Lord Of The Lost

The Death Knight's armor was pitch-black and unnervingly slender, yet through its gaps, something grotesque was visible, alienated flesh and blood, writhing and pulsating, tightly sealed within the cold steel.

This mutated flesh and blood had consumed not just the knight but also his skeletal warhorse. What was once the pure and majestic Pegasus of legend was now a terrifying abomination. Its once-pristine white wings had decayed to bare bone, folded like jagged blades at its sides.

The knight and his mount, once symbols of hope and heroism, were now harbingers of fear.

Long ago, after their deaths, their bodies had decayed into skeletal remains under the weight of soil and time. But the Black Forest's sinister influence had reached the Knight's Fiefdom, resurrecting them in this corrupted form.

---

[Hint: You encountered the Death Knight (The First Knight)]

[The First Knight: The pioneer of the knighthood path, now reduced to a skeletal shell. Alienated flesh and blood fight to consume what remains of his mind.]

---

Suddenly, from the golden waves of the wheat fields, a small child no older than five ran out, clutching a bundle of golden wheat ears in her tiny hands.

The farmers gasped, watching in shock as the little girl stopped directly in front of the towering Death Knight and his skeletal steed.

Her small frame was dwarfed by the massive knight. She craned her neck to look up, but her eyes could only reach the cold, black armor glinting ominously in the sunlight. It gleamed like the darkest steel, exuding a chill that not even the warm sun could dispel.

The warhorse snorted softly, its empty eye sockets somehow locking onto the child. Its grotesque body, twisted with flesh, bone, and decay, seemed to radiate malice.

The child flinched but summoned her courage.

Standing on her tiptoes, she raised the bundle of wheat ears toward the knight as if offering flowers to a god.

The Death Knight remained motionless, his towering frame like a statue forged from cold iron. He tilted his head slightly, peering down at the girl through the dark slit in his visor.

For a moment, everything was still.

The girl stammered, her voice trembling. "I… I found the biggest ear of wheat, and… and I'm giving it to you…"

Her innocent eyes held no fear, only a pure sincerity.

Her parents rushed forward, pulling her into their arms as they cast uneasy glances at the knight. Their expressions were torn between reverence and dread.

The knight's voice broke the silence, harsh and grating like wind scraping against stone.

"My memory… is blurry," he rasped. "You are strange… The wheat… is not yet ripe. It needs… time and sunshine…"

He paused, tilting his head toward the blue sky above.

His skeletal Pegasus snorted, shaking its bony head as if in agreement.

Then, without another word, the knight urged his steed forward. The warhorse moved with a rhythmic clatter of its hooves, passing by the girl and her parents as though the encounter had never happened.

---

The little girl stared after him, her head tilted in confusion.

She looked down at the golden wheat ears in her hand. To her, they were perfect; full, golden grains, their awns sharp and straight, stretching nearly the length of her small palm.

It was the most beautiful wheat she had ever seen in her short life.

"Why did he say it's not ripe yet?" she whispered, puzzled.

William couldn't hide his surprise.

Was this really how the Death Knight and the residents of the Knight's Fiefdom coexisted?

Despite the Death Knight's fearsome appearance, his skeletal steed and alienated flesh; the villagers didn't treat him as a dark force of evil. On the contrary, they seemed to hold him in the highest regard.

But before William could dwell on it, he felt a shift. The Death Knight turned abruptly, his hollow gaze locking onto William.

"Demon? Wolf!"

The words fell like thunder, and the very air seemed to ripple with their power. The sky darkened as winds howled across the golden fields, the atmosphere charged with danger.

William's instincts screamed at him, the demon wolf's premonition sharpening his senses. The Death Knight's aura was overwhelming, like a storm threatening to consume him. William felt like a grain of sand, helpless against a tidal wave.

Gritting his teeth, William called out, "I've come all this way to find you!"

The Death Knight's gaze lingered for a moment before he silently withdrew his oppressive aura. The winds died down, and the sky began to clear.

Without a word, the Death Knight turned his skeletal steed and continued forward.

William hesitated briefly but followed.

---

The more he observed, the more William realized the Death Knight truly lived up to his legend.

He wasn't just any knight; he was the 'Original Knight' the one who had pioneered the Knight's Path, carving out a new high-level discipline in the Magic Kingdom.

In the distant past, "Knight" was merely an offshoot of the "Warrior" path. But the Original Knight had redefined it, creating a standalone path with unique traits and ideals.

William recalled what the Forum Master had once shared about the Knight's Path. It was a path of discipline, one that demanded mastery of four core abilities:

1. [Charge]: Harnessing speed and mass to unleash devastating power while sprinting.

2. [Endurance]: Remarkable physical resilience, allowing knights to endure prolonged battles.

3. [Fearless]: Mental fortitude that grants immunity to most negative effects.

4. [Declaration]: A personal code of chivalry that, when adhered to, enhances a knight's core attributes.

This initial template formed the foundation of the Knight's Path, but its potential was immense. As an advanced path, it boasted one of the highest ceilings in the Magic Kingdom.

According to Metatron, the Original Knight had reached legendary status, the first to do so. His strength was unmatched in his prime, and even now, diminished as he was, his power was fearsome.

William had no doubt about the Death Knight's abilities. After all, the Hope Fragment, suspected to be Sequence 8, had come to the Knight's Fiefdom only to be effortlessly destroyed.

And yet, the Original Knight was far from his prime.

---

William followed silently, watching the Death Knight closely.

The towering figure said nothing, his movements precise and deliberate. To William, it was like trailing a statue that somehow radiated an intimidating presence.

Finally, unable to bear the silence, William asked, "Why are you heading to Shadow Castle?"

The Death Knight didn't respond immediately. His skeletal warhorse plodded forward, its hooves clicking against the ground.

The Death Knight's voice finally broke the silence, rough and fragmented like grinding stone.

"Hunting… alien species! Crushing… dark creatures!"

William blinked, momentarily speechless.

Seriously? Just because the Vampire Count isn't human?

"You're a knight," William muttered under his breath. "Shouldn't a knight be above such things?"

But as he recalled what Metatron had shared earlier, the pieces began to fit together. This wasn't just any knight, it was the Original Knight, born in an era of savagery and survival.

Thousands of years ago, during the Dark Ages, humanity was on the brink of extinction, oppressed and hunted by alien races. It was a time of cruelty and despair, where survival meant constant resistance.

The Original Knight had emerged from this chaos, a beacon of light in a wilderness consumed by darkness. He expanded territories, cut through endless thorns, rode his sacred Pegasus, and carried the torch of hope for mankind.

But even legends have their price. For defying the gods themselves, the First Knight was punished, struck down in his prime. A thousand years ago, a human king buried him on the kingdom's border, honoring him as a hero who had brought light to humanity.

---

His story had long since passed into myth. To the villagers, his fearsome appearance wasn't a source of terror but reverence. Even a little girl, innocent and unafraid, had offered him an ear of wheat as a symbol of respect.

Yet, William found himself shaking his head.

What a cold response. The knight hadn't even acknowledged the girl's offering, just a glance, then nothing.

Now, the world had changed. Humans and magical beings coexisted in peace. The Vampire Count had been granted a fiefdom by the human king, and witches and werewolves lived under the kingdom's rule.

But William couldn't help feeling uneasy.

As a demon wolf, he wasn't sure if this ancient knight; this relic of an unforgiving past, would suddenly view him as an "alien species" to crush.

He hasn't attacked me yet, though, William thought, trying to calm his nerves. If the Death Knight had wanted to kill him, he'd be long dead by now.

---

The Death Knight rode silently atop his skeletal Pegasus. A sword and spear, both uniquely forged, hung across his back.

He didn't move. From a distance, he looked like a statue carved from rough marble; hard lines and sharp angles, weathered but still imposing.

When he finally spoke, his voice was hoarse and uneven, like an ancient wind eroding stone.

"A thousand years… Everything has changed. Rocinante and I… woke from a shattered dream…"

William froze, caught off guard.

There was something strange about his words.

The winds he spoke of weren't from a distant past, they belonged to this very era. But instead of eroding rock, these winds seemed to wear away something far more fragile: the remnants of a knight from centuries ago.

As William looked closer, he couldn't help but feel that the figure before him, once solid, once unbreakable; was now a hollow shell, corroded by time and despair, slowly collapsing under the weight of a forgotten dream.