The Rise of the Frisians

The letter from my grandfather arrived just as the final preparations were being made. Sir Leon had recovered from his injuries, and the crusade in the East was progressing faster than we had expected. With each passing day, I felt the weight of anticipation grow. The hunt for the Glacial Wolf was approaching, and soon, Tomas's destiny would be decided.

But before we left for the north, there was another matter to attend to—the horses.

The last month had been a whirlwind of preparations, sword practices, and refining our combat strategies. Yet, amidst the rigorous training, the most incredible outcome of my efforts had been the transformation of the 145 horses from my experiments with purified bloodlines. I had expected improvements, but what we achieved was beyond my wildest imagination.

When the process was complete, the results were nothing short of astonishing. The horses had grown to over 3 meters in height and 4 meters in length, their coats shimmering with the deepest blacks and golds, like the stuff of legends. Each horse had developed razor-sharp spurs on their legs—natural weapons capable of tearing through armor—and their powerful frames radiated an aura of strength and majesty. They were no longer ordinary steeds; they were warhorses forged through alchemy and ancient bloodlines.

The auras they exuded were almost palpable. Even the bravest of knights hesitated in their presence, and the sheer magic that pulsed through them made them beings of awe and wonder.

But among them, there was one horse—one exceptional beast—that stood above the rest.

Nerón. That was the name I chose for him.

Unlike the others, Nerón hadn't changed much in size. He remained slightly shorter than the other horses, but his power was unrivaled. It was as if he had absorbed more of the purified Mantícora bloodline than any of the others, and in doing so, his aura had ascended to a level that rivaled that of a knight at the peak of gold rank.

His coat was an ethereal shade of white, almost silver, with a mane that glistened in the sunlight as if woven from threads of the moon itself. His eyes, a haunting mix of deep red and molten gold, shone with an intelligence that was both fierce and commanding. There was a regal dignity in the way he carried himself—a natural leader, worthy of being called the king of this new breed.

I knew immediately that Nerón was not just any horse. He was something more—something extraordinary. His presence was enough to unsettle even the most hardened warriors, and it was clear that he was meant for someone great.

My grandfather.

The decision had come easily. No one else but the Ex-Duke, Alaric Flower, could truly tame and ride such a magnificent creature. Nerón would be my gift to him—a token of respect and a sign of the strength we carried in our bloodline.

As I shared the news of the horses with my friends, their reactions were a mixture of envy and admiration. Morrison's eyes widened as he ran his hand along the sleek coat of his new steed, a Frisian named Zephyr, whose jet-black mane rippled like the wind itself.

"These horses… they're something else, Raimon," Morrison remarked, his voice filled with awe. "I've never seen anything like them."

Mancil and March stood by their own mounts, their gazes fixed on the powerful creatures that were now theirs to command. Mancil's horse, Inferno, had a mane as dark as the night sky, with flames of gold that seemed to dance along his hooves, while March's horse, Thunderclap, had an aura of stormy energy that crackled with every step.

Each of my companions had received one of these incredible beasts. Even Kira, with her love for magic, had been gifted a horse—Solara, a mare with a shimmering golden mane that sparkled with arcane energy, fitting for a mage of her stature.

As they admired their new companions, I could see the dreams of every knight reflected in their eyes. These horses were no longer just mounts; they were partners in battle, capable of fighting alongside their riders with strength that bordered on the mythical.

When it was time, I approached Nerón, stroking his majestic neck and feeling the incredible power that radiated from him. "You'll serve my grandfather well," I whispered, feeling a connection between us. It was as if Nerón understood me, as if he knew the role he would play in the future.

I turned to my friends, smiling at their enthusiasm. "Take care of them," I said, my voice carrying the weight of responsibility. "These horses are more than just animals now—they're part of our legacy."

Morrison clapped me on the back, grinning. "Don't worry, Raimon. We'll treat them like royalty."

With the horses distributed, our preparations shifted back to the coming expedition. Tomas had arrived at the Institute just a few days before, his body honed from months of relentless training, his mind sharper than ever. The transformation awaiting him—the fusion of the Glacial Wolf's bloodline—would take him beyond his current limits, but he knew he had to be ready.

In the meantime, the focus was on our horses. We spent weeks training them, running through drills and exercises that would prepare them for the rigors of battle. The newly transformed Frisians had to be acclimated to their powers, their auras, and the changes in their bodies.

And so, under the cover of secrecy, we prepared.

The day finally came when we were ready. Tomas stood tall, exuding the aura of a man ready to face destiny. His training had tempered him further, his muscles honed to perfection, his aura like a beacon of determination. He was more than just my right hand—he was the key to the future of our order.

Before leaving, I spent the evening in the grand hall of the Institute, sharing one final meal with my friends and knights. Our conversations flowed with ease, talking of battles fought, plans for the future, and the significance of the horses we had just bonded with.

As the night grew darker, I found myself glancing at Nerón, feeling the weight of everything that lay ahead. The Glacial Wolf still waited in the northern forest, and the bloodline I needed to save Tomas was within reach. All that was left was to take the final step.

With a deep breath, I closed my eyes, picturing the battles to come. The preparation had been long and difficult, but the reward—the future—was just within reach.

And so, with my companions at my side, our horses strong and prepared, we would soon depart for the north, toward the next great adventure—an adventure that would change everything.

We were ready.