From the moment I was chosen by the holy relic

Before dawn had fully unveiled the veil of night, the earth awoke to the sound of travelers' footsteps. The horses' breath was warm, and a light mist rose from the grass, like a dream lost for a thousand years returning to the wilderness. The iron buckles jingled softly, whispering with the rhythm of the moving leather; it was the morning song of armor, the silent ritual of travelers.

Eileen led the way, her clothes billowing in the morning breeze, casting a long, slanting shadow on the still-frosty ground. She glanced back at Eric and Leah, who was kicking at the dewdrops on their shoes, muttering, "Getting up early is such a cruel punishment."

No one responded. Silence had become their norm lately, especially after experiencing the Thousand-Faced Illusion. The echoes of victory seemed to have been sealed deep in their memories, while reality was closing in step by step. They were stepping into a deeper river, a path for the nameless.

The eastern forest path is decaying, with withered branches and entwined vines. A thin mist rises, and sunlight, like a sealed-away past, filters through the gaps in the trees, dappling the traveler's helmet and shoulder armor like an ancient blessing.

Ahead lay a marshy area, its low-lying sections teeming with mud and water, the ground carpeted with decaying leaves. Without a map, the traveler would likely have already lost his way. Eric remained silent, but his hand never strayed from the hilt of his sword. He was accustomed to sensing danger in silence; it was an instinct ingrained in his very bones.

"Eileen." He finally spoke, his voice like an arrow piercing through the mist.

"Um?"

"Did you hear that?"

"What?"

"The sound of crying."

Eileen pulled on the reins and stopped. She tilted her head slightly, and indeed, intermittent weeping came from afar, faint as the wind dampening a crack in the rocks, yet undeniably real.

The three quickly approached the slope, their feet sinking into soft, wet mud, the messy footprints still damp. After crossing a patch of overgrown grass, they finally spotted the group of people.

It was a caravan of exiles, perhaps once residents of an entire village, now nothing more than weary shadows slowly moving through the woods. Their eyes were vacant, as if all sorrow had been exhausted, leaving only instinct to keep their bodies moving. Children walked with their heads down, broken jars and bundles tied in knots at their feet. Occasionally, someone coughed, and traces of mud and blood lingered in the air.

Eileen frowned and pulled on the reins: "Don't get too close."

"They have no weapons," Eric said in a low voice, his gaze fixed on the old woman sitting on the ground ahead of him.

"Perhaps he/she is sick."

Leah curled her lip dismissively: "They don't even have the strength left."

Eric had already dismounted, mud splashing onto his boots, but he seemed oblivious. He stepped forward quietly and whispered, "Wait for me."

As he approached the old woman, she was cradling a sleeping infant, her lips cracked and dry like a parched well in ruins. Eric knelt down and whispered, "Where do you come from?"

The old woman remained silent, her eyes wary, until he handed her the water bag. Only then did she say in a trembling voice, "Mel...we came from Mel."

The name struck him like a cold stone: Mel Gold Mine Town. He remembered it. It had once boasted rich mines, a sanctuary, and an old clock tower; now it was a ruined border contested by two nations.

He took a deep breath, turned to Eileen, and whispered, "The small town on the border of Nosteria and Ferian... that's where they escaped."

"I guessed it," Eileen said coldly. "You want to help them?"

"I can't just watch them die here like this."

"Eric, these are not your country's border residents. They crossed the border, and Iser will treat them as illegal immigrants and send them back to the war zone."

Eric didn't answer immediately. He looked at the group of people, their chapped lips, their pale, hungry fingernails, and the handmade bells tied to the corners of the children's clothes—ornaments that should have been worn on holidays, but now tied to a tattered cloth to remind the children that they were still with their mothers.

"I know," he finally said, "but if we don't do something, what kind of travelers are we on this journey?"

"I think I understand now," Eileen suddenly whispered, "why Hui Zhujian chose you."

Eric glanced at her, blushed, scratched his head, and whispered, "It's not just me, everyone does that, right?"

Eileen just smiled but didn't say anything.

He turned and raised his voice to the refugees: "My name is Eric, and I am on my way to Elgarden. I will request the royal family to grant you land to settle you. Those who wish to travel with me, please step forward."

He had barely finished speaking when whispers arose from the crowd. A moment later, a hunched old man stepped forward, his eyes sharp as blades: "Why should we believe you? You're a stranger; why would you help us for no reason? Are you trying to scam us for the reward?"

Leah couldn't help but raise her voice: "Show some respect when you speak."

Eric reached out to stop her. He showed no anger, no explanation, but silently took out a silver badge from his pocket, a knighthood awarded by Nosteria.

"I swear in the name of knighthood that every word I have spoken is the truth."

The old man was stunned. Still not entirely convinced, he pressed on, "But you are not a subject of Iser. What makes you think King Iser will listen to you?"

At that moment, Eric slowly opened his pouch, took out a silver ring from the inner layer, and held it up to the sunlight. Just then, the sunlight pierced through the thin mist and shone on his fingertips.

A pale blue moon is reflected in the center of the lake.

That was the mark of Wang Zhiyou.

The ring shone brightly as the morning mist and sunlight mingled. The azure moon lay serenely on the silvery surface, like a lake reflecting the sky, calm and solemn, as if carrying the silent will of another world.

The old man stared at it blankly, his expression shifting from wariness to hesitation, and finally to a heavy silence. His Adam's apple bobbed a few times, as if a thousand words were stuck in his throat, ultimately unable to be uttered easily.

The surrounding refugees gradually quieted down. Some recognized the emblem on the ring, while others were unaware of its meaning, but all instinctively sensed something unusual—a "commitment" sharper than force and heavier than an oath.

"Have you really seen the king?" The old man's voice was hoarse, as if it came from a deep well.

"After winning the Thousand Faces Tournament, he personally presented me with this ring," Eric said calmly and firmly. "He said, 'For the rest of your life, if anyone questions whether you are a friend of Iser, show him this.'"

He took the ring back with the solemnity of handling a sacred object, then took out dry rations, water, and a packet of salted dried meat from his bag and offered them with both hands.

“You don’t need to believe me right away,” Eric said, “but you’ve come too far and suffered too much. Eat something first.”

The old man's gaze wavered. He looked up at the distant sky, where the clouds broke and the morning light poured down, as if on this land long since blackened by war, someone was still keeping watch for the dawn.

He finally reached out and took the food and water.

"Please...please forgive me," the old man whispered. "We fled from Mel and traveled for fifteen days, encountering nothing but patrols, liars, robbers, and hunger along the way. It has been far too long since I've met anyone who truly wanted to help us."

Eric helped him up, his tone as gentle as spring rain on a plain: "I didn't take it to heart. It's already quite an achievement to have made it this far alive."

The old man leaned against a withered tree root, tore off a mouthful of dry rations, and his lips trembled as if he were tasting the familiar flavors of his homeland that he hadn't seen in years. The young people around him looked at Eric with undisguised hope in their eyes, and they all bowed their heads in respect.

Eileen stood silently to the side, not uttering a word, simply watching the scene before her. Her hand gently brushed the horse's mane, a warmth she hadn't felt in many years rising in her heart, as if that heavy world wasn't entirely forged of cold iron.

Leah remained leaning against the tree trunk, arms crossed, muttering, "What a nuisance."

But she quietly tossed her water bag into the crowd as well. A small, thin child reached out to take it, but hesitated, glancing at her. She frowned: "What? Take it if you want it. I'm not a monster."

The child smiled, her voice soft yet clear and bright: "Thank you, sister."

Leah turned her head away: "Don't shout."

The refugees gradually gathered around, their initial fear and doubt replaced by silent gratitude. They expressed their thanks in the simplest way: bowing, saluting, and making way for each other.

"Would you like to come with me to Elgarden?" Eric asked again.

This time, there were no questions.

"We are willing," the old man answered first, placing his hand on his chest and bowing deeply. "We will obey you. Whatever the outcome, at least this time, we are not walking alone."

A soft murmur of agreement arose from the crowd. It wasn't fervor, but rather the crackling sound of a newly lit campfire, carrying smoke and dust, yet possessing warmth.

Eric nodded and stood up.

"We need to quicken our pace," Eileen finally spoke, her tone regaining its usual calm and clarity. "As per your current promise, we must reach Elgarden before the border guards patrol, or none of them will escape."

"I know," Eric replied softly.

They distributed enough food and water to the refugees, and gave up two of their horses for the children and the elderly. Eric and Eileen walked side by side, their steps steady as the knights in the training grounds of yesteryear, while Leah always lagged behind, seemingly disdainful, yet her eyes sharp, occasionally scanning the group around her.

That evening, the setting sun cast its rays like copper coins across the foothills, illuminating a line of shadows of all shapes and sizes that stretched out like a silent river deep in the forest path.

This is no longer just the journey of three travelers, but a march carrying a heavy story.

They were just passersby in the fog, but now they have become the guardians of the flame.

Before nightfall, the old man leaned against Eric and whispered, "You're a good man, but you're too young."

Eric watched as the distant stars gradually brightened in the sky, and replied in a calm voice, "But this world is too old."

Neither of them spoke again.

Let only the sound of footsteps, starlight, and the chirping of insects in the forest accompany them as they walk toward that unknown dawn.

As they traversed a narrow river valley between Misty Valley and Silversholm, the sound of patrol horns rang out in the morning mist, sharp as silver armor shattering in the wind. Four Ither knights clad in blue-silver armor appeared on the forest path, their swords still sheathed, yet their eyes already betrayed their vigilance.

They sized up the unusual group consisting of three soldiers and dozens of ragged people. The old, women and children, the lame, the horse handlers... they seemed like shadows of a defeated army, or a small, stubborn spark among the refugees.

The leader said in a deep voice, "This is the royal road; unregistered refugees are not allowed to pass. Please show your travel documents."

Eric stepped forward first. He raised his right hand and slowly removed the silver ring of the King's Friend, placing it in the sunlight.

As light and shadow intertwined, the azure moon and lake emblem on the ring seemed to peek out like stars, their soft glow dreamlike, like snow falling on a still lake, awakening in the knights the deep-seated reverence for their old oaths and royal mandate.

The knight stepped forward without a word to confirm, slightly bent his knees, and bowed his head in greeting: "Friend of the King, please forgive my intrusion."

Eric nodded in acknowledgment, then looked at the group: "They are following me to Elgarden."

The leading knight asked no more questions, turned around, and gestured for his men to make way. The group resumed their journey.

Eileen glanced at Eric, her voice tinged with a hint of amusement: "You're the most Iser among the three of us now."

"I'm only temporarily borrowing the king's light," Eric said in a low voice. "Once I've explained things clearly, this light may no longer be with me."

They continued onward, and the ring, which Eric put back on his right hand, was hidden under his glove, like a heavy debt rather than an ornament of honor.