After Sir Ulrich finished his story, Sir Leopold von Eisenberg, the commander of the Kingsguard, took the floor, his tone more measured but with a hint of reflection.
"Of course, not everyone was treated the same way by Kara." Sir Leopold began, leaning slightly forward as he spoke. "For instance, during my time serving as part of the Kingsguard for the Kaiser, Kara never showed me any kind of disrespect. From what I understand, if you're a high-ranking soldier or someone of note, Kara seems to have a certain respect for you. But if you're a nobody, or worse, if you end up on Kara's bad side, things don't turn out well for you, to put it mildly."
Leopold paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts, before continuing. "I have a memory as well. It was one of those grand tournaments held by Princess Martha, but this time it coincided with one of Timurtaş's birthday celebrations. And for that event, Timurtaş brought his son Uluç, as well as Kara and Kılıç, with him. They came with such a massive entourage that the city practically doubled in size overnight. Everywhere you looked, there were people—soldiers, civilians, all gathered for the festivities. The atmosphere was unlike anything I'd ever seen before. We, of course, were assigned to keep the peace."
Sir Leopold's eyes gleamed as he remembered the spectacle. "There were all sorts of competitions—archery, horseback archery, wrestling, and so on. Uluç didn't participate in any of them. He didn't need to—his presence alone was as commanding as his father's, Timurtaş. But I remember this clearly: Kara won the wrestling competition, and Kılıç took first place in the chess tournament. It was impressive. But the most striking moment for me came after those events."
He leaned back slightly, crossing his arms. "Afterward, Timurtaş challenged both Kara and Kılıç to arm wrestling matches. I'll never forget how easily Timurtaş won. Kara—massive, powerful Kara—gave it everything he had, but it was as if Timurtaş wasn't even trying. Despite being shorter and less muscular, Timurtaş was completely in control, even smiling and looking around at the crowd. He especially made a point of glancing over at Princess Martha as if to show her how strong he was."
Wolfram listened intently, his eyes narrowing slightly as he absorbed the story.
"Kara," Sir Leopold continued, "was defeated fairly easily, despite his efforts. Then came Kılıç. Now, Kılıç wasn't nearly as large as Kara, so naturally, Timurtaş won that match even more quickly. But the most interesting part was when Timurtaş decided to arm wrestle his own son, Uluç."
The other knights leaned in slightly, sensing that this part of the story was significant.
"Uluç, of course, couldn't refuse the challenge in front of everyone," Sir Leopold said with a small smile. "So, they locked hands, and this time, Uluç put up more of a fight than Kara had. It was clear that Timurtaş was still in control, but out of respect for his son, he didn't win as quickly. In fact, Timurtaş didn't even fully force Uluç's hand down. Uluç struggled for a while, clearly giving everything he had. In the end, though, he realized he couldn't win and gracefully conceded, congratulating his father. It was a moment of respect between them."
Leopold chuckled softly. "I remember watching that, feeling surprised. It wasn't just a display of strength—it was a moment where you could see the dynamic between father and son, between Timurtaş and Uluç. Even though Uluç was clearly strong and capable, Timurtaş was on another level. But he didn't humiliate his son. He let him walk away with his dignity intact."
As Sir Leopold finished his story, the knights around the table were left in awe, the legendary figure of Timurtaş looming large in their minds. Wolfram, too, seemed to reflect on his own memories of his father and Kara, the layers of their relationships becoming clearer with each story told.
"Of course, he beat them. That's how Timurtaş kept control over those wolves under his command. He had to remind them who held the true power, keeping their respect firmly in his grasp."
Everyone turned their heads to see Aslı standing there. She had woken up, made her way over, and had clearly overheard part of the conversation from a distance. Without waiting for an invitation, Aslı sat down at the table with a playful smirk.
"So, what's this? Are you gossiping about Turk-il behind my back? Gossip doesn't count unless I'm part of it."
The knights were momentarily stunned by her beauty, once again taken aback by her presence. Aslı, now sitting comfortably at the table, seamlessly joined their conversation, her piercing gaze meeting each of them, drawing them into the conversation as if she'd been there the entire time.
Aslı in a way that fully embodies her captivating beauty and fierce presence, which has stunned the knights around her.
Her striking blue eyes are the most immediately arresting feature. They shine with an intensity that cuts through the dim light, their icy glow suggesting both wisdom and an untamed, almost predatory energy. The vividness of her gaze is mesmerizing, as if those eyes alone could command the attention of an entire room. They are framed by dark, perfectly shaped brows that enhance her serious, determined expression, giving her an aura of silent power.
Aslı's face, though beautiful, is marked with the subtle signs of a warrior. Faint freckles scattered across her cheeks and nose give her a natural charm, but they contrast with the intricate rune-like markings under her eyes on her cheek bones. These markings, etched delicately into her skin, carry a sense of mystery and otherworldliness, as though they are both a symbol of her people and her own personal strength. They emphasize her role as more than just a figure of beauty—she is a warrior, a tactician, and a leader with deep ties to her culture.
She wears a jewel on her forehead, a delicate, glowing blue stone set into an elegant piece of metal that rests just above her brows. This jewel adds to her regal appearance, marking her as someone of immense importance. Her gold earrings, engraved with intricate symbols, dangle elegantly, hinting at her status and the respect she commands both politically and culturally.
Her armor, though worn from battles, clings to her form like a second skin, sleek and perfectly tailored to both protect and highlight her feminine strength.
The design is sharp, sophisticated, and practical, each curve and edge reflecting the life of a seasoned warrior. The steel and leather of her armor shimmer under the rain, adding to the sense of raw power that emanates from her.
Aslı's beauty, then, is not just physical—it is a blend of strength, mystery, and fierce independence, commanding both admiration and a sense of unease. The knights, overwhelmed by this combination of allure and power, find themselves unable to look away, fully captivated by her presence.
Aslı was followed closely by her personal guard, a towering figure whose presence immediately demanded attention. His features were distinctly Turkic, with slanted eyes and sharp facial features that gave him an imposing, almost impenetrable look. His body was both muscular and large, not in the sculpted way of a knight, but with a heavy build that made him appear as solid and immovable as a mountain. His thick arms were encased in armor, and though his frame suggested strength, his size also gave him a certain rock-like immensity—both muscular and solidly built, with a layer of bulk that made him resemble a force of nature. He moved with the steadiness of someone who had seen many battles, a veteran warrior well-seasoned in the harsh life of war.
This was Baturay, one of Kutay's most experienced warriors, tasked with escorting Aslı back to her homeland. However, her unexpected encounter with Prince Hesso had diverted their path into the heart of the Holy Roman Empire. Even in foreign lands, Baturay was ever at her side, like a protective shadow.
As the knights gazed in admiration at Aslı, transfixed by her beauty and commanding presence, she turned to Baturay, her voice calm but authoritative.
"I'm fine here, Baturay," she said, her words carrying the weight of someone who was used to giving orders and having them followed without question. "Bring me something to drink."
Baturay gave a curt nod, his slanted eyes briefly meeting hers in silent acknowledgment before he turned and made his way out of the room. Even in the simple act of leaving, his movements were slow, deliberate, like a great boulder shifting, the metal of his armor clinking faintly with each step. His absence, however, did little to reduce the tension in the air.
The knights, who had been watching Aslı with a mix of shock and awe, continued to stare at her. There was something about her—a rare blend of beauty and power—that left them stunned. They had seen warrior women before, but none like her. She exuded an elegance that seemed to contrast with the fierce strength in her eyes. It was clear to them that this was no ordinary woman, but a Turkic female warrior of high status, one whose presence commanded respect as much as her physical appearance attracted admiration.
Aslı, noticing the knights' gazes lingering on her, allowed a slight smile to play on her lips. She broke the silence, her voice smooth, yet carrying an edge that implied she was well aware of the effect she had on them.
"He's one of my men," she said, nodding in the direction Baturay had gone. "His name is Baturay. Though he is not a Tarkan, like Gengiz."
At the mention of "Gengiz," the knights exchanged confused glances. The name was unfamiliar to them, but what surprised them even more was Aslı's flawless German accent. The Turkic warrior woman had spoken their language without hesitation, the fluidity of her words catching them off guard. It was clear that she had mastered their tongue, which only added to their sense of awe.
But the most curious part of her statement was how she referred to Wolfram—calling him by a name they had not heard before.
One of the knights, still perplexed, dared to ask, "Gengiz? Who is Gengiz?"
Aslı's smile widened slightly, but her eyes remained serious, her gaze moving between the knights as if she were assessing their reactions.
"That's what we call him back in Türk-il," she explained, her voice steady and composed. "Wolfram is known as Gengiz among us. He became something else there—" She paused for a moment, letting the weight of her words sink in before continuing, "—he was forged in iron."
The knights listened intently, the gravity of her words not lost on them. This was a side of Wolfram they had not known. The boy who had left them years ago had returned as a hardened warrior, bearing a name that seemed to carry its own weight and history.
Aslı leaned back slightly, her eyes gleaming with pride as she spoke of Wolfram's transformation. "In Türk-il, he's more than just a prince. He's been through the fires of battle, tempered by the very best. His name there carries a different meaning—it signifies someone who has survived, someone who has become stronger than the blade he wields."
The room grew quieter still as the knights processed what she had said. They had known Wolfram as a boy, but now, hearing this, they began to realize the extent of the change in him. The name "Gengiz" carried with it the legacy of Kara and the warrior's life Wolfram had lived in Türk-il. It spoke of a man who had earned his place among the fiercest fighters, a man forged in a crucible of war, just as Aslı had said.
As she sat with them, now part of the conversation, her presence brought a new energy to the room. The knights, though still captivated by her beauty, could now see beyond that—recognizing her as a formidable figure in her own right, someone who had seen just as much, if not more, of battle than they had.
"Yes, Gengiz. That name was given to me by Timurtaş himself when I first arrived in Türk-il," Wolfram explained, his eyes briefly flicking toward the knights before settling on Aslı. "He called me Gengiz, and so did everyone else—Kara, Kılıç, Uluç, Isaakios—they all followed his lead. The name stuck with me, and it became something I had to live up to."
Aslı, seated beside him with her jewelry in hand, smiled knowingly. "You were talking about Timurtaş, weren't you? You mention these names—Kara, Uluç, Kılıç—feared warriors in their own right, yes. But what you don't realize is that there are many more like them in Türk-il. Timurtaş knew how to tame his wolves, how to keep them in line. The power he wields is beyond your comprehension." Her words were sharp, but not hostile, as if she were explaining something that should have been obvious.
The knights, still unfamiliar with the depth of Timurtaş's influence, listened intently.
Aslı leaned forward, her voice lowering slightly, drawing them further into her words. "Timurtaş commands 120,000 warriors. Not just Tharkan warriors, but Altai warriors, Hunnic riders, and other deadly nomads, all under his control. The strength required to wield such a force—" she paused, her eyes gleaming with conviction, "—it can only be understood through the Kutlu Warriors. In our belief, we are guided by the sky god, Gök Tengri, and we derive life energy through 'kut.' Those who are granted this kut can achieve incredible feats. Timurtaş lived to be 120 years old, and his power never waned."
The knights exchanged glances, unsure of what to make of her words. Sir Ludwig von Amsberg, in particular, seemed doubtful, but Aslı was far from finished.
"Do you know why Timurtaş never had a conflict with Kaiser Anno?" she asked, her gaze sweeping across the room. "It's because when Timurtaş conquered Constantinople, Anno was still a young man. His generation grew up knowing the true might of Timurtaş. He lived under his shadow, felt the gravity of his presence. You see, someone like Kaiser Anno would never dare to challenge the fears of his youth."
The room fell silent at her words, the tension thickening as the knights processed what they had just heard. They were proud of their Kaiser, their loyalty unwavering, but the idea that even someone as powerful as Anno had lived in fear of Timurtaş was difficult to accept.
It was Sir Ludwig von Amsberg who finally broke the silence, his voice tinged with indignation. "That's nonsense," he said, his hand tightening around the hilt of his sword in frustration. "Our Kaiser has outlived Timurtaş. He has ruled peacefully, even as empires in the East fell like flies. That shows his intellect, his skill in politics and ruling. He is no one's shadow."
Aslı, however, seemed completely unfazed by the knight's attempt to defend the Kaiser. She waved off his protest with a nonchalant flick of her wrist. "Perhaps," she said, her voice light but with an edge. "Or perhaps I'm right. But I think we all know the truth, don't we?"
Before the tension in the room could rise any further, Sir Leopold von Eisenberg, ever the diplomat, stepped in to change the subject. He had always known when to ease the atmosphere. "I saw you that day, my prince, when you defeated those three Teutonic knights with ease," he said, turning his attention to Wolfram, a small smile on his lips. "That was truly remarkable."
The other knights quickly chimed in, seizing the opportunity to steer the conversation away from the brewing argument.
"It seemed like you were in full control the entire time," said Sir Ewald von Raben, his voice filled with admiration. "I've never seen someone deflect a sword strike with a dagger like that. What else have you mastered?"
Wolfram, who had remained quiet during the exchange, smirked slightly, taking a moment to enjoy his meal before responding. "Archery, of course," Aslı answered for him, her eyes gleaming with amusement. "There's no way he didn't learn a thing or two during his training."
Wolfram chuckled softly, leaning back in his chair as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "More than a thing or two," he said, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "It was me who shot arrows at Duke Halftan's horse in the middle of the chaos ending his legacy there. I'd say I'm pretty confident about my skills as an archer."
As he spoke, Baturay returned, carrying a drink for Aslı. She took it from him with a nod of thanks, then glanced back at Wolfram, an idea sparking in her eyes. "You should test yourself against Baturay," she suggested, her voice playful yet serious. "He's a seasoned warrior, too."
The knights, sensing the challenge in her words, turned to Wolfram, waiting to see how he would react. But Wolfram remained completely unfazed, chewing thoughtfully on a piece of bread before casually glancing at Aslı.
"I could use someone to train with, sure," he said simply, a smirk playing on his lips as he looked toward Baturay. The room seemed to buzz with anticipation as the knights exchanged excited glances. There was something undeniably thrilling about the prospect of watching two skilled warriors face off.
Without another word, the group stood, making their way to the training grounds outside the castle. The sky was still overcast, the air cool and crisp, but the energy between them was electric. The knights gathered around the edge of the training field, eager to witness the clash between Wolfram and Baturay.
Wolfram stepped onto the field, his expression calm but focused, while Baturay adjusted his armor, his broad frame casting a shadow over the ground. The two men sized each other up, each aware of the other's formidable skill.
The knights watched in silence, their breaths held in anticipation. This wasn't just a casual sparring match—it was a chance to see Wolfram, the man they once knew as a boy, prove himself once more against one of Kutay's finest warriors.
As the wind picked up, Wolfram drew his bow, testing its weight in his hands, while Baturay readied his stance, his eyes never leaving his opponent. The match was about to begin, and none of the knights dared to blink.