A Knight’s Resolve

The sheep grazed languidly across the vast grassland, as a young shepherd, his voice a light melody carried by the wind, guided them onward. The characteristic northern breeze billowed his cloak, revealing the golden ponytail fashioned from his long, flowing hair.

Clutching the diary Eric had given him for his birthday in one hand, he continued to herd his flock. He harbored no concern that any lamb might fall behind; they clung to him, always moving in sync with his steps. The perils and predicaments so often encountered by other shepherds seemed to have, quite remarkably, bypassed him entirely.

A rhythmic clatter of hooves resonated from the distant road, drawing Anto’s gaze upward. The sound, heavier than he was accustomed to, suggested something beyond the usual northern mounts—perhaps a heavy draft horse from the borderlands, or even a warhorse clad in armor. He halted, listening as the thudding grew louder, until a figure materialized into view.

Astride a warhorse sat a knight, her armor distinct from any ordinary soldier. Adorned with a pattern of intertwining roses and crosses, it was the unmistakable emblem of her order. Her long, cherry-pink hair cascaded down, yet it did little to soften the resolute glint in her azure eyes. This was a knight of the Rose Church. Anto recalled Eric mentioning them as a formidable power along the border. Though the young knight appeared quite youthful, she carried an unusual air of unwavering resolve, quite unlike other girls her age.

‘She’ll likely just gallop past me, just like all the others,’ he mused, pulling down the brim of his hat and resuming his task of herding the sheep. He had no desire for interaction with the Church at present; he harbored a distinct aversion to them. Yet, this encounter diverged from the norm: the knight, surprisingly, reined in her horse directly before him.

‘…’ Anto met her gaze. The female knight, in turn, surveyed the young shepherd before her. After a shared moment of silence, Anto was the first to offer a smile, remarking, “The weather is truly splendid today, esteemed Knight.”

‘…Indeed,’ the pink-haired knight replied. “I was hoping you could direct me. Does this road lead to Xinka?”

‘Undoubtedly, yes,’ Anto confirmed. “Though I must say, you are at least the tenth stranger I’ve seen today heading to Xinka from this direction.”

‘…Is that truly the case?’ The young knight shook her head. “Might you also be able to tell me how to reach the church near Xinka village?”

‘…Xinka no longer boasts a church,’ Anto stated. “Only a desolate ruin and a cemetery remain.”

“I merely wish to visit the cemetery.”

“For what purpose?” the shepherd inquired. “To disturb the tranquility of the departed?”

‘…Simply to pay my respects,’ the knight clarified, her gaze fixed upon the shepherd. “Has anyone from the village visited those particular tombstones in recent days?”

‘I wouldn’t know,’ the shepherd replied candidly. “But I, for one, do not share your faith in their deities.”

The knight offered no further words. Instead, the shepherd reached into his satchel, producing something to hand to her.

“This is…”

“If your intention is truly to honor her memory, you cannot arrive empty-handed, can you?” Anto offered the knight a small bouquet of white wildflowers. Though they appeared to be common blossoms, their perfect bloom imbued them with a distinct and understated beauty.

“Thank you kindly… Shepherd.”

“Shepherd… that particular title feels a bit excessive,” Anto couldn’t help but interject. “Typically, only He is accorded the honor of being called the ‘Shepherd’ of all mankind.”

“You possess knowledge of theology?” the knight suddenly inquired, turning her head. The shepherd merely continued his stride, leaning on his staff. “A mere smattering. Basic knowledge. If you, too, have come seeking the so-called Holy Child, I advise you to depart this very night. God’s son is not to be found there.” Anto walked onward. “That place holds only wretched souls, their eyes so thoroughly blinded by gold and avarice that they cannot stir an inch.”

“…What is your name?” The knight watched the boy’s retreating form, an inexplicable pull drawing her gaze. His very presence stirred a peculiar sensation within her, one she found herself unable to name. “I am Ilivy, a knight of the Rose Order.”

“I am but the village shepherd boy,” Anto replied with a smile. “My name holds little significance, esteemed Knight. I shall return to the village at dusk.”

“Are you intimately familiar with this region?” Ilivy inquired. Anto replied, “I am a native. Your journey is one many have undertaken: to the village, to seek information at the tavern, then to scour the now-ruined church for any trace, and finally, to venture into the forest to consult the witch. Countless individuals have followed this exact path, yet none have ever found the person they sought—or perhaps, that person never existed to begin with.”

“…Nonetheless, I intend to search,” Ilivy declared forthrightly. “Furthermore, I’ve heard reports of a significant battle at the border outpost yesterday, necessitating substantial reinforcements.”

“That is, without question, the most grueling of battlefields, Lady Ilivy,” Anto suddenly remarked. “Are you implying that should you fail to find him, you are prepared to proceed directly to the border outpost to face the dark creatures? It is a place where one can perish at any moment, without even the dignity of a burial. This very month, it has endured three assaults from demonic forces. The kingdom’s army has suffered devastating casualties. I surmise that without immediate reinforcements, the fourth offensive will surely lead to its downfall.”

“Precisely why reinforcements are so desperately needed there,” Ilivy affirmed, as she mounted her horse. “And here, you see, is one such reinforcement.”

“However, I feel compelled to offer a gentle reminder: the border regions hold little affection for the Order Knights,” Anto stated. “This animosity stems from the Demon War, years ago, when the Order’s knights utterly failed to withstand the initial onslaught, leading to a complete rout and the ensuing massacre that ravaged this land.

Once, the Knights of the Church were revered as symbols of glory, beloved by all in the borderlands. Yet, during the tumultuous Demon War, their honor was utterly defiled. What they had failed to accomplish was ultimately safeguarded by the Otherworlders they had been sent to oppose. Thus, the Knights of the Church were transformed, once more, into a bitter emblem of humiliation.

“…And what of it?” Ilivy declared, already astride her horse. “Does the malice of others absolve a knight of the solemn vows they have sworn? Regardless of public sentiment, the duty of an Order Knight remains: to stand as the primary bulwark against the encroaching darkness, defending all humankind in the name of my Lord when darkness invades. The virtues we cherish—humility, courage, and self-sacrifice—these alone provide ample reason for our unwavering commitment.”

Gazing at the young knight before him, Anto felt she could not be much older than himself. Yet, she embodied the very essence of a true knight—a sight rarely witnessed in these borderlands.

“Then I wish you good fortune, Order Knight. May virtue guide your path,” Anto offered. Ilivy, now fully mounted, urged her horse forward along the road. “Thank you,” the knight responded, a flicker of surprise in her eyes that a mere shepherd would know such an ancient blessing. She then added, “May virtue also be with you.”