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Chapter 229: New Beginnings (Part One)
“Anthony, stop zoning out. This is your first audience with His Majesty—make the most of this rare opportunity. Impress him.”
“Ah, sorry, Fried Sir.”
The boy named Anthony snapped back to attention, his face flushed with nervousness, quickly falling into step behind the procession.
He looked about fifteen, with a delicate, boyish face and a thin frame clad in simple, plain clothes. Just moments ago, he’d been staring up at the towering palace gate—its massive archway stretching nearly a hundred meters into the sky—until Fried’s sharp reminder pulled him back to reality.
“Whatever happens, remember the etiquette I taught you,” Fried said, his voice low but firm. He paused, then added, “And remember—His Majesty favors the brave. Don’t faint in the throne room.”
His gaze locked onto Anthony. The boy’s forehead instantly broke into a cold sweat.
Anthony nodded rapidly, then fell silent, walking forward in quiet anticipation. His heart pounded in his chest, caught between excitement and dread.
The path from the gate to the main hall stretched over a kilometer—nothing more than a routine punishment in training, yet to Anthony, it felt endless. His mind wandered to his past—his miserable childhood, the years spent in the depths of the Chamber of Dragon Oath, and the journey that had brought him here.
From the cramped, filthy Underground Dungeon, shrouded in darkness and despair, to this grand, radiant palace—where marble pillars stood like sentinels and the air itself seemed to hum with power.
The Dragon carvings on the gate were lifelike, their eyes seeming to watch every soul that passed beneath them. The doors groaned open slowly, a deep, heavy sound that echoed through the courtyard like a warning.
“This… is unbelievable.”
Anthony couldn’t help but think.
On either side of the path, the Two-Headed Dragons atop the stone pillars raised their heads in unison, roaring in thunderous unison. The sound sent a shiver down his spine. His anxiety only deepened.
This palace already exceeded anything he’d ever imagined—born as a poor peasant, raised in the shadow of the Baron Soli’s manor, he’d never dreamed of such splendor. And what of the man who was said to have shattered entire armies single-handedly—the “Purgatory Cataclysm”, the “King of the Burnt”, the Red Dragon himself? What kind of presence would he wield?
Anthony had seen him from afar, yes—but never this close. Never in the flesh. Never before the throne.
The other eleven boys were roughly his age, their youthful faces betraying the same mix of awe and nervousness. Together, they were the first twelve chosen by Fried—his initial batch of candidates for the Oath of the Dragon Holy Knight.
Most were from humble but honorable backgrounds, beneficiaries of the kingdom’s grace. After rigorous trials and grueling training, they were now being brought before the Red Dragon to receive his blessing.
Fried, once a Black Lion Knight, had mastered this task with ease.
As they walked down the wide, sunlit avenue, Fried turned slightly and murmured, “Ah…”
The contrast between his past and present was so vast, Anthony half-expected to wake up from a dream. But he knew—this was real. He knew he couldn’t have imagined such a world.
His father had been a common farmer—more precisely, a Peasant Laborer, bound to the estate of Baron Soli. Among hundreds of such laborers, he was just another nameless soul.
But luck had smiled upon him—his father had married, and Anthony was born in the stable, a child of dirt and straw. He had no name at first—only a nickname, meaning “grain”, given by the others.
In a normal life, he would have grown up to be nothing more than a lowly laborer, toiling in hunger and exhaustion—just like his grandfather, who’d died at thirty, starved to death.
But as Anthony grew, the estate’s overseer noticed something strange. Unlike the usual Gray Livestock—gaunt, pale, and sullen—Anthony had a clear, clean face, a look of quiet dignity.
The overseer bought him from his father for three sacks of yellow beans.
“Going to the city,” the man had said, “to serve a noble lord. A better life.”
Whether it was for the grain, or hope for a better future, or simply the inability to refuse, Anthony’s father agreed. The boy was only eight.
The overseer brought him by Wagon to the bustling Northwind Keep, to the opulent Baron’s Manor.
Young Anthony didn’t understand.
And so, the nightmare began.
Baron Soli welcomed him with a smile, warm and gentle, then led him to the Underground Dungeon—a place of perpetual darkness.
That was the beginning.
The Baron’s noble mask slipped. The true monster beneath emerged.
Anthony was locked in a damp, dark cell, surviving on scraps tossed down by the guards. He prayed every day for freedom, for a chance to escape this living hell—but never once did it come.
He once begged the Divine Being in the manor’s chapel to save him. But silence answered.
Of course. The god who protected Baron Soli—a man who wore the face of a saint while hiding a devil’s heart—would never listen to a prisoner’s cry.
The Baron would walk the halls in pristine white robes, chatting amicably with the Priests, while the heavens remained silent.
This torment lasted from age eight to thirteen.
By then, Anthony had grown numb. He’d become used to it.
Until that day—when the earth shook. Even in the dungeon, he could hear the thunder of cannons.
And then, salvation came.
The Tiefling army of the Kingdom of Ashen broke into the dungeon and freed him.
To Anthony, these Tieflings, with their horns and crimson eyes, looked like demons. But they were kinder than the noble who’d pretended to be a saint.
When he saw sunlight for the first time in five years, he couldn’t bear it. He shielded his eyes with his hands, squinting through the cracks.
What he saw… would stay with him forever.
A Red Dragon, massive and majestic, stood atop the city wall, wings spread wide—so vast they seemed to blot out the sky.
The Dragon lifted its head, and roared—a sound that split the heavens.
It was the death knell of the old world.
The birth cry of a new one.
That moment had become a miracle in his memory.
It had given him New Life.
After that, with no status, no name, no home, he was discovered by Fried—the Chamber of Dragon Oath.
Fried chose him. Gave him a name: Anthony, meaning “the brave.”
And he told them plainly:
“The Red Dragon has rewritten your fate. The old order of the Northern Nobles has no place for you. The only path forward is this—join the New Order of the Kingdom of Ashen, take the Oath of the Dragon, and become part of the grand design.”
Now, as Anthony chewed his first bite of White Bread—a luxury he’d never known before—his eyes filled with resolve.
He had trained relentlessly. Survived brutal trials.
And now, standing before the throne of the Red Dragon, he was finally ready.
To become one of the Oath of the Dragon Holy Knight—honored, powerful, and worthy of the Dragon’s Strength.
(End of Chapter)
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