Jack’s entire body was frozen. He had returned to his room within the castle, only to realise that he could no longer call it his own. He was banished, and he had no idea what it entailed. Could he take his armour? His sword? Were they even his any longer?

“What are you doing?” Sir Ozcar asked. The knight was his father’s most trusted aid, and even Jack had called him uncle a few times with how close they were.

“I don’t know,” Jack replied simply. What was he doing? What was he meant to do?

“Take a hot bath, I’ll get your items for you.”

“What? I can’t let you do that!” Jack urged.

“What’s that? Do you think now that you’re no longer our little sir that you can suddenly raise your voice at us?” Ozcar reached down and ruffled the boy’s hair. “Don’t think too hard about what’s happening. Once you become a great smith, you’ll be able to return. Knowing you, you probably have no idea what you’re entitled to, but leave that to this uncle.” The older man winked and smiled with a knightly charm. “I’ll make sure to empty his coffers for kicking you out.”

Jack pouted as he reached up to rub the top of his head. “If you do that, I’ll get into more trouble.” He didn’t refuse the advice of the knight, heading to the baths.

Ozcar sighed, rubbing his face. It was with the heaviest of hearts he was saying goodbye to the little boy. He was fifteen, a year from being man grown, and his father had set him out on a harsh quest. This may have been the last time he’d see the boy, so he kept the painted smile on his face as he bundled up a few items for the boy.

Jack bathed quickly, scrubbing himself head to toe as quickly as he could before he wrapped the long towel around himself. He peeked his head in to see that Sir Ozcar had already splayed out some clothing for him. Though he was a minor noble, he didn’t wear fine clothing as expected. His attire was based on the ability to move swiftly and for flexibility.

Born and raised on the edge of the kingdom, with heavy walls surrounding him, Jack learnt quickly that good etiquette and fine clothing got you killed from the various beasts which poured from the empty western lands.

The Bloodwalls received their name for keeping the area safe from the beasts for hundreds of years. The Bloodwalls had never knelt to a king, but when the King Who Knocked appeared, the Bloodwalls bent their knee, but in exchange were given a special privilege and task, their own Oaths and Quests to deal with the unending beast hordes.

As a Bloodwall he had been learnt how to read and write, and immediately after he was also trained in the sword. He had begun to learn the Bloodied Turtle Sword Art, the sword art of the Bloodwall family, but it seemed he would no longer learn passed the first few steps. No longer would he be written in the books with the family name of Bloodwall.

His eyes watered, but he finished changing. He also slipped into the breastplate, covering his front and back with a thin layer of steel. At his side was his trusted sword, a sword he had been gifted years ago from his older brother. It was an Uncommon sword, a fairly powerful sword for someone his age. Even the Eldermen wouldn’t scoff at such a blade.

Ozcar saw the blade and thought for a moment. A blade like that would bring undue attention, but it would also cause others to pause before messing with the boy. He found it difficult to ask the boy to leave behind a gift from his older brother who he hadn’t seen in years, and so Ozcar held his tongue, hoping he wouldn’t regret it in the future.

Cloaked and packed, Jack looked up to Ozcar. The boy’s lower lips were quivering and his eyes were swelling, but he did not cry. Right now he was a Bloodwall, it was only until he stepped into Riverhill that he’d finally lose his surname. He still needed to act like a Bloodwall, even if it was just pretend.

He followed after the knight, who led him out. As they left the manor, Milly appeared. She was a rotund woman with brown hair in a bun. She handed the little boy a small sack full of food. “Take this, little Jack,” she said. She hugged him tight immediately after, tip toeing slightly as she did. She remembered when the book had to tip toe for her, but it seemed little Jack was no longer quite so little.

“Thank you, miss Milly.”

“You make sure you eat good on the road, alright? Saving money is good, but you need to have the strength to earn money. They say you’re going to be smithing, and I heard from Kanders that you’ve got talent for smithing.” She held onto his face and then peppered his face with kisses.

“I’ll be sure to take your words to heart, miss Milly. I’ll do my best at smithing so I can return.”

“Once you’re a great smith make sure you write a letter back, okay?” Milly smiled, though there was something else behind the smile. It was very sad. She had asked him to write back only when he was a great smith, and being one of the confidants for Chief Jax Bloodwall, she knew that it may be difficult to send a letter back at the time.

“I will,” Jack said. “I promise to return so you can feed me too.”

Milly smiled, genuinely now, and she nodded. “I’ll put on a roast for you then. I’ll ask the Chief for a special order to requisition some chicken. When you come back I’m sure you’ll be able to eat a whole chicken in one sitting.”

“I can eat a whole chicken in one sitting already!” Jack puffed out his chest.

“Then I’ll ask for two.”

Jack nodded. Ozcar placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Let’s leave miss Milly back to her duties,” he said, throwing the cook a look.

“I’ll be seeing you, little Jack.” Milly bowed her head slightly and then left the pair.

The carriage had been readied. The carriage was made from blackwood, the wood which grew nearby. They say that the wood is blackened by the blood of generations of beasts and men who fought in the nearby forests. Others say it was dark magic which seeped into the wood over time. The wood was sturdy and was a favourite of nearby nobles, selling for several times the price of other woods.

The carriage was surrounded by four heavily armoured guards, not knights, but the retainers of the Bloodwall. Even the weakest of the guards ranked at High Iron First Core, which was the weakest guard the Bloodwalls allowed. Typically, one would be considered a decent fighter at Iron First Core, able to wander the lands without much threat from the average man. Each guard wore breastplate stamped with the symbol of the Bloodwalls, the outline of a shield with bricks etched into it. They wielded spears, though carried at their sides swords as well. The spears were of Uncommon make, though held additional property, not enough to place them at Rare.

The guards slammed their fists onto their breastplate over their hearts and greeted the little boy. “Young sir!” Though he was no longer going to be their young sir, they needed to show their respect until the city at least. Fortunately, they had all watched the young sir grow, so each held some love for Jack.

A hiccup cut through the air.

“Young sir!” Sir Anthony called out, a little too loudly. He slammed the side of his fist over his heart. “Sir Anthony, reporting for duty!”

Jack could see the man was already tipsy and it wasn’t even noon yet. “Sir Anthony,” Jack replied, reaching out to shake the man’s hand firmly, as was expected from him.

“I will be leading the escort to Riverhill.”

“It’s a pleasure to have you send me off,” Jack said as he smiled sadly.

“Yep.” Sir Anthony nodded. “I made sure to load up the carriage with enough drinks so we can send you off right.”

Jack blustered out a laugh, having not expected the words from the young knight’s lips. “Then I’ll be sure to share a drink with you over the campfire!”

“It’ll take a few days, but we’ll be staying at inns on the way. If you’d like, we’ll take a small detour towards Little Lake.”

“I don’t want to bother you.”

“I say you should bother us as much as you can until we get to Riverhill.”

“Then I’ll take you up on the offer.” Jack smiled and allowed Sir Anthony to open up the carriage door for him. Jack paused and looked back to see if he could see his father anywhere, but when he didn’t spy the domineering form, he sat down in the carriage with a sunken heart.

Sir Anthony was about to step in when Sir Ozcar placed a hand on the young knight’s shoulder. There was a look in the older knight’s eyes as he narrowed them. Sir Anthony nodded respectfully, understanding the meaning. The young knight stepped into the carriage to keep the young sir company.

Sir Ozcar exclaimed at the top of his lungs as the carriage rider readied to drive out. “Pay your respects to the young sir!” As the knight’s voice echoed out, whoever was outside nearby stopped what they were doing and stood at attention. As the carriage came around to the various people, they greeted the young sir inside with a fist over their hearts.

A tall figure stood on the walls, wearing his heavy furs and his breastplate, and at his side was the Bloodwall family’s blade. His eyes were fixed on the land ahead of him, his back to the carriage. He could only send his awareness to see off the young sir.