chapter 15.3

Beneath the pitch-black sky, Alcard rode steadily, letting the cold night air bite against his skin as his horse carried him along the dimly lit path. The damp scent of earth and wet leaves drifted through the air, blending with the rhythmic sound of hooves striking the ground. Though his body moved forward, his mind remained entangled in the enigma of his encounter with Reinhard—the figure he had only known from ancient tales.

"Jotun," he muttered, his voice barely audible over the whispering wind weaving through the trees. "Beings said to have been created by the gods… the keepers of the world's balance."

He tried to piece together the fragments of stories he had heard as a child—tales told by elders on quiet nights, as if they were nothing more than bedtime myths. But now, after witnessing the truth with his own eyes, after hearing the words from the lips of a Jotun himself, he could no longer dismiss them as mere legend.

"The Jotun and the dragons… two forces that once safeguarded this world," he mused. "They were said to have worked together, preserving the balance between the mortal realm and something far greater. But like everything in history, that balance was inevitably broken."

He recalled the recurring theme in every culture's folklore—a great war that had shaken the foundations of the world.

"The conflict among the Jotun," he murmured the words, letting them settle in his mind. "No one truly knows the cause. Only that it led to destruction beyond comprehension."

Two names emerged from the depths of his memory. Reinhard, the protector of the world, and Bahamud, the harbinger of chaos, whose path left nothing but ruin.

"Reinhard…" Alcard spoke the name with careful thought. "He is said to have saved the world not once, but twice."

He tried to envision the events of history. In the First Era, Reinhard had allegedly led the three major races—humans, elves, and dwarves—against Bahamud's betrayal, which threatened to unravel the world's equilibrium. After securing an improbable victory, Reinhard built the Tower of Jotun, a towering structure symbolizing unity among the three races, a beacon of peace and wisdom.

But Alcard exhaled sharply, almost scoffing at his own thoughts. "That tower… people consider it nothing more than a myth. No one has ever found it."

His thoughts shifted to the Second Era, when Reinhard once again emerged, this time facing an even greater threat as Bahamud returned with an even more terrifying force. And yet, against impossible odds, the three races united once more under Reinhard's leadership to stand against the devastation. They had won—at a cost so great that even history hesitated to record it. After that battle, Reinhard had created something tangible, something that still stood to this day—The Wall.

The massive barrier that separated Middle Earth from the southern lands, the final defense against the remnants of darkness.

Alcard took a deep breath, his eyes fixed ahead, yet his mind remained lost in questions without answers.

"The Wall… I've spent my life there, fighting, surviving, watching the world from behind that barrier. If The Wall is real, then perhaps… the Tower of Jotun is real as well."

And yet, despite slowly accepting that these legends might be more than just stories, something gnawed at him.

"If Reinhard is real… if he is truly the world's protector as they claim, then why has he allowed the world to fracture like this? Why does he remain hidden while Middle Earth plunges deeper into chaos? The Lords wage their petty wars, the people suffer, and no one moves to stop it."

His fingers tightened around the reins as frustration bubbled within him.

"What is he waiting for? If he possesses the power to safeguard the world, why does he let it crumble bit by bit?"

He gritted his teeth, sensing that something was amiss in all of this. It felt as if a piece of the story was missing, something Reinhard and Arwen had deliberately chosen not to reveal.

"What's truly happening behind the scenes?"

The night deepened, and though his thoughts continued to churn, he knew that answers would not come easily. But one thing was now certain—his meeting with Reinhard had shifted his perspective of the world. This was no longer just about Middle Earth, no longer just about the Lords and their deceitful politics. This was something grander, something deeper, something that involved the very balance of existence itself.

"Perhaps, one day, I'll find the truth," he murmured, his gaze lifting to the lonely moon hanging in the dark sky. "And when that time comes… I'll make sure I know which side I stand on."

With newfound resolve simmering within him, Alcard tightened his grip on the reins, urging his horse forward. The sound of hooves echoed into the silence of the night, carrying him back toward The Wall. His journey was nearing its destination, but his quest—for answers, for the truth, and perhaps for his own fate—had only just begun.

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