“I can’t believe Sir Simon is dead,” Armin said. The young knight rode his horse at a slow pace with his head down, remembering the times he spent with Simon.

Rohan had filled in over what happened in the dungeon tower. He told everything except the part where he earned his Slavemancer class, that kind of thing was surely best to keep it to himself. And he also made sure Herakles and Giotto keep their lips sealed about it.

“He was a brave man,” Rohan said. “He fought to his last dying breath worthy of a knight of his caliber.” He shed a few words putting the dead man on a pedestal. Despite how pitiful Simon’s death was, there was no need for Rohan to tarnish his reputation.

“As expected of Sir Simon,” Armin said with a tint of melancholy in his voice. “He lived up to his name as one of the renown knights that once fought alongside Lord Dunmer in the Battle of Traitors . . . It’s a pity really, I thought I would finally have the chance of learning from one of the greats . . . But alas death calls no matter the time nor place.”

Rohan could only nod. As his body bounced along with the strutting of the horse under him. He rode beside the young knight with the new carriage trailing from behind. Their brief return to the port city gave them a new carriage with new horses pulling from the front, and it was all courtesy of Rohan’s own pocket. It was the least he could do after what happened. He was just glad he didn’t need to hire a new coachman as thankfully Giotto knew how to steer a carriage.

Their journey went on through the night as the carriage pushed forward guided by the lantern dangling in front. With the full moon hanging above, Rohan decided to camp it out for the night.

The campfire burned beside the dirt road as the ex-slaves slept around the warm flame, fighting against the cold night. Sitting on the coachman’s seat, Rohan took the first night watch.

“Young lord, you went through a lot today. I don’t think there’s a need for you to stand guard,” Armin said.

“Just go to sleep, Armin,” Rohan said nonchalantly. As his hand shooed him away. From the look in Rohan’s eyes, he wasn’t going to stand down, and helplessly, the young knight gave in.

Rohan leaned back on the carriage as his head craned to the sky. It was a lovely night as the stars danced with the moon. Yet his smile slowly vanished as the loss of Simon was beginning to weigh heavily on him. It was his fault, he thought. Dragging the knight along much to the disagreement of the latter. Yet things happened so fast in the dungeon that he didn’t have the time to properly mourn for the old knight. He sighed heavily, thinking what should he tell his father.

“Sir,” a voice came, prompting Rohan to turn. A hulking mass of a figure stood in between him and the light of the campfire.

“Oh, Herakles,” Rohan said, surprised the man from Greco Island was still awake.

“I’ve been thinking, sir. And I—”

“How about you take a seat first,” Rohan scooted to the other side and tapped his hand at the warm seat he just sat.

Herakles hesitated at first, but staring at Rohan’s eyes he thought it would be rude if he declined. He took his seat and spoke the words he intended to. “I’ve been thinking for a while and I’ve decided, sir . . . I’m willing to be your slave,” Herakles said.

Rohan sighed. “It’s Giotto, isn’t it? He’s the one who put you up to this,” Rohan said.

“No, sir,” Herakles said. He was quick to defend his ex-slave mates. “It’s just me. It’s purely me having a long time thinking about it.” Despite what he said, Giotto did whisper a few sweet words along the journey. Enough to move the stalwart heart of Herakles.

“Well, sorry to burst your bubble, I’m not taking any,” Rohan said.

“But sir, I—”

“You’re a freeman, Herakles, and one day you’ll be going back to your homeland,” Rohan said. “And being my slave is going to make that a lot more difficult.”

“Why so?” Herakles asked.

“Well, for one thing, releasing you from the mark will be difficult. Even Giotto’s requirement is already hard enough and with that tower disappeared I don’t know where to find Giotto’s material,” Rohan explained. “Not to mention, if you’re under me then who else is going to protect your home.”

“What do you mean, sir? To my knowledge, Greco Island hasn’t had any conflict for the past fifty years,” said Herakles.

“I’m not talking about humans, Herakles,” Rohan said, hinting at another thing.

Herakles was quick to catch on. “You mean the goblins we fought?” he asked, frowning. The idea of those creatures lurking in the night, ambushing innocent villages was like a nightmare. “But the tower is gone, and you, sir, had killed the strongest of them.”

“I might be wrong, but who said there’s only one?” Rohan asked.

Herakles frowned. The idea of more of those dungeon towers existed made goosebumps crawl over his skin. He fought against that monster, and he wouldn’t want to try it again.

“That’s impossible. There’s no way it could exist in Greco Island, not with the vast sea separating Valeria and Greco Island,” Herakles said.

Rohan scoffed at that logic, smirking at the naive fisherman. “I don’t think it’s exclusive to Valeria as I’ve got a hunch that it must be happening throughout the whole world right now,” Rohan said.

“Pardon my words, sir, but that’s bullshit,” Herakles said. He denied any possibility of it happening as he couldn’t bear the thought of thinking how defenseless his family would be.

“I hope I am bullshitting. But realistically speaking, I think it’s going to happen, and it won’t be pretty,” Rohan said. Thinking what to do if those new dungeons would break before it could be clear.

“But wait,” Herakles realized something. “Even if it is true, the monsters can’t come out. They live inside the tower, and not outside.” The fisherman finally had a smile. But noticing that face on Rohan made the curves of his lips go downward. He felt the hand of Rohan patting him by the shoulder.

“Hate it to break it to you, bud, but it’s not that simple,” Rohan said. “That tower is called a dungeon, and if it’s not conquered within the designated time, a dungeon break will happen.”

“Dungeon break?” Herakles was confused by these new terms.

“Yea, a Dungeon Break. As silly as it sounds, once it happens all hell will break loose . . . Every monster that lives in the tower will come out and pretty much raze everything to the ground,” Rohan explained. He was armed by his previous knowledge of manga, manhwa, and comics. But it wasn’t a good source material in interpreting things, more so towards a real-life situation like right now. Yet considering what he’d been through, it was the only choice that made sense at the moment.

“Is this true, sir?” Herakles asked, hoping Rohan was just messing with him. “But how do you know of such things? Is it from the books?”

Rohan nodded meekly. “I guess there are books . . . but at least not like the normal ones,” he said. Glancing back at the beautiful night sky, savoring the sight.

The night went by and dawn came. The carriage moved along the dirt road and by the time the sun stood right above their heads, Brightfort stood before their eyes. The green-covered wall fortress stood before a verdant hill with the Great River of Rene flowing close to the base of the high ground.

Yet his eyes brought him to the silver domes that scattered throughout the inner area of the fortress as they stood the tallest even above the keep. It was hard not to get intrigued by it, considering it was the remnant of the old era. For some odd reason, Rohan’s ancestor, the First Lord of Prynne, decided to build his castle over the old ruin of a forgotten kingdom. He read that people of that time warned his ancestor of such foolish act. Some said he was crazy, considering the superstition they once believed in that whoever built a kingdom over a lost one would no doubt fail and their future generation cursed to the brink of ruin. But seeing how after eight hundred years and the family still thriving, Rohan could easily say to those who believe in wacky superstition to go fucked themselves.

The carriage drew closer to the settlement at the base of the hill as the dirt ground was replaced by cobblestone. White walls of houses and buildings of Hopevil City greeted his eyes as the road was bustling as usual. The merchants’ voices never stop ringing, selling their goods as folks rushed for a good bargain. Soon came the merry sounds of bards and harpers, playing their tunes from inside the taverns that decorated the main road. It was like a festive season despite it wasn’t.

“What is that smell?” Herakles asked. A sweet fruity smell lingered in the air as it was unlike the usual stank of the slave ship's hold he was accustomed to.

“That my friend is what I called perfume,” Rohan said. “It’s one of the specialties of this city.” True to his words, the perfume business of this city was a goldmine. Peddlers and merchants from different regions came as they sought the city's high-quality fragrances.

Rohan’s party went further and rode an uphill. Soon, they reached the verdant wall of Brightford. White walls stood guard covered by the lush climbing plants that gave the vibrant green color. They went through the black iron gate and reached the bailey of the castle. Knights in glorious shining steel armor practiced their swords, sparring with one another with the Master-at-Arms overlooked their training. The bearded blonde-haired man noticed the arrival of Rohan and gave a courteous nod. Rohan slightly smiled and gave a brief wave at the stern-looking man.

“Pretentious like always that old man,” Rohan uttered under his breath. He knew a few things about that Master-at-Arms and sometimes people hid things for a reason. His horse galloped further until he reached the front yard of the keep. A lone man stood below the flight of stairs to the keep’s main entrance as he lightly smiled and nodded at the arrival of Rohan.

The young lord descended his steed as he brightly smiled at that man dressed in a shabby brown robe. “Alfred, how long have you been waiting out here? Shouldn’t your old bones be resting somewhere?” he greeted with his arms wide apart.

“For young lord Rohan, I would even stay up all night standing here waiting for his glorious return,” Alfred said as they shared a warm hug.

“You knew I was coming, is it your little bats again, Alfred?” Rohan playfully asked.

“No matter how many times you say it, I won’t call them little bats,” Alfred answered while naturally ignoring the real question. The old man’s eyes glanced at the emergence of the ex-slave from the carriage. He neither frown nor show any changes in his facial expression as he then noticed the different carriage.

“Trouble I presume?” Alfred asked.

Rohan kept his lips smiling and answered. “Bigger than you will ever expect.”

Those words tugged something in Alfred as he gave a cautious glance at Rohan. He knew Rohan. And it wasn’t something Rohan would lightly say, not without reason. His eyes brought down and saw the peculiar sight of a sword hanging on Rohan’s waist. Finally, something changed on Alfred’s calm face. The wrinkles on his forehead appeared for a brief second before returning back to his usual state. The old man panned his eyes around the carriage and his left eye twitched a bit.

“Your father is at the dining hall,” Alfred said. “On your behalf, I shall take care of handling the ex-slaves.”

“Don’t be late for the meeting,” Rohan said, taking his strides towards the keep.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Alfred uttered under his breath followed by a small sigh.

* * *

The dark oaken double doors opened wide as a young man made his gallant entrance. His robe fluttered by the draft from opening the door as he stepped forward with shoulders back. He was poised befitting for a noble. As all eyes at the dining table fell at the sight of Rohan. Including the man who sat at the far end of the majestic table that carved a wry grin.

“You’re late,” said Dunmer. He ate a slab of steak and slurped it like it was noodles. Meat juice and grease smothered around his lips and his well-trimmed beard, but the big man knew his ethic when dining. He grabbed a cloth and dabbed it around his mouth.

“Oh, glorious lord father, this unfilial son of yours brought so much shame to you for being late after handling your sacred lord duty,” Rohan said. Putting up an act with a tone you usually see when bard sang their tales. “The people of Edstar Port asked for their lord, where are thee? Yet came a dashing and handsome young lad, unlike the father who was getting wider by the wai—”

“Enough, jest,” Dunmer cut Rohan off. As he knew what would come out from that foul mouth son of his. “Take a seat and join us.”

“Ahem,” a young lady cleared her throat. Her blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders with her eyes as bright as grey silver. “Father, dining ethic dictates that one should be properly attired and cleansed before the meal, and not to forget the presence of a weapon in a dining hall is prohibited.”

Oh yes, how could Rohan forget about this lovely sister of his or more precisely his step-sister. ‘Cheeky like always,’ thought Rohan.

“Oh, you got yourself a sword. That’s new,” Dunmer said. He was late to notice but still amazed by the appearance of such a thing. Yet the glimmer on the crossguard made him narrow his eyes. It seemed the reigning lord still had a pair of keen eyes.

“Eat, Rohan, and we shall talk later,” Dunmer said.

“But, father, he—” Sylvina protested, yet it was short-lived. The strong gaze from her father shut her lips before she could say anything else.

Rohan found himself a seat beside his younger brother, the third son of Lord Dunmer, fifteen in age.

“Your joke still sucks, brother,” Malrik whispered with a smile. His eyes were blue as sapphire with his copper brown hair reminiscent of his father.

“Well, I tried,” Rohan replied. He sat and his gaze fell on the glaring eyes of Sylvina. He smirked as he covertly showed his fist at her before cranking it like a jack-in-a-box toy. Acting surprised, his middle finger rose after seemingly finishing his cranking.

Sylvina fumed, and the look on her reddened face amused Rohan who sat opposite of her.

“Rohan,” the voice of a gentle lady reached Rohan. She was a beautiful woman, dazzling blonde hair and mesmerizing blue eyes. “Enough teasing your sister.”

“Yes, mother,” Rohan smiled at Saoirse, his stepmother. “And I almost forgot, mother,” he said, showing a concerned face that drew Saoirse’s worry.

“What is it? Are you not fine? Have you had any trouble during your journey?” Saoirse asked.

“No, I’m good. It’s just that you look beautiful as always,” Rohan said with a smile.

“Oh, boy, don’t make me blush like that,” Saoirse said, beaming with a smile.

“I wouldn’t if my lord father over there could spare a few compliments to his lovely wife,” Rohan said.

“Ehem,” Dunmer coughed a few times, signaling the end of their little chatters. Most chuckled and giggled after the cough, except for that uptight sister of his.

Lunch ended smoothly and after the plates had been taken by the maids, it was time for desserts. Yet the man of the house stood before it could begin. “Pardon me dear, but I can’t join you for dessert,” said Dunmer. “And Rohan, let’s go.”

Dunmer took the lead and the son followed from behind.

They entered a cabinet room filled with books, furnished with arts and tapestries. And for those who had appraising eyes, one might find a few hidden old artifacts hiding in plain sight.

“Close the door,” Dunmer ordered.

Rohan obeyed, but before he could so a man managed to slip inside.

“Pardon me, young lord,” Alfred said. He entered the room and gave a nod at Dunmer.

“Good, you’re here,” said Dunmer. As he then turned his glance at Rohan. “Now why in the ninth inferno do you have Simon’s sword hanging on your waist?”

Before Rohan could say a word, Dunmer continued.

“So tell me, boy,” Dunmer’s eyes were fierce like a griffin staring its prey.

“Who the fuck killed my best knight?”