As the days passed, Wolfram's presence within the castle became more and more recognized. It wasn't long before the knights, soldiers, and even the common folk began speaking his name with admiration and respect. As he walked through the courtyards in the early mornings, training with the Kingsguard or simply observing the activities of the day, whispers followed him.
"At least we have Prince Wolfram now," the soldiers would say amongst themselves. "If something happens, we don't need to worry. The prince will protect us."
It wasn't Kaiser Anno's name they invoked, nor did they mention Husso, Wolfram's father, the ailing prince. Instead, they placed their faith in Wolfram—a sentiment that had not escaped the Kaiser's notice. The rumors of Wolfram's growing popularity and influence began to reach his ears, and though Anno was still a formidable ruler at the age of seventy, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of unease. "How did Wolfram rise so quickly?" the Kaiser would ask himself, observing the way the soldiers respected his son's name more than his own.
One crisp morning, Wolfram walked through the castle grounds, side by side with Sir Leopold von Eisenberg, the head of the Kingsguard. The two men had formed a bond over the past weeks, and though Wolfram had only recently returned, his experiences and leadership were clear to all. As they strolled along the stone paths of the castle, soldiers bowed their heads as they passed, some offering words of respect to Wolfram, others simply watching in silent admiration.
Leopold glanced sideways at Wolfram as they walked, his brow furrowed slightly as if contemplating his next words. Finally, he spoke. "My prince," he began carefully, "forgive me if I'm out of line, but I thought it might be appropriate to brief you on the current situation within the Empire. I'm sure you've been focused on other matters during your time in Türk-il, and... well, there are issues you might not be aware of."
Wolfram smiled faintly but nodded. "You're not wrong, Leopold," he replied, his voice calm. "During my time in Türk-il, we rarely heard of the outside world. It's an empire so vast, so tightly controlled, that it often feels like a world unto itself. Constantinople felt impenetrable, and there was little need to worry about external threats. The armies there are powerful, and there's no force nearby that could challenge them."
Leopold listened closely, nodding in agreement. "Yes, I imagine it must have been quite different. But things here... they are more complicated." He paused for a moment, then gestured for Wolfram to follow him. "Come, there is much to discuss. We've prepared a briefing for you, if you're interested."
he was joined by three figures, each bearing the unmistakable bearing of seasoned warriors. These were not just any knights; these were the finest the Holy Roman Empire had to offer, each a veteran of countless battles, and each with their own domain of expertise. Together, they formed an unspoken council around Wolfram, guiding him through the complex web of politics and warfare.
At Wolfram's side walked Sir Leopold von Eisenberg, the commander of the Kingsguard. He was a bald man with thick beard that suits his commanding aura. His armor gleamed, emblazoned with the royal crest of the Empire—a silver eagle with wings spread wide. Sir Leopold's banner fluttered in the light breeze, a rich deep red, symbolizing his authority within the empire. He was the man who knew the inner workings of the realm better than anyone, a pillar of wisdom who had spent decades safeguarding the royal family and upholding the honor of the Kingsguard. His knowledge was vast, spanning not just the art of warfare, but the delicate balance of power within the empire's intricate political web. With his calm authority and sharp tactical mind, Sir Leopold was the steady hand that kept the empire grounded.
"To walk these halls again," Leopold mused quietly to Wolfram, his voice filled with a mixture of pride and reflection, "is to feel the weight of history on your shoulders. The empire, for all its grandeur, stands on the edge of a knife. And now, you walk that edge with us."
To Wolfram's right strode Sir Alaric Reinhardt, his armor a polished steel adorned with intricate carvings that reflected the rich cultural heritage of Eastern Europe. His banner, a deep green with a silver oak tree, billowed beside him, a symbol of his knowledge of the vast, untamed lands of the empire's eastern frontier. Alaric had spent years defending the empire's borders from invaders, fighting in the dense forests and the frigid mountains. His experience in the east, from the Carpathians to the plains of Hungary, gave him a unique understanding of the geopolitical threats lurking just beyond the empire's borders.
"Out there," Alaric gestured eastward, his voice grave, "the enemies of the empire never sleep. Whether it's the northern raiders or the shifting alliances of the Slavic states, there's always something stirring. I've fought in places where winter is the greatest foe, where survival itself is a battle." He turned to Wolfram, his eyes sharp beneath his weathered brow. "I am sure in your trainings you had opportunity to see Eastern parts of the realm, Prince Wolfram. The East is as much a part of this empire as its heart, and it is wild."
On Wolfram's left walked Sir Edric Falkenrath, a knight whose reputation was as vast as the lands of Iberia themselves. His banner was a brilliant orange, emblazoned with a golden lion, representing the power and resilience of the Iberian peninsula. Edric was the empire's greatest authority on the western territories, having spent much of his life navigating the complex politics and ever-shifting allegiances of the western lords. He had fought in the dry heat of Spain, stood against the Moors, and understood the delicate balance between conquest and diplomacy in the western reaches of the empire.
"The west," Edric said, his voice carrying a certain intensity, "is no less volatile than the east, but it is different. There, the sun beats down on kingdoms built on ancient foundations. The lords of Iberia are proud, the people fierce, and the wars we fight are as much for ideals as they are for land." He glanced at Wolfram, his eyes burning with the memories of battles long past. "You'll need to learn their ways if you ever hope to unite this empire. They do not bow easily. They have been trying to re-claim their lost lands from Muslims"
As the four of them walked through the courtyard, the soldiers and lesser knights stood in silent respect, their eyes following Wolfram and the trio of legendary knights who flanked him. Each of these men had a unique role to play in shaping Wolfram into the leader he would need to become. They were more than just advisors—they were mentors, each with their own banner, their own history, and their own vision for the future of the empire.
Together, they formed a balance of knowledge and power: Sir Leopold, the unwavering hand of the empire's core, the man who knew the internal mechanisms of the Holy Roman Empire better than anyone; Sir Alaric, the defender of the empire's eastern front, with his deep knowledge of the lands where threats constantly brewed just beyond the empire's reach; and Sir Edric, the lion of the west, whose knowledge of Iberia and the intricacies of its politics made him invaluable in understanding the dynamics of the empire's western territories.
These three knights had seen Wolfram grow from a boy into the seasoned warrior he was now. They had fought in wars that shaped the world around them, and now they were preparing to pass on their knowledge to him. Wolfram could feel the weight of their experience, their expectations, and the long shadow of the legacy he was about to step into.
He knew that with these men at his side, he would face the greatest challenges ahead. But he also knew that the empire was shifting, and not even the guidance of these three legends could fully prepare him for the storm to come. Yet, as they walked, he felt a strange sense of confidence—he was no longer the boy who had left these lands. His training made him iron of a man and skilled warrior but he lacked the knowdledge about this part of the realm but with Sir Leopold, Sir Alaric, and Sir Edric beside him, Wolfram knew that the future of the empire rested not just on his shoulders, but on theirs as well. He could count on these Knights. And together, they would shape the fate of the Holy Roman Empire.
Wolfram followed the commanders into one of the castle's many chambers, a room set aside for meetings and private discussions. As they entered, several high ranking officers and soldiers were already gathered, maps and documents strewn across a large wooden table. A few of them bowed as Wolfram entered, stepping aside to let him and Leopold pass.
On the table, a large, ornate box sat in the center. One of the soldiers stepped forward, unlocked it, and carefully lifted the lid to reveal a collection of letters, sealed documents, and espionage reports. The air in the room seemed to grow heavier as the box was opened, the weight of the information inside pressing on everyone present.
Wolfram approached the table, his eyes scanning the various letters and reports, his curiosity piqued. "There's much here I don't know," he admitted. "But I'm willing to listen."
Leopold stepped forward, picking up one of the documents from the pile and handing it to Wolfram. "We've gathered everything we could," he explained. "Whatever you wish to learn, it's here. Is there something specific you'd like to start with?"
Wolfram thought for a moment before his eyes narrowed. "What do you have on Kara?" he asked, his voice steady but with a hint of tension.
At the mention of Kara's name, the room fell silent. The knights exchanged glances, a mix of curiosity and unease evident in their expressions. Sir Alaric, who had spent years in the east, leaned forward slightly, clearly interested. "There is," one of the soldiers said cautiously, as he began sifting through the documents. "Kara's name comes up frequently, but he goes by many titles in these reports."
Sir Alaric handed Wolfram several documents, each one labeled with a different name. The first was marked "The Messenger", another simply "Kara", and yet another titled "The Deccal"—a demonic reference. As Wolfram opened each parchment, he saw that the variations in Kara's identity were vast. One even described him as "Timurtaş's Spy", while another referred to him as a Tarkan, the elite warriors of Türk-il.
Wolfram frowned as he examined the pages. " I know understand why he said: they call me by many names."
Sir Alaric added, "Yes, my prince he is reported by different names but his real name is Kara we know that.
Wolfram hesitated for a moment, his eyes narrowing as he debated whether or not to share what he knew. He had spent weeks with these men now, training with them, talking with them. They had shown him respect and loyalty. In his heart, Wolfram felt he could trust them.
Finally, he spoke, his voice low but clear. "His real name... is Batu."
The knights' eyes widened slightly at Wolfram's revelation. Sir Edric, known for his stoic demeanor, seemed genuinely surprised. "Batu?" he repeated, as if testing the name in his mouth. "That's... unexpected. We didn't know his real name."
Wolfram nodded, leaning forward as he continued. "He's been a giant of a man since birth, or so the stories say. But more than his size, it's his role as a Messenger that's important. He was the messenger for Uluç, and he carried out his tasks so efficiently, so quickly, that he rose through the ranks. Eventually, he was as close to Uluç as he could ride beside him."
Wolfram's gaze fell upon a few longer parchments, tucked beneath the other documents. He furrowed his brow as he pulled them from the pile, noticing their unusual length. He held them up for a moment, inspecting the rolled-up scrolls with curiosity. "What are these?" he asked, his voice breaking the silence in the room.
The knights glanced at one another. Sir Alaric, ever observant, leaned forward slightly. "I believe those are drawings, my prince," he said, his tone measured. "You might find them... interesting."
Wolfram, intrigued, unrolled one of the parchments slowly. As the scroll unfolded, he found himself looking at a detailed sketch—an imposing figure standing tall, his posture rigid, the broad shoulders and heavy cloak unmistakable. The features were familiar, but something about the drawing felt off. He narrowed his eyes as he took in the image. "What is this?" he asked, turning to the knights.
Sir Edric Falkenrath, sitting across from him, leaned forward and peered at the drawing. His weathered face broke into a knowing smile. "That," he said, "is Kara, or as you know him... Batu."
Wolfram's expression shifted, his surprise evident. He unrolled another parchment, revealing a second drawing, slightly different from the first. The figure was still recognizable, but the details were not quite right—something about the proportions, the stance. He continued to unroll more of the parchments, each one a different depiction of Kara, each one varying slightly from the last.
The knights watched in silence as Wolfram examined the sketches, his fingers tracing the lines of the drawings. "These..." he murmured, his voice soft but filled with a growing skepticism. He spread the parchments out on the table in front of him, comparing the different illustrations. "These don't look exactly like Kara."
Sir Leopold, who had remained quiet, now leaned forward to examine the drawings. He nodded in agreement. "No, they don't capture him fully, do they? Though... this one," he gestured to one of the sketches, "seems to be the closest likeness."
Wolfram studied the image, his gaze lingering on the rough lines that attempted to capture the essence of the man who had shaped much of his life. "Even this," Wolfram said, pointing to the closest sketch, "doesn't fully do him justice. The height is right, the broadness of his shoulders... but there's something missing."
He turned to the knights, shaking his head slightly. "These don't look like Kara, not entirely. The man I knew... he had an aura about him, a presence that's hard to describe. You could feel it when he walked into a room. These drawings—" he paused, his hand hovering over the parchment, "—they come close, but they don't capture his true essence."
Sir Alaric, always thoughtful, leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. "It's understandable. Kara is not an easy man to describe, let alone capture in a drawing. The reports and sketches we've gathered are from those who encountered him briefly, often from afar. Few have seen him as closely as you have, my prince."
Wolfram nodded, his eyes drifting over the various depictions once more. "It's strange to see him this way, through the eyes of others. To them, he's a shadow, a figure to be feared. But I knew him differently."
Sir Leopold nodded thoughtfully. "And he was your mentor for many years, wasn't he?"
Wolfram smiled faintly, though there was a seriousness in his eyes. "Yes. He taught me more than how to fight. Kara had this... humorous side, believe it or not. He liked to make fun of people, to test them, see how they'd react. But only with those he respected. If he didn't like you, you wouldn't see that side of him at all. He'd be cold, distant."
Sir Edric Falkenrath raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "So he wasn't always the cold, distant figure these legends make him out to be?"
Wolfram shook his head. "Not always. I remember one time we were traveling together, and people around us were nervous. They didn't know how to approach him. But he had this way of making people feel comfortable—if he wanted them to. He was always in control. But you had to earn his trust."
The knights exchanged glances, clearly impressed by Wolfram's insight into the man known as Kara.
Sir Alaric Reinhardt, always the inquisitive one, spoke first. "Then what does he look like, my prince? What was it really like to stand in the presence of such a man?"
"Kara... Batu, as I know him, is a force of nature. He's a man who stands tall, towering over most men—much like a mountain that looms in the distance and commands respect without saying a word. His face is scarred, like the one you see here," Wolfram said, gesturing toward the scar that stretched across the figure's eye in the sketch. "But the real Kara, the man I know, has more than just physical scars. His eyes are sharp, almost piercing, like they've seen more than most of us ever will. And the scar on his face..." Wolfram pointed at his own cheek, mirroring the scar in the sketch, "runs deep—just like his experiences."
He paused, lifting his gaze toward the knights, all of whom were hanging on his every word. "But what these sketches miss is the intensity of his presence. When he enters a room, it's as if the air shifts. You can't help but feel it. He doesn't need to speak to command attention. His very presence demands it."
The knights exchanged glances, clearly impressed by Wolfram's insight into the man known as Kara.
"And his relationship with Kılıç and Kara?" Sir Edric Falkenrath asked. "We've heard that they worked together, but what was the dynamic like between them?"
Wolfram leaned forward, his voice lowering slightly. "Kara and Kılıç were equals in many ways, though Kılıç was the Marshal, leading the armies. They spoke to each other as comrades, with a mutual respect that you don't often see between men of power. Kılıç himself picked Kara for Uluç's army when he was young. So they had been through a lot together. But Uluç... they both deferred to him. Uluç was their former commander, and even though he no longer led the armies, they treated him as the authority. In fact he is second in command after Timurtaş. His presence was enough to keep Kara and Kılıç in line. They would never challenge his authority. But even Uluç had his limits"
Sir Leopold, ever the strategist, asked quietly, "You mean... Timurtaş?"
Wolfram's expression darkened slightly, the weight of the name hanging in the air. "Timurtaş... Timurtaş was above them all. Even Kara and Uluç, as powerful as they were, knew that Timurtaş could command them as he wished. His influence was far greater than anyone could truly comprehend."
The knights sat in silence for a moment, the gravity of Wolfram's words sinking in. Kara, Kılıç, Uluç, and Timurtaş—men of incredible power and influence, but all bound by an intricate web of respect and authority.
Finally, Sir Leopold broke the silence. "And now, you carry their lessons with you, my prince. Kara's teachings, Uluç's respect, Kılıç's humility. It seems the men who shaped you are as much a part of your journey as you are theirs."
Wolfram nodded slowly. "Yes. They've taught me that power is more than just strength. It's about respect, trust, and knowing your place in the world."
The knights around the table nodded in agreement, their respect for Wolfram deepening. He was not just a prince who had returned to his homeland; he was a man shaped by the most formidable forces in the world.
And the lessons he had learned from Kara, the man who loomed larger than life, were now etched into his very being.