Anemoi 5 – Anemoi 20, Imperial Year 1644
The Secondary Workshop, Hills Above Velathri
The first week of training was brutal.
Ser Corvin – now called the Hound – had expected combat drills. Sword work, shield work, perhaps some unarmed techniques. What he had not expected was Vladislav Eisenberg sitting him down at a desk with a stack of parchment and a quill.
"Investigation is the foundation," Vlad said. "A knight who kills the wrong man is no better than a common murderer."
For three days, Corvin studied case files. Vlad had documented every assassination he had ever performed – the evidence, the witnesses, the balance of consequences. Corvin read each file, summarized the facts, and presented his own verdict.
"The slaver, Harlan Vex. Justified."
"The circus master, Horatio Vane. Justified."
"The treasurer, Orin Blackwood. Justified."
"The knight, Sir Aldous. Justified."
Vlad nodded. "You see the pattern. Each target was a monster. Each kill was supported by evidence. But evidence can be falsified. Witnesses can be bribed. How do you know I did not manufacture these files?"
Corvin frowned. "I do not."
"Good. Never trust a source blindly. Verify. Cross‑reference. Seek independent confirmation." Vlad slid a new file across the table. "This one is incomplete. The target is a merchant accused of selling weapons to bandits. The evidence is circumstantial. Decide."
Corvin read the file. He asked questions. He argued. After an hour, he concluded, "Not enough. More investigation needed."
"Correct. You will go to the merchant's warehouse tomorrow and observe. Do not confront. Do not engage. Just watch. Report back."
Corvin nodded. "And combat training?"
"Combat is simple. Killing is simple. The hard part is knowing when to kill. That is what I am teaching you."
Anemoi 12, Imperial Year 1644
The Hills – Combat Training
After a week of investigation drills, Vlad finally drew a blade.
They stood in a clearing behind the workshop, the morning sun pale through the trees. Corvin held a wooden practice sword. Vlad held an identical one.
"You have fought before," Vlad said. "But you have never fought someone faster, stronger, and more durable than a human. I will pull my blows. I will not use my full speed. But you will learn to compensate."
They sparred. Vlad moved like water – flowing, unpredictable, impossibly fast even at half speed. Corvin was thrown to the ground a dozen times. His wrists ached. His shoulders burned.
"You rely on strength," Vlad said, helping him up. "You need to rely on angles. On leverage. On anticipation."
"Easy for you to say," Corvin grunted. "You are a vampire."
"I have studied the masters – Fiore, Meyer, Liechtenauer. The principles are the same whether you are human or vampire." Vlad reset his stance. "Again."
They sparred until dusk. By the end, Corvin could last three exchanges before being disarmed. It was not much, but it was progress.
Anemoi 15, Imperial Year 1644
The Workshop – The Cape and the Crest
Vlad stood before the Zero armor, contemplating the white cape.
It had been a symbol of possibility – a blank slate, a new beginning. But the more he thought about it, the more it felt wrong. White was the color of purity, of innocence. He was neither.
Black, he decided. Black is the color of the shadow. Of the unseen. Of the weight we carry.
He removed the white cape and replaced it with one of black wool, trimmed in silver. The change was subtle but significant. The armor looked darker now, more menacing – but also more honest.
Then he turned to the crest.
He had been thinking about the symbol for days. A raven? Too associated with the Raven persona. A wolf? A sword? A shield? None of them captured what he wanted the Black Knights to represent.
He picked up a piece of chalk and drew a symbol on a steel plate – a stylized bird with outstretched wings, its body forming a triangle, its head a sharp beak. It was simple, elegant, and unique.
"This is the crest of the Black Knights," Vlad said to Corvin, who had come to observe. "The symbol of our order."
Corvin examined it. "What does it mean?"
"It means a wish. A hope. That justice is possible. That the world can be better." Vlad took the plate and attached it to the left shoulder of the armor. "I will have more made. Each knight will wear one."
"And my name? The Hound?"
"Your call sign. In the field, we use names, not titles. I am Zero. You are Hound. Others will choose their own."
Corvin nodded. "I understand."
Anemoi 18, Imperial Year 1644
The Forest – The Second Recruit
Vlad had been watching her for a week.
She called herself Sera. No last name, no history, no allegiance. She was a former mercenary archer who had walked away from her company after they massacred a village of non‑combatants. Now she lived in the forest, hunting for food, avoiding contact.
She was tall for a woman, lean, with dark hair and green eyes. Her hands were calloused, her bow a masterpiece of yew and horn. She had survived alone for two years.
Vlad approached her camp at dusk.
She saw him coming. An arrow was nocked before he was within a hundred paces.
"Stop," she said. Her voice was calm. "Take one more step, and I shoot."
Vlad stopped. He was not wearing the Zero armor – just a plain cloak and a hood. His face was hidden.
"I am not here to harm you," he said.
"That is what they all say."
"I am here to offer you a choice."
Sera's eyes narrowed. "What kind of choice?"
"You were a mercenary. You left because you could not stomach the killing of innocents. You have been living alone, surviving, but not living." Vlad slowly reached into his cloak and pulled out a folded parchment – the nine tenets. "Read this. If it speaks to you, meet me at the old lighthouse in Velathri in three days. Come alone."
He placed the parchment on a stump and walked away.
Sera did not shoot.
Anemoi 20, Imperial Year 1644
The Old Lighthouse – Dawn
She came.
Sera stood at the base of the lighthouse, her bow slung across her back, her green eyes wary. Vlad waited in the Zero armor – black cape, masked helmet, the crest on his shoulder.
"You are the one who left the parchment," she said.
"I am."
"The tenets. They are… idealistic."
"So I have been told."
Sera studied the armor, the crest, the mask. "You are not from Velathri. You are not even from the Free Cities."
"No. I am from Thornreach. But justice has no borders."
"And you want me to join your order? To become a Black Knight?"
"I want you to consider it. I will train you. I will provide for you. You will investigate, judge, and act when action is necessary. You will never be asked to kill an innocent. You will never be ordered to do something your conscience forbids."
Sera was silent for a long moment. "I killed a man once. A farmer who had not paid protection money. My commander ordered it. I did it without thinking." She looked at her hands. "I have never forgiven myself."
"Then you understand the weight of steel." Vlad extended his gauntleted hand. "The Black Knights carry that weight together. You will not carry it alone."
Sera looked at the hand. Then she looked at the crest – the winged symbol, the wish, the hope.
She took his hand.
"I will try," she said.
"What name will you use?"
She thought for a moment. "Sparrow. Small, fast, hard to catch."
"Sparrow it is."
Vlad led her toward the workshop, where the Hound was waiting.
Two knights. More would come.
The Black Knights had begun.
End of Chapter Twenty-Five