Pyra 12, Imperial Year 1644
The Lord's Mansion, Northern Mercia
Lord Harrick Vance was not a man who believed in rumors.
He sat in his study, a glass of wine in his hand, his feet on an ottoman of orc leather. The fire crackled. His hounds slept at his feet. Outside, his walls stood high, his gates iron, his guards loyal. He had heard the whispers – Black Knights, thunder weapons, masked men who killed the corrupt. He had laughed.
"Mercenary tales," he told his steward. "Frightened merchants seeing ghosts."
"My lord, several of your peers have already…"
"My peers are fools." Vance drained his glass. "I have fifty guards. Stone walls. A mage on retainer. If these Black Knights are so bold, let them come. I will have them arrested and delivered to the king in chains."
He set down the glass and stood, walking to the window. The sun was setting, painting his lands in gold.
"Imagine it," he said, spreading his arms. "The king will throw a parade. I will be celebrated as the man who tamed the shadows. They will write songs about—"
The world turned white.
Outside the Walls – The Black Knights' Position
Vlad lay prone on a hilltop four hundred meters from the mansion. The 20mm rifle was still smoking. He stood, slung the weapon over his shoulder, and turned to the eight knights behind him.
The seven original Black Knights stood in a semicircle: Hound, Sparrow, Rook, Lynx, Titan, Phantom, Eagle. Beside them, a new figure.
He was tall, broad‑shouldered, his arms thick with muscle. He wore a sleeveless leather jerkin, his biceps straining against the straps. A longbow – nearly six feet from tip to tip – was strung across his back. The bow was dark, almost black, with a faint iridescent sheen. The limbs were carved from lesser earth dragon bone, laminated with horn and sinew. The string was twisted silk, waxed and heavy.
His name was Striker. Former royal archer, dismissed for refusing to fire on civilians. Vlad had recruited him two weeks ago. This was his first mission.
"The gates are down," Vlad said. His voice was calm, amplified by the mask. "The guards will rally. We move in five minutes."
Titan cracked his knuckles. "Finally."
Vlad raised a hand. "Wait."
He walked to the edge of the hilltop, where the mansion lay below. The setting sun cast long shadows. He spread his arms wide, cape billowing, and spoke – not to the knights, but to the world.
"People of Mercia! Hear me!"
His voice boomed, amplified by the mask's hidden mechanism, echoing across the valley. Inside the mansion, guards froze. Lord Vance stumbled back from the window.
"For too long, you have suffered under the boot of corrupt lords, slavers, and murderers. You have been told that justice is blind. You have been told that the powerful cannot be touched."
Vlad turned slowly, addressing the unseen audience, the knights, the setting sun.
"I am here to tell you that is a lie."
He lowered his arms.
"I am Zero. Leader of the Black Knights. And tonight, we announce ourselves to the world."
He pointed at the mansion.
"Lord Harrick Vance has sold children into slavery. He has murdered those who opposed him. He has poisoned the land for profit. The evidence is in his vault. The witnesses are in his dungeons. And his reign of terror ends now."
Vlad drew his sword – a long, elegant blade, held aloft.
"This is not vengeance. This is judgment. Let every corrupt lord, every slaver, every murderer hear my words: We are watching. We are coming. And we will not stop until justice is done."
He brought the sword down, pointing at the mansion.
"Black Knights. Advance."
The Knights' Reactions
Hound was already walking, his bastard sword drawn, his shield on his arm. "About time." His voice was flat, but his eyes burned. He had heard the speech. It did not move him – but the purpose did.
Sparrow nocked an arrow, her compound bow silent. "Theatrical. But effective." She followed Hound, her steps light, a faint smile on her lips. Zero's dramatics were growing on her.
Rook adjusted his spectacles, his twin gauntlets gleaming. "I'll stay back. Catalog the evidence." He did not look up from his notebook, but his hands trembled slightly. The speech had been for him as much as for the world.
Lynx scaled the broken gate, her grappling hook securing a line. "Race you to the treasury." She grinned and vanished over the wall. Zero's words about justice made her heart beat faster. She had never believed in anything before.
Titan hefted his war hammer, the longer handle balanced perfectly. "I'll take the front door." He walked through the shattered gates, his plate armor clanking. The speech had been fine, but action was better.
Phantom melted into the shadows without a word. A flicker of movement, then nothing. He had heard Zero's words. He did not need to react. He already knew.
Eagle climbed the remains of the left tower, his folding spyglass in hand. "I'll watch the perimeter. No one escapes." He settled into a crouch, scanning. Zero's proclamation would echo across the continent. He wanted to see it.
Striker drew his longbow. The dragon‑bone limbs flexed with a low creak. He pulled the string to his ear – a draw weight that would have snapped a normal bow – and held it steady.
"I've been waiting for this," he said. His voice was low, rumbling. "Let's see what this thing can do."
He loosed. The arrow – a meter long, tipped with dragon‑tooth broadhead – flew true. It struck a guard on the parapet, punching through his chainmail and exiting his back in a spray of blood. The guard fell without a sound.
Striker nocked another arrow. "Seventy‑five kilos draw weight. Penetration is acceptable."
Vlad watched from the hilltop, his sword still raised.
"Now. End this."
The mansion fell within the hour.
Lord Vance was found hiding in his wine cellar, his mage unconscious beside him. Hound dragged him out by the collar. Titan broke down the door to the vault. Rook cataloged the ledgers – enough evidence to convict the lord of murder, extortion, and treason.
Sparrow and Lynx cleared the east wing. Phantom silenced the captain of the guard. Eagle tracked down two runners who tried to flee through a secret tunnel.
Striker's longbow proved devastating. He shot through shields, through doors, through the armor of the lord's personal guard. Each arrow struck with the force of a crossbow bolt, but faster, quieter.
When it was done, the Black Knights gathered in the courtyard. The guards had surrendered. The lord was bound.
Vlad descended from the hilltop, his cape trailing. He walked to the kneeling Vance and stood over him.
"You will stand trial," Vlad said. "The evidence will be presented. The king will have no choice but to execute you."
Vance spat. "You are nothing. The king will hunt you down."
Vlad leaned close, his mask inches from Vance's face.
"Let him."
He straightened and turned to the knights.
"We are done here. Load the evidence. We leave in ten minutes."
The Aftermath – The Black Knights' Camp
They camped in a grove of pines, the fire small. Striker sat apart, examining his bow for stress marks. The dragon‑bone limbs showed no wear.
"How many shots?" Vlad asked.
"Forty‑three. No degradation." Striker ran a finger along the string. "The material is exceptional."
"The dragon was exceptional."
Titan sat on a log, cleaning his hammer. "That was a good fight. The lord's guards actually tried."
"They died trying," Hound said.
"That's the point."
Sparrow sharpened an arrowhead. "Zero. The speech. Do you really think the world will fear us?"
"Fear is a tool," Vlad said. "Like any other. Used correctly, it saves lives."
Lynx hung upside down from a branch, her grappling hook securing her. "I liked the speech. Very dramatic."
"I practice."
Rook looked up from his notes. "The evidence is solid. Vance will hang."
"Good," Eagle said. "One less monster."
Phantom, invisible in the shadows, said nothing. But the others knew he was there.
Vlad stood. "Rest. Tomorrow, we find the next target."
"And the class?" Hound asked.
"They are on their own path. For now."
The fire crackled. The knights settled into silence.
The Black Knights had announced themselves.
The world would never be the same.
End of Chapter Forty‑One