Andrew

“You have forsaken a knight's virtues and forfeited the right to don the armor.”

These words were deeply engraved in Andrew's heart as he was expelled from the Knight Academy of the United Kingdom.

Humility, honesty, compassion, bravery, justice, sacrifice, honor, and spirit.

As a top performer in the Academy, he could recite the eight knightly virtues effortlessly. Those words used to embody Andrew's aspirations and pride, but now they served as damning evidence against him.

Andrew stole something.

With the onslaught of Omega, resources were concentrated in the hands of warriors and the upper echelons, making life increasingly arduous for the common folk. Despite coming from a poor home, Andrew was able to enroll at the Knight Academy thanks to his natural talent and ensured a life free from want. However, his former comrades and neighbors were on the brink of survival. Hence, he resolved to take a perilous gamble and pilfer from the Academy's provisions.

Upon discovery, the Academy accused him of “losing honesty and honor” as charges and promptly exiled him. Where is compassion, one of the esteemed virtues? During the trial, they contended that knights only extend mercy to those deemed deserving, asserting that lowly peasants held no worth to receive their benevolence.

Andrew was banished to a region within the domain of a hostile Nomad Tribe, far removed from the Kingdom's borders. Stripped down to a meager backpack and tattered garments, he wandered aimlessly across the unfamiliar grasslands. Suddenly, he recollected the distinctive armor set he possessed exclusively at the Academy. Was it now reduced to ashes, condemned as a tainted relic due to its owner's transgressions?

The armor, resplendent in its silver-white hue, gleamed when bathed in sunlight. Those who wore it called themselves holy knights, and aristocrats imbued with a sense of pride. They were held in high esteem, bestowed with respect and honor, and entrusted with the duty to safeguard people's welfare.

But it seemed that Andrew had caught a glimpse of the true faces lurking beneath the armor—hypocrisy, selfishness, greed, and arrogance.

With each step growing heavier, he remained oblivious to the dark specter trailing him, manifesting his deepening animosity toward the knights. In addition, as the winds howled across the grassland, his resentment grew more profound and vivid...

In the past two years, the United Kingdom has been increasingly struggling against the relentless plundering by the tribes. Despite the tribes' inferior strength compared to the Kingdom, their agility and hit-and-run tactics always catch the Kingdom off guard.

Another significant reason is the emergence of an exceptionally formidable warrior within the tribes. No one knows his origins or why he bears such deep animosity towards the kingdom. Every battle sees him standing alone, fearlessly forging ahead. With his white hair, black armor, and a crimson-stained cloak flowing behind him, he resembles a mythical figure, almost like a demonic deity. Though his armor resembles the Kingdom's knights, the stark difference in color sets him apart.

At first, a newly appointed Kingdom knight scorned his audacious behavior and challenged him to a duel, only to be swiftly defeated by a single strike. Soon after, as wave upon wave of terrified soldiers rushed in, they were effortlessly mowed down by this enigmatic warrior, leaving none alive among the hundreds who dared to confront him.

“Upon sighting the Black Rider of the tribes, retreat without hesitation, absolved of any responsibility!”

After several clashes, during which this lone warrior single-handedly decimated nearly a thousand soldiers from the Kingdom, they had no choice but to issue such an order. The Kingdom also dispatched numerous scouts, hoping to unveil the origins of this terror-inducing warrior. Wouldn't the tribes become unbeatable if there were more like him?

Yet, the answers they received were consistently three bewildering words: “Found on the street.”

The Kingdom's marshal imprisoned all the scouts, dismissing their reports as nonsense. However, they did manage to bring back one valuable piece of information—the name of the Black Rider.

Andrew.

Amidst their frenzied state of terror, nobody connected this name and the exiled youth from several years ago.

Andrew's heart burned with an unrelenting desire for revenge, but he didn't realize when it had transformed into a merciless slaughter spree. The shadowy figure, clad in dark armor, had promised him a chance to reclaim his knighthood, yet failed to reveal the price he would have to pay.

He wore the same armor when he regained consciousness on the grasslands, saved by the tribesmen after an unknown duration. They told him it couldn't be removed, as if it had become an inseparable part of his body. At first, he felt no discomfort, only occasional surges of an intense craving for battle. Andrew attributed it to the tribal valor and martial spirit atmosphere and paid little attention.

It wasn't until his first time on the battlefield that everything changed. Initially, he harbored strong reluctance; after all, they were his compatriots. He couldn't bring himself to engage in outright conflict despite being exiled. He planned to go through the motions, exerting minimal effort.

However, as the battle commenced, the cacophony of war cries and thunderous drums ignited something within him. When his spear pierced the first foe, even he was taken aback. But in the next moment, he was consumed by an overwhelming rush.

He began a relentless slaughter. Even when that young knight stood before him, he showed no mercy or hesitation despite Andrew recognizing him as a former comrade from their time together as students.

His heart remained unfazed, driven solely by the intoxicating pleasure of revenge.

He thirsted for more!

Andrew actively joined the tribe's assaults on the Kingdom, but refrained from plundering. He had no interest in their resources. He just cared about the battle's thrill and slaughtering his enemies. This growing awareness gradually seized control of his thoughts like a savage beast.

He began to lose sight of his former self.

Perhaps only on nights devoid of conflict, as Andrew sits on the grasslands, gazing up at the vast expanse of stars, he might briefly recollect the young boy who had stolen food for his neighbors and friends. But was that truly him? He no longer knows.