In the sunlit garden, three noble children were pushing a young boy around. The boy was gaunt, and had curly, bushy hair. His eyes were brown, and his nose was aquiline. He was handsome and dressed in equally beautiful clothes. Perhaps he was related to his tormentors.
The boy's face was covered in red marks. He sat on the ground, dejected and downcast as he let his tormentors have their way with him. The boy would look up at times only to endure the humiliation further.
A freckled, pudgy boy with a nose pointing high up into the sky grabbed his victim's chin until it turned red. "Look at you. Not even your mother could stand your hideous face. She tossed you away like common trash."
"You're not a part of the House of Burns." An arrogant boy with a chin as sharp as the point of an awl kicked his victim's back, leaving a black shoe print on his white suit. "Your mother's a slut who'd sleep with anyone. You're just a little bastard she had with a ghoul. Your father's not in our house. You have no right to leech off us. Do not try to gain our aunties' sympathy again."
"You uncouth, uneducated, beastly lowborn." The girl in a frilly princess dress jabbed her nails into her victim's chest, as if trying to stab his heart. "I shall exile you eventually. You should've stayed in the slums and begged for money."
Then the girl felt someone pulling on her ponytail. She puffed her cheeks and whirled around, but the first thing she saw were dancing fingers pulling a string of purple electric bolts. The boys then fell for the same spell as well. Their eyes reflected the Sign of Axii, and their faces went limp.
Something eerie yet oddly hilarious happened after that. Like puppets, the little tormentors stood in a circle, slapping each other as they counted numbers aloud.
"W-Who are you?" The boy, released from his nightmare, found a cloaked silhouette looming over him. The silhouette was slender and had twin swords strapped to its back. Its eyes were silvery-gray like stars in the skies. He was lost in those eyes.
"I'm just a traveler who's lost my way. You may call me Roy." The witcher went down and pulled the boy up, then he dusted the soil off the boy's back. "What is your name, boy?"
"K-Kassilas Burns." The boy curled up like a scared hedgehog. He was nervous, fidgeting, and he had no idea where to put his hands. He slowly observed the mysterious guest. The sun shone from behind the boy, illuminating Roy's face. The witcher's face shone like the sun itself. Kasillas was captivated by the ivory swords strapped behind Roy's back.
"Pardon me, Kasillas, but what is this place, and what's the date now?"
"Huh?" The boy ruffled his hair and quickly answered, "We're in Maribor. It's Birke of 913 now."
Roy froze for a moment. So this is more than 350 years ago? The mist took me to Maribor as it was, or is this just an illusion?
"What happened to Orik and his friends?" Kasillas looked at the kids who were still slapping one another, and he was worried.
Roy shook his head. "Those who oppress the weak should be punished, but don't worry. They're going to end up with nothing but swollen faces for a few days. Speaking of which, don't you hate them?"
"They are ignorant. Just a few spoiled children. I bear no ill will toward them. Besides, I should be going through some trials anyway."
"What kind of trials?"
Kasillas' eyes went wide, and with anticipation, he asked, "Are you a knight, Roy? Here to save me and punish the wicked?"
"You may think so." Roy didn't lie. He was a legitimate knight of Lake Vizima. The Lady of the Lake appointed him so.
"But why do you carry two swords? That's not how the stories go."
"One punishes the wicked who have sinned. One punishes the monsters who have ravaged this world."
Kasillas' eyes sparkled. He looked at the witcher in reverence.
"You seem to worship knights a lot."
"I don't have any interests or friends. I like reading stories about knights, and I vow to be one someday." The boy was a fanatic of knights. He put his dirty hand into his shirt's pocket and took out a grey, leather journal. The journal's cover had something written in northern common speech. It read, 'Virtue's Guide, by Sir Matteo.' The boy showed it to Roy like it was his most prized possession.
Roy's lips twitched. He was reminded of Grimm, who would talk about the knight's creed all day, every day. The witcher took the book and flipped a few pages. This book must've been read many times. The spine of the book and the pages' corners were all battered. Every page had a lot of notes written on it, but the book was well-kept.
Kasillas grinned, revealing some empty spaces. Even though he'd just been tormented moments ago, the boy had a genuine smile. Excited and happy, he said, "The book says that knights wander through cities and the outskirts, destroying evil and helping the weak wherever they go. They pass through trials to prove their valor to the people. Are you going through the same trials, Roy?"
"In a way, this does feel like a trial," Roy said knowingly.
"C-Can you give me some g-guidance, then?" Kasillas held his book with both hands. He looked at Roy earnestly. "I want to be a true knight."
"Even after the insults they hurled at you and the abuse they dished out, you're still going to be a knight who'd help the people?" Roy asked curiously. He couldn't understand this. The boy was abandoned by his mother, neglected by his possible fathers, and abused by his cousins, and yet he had a dream that shone brightly.
"Because once I become a knight, everyone will acknowledge me," said Kasillas with determination. There was longing in his eyes. "No matter where knights go, they're welcomed, loved, and respected." He looked at the tormentors who were still slapping one another. He then spoke, but his voice broke. "If I become a knight, they'll never look at me like I'm scum again. Nor will they torment me."
He wants to be a knight to prove his worth, huh?
And then, the rims of Kasillas' eyes went red. He clenched his fists. "And I… I can protect those who are like me. Those who need to be protected. Those who are insulted because of misunderstandings."
"Impressive." Roy gazed at Kasillas, and the boy met his eyes.
"Reading alone won't make you a knight. You have to train your body." Roy pinched the boy's arm. It wasn't much bigger than a twig. "You'd be blown off your feet by a gust of wind. How do you suppose you can take on any evil if you don't grow stronger? And you must fight back whenever someone tries to torment you. You're not supposed to take the abuse quietly."
"Can you train me, then? I promise I'll train every day." Determination flared in Kasillas' eyes. "Until the day my trial comes."
"Are you sure? Wait, you actually have a better choi—"
And the world around Roy changed. The mist came surging back, flooding this beautiful garden and the determined boy before him. Once again, the world was plunged into gray.
Roy sighed, but his mind was running fast. If that was all an illusion, then it was almost too lifelike. What kind of illusion allows the invader to speak with its inhabitants?
Idarran's message still rang in his head. The answer lies at the end. Roy moved deeper into the mist. As he thought, the lighthouse appeared once more, its light penetrating the darkness. The light guided Roy, but this time, there was only one lighthouse. He had no other choice.
***
The sky was overcast. Chilly winds hurtled down a narrow alleyway beyond the bustling city. A well-built lad with short, curly hair wearing a knightly shirt stood in the way of three portly, pudgy thuds.
"Give back all the protection coins you took." The lad was holding a wooden bat. There was righteousness in his eyes, and it twinkled with sanctity. There was unyielding determination in his voice, and he said, "The people have paid their trade tax. You have no right or reason to mandate any extra payment."
The bald guy in the center clenched his fists impatiently. "The Burns bastard again. Haven't you had enough of playing house? We only spared you because of your family. Do you really think we're easy prey?" He flexed his biceps which were twice as big as the lad's, then he grinned toothily. "Kasillas Burns. You're seeking death once more, and I'll grant you your wish."
A hook-nosed man with a green bandana beside the bald guy asked, "So he's the greenhorn?" He was new here.
"Yes. Self-proclaimed apprentice knight. The oaf that's been raising hell in the city area." A dark-skinned man mocked, "It's only been two years, and I've already seen him unconscious in the streets and ditches more than ten times. Every single time, he was covered in blood. All because he wouldn't mind his own business." The dark-skinned man clicked his tongue. "Beaten up more than a few dozen times, but he was never deterred. Got more excited too."
"Are you born an idiot, or are you just a masochist?" The bald thug whipped out a wooden bat as long as a table's leg from behind, then he tapped his palm with it as he approached Kasillas. "Use your head and look around. No one needs you to uphold a joke like justice here. You can help them, but they'll never thank you. Everyone is laughing at you. Your cousins, your uncles, your aunts… Everyone's laughing at you behind your back, and do you know why? Because every time you do something stupid, everyone in the inn gets new gossip to talk about. You embarrass them. Do you know what the bards say about you? 'The oaf of the Burns, neglected by his father, but taken in like a stray dog just in case he's their pup’," the bald thug mocked. "You could've just lived your life in peace with the family, but you just had to become a respected knight.
The dark-skinned man persuaded, "Even if you want to be a knight, you should be spending your time training how to fight with a sword and ride on a horse, not running around town poking your nose in businesses that aren't yours."
The hook-nosed man asked curiously, "Is it worth sacrificing yourself like a fool for people who won't care what you have done for them?"
Kasillas refused to budge. He took a deep breath and retorted, "A knight isn't determined by their swordsmanship or skills on horseback. It is their valor. They do not acknowledge me because I have not done enough. I have not done nearly good enough. It doesn't matter who someone is. They can be a knight as long as they have enough faith."
Kasillas' face was glowing. As if encouraging himself, he raised his voice, "Pain is but destiny's trial. The people I helped went on to live better lives, and one acknowledged me. That is why I do what a knight does."
A beautiful face appeared in his mind. There was a look of gratitude in her eyes, and her black hair billowed behind her. "You are but regular people working hard for survival, but you've taken the wrong path. Crime will never bring true happiness." A genuine and earnest look shone in Kasillas' eyes. A clear voice of justice echoed in the alleyway. "Return the riches you have pilfered, and I shall do my best to bring you back to the right path. In the name of a knight apprentice, I, Kasillas Burns, swear."
"I've had enough of this! Damn your valor! Kill him!"
The thugs charged ahead, swinging their bats. Silhouettes crossed and clashed. Dull thuds and grunts rang out in the air, and sweat rained on the squalid ground. In their first contact, Kasillas managed to break the hook-nosed man's leg, thanks to his experience in battle and relentless training in swordplay, and he managed to dodge the thugs' attacks.
Alas, the lad hadn't fully grown up, nor had he received any formal training. He couldn't last when he was outnumbered. They clashed again, but this time, the lad's right arm was hit, and then someone kicked him in the belly.
The pain made him stop, then the tanned, tattooed man slammed his bat into Kasillas' face.
Blood trickled down Kasillas' forehead and turned his world red. He fell headfirst into the ground like a falling kite. But then, an invisible chain broke, and a surge of scorching heat charged along his veins.
The bald thug flexed his muscles, holding his bat tightly. He swung his weapon down on Kasillas' head.
Something buzzed. A flash of white light arced through the air. Like a stream of wind, a bolt bored a hole through the bald thug's arm, and the impact blasted his forearm away. Chunks of bones and flesh rained.
Before Roy could teleport closer, a roaring stream of flames appeared on the walls of the alleyway. The fire licked the walls, ground, and it eventually surrounded the thugs. Burned by flames, the thugs rolled on the ground, howling in agony. Alas, it did nothing to soothe their pain. The magical fire stuck to them like goo.
Like a sun, the fallen Kasillas spread a sea of light and heat. The fire filled up the alleyway, and the light surged higher than the walls, piercing a hole through the overcast sky.
Moments later, the flames shrank into Kasillas, whose clothes were already burned. The young man lay in the alleyway, naked. Not far before him, a row of three charred objects could be seen. They vaguely resembled humans.
***
"Kasillas wants to be a knight, but he's a powerful and untrained Source." Roy stared at the bastard of the House of Burns. He had grown into a lad. Roy's eyes went vacant. For some reason, he was caught in a stupor.
Footsteps came from the alleyway's entrance. A beautiful girl with a ponytail and a herb basket came running into the alleyway. She looked at the fallen Kasillas, and she blanched. The girl shouted for help while she held him in her arms, nervously checking on him. She almost looked like a girl in love checking on her lover.
The mist came back once more. It cut off all light, but this time, it only lasted for moments. An ancient, stern voice spoke through the disappearing mist.
***
"Do you know why your aunts and uncles hired me, Kasillas?"
"Because I have chaos energy within me. They're worried I can't control this evil power and might hurt someone."
"Correction. Chaos energy does not have any distinction between good and evil. What it does, whether good or evil, depends entirely on the ones who control it."
The mist had fully disappeared. Roy found himself standing within a quiet garden. An old man in a blue sorcerer's robe was standing in the pavilion in the garden's center, talking to a summery young man.
"I want to be a knight. A knight that the people acknowledge. I've trained for seven years myself, and I do not want to give up halfway through."
The old man had a wide forehead and eyes that twinkled with wisdom. He stroked his snow-white beard and smiled with approval. "You have a great talent for magic. Top talent, I'd wager, and you have a pure heart. Do not worry. The arcane arts do not clash with your ideals. During the First Landing, our ancestors sailed the seas and came to this continent. It was then they first discovered and utilized magic. The first thing they did with it was make water come out of a nearby boulder and they saved countless dehydrated sailors. Magic was found to save and educate the people."
"You mean I can be a magical knight who can save the world if I learn from you?"
"If you master the arcane arts, not only can you uphold justice and punish crimes like a knight, but you can also come up with a solution to the greatest threat to humanity: the monsters born from the Conjunction of the Spheres."
"What's the Conjunction of the Spheres?"
"You will know in time."
"Can I bring someone along?" The lad was thinking about the girl with the herb basket. The one who had long, flowing hair, and a beautiful face. She was the only one who acknowledged him.
"Of course, but to make things very clear, fewer than one in ten thousand possess the talent to control chaos energy. Do not feel disappointed if she cannot learn the arcane arts."
"Then I am willing to learn from you." Kasillas took a few steps back and bowed to the old man.
"Kasillas Burns, once you begin your education in the arcane arts, you must cut off your past."
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"You must have a new name. One the world of magical academia knows you as." The old man paused for a moment, and he stared into Kasillas' face. "How does Alzur sound?"
Kasillas clenched his fists. With a determined look on his face, he said clearly, "Very well, Cosimo. From today onward, my name shall be Alzur."
Roy emerged from the mist. What he saw earlier disoriented him strongly. The scene did not disappear this time, so the young witcher quickly made his way to the creators of witchers in this imprint of history.
***
***
