"It's a rainy night, isn't it, Julian?" "Yes, my lord, indeed it is," said Julian, Lord Leofric's sworn sword, his right-hand man. "It's as if the rain is trying to wash away my sins, but the wound may be too deep for it to heal." The rain turns into a storm, as if it's hinting at a terrible nightmare. "Waiting like this again feels... kind of empty." "Well, it is your fourth child, my lord." Leofric shakes his head, indicating that Julian is wrong. "No, Julian, something's different, something's off."
A servant comes in with a smile on her face, "It's a boy, my lord." Leofric sighs as the wait was finally over. He asked Julian to bring the young one as he was walking out, but then suddenly, a sound came.
A stomping sound, the sound of someone running, maybe in fear or in excitement, some could say. The queen's guard opens the door, "My Lord! Her Grace, sh- she's dead!" he says. Leofric's eyes widened as he dropped his sword and ran, while his servants followed him. A drop of water dripped down his cheek, there was no telling if it was a tear or a sweat. "Nymera!!" he screamed as he reached the room where she was giving birth. Leofric, a noble warrior who never dropped to his knees, even when fighting, collapses, holding his wife's hand, who he had promised eternal love to, who he had wished to spend all his life with, as she lied dead after giving birth to her own son. Julian wondered what fate had fallen upon his lord as his eyes started to get watery. "My lord, she... could not survive. Right after giving birth, she started smiling as her son was born, but then, in a moment, her head dropped as she lost her conscious, and bl- blood dripped from her mouth, her pulse wa-"
thud
Leofric banged his hand on the floor, telling his servant to stop speaking; it was a threat of some kind. The rain seemed to slow down, and it became silent, except for Leofric's cries. It was like God had played a game with him, taking a life away after giving one. Leofric, eyes red, stood up and told his servant to hand over the child, in anger and rage, a vein popped out in his forehead. Madness had clouded his mind. The servant, scared, hesitatingly refused , and Julian tried to calm him down. It seemed like his sadness had turned into anger, driving him into a moment of despair. "No, my lord, he is still your son," said Julian, with a sad and a weak voice, trying to calm Leofric down.
After a few hours, Leofric's fiery rage calmed down, as Julian stood behind him like he always had, but this time not in a moment of accomplishment but a moment of sadness, but that fire didn't extinguish completely, instead it had turned into hatred. "He will be given a noble son's life, but I cannot ever accept him as a true son of mine, never... never," said Leofric.
Leofric ordered Julian to go away for the time, while Leofric was alone with his wife's lifeless body. Julian walked out to the open grounds and stared at the moon, getting himself wet in the light rain, trying to hide his tears with the rain. "Oh dear Goddess, what is happened to his grace, his rage... has changed him entirely, he doesn't seem like the great warrior, but a broken man. Why, why did you take the only thing he truly cared about since his childhood, his true love". Leofric, one of the noble knight acknowledged by the kingdom of Morvain, the head of Leodrick family, and one of the greatest warriors to exist in the era, had changed since that day.
The kingdom of Morvain, one of the four kingdoms, is famous for it's mastery in blacksmith. Leodrick family is a family that has been present for a long time, making them one of the 'true' nobles. True nobles are warriors who had contributed greatly in the Svaron War, thus being awarded for their bravery the title and the status of a noble.
In the center of the kingdom lays the Great Forge, an imposing building where the best smiths practiced their art. To the people of Morvain, blacksmithing was not just a job; it was something sacred. Skills were learned by the children of those who mastered them, and these skills were older than written words. This ancient knowledge was referred to as the Smith's Craft—a skill which required not only physical power but also the ability to respect the fire. The steel produced by the master smiths had its own spirit, stubborn and fierce, crafted by smiths who knew more about metals than other people knew about languages.
Rulers from foreign lands paid homage to the great kingdom of Morvain, offering it their gold, alliances, even peace in return for swords crafted there. But Morvain was proud and strong, preferring might to gold, and each blade leaving the kingdom spoke volumes of its pride.
"Steel is forged in fire, so were the knights of Leodrick, but for the first time, the 'Steel' melted in the cold", Julian thought to himself as he went inside the training hall, where he saw Lord Cedric, the first son of Leofric, the heir of the family. "Young master,.. your mother-..". "I know Julian, please, give me some time alone" said Cedric as he swung his sword again and again. It seemed that the news had already began to spread.