as the knights practiced in unison. The sun had just peeked over the horizon, casting long shadows over their sharpened blades. The day was already gruesome—the training, intense. As always.
But something was missing. A particular emotion. Something every warrior needed.
Reason.
The reason to swing their sword. A purpose to stay motivated. A will so unshakable that even at the edge of collapse—they wouldn't bend.
Without it, they risked becoming the same: Empty husks. Men who moved on command but had long lost the why behind their actions.
It was a double-edged truth. Some would fall. Others… would forge a new reason. A reason not born from pride, nor patriotism—but something darker. More personal.
And that… could be used.
"EVERYONE GATHER AROUND!" the captain's voice boomed.
The knights dropped formation, surrounding the bald man who stood tall at the center.
"Good work on the morning drills. We've received orders from the Lord's estate. Effective immediately—" he paused, scanning the faces before him. "—we are to report to the town hall to assist with preparations for the upcoming ceremony."
He clicked his tongue.
"As you're all well aware, we have only five days left until the marriage."
The word hung in the air. Some knights looked away. Others stiffened.
"In these next five days, you're expected to display perfect decorum—no questions, no slips, no opinions. Are we clear!?"
"""YES, SIR!"""
The captain gave a faint nod, gripping the hilt of his sword.
"Then move out," he ordered, already beginning the march forward.
As the knights marched toward the Lord's mansion, boots clanking against the stone roads, Ram's gaze fell to a beggar slouched on the corner.
The man's clothes were torn beyond recognition, soaked in grime and clinging like a second skin. His beard was overgrown, face hidden beneath layers of dust, and a swarm of fleas hovered around his long, grimy hair.
Ram stepped off the path, reached into his pouch, and handed the man a small wrapped bun and a few coins. The beggar looked up, eyes bloodshot—but nodded. Ram gave a quiet nod back.
SIGH.
"Don't go doing that every damn time, Ram," Markam muttered, walking past with a frustrated look. "I get it—you feel sorry. But you feed one, a dozen more come crawling."
Ram didn't answer. He just clenched his fist slightly.
There was a trace of something in his eyes—not guilt. Not pity.
Anger. Cold and quiet.
"We've arrived!" the captain barked, voice booming as they approached the outer gate.
"Stay alert. The first thing we do is meet the Lord. He'll be discussing something important—likely about our duties and the five-day stay. And remember this—no matter what you see or hear... remember the Knight's Oath."
"AYE SIR!!!" the knights chorused, stomping their boots in rhythm.
The massive black wrought-iron gates creaked open—revealing a structure that could only be called a palace, even if it was named a mansion.
The building shimmered in full daylight, its outer walls carved from pure jade marble, glowing with a cold green gleam. The architecture screamed excess—every brick, polished to reflection; every corner, hand-crafted.
Flowers of all colors bloomed in spheres across the vast garden. The symmetry was disturbing. A massive blackstone fountain stood in the center—its jet of water leaping high into the air like it was rehearsed.
Even the grass was too perfect.
The mansion itself stood two stories tall but stretched out endlessly—easily over an acre, maybe more.
As they passed through the final arch, a line of elegant maids stood waiting.
They bowed low with practiced grace, their white gloves motioning the knights forward with the same silent elegance.
Their faces were unreadable.
Too calm.
Too rehearsed.
The maids led the knights through the winding halls of the mansion, eventually arriving at the central corridor.
There, a tall, burly man stood waiting — nearly 6'10", with a curled moustache and a single monocle resting over his left eye. Despite his eccentric appearance and grandfatherly aura, the younger knight named Ram instinctively knew better than to trust it.
"I welcome you all to the Lord's mansion," the man said, bowing with well-practiced elegance. "I assume this is your first visit. I'll spare you the history of how this estate was built. Let's get straight to business, sirs."
Captain Markam gave a nod. The group was then escorted to their assigned dormitories.
The quarters, though simple, were comfortable — clean beds, a wooden wardrobe, a compact bathroom, and grey-painted walls lit by a single mana bulb. A sturdy table and chair sat in the corner. Subtle, but refined. Enough for knights to rest before their duties.
Once everyone had freshened up, the group assembled at the central fountain.
The butler soon returned.
"Now that all are present," he said, "the Lord has requested an audience. I trust there's no need for reminders. Behave. Maintain decorum. Follow me."
The knights followed in silence.
The interior of the mansion exuded nobility — walls adorned with masterfully painted portraits and beast-head trophies. But something about the structure felt strange. Hidden corners. Sharp turns. Oversized furniture meant to display plaques or trophies — but also conveniently large enough for someone to hide behind.
Ram observed quietly. The design wasn't just artistic. It was tactical — and dangerous.
The group halted before a towering golden door.
SQUEAK—
The doors creaked open slowly.
Inside was a hall that reeked of luxury and depravity. Costly wood framed the room. Polished floors glistened beneath chandeliers. Expensive leather covered ornate chairs and lounges.
And amidst it all… were women.
Naked. Bruised. Emotionless.
Some bore whip marks, barely conscious. Others were sprawled across plush cushions like broken dolls. Humans. Elves. Half-bloods. None spared.
Only one man looked pleased.
A grotesquely large figure lounged at the center, half-covered in a robe, puffing on a thick cigar. Golden teeth glinted as he grinned at the new arrivals.
"Ahem, my Lord," the butler announced, his tone unreadable. "The knights have arrived."
The man — bloated, sweaty, and flushed with pleasure — turned lazily toward the group.
"Ahh, Veleron," he chuckled. "You should've come earlier. Got a half-elf girl today. They've got quite the bite, eh?"
He waved his hand. Maids rushed in, covering the women with blankets and escorting them out swiftly.
"No need for all this, sir," Captain Markam said, voice clipped. "We are here for official business."
The Lord puffed another cloud of smoke and laughed. "Bah, so stiff. I'm old. My bones ache. Shouldn't an old man relieve some stress, now and then? You boys should try it — works wonders."
Ram remained silent, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white.
"These knights," the butler spoke, stepping in, "are of traditional Neandth descent. Their families have served for over a century. On your command, they have been reassigned here for security during the upcoming marriage."
"Hm," the Lord muttered, scanning the group. His eyes narrowed as they landed on the youngest among them.
"That one," he pointed. "The boy. He's a knight too?"
"Yes, sir," Veleron responded quickly.
The Lord grinned, his tongue flicking across dry lips. "Does he have any sisters? With a face like that… I'd bet his sisters are worth taking in."
The room shifted.
A wave of killing intent rolled from the knights. Not loud. Not obvious. But palpable. Heavy.
Ram took a step forward, but the butler calmly blocked him with a hand.
"No, sir. He's an orphan. Taken in by the Knight Order. Trained for years under the captain's guidance."
The Lord leaned back, exhaling a lazy sigh. "Pity," he said with a chuckle. "Very well. Show them around the mansion — especially my fiancée's quarters. They ought to know who they're protecting, no?"
He waved them away, the grin never leaving his face.
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A/N- If you lot liked my novel make sure to save it in your collections, drop your comments down below im open for improvements and do send the power stones, the most important one of em.
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