The False Knight

Chapter One

The fires raged fiercely, consuming the ground and leaving a gruesome trail of charred bodies in their wake. Clad in pristine white garments, a young man moved deliberately towards the battlefield. His sapphire blue eyes glistened with a depth that seemed to hold the secrets of distant oceans, their azure depths reflecting the boundless expanse of the sky above sparkled with delight as he raised his arms high. His skin, a rich blend of cocoa and copper, bore the timeless elegance of ancient sculptures, each contour telling stories of resilience and grace—a wicked grin spreading across his face. "Ah, yes..." he murmured, surveying the macabre scene before him. His hair, like a moonless night, draped in velvety layers, each curling a delicate stroke of midnight ink against the canvas of his brow, a cascade of darkness that whispered secrets of ancient forests and starlit skies, swept by the breath of the fierce winds of battle, a testament to his unyielding resolve amidst the chaos. "This is my destiny—to witness the world strewn with bodies, houses burning and spewing the darkest of smoke..." His grin faded as memories of the past flooded his mind. "The king thought he could rid himself of me," he scoffed, his laughter tinged with bitterness. "But his machinations were in vain, for I have returned triumphant." He glanced skyward, a flicker of sorrow crossing his features. "If only Kavish were here to see me now. He would have been proud of the man I've become." Ishaan had grown up nearly devoid of emotion, with no one to rely on aside from his guardian, Kavish. Now, he clenched his fists and grinned at the thought of his ultimate ambition—to claim the throne of Kharijan. "The king was a fool to send me to war. Now, I stand on the brink of seizing the crown."

Just then, the vice captain of the Royal Knights approached, bowing deeply. "Your Highness, we have successfully vanquished Ghelmon's forces that sought to plunder our precious Seluenna. It will take at least six months to repair the town, as the casualties were severe, worse than Ghelmon's last assault. Yet, despite Ghelmon's relentless taunts, with Your Highness as our commander, our victory will always be both swift and unwavering, leaving no doubt about our indomitable glory. I commend you for your noble achievement, Your Royal Highness, Ishaan Kallias Tariq."

''You flatter me, vice-captain of the Royal Knights, Teivel Aghard.'' Ishaan acknowledged the vice captain with a nod, his mind already turning to the next steps in his grand design as he charged into the fray, his hair flowed behind him like a banner of courage, swept by the clamoring winds of battle, each strand a testament to his unwavering determination in the face of adversity. The path to power was clear, and he was prepared to walk it with the same meticulous determination that had brought him this far. Amidst the tumult of battle, the sharp sound of a sword slicing through an enemy's neck pierced the air. Kharijan had emerged victorious, their triumph owed to the most formidable battalion on the field. Drenched in the blood of his foes, a small yet fierce figure stood out: the leading knight of Kharijan, a commoner who had risen through the ranks on the strength of his extraordinary swordsmanship.

The prince watched in awe, his eyes wide with admiration. "Who is that soldier?" he inquired, his voice barely masking his astonishment. "His name is Sarkhan Sevodric, Your Highness. He is a new recruit of the Royal Knights, chosen specifically by the Captain. It is said his swordsmanship rivals that of Captain Lorvil and could be the next Captain of the Royal Knights." Teivel replied. The prince's lips curled into a delighted smile. "Sarkhan, you say? Intriguing." Sarkhan, sensing the prince's gaze, swiftly turned and fled—not out of bashfulness, as the prince might have imagined, but to avoid any interaction with him.

Prince Ishaan smirked, as talented as Sarkhan is, he wouldn't lose this chance to make Sarkhan his subordinate; though he had other things to do before chasing Sarkhan, which was returning to the Royal Palace to bask in his once more successful battles of war.