That the life or death of one man could decide the fate of an entire nation sounded absurd, but Winston Wright, the Silvermoon Knight, was worthy of such an honor.
Everyone knew that Winston Wright was the strongest paladin, bar none.
Even the founding emperor, Arthur Ryan, according to historical records, likely could not compare to this Silvermoon Knight.
Yet unlike so many geniuses, Winston Wright had only stepped into the realm of legend at the ripe old age of seventy-eight.
Compared to paladins who attained legendary status in their forties or fifties, Winston Wright's talent had been vastly inferior, and his early exploits were hardly dazzling.
Yet from the moment he broke through, Winston Wright pushed the true weight of a legend to an unfathomable height.
Slaying a lich along with its phylactery was a feat that had shaken all of Ryan to its core. The emperor himself had bestowed upon him the title of Silvermoon Knight—an honorary distinction existing outside all noble ranks.
The old man's Holy Light appeared unremarkable on the surface, but its purity surpassed everyone else's, as if wielded by a god in person.
His Divine Smite had long departed from its ordinary form, growing impossibly powerful.
He was no master of strategy, nor did he dabble in political intrigue, but whenever he appeared on the battlefield, a single swing of his blade was all it took to turn the tide.
Winston Wright was the undefeated legend of the Ryan Empire; no evil had ever withstood the edge of his blade.
Yet even such a legend among legends had finally reached the point where the oil was spent and the lamp went out.
Inside Fang City, a throng of paladins waited nervously outside a door. Lying within the room was that very man, now over a hundred and fifty years old.
Winston Wright lay upon the bed, his face a sallow waxen yellow.
No matter how much life force the clerics of light channeled into him, they could barely keep him breathing.
The human body was simply too fragile. Even someone who lived a life of pampered luxury rarely reached one hundred and fifty, let alone an old warrior who had spent half a lifetime on horseback amidst bloodshed. He bore not only the wrinkles etched by time, but the scars carved by thousands upon thousands of battles.
He was like a cloth sack mended and patched over decades; now, even the original fabric had worn so thin it was transparent, liable to tear to pieces at the slightest tug.
Having just finished casting a divine spell, a cleric of light shook his head at Alan Watson, who stood at the head of the bed, not daring to utter another word.
Alan Watson's face betrayed an uncontrollable grief.
The old man in the bed was not merely a hero of the empire; he was Alan's mentor.
Though Winston Wright had never openly acknowledged it, he had held back nothing when teaching this young man. He had not only vouched with his own reputation to make Alan a garrison commander, but had imparted every scrap of his combat experience to him.
Even during the campaign against the orcs, Winston Wright had braved all objections to keep Alan—a youth who had suffered multiple defeats—by his side.
Alan had striven relentlessly as well. In the recent battle, he had held off an orc legend single-handedly. Even with several bloody holes punched into his body, he had managed entirely on his own to stall that stealth-and-ambush specialist for two full minutes until paladin reinforcements arrived.
And once his wounds healed, Alan had finally stepped across the threshold into legendary rank.
He was just past twenty—the youngest legendary paladin in the history of the Ryan Empire.
Just as he was eager to share this joy with his mentor, Winston Wright had collapsed. The old man, invincible upon the battlefield, had lost consciousness and collapsed right before Alan's eyes. Terrified, Alan had rushed him to receive healing, but the tragic verdict was that he was beyond saving.
Alan did not know how to face this reality. He had not known Winston Wright for long, but he already regarded him as his mentor, and even half a father.
Yet after such a brief time together, they were about to be parted. Even knowing his teacher would surely enter the divine realm of the Lord of the Dawn, Alan could not keep his eyes from reddening.
Just as tears were about to spill over, the old man in the bed let out a raspy chuckle.
"Heh heh... What are you crying for? I'm not dead yet."
Startled, Alan quickly looked at Winston Wright, only to find the sallow, waxy pallor had suddenly flushed rosy, as if vitality had surged back into him.
Yet Alan knew all too well that this was merely the last ember of his life force. His teacher was truly leaving; perhaps only minutes, or even seconds, remained.
Alan desperately wanted to put Winston Wright's mind at ease, but when he opened his mouth, he choked out only half a sentence: "Teacher, I..."
In the end, he could not stop the tears from falling.
Winston Wright comforted him, "All right, cry if you must. There's no one else here anyway. But don't just sit there weeping. I have a few words for you."
Alan hastily wiped away his tears. "Teacher, please give me your commands."
"Not commands, just... Never mind. Do you know why I never officially took you as my student?" Winston Wright asked.
Alan replied, "You didn't want me to bear too heavy a burden."
"Indeed," Winston Wright said. "No matter what outsiders think, as long as you aren't my student, you won't have to carry the weight of my responsibilities. Perhaps then you might actually live."
In his lifetime, Winston Wright had taken many disciples. Every single one had been an imperial genius, the finest of the realm's youth. Nor had they ever disappointed Winston Wright; every one of them was a hero of the empire.
Yet alas, "Disciple of the Silvermoon Knight" was a title far too heavy to bear.
You are the Silvermoon Knight's disciple—how could you show your face if you aren't ten times stronger than everyone else? If you cannot turn the tide in the direst crisis, what right do you have to be that great lord's student?
Even if no one said it out loud, everyone thought it in their hearts. Including Winston Wright's students—they refused to let themselves be mediocre.
Yet the perils of the battlefield showed no favor to a name. Every one of Winston Wright's students had perished on the field of war, some even dying before his very eyes.
Winston Wright deeply regretted it. He should never have placed such crushing pressure upon those still-maturing youths.
Alan possessed extraordinary talent, just like those past disciples. But he was also green, which was why he had lost to that lich time and time again. That was not Alan's fault; even Winston Wright himself had been swindled by that lich. It was an exceptionally cunning creature. The empire should have placed him at the very top of the wanted list instead of taking his name off it!
In the final days of his life, Winston Wright had poured out everything he knew to Alan, yet granted him no formal status as a student, treating him outwardly only as a "servant."
That way, Alan would never have to carry the burden of the Silvermoon Knight's name.
This young man should forge his own path. Perhaps he could become the Sun Knight, becoming another great hero of the empire.
Winston Wright had worried Alan might harbor grievances or misunderstand, which was why he wanted to unravel this knot in his dying moments. He had not expected the young man to be cleverer and more composed than he thought, having long seen through the elder's painstaking intentions.
In that case, there was nothing left to worry about.
"Alan, I leave you with three final pieces of advice. You must remember them."
Alan said with deep emotion, "Speak, Teacher! I will remember them—even in death, I will never forget!"
Winston Wright spoke with absolute solemnity. "First: show no mercy to your enemies. To pity them is to be cruel to yourself."
Alan replied resolutely, "I will remember. When my blade falls, it will never hesitate."
Winston Wright nodded and continued, "Second: see your enemies for who they are. The undead are not the only evil in this world. Within the empire, there are many hidden sins and corruptions. You must see them clearly."
Taken aback, Alan asked, "Teacher, what do you mean? Evils within the empire?"
Alan's father was the empire's Supreme Arbiter, effectively the highest judge in the realm. If evil was truly festering in secret, wouldn't his father be guilty of... either dereliction of duty, or complicity?
Winston Wright did not answer the question, but merely continued: "Third: what we place our faith in is the Lord of the Dawn, in light and justice—not words written in books, nor dogmas recited from childhood. When you find yourself lost, you must remember this!"
Alan felt something was amiss. The more he heard, the more unsettling his teacher's words became.
Could he be delirious in his final moments?
Alas, Alan could no longer ask for clarification. Having spoken those words, Winston Wright closed his eyes. His heartbeat began to fade rapidly; his life had finally reached its end.
Alan hastily called the clerics of light inside. The clerics scrambled to cast divine spells over Winston Wright. Though they knew it was utterly pointless, they had to put on a show of strenuous effort.
This was a hero of the empire; if word got out that they hadn't exerted themselves to the utmost, they would surely be held accountable.
Alan stood silently to the side, watching the clerics of light weave various divine spells over his teacher, forcibly sustaining a heart that should have long since stopped beating.
Winston Wright's brows furrowed, his expression contorting in agony.
At this moment, how much torment was he enduring?
Alan could not help but recall his teacher's words just now. Forcibly tethering an old man to life, denying him a peaceful passing and instead subjecting him to ceaseless torment—was this also light and justice?
Enraged, Alan roared at the clerics of light, "Enough! Let my teacher depart for the divine realm! Stop torturing him!"
Yet no one paid any heed to Alan's roar.
Instead, another gray-haired paladin snapped loudly, "Who are you to speak? Alan Watson, get out! My grandfather's affairs are none of your business!"
This paladin was named Anlun Wright, seventy years of age, and Winston Wright's biological grandson. He had long resented Alan Watson. Why had his grandfather kept this outsider by his side when even he, the grandson, had never been granted such an honor?
Alan was left speechless. The moment Winston Wright closed his eyes, Alan had become an "outsider" in every sense of the word.
He took one last long look at his teacher, who was still being frantically resuscitated, then turned and left the room.
From this day forward, he would have to walk the road ahead on his own.
Chapter 204