Amber Sword

The beams of light intermingled with the rain, and from afar, it seemed as if the raindrops passing through them had turned into pure gold.

Everyone looked up, as a crack opened in the dark clouds above, which had not allowed a single ray of sunlight through. Pure white light, like wings, descended from behind the cloud layer, gently blessing the crowns of the citizens below.

Rays of light pierced through the clouds and descended upon the harbor.

Reid Dulo stood by the window, this old soldier seemed to be infusing his entire life’s strength into his stance, standing ramrod straight.

Only his hands were tightly clenched into fists.

The Ancient King walked on the cloud tops, observing in silence, yet the descendants could only remain speechless. Do the nobles of Erune still remember the oath engraved upon the longsword?

They could not respond.

"Sir Knight." Marquis Balta sat restlessly, feeling the same stirring within, but what scared him more was the possibility that this old Knight might suddenly change his mind. Although he was already the Commander of the White Lion Legion, Reid, this venerable Imperial Lion, commanded greater respect and authority among the troops.

The old man slowly turned around, his expression resolute, with a flicker of light deep within his gray eyes, as if nurturing determination. He raised his head and said slowly, "Belta, the White Lion Legion has long lost the banner in its heart, but for this reason, we cannot lose our honor as soldiers—"

"To this day, if the Ancestor King demands an answer from us, yet we have long deviated from that radiant path, we can only answer Your Majesty with the last dignity of this kingdom’s army—the White Lion Legion, until death."

The White Lion Legion, until death.

Marquis Balta froze, looking at the tall figure of the old Knight, while outside the window, at the edge of the sky, amidst the storm, lightning occasionally struck down. How many times, in his youth, he too was reckless and idealistic, but the political machinations and court struggles had long eroded all of that, leaving him unsure of what he truly lost in exchange.

In that moment, he suddenly saw himself as that youthful figure once more, holding a lance, banners flying high, galloping across the highlands—lance gleaming, trumpet sounding melodiously—only to realize how close he had once been to his ideals.

That is the history of Erune.

The Marquis felt his eyes moisten, as he bowed deeply, out of respect to his mentor. Only now did he realize he finally completed the last lesson of a Knight.

Perseverance.

"The Cruz people also had glory," a voice quietly said, "but we learned to compromise. Ideals and reality do not always blend harmoniously, a heart free and resolute is indeed admirable, but those who achieve self-sacrifice are equally worthy of respect."

The owner of the voice lowered his head, slightly bowing to Reid Dulo.

The old man, with reddened eyes, shook his head, choking up, "Wood, my old friend, the Eruein people are bleeding."

"I understand, I understand," Ambeser’s former Great Priest stood on one side of the room, unable to resist gently closing his eyes, visibly moved. With a heavy sigh, he said, "Eck established a kingdom teeming with heroes, I’m sorry..."

It was at this moment that an attendant wearing a sacrificial robe suddenly burst in, alarmed and exclaiming, "Lord of Priest, they are resonating so intensely, we’re quickly losing control."

Wood seemed unaware, only sighed looking at the window towards Ambeser, regarding this kingdom he knew, these people he understood, even in their final moments, some continued to fight for it.

But regardless of right or wrong, at least they had courage; compared to those shivering in the dark as cowards, at least there were those battling against destiny.

Yet one day, when Kruz sees its sun set and the empire’s radiance fades, what scene will it be then?

"Lord of Priest?"

"Do your best, they, no... he will eventually sense it," Wood answered without turning, remembering the young man he saw that day, shaking his head, "but regardless of right or wrong, some things we must do."

"As for the outcome."

"Leave it to history—"

...

The light descending between the clouds seemed like a giant hand, its immense pressure pinning everyone to the ground.

It’s the curtain call!

Karen, clutching his longsword, stood in the torrential rain, wanting nothing more than to weep openly, perhaps the tears already flowed, blending with the raindrops. He witnessed the golden light as it seemed to part the rain curtain, falling upon the opposing army, and at that moment, he realized, regardless of the outcome, this would be the last performance of the kingdom’s White Lion Legion.