CHAPTER-13

The Knight said nothing.

A long moment passed, filled only by the steady clatter of the carriage wheels and the soft rustle of leaves above. Then—

"…Aurelia," he asked, his voice low beneath the helm. "What do you know of the Hollow War?"

Aurelia did not respond at first. Her eyes remained fixed on the road ahead, her expression unreadable. Eventually, she let out a slow breath.

"No one knows how it started," she said. "Or why. Or who lit the sparks of war. Some say it was the work of a God. Others blame mortals and their endless pride. But that war… it carved scars into the world that still bleed today."

She glanced at him.

"It wasn't a war of kingdoms. It was a war of realities. Cities burned not just in flame, but in memory. Magic twisted into things it was never meant to be. And when it ended—if it ever truly did—there was no victory. Just… silence. Ash."

The Knight stared forward, as though the weight of her words pressed like fog behind his visor.

"So," he said, "peace returned?"

"Not peace," Aurelia muttered. "Something worse. Normalcy. As if nothing ever happened. As if we learned nothing. As if we're all just… waiting for the next one."

The silence returned.

But it didn't last.

Julian tugged slightly on the reins, and the carriage came to a slow halt.

The Knight looked up—and his eyes narrowed.

Ahead, the trees had thinned slightly, revealing a bend in the forest road. A dozen figures stepped out from the underbrush—filthy, armed, poorly armored. One of them, a man with a cracked axe and a dogskin cloak, raised his hand and spat to the side.

"Well, well!" he barked. "What've we got here? A goddamn carriage....driven by goddamn brat?! Come out you bastards!"

Another man—half his teeth missing—grinned wide. "Give up yer goods! Coins, clothes, food!"

The Knight's gauntlet twitched.

In a breath of shadows, the sword appeared in his hand—solidified from mist, long and jagged like a weapon pulled from a dream. Aurelia turned, slightly impressed.

"…That is an interesting ability" she remarked mildly, already stepping down from the carriage.

The Knight did not respond.

Some of the bandits took a step back.

"Shit… is that a knight?"

"N-No way, he's just dressed like one!"

But their leader scoffed.

"Don't be fools," he said, voice harsh. "No knight travels like that. No bannermen. No retinue. Just a rusty carriage and two brats. He's a sellsword at best."

And with that, he raised his axe.

"Kill 'em!"

They charged.

The Knight moved like falling steel.

One slash split two men at once, black mist bursting from their wounds. Another came with a spear—parried, disarmed, elbow to the throat. The third hesitated; the Knight surged forward and drove his blade through the man's thigh.

Four fell in seconds.

The rest broke formation, trying to flee—but the Knight didn't chase them. He didn't need to.

Julian whistled softly.

"Gods…" the boy muttered with a grin. "You really are a knight."

The Knight turned back, breathing calm, blade still humming with dark resonance. He knelt beside one of the wounded—still alive—and grabbed him by the collar.

"You're not soldiers," he said. "Not even thugs. What are you?"

The man groaned, holding his bleeding leg. "P-Please… we're not—bandits, not really…"

"Then what are you?"

"…Villagers," the man gasped. "From… from Duskglen. W-We're starving. Crops dried. Trade stopped. We—we took to the roads… robbed a few caravans just to survive."

Aurelia approached from behind.

"Then why not hunt?" she asked, voice calm. "You live near one of the oldest forests in Eldrath. Take from it."

The man looked up at her—and for a moment, even in pain, his eyes widened at the sight of her. As if he had glimpsed something divine.

"We can't," he said hoarsely. "We tried. But… that thing."

The Knight's helm turned.

"What thing?"

The man shook. "A beast. Huge. Like a wolf, but walked like a man. Taller than the gatehouse. It speaks, too. Not words—howls. It howls at the moon, and when it does… no one who's in the forest returns. Not whole, anyway."

Aurelia's eyes narrowed.

"A Wolfman?" she whispered. "No… it couldn't be."

The Knight turned to her.

"You know it?"

"I know of them." She crossed her arms beneath her cloak. "The Wolfmen live deep within the Forest of Grimm. That's a cursed place. A crucible of magic and madness. It's where the Werewolf Curse was born. Most Wolfmen never leave their land. They've become one with it."

The Knight glanced toward the road ahead, where the trees thickened once more.

"So what does that make this?"

"If it resembles a Wolfman," Aurelia said, "but lives outside the Grimm… then it isn't a Wolfman."

She met his gaze.

"It's a Werewolf. A human,or some other being,infected. Mutated. Lost to the curse."

The forest ahead groaned with wind.

And somewhere in the distance… a faint, long howl began to rise. Low. Mourning. Monstrous.

"It... it's the b-beast...!!"

The bandits cowered beneath the forest's long shadows, clutching rusted blades as if they might guard them from nightmares made flesh. One of them dropped his sword entirely, eyes locked to the treeline as if the very air had begun to rot.

The Knight turned, helm tilting.

"...What should we do?" he asked Aurelia, his voice as low and even as always, but laced with something colder. Caution.

Aurelia stood still, robes whispering in the breeze. Her pale eyes reflected thought, not panic.

"Helping them may slow us down," she murmured, more to herself than to him. "But to walk away… no, that leaves rot to fester."

She folded her arms, the sunlight catching faint glints of gold in her hair.

"We'll watch it first," she decided at last. "From afar. If the beast is too strong—we leave. We'll find the nearest governing body or noble court. They may ignore these villagers…"

She glanced at the Knight.

"But not someone who looks like you. They'll listen to a warrior."

The Knight gave the smallest nod.

Aurelia turned to the terrified men.

"Take us to your village," she said, firm but not unkind.

One of them, trembling, adjusted the straps of his stolen cuirass. "A-Are you sure?" he asked, voice barely holding together. "It comes at night… sometimes even before moonrise. Killed two children just last week. We… we've buried bones, not bodies."

The Knight said nothing. He simply stared. That was answer enough.