Derek Derylson and Elphered Gallantstone were taken aback, their spirits shaken, upon receiving the news of their new mission. Derek's ire blazed, flames of anger licking at his core, as he perused the orders, his realization dawning that their commanding officer was none other than the formidable Brad Silverhilt. Elphered, with great exertion, labored to assuage his companion's mounting fury. Eventually, Derek's restlessness yielded to a tempered hope when he learned that this mission held the potential to unlock the gates of knighthood. No longer did he entertain schemes of evading his responsibilities through familial influence; instead, his mind painted vivid portraits of heroic exploits.
"Elphered, can this mission truly bear such weight, such import?" Derek inquired, his voice tinged with both curiosity and doubt.
"I have heard whispers, Derek. They speak of a veiled and treacherous quest, whispered secrets that, if triumphantly unraveled, shall usher forth bountiful rewards. It is clear that discretion is paramount. Your days of revelry and indulgence in taverns must be abandoned until our preparations are complete. Let us dedicate ourselves to unwavering training, arming our souls for the trials that lie ahead," Elphered responded.
Derek contemplated Elphered's words, their gravity settling upon his shoulders like a mantle of truth. He grasped, with newfound clarity, that this mission surpassed his initial expectations. In the depths of his being, a reservoir of resolve surged forth, urging him to cast aside his grievances and focus intently on the task before them.
The path to knighthood beckoned, a path laden with trials and sacrifices. Side by side, Derek and Elphered would confront the perils that lay ahead, unwavering in their resolve to prove themselves worthy of the exalted title they aspired to attain.
Derek acquiesced silently, resigning himself to his fate. Thankfully, they embarked on their journey two days after the mission briefing, sparing Derek from further anticipation and the temptations of his carousing nature.
Even during their brief rests along the road, sword drills persisted without respite. Brad and Ismeth joined their practice sessions, subjecting everyone to their merciless training regimen. The training's objective was simple: the one who successfully disarmed their opponent emerged as the victor.
Bruised and battered, Elphered proved himself as the one who could endure Brad's relentless onslaught the longest, while Ismeth succumbed swiftly to exhaustion. Derek, however, remained under their level, lacking the skill and prowess of his companions.
On the fourth night, gathered around the campfire, Elphered's curiosity could no longer be contained, and he directed a question at Brad. "Why didn't you consider forming a Winged Blade, the elite formation of five pairs?" he inquired.
"The mission necessitates it," Brad replied, his demeanor troubled and weary from sleepless nights. "We must operate as a covert and agile unit," he added, emphasizing the importance of their tactical approach.
"Have you beheld that contemplative enigma?" Ismeth inquired, gesturing towards Shaeala, who was engaged in profound meditation, situated at a distance from the campfire, her form gracefully arranged in a lotus position.
Elphered assented with a nod.
"She is a White Maiden, among Lady Illaine's paramount sentinels, worth the value of at least five of our company," Ismeth remarked, a sly smile playing upon his lips.
"Do not embellish, Ismeth," Derek interjected. "That fragile woman?"
"Put it to the test, Derek. Confront her. Should you emerge triumphant, I shall bear the burden of your travel pack throughout our expedition. But if you falter, you shall serve as my attendant," Ismeth taunted.
Quickly incited by the provocation, Derek rose, prepared to confront the woman, only to be swiftly reprimanded by Brad's stern command. "Remain in your place," he ordered.
"We possess no time for frivolous wagers. Fixate your attention on the mission. Maintain utmost vigilance, as I have underscored previously. Devote yourselves to the duties of the night watch. Even the slightest rustle in the thicket must be reported to me. Unseen adversaries might be observing our every move," Brad warned, faithfully reiterating his admonitions each night before slumber befell them. "Direct your keenest scrutiny towards the elf and the sorcerer," he added, observing the duo from afar.
Asvelas and Caleb occupied separate spaces, preserving their personal boundaries. Priest Centavius, Shae, and Christine found themselves in a distinct corner, maintaining a certain distance from one another. Despite their shared journey, the three groups seemed to keep a deliberate separation. Brad engaged in sporadic conversations with the priest and the monk. Ismeth made an attempt to engage Shae in conversation, only to be met with her lack of interest. Consequently, Ismeth reluctantly turned his attention to Caleb for conversation.
However, one particular observation captured Ismeth's keen interest: the palpable unease exhibited by Christine in Brad's presence. Caleb, too, had not failed to notice this peculiar behavior. Ismeth and Caleb exchanged their mutual observations on the matter.
"I've caught wind of a rumor among the other priests suggesting that the young girl has had a previous encounter with Brad," Ismeth divulged. "Regrettably, due to our hasty departure, I was unable to gather many details. It appears that Brad has a childhood companion... by the name of Maliki, if memory serves me right."
"And... what came next?" Caleb inquired.
"Well, as the story goes, Brad and his companion encountered the girl in an undisclosed location. They claim she possesses the gift of sight, allowing her to perceive ethereal apparitions. In fact, Brad and Maliki purportedly engaged in a fierce battle against these spectral entities, all under the girl's guidance," Ismeth elaborated.
"So did they wield enchanted weaponry?" Caleb asked, his curiosity piqued.
"How would I know?" Ismeth retorted tersely. "The priest who relayed the tale was inebriated, to say the least. He's not much better than that decrepit Centavius," Ismeth commented, casting a disdainful glance at the wine-sipping priest seated across the campfire.
Priest Centavius remained in a perpetual state of indulgence, generously sharing his wine with Ismeth on a daily basis. Intrigued by the man's libations, Ismeth seized an opportunity to surreptitiously inspect the saddlebags and backpack adorning the priest's steed. To his surprise, he discovered no additional bottles apart from the flask the priest carried. It appeared as though the man possessed an endless reservoir of wine—a prospect that consumed Ismeth's thoughts.
"Caleb, how does this fellow procure such copious amounts of wine every day?" Ismeth inquired, shifting the focus of their conversation.
"Is that your sole concern, Ismeth? We were engrossed in a matter of great import," Caleb rebuked.
"Yes, my curiosity remains unquenched," Ismeth persisted.
"He wields a form of aqueous conjuration. He implores his divine patron for wine each day," Caleb elucidated.
"Well, well, well, look at that. Behold the man's divine prowess, and more significantly, Orion's magnanimous nature within the realm of enlightenment," Ismeth chuckled, grasping the situation to some extent.
"Should we ever find ourselves marooned on a forsaken isle, he would ensure our sustenance and slake our thirst. But let us now return to the matter at hand," Caleb urged him.
"Ah, yes. Where was I? In an antiquated and decrepit edifice, Brad and his comrade chanced upon the girl and, guided by her supernatural aid, engaged in skirmishes. Brad sustained grievous wounds, necessitating an extended stay in the sanctuary of healing. Subsequently, he relinquished his path as a knight of the temple," Ismeth continued.
"What befell his comrade?" Caleb inquired.
"As per my gleanings, his comrade fell in that clash," Ismeth replied.
"Did he perish?" Caleb questioned.
"Nay, he succumbed to an enigmatic force, ensnared within a state of ethereal suspension. The inebriated priest rambled on with nonsensical tales. Lady Illaine, it is said, holds great reverence for that young man, guarding his whereabouts clandestine from his brethren. Only her foremost aides are granted an audience with him. According to the priest, Lady Illaine shields Brad solely to avert the unveiling of this enigma," Ismeth revealed.
"Hmm, this could be an intriguing topic worth delving into," Caleb pondered aloud. "Have you ever discussed this matter with Brad?" he asked Ismeth.
"Are you crazy, man? Brad never spoke a word about his past. And with his current cantankerous, paranoid, and embittered state, he won't reveal anything about his life. If I were to approach him with such a subject, it would undoubtedly lead to a fight," Ismeth replied.
"You're right. He looks ready to erupt in fits of anger at any moment, like a volatile barbarian," Caleb affirmed, offering his support.
Ismeth nodded in agreement to signify he shared the same opinion. Both of them swallowed nervously as they looked at Brad Silverhilt, their throats tightening under the weight of his piercing gaze.
As the seventh night approached, the group trudged onward toward the Baurnavia Mountain Pass, their steps burdened by the weight of their journey, when suddenly, a deluge of rain descended upon them. Having passed through the nearest town during midday, they now found themselves in the sprawling expanse of the Thorbaen Plains, encircled by an abundance of undulating hills. To their right, in the northern reaches, stood the solitary peak of Mount Saphir, perpetually shrouded in a mantle of snow, directing the ominous clouds drifting from the east towards the west. Brad, astute to the shifting weather, felt compelled to make an early decision to halt their progress.
"You have made the wise choice," remarked Priest Cestavius, as he settled down beside Brad. "It seems you are in need," he added, extending his flask toward Brad.
The knight courteously declined the offer. "I must keep my thoughts clear," he briefly explained.
Priest Centavius, a stout man with broad shoulders, reminiscent of a dwarf in many aspects, sat down. His lengthy beard, cascading down to his belly distended from wine, swayed gently as he toyed with it. "You appear fatigued, Brad. It brings back memories of the day I first laid eyes on you, or rather, the day I truly beheld you," he remarked, his smile tinged with bitterness.
"I never dozed off during those interminable history lessons of yours, esteemed priest. If that's what you're alluding to," Brad retorted.
"No, I do not refer to your days of training. I speak of when I first encountered you in the sanctuary of healing. The majority of priests who beheld your wounds believed you would never recover. Even if you did, they predicted you would become a maimed and disfigured man. Yet now, as I gaze upon you..." his words trailed off as he took a deep sip from his flask.
"What do you perceive, priest? Do not hesitate, speak your mind," Brad encouraged him.
"A miracle befell you, and behold, you were made whole. They spoke of Orion's decree, extolled you as the prodigious child. Some even proclaimed you the rightful heir to King Illuen's throne. But do you know what ran through my mind?" Priest Cestavius queried, mirth dancing in his eyes.
Brad regarded the man with a quizzical and sarcastic gaze.
"I surmised that Orion paid you little heed. For when you mended, you appeared as an empty shell. It seemed as though, while your flesh made a full recovery, a fragment of your very soul bore the cost," he expounded.
A profound sigh escaped Brad's lips. "Do you believe I still bear such semblance? Am I but a fractured man?" he inquired.
"Nay, you have misconstrued my words. Subsequently, you burgeoned into an entirely distinct individual. You emerged as one unbound by their expectations or mine. What I have come to apprehend is this: you are a man of singular essence," Priest Cestavius elucidated.
Brad's countenance brightened as he embraced the encomium discreetly threaded within the priest's discourse, for he hungered for such validation amidst these arduous times.
The priest's conversation and drinking persisted. "Alas, every coin has its flip side. On the day you departed the temple, a veil of melancholy descended. None had witnessed Lady Illaine so desolate, to use my own words, akin to an empty vessel since the tragic loss of her husband and child. One might even say since the day they toppled the Emperor. Nevertheless, upon your return, Lady Illaine blossomed once more, infused with vitality. Yet, what fate awaits her when you depart anew? That is the question that stirs my curiosity."
"I left to safeguard your establishment, Priest Cestavius, for I am not of that order," Brad elucidated.
"And that is precisely my contention, dear knight. I perceive it. You perceive it. Any discerning mind can perceive it. But why does the illustrious High Priestess of the grand Orion Temple persist in her denial?" he mused.
"Faith resembles a blade with two edges, esteemed priest. When the outcome fails to match one's fervent expectations, a person either forges ahead or persists in embracing the same falsehood," Brad remarked.
The priest indulged in another profound sip. "May you too discover the truth or the untruth you seek, Brad. For it seems you are in dire need of it," he said, departing with unmeasured and woozy strides, leaving Brad to his thoughts.