The city of Gluthera stretched proudly beneath the embrace of a radiant sky, alive with a ceaseless bustle that never truly faded from one day to the next.
As the foremost center of civilization throughout the surrounding lands and the beating heart of Baron Glutherz's dominion, the city rarely tasted silence while the sun still reigned high across the heavens.
People from every walk of life filled its lively streets.
Common folk toiled tirelessly to earn their daily bread, craftsmen devoted themselves to their trades with unwavering diligence, and merchants from distant regions traveled to and fro with wagons laden with goods. Together, they sustained the thriving pulse of an economy that continued to flourish, even if the city's size could not rival the vast urban holdings of the higher nobility.
Upon the sturdy stone walls encircling the city, several knights carried out their patrols as they always did.
Some stood watch with vigilant eyes fixed upon the lands beyond the fortifications.
Others gathered in small groups, exchanging stories and idle conversation to drive away the monotony that slowly crept through the passing hours.
After all, this parish city lay far from any troubled frontier.
For many years, peace had draped these lands beneath its gentle mantle without any significant disturbance.
Should a wandering traveler happen upon such a sight, he might assume that some of the knights lacked proper dedication to their duties.
In another world filled with wondrous modern contrivances and mechanical marvels, such behavior might have been condemned as laziness or a sign of dwindling devotion.
Yet life here was different.
Knights were still mortal men.
They possessed families, companions, worries, hopes, and stories that longed to be shared.
And at times, simple conversation was the finest remedy for preserving one's sanity amidst a routine that repeated itself day after day without end.
For in the end, mankind was never meant to walk alone.
They were born to live beside one another.
To listen and be heard.
To share both joy and sorrow when either weighed heavily upon the heart.
The armor that encased their bodies reflected brilliant flashes of light beneath the midday sun.
Every so often, a gentle breeze slipped through the narrow gaps of steel and iron, carrying a welcome touch of coolness that eased the oppressive heat trapped beneath the heavy plates.
Among the gathering of knights, one man wore a particularly troubled expression.
The furrows upon his brow were so deep that anyone could tell his spirits were far from pleasant.
Before long, the frustration he had been suppressing finally spilled from his lips.
"Ah! My heart is tormented by unbearable irritation whenever I think of it!"
He raked a hand through his own hair in exasperation.
"The woman at the alehouse is unbearably proud and arrogant. Do you know what she said to me?"
His two companions turned their attention toward him with clear interest.
"With a face as innocent as a saint's, she declared that a man like me was utterly unworthy of standing at her side."
His annoyance only seemed to deepen.
"Who does she think she is? The daughter of some wealthy merchant who commands the Empire's trade routes? Or perhaps a noble lady from the capital itself?"
"And yet she is merely a tavern maid. Still, she carries herself as though she were queen of the entire realm."
The two knights leaning against their spears immediately burst into laughter.
There was no mockery within their mirth.
It sounded lighthearted and genuinely amused.
For guards burdened by the endless boredom of daily patrols, their companion's misfortune was a welcome source of entertainment.
Seeing their reaction only caused the man's expression to darken further.
"Why are the two of you laughing at my suffering?"
He pointed accusingly at both of them.
"You should know that my face nearly burned with shame when she rejected me so openly before all those people."
He fell silent for a moment.
"Yet..."
"If I must speak honestly, that woman is truly breathtaking."
A long sigh escaped him.
"It is remarkably difficult to hate her."
His companions laughed once more, though far more softly this time.
When their amusement finally subsided, the knight with chestnut-brown hair spoke.
"Is that so?"
His eyes narrowed with playful mischief.
"It seems you've fallen quite deeply, Eric."
"This feeling has been growing for a long time already!"
Eric answered without the slightest hesitation.
"I told both of you about it several seasons ago."
He snorted.
"You simply refused to believe a single word I said."
"Oh, are you speaking of that dazzling golden-haired beauty?"
The brown-haired knight slowly nodded.
"My apologies, but at the time I assumed the entire tale was nothing more than the invention of a man who had consumed far too much cheap ale."
"You bastard, Fergus!"
Eric nearly choked on his own indignation.
"How low do you think my senses have fallen that I would invent such a story?"
Fergus merely lifted both shoulders.
"I was simply surprised."
"Surprised?"
"Indeed."
A mischievous grin slowly spread across his face.
"Throughout all the seasons that have passed, you've never shown the slightest interest in any woman."
His gaze drifted toward their other companion.
"In fact, Gregor once wondered whether your manhood had withered altogether."
"What!?"
Eric's face instantly turned crimson.
"Impotent!?"
His glare shot toward the knight named Gregor.
"You have truly lost your senses, Gregor!"
The target of his outrage appeared completely unbothered.
An amused smile rested comfortably upon his face without a trace of guilt.
Rather than feeling threatened, Gregor seemed thoroughly entertained by his friend's exaggerated reaction.
And that sight alone caused Fergus to erupt into even louder laughter than before.
With an air of casual ease, Gregor merely waved his right hand, as though offering a defense on his own behalf in hopes of easing the tension that had begun to thicken between them.
"My accusation was not born without reason, Eric. Such thoughts took root in my mind because you have always refused me outright whenever I invited you to visit the brothel near the corner of the city. Under such circumstances, it is only natural that I assumed there was some grave affliction troubling your manhood."
"What a completely deranged conclusion! I would never squander the silver coins earned through my own sweat and labor on such things, you fool!"
"And why not, Eric? We are grown men. From time to time, a man requires some means of easing the desires that stir restlessly within his breast."
Gregor slowly shook his head as he spoke, his conviction so unwavering that he might well have been reciting a law of nature itself, something as unquestionable as the rising of the sun.
"Ah. Damn you."
Eric spat the curse with a sharp glare.
Within his heart, he continued to grumble, unable to find words sturdy enough to dismantle the infuriating argument his companion presented with such confidence.
Observing the tension steadily sharpening between the two, Fergus casually patted Eric upon the shoulder, seeking to calm the growing discord before it blossomed into a lengthy dispute.
"Come now, cast aside that gloomy mood of yours, Eric. Gregor is merely tossing about one of his foolish jests."
"Besides, this entire matter stems from your own failure to explain why you are so reluctant to spend your hard-earned coins on worldly pleasures of that sort."
Gregor nodded in agreement, affirming every word Fergus had spoken.
Afterward, he spoke again, hoping to further soften the atmosphere that had briefly grown cold.
"Fergus speaks truly, Eric. I offer my apologies for my insolence. As recompense for your wounded pride, what say you to this? Tonight, every cup of ale you drink at the tavern shall be paid for by me."
Hearing such a tempting offer, Eric released a long breath.
Even so, the troubled expression lingering upon his face had not yet been entirely swept away by the gentle afternoon breeze drifting across the city walls.
"Very well, Gregor. Hold fast to those words, or I swear I shall challenge you to an honorable duel upon an open field."
"What a terrifying threat. Do you truly intend to spill blood over a misunderstanding as small as this?"
"Damn you! That was an insult to my manhood, curse it all!"
"Peace, Eric. I give you my word. Tonight, the three of us shall gather beneath the tavern roof. I shall see to it that both of you drink enough honeyed ale to leave you unable to stand upon your own feet."
Fergus burst into hearty laughter once more.
He raised a finger and pointed toward Eric, unable to conceal the amusement dancing across his face.
"You heard the man. There is no need for doubt, Eric. Gregor has always honored the promises that leave his lips, though I must admit that his tongue is occasionally sharper than a dagger's edge."
"My deepest gratitude, my friend, for such a magnificent blend of praise and insult."
Gregor released an exaggerated sigh of resignation.
Yet only moments later, a spark returned to his eyes, shining brightly with curiosity as he leaned slightly closer to his companion.
"Still, Eric... regarding that radiant golden-haired woman you mentioned earlier, what is her name? Fergus and I find ourselves dreadfully curious."
"Curious, are you?"
Eric's brows immediately drew together.
It was plain to see that the sudden interest shown by his companions stirred a measure of discomfort within him.
As though a subtle current of jealousy had quietly awakened in his chest at the thought of the maiden who had occupied his lonely evening dreams suddenly becoming the subject of another man's curiosity.
"I have no intention whatsoever of revealing her name to either of you."
"Bah! Just look at him, Fergus! This miser guards her identity as though the woman has already become his beloved bride before the sacred altar."
"You are not mistaken, Gregor. Perhaps he fears that one day you might steal the attention of his cherished goddess from his grasp."
Gregor chuckled softly before waving a hand in dismissal.
"I am merely curious, Eric. Besides, you know full well that within a few weeks, I shall be bound by sacred vows of marriage to my betrothed."
"So even if that woman possessed beauty equal to a heavenly maiden descended from the celestial realms, I would still have no reason to take her from you."
"And you ought to concern yourself far more with the threat posed by other men beyond these walls, Eric. Know this, Fergus and I shall always stand behind you and lend our support whenever you have need of it."
"What Gregor says is true."
Fergus joined in with a calm nod.
A moment later, he turned his head and cast his gaze far beyond the towering stone battlements stretching before them.
Yet scarcely had his eyes swept across the distant horizon when something in the far distance caused his entire body to stiffen.
For a fleeting instant, it felt as though his heart had forgotten to beat.
His lips trembled slightly as a quiet murmur escaped them, soft enough that only his two companions could hear.
"What in the world is that? A gathering of beggars?"
Noticing the unusual tone in his voice, Eric and Gregor immediately turned toward him. Both directed their attention toward a single point several hundred paces away.
As low-ranking knights, their bodies had long since been tempered beyond the limitations of ordinary men.
The energy known as aura flowed through their veins, strengthening every part of their bodies to a remarkable degree. Thanks to that power, both their eyesight and senses far surpassed those of common folk.
Gregor narrowed his sharp eyes.
Even from such a distance, he could clearly make out a group of ragged individuals trudging forward with weary, uneven steps. Their movements were slow and burdened by exhaustion, while at the head of the procession marched several broad-shouldered men whose imposing figures stood out from the rest.
Various possibilities immediately surfaced within his mind.
If they were truly beggars, their numbers were far too great, and the circumstances far too unusual.
"Those are not ordinary beggars. Judging by their condition, there is a strong chance they are refugees from a nearby fief."
"Refugees, you say? Yet until dawn this very morning, not a single mounted courier delivered news of any neighboring territory suffering from disaster, plague, or war."
The furrows on Eric's brow deepened.
The storm of frustration that had occupied his thoughts moments earlier gradually faded, only to be replaced by a far more troubling sense of vigilance.
The sudden appearance of a large group of strangers steadily approaching the gates of Gluthera was not something that could be dismissed lightly.
They were not citizens of the city.
Nor were they farmers from the surrounding villages.
More importantly, they bore no resemblance to a merchant caravan or a band of sellswords seeking employment.
Yet the sight that truly sent a chill creeping along their spines was not the ragged procession itself.
It was the men walking at its forefront.
Eric's gaze hardened.
Gregor's expression sharpened as well.
Every one of them bore a grievous mutilation.
Their left arms were gone, or more accurately, they appeared to have been torn away by force.
Where those limbs should have been, only raw, ruined stumps remained—their fresh wounds still leaving traces of blood, a silent testimony to a horrific and painful tragedy.
The sight carried something profoundly unsettling.
It was bleak.
Oppressive.
A haunting image that seemed to embody old suffering given flesh, as though the shadows of forgotten tragedies still followed those men wherever they walked, refusing to release their grip no matter how many years had passed.
Even so, as a knight, Eric could sense that something was terribly amiss.
A faint yet unmistakable killing intent seemed to seep from the footsteps of those men.
It was subtle.
Almost imperceptible.
Yet dense enough to disturb the instincts forged through years of training and vigilance.
Like a veil of black mist spreading silently across an open plain before the arrival of a storm.
"Look more carefully. The men leading the procession at the front are shrouded in an exceedingly dark aura. Could it be... that they are a band of mountain bandits?"
"Bandits? Are you truly suggesting that a gang of outlaws would possess such absurd courage that they would dare approach a fortified city in broad daylight, Eric?"
Disbelief filled Fergus's voice as he turned sharply toward him, seeking confirmation.
"Set that argument aside for now. Whether they are bandits or not, I must leave at once. A matter such as this needs to reach the Captain of the Guard without delay."
Without waiting for a reply, Gregor immediately spun on his heel.
His hurried footsteps echoed against the winding stone stairway hidden behind the battlements. With every passing moment, he moved farther away until his figure disappeared from sight altogether.
Watching their companion depart with such urgency, both Eric and Fergus could only release heavy breaths.
The afternoon wind sweeping in from the distant countryside suddenly felt colder against their skin.
"I can only hope the ill omen haunting my thoughts does not become reality."
"You are right, Eric. If one pays attention to those walking behind the larger men, they resemble unfortunate slaves more than anything else, souls forced into submission beneath the lash of oppression."
Fergus once again fixed his gaze upon the distant procession.
"The cloth hanging from their bodies can scarcely be called clothing. They appear thin, weak, and utterly exhausted. Their condition is truly pitiful beyond words."
"The wheel of fate has turned cruelly for them. Whether they are slaves or not, the lives they endured before reaching this place must have been far more dreadful than anything we can imagine."
"Indeed."
Silence settled between them for a time.
Only the whispering wind drifting through the gaps in the stone battlements accompanied their fading conversation.
"Judging by how matters continue to worsen, it seems our promise to share ale at the tavern tonight may wither before it ever has the chance to bloom."
A faint smile appeared upon Fergus's face.
It was a small smile, yet one that quietly acknowledged the unease weighing upon his companion's heart.
"That is hardly a tragedy. There will be many other days for us to gather."
He paused briefly before continuing.
"Besides, until Gregor is bound by the sacred vows of marriage, we still possess more than enough freedom to enjoy one another's company."
Because curiosity had been nagging at the corners of his thoughts for quite some time, Eric lowered his voice until it was nearly a whisper.
"Is life after marriage truly so dreadful? To the point that every last wing of freedom Gregor possesses shall be clipped away without leaving anything behind?"
Fergus chuckled softly.
For a brief instant, a glimmer of memory passed through his eyes, one that could only be understood by men who had already walked that path.
"You will understand fully once you are married yourself."
"Ah."
Eric released a short sigh.
"Then what of you, Fergus? Have you not sailed the waters of married life with your wife for many years already?"
A quiet laugh escaped Fergus.
He raised a hand and scratched the back of his head despite feeling no itch whatsoever.
"The art of adaptation. That is the only secret."
"An exceedingly irritating answer."
Eric snorted.
Yet in the end, he returned his attention to the figures steadily advancing toward the gates of Gluthera.
The distance between them continued to shrink.
Closer.
Clearer.
And increasingly unsettling.
Yet amid the tension that slowly tightened around the air itself, Eric's thoughts drifted somewhere entirely different.
To a place far removed from unease and suspicion.
To a face that never failed to bring warmth into his heart.
He remembered the young woman whose golden hair shimmered like strands of spun sunlight beneath the radiance of day.
He remembered her gentle smile.
A smile capable of soothing weary hearts with effortless grace.
He remembered her bright laughter, a sound that could scatter gloom as though it had never existed.
And he remembered the adorable pout that appeared whenever annoyance took hold of her, usually because of the foolish antics of those around her.
The memories emerged with startling clarity.
Vivid.
Warm.
Alive.
So vivid that it almost felt as though she stood before him at this very moment.
Without realizing it, Eric's lips moved.
Softly uttering a name he guarded deep within his heart.
A name cherished more dearly than he would ever dare admit.
So quiet.
So tender.
That even Fergus, standing right beside him, failed to hear it.
"Zelda."