High Society: The tales from Victory

The Apprentice Knight (Ch.10)

The wax melted due to the extreme heat, making the Serperior a monstrous serpent. The envelope was wrinkled and partially stained. It most likely took a lot for a postman to deliver to the depths of hell, hopefully he got a raise. Yet, he probably took pride serving knights.

The envelope inside was handwritten in cursive, a skill he never learned. It never coincided with his necessary training. His golden eyes scan the letter, written with a Sincerely Pine, Ponder Pine.

Yet, as much as he desired to cast away his vows, he was as planted as a sword to its sheath. His locks of snow obscure his vision as he hunches over, rereading the letter, ignoring his duties.

"Sir! Sir! Are you alright?"

He put his lips together slowly and gave a soft whistle.

"Ah... you're alright then... Sir."

He let out a soft growl.

"Sir... The others have arrived."

The male sighs, his eyes scan the wall. A coat hanger holding a slick black jacket, a blood scarf, and black slacks hung from a crack in the wall, a gentle reminder of humanity. He tied off his hair, preventing stray strands from getting snagged. He grabbed a burlap sack and stuffed his unnecessary belongings, like his jacket, scarf, and letter. Slowly he put on his wool shirt, chainmail, and armor.

He grabbed his sword, ignoring the connection his God and that God's awareness of his every movement. He grabbed the metal helmet, tossing it back and forth in his hands, sighs as his eyes rest upon the plumes of Keldeo, and resigns his face once more.

He shut away the greeting and entered the hall with its looming statues. No more face, no more him, only a knight; Only The Apprentice Knight.

His ancestors look over him, burdening him with their legacies. Their name being held over him at all times, like a looming serpent. Choking the life and potential out of him.

Knights approach him, few in numbers. "It's time for you to be stationed at Campeon once more."

One was clad in heavy steel and chainmail. The other in robes and plates.

He knew he had no choice, his privilege turned to prison. He walks out with the soldiers along him. The moment the hot, blistering sun struck them they took off their helmets.

The grey haired knight was Philip, a descendant of aura guardians under Virizion. His armor was the standard forge, Aggron steel. They hold the legacy of swordsman who enters their aura through their blades.

The robed figure was a women named Mariposa. She was an aura guardian unlike any other, found in the ashes of a building as a child, she recently devoted herself to the upcoming legion. Unlike the others she used no armor, instead allowing her born body to protect her, like Guardians before Cobalion.

The Apprentice Knight stares at his armored body and reluctantly trudged into the searing billows of golden grain. Each footstep filling his boots with coarse sand. Each of the crevasis in his armor filled with sweat. It was simply unpleasant and deadly if it were to go on longer.

Stationed not very far were a few ryhorns. Their backs were saddled with pouches on the sides.

One was instead a Torterra. The Torterra had a healthy tree and a saddle on its back.

The Apprentice Knight trudged over to the Torterra and then looks back to the family monastery. He sighs with relief as neither of his parents were watching him off.

He leaps onto the Torterra and sits beneath it's shade. The others hook up the canopies on their ryhorns.

The Apprentice Knight reaches forward, flaring his aura to communicate with his Torterra. The Torterra raises up and then begins to trott forward.