[219]THE RED SILVER KNIGHT

THE RED SILVER KNIGHT

CHAPTER ONE: THE ELF AND THE HOODED MAN

Long ago—before the great war shattered the world—magic filled the earth. Elves, Ogres, Witches, and Humans lived under the same sky. Humans were the only race without power, mocked and treated as weak.

That mockery ended when the Ogres tried to conquer them.

The smell of blood drowned the air as a brutal war erupted between humans and ogres. Humans were nearly wiped out… until they snapped. They created monsters capable of tearing apart fifty full-grown dragons. They forged weapons using the blood of the gods: a spear, a shield, a wizard’s staff, and a sword. These weapons were given to the Knights—warriors clad in red armor. No beast could stand against them.

Their leader held the sword. Some said he was the strongest man alive. His name was Alington the Great.

In a crowded bar, a man named Crazy Joe told this story loudly to anyone who would listen. Only one person stayed silent—a hooded stranger sitting alone. When Joe finished, the stranger stood up, irritated, and stepped outside for air while it was raining.

He took a breath… turned his head… and saw a girl in the rain. The girl stood under the dim lantern light, rain dripping from her cloak. Her eyes darted around the street like she expected death to jump out of the shadows. Then he noticed the detail that didn’t belong in a human town at all:

Long, pointed ears.

An elf.

Before he could process it, she took off and looked straight at him. Not with trust—more like someone who wanted to run but had already run out of places.

A shout cracked through the street.

“There! Don’t let her escape!”

The hooded man sighed. “Of course.”

Three royal knights charged after her, armor clattering as they pushed through the rain. The girl spun and bolted down a narrow corridor, but the passage twisted and ended at a stone wall.

A dead end.

She pressed her back against it, breathing hard as the knights closed in.

“She’s trapped,” one said, gripping his weapon. “Creature of the old world. You don’t belong here.” The man in the hood was picking at them. One said, “Now you must disappear out of existence!” The hooded man stepped into the corridor before they could get any closer.

“That’s funny,” he said, his voice calm. “I thought knights were supposed to protect people. Not hunt unarmed girls.”

“Move aside,” the leader barked. “This is no girl. It’s a demon wearing cheap cloth that is blinding you!”

The hooded man tilted his head. “You talk too much.”

The knights tensed.

He didn’t draw a weapon. He didn’t need to.

In three quick movements—clean, sharp, nothing flashy—the first knight hit the ground, the second stumbled into a wall, and the third backed away, realizing he was completely outmatched.

“Leave,” the hooded man said.

The knights ran.

Silence returned with a scream.

The elf girl stared at him, uncertain whether he was another threat or her only chance.

He pulled back his hood slightly. Not enough to reveal everything—just enough to show he wasn’t like the knights.

“You can stand there and hope they don’t bring friends,” he said, “or you can walk with me and stay alive for a little longer.”

She swallowed, then nodded.

“Good choice,” he said. “Now move.”

The hooded man stepped closer, studying her face. She looked young, exhausted, and completely out of place in the human kingdom. Her cloak was torn, her breathing shaky, but her eyes… her eyes held something old. Something dangerous.

Before he could speak, the ground trembled.

A distant horn echoed through the streets.

The elf girl flinched. “They found me again,” she whispered.

“Who?” the hooded man asked.

She opened her mouth, but a crash cut her off—armor slamming against stone. More knights were approaching, faster this time, and not just ordinary soldiers. Their armor carried the symbol of the Red Silver Knights… but twisted, corrupted, darkened.

The hooded man frowned. “Those aren’t the real knights.”

“They’re not,” she said. “They’re called the Howling Wolves. They hunt anyone with ancient blood.”

“And you have ancient blood?” he asked.

She hesitated only a moment before nodding. “I’m the last daughter of Eloria. They want me because… because of what I can wake.”

The hooded man exhaled sharply.

“Great,” he muttered. “Exactly what I needed… more problems.”

The Howling Wolves marched into the corridor, shields raised, eyes cold and empty.

“There she is,” one said. “Step aside or die! The girl belongs to us.”

The hooded man stepped forward, blocking their path. “No. She belongs to nobody, fat face!”

The leader pointed his spear at him. “What did you call me! Do you know who you’re talking to? I will let that slide, boy!”

He shrugged. “Don’t care, fat, stupid old man!”

The Howling Wolves grew mad, but the hooded man stood like someone who had seen wars worse than theirs. Someone who wasn’t afraid of anything.

Then, without warning, the elf girl grabbed the hooded man’s sleeve.

“We have to leave,” she whispered urgently. “If they capture me… they’ll find the sword of your grandfather.”

That got his attention.

His eyes narrowed.

“What! The sword? Which...?”

“The sword of Alington the Great,” she said. “Your people’s greatest weapon.”

The hooded man froze—just for a heartbeat.

Then he turned around.

“Alright,” he said. “Change of plans. We’re leaving.”

He grabbed her arm lightly—not rough, just firm—and pulled her past him as he stepped forward to face the Howling Wolves.

“If you want her,” he told them, “you’ll have to go through me.”

“No! We have to survive now,” Ash shouted, her voice trembling with urgency. “If you cannot fight them all, they will just keep coming!”

The hooded man stepped forward, letting the wind whip his cloak around him. Slowly, he pulled back his hood, revealing a calm, determined face.

“We will be out of here in no time,” he said, his voice steady and commanding. “I am Hallan, the last of my line. I am descended from Alington the Great.”

The soldiers laughed cruelly, their swords glinting under the fading light. Ten Howling Wolves surrounded them, snarling, circling like predators.

Ash’s heart pounded. They were outnumbered ten to two. Every instinct screamed run, but she could feel Hallan’s confidence radiating like a shield around her.

Hallan’s hand rested lightly on his sword. “Numbers mean nothing,” he murmured. “We fight smart, we fight together, and we will survive.”

The Howling Wolves lunged. The battle was about to begin. Will the two win?