Sir Jaeger's Perspective
I am Sir Jaeger, the head sword master of the prestigious Ravenhert family.
But before I became this man, I was nothing.
I was born into poverty—the lowest of the low in Highvale, a state that was ruled by the Valmont family. My father was a farmer, struggling to feed a family of three. Our days were spent in hunger, our nights filled with the fear that tomorrow we might not wake up.
We were on the brink of death when everything changed.
Master Vincent Ravenhert took over as the new governor of Highvale.
He was a kind man, a man of honor. He did what no noble before him had done—he cared for the weak.
He made sure that even the poorest families, like mine, had food to eat, education to pursue, and a life worth living.
As a warrior, he was weak—so weak that he couldn't even kill a pig.
But as a ruler, he was unrivaled.
From that moment on, I swore my loyalty to him.
I trained day and night, honing my skills. By the time I completed my training in the Royal Capital, I was recognized as one of the strongest swordmasters in the empire.
I was even offered the honor of becoming a royal bodyguard to the Second Prince.
But my answer was clear.
I had already decided my path.
I returned to Highvale, taking my place as the head swordmaster of the Ravenhert family.
That day was the happiest of my life.
But life is never kind to good men.
The Fall of the Ravenhert Family
Master Vincent was a ruler of the people, but that kindness came at a cost.
He refused to raise taxes despite our lands struggling to produce revenue. Instead, he sought other ways to secure income.
But every attempt failed.
And when the gold lenders came knocking, he was already too deep in debt.
Habil Greyrat—a vile, greedy man—was among them. He had lent a fortune to Master Vincent, and when repayment failed, he showed no mercy.
The pressure became unbearable.
And in the end…
Master Vincent took his own life.
I remember the night it happened.
The moon hung high in the sky, casting a pale light over the estate.
I found him in his chambers, slumped over his desk.
A letter sat before him.
A dagger was buried deep in his chest.
He had died alone.
He left behind his wife. His two children.
I blamed myself.
I was his sword, yet I had failed to protect him from the enemy that cut the deepest—despair.
Lady Mathilda Ravenhert, his beloved wife, never recovered from the grief.
She stopped eating.
Stopped sleeping.
And soon after… she, too, was gone.
In a matter of months, the great Ravenhert family had been reduced to two orphans.
A six-year-old boy—Young Master Zed Ravenhert.
And a twelve-year-old girl—Lady Aurora Ravenhert.
Neither of them were ready to bear the weight of a noble house.
But they had no choice.
Aurora tried. By the gods, she tried.
She stepped forward as the new head, doing everything she could to follow in her father's footsteps.
But she was just a child.
And the world is cruel to children who dare to lead.
I stood helpless as I watched our estate crumble.
The bills piled up.
The servants left.
The once-proud family of Ravenhert—a name that once commanded respect and honor—became nothing more than a sinking ship.
And then, the worst happened.
Zed's Accident
The young master—a boy too fragile for the world he had been born into—was involved in a terrible accident.
I was supposed to protect him.
But I couldn't.
It happened so fast. One moment, he was safe. The next, he was lying broken and bloody on the ground. His small frame barely clinging to life. His breathing so shallow I could barely hear it over the rush of panic in my veins.
We rushed him to the esteemed doctor of the capital, praying for a miracle.
But the verdict was cruel.
"He may never wake up."
I still remember the way Aurora's face fell when she heard those words.
Her hands trembled as she sat by her brother's bedside, refusing to move. Refusing to believe that she had lost yet another member of her family.
She barely ate. Barely slept. For days, she sat there, her small hand wrapped around his motionless one, whispering to him as if sheer willpower could bring him back.
And me?
I, who had sworn to protect them?
I could do nothing.
I was Sir Jaeger, the strongest swordmaster of the empire. The man feared on the battlefield, the man whose sword had cut down countless enemies.
But against fate?
Even I was powerless.
A whole year passed.
A whole year of silence.
A whole year of waiting for a miracle that we knew, deep down, would never come.
And then… it happened.
One day, the young master opened his eyes.
but he had lost all his previous memories.
At first, I pitied him. A boy who had already lost everything—his family, his home, his childhood—and now, even his past was taken from him.
But then… something unimaginable happened.
The very next day, when I went to his room to offer my apologies for failing him, he simply looked at me and said:
"It's not your fault, Sir Jaeger."
I remember how calm his voice was. How steady.
"But…" His gaze sharpened. "You can make it up to me."
I braced myself, expecting him to ask for comfort or protection.
Instead, he said:
"Train me."
I almost didn't believe my own ears.
The boy who once ran away from training, who never wanted to hold a sword, now stood before me, his gaze unshaken.
"Make me strong." His voice didn't waver.
I wanted to refuse.
His body, weakened from being bedridden for a year, was not ready for that kind of strain. He was already too thin, his limbs too fragile.
But it was an order.
And perhaps… it was a way to console myself.
A way to tell my heart that I could make things right—if I could make a warrior out of the young lord.
Thus, I began his training.
From the very first day, I knew something had changed.
This was not the same boy.
He was more responsible. More disciplined. And above all—he was stronger.
Days passed. He never quit.
Even when I increased the training to its harshest limit, he endured it.
He would collapse to his knees, sweat soaking through his shirt, breath ragged—but he would stand up again.
"One more time," he would say.
He complained sometimes. Of course, he did—he was still human. But he never quit.
I watched him grow. His movements became sharper, more precise. His once thin frame grew leaner, muscle forming beneath the surface. His grip on the sword became steady.
And his eyes…
There was no hesitation in them anymore.
At first, I thought he was just growing stronger. But it was more than that.
He was changing.
He no longer carried the fragile innocence of a child. He stood with the quiet strength of a man—calm, calculating, and dangerous.
One day, after training, I watched him standing beneath the setting sun. The golden light reflected off his sweat-drenched hair. He stood with his sword resting over his shoulder, his gaze distant.
And I realized…
Zed was no longer the boy I had sworn to protect.
He was becoming a man under whom I could serve.
And that night…
I realized just how much he had changed.
It was past midnight when I heard the knock on my door.
The sound was soft but deliberate—three short knocks. No hesitation. No urgency. Just… steady.
When I opened the door, Zed stood there, illuminated only by the dim candlelight flickering behind me. His face was expressionless, his dark eyes dull yet sharp at the same time—like the edge of a sheathed blade.
"Sir Jaeger," he said, his tone devoid of emotion. "Take your sword and follow me."
At first, I was irritated.
"your grace, it's the middle of the night. What are—"
"You'll find out soon."
He cut me off. His voice was steady, unyielding.
Something about the way he spoke made me pause.
The air felt unnaturally cold. The hallway behind him seemed darker than usual, the flickering candlelight casting long shadows on the stone floor. His face, half-lit by the faint glow, seemed carved from stone—unreadable and cold.
I sighed, grabbing my sword from its stand. Just humor him, I told myself. Maybe he had a nightmare.
But the moment I stepped into the hallway, I knew something was wrong.
The castle was too quiet. The usual night noises—the distant footsteps of patrolling guards, the faint chatter from the lower halls—were absent. Only the rhythmic echo of our footsteps filled the silence as we walked.
"Where exactly are we going?" I asked after a long moment.
He didn't turn. His gaze remained fixed ahead.
"To Lady Aurora's chambers."
My brows furrowed. Aurora's chambers? At this hour?
And then—
I smelled it.
The metallic tang of fresh blood.
I stopped walking, my senses sharpening. My grip on my sword tightened.
"Zed—"
We turned the corner.
Two guards lay on the cold marble floor, their eyes wide and glassy. Blood pooled beneath their chests, dark and glistening under the pale moonlight seeping through the windows.
They had been stabbed from behind.
Zed stepped forward without hesitation. He knelt beside one of the corpses and calmly pulled a blood-stained sword from the dead man's grip. His small hand wrapped around the hilt with practiced ease.
Then, without a word, he stood and continued walking.
"Zed—!"
I followed him, my instincts screaming. The oppressive stillness of the corridor made my pulse spike. My breathing quickened.
We're being watched.
I sharpened my senses—
There!
A shadow moved behind us—fast and silent.
I turned, grabbing the attacker's wrist and slamming him into the stone wall with enough force to crack it. The man grunted, crumpling to the floor.
When I got a good look at his face, recognition struck me like a blade.
"The man from this morning," I muttered.
It was one of Greyrat's men.
I reached for my sword, ready to interrogate him—
But before I could react—
Shing!
A single, swift movement. A flash of silver.
And then—
His head rolled onto the ground.
The body collapsed with a sickening thud. Blood pooled beneath the severed neck.
I stared.
Zed stood over the corpse, his sword dripping with blood. His expression… remained unchanged.
His gaze didn't even flicker. He didn't flinch.
The boy who once feared even holding a sword…
Had just killed a man.