My first memory is still as vivid as if it happened yesterday. I was just a boy, living in the mountains of the Empire. Not the famed Sunbolt Mountains, mind you, but a nameless range where a handful of villages clung together like scattered beads on a thread. Life there was quiet, predictable even. That is, until the day my world cracked open.
It started with a scream—someone shouting about a mountain lion. I remember the rush of fear that spread through the village like wildfire. Doors slammed, children were yanked indoors, and the air grew heavy with the scent of panic. And then, somehow, I was there. Right in front of it.
The beast stood taller than I'd imagined anything could. Its golden eyes pierced through me, and I could see the rippling muscle beneath its fur, coiled and ready to pounce. My legs locked for a moment, and the world around me went silent. I wasn't crying, wasn't shaking—I was just... there. And then I ran.
I didn't think. I didn't scream. My body acted on pure instinct, and my legs pumped harder than they ever had before. The cold mountain air burned my lungs, and my feet nearly slipped out from under me as I tore across the uneven ground. My heart felt like it would burst, but I didn't dare look back.
And then I hit something. Hard. It was like running full speed into a stone wall. I fell back, landing in the dirt, and pain shot through my face. I felt the warm trickle of blood running from my nose, but before I could even think about what had happened, I looked up.
That's when I saw him.
A Holy Knight. His face was hidden behind the polished steel of a helmet, and his body was encased in thick, gleaming armor. The insignia of a golden dragon shone proudly on his chestplate, catching the light even in the overcast gloom. He didn't say a word, just extended a gauntleted hand to help me up.
I couldn't cry. Even as blood dripped from my nose, all I could do was stare in awe. He pulled me to my feet with ease, then turned away, his attention fixed on the mountain lion that had been chasing me.
The beast hesitated as the knight stepped forward, drawing his longsword with a metallic ring that seemed to split the air. In his other hand, he raised a massive shield, its edges etched with intricate patterns of gold. The mountain lion snarled, its ears flattening, but something about the knight made it pause.
It was fear. The beast actually feared him.
The lion turned to run, but it didn't get far. The knight moved faster than I thought possible. There was a crackle of golden lightning that lit up the space around him, and in a single, fluid motion, he closed the distance and brought his blade down. The lion was cleaved in half before it could even react.
I remember the moment so clearly—the flash of light, the way the knight's movements seemed almost effortless, and the way the world seemed to hold its breath as the beast fell.
In that instant, something awakened in me. It wasn't fear or relief, but clarity.
I wanted to be like him.
That was the moment my eyes opened to the world, and I knew one thing with absolute certainty: I would become a Holy Knight.
It wasn't easy. I thought it would be, but it wasn't.
Becoming a Holy Knight wasn't just about desire. It wasn't about how much you admired them or how much you wanted to be like them. No, it was about strength, speed, intelligence—all things I didn't have enough of. I failed to even qualify to take the entrance exam three times. Three. Each time I tried, they turned me away because I wasn't good enough. My body wasn't strong enough, my mind wasn't sharp enough. Every rejection felt like the world telling me I'd never amount to anything.
But I couldn't give up. Not after seeing that knight on the mountain. I spent two years training harder than I thought was possible. Every day I woke up, pushed my body to its limits, and then pushed some more. By the time I turned nineteen, I was ready to try again. And that time, I finally made it.
The day I got accepted, it felt like my entire life was falling into place. My family was so proud of me. I could see it in their eyes. My mother hugged me so tightly I could barely breathe, and my father, who was usually quiet, clapped me on the back and said, "You've made us proud, son."
For the first time in a long time, I felt like I truly belonged.
The exam itself was split into three parts. The first was simple: they tested our aptitude for Holy Power. They measured how much of it flowed through you, how naturally it came to you. You needed a score of 40% or higher to pass. I wasn't exceptional, but I had just enough to make the cut, like most of the others. That part felt easy.
The second part wasn't so easy. It was a duel against another contestant. You didn't need to kill them or even seriously injure them—just force them to give up. My opponent was faster than me, stronger than me, but I had trained too long and too hard to give up. I scraped by, barely. I was battered and bruised, but I won. Hard work had paid off.
Then came the third trial.
Nobody could have prepared me for it. The Forest of Nightmares. That's what they called it. None of us knew where it was, only that the Holy Knights used it as a testing ground. They knocked us unconscious with some kind of gas and dropped us into the forest, and when I woke up, I was surrounded by darkness.
The goal was simple: survive. Each of us would face a single monster, one chosen to push us to our absolute limits. I'd heard the stories. Everyone who made it this far would either conquer their fear or fail trying their absolute best. That was the way of the Holy Knights. You had to prove yourself worthy.
But I didn't prove myself.
The moment I saw it, I froze. The thing hunting me—it wasn't just a monster. It was terror itself. Every instinct I'd built over the years fell apart. I ran. I didn't stop to think, didn't try to fight. I just ran.
I remember the sound of my boots pounding against the forest floor, my breath hitching in my chest. The shadows seemed alive, closing in around me. My vision blurred with tears as I screamed for the test to stop. "Please!" I yelled. "Stop it! I can't do this!"
But the test didn't stop. The monster was relentless. Its growls echoed through the trees, and I could feel it closing in. In the mountains where I trained, I was always the predator. I had always been in control. But here? Here I was prey, and I'd never known fear like that before.
I kept running until I couldn't anymore. My legs gave out beneath me, and I collapsed. I remember turning, seeing its shadow leap toward me, its claws outstretched. And then...
Nothing.
I fainted before it could touch me.
When I woke up, the test was over. The instructors stood over me, their faces unreadable. They didn't need to say anything—I already knew. I'd failed.
That year, I was the only one who entered the Forest of Nightmares and didn't pass. It was the first time in years that something like that had happened. In fact, if you made it to that test, you were more than capable of becoming a knight.
Not only had I shamed myself, but I'd shamed my entire village. The people who had been so proud of me, who had believed in me... I let them down.
And the worst part? They kicked me out not too long after. Those proud expressions just a few days earlier were gone.
For about a year after my failure, I was lost. Not just physically—though I wandered aimlessly across the Holy Empire—but emotionally. I didn't know who I was anymore. Everything I had worked for, everything I had dreamed of, was gone.
The shame of failing wasn't something I could shake off. My family, my village—they had looked at me like I was the future, their pride and joy. And now? I wasn't even welcome there anymore. I could see it in their eyes before I left: disappointment, anger, pity.
I didn't know where to go or what to do. So, I roamed.
The Holy Empire is a vast place, full of wonders, but none of it mattered to me. I drifted from town to town, city to city, doing whatever I could to scrape by. I worked odd jobs, slept in alleyways or cheap inns, and spent most of my time drowning myself in drinks I couldn't afford. I thought maybe I could forget, just for a moment, but the memories always came back. The look on my father's face, the feel of the monster's breath on my neck, the crushing weight of failure.
I was trapped in a cycle of self-pity and hopelessness. I didn't train, didn't fight, didn't try to get better. Why would I? I had convinced myself that I wasn't good enough, that I never would be.
Until one day, in a dimly lit bar, somewhere in the heart of the empire, my life took an unexpected turn.
I was slumped over a wooden table, sipping on a mug of something bitter and awful. The room was loud, filled with the chatter of drunk patrons and the clinking of glasses, but I barely noticed. My thoughts were elsewhere, as they always were, spiraling into the same pit they always did.
That's when I heard the voice.
"You look like you've seen better days, kid."
Mind you, I was twenty, so being called a "kid" really caught me off guard.
I glanced up, expecting to see some nosy stranger who wanted to poke fun at the broken man in the corner. Instead, I saw him.
Hanzel Lionborne.
At the time, I didn't know who he was. Just some older man with a rough face, a wild mane of reddish-brown hair streaked with gray, and red eyes that burned with intensity. He wore a long, tattered coat over a suit of leather armor, and a massive greatsword was strapped to his back. He had the air of someone who didn't belong in a place like this—someone too dangerous, too alive, for such a dreary setting.
I didn't say anything. I didn't want to talk. But he didn't seem to care.
"Drinking alone, sulking in the dark—let me guess. You screwed up big time, and now you think your life's over?"
I glared at him, ready to tell him to mind his own business, but something in his tone stopped me. It wasn't mocking or condescending. It was knowing.
"Leave me alone," I muttered, staring back into my drink.
"Can't do that," he said, pulling up a chair and sitting across from me like we were old friends. "You've got that look in your eyes. The one that says you're lost. Trust me, kid, I know it well."
Was this guy a jester? Why was he talking like he was amidst a play?
I didn't respond, but he kept talking.
"You're not the first to fall. Won't be the last, either. Question is, are you gonna stay down, or are you gonna get back up?"
I scoffed. "The way you talk is gross."
"Oh? The failure is telling me how I should talk?"
I glared harshly at him, feeling the alcohol egg me on to attempt to sock him in the face however, my confidence had already been shattered. What little confidence the alcohol gave me soon faded away and I sank my head downwards.
He leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. "However, being a failure doesn't make you nothing. Being a quitter does."
Those words hit me harder than I wanted to admit.
Over the next hour—or maybe two—I found myself telling him everything. I talked about the Holy Knight exam, the Forest of Nightmares, my failure, and my shame. I don't know why I opened up to him. Maybe it was the drinks, or maybe it was the way he listened, really listened, without judgment.
When I was done, he leaned back in his chair and let out a low whistle.
"Well, sounds like you've been through the wringer," he said. "But you're still here. That means something."
"What does it mean?" I asked, bitterness creeping into my voice.
"It means you've got a second chance if you're willing to take it."
I frowned, not understanding. "What do you want from me?"
He grinned, and it was the kind of grin that promised both trouble and opportunity.
"The name's Hanzel Lionborne," he said, extending a calloused hand. "And if you're willing to listen, I might just be able to teach you how to stand on your own two feet again. However, I have one condition."
My lips pursed and my eyebrows furrowed, worried he was going to say something annoying.
"Be kind," he smiled. "There may be times when you are with your friends where you won't. Times where you will completely forget I even added this condition. You will hold hatred in your heart, discontent, or even a surface-level disgust that is undeserving… however, that is completely fine… but at the end of the day, I want you to be kind."
I was lucky. I was so goddamn lucky…
…
(Present Day)
"As a knight, I still have my chivalry, even on the brink of death. That is the pride I hold as a Holy Knight Captain," Edwin announced.
Eizum lunged forward, his fist cloaked in the dark purple mist that pulsed with unnatural energy. Edwin sidestepped the blow, his golden aura flaring as he twisted, driving an elbow toward Eizum's jaw. Eizum caught the strike with his forearm, the force rippling through his body as he retaliated with a quick jab to Edwin's ribs.
Edwin grunted, absorbing the hit as he spun low, sweeping his leg toward Eizum's knees. Eizum leaped over the sweep, landing with a heavy stomp aimed at Edwin's chest. The lion's golden form roared behind Edwin, and he rolled back just in time, springing to his feet with a sharp uppercut that connected with Eizum's chin. The impact snapped Eizum's head back, but the mist around him thickened, cushioning the blow.
Eizum retaliated with a flurry of punches, each one faster than the last. The mist coiled around his fists, amplifying the force of every strike. Edwin weaved between the attacks, his movements growing snappier, quicker, with each dodge. The lion on his back merged further into his frame, and with a guttural roar, Edwin unleashed a powerful right hook that shattered through Eizum's guard, sending him skidding backward.
Eizum dug his heels into the ground, his body sliding to a halt as the mist expanded outward in jagged tendrils. He charged again, this time driving a knee toward Edwin's stomach. Edwin crossed his arms to block, the golden aura hardening like armor as he absorbed the strike. With a burst of strength, he shoved Eizum back, following up with a spinning back kick aimed at his side.
The kick landed, sending Eizum sprawling to the ground. He rolled to his feet, the mist dragging him upright as if it had a mind of its own. Eizum spat blood but smirked, closing the distance in an instant. His fist crashed into Edwin's shoulder, twisting the knight's body and leaving him exposed. Eizum capitalized, landing a swift kick to Edwin's thigh, causing his stance to falter.
Edwin staggered but didn't fall. His golden aura surged, the lion's claws materializing around his arms as he roared. He lunged forward, feinting a left jab before slamming his knee into Eizum's stomach. The impact knocked the wind from Eizum's lungs, but he retaliated by driving an elbow into Edwin's back, forcing him to the ground.
Both men gasped for air, their bodies battered but unrelenting. Edwin surged to his feet first, swinging a haymaker that Eizum ducked under. The mist swirled around Eizum's leg as he pivoted, delivering a brutal roundhouse kick to Edwin's side. The blow cracked against Edwin's ribs, but the golden aura flared brighter, absorbing the brunt of it.
Edwin stepped into Eizum's space, grabbing him by the wrist and twisting. Eizum snarled, his free hand coated in mist as he swung a back fist that Edwin barely avoided. Edwin countered with a headbutt, their foreheads colliding with a sickening thud. Eizum stumbled, the mist around him flickering, but he didn't fall.
The two charged at each other again, their fists colliding midair with enough force to send a shockwave through the snow around them. They traded blows with ruthless efficiency—Eizum's strikes wild but devastating, Edwin's precise and unyielding. Every punch, kick, and grapple pushed them closer to the edge of their limits, yet neither man relented.
Four minutes had passed.
20 years had been shaved off of Edwin's life.
Edwin ducked under a wide swing, driving his shoulder into Eizum's midsection and tackling him to the ground. Eizum's mist exploded outward, shoving Edwin off as he rolled away. Both rose slowly, panting and bloodied. Edwin's golden aura burned brighter than ever, while the mist around Eizum grew darker and more volatile.
Eizum and Edwin charged at each other, their battered forms a blur against the snowstorm pouring into the fortress from over the wall.
Then, in a cruel twist of fate, Edwin pushed forward.
His foot caught on an icy patch beneath him.
His balance faltered.
His body lurched forward uncontrollably.
Edwin's luck had unfortunately run out.
Eizum, leaped into the air, winding up a crescent kick, the dark purple mist coiling violently around his leg. The kick arced downward, smashing into Edwin's golden lion with a deafening crack. The lion shattered, its radiant form disassembling into shards of light that dissolved into the wind. The impact sent Edwin flying backward, his body crashing and skidding across the snow.
When he finally came to a halt, he lay motionless for a moment, the gleam of his golden form stripped away. All that remained of his transformation were the lion's golden pupils in his own eyes, dim and flickering, and his hair, now long and golden, splayed across the snow like a fallen banner.
Edwin clenched his jaw, gritting his teeth with all his might as he forced himself upright. Blood trickled from his lips as he staggered, his breath coming in ragged gasps. With a roar that tore through the icy air, he screamed, pouring every ounce of strength into his resolve. His body trembled, but he stood.
When his blurred vision cleared, he saw Eizum.
His luck as well, had finally run dry.
The man lay sprawled on his back, the dark purple mist settling around him like a toxic shroud. It flickered faintly, thinning and retreating into the snow as if exhausted. The shadows that once cloaked Eizum had dissolved, replaced by soft snowfall drifting down from the ruined wall above them.
Edwin limped forward, each step a battle. He coughed, a heavy, wet sound that brought up blood, but he didn't stop. His fists remained clenched, his body ready for anything, even as he approached the motionless figure on the ground. He stood over Eizum, his guard still raised.
Eizum's body was twisted and broken, limbs bent at unnatural angles, things neither man could see from beneath his cloack. His chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths, but his eyes… they were near empty. Almost lifeless. The demonic energy that had kept him moving had run its course, abandoning him to the toll of his injuries. He was alive, but only just.
To put it simply, his mortal body had just reached its limit.
Edwin coughed again, spitting more blood into the snow, and was about to turn away when he heard it—a faint, wet sound. Eizum coughed, blood bubbling from his lips. Edwin whirled back around, startled, only to freeze. Eizum wasn't looking at him, but tears streamed from his eyes, carving trails down his expressionless face.
"You… look like him," Eizum rasped, his voice weak and trembling.
Edwin frowned, leaning closer.
"Like who?"
But Eizum didn't respond. His eyes remained distant, unfocused until they finally landed on Edwin. He then muttered in broken gasps, the words spilling from him like a dam had burst.
"Why… am I so unlucky? My life is so unlucky… Why me? Why… me…"
Edwin stayed silent, staring down at the broken man, and although he felt no remorse, no sadness, no guilt… however, for some strange reason, he recalled his mentor's words.
"I want you to be kind."
Edwin let out a long icy breath towards the air above him before kneeling down, his golden hair falling over his shoulders as he steadied himself. He proceeded to speak, his voice steady but soft as another teaching, one not learned from somebody else, but from his own experiences, flowed from his cracked, dry lips.
"Luck isn't fair. It doesn't choose sides. It doesn't favor the strong or the weak. It is chaos—random and cruel. However, at one point in life, even if you may not have understood it then… you were lucky… oh so very lucky."
Eizum's head shifted slightly. His cloudy vision barely made out the words mouthed by Edwin.
For a moment, a flicker of something stirred within him. A memory. Those ten or so years. He saw himself as a young man again, eating warm, doing fun activities, laughing, and smiling with the man who had taken him in. No fear. No pain. Just joy.
His tears ran dry as he recalled his face. The face of the current Emperor.
A faint smile touched Eizum's lips, fragile but genuine. Through cracked, bloodied lips, he murmured, "I… guess… I was… pretty… lucky…"
His voice faded, and the life in his body slipped away. The remaining tears on his face froze in the cold, but his smile remained.