The sun had barely begun to rise over the distant horizon when Wolfram stirred from his sleep, the first rays of light casting a soft glow across the castle grounds. He had been given a room in the royal quarters, close to where the Kaiser's family resided. Across the courtyard, Aslı was housed in the guest chambers, her presence as always commanding yet distant. But despite the comfort and warmth of the bed provided to him, Wolfram couldn't sleep any longer.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed, feeling the cold stone beneath his feet, and dressed quickly. Years of war and travel had conditioned him to rise with the sun, if not earlier. He stepped out into the brisk morning air, the castle grounds quiet but stirring as the guards of the Kingsguard began their morning routines. Armor clinked, and voices murmured as soldiers prepared for the day ahead. Wolfram could see a few knights already awake, strapping on their armor, their breath visible in the cool air as they stretched and prepared.
As Wolfram began walking through the courtyard, his eyes adjusting to the growing light, he heard a familiar voice call out behind him.
"Good morning, my prince," said Sir Leopold von Eisenberg, the commander of the Kingsguard, his tone warm with familiarity. "You're up early. Why not rest a little longer? We can handle the day's tasks from here."
Wolfram chuckled softly, shaking his head as he turned to face the seasoned knight. "I've spent so much time riding on horseback, sleeping on the ground in the rain, snow, and mud... I'm not sure I know how to sleep like a prince anymore, Leopold." He gave a half-smile, the sun catching the lines of his face, evidence of years spent under the harshest elements.
Leopold grinned, nodding as he adjusted the strap on his gauntlet. "Ah, I understand. The soldier's life—it stays with you, doesn't it?"
The two shared a quiet laugh before Sir Leopold motioned for Wolfram to follow him. "Come, my prince. The men have been eager to sit with you. After yesterday's events, there's much to talk about."
As they walked, the other knights noticed Wolfram, some nodding in acknowledgment, others stealing glances as they whispered amongst themselves. Word had already spread quickly: the prince they once knew as a boy had returned as a hardened warrior. His reputation had preceded him, but seeing him in person—tall, rugged, and scarred—was something entirely different.
At the knights' mess table, the soldiers had prepared breakfast—simple, hearty food laid out on wooden platters. The air was thick with the smell of fresh bread, meats, and fruit. As Wolfram and Leopold sat down, the other knights looked at him, their expressions filled with curiosity and respect. One of the older knights stood, bowing slightly before speaking.
"My prince," he began, his voice careful and respectful. "I doubt you remember me, I am Sir Conrad von Falkenberg—I served your father for many years while you were still a boy. You were so young when you left for your training, and the stories we've heard since then... well, we've heard you received quite the education. But, if I may ask, we heard... was it true? Was it Kara who trained you?"
At the mention of Kara's name, a ripple of surprise spread through the knights. Some of them exchanged shocked glances, while others leaned forward, clearly intrigued.
Wolfram took a sip from the cup in front of him before speaking. "Yes," he said calmly, though there was a weight behind his words. "Kara was my teacher. I had seen him before, a few times when he was beside Timurtaş, but he always wore a hood, usually with a bear pelt draped over his shoulders. I never saw his face clearly." Wolfram paused for a moment, recalling the memory. "But one day, Timurtaş gave me something to drink and said to me, 'Your training as a Tarkan begins now.'"
The knights listened intently, the room growing quieter as Wolfram continued.
"When I woke up, I was in a small room. My hands were tied, though not tightly enough that I couldn't free myself. The room smelled of salt, the wood of the floors was damp... that's when I realized I must have been somewhere near the sea." Wolfram's eyes narrowed as he remembered the feeling. "I heard footsteps approaching, so I tried to untie my hands quickly. I grabbed the first thing I could find—an old candlestick—and positioned myself near the door."
One of the knights couldn't contain his curiosity. "And what happened?"
Wolfram smiled, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "The door opened, and there he was—Kara, big man with wide shoulder and bear fur hood on him. A towering figure, a mountain of a man, holding a half-eaten tomato in one hand. He looked at me, chewing loudly, and said, 'Too late. If you were my prisoner, you'd already be dead.'"
The table erupted in quiet laughter at the absurdity of it, but Wolfram's tone remained serious. "I asked him, 'Am I not your prisoner?' he didn't answer to my question and between bites of his tomato, he said, 'I love these fuckers.' Wolfram's expression softened as he recalled the memory. "I thought he was insane, honestly. I even asked him if what he was eating was poisonous. He said I have enough poison in me. He then said, 'Just call me Kara.' And that's how my training began."
The knights stared, astonished by the story. One of them, clearly trying to wrap his head around it, spoke up. "Wait... you trained with the Kara? The same Kara who's known as Timurtaş's hand in shadows? Bear of Altai?"
Wolfram nodded. "The very same. For ten years, I learned from him. He taught me everything—how to fight, how to lead, how to survive. But more than that, he showed me how to think like a warrior. The man you all know as the feared 'Deccal Kara' is not just a force of destruction. He's a strategist, a master of war and pretty humoruos guy surprisingly"
The knights were stunned into silence for a moment, but then another spoke up, his voice hesitant. "And what was he like? Truly? Was he as terrifying as they say?"
Wolfram leaned back, folding his arms across his chest. "He was... unpredictable. There were days when he was calm, even humorous, he would constant correct my grammar and taught me how to behave in those lands. And then there were days when I saw the other side of him—the side that earned him his reputation. But one thing was certain: Kara was always in control. Every move he made, every word he said, had purpose. He didn't waste energy on fear or rage. He was always thinking, always planning."
The knights fell silent, processing the revelation. To think that their prince, the boy they had known, had been trained by such a figure... it was almost too much to believe.
Leopold, who had remained silent throughout the conversation, finally spoke up, his tone respectful but firm. "You've walked a path few could ever dream of, my prince. And now you've returned to us, no longer the boy who left, but a man shaped by the fires of war."
As the knights gathered for breakfast, they couldn't help but be drawn to Wolfram's stories, eager to hear more about his experiences. One of the younger knights, Sir Ewald von Raben, broke the silence with a question, his voice laced with curiosity.
"Did Kara ever get angry at you? I mean, did he ever hurt you?"
Wolfram smirked slightly as he took a sip from his cup, setting it down before answering. "Kara never really got angry at me in the way you might expect. He didn't attack me or anything like that. But there was one time… one time he slapped me so hard, I thought my head was going to come off. I was in shock—completely frozen by something that had happened—and he just whacked me right across the face to snap me out of it." Wolfram chuckled softly at the memory. "I sincerely hope that wasn't his full strength because it felt like a boulder had hit me. My jaw was aching for hours afterward. Kara was an enormous man, truly a giant. And wherever we went, people knew him."
Wolfram's expression grew more serious as he leaned forward slightly. "But what about you? What do you know about Kara? Surely you must have heard something."
There was a pause as the knights glanced at one another, uncertain of who should speak. Finally, one of the older knights, Sir Gottfried von Eisenbach, who had seen many winters, cleared his throat and spoke up, his voice rough with age but firm.
"I've seen Kara before, years ago." Sir Gottfried began, his gaze distant as he recalled the memory. "It was during one of Timurtaş's grand tournaments—your mother, Princess Martha, was still there. As knights, we had no choice but to compete in those tournaments, to defend our honor. But it wasn't just us. Many of those Tarkan warriors were there as well, Kara among them."
The other knights leaned in slightly, intrigued by the old knight's story.
"I remember it well," Sir Gottfried continued. "Kara had just won a match against one of our own—a knight whose name I won't mention out of respect. After the match, as they were heading back to the tents, Kara casually walked by this knight, and without warning, he slapped him across the face. It wasn't just any slap either—it was in front of the entire company of knights. The sound of it echoed, and I swear it was as loud as a hammer striking an anvil."
Wolfram raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued by the tale.
"The knight didn't even dare say a word in response," Sir Gottfried added, shaking his head. "And that's the thing… we all knew what would happen if he had. Kara was the type of man who, if you challenged him, he would demand a duel on the spot, and that would be the end of you. No one dared cross him. I saw that for the first time that day—what Kara was capable of, both in strength and presence."
Another knight, Sir Reinhardt von Lichtenberg, nodded solemnly. "I've heard of that incident," he said quietly. "The knight who took that slap never regained his confidence. From that day on, everyone knew him as 'the knight who got slapped by Kara,' and it stuck with him. He was never the same."
Wolfram's eyes narrowed as he considered the story, his mind drifting back to his own memories of Kara. He knew all too well the force behind the man's actions—both physical and psychological. Kara had a way of commanding respect, not just through fear, but through an undeniable presence. His name alone was enough to silence entire rooms, and Wolfram could see now that even the knights of the Holy Roman Empire were not immune to the legend of Kara.
"So," Wolfram said, his tone thoughtful as he looked around the table, "it seems even here, Kara's reputation is as solid as it was in Türk-il. The man was truly a force of nature."
The knights exchanged glances, clearly impressed not just by Wolfram's own experiences, but by the stories that continued to ripple through the empire about the man who had trained him. Sir Ewald von Raben spoke up again, this time more cautiously.
"It must have been something to be trained by him, though. I can't imagine what that was like."
Wolfram nodded slowly. "It was more than just learning how to fight. Kara taught me to think. He made me see the battlefield differently, made me understand strategy in ways that most men never will. It wasn't about brute force. It was about precision, timing, and knowing how to control your enemies without them ever realizing it."
The knights fell silent, absorbing Wolfram's words. The man they had once known as a boy was now a seasoned warrior, shaped by one of the most fearsome strategists of their time. And as they sat there, it became clear to them that Wolfram's journey had only just begun.
Slapped Knight: The knight who received the infamous slap from Kara was named Sir Ulrich von Steffen, a once-proud warrior who lost his confidence after the humiliating event.
After Sir Gottfried von Eisenbach finished his tale, the room fell silent for a moment. Another knight, Sir Ludwig von Amsberg, decided to speak up, his voice calm but carrying the weight of his own experience.
"Yes, I've seen that side of Kara as well." Sir Ludwig began, his eyes narrowing as he remembered the encounter. "It was at one of the tournaments, just like Sir Gottfried said. Kara didn't attend every one of those events with Timurtaş. In fact, he was only seen at a few. But despite that, his reputation was known by all—especially among the knights."
He paused, glancing at the other knights before continuing. "One day, I had just finished putting on my armor and stepped out of my tent. I didn't expect to run into him, but there he was, Kara, standing alone. There must have been about 10 or 12 of us knights gathered in the area. He walked past us, but then he stopped, turned, and yelled something in Türkic."
Sir Ludwig chuckled slightly, though there was no humor in his eyes. "We didn't understand a word he said, but we didn't need a translator. We knew what he meant. Something along the lines of 'What are you looking at?' None of us could respond. We just... looked away. He was an odd man, unpredictable. The idea that you trained under him, Wolfram, is something I still can't fully wrap my head around."
Wolfram smirked but said nothing, watching as Sir Ludwig sat back down. The knights murmured among themselves, clearly unsettled by the stories they had heard of Kara.
Before the murmurs could die down, another knight, Sir Ulrich von Hohenberg, spoke up, his voice lower but more intense.
"I've heard another tale about Kara, though it's not one I witnessed personally." The room grew quiet again as everyone turned their attention to Sir Ulrich. "I knew a knight once, from a small kingdom in the Italian region. It was said that Timurtaş had... well, he had an affair with this knight's wife. Naturally, when the knight found out, he was furious. He was going to punish her—maybe even kill her."
There was a pause as Sir Ulrich glanced around the table, making sure he had everyone's attention. "But when Timurtaş learned of it, he sent Kara. The story goes that Kara stormed into the knight's estate, and the moment he arrived, he took out three of the lord's personal guards like they were nothing. And as for the captain of the Kingsguard—Kara didn't just defeat him, he beat him senseless, dragged him outside, and left him there in front of everyone."
The knights at the table listened in stunned silence, some exchanging uneasy glances as Sir Ulrich continued.
"It was said that Kara then confronted the knight. The rumor is that Kara pummeled him to death with his fists and boots—just brutalized him. No one could do a thing about it. I mean, what could they do? Kara's presence there meant that Timurtaş's wrath was behind him. To stand against Kara was to stand against Timurtaş, and no one was foolish enough to do that."
Wolfram listened carefully, his expression unreadable as he absorbed Sir Ulrich's story.
"That wasn't the only time either," Sir Ulrich added. "Kara was known for these kinds of night raids. He was Timurtaş's enforcer, dealing out terror to those who dared to insult or challenge him. Anyone who spoke ill of their religion, Tengrism, or Ashina, was taken care of. Kara would make them disappear, or worse."
Sir Ulrich's voice grew lower, almost a whisper. "If you lived in Turk-il, and Kara came for you, there was nothing you could do. He was the shadow of Timurtaş, and no one wanted to cross him."
Sir Ludwig von Amsberg: A knight who recounts a time he and other knights encountered Kara at a tournament, describing Kara's intimidating presence even without a need for words.
Sir Ulrich von Hohenberg: A knight who tells a darker tale of Kara, involving his brutal enforcement of Timurtaş's will, recounting how Kara punished a knight who was about to harm his wife after discovering her affair with Timurtaş.
Slain Knight: The knight who was beaten to death by Kara was Lord Giovanni di Castellani, a minor noble from an Italian kingdom who made the mistake of crossing paths with Timurtaş through his wife.