A Field of Swords: Prologue Chapter (sample)

Prologue

Lord Percival Dragonstorm

It was already evening and on that very day it was his son’s fifth birthday. If he was still a noble lord who lived in the halls of Dragonspire – the ancestral seat of his family, he would have ordered the people to set up for a feast to celebrate this auspicious day. But he no longer lived the wealthy life of being a nobleman who holds titles and lands, commanding entire hosts of armies into battle, or taking up his sword against his enemies. He had left that behind ten years ago.

Percival now lived as a normal man with a mind that drives to live such a normal life. To live in peace. To be away from the world’s concerns. To be away from the shadows of war that haunts his father and his father before him. He owns a farm now, away from Camelot lands and resides within the borders of Grecca.

Kaldir is where he makes his home. With his wife Ana, he lived within this small village where the people are just as friendly as they had always been. A busy life, they had.

As Percival passed through the streets, carrying a stack of firewood tied up with a rope in one hand, he looked at the residents while they were busy carrying out their daily lives without a shred of concern for the dark world that lies beyond their borders. This is why he chose to live so far from any large cities, secluded in the middle of nowhere and in its surrounding areas were nothing more than an endless sea of green grass and hills and forests. But they were a peaceful folk nonetheless.

He stopped by every now and then to have a brief talk with the people. They saw him as someone different back when he arrived five years before. A stranger who carried none of the more notable traits that a Greccan had, his eyes carried the colors of the flame, his jet black hair and his muscular stature were all but the result of endless years of fighting. They were afraid of him once for what Percival can do to them. But now they accept him as one of their own.

Percival continued to walk, greeting the elderly as he passed by, sometimes even helping those who needed his assistance. Some were busy repairing the wooden towers that stood out from every corner of Kaldir. Others were busy training to defend the village whenever a threat befalls on them. But most had their hands full as they hanged lanterns and color flags across their streets, the village bard played their songs on a flute and people danced to the rhythm. Children playing in their homes or chased one another through the alleyways.

Some of them bowed to a carving of their patron god, Valerios – a protector deity and a god of war to many of Greccan society. After all, the next day would be the festival of Satarlia where the soldiers would return home from the front lines and rest their weapons for a week as no harm shall be inflicted on the innocent, no blood shall be spilled on that sacred day.

He walked up to the edge of the village and climbed up a small hill where he had built a house for his family to live. It wasn’t as grand as Dragonspire was when he still living within the safety of his family’s castle walls nor was it as beautiful. But his family were grateful despite for what it lacks.

As he climbed up the hill, a child rushed out of the front door with small arms reaching out for him. Percival dropped the firewood in his hands and catches his son, wrapping his arms around the child. “Father!” the boy called out to him. “Do you have a gift for me, father?” he asked, his eyes gleamed with excitement.

Percival’s lips curled into a smile and chuckled, patting his son’s head, “Sadly no. But I’m sure your mother had prepared something that you would like to eat,” he replied then lifting him with one arm and carried the firewood with his freehand.

He walked to the door and saw his wife standing, her beautiful violet eyes looked at him that resonates an intimate beauty reserved for only him. Her silky black hair covers half of her face and her lips smiled as she gazed upon her husband. “Busy day, my love?” she grabbed the firewood from Percival’s hands and kissed him lightly on his cheek.

“As always. The people are preparing for tomorrow. It’s been five years since we lived here and the feast just gets more grand as time passed,” Percival replied, putting his son down. The smell of roasted chicken filled the house as he sniffed, his stomach grumbled at its delicious fragrance. “And your meal does get better as well,” he said.

Ana raised an eyebrow and smirked. “What? Does my food taste worst when we got married? Don’t forget that I’m the better cook in the family,” she laughed, untying the rope that held the firewood in place and puts them into the fireplace to keep the house warm for the night.

“I was never a cook like you anyway,” he shrugged.
As the sun sets, the family enjoyed a good meal. They laughed and shared good memories, praying to the Twelve Gods of the Pantheon for a life such as this to last for generations. They prayed for their child’s bright future. Percival had hoped for his son’s life isn’t as grim nor as terrible as his own, the thought of it scares him.

While his child smiles as he played with his mother, Percival watched him with eyes that paints with the tones of sadness and hope. A sad smile crept on his face, wanting to protect the family he had from the dangers of the lands beyond.

“Father? What’s wrong?” his son asked. He possesses the same eyes as Percival, burning with the same colors that the Dragonstorm had. His thick coat of black hair reminded himself of the child he once was, hopeful and optimistic of the life ahead of him. But that all changed as soon as he swore the oath of a knight. “Papa?” the young child’s voice called out again, his little hand grabbing his own.

Percival smiled and kissed him on the forehead. “Happy birthday, my son.” He said. “You wanted a gift, don’t you?” he asked.

The child’s eyes gleamed with excitement and nodded. His smile warms Percival’s heart at the sight of it. It gave him hope. It gave him a reason to live.

“Wait here,” Percival says as he went to his room. He pulled out a small crate underneath his bed and searched for his old belongings. A necklace, a bracelet, a small gem, all wouldn’t suit as a child’s birthday gift. Then underneath everything, he grabbed a small wooden carving of a knight that rides upon his horse.
He returned to the dining room and gave him the statue. His son jumped in joy, overwhelmed with happiness. “Thank you!” he exclaimed and wrapped his arms around Percival.

The former knight pulled him closer. Thank you. He said to himself. He thanked the gods for giving him a second chance to live with his family. A new chance for him to protect them. He lost his family before and he is more than determined not to lose them again.

“Percival,” his wife called out, nodding to the presence of a knight who waited outside with his horse.

The former knight turned and went outside. His fists clenched and his heart thumped ever faster. He armored himself in a suit of dark plate armor with a black cloak flowing down his back like a river and a badge carrying the insignia of the Round Table holds the cloak together – a circle with a sword down the middle. His helm had an iron upright crest and a metallic mask to cover his face. A heater shield slung on his back, carrying the sigil of the royal family – a crimson three headed winged dragon circling a sword upon a black field. Just the sight of it brings back a memory he wished to forget for years.

The former knight looked at him. He could not find his eyes as it was shadowed underneath the mask he wore. “Sir Agravaine.” Percival called out. “Or should I call you, Lord Agravaine of House Rycaster?” he says. “And what the hell are you doing here? Aren’t you better off serving your king?” he asked, keeling himself calm.

“It has been a while, Lord Dragonstorm.” Agravaine replied. “The life of a knight and nobility didn’t suit you it seems. Trust me, we have faced many difficulties in finding you.” The knight remarked.

Percival clenched his jaw, knowing that whatever he wants is nothing of good intention for him and his family. “Leave me and my family alone, Vaine. Your king already destroyed my family and what else does he wants? What more that he wants from me? My head?” his heart thumped faster. He can feel the claws of a monster that he had locked within him for years, attempting to climb out of his mind and lash out. Snarling and growling like a demon.

“Watch your mouth, Lord Percival. For some things may manifests itself into reality, no matter how terrible it is.” Agravaine said flatly, showing no shred of emotion in his words as he kept himself calm. “Now, for His Majesty wants is your sword.”

Percival’s hands began to burn but no flames erupted from the palm of his hands. Only smoke. He suppressed his anger deep within him and he wished not to unleash it at a time like this. “Tell your king that he can go away and leave me alone. He can raise an army and go to war, doing whatever he likes. But if he dares to put my family in harm’s way, I’ll be damned sure that I’ll stand and protect them. I’ll burn you bastards to hell if I needed to,” he says and felt the flames within his mind grew. As his anger rises, so does the fire that fueled his vengeance. One that he had been suppressing for so long.

Agravaine chuckled. Then his chuckles grew into a laughter, a sinister one at that. “I would like to see you try. Until then, I know that you won’t give us Caliburn.” His tone shifts to something dreadful. As he turned away from Percival, he says, “You should be careful of what you have said, traitor.”

Percival took deep breaths and calms himself down. He had a dangerous power within him. One that would be unleashed by the time his fury reaches its peak. He felt the ‘monster’ clawing out from its prison, yearning for it to let the burning flames of his past loose upon those who had wronged.

No. He said to himself. I am no longer that man. The way of the sword is no longer mine. He said, repeating those words over and over like a mantra.

* * *

It was four hours after the sun sets and day is at its end. Percival carries his son to his bedroom and laid him down. He held the wooden statue of a knight close to him, the happiness in his eyes never left him. As he is about to leave, he took one last look at his son and reminded himself to protect him at all costs.

“Father?” the boy called out. Still awake and keeping his gift close to him. “Can you tell me a story?”

Percival smiled. “But your mother wants you to sleep now. We are going to the nearest town on the next morning for the festival. It’s a long day ahead,” he said, despite knowing how futile those words are.

“Aww, just one story please,” the boy replied, putting up a childish frown on his face.

“Alright. Just one,” he says and his son cheered. Percival walked up to him and pulled out a wooden stool, sitting next to him as he thinks of a good story to tell. “I’ll tell you the Tale of the Black Knight. Now heed my words closely, little one because father is about to unveil his story,”

The boy kept his eyes on his father and gave his wooden knight a glance. He kept his mouth shut, knowing all too well that the words that came out the lips of his father would be a great story to enjoy.

“Years ago, a young man swore an oath to become a knight. A Knight of the Land as many people would call him that. He was a great warrior, many spoke of his elegance with the sword that he carried in his hands – its golden ripples ran down the blade that is as dark as the night sky. He served the king, he served the crown and he was a loyal man to the end.”

“As the king of his land grew in power, he gathered the finest warriors and knights that the kingdom could offer. Thus, the young knight was given a place in the king’s new brotherhood – the Round Table, he called it.”

“That’s a weird name for a knighthood order,” the boy remarked.

Percival puts a finger on his lips, “Hush now, young one.” He says and continued, “Twelve of them. Twelve finest men that once wandered across the kingdom have been gathered to serve the realm. To protect it from the darkness that lurked within its shadows. Some of whom were the Golden Knight fought with the tenacity of his father – the Knight of the Lake, the Sun Knight who ventured far into the Emerald Chapel and meet an ancient being, the Knight of Rage fought through the armies of the kingdom, the Giant Knight lead an army so powerful that the other nations of the land dared not to step into the kingdom’s borders,”

“But,” the boy speaks. “What about the Black Knight?”

“The young knight ventured across the kingdom. To the Godslake he accompanied the king and he was granted the Sword of Kings, to the dreaded lands of Solitude, he faced the dangerous beastmen that lurked in its shadow and darkness, he lead an army to face the barbarians of the Broken Islands and won. Many speaks of his journey. Many more told the tale where he is the hero,” Percival continued.

“But the king grew mad in power. The Black Knight sees his ever growing madness and left his side. He warned the king of his actions once but his words fell on deaf ears. As he returned to his castle, he finds it burned to the ground and his family slaughtered. His comrades died by the soldiers sent by the maddening king and so does the ones that he loved. By that moment, he become enraged and made an oath to topple the kingdom that he once served. Engulfed in the black flames of his own vengeance, his armor charred black and earned him the name – the Black Knight.”

“Well, what happens next?” the boy asked.

As Percival is about to continue, he saw Ana looking at them as she leaned on the door to their room. She smiled and Percival gave his son a kiss on the forehead, “We’ll continue tomorrow. For now, you should sleep.” He replied with a smile. He left the room and closed the door behind.

Ana’s arms were crossed and her eyes remained on him, “That’s your story isn’t it?” she asks.

“Yes,” the former knight replied. In his eyes, a tinge of sadness is apparent in his sight. The pain and anger hidden deep within him are contained for many years. Yet, at times he could feel it attempting to crawl out and lets his fury loose upon those that wronged him. “Though I left a lot of details. You know, the part when I met you and when Arthur gave me Caliburn as a sign of our friendship.”

She chuckled, “Yeah. I noticed. You changed a lot of it too,”

“Our son wouldn’t understand any of it. He’d think of it as nothing than a story where dragons are not real. Fays and Angels do not exist. But you and I both know those things are true,”

“Of course we do. I did stayed with you through hell and back.” She said, walking towards Percival as she speaks. She puts up a hand to his cheek, her violet gaze pierced through his fiery eyes. But that flame within him had no longer burned like it used to. It flickered and waned. “You are no longer the brave knight I once knew. But you are still the man that would give his life to protect the ones he loved. That is why I love you.”

“Thank you, Ana. For being with me despite everything else.” He pulled her close, his eyes looking down at her. Her strands of black hair served to amplify her beauty, her eyes did the same. He remembered when he is on the brink of death, only for Ana to sing a song that weaved the essence of life into healing his most grievous of wounds. She was one of the very few who can use magic, the very few that remained on this world.

Hours passed and midnight comes. The day of the festival of Satarlia has arrived. The soldiers had come home to their families and puts aside their weapons to honor the celebration, repented prisoners were set free and a huge feast is held in nearby castles, towns and cities. The villagers below had prepared everything, some already left to travel to the nearest town to celebrate with their families.

From the top of the hill, he saw the colorful lights hung above their streets. Violet, blue, red and yellow. It made the village a lot cheerful than before. He saw flickering lights disappearing into the woods, many of the residents had left to celebrate Satarlia elsewhere and yet, many of whom had chosen to stay.

As he sat on the hill, he felt the cold winds of the north blew ever stronger. He began to remember the days before power began to whisper the words of madness into the king’s mind, before he left the Round Table and before the death of his family. It was good times indeed, where he and the rest of the twelve knights formed a close bond with one another. Now, after many of them had left the king’s side, their fates remained uncertain.

Flaming rocks descended from the skies and struck the village below. Percival quickly stood to his feet, surprised to see what is happening in front of his eyes. More of the rocks came and as they crashed into the buildings, many of the unfortunate villagers that stayed finds their end. Crushed under the weight of the debris and the rocks.

“By the gods,” he thought the sky has fallen. But as he turned around, he saw an army of soldiers emerging from the hills away from the village. Hundreds of banners flapped in the cold winds, all carrying the three headed dragon Pendragon as they marched. Behind them, were several trebuchets hurling flaming rocks onto the village.

Pikes stood upright like a bristle of thorns. Their dark segmented armor glints in the pale light of the moon and each of their step is loud enough to be heard from a distance faraway. Judging from the number of banners that they carried, about several thousand men had descended upon Greccan lands – upon the village of Kaldir itself.

Percival rushed into his house and wakes up both his wife and his son. Urging them to leave the village as fast as they can.

“What about you?” Ana asked, her eyes looked at him. Worrying about his life. “Please, don’t leave us. I don’t want to lose you,” she said. The truth is clear in her eyes, her hands touched the cheeks of her husband. She didn’t want him to go and pick up his sword to fight them, but deep down she knew that he’d be stubborn enough to stay and protect them as they flee.

Percival remained silent. He pulled her close by the waist and kissed her. One kiss. He didn’t even know what that meant. He didn’t want it to be his last kiss for her, to see his son for the last time in his life. He pulled himself away and gave a deep look into her violet eyes that gleamed like a pair of gems, “Wait for me. Should I fall today, know that I’ll watch you from the heavens above,” he said to her, before kneeling on one knee and pulled his son close. “I love you my son. Father will be there if you wait for me. Follow your mother’s words. Don’t make the beautiful woman cry. Until then,” he puts his hand on the wooden knight, “Hold on to this.” He stands on his feet and looked to his family, he picked up a sword that hangs above the front door and hands it to Ana, “Bring this with you. Should anything happens, you know what to do with it.”

He rushed for the dining room without hesitation and pushed aside the table where they dine. He pulled the carpet underneath and revealed a secret trap door. He pulled the door open and finds himself looking at a fragment of his past – his old armor and weapons, hidden beneath their feet to push aside the life he once had. But somehow he knew, that it would come to this – that he would become what he always was, a warrior.

Pillars of smoke rose from the village below as the buildings burn. The flames grew and consumed anything that stood in its path, to burn everything to the ground. As the trebuchets stopped, the legionnaires of Camelot descended upon them. Their rectangular shields were raised and spears lowered as they advanced into the streets.

Cavalrymen charged from the hills, couching their lances while the archers rained down arrows like a storm. Many died that horrible night and many more were trying to flee from their lives. Then legionnaires broke off their formation and rushed for the streets and attacking those who are unlucky enough to feel the wrath of Camelot unleashed upon them.

They scream in pain and agony, crying out for help but their words were futile. It was a sacred day for the Greccans where no blood shall be spilled upon their soil. But tradition had paved the way for the Camelots to launch an assault upon one of their villages. All for the sake of the king’s will.

But Percival is not a Greccan. He is a Camelot only by name and yet, he embodies what the kingdom used to be. Honor, loyalty and nobility. Yet, all of that would have been useful in a world where the good and evil are easily identifiable from the beginning. But not everything is simple. Power corrupts.

And so does vengeance.

Black flames erupted from within the ranks of the marching legionnaires. They were engulfed in its terrible fire, their skin melts away as the steel plating of their armor began to merge with their bodies while the flames burned. They screamed and howled in pain and some already turned to ash as they were nothing more than a burnt corpse wearing armor.

“It’s him!” one of the legionnaires shouted.

“The Black Knight’s here!” another screamed.
His anger rises as he saw the deaths of the innocents that surrounds him. The flames that burned within his mind grew and burned violently as he slew more of the legionnaires. He keeps a firm control on the state of his mind but even now, he felt the dangers of his powers began to claw itself out.

Percival moved through the field with his sword in hand, a large greatsword that is deemed too big for a man to wield. Too heavy for a mere human to swing. But he proved them wrong many times. As its blade engulfed in the flames of his vengeance, he swung his sword down to the ground where the concentration of the legionnaires were the thickest and from beneath their feet a burst of black fire burned them to their bones.

He moved from one cohort to another, slaying many of the legionnaires with ease. His mind if clear of anything, without a shred of sympathy nor mercy to those that stood against him. Just the thought of enacting his vengeance upon them. Just the rage and fury that burned within him like the fires that turned many of the legionnaires into ashes.

There he stood, his once brass armor now charred black by the flames of his own power. The magic that flows within him turned into a fuel to drive him forward, it made his rage grew more violent and the fires he conjured more deadlier. He held his greatsword in both hands, the horns of his helm resembled those of a dragon’s and his cape flows like fiery river. His eyes gleamed like a pair of rubies as he looked at the army and from the slits of his armor, the same flames burned within him.

“M-monster,” they said in fear as their hands trembled at the sight of the Black Knight.

He sets his eyes upon a man that rides on a white stallion on top of a hill. He growled like a demonic beast at the sight of it, knowing all too well and easily recognizing who he was by the armor the man wore.

His suit of plate armor is coated with a paint of crimson, every piece of metal fashioned like the scales of a dragon and his shoulder pauldrons were crafted intricately to resemble the serpentine beast of the skies. His helm had a crown of his own with twelve swords pointing upright circling around the head and a narrow slit for his golden eyes to see. On his side hangs a sword sheathed in a decorative scabbard painted black with a pattern of interlinking silver chains, strapped onto him with a leather belt.

“ARTHUR!!!” the Black Knight roared as loud as the mighty dragons of the ancient world. His rage burns within him with such a terrible flame that it grew more violent, clouding Percival’s mind with nothing else but vengeance.

The king dismounted from his steed and pulled his sword, raising it into the sky. The blade of the sword gleamed in the pale light of the moon as the runic engravings upon it glows blue. “Percival,” he said as one of the soldiers gave him his shield, a large tower shield that had the face of the dragon that faced towards the enemy. “How the mighty has fallen,” his sword bursts into bluish flames that burns bright, illuminating his surroundings like a bright light.

The Black Knight charged, tearing a bloody path through the innumerous ranks of legionnaires that stood between him and the one they call the Mad Dragon. He swung his greatsword furiously, each with the intent to kill and filled with the fires that fueled him to push himself to such lengths in desiring vengeance.

He felt his mind began to slip away. The fire that manifests out of his rage began to tore his mind apart, separating the human within and the monster without. But Percival held on, he held on to the memories that made him a man of honor and duty. But every life he takes, his grip on his consciousness began to weaken.

As Arthur Pendragon stood before him, the Black Knight lunged at him and raised his burning sword high in the air. The king watched, keeping a calm demeanor while he held his blade in his hand. As the Black Knight drove his sword to the ground with a force that would kill a Giant in a single swing, Arthur raised his shield and stood his ground. The sound of its clash is loud enough to be mistaken for an explosion. “I do not wish to fight you, Percival.” The king says, swinging his sword towards the raging knight.

He was fast enough to react and pulled himself away. “You killed my family,” he speaks. But the voice seemed almost monstrous and wasn’t Percival’s own. It was the ‘monster’ that is hidden within him, the one that he has been suppressing for five years has attempting to lash out and to lets his fury loose upon the Pendragon. “You made me who I am now. A monster who stands against you,” the voice speaks again.

Percival’s mind could not hold on much longer. But he tries to do so. Attempting to regain control of his psyche wasn’t as easy as it sounds for the waves of negative emotions struck him like the storm of the seas. Like climbing a mountain during a terrible snowstorm.

He held on to the memories of his time as a knight, a sworn knight of Camelot and of the Round Table. He pictured them in his head, their faces and their names, he tried to remember all of them. But the harder he tried, the more he failed.

Percival is gone and only the mind of the raging Black Knight remained. The culmination of fear, anger, pain and guilt had manifested itself as an entity of vengeance, taking over Percival’s mind and body as a conduit. His deepest and darkest desires pushed into the forefront of the former knight’s psyche, turning the once honorable warrior of the realm into a monster that would only exist in legends.

The legionnaires backed away, their hands trembled as they gazed upon the Black Knight in fear. Rightfully so.

The armor that he once wore began to twist and change. A pair of flaming black horns manifests itself on top of his helm and the sword he held had formed crack-like patterns that glow with the color of the flames. His eyes did the same, red and burning like the fires that he conjured. Dragon-like wings emerged from his back in a fiery blaze and a draconic tail materialized, making him looked more like an actual beast than a human.

Arthur stood and watched his old friend lost himself in a state of uncontrollable rage. His grip on his sword trembled not in fear, but of rage for Percival’s fall into a pit of wrath. “I always thought that we can fight side by side. But your rage has made you call upon the Will of Kings. However, you lack the mind to control its powers, old friend.” He remarked and dropped his tower shield. “But I don’t,”

His grip on his sword tightened and had both of his hands grabbing the hilt. The sword burst into a bright flame that burned anything in its vicinity. Arthur engulfed himself in the blue fires that he had summoned by weaving the essence of magic itself to his will to call upon the power of ancient kings.

A ring of blue flames manifests itself on top of Arthur’s head and the fires that he summoned twists and turns, shaping itself into an armor made purely by the powers of these ancient kings. Down his back flows a coat much in the same manner as the Black Knight but burned brightly and magnificently, radiating a sense of majesty and power unlike that of his enemy – of dread and intense anger. “Rage cannot defeat pride,” he mumbled. “A shame that I had to fight you. But I only need your sword,”

The Black Knight lets out a long roar, filled with a feral rage that the beasts of the wilderness would understand. He charged forth and clashed steel against the Pendragon. Each blow resulted in a burst of flames, sparks flew across the fields as they fought and Arthur seemed to enjoy himself as he unleashed a portion of his own power. “Your Caliburn cannot withstand the might of my Excalibur, Percival. You know that yourself!” he declared and with the strength of the ancient kings coursing through his body, he swings his sword upwards and a pillar of blue flames erupted underneath the Black Knight’s feet.

But he leapt out almost unscathed, roaring as he plunged down with his sword striking down the ground. Yet Arthur is a capable fighter, deadlier perhaps. The Pendragon dodged the powerful blow and in a flash, he dashed forward in a blazing speed with Excalibur held tightly within his grasp.

The Black Knight lunged forward, leaving behind a streak of black flames as he charged. He roared and fought with the movements of a beast, one that is far different than how the former knight of Camelot would fight – elegant and deadly, graceful yet each of his swings filled with the intention to kill. But as a monster that became the incarnation of someone’s wrath and vengeance, he retains the deadliness that made Percival a formidable warrior but none of the elegance and grace in his steps. All of which were replaced by a primal rage.

Arthur sees the chance to end this all and as the Black Knight charged forth with all his fury, the Pendragon aimed for his head and delivered the blow. He swings Excalibur in a flat arc.

The beast roared in pain as he dropped to the ground. He only managed to barely dodge the killing blow and the sharp pain jolts through out his body. He puts a hand to his right eye where crimson nectar poured out of his bleeding eye socket. Yet, he continued to roar.
As he raised on his feet and picked up his sword, Arthur approached him and kicked him by the chest. The Black Knight had depleted all his energy in that one strike but he failed to end it all.

“Now,” Arthur says, standing on top of the fallen knight as he puts a foot onto his chest. He raised Excalibur, pointing towards him. “Hand me Caliburn,” his voice raised, painted with a tinge of irritation as he ordered.

A laughter bursts out from the Black Knight. He laughed, looking at Arthur in the eye. But as he ceased, he growled. “Over my dead body, Mad Dragon. The Will of Kings doesn’t suit a monster like you, attacking an innocent village for nothing more than a mere sword. You are not – “ Excalibur pierced through the metal plating of the knight’s chest as Arthur drove it through with his hands. His eyes now showed the same rage that Percival radiated within his gaze but instead of vengeance, it was because of greed and power.

“Very well,” Arthur grits his teeth and took the greatsword from the Black Knight’s hands. He held it in one hand and with his touch, the black flames that erupted from its blade disappeared, reverting the dreaded sword into its original form.

Yet, the king’s eyes widened in shock. In his hand, he held a greatsword of the Dragonstorm lineage that has been passed down for several generations. It was the Kingslayer sword, but not the famed Caliburn that Arthur yearns for. Enraged, he drove the Kingslayer through the Black Knight’s heart. “You brought a mere powerless sword to face me? You disgust me!” he bellowed, the blue flames that engulfed began to flicker as red ones started to emerge. His anger began to consume his mind, just as it did consume Percival.
Pendragon walked away and turned to his legionnaires, “Search the area for Caliburn! I want every house raided, every chest opened and scour through the damned tunnels should they have one!”

The Black Knight lies there, looking into the skies above where the stars were scattered across the endless void like diamonds. Each blinked alongside one another, accompanying the lonely moon in its everlasting watch. There the knight lies with his ancestral sword drove through his body, alone like the moon that loomed over him. His black flames dissipates, his manifested draconic features faded away as the cold winds blew and the village that he once lived in burned with the fires of black and blue.
Their terrible fight only burned their surroundings even worse. Each class resulted in a burst of flames that reflected their deepest and darkest emotions. At that time, Percival regained control of his mind. The beast that he inevitably unleashed returned to its cage, his anger quells.

Percival grabbed the blade of his sword and attempts to pull itself out from his body. But he felt lifeless, devoid of the energy that he once had. He coughed out blood and his vision blurs. He gazed upon the skies once more, remembering the faces of his wife and son. “Ana,” he called out her name. Tears trickled down his cheeks as he watched the stars flickered in the skies.

“I’m sorry,”

* * *

Everything is subject to change in the final release of A Field of Swords. Scenes might be changed and character names could be replaced. Until then, enjoy the sample chapter of AFoS.