Summary:
Knight General John Mason confronts his nephew Greg over an impulsive assault on another knight that damaged the Iron Shield’s standing with Lord Arnold. Greg recounts how a young man named Matthew defeated armored knights with bare hands, revealing skills tied to an ancient imperial order that used divine magic. The General decides to demote Greg while positioning him to investigate wild mages in the city watch. Meanwhile, Matthew struggles with insomnia and guilt over the lives he took during the fight that brought him to Westfield.
Here is your Story: I Punched Through Armor with My Bare Hands
Hi everyone! It’s good to be back. First, thanks to everyone who commented on the first part of the story. Chapters 1-20 all received great reviews, so I’m definitely inspired to keep writing. I also want to thank those who criticized my work, not just those who praised it. While I’m proud of my writing, I’m far from perfect.
This is the first time I’ve tried long-form writing, and I fully accept I’m going to make mistakes. There are things I wrote in the first twenty chapters that make me grimace with embarrassment when I read them back. But worse still are the mistakes I miss, because I won’t learn from them unless someone points them out.
So for those who said I’m rehashing topics too much or thought I mangled my currency system, rest assured you’ve been heard. I don’t mind constructive criticism when it helps me write better. If you’re just being a jerk, though, you do you. I’ll be over here trying my best.
As far as the release schedule goes, when I started I had twenty chapters written and I uploaded them all, staggering them over several days. While I know some of you liked that, it would be many months before I got enough written to do it again. I’ll release chapters every few months because I like to make sure what I have written isn’t set in stone until it’s set in stone.
For example, the chapters below were written about four months ago. I just needed to make sure that when I wrote later chapters I wouldn’t have to come back and change something. And I did, many times. I know that as soon as I press publish I’ll find some mistake I need to change.
It’s always the fastest way to find errors in your work. But I wanted to post a few chapters to ease any worries that I had abandoned the story on a cliffhanger. Also, I’m switching between perspectives more as the story progresses. While I like the first-person narrative, it limits the storytelling, so I’m switching between third-person focus and first-person focus as I feel it’s necessary.
The Knight General’s Office
TL;DR: I’m doing what I can, when I want, however I want because I can. Constructive criticism is not just welcomed, it’s necessary. But jerkfaces can jerkface off someplace else. Enjoy the next part of the story. Go back and read the first twenty chapters if you haven’t yet, unless you like being confused, I guess. Have fun!
Chapter 21 – Greg
“What the fuck do you think you were doing?” Knight General John Mason’s voice filled the room and hit the ears of the Iron Shield standing at attention. The sound bounced off the curved stone walls, their surfaces smoothed with hard white render. To the man taking the tirade, the General sounded as though he were yelling from every direction.
The effect came from the room itself. Greg Mason knew his uncle well enough to understand that. Stand where Greg stood and every sound in the chamber landed on you. It made an intimidating place to get chewed out, which was exactly the point.
Beyond the heavy door lay a warm, furnished antechamber. The acoustics kept every word inside. No one outside heard a thing. The air vibrated with each syllable. Every word landed like a hammer from nowhere and everywhere at once. Greg winced as his uncle circled him.
“You were temporarily insane!” the older knight said. “That’s the only reason I can think of for this madness! Do you know how long I worked on Lord Arnold to put the Iron Shield in a position of power?”
Greg stared at the wall and braced for the answer.
“HIS ENTIRE LIFE!”
The Knight General’s voice exploded around Greg’s head with enough force to almost make him cover his ears. Almost. Greg knew his uncle’s work. The aging General had shaped politics in the kingdom for decades. The result was more autonomy for the Iron Shield in the Appalachian Highlands and across the realm. Greg was also sure his uncle ranked high in the secretive First Shield, a group of Iron Shield extremists who wanted every mage dead. None of that bothered him.
“Then, just as he is about to put the Iron Shield in command of all law and order in the Appalachian Highlands, you barge into his court and assault Sir Reginald.”
Greg had the sense to look regretful. “I’m sorry, Sir. There is no excuse for my actions.”
The General glared. “If I believed you were playing for position, if I could believe you were trying to gain something for the Iron Shield, you would at least have my respect. Hell, don’t think I missed that you reported to him first and came to me second. I would usually respect that kind of move. But this was poorly done, Greg. A senseless loss of temper.”
The General walked to the window and looked down at the training field far below. Figures sparred like ants between sun-bleached banners. He stayed quiet for a full minute. His office sat high in the tower for privacy and gave a clear view of the entire compound. The stench of Westfield never reached this high.
Wind swept down from the Appalachian Mountains and rattled the glass. It carried the bite of snowmelt and the dry scent of old stone and steel. Across the gap, flags snapped on the opposite tower.
Finally he spoke. “Lord Arnold has asked for you to be debriefed, flogged, and demoted.”
Greg tensed at the last word. A demotion in the Iron Shield meant shame among his peers for the rest of his service.
The General continued. “I told him I will handle my knights my way. But I’m holding my decision until after your report.” He turned. “So report.”
Greg nodded and gave his full account. It was precise. He covered every step from Sterling, the addition of Lieutenant Laura Matre to Revenant Company, the fight with the necromancer, and the discovery of Matthew.
“And you didn’t check the boy for arcane potential when you found him?” the General asked.
“Yes, Sir,” Greg said. “Captain Derek put a bracelet on him as soon as we pulled him out of the grave. The gem showed nothing.”
The General nodded and signaled for him to continue. Greg described Matthew’s amnesia, the village, the fight with Don, the pledge of service, and Matthew’s reluctance to own a slave. He moved on to the training bouts with Matthew, Derek, and Danz.
“The kid had basic sword skills,” Greg said. “Good fundamentals. He’d been trained at some point, but the Captain took him apart. Then when Danz sparred unarmed with him…” Greg paused.
“What happened?” his uncle pressed.
“The kid’s unarmed fighting used the same principles as our sword work, just without a weapon. Two bouts. Each ended in seconds. The style was efficient and deadly. Derek was impressed. He wanted the kid to teach us.”
The General absorbed the information, then nodded for Greg to go on. Greg finished with the final clash.
“Sir. He punched through our armor. The shields and magic-resistant plate did nothing. It was like paper. He didn’t just defeat the first knights. He butchered them.”
The General sat at his desk, laced his fingers, and leaned his elbows on the wood. A pained look crossed his face. Greg caught a flicker of recognition in his eyes.
Family Ties and Old Orders
“Lieutenant Laura sided with the girls. She wasn’t sympathetic to Derek’s philosophy. Danz, Phil, and I followed orders and stayed with the Captain. Danz took that to mean he had to kill the Lieutenant. When she defended herself she caught the tip of her sword in his leg and he bled out.”
The General muttered, “Fool. Attacking a medic is suicidal.” He looked up. “And while that happened the boy killed the rest of your company, Derek included?”
Greg nodded. “Sir, he killed two knights and the Captain even after he burnt out. He beat them while outnumbered, unarmed, and unarmored.”
The Knight General stayed silent for a long time. His nephew stood at attention and let him think.
“Our family, the Mason line, comes from the old empire,” the General said. “You said he had a Shadow Plains accent?”
Greg nodded.
“When the undead overran the Shadow Plains, the empire formed to hold the line. Each nation inside it created an Imperial knightly order sworn to act as the Emperor’s will in its own lands. The Shadow Plains formed the Order of the Shroud. Heard of them?”
Greg shook his head.
“No surprise,” the General said. “They are secretive. The Order of the Shroud had the hardest job of all the Imperial Orders: herding the undead. There were too many to kill and the land kept creating more, so the only way to protect safe zones was to drive the hordes away from the Shadow Citadel and the farmlands. They often used themselves as bait. They had to move fast and quiet and cover long distances without heavy gear. When they fought, they did it empty-handed.”
Greg looked alarmed. “Against zombies and ghouls? Against ghosts? How do you punch a ghost?”
The General raised an eyebrow. “How do you punch through steel? You do it with magic.”
“But…”
“A form of magic our armor cannot stop. A magic that has not been seen in over three hundred years: divine magic.”
The younger knight straightened. That last statement pulled his eyes to his uncle.
“But the Gods…”
The General held up a dossier. “A report from James Brook. About twelve hours after you passed through, a young man with three young women, two identical elves and a woman with a sword, had trouble at the inn. The man healed a cripple and one of the elves spoke with the voice of the dead Goddess Bambinae.”
His nephew stared. The General went on. “I put it down to drunken superstition and a bard’s story. The number of reports was higher than usual, but still not enough to worry about. But…”
“They were there!” Greg said.
The General nodded. “They were there. Which means they are coming here. I would be surprised if they are not already here.”
Greg snapped back to attention. “Let me find the traitor and the wild mages, Sir. Please give me the chance to find justice for my company.”
The General shook his head. “No matter your skill, Nephew, you are no match for an Imperial Knight. You saw him fight. Do you really think you can beat that boy in open combat without protections? We train in hell to prepare for battle. They grow up in hell and choose to walk into it unarmed.”
Greg faltered. “But with a squad, a company…”
“You expect me to give you a command after the stunt you pulled today? Lord Arnold wants you flogged and flayed. There has to be a consequence to show other knights they are not equals to the Lord of the realm. Even if I protected you, your conduct means any chance the Iron Shield had of running a sanctioned action in the city is gone for now.”
Greg’s shoulders dropped. The Iron Shield had nearly gained full authority in the Appalachian Highlands. The last place they lacked control was Westfield itself, where the city watch kept its own tradition. Greg knew how much work his uncle had put into convincing Lord Arnold. He knew he had set those efforts back months, maybe years.
The General sighed. “A demotion is in order. Knight Greg, as much as it pains me, you are stripped of your field commissions and hunter emblems. You keep your rank and benefits in recognition of your survival against an Imperial Knight and for reporting the first case of divine magic in almost three centuries.
Those acts are what saved you from serving as a bedpan for the rest of your career. You will report to the Captain of the city watch and serve as our representative, acting as messenger and intermediary between our orders.”
Anger rose in the younger knight. He would have taken the flogging over this insult. He was about to speak when the General gave him a look that warned him to stay quiet.
“Your first order after you meet the Watch Captain is to review their practices for spotting and handling dangerous wild mages. I suggest a review of registered arcanists in the city and a refresher course for the watch on how to identify signs of wild mages living among the population.”
Greg’s gaze fixed on his uncle as understanding clicked into place. The demotion still stung, but beneath the humiliation he saw the chance he had been given. If he could use the city watch to hunt Matthew, Asha, and Laura, he could earn his way back. Only then did he see the full design his uncle had built. John had found a solution that satisfied everyone, advanced his own goals, and cost him nothing.
“Don’t disappoint me again,” his uncle said. “Dismissed.”
Greg saluted, turned, and was almost out the door when the General spoke once more.
“Greg, why did you survive the divine light when the other men perished? Why did Bambinae spare you?”
The younger man shrugged. The General nodded and waved him on. “I’m glad she did,” he muttered as he returned to his paperwork. He waited until the door closed, then said it again. “I’m glad she did.”
Chapter 22 – Laying Low
I stumbled down the stairs of the inn toward the main hall. I had left Asha to sleep in our room. It was not yet light. She was normally an early riser. Both girls were. But the weight of that first week on the road had finally caught up with her. She was exhausted and her body was claiming its due.
Mine was too. With me it was different. The nightmares. The horror of what I had done. My mind had protected me while I needed a clear head. It had shut down the worst of the violence and trauma, the feeling of blood under my nails, the sound of that knight’s eyes popping as I gouged them out.
I had not relived any of it on the road. Not like this. Now that we had a place to rest, I kept replaying that last week. It would have been simple to deal with the insomnia if the dreams stopped when I woke. But I saw everything while I was awake as well.
The Captain, snarling. The knights’ bewildered faces when their story ended. Don. That kid, the first life I took. The horror in his eyes as he gasped for breath haunted me. He didn’t need to die. I didn’t understand my strength. I could have pulled that second kick, gone to ground, wrapped him up and pinned him, waited.
I didn’t. Despite his actions, despite his intentions, it was still excessive force. It was murder. Manslaughter? Maybe. His dad was right to hate me. He deserved some kind of justice. Some kind of closure. His boy had made mistakes, but I had killed him. And he wouldn’t be the last.
The knights in the forest deserved death. They were vile men. But the carnage… that… was… I shuddered as I relived the moment I drove a sword through a knight’s breastplate. His face showed horror that he couldn’t believe what I had done. Suddenly his face became my face. I was in his body looking through his eyes at myself full of rage and power. I felt the tightness in my chest. I felt the cold of the blade. I felt the color draining from my face.
“MATTHEW! SON!”
The innkeeper’s voice snapped me out of the waking nightmare. I steadied myself on the banister halfway down the stairs. The gruff dwarf ran the place with a few of his so-called cousins, all members of his clan. He gripped my sweat-drenched shoulder, then stepped below me on the stair to look up into my bloodshot eyes.
“Ah, ye haven’t had a lick of sleep since ye arrived, have ye, son?” he whispered, concerned. He ran his hand through his braided beard.
I shook my head slowly as tears fell to the worn wooden step. I took the rest of the stairs past him to the ground floor and into the common room. The old dwarf didn’t speak again. He just followed and took the chair opposite me at one of the tables as I sank into my seat and dropped my head into my hands.
“Sorry,” I muttered. “I’m just dealing with a lot. I’ll be all right. I just… no one needs to see me like this. It’s not… I’m… I need to be strong.”
Theran Firespit sat and watched me for a long time. Up close I noticed the braids in his beard weren’t just ornaments. Each ring was stamped with a mark that seemed to increase by ten. I caught sight of one that said 380AW. Another showed 520AW. Dozens more followed. There were more than I could count at a glance. I would later learn they were decade markers. With the amount he had, I guessed he had picked up some patience over those centuries.
As I pulled myself together and sat up again in the barely lit room, I saw him staring at me with calculated, piercing eyes.
“Horseshit,” he spat.
Then he was quiet for a moment before he spoke softer. “I’ve seen my share of fools whining into their beer over some girl who was too good for them anyway. But this ain’t that. Look, you can’t hide fresh shit. It stinks too much and the smell builds up and just leaks through. You can’t do anything but clean as much of it up as you can in the hope that it eventually gets the smell out.”
