Celestial: Origins

3:7

Chapter 7: Enemies of the Rising Sun

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The days following the victory over the marauders were marked by an uneasy stillness. Frost’s Fang, clad in his blue armor, now bore the mantle of a seasoned warrior of the Crescent Moon. His reputation had spread far and wide, drawing the attention of both allies and enemies. Among those enemies were the knights of the Rising Sun, a force whose shadow loomed large over the lands.

The knights of the Rising Sun were not mere soldiers; they were renowned dragon slayers, warriors of noble blood whose wealth and status placed them above common folk. They marched with arrogance, their golden armor gleaming in the sunlight like the dawn they claimed to represent. To them, peasants and mercenaries were expendable, pawns in the grand game of power they played.

For Frost's Fang, they were the embodiment of everything he despised: those who exploited the world for their own gain, who wielded their power to crush those beneath them. And now, they were encroaching on the lands under the Crescent Moon’s protection.

The mercenaries gathered in the shelter of the forest, their armor hidden beneath cloaks of gray and brown to blend with the winter-bare trees. Frost’s Fang stood at the center of the group, his hand resting on the hilt of the great sword strapped to his back. The air was tense, the silence only broken by the rustle of leaves in the cold breeze.

Kanta stepped forward, his eyes sharp as he scanned the faces of the warriors around him. "The Rising Sun knights approach," he began in the wolf tongue, his voice low and steady. "They march as conquerors, seeking to claim these lands as their own."

Frost’s Fang’s gaze turned toward the distant horizon, where the banners of the Rising Sun could be seen fluttering in the wind. A surge of anger welled within him. He had heard stories of these knights—how they hunted dragons for sport, how they flaunted their power over those they deemed lesser.

"They are... arrogant," Frost’s Fang growled, the words slipping out in the common tongue, his accent adding a harsh edge. "They think... they own the world."

Kanta nodded, his expression grim. "And they will continue to think so unless we show them otherwise," he replied. "But remember, they are skilled. They are dragon slayers and nobles who command wealth and power. This will not be an easy fight."

The mercenaries exchanged uneasy glances. They knew the reputation of the Rising Sun knights—how they fought with precision, with the arrogance of those who believed they could not be defeated. Yet, among the Crescent Moon, there was also a resolve born from years of surviving against impossible odds.

Frost’s Fang tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword, feeling the familiar weight that had become an extension of his strength. "We fight... as wolves," he declared, his voice firm. "Strike from shadows. Make them... fear us."

A murmur of agreement rippled through the group. They had fought alongside Frost's Fang long enough to trust his instincts, to follow his lead in the chaos of battle. His words carried the gravity of experience, the certainty of one who had faced death and emerged stronger.

Kanta nodded, stepping back to give the signal. "Prepare yourselves," he commanded. "We move at dusk. We hit them hard, and we retreat before they can regroup."

Frost's Fang took a deep breath, feeling the cold air fill his lungs. His heart pounded, not with fear, but with the anticipation of the fight ahead. This was not just a battle against knights; it was a battle against the very ideals they stood for—the arrogance of nobles who trampled over those they considered beneath them.

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The sun dipped below the horizon, casting the forest in shadows as the mercenaries moved into position. Frost's Fang led the vanguard, his steps silent and sure. The great sword rested in his hand, its edge gleaming faintly in the dying light. His eye patch hid the truth of his lineage, but the determination in his remaining eye burned like a flame.