Lord Of The Lost

William leaned forward, his voice steady but thoughtful. "The Elite Werewolf and the Thieves Leader are likely Sequence 8 Beyonders. As for Hope… his true form is probably Sequence 7, more powerful than either of them."

He paused, his gaze shifting to the fragment in his hand. "Hope isn't just a master of black magic in Skull Valley; his status and strength are far beyond ordinary Beyonders."

The Forum Master nodded, his expression tense. "So… does this mean Sequence 9 fragments of Hope will keep emerging from the Black Forest?"

William frowned slightly. "I can't say for sure. But have you forgotten the Hope we encountered at Shadow Castle?"

That version of Hope wasn't a mere Sequence 9. It had power far exceeding that level. William recalled the chilling memory vividly.

At the time, Hope had easily seen through rare invisibility cloaks, a feat that spoke of overwhelming strength and perception. The group of five had gone into that encounter fully prepared for annihilation. The pressure they'd felt was unlike anything they'd ever experienced.

"If that was just a Sequence 9, we wouldn't have been at risk of a total wipeout," William added grimly.

Metatron rubbed his forehead thoughtfully. "So… is it possible we'll encounter a Sequence 8 version of Hope?"

The idea hung heavily in the air. The Forum Master finally broke the silence. "If Hope's remaining pages are this dangerous, they could pose an even greater threat to the border town than the thieves ever did. And all of this… comes from a notebook."

Metatron's voice carried a note of unease. "If Sequence 8 fragments appear, there's no way players can stand against them at this stage."

The Forum Master didn't need to be told how dire that situation would be. He looked to William for confirmation.

William's jaw tightened as he recalled his encounter with the Elite Werewolf. That creature hadn't even used a skill, just one casual strike and he'd been left coughing blood, his sternum shattered. Even his dragon scale armor had been unable to absorb the blow.

The hunters who fought alongside him hadn't survived. William had only escaped thanks to his 'Crow Feather' and 'Invisibility Cloak', fleeing in panic, too terrified to look back.

That encounter had been the greatest defeat of his life as a player.

Only later, in the Misty Forest, had he managed to drive back the Elite Werewolf with the help of lanterns, spiritual oil, and, most importantly, Little Bob.

He turned back to the Forum Master. "Spread the word. If anyone sees Hope, avoid him at all costs. Don't provoke or agitate him. That's the only way to stay alive."

The Forum Master nodded grimly but clenched his fists. "If we encounter Sequence 8, we'll avoid it. But if it's just Sequence 9, we need to hunt down and collect those remaining fragments of Hope's notebook."

His gaze fell on the page William was holding. "You said these fragments contain knowledge of the path to godhood and formulas for magic potions?"

William nodded. "Exactly. That's why we should gather them. There's no harm in trying."

Metatron's eyes lit up as he leaned forward. "Then we should head to the Knight's fiefdom."

William raised an eyebrow, caught off guard. "The Knight's fiefdom? Why?"

Metatron explained, "The Hope that went to the Knight's Land must have carried a fragment, a crucial one. The more significant the content, the more effort Hope would've put into recording it. That's why that version of Hope was so powerful."

It made sense. The stronger the fragment, the more vital the knowledge it contained. And since the Hope in the Knight's fiefdom had already been killed, there must still be remnants of the fragment there.

But William's frown deepened. "And what about the Death Knight in the Knight's Land? How do we deal with him?"

The question hung in the air, the implications clear. Even with all their combined strength, confronting a Death Knight would be no small task. And yet, they couldn't ignore the importance of the fragments.

The path forward was treacherous, but the stakes were too high to turn back now.

The Death Knight was a boss-level existence; far beyond what William was prepared to face at this moment.

Metatron's voice broke the silence. "The Forum Master and I have deduced, using the Human Skin Book, that the knight's revival may be tied to the Black Forest's taboos. It's likely the black magician orchestrated all of this deliberately."

William raised an eyebrow. "And yet, you still want me to go there?"

The memories of Hope and Little Bob loomed large in his mind, haunting reminders of what happens when power turns to madness. Both had transformed into uncontrollable monsters, losing all sense of self.

It was unclear if the Death Knight would be friend or foe. Sure, the knight had broken through Shadow Castle, but was it a righteous act or merely one predator devouring another? William wasn't eager to risk his life finding out.

Metatron noticed his hesitation and reassured him. "Don't worry, there's no immediate danger," he said before leaning in. "But tell me, do you know the name or origin of that knight?"

William paused, caught off guard. Then he shook his head.

Metatron's expression grew solemn. "I used '[God's Perspective]' to uncover something extraordinary about him. That knight isn't just anyone, he's a legendary figure from millennia ago. His name has been forgotten by time, but his title remains."

Metatron's voice dropped, weighted with reverence.

"They call him... 'the Original Knight.'"

---

Through the Dark Ages and across the Savage Lands, the figure of the Original Knight stood unyielding.

Long before the starlight of civilization burned bright, he was a beacon in the eternal night.

Knights, since ancient times, have been mankind's guardians; clearing paths through brambles, raising torches high, and leading the way. Under their guidance, civilization grew stronger, starlight illuminating their progress.

But the passage of time erases many things.

Kingdoms fall. Stars dim. Yet some legends remain untouchable, their stories etched into history like the sun rising over an endless horizon.

Even as centuries pass and the earth reshapes itself, those who follow the knight's path still speak of the one figure who blazed the trail.

The Original Knight.

---

William transformed into a black crow and took flight, his wings slicing through the wind as he soared high above the land. The howling wind was his only companion, sharp and relentless.

His torch-like gaze pierced the horizon, locking onto a distant territory outside Border Town.

'[Map Tip: You have arrived at the Knight's Territory.]'

---

Here lay the resting place of the pioneer of the knight's path.

Thousands of years had passed since his death, yet his deeds remained immortal. His legend, passed down through countless generations, had been celebrated in poems, stories, and operas, becoming deeply woven into the fabric of myth and memory.

Far from being forgotten, his name had only grown brighter with time. His deeds were so revered that he was almost deified, a mythical figure invoked whenever calamity struck.

But legends often hide the harsh truth. His life had been glorious, filled with splendor and heroism. Yet his final moments were cruel, a stark contrast to the triumphs of his journey.

To preserve the beauty of his legacy, history had quietly rewritten his ending, turning tragedy into triumph.

---

As William approached the heart of the Knight's Territory, the weight of the legend pressed down on him. Here lay a hero turned myth, his legacy glowing brighter than ever; yet his true story, hidden beneath centuries of reverence, awaited discovery.

According to legend, the First Knight was the savior who ended the Dark Ages, but his victory came at a terrible cost.

The gods, angered by his defiance, struck him down, leaving him gravely wounded. Six fairy elves cradled his broken body and carried him to the Fountain of Life deep within the Elven Kingdom, hoping the sacred waters would heal his wounds.

There, the First Knight fell into an eternal slumber, waiting for the day his injuries would heal.

It is said that when darkness once again threatens to engulf the world, he will awaken. Mounted on a pure white Pegasus and wielding an invincible sword and spear, he will return to carve a path of light for all living beings.

This legend, immortalized as the highest call of the world, glorifies the First Knight with an immortal destiny. Yet, it was born from a desire to hide a harsher truth.

Over the centuries, the real history of the First Knight faded, replaced by myths and songs of triumph. His life was crowned with glory, but his death was unremarkable, a quiet burial in a forgotten frontier.

---

The Knight's Fiefdom

William stood at the edge of the fiefdom, overlooking the land from a high vantage point.

The first thing that struck him was the vast, golden expanse of wheat fields stretching endlessly toward the horizon. A rich aroma of ripe wheat filled the air, carrying the comforting promise of harvest.

The fields undulated like waves on a golden ocean, swaying gently in the breeze. It was a scene of abundance and tranquility.

As William entered the fiefdom, the sense of peace was almost surreal. This land, more remote and isolated than Border Town, seemed untouched by the chaos of thieves or the corruption of the Black Forest.

The houses were sturdy and well-kept, and the people radiated a quiet happiness. Yet, beneath the surface, a subtle unease lingered.

---

William approached an old farmer working in the fields. His hands were rough and calloused, his face deeply lined, and his eyes carried the weight of unspoken worries.

"Do you know where the Death Knight is?" William asked.

The farmer hesitated, his worry deepening. "The fiefdom isn't what it used to be," he muttered. "It's like Shadow Castle all over again. A few years back, Count Dracula turned into something... unnatural. And now, the knight who's been sleeping for a thousand years has risen from the ground."

The old man's voice dropped to a whisper. "We all feel it, something bad is coming."

The farmer studied William warily. "What do you want with him?"

William's expression remained calm. "There's something I need to discuss with him."

The farmer shook his head, a hint of fear flickering across his face. "Go back where you came from. That's my advice." With that, he turned away, refusing to say anything more.

William frowned slightly, but before he could respond, the faint sound of hooves broke the silence.

---

'Ta, da, da!'

The steady rhythm of a rider approaching filled the air.

William turned sharply, his eyes locking onto the source of the sound. Emerging from the path between the fields was a figure cloaked in death itself; a knight clad in dark, weathered armor, his presence exuding an aura of decay.

He rode atop a skeletal warhorse, its hollow eyes glowing faintly, its bones clattering with each step.

The Death Knight had arrived.