Lord Of The Lost

The thunder of hooves echoed down the street, like the roar of a storm approaching from the horizon.

'Thump!'

The iron-shod hooves of two enormous warhorses struck the cobblestone road with such force that the ground itself trembled beneath them. The very earth seemed to quiver as the sound reverberated off the stone buildings lining the street.

It was as if a great hammer were being swung against the ground, each strike heavier than the last. The first person to hear it froze, eyes wide with shock, their mouth opening but no words escaping. Gradually, the clamor fell away, and the once-bustling street was swallowed by silence. All heads turned, staring down the road in stunned stillness, fixated on the source of the noise.

'Thump, thump, thump!'

The rhythm of the horses' hooves grew louder, more pronounced, like the ominous pulse of an earthquake. Out of the heat and dust of the afternoon sun emerged two towering warhorses, each more than two meters tall, draped in gleaming black armor that caught the dim light.

The sight of them was overwhelming. Their massive heads were masked in iron, eyes glinting beneath dark visors as they surveyed the road ahead. Each hoof fell with the weight of destiny, and together they moved like a wall of steel, impenetrable, unstoppable. It was as if they had risen from the depths of the underworld itself.

The onlookers could hardly breathe. These beasts, each weighing over two tons; moved with the slow, deliberate pace of something far beyond the reach of ordinary men. On their backs sat two knights clad in heavy armor, their figures equally imposing. As they passed, a murmur rippled through the crowd.

"Knights? Here?" a voice whispered, barely above a breath.

Another responded in disbelief, "A knight? It's been years since we've seen one in Border Town."

"And even if they do come," another muttered darkly, "what good will it do? They'll leave like all the others…"

There was a flicker of something fragile in the faces of those who watched; hope, maybe, but it was quickly overshadowed by resignation. They had seen too much loss, too much disappointment.

A small boy stood with his mother, eyes wide as he watched the knights ride by. His gaze was filled with wonder, the dream of something more than this border town had ever offered. He tugged at his mother's sleeve, his voice soft but earnest. "Mom, when I grow up, I want to be a knight."

His mother pulled him close, holding him tightly against her, her arms wrapping around him as if to shield him from the harshness of the world. She said nothing for a long moment, then whispered, almost to herself, "You are a good child…"

But in her heart, she knew the truth. Border Town had not seen a knight in over a decade. The last of them had vanished, swallowed by the endless wars on the frontier. What remained were the scars of their absence; thieves, hunger, and sorrow.

A grizzled man stumbled past, a bottle of wine clutched tightly in his hand. He was drunk, his clothes disheveled, his face etched with the bitterness of loss. "Damn the front lines!" he shouted, the smell of alcohol thick on his breath. "My brothers, my sons: gone! And for what? Now we've got thieves running rampant, and the town's falling apart!"

Meanwhile, William and the Forum Master rode their warhorses in silence, the slow rhythm of hooves guiding them toward the town's edge. The narrow streets of Border Town weren't meant for such beasts to gallop, the noise and danger too great for its humble dwellers.

As they approached the outskirts, they passed a gambling house. Standing in the doorway was a man: thin, scruffy, and with the air of someone who had lived through more than his share of trouble. He looked to be in his thirties or forties, his eyes gleaming with a mix of amusement and intrigue. His posture was loose, casual, as though nothing in the world could rattle him.

His gaze fell first on William, eyes narrowing slightly in surprise. Then, with a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, he turned his attention to the Forum Master.

"Oh, heading out already?" he called out, his tone playful, bordering on mocking. "How confident are you, really?"

The Forum Master glanced at him but gave nothing away. "I don't know yet," he replied, his voice steady, cool. "But it's worth the risk."

The man leaned against the doorframe, grinning wider now. "A gamble, huh? Care for some company?"

The Forum Master shrugged. "If you're willing to take the chance, why not?"

And with that, the horses trotted on, their thundering hooves fading into the distance, leaving the town and its quiet, broken hopes; behind.

The man waved his hand dismissively, a lazy smile curling on his lips. "I only have a little capital to my name," he said, his voice dripping with indifference. "I can't compare to the wealth and power of your family. But it doesn't matter, I've got nothing to lose."

The Forum Master and William exchanged a glance before stepping out of the gambling house, leaving the dimly lit interior behind. As they moved into the open air, William frowned slightly and glanced back over his shoulder.

"Who was that?" William asked, his voice tinged with curiosity.

The Forum Master chuckled softly. "Just a gambler," he said, the amusement evident in his tone.

William watched as the man strolled back into the gambling house without a care in the world, shaking his head in silence. The title fit the man like a second skin, and William found there was little more to say.

As they continued on their way, a few familiar faces from the town appeared, players from the gambling dens. They waved and called out.

"Brother! Forum Master! Best of luck!"

William returned their waves with a brief nod, but the time for pleasantries was over. They were leaving Border Town now, and there was work to be done.

Once they crossed the town's edge, the warhorses responded immediately, picking up speed. The air was suddenly filled with the rumble of hooves, growing louder with each passing second. The earth itself seemed to tremble beneath them as they raced forward, a cloud of dust rising in their wake.

It felt like the charge of a thousand horses; unstoppable, powerful, a force of nature.

Above them, the white-faced owl swooped down, its wings cutting through the air. It called out, its voice sharp and clear like water trickling from a mountain spring.

"Dragon Blood Village; thieves are everywhere!"

The message was a warning and a guide, pointing them toward their next destination. Dragon Blood Village was close, nestled near the border town and the rugged terrain of Dragon Valley. The audacity of the thieves, striking so near, could mean only one thing: they were growing bolder, more desperate. Who knew what chaos they would cause in the days to come?

The warhorses pressed on, their pace relentless, the dust swirling behind them like the breath of a storm. Within minutes, they had covered dozens of miles, the landscape blurring past in a rush of speed and power.

From his vantage point high on the ridge, William could see the scene unfolding below. A dozen or so figures, scattered across both sides of the narrow road, moved nervously in the wilderness, their eyes darting in all directions. The sudden thunder of hooves had shaken them, they knew something was coming.

Then they saw the knights.

William's lips curled into a savage grin as he leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. He could feel the thrill of the hunt rising in his chest, a fierce energy coursing through him.

"Hunting time," he muttered under his breath, his grip tightening on the reins.

'Here we go.'

The warhorses charged forward, faster and faster, the knights leaning into the wind as they bore down on the thieves. It wasn't a battle, it was a massacre. William met no resistance, and there was no time for the thieves to react. The sheer force of the warhorses' charge was overwhelming, their massive bodies crashing through the scattered group like a tidal wave.

One by one, the thieves were trampled beneath the iron hooves of the magic horses, their bodies crushed as easily as if they were nothing more than fragile twigs. There was no escape. The horses plowed through the enemies, leaving only devastation in their wake. It was like watching children chase helpless chicks; each step bringing another life to an abrupt, bloody end.

William's grin widened into a ferocious smile as he unsheathed his silver-white knight's lance. He swung it with ruthless precision, each thrust and slice taking another life, another victory. The lance gleamed in the afternoon sun, cutting through the air like a sword of vengeance.

The ground was littered with bodies, the remains of what had once been a band of thieves, now reduced to nothing more than scattered meat and broken bones. William's heart pounded with the thrill of the slaughter, and for a brief moment, he reveled in the sheer power of it all.

It wasn't a battle, it was a bloodbath. A massacre.

And William was reaping.

The moment the thieves realized they were no match, panic gripped them. Fear flashed across their faces as they scattered in all directions, fleeing like wild animals caught in a trap. They ran for their lives, their terror palpable.

But escape wasn't an option. From another direction, the Forum Master charged in, cutting off their retreat. His warhorse moved with terrifying speed, as if it was an extension of his own will. Together with William, they swiftly encircled the small group of thieves, cutting them down with merciless precision.

The clash was over almost before it had truly begun. The ground was littered with bodies, and the air hung heavy with the scent of blood and dust. William's pulse was still racing, his eyes glinting with the remnants of battle-lust. He hadn't had his fill, the adrenaline still surging through his veins. But the thieves had all been dispatched too quickly.

The Forum Master, pale but composed, dismounted from his warhorse. He began to calmly collect the scattered equipment left behind by the fallen thieves, his hands steady despite the chaos that had just unfolded.

"Fourteen," came a sharp voice from above. The white-faced owl circled overhead, its keen eyes counting the fallen with eerie accuracy.

Before anyone could catch their breath, the owl gave another cry. "To the south, there are more thieves! Their tracks are fresh!"

Without hesitation, the warhorses changed direction, responding instantly to the urgency of their riders. Agile and swift, they raced across the rough terrain, hooves pounding the earth. Within ten minutes, the two knights found themselves closing in on another group of thieves, wandering aimlessly through the wilderness.

These thieves were a sorry sight, scattered across the barren land, weighed down by sacks of stolen goods. Their weapons, still slick with the blood of their last victims, told the story of their cruelty. But now, their brutality was met with fear as they saw the knights bearing down on them.

"Knights!" one of the thieves screamed, his voice breaking with terror. The others barely had time to react.

The leader of the bandits, however, was a different breed. Wild-eyed and reckless, he faced the oncoming cavalry with defiance, knowing full well his end was near. With a roar, he raised his axe high and hurled it toward the approaching warhorse. The axe struck the magic horse's armor with a harsh clang, sparks flying where steel met steel.

But the warhorse didn't even flinch. Its massive body thundered forward without pause, its momentum unstoppable. The thief leader stood there, frozen, as the warhorse trampled over him with terrifying force. The man was lifted off his feet, sent flying through the air like a rag doll. His body crashed to the ground some thirty meters away, his bones shattered. He was dead before he could even scream.

The rest of the thieves, seeing their leader's gruesome fate, broke into a full panic. They scattered in every direction, desperate to escape the slaughter. But the warhorses were like the wind; swift, unrelenting. There was no escape.

William, riding with deadly precision, drew his longbow from his side. With practiced ease, he nocked a feathered arrow, pulling the bowstring taut until it hummed with tension. His eyes locked onto a thief fleeing in the distance, nearly two hundred meters away.

'Whoosh!'

The arrow flew like a bolt of lightning, cutting through the air with deadly accuracy. It struck the thief squarely in the back. He stumbled forward, falling to the ground, his life snuffed out before he could reach safety.

Close behind, the Forum Master charged in on his warhorse, his weapon a blur as he cut through the remaining thieves. His strikes were clean, efficient, each swing of his blade reaping lives as effortlessly as a farmer harvesting wheat.

William, meanwhile, continued to fire arrows, his skill with the bow steadily improving with each shot. While he had only basic training with such a weapon, his superior physical abilities, his quick reflexes, sharp eyesight, and honed coordination; allowed him to adapt quickly. Though he wasn't a sharpshooter, his natural prowess made up for any lack of experience.

Each thief that fell beneath their might was a reminder of the gap between ordinary men and knights. For warriors like William and the Forum Master, these battles were mere exercises in precision and power. The thieves never stood a chance.

The battlefield grew quiet once more, the echo of the knights' victory fading into the wilderness. Only the wind whispered now, carrying with it the final breaths of those who had thought they could outrun their fate.

William stood tall in his heavy armor, the weight of his knightly identity pressing on him in more ways than one. He glanced at the slingshot hanging from his saddle and scoffed to himself. 'A slingshot? How childish!'

That simple tool, once an amusement from his younger days, felt entirely beneath him now. Only children played with such things. It had no place in the hands of a knight. And he was no child anymore, he was a warrior. His longbow, with its impressive range and precision, suited him far better.

In his capable hands, it became an extension of his will, and though his skill with the bow was still developing, his sharp vision and quick reflexes made every arrow count.

Ahead, a thief was fleeing, his back turned, weaving through the wilderness in a desperate attempt to escape. The man was a moving target, making it harder to land a killing blow. William nocked an arrow, drew the bowstring, and released. The arrow flew true, striking the thief in the leg, sending him staggering to the ground, his escape cut short.

But the shot hadn't been fatal. William's accuracy wasn't enough to strike a vital spot while the thief was on the run. The man writhed on the ground, wounded and helpless, no longer a threat but not yet dead.

This was the moment when the Forum Master would step in. Though his physical strength and battle skills were not on par with William's, he made up for it with strategic precision. Riding up swiftly, the Forum Master finished the job with his sword, his movements efficient and ruthless. For him, it was about reaping the rewards, not delivering the most spectacular blow.

Their teamwork was seamless. William would incapacitate the targets, while the Forum Master would move in to clean up. Between the two of them, they managed to eliminate every last one of the thirty thieves in the group. It was a brutal, but necessary victory.

After the fight, the two dismounted and began to clear the battlefield. The spoils of war lay scattered across the ground, armor, weapons, and gear dropped by the fallen thieves. Their in-game backpacks were already full, so they strapped the extra loot to their warhorses, letting the trophies dangle from the saddles like tokens of conquest.

"I'm almost level 7!" the Forum Master exclaimed, carefully averting his eyes from the lifeless bodies as he focused on his game interface. He was nearly vibrating with excitement. The experience points were flowing in faster than he had anticipated.

For most players, the jump from level 5 to level 7 would take at least three days of grinding, but the Forum Master's rapid progress had been boosted by their cooperative efforts. In the game, experience points were awarded based on active participation in combat, and while the Forum Master had certainly played a part, most of the credit belonged elsewhere.

If you had to break it down, Grazer, the powerful warhorse, had contributed a solid 60% of the effort, plowing through enemies like a force of nature. William's well-placed arrows and skillful combat accounted for another 30%, leaving the Forum Master with the remaining 10%; a small share, but enough to keep his level rising steadily.

William glanced at her own experience bar and sighed. Her progress was slower, only a modest increase after such an intense battle. "It's easier to level up in the early stages," she muttered, her lips curling in mild frustration. For all the thieves they had taken down, she had only gained a little over a hundred experience points. It was a decent amount, but not nearly what she had hoped for.

Still, the battle hadn't been without rewards. The attributes she had absorbed from the thieves had accumulated to over 30 points, a significant boost to her stats. Her speed, strength, and agility were all improving: small, incremental changes that would pay off in future battles.

After a brief rest, they exchanged battle notes, each reflecting on the fight's highs and lows. William admired the Forum Master's growing confidence and strategy, while the Forum Master learned from William's precision and decisiveness. Their camaraderie was growing as quickly as their skills.

But the moment of quiet didn't last long. Suddenly, the white-faced owl swooped down, its sharp cry cutting through the air.

"Urgent to the east! Target: Windmill Village! The situation is critical!"

Without a word, the two knights mounted their warhorses, their faces set in determination. There was no time to waste. Windmill Village needed them, and they would ride again into battle, ready to face whatever challenge awaited them.