บท 2: The Farmer
The forest was a world unto itself, ancient and untamed. Towering trees, their trunks as thick as castle towers, stretched high into the sky, their canopies forming a dense, almost impenetrable roof. The roots of these giants twisted and coiled across the forest floor, some so large they resembled the backs of slumbering beasts, making the terrain uneven and treacherous. The sun barely pierced through the thick foliage, but where it did, it cast narrow beams of light that filtered down like ethereal spears, illuminating patches of the forest in a soft, golden glow. The interplay of light and shadow painted the forest in haunting beauty, a place where the line between reality and myth seemed to blur.
Sir Alaric moved silently through the undergrowth, Kellin at his side, the dire wolf's dark fur blending with the shadows. The knight's mind was occupied, his thoughts consumed by the task ahead—finding the old farmer who held the knowledge he sought. The quest was a burden he bore alone, the weight of it pressing heavily on his shoulders as they ventured deeper into the forest.
The woman followed a short distance behind, her steps quieter now, but her presence still an irritant that gnawed at the edges of his focus. He tried to ignore her, pushing thoughts of her stubbornness aside as he concentrated on the path ahead.
But she was relentless. "So… where are we going, anyway?" she asked, her tone deliberately casual, as if they were on some leisurely stroll rather than a perilous journey.
Alaric's jaw tightened, his eyes fixed ahead. He didn't respond, hoping silence would be enough to dissuade her.
"Are you some kind of mercenary? A knight without a lord?" she pressed, her voice laced with feigned curiosity. "Or maybe you're a prince in disguise? No? How about a cursed hero? You certainly have the brooding part down."
His patience was wearing thin. She was doing exactly what she had promised not to—talking, asking questions, and trying to break through the walls he had built around himself. He had half a mind to turn and snap at her, but he kept his focus, pushing forward through the gnarled roots and thick underbrush.
"I mean, it's not like I'm asking for your life story," she continued, her persistence admirable in its own way. "Just, you know, maybe a hint about who you are? Or where we're heading? I'd like to know if I'm walking to my doom, after all."
Alaric finally halted, his patience snapping like a dry twig underfoot. He turned, fixing her with a cold glare. "I told you to keep your mouth shut. Your survival depends on it. This is your final warning."
She opened her mouth to respond, no doubt with another irritating retort, when Kellin suddenly growled, his hackles rising. The dire wolf's ears flattened against his skull, and he moved ahead, nose to the ground, alert to something just beyond the line of trees.
The knight's attention shifted instantly. Without a word, he moved forward, following Kellin's lead. As they pushed through the last of the undergrowth, they came upon a sight that made the woman gasp.
Before them, half-hidden by the twisting roots and thick foliage, was an ancient, crumbling bridge. The stonework, once grand, was now weathered and cracked, parts of it having collapsed into the chasm below. Moss and vines had taken hold, creeping over the surface like nature's reclamation. The bridge seemed to span a gorge, the depth of which was lost to darkness.
Alaric surveyed the structure with a critical eye. The bridge was old—far older than anything else they had encountered so far. It was a relic of a forgotten time, a dangerous crossing that had not been maintained for centuries. Yet it was the only way forward.
"Stay close," he ordered, his tone brooking no argument. For once, the woman seemed to understand the gravity of the situation, her annoying chatter falling silent as she eyed the precarious bridge with trepidation.
The knight stepped forward, testing the first few stones with the careful precision of a man who knew one wrong move could send him plummeting into the abyss below. He could feel the tension in the air, a palpable sense of danger that clung to the ancient forest like a shroud.
The ancient bridge groaned under their weight as they began their careful crossing, the stones shifting slightly beneath their feet. Sir Alaric moved steadily, his every step measured, but the young woman, less accustomed to such treacherous terrain, was less cautious. Her foot slipped on a crumbled stone, and she let out a startled cry as she lost her balance.
Alaric reacted instinctively, his hand shooting out to grab her arm before she could fall into the chasm below. He hauled her back onto the bridge, his grip firm and unyielding. "Watch your step," he hissed, his voice low and full of irritation. "This bridge won't forgive carelessness."
She nodded, wide-eyed, her heart pounding from the close call. "Th-thank you," she stammered, clearly shaken.
But there was no time for further scolding. Kellin, who had been crossing just ahead of them, suddenly stopped, his body tensed, and his growl rumbled deep in his chest. The dire wolf's eyes were fixed on the far side of the bridge, where a tall, old man now stood, bow in hand, an arrow already nocked and aimed directly at them.
Alaric cursed under his breath, pulling the woman behind him and drawing his sword in one swift motion. "Stay behind me," he ordered, his voice cold and commanding.
The two groups faced each other in silence, the tension so thick it seemed to suck the very air from the forest. The old man's eyes were sharp, his stance steady—this was no ordinary hunter. He was a man who had lived a long time and knew exactly what he was doing. Without a word, the old man released the arrow. It flew with deadly precision, embedding itself in the ground just inches from Alaric's feet. A warning.
The woman, unable to contain her fear, shouted out, "We're not a threat! Please, let us pass!"
But the old man's voice, gravelly and firm, cut through the air. "Turn back now, or you'll wish you had." The threat in his words was unmistakable.
Alaric's eyes narrowed as recognition dawned on him. The old man wasn't just some forest guardian—this was the very person he had been searching for. He sheathed his sword, raising his hand in a gesture of peace. "I come from The Dusty Helmet," he called out, his voice calm and steady. "Your brother sent me. I seek answers, nothing more. You can trust me."
The old man's expression shifted slightly, the bow lowering just a fraction. His eyes seemed to study Alaric more closely, as if weighing his words against some unseen measure. "I know who you are, Sir Alaric," the old man finally said, his voice losing some of its harsh edge. "The Raven Knight."
The woman, still clinging to the back of Alaric's cloak, blinked in surprise. "So... that's your name, is it?" she whispered, a hint of awe creeping into her voice. "Sir Alaric… The Raven Knight."
Alaric shot her a warning glance, but before he could respond, the old man stepped aside, gesturing for them to follow. "Cross the bridge. My house is not far from here. We'll speak there."
With the immediate threat passing, the trio carefully continued across the bridge. Once on the other side, they followed the old man into the forest, the path winding through the towering trees until a small, weathered cottage came into view. The old farmer leads them inside, the door closing behind them with a soft thud, leaving the mysteries of the forest and the quest ahead looming ever larger.
สถานะพลังงานรายสัปดาห์
-- การจัดอันดับด้วยพลัง 
-- หินพลัง