Swords Will

Chapter One: Gallia

Two years had passed since Erlan's encounter with the Sword of Divinity on the mystical island, and his life had taken a decidedly different path. In a small town in Gallia, reminiscent of the tranquil countryside of France, Erlan had found a new home and a simple, peaceful existence.

The town was a haven of serenity, filled with hardworking farmers tending to their crops, friendly traders offering their wares, and a skilled blacksmith who had taken Erlan under his wing. It was a place where the rhythms of life flowed steadily, far removed from the chaos of war and the burdens of destiny.

Erlan had become a part of this close-knit community, earning his keep by using the skills he had acquired as a soldier in Albion. The small cabin he called home stood as a testament to his newfound life—a life of tranquility and purpose.

On this particular day, he was inside his cabin, the warm glow of the hearth casting a comforting light across the room. Smoke billowed from the chimney, a sign of his industrious work as he repaired a broken shovel. The simple act of fixing everyday tools and helping the townsfolk with their tasks brought him a sense of fulfillment he had never known as a warrior.

As he carefully mended the shovel, his thoughts often drifted back to his past, the fateful night with Arthur, and the Sword of Divinity he had left behind. Though he had not yet returned to Albion, the promise he had made to himself remained steadfast—to find a way to bring peace to his homeland.

Outside, the town continued to bustle with life, unaware of Erlan's past or the destiny that still lay ahead. But for now, in this moment of tranquility, Erlan found solace in the simple joys of a quiet life—a life he had come to cherish far more than the battles and conflicts of his former world.

Erlan stood up from his workbench, leaving the repaired shovel behind, and made his way to a small wooden table in the corner of the cabin. There, a loaf of freshly baked bread awaited him, its warm aroma wafting through the air. He tore off a piece and took a hearty bite, savoring the simple pleasure of a good meal.

With a satisfied sigh, Erlan wiped his hands on a cloth and headed out of the cabin, into the heart of Petite-ville. This peaceful town was a place where everyone knew each other, a tight-knit community where the bonds of friendship ran deep.

As he walked through the cobbled streets, he observed the idyllic scenes that unfolded before him. Dogs playfully chased children, their laughter filling the air, and townsfolk greeted each other with warm smiles and nods. Life in Petite-ville was a far cry from the chaos of war, and Erlan had come to appreciate the tranquility it offered.

His destination was the blacksmith's shop, where he worked part-time. The blacksmith, a burly man with a grizzled beard, regarded Erlan with a nod of recognition as he entered.

"Good day, Erlan," the blacksmith greeted him. "I've got a new order for you—a broken sword that needs mending."

Erlan accepted the order with a smile, appreciating the familiarity of his tasks in this peaceful town. The blacksmith's shop was a place where he could put his skills to good use without the weight of battle or the specter of destiny hanging over him.

He took the broken sword in hand, examining the damage with a practiced eye. As he began the meticulous work of repairing the blade, the steady rhythm of the hammer and the heat of the forge enveloped him. It was a task he had grown skilled at over the past two years, and he found a sense of purpose in every swing of the hammer and every expertly placed strike.

As he worked, the people of Petite-ville passed by the open door of the blacksmith's shop, exchanging friendly greetings and stopping to chat. Erlan had become a respected member of this close-knit community, known not for his past as a warrior, but for his contributions to their peaceful way of life.