A Whisper Begins
These days, a single story was making quiet rounds through the taverns and guilds of the Bellasion Empire — passed only among those with connections wide enough to hear it.
The rumor of a black-haired knight who guarded the side of the princess known as the Flower of the North like her own shadow.
"Hey, this is just something I picked up somewhere, but... that knight? Word is he's actually a northern barbarian."
"Ha! And the Argent Ducal House would lose its mind and put a barbarian next to the princess? What kind of nonsense are you spouting?"
"I'm telling you it's true! I heard it straight from the northern trade caravans. There's even talk that the ducal house has been secretly dealing with the barbarian tribes."
"...Seriously? Don't talk shit. Why the hell would an Argent ever shake hands with those barbarian bastards?"
"You think that's all? They say the barbarians are starting to band together under one banner again — just like three hundred years ago."
Wary of prying ears, the men around the table set down their mugs and huddled close, heads together, dropping their voices to a hush.
CRACK!
The gleaming axe head split clean through the thick neck of the beast, mercy nowhere to be found.
From the wound where the blade had bitten deep, blood erupted like a fountain.
"...Hm?"
His face wasn't the kind carved from marble like a statue's — it was a face that radiated raw, untamed wildness, like a beast of prey. Across his hardened, muscled torso sprawled countless old scars.
The man with gray pelt slung over his shoulders — Razkal Ulga — lifted his head. Wiping the splash of blood from his cheek with a sweep of his forearm, he let out a dry chuckle.
"Why are my ears itching all of a sudden? Don't tell me someone's talking about me."
"Targan—!"
Just then, a barbarian came bounding through the tall grass in the distance, breathless, his shout carrying across the plain.
"Haah... haah...! Targan's companion — your companion is here!"
"How many times have I told you — she's not my companion."
Yanking the axe free from the beast's spine with an easy tug, Razkal broke into a wry grin.
"She has a name, you oaf. Call her Ceris."
Ceris Argent.
She was the reason I'd managed to unite the ignorant, battle-crazed barbarians of this shit-heap world under a single flag — the one and only reason they'd finally come to call me Targan.