Then they prepared themselves and hastily continued their journey. Before departing, they refilled their water supplies from the Lemuria River into numerous large wooden barrels and secured them atop the horse-drawn carriage. After that, they crossed the Lemuria River, whose current that morning was not particularly strong. Walking a short distance beyond the river, they finally entered the vast Pisvor Valley.

  Pisvor Valley, also known as the Valley of Despair, was an immense stretch of land. According to legend, the valley spanned nearly a thousand kilometers, with gently rolling hills covered sparsely in grass and tall weeds. It normally took more than a week to cross without incident, yet only a handful of people had ever survived the passage. The valley was home to countless wild beasts and a mystical creature known as Andradile—a colossal centipede-like monster that devoured anyone who trespassed into its territory. Near the center of the valley, an oppressive mystical atmosphere could severely disturb the minds of travelers, causing intense hallucinations. Because of this, Isac Galeon, the leader of the hunting party, warned his group.

  Riding at the front on horseback, he turned his head toward his companions and spoke firmly.

  “Be cautious. We have entered a place of extreme danger. Prepare your minds.”

  The group continued onward for five days, resting occasionally to ease their exhaustion from constant travel. One night, as darkness fell, Isac Galeon ordered them to rest on an open plain near a small hill. While tents were being erected, Ragan—the warrior-cook—busied himself preparing dinner. Suddenly, distant howls of a wolf pack echoed nearby, startling them. Isac jolted upright and immediately commanded the group to be on alert.

  “Everyone, stay sharp!” Isac shouted.

  They formed a defensive circle around the tents, protecting Elisabeth, the priestess, who was inside.

  “Draw your swords. Stay focused. No one gets hurt.”

  They remained on guard when suddenly a strange apparition appeared before them.

  From the sky descended a blood-red light that struck the ground directly in front of the group. From within that light emerged a winged male figure, his wings resembling those of a crimson eagle. He wore a long black cloak and wielded a curved scythe made of ancient metal that crackled with lightning. Several knights froze in terror at the sight. Isac shouted again to steady them.

  Gripping his sword tightly, he held it before him. “Do not be afraid. Maintain formation.”

  The figure raised his hood, revealing a face resembling a skull still covered in flesh. Two pairs of horns protruded from his head, and his eyes were pitch black, staring emptily at them.

  “Greetings, knights of the Kingdom of Normandia,” the figure said.

  Though shaken, Isac gathered his courage and asked, “Are you the cursed dragon?”

  The figure smiled, revealing sharp fangs.

  “No. My name is Briel, and I am the Angel of Death.”

  Fear rippled through the knights as they pressed closer together.

  If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

  “I have come to warn you,” Briel continued.

  "If you seek VORNAHURD, guarded by the cursed dragon, you should turn back now. You are no match for it.”

  “That dragon does not compromise with humans. The last time, centuries ago, a man was killed by a single breath.”

  The knights grew even more afraid, but Isac hardened his resolve.

  “This is our duty—to find the Gate of Hope and bring it to our king.”

  “VORNAHURD is not something you can simply take,” Briel replied. “You must defeat the dragon to obtain it, and that is impossible for you.”

  “We will defeat it,” Isac declared. “We are chosen knights.”

  Briel laughed softly, then glanced at the group again.

  “I wish to see the priestess you brought with you.”

  Elisabeth stepped out of the tent and faced him.

  “Are you Elisabeth Clara?” Briel asked, pointing at her with his long black claws.

  “Yes. I am Elisabeth Clara of the Holy Cross Order of the Kingdom of Normandia.”

  “Hmm you possess a destiny worth witnessing,” Briel said with a smile.

  “Stay alive until we meet again, Elisabeth.”

  He then ascended, lifted by crimson light into the parted clouds amid thunder and violent winds.

  Afterward, the knights collapsed onto the ground, trembling and drenched in cold sweat.

  “This mission is incredibly dangerous,” Monci muttered.

  “I’ve never seen anything like that in my life,” Lula added.

  “Same here,” Lothar said, glancing at Elisabeth. “Do you know him?”

  “No. This was my first time seeing him as well.”

  Silence fell until Isac Galeon spoke.

  “Does anyone wish to withdraw from this suicide mission?”

  “Don’t joke, Hersir,” Matias replied. “This is the exciting part.”

  “Yes,” Breum the executioner added. “I’m curious what dangers await us.”

  “Well,” Ragan sighed, pointing to the ruined campfire, “it seems we’ll be sleeping hungry tonight.”

  The next morning, as the sun rose in the east, the group prepared to continue. Elisabeth guided them using the sun and wind, conversing with Sasa along the way.

  “Do you think the god Ilio will accompany us?”

  “Yes. I am certain he will.”

  “Do you think last night’s figure was sent by Ilio?”

  “I believe so.”

  “He could have killed us easily if he wanted to.”

  “I was terrified. I feel like I won’t survive this mission.”

  Elisabeth embraced her gently. “You will survive, Sasa. Ilio and I will protect you.”

  “I won’t let a single strand of your hair fall,” Sasa replied.

  Breum smiled faintly at the two before speaking to Lothar.

  “Are you scared?”

  “A little.”

  “Haha, me too. But it excites me.”

  “You mean fighting a dragon and an angel of death?”

  “I value my life more.”

  “Imagine returning as heroes with VORNAHURD.”

  “If we survive,” Lothar replied.

  Elsewhere, in the Kingdom of Normandia, King Maximilian XV was bathing when Sir Antonial and General Jack Laurensius arrived with grave news: the Kingdom of Sartala was preparing to wage war.

  Enraged, the king ordered full military preparations and tightened palace defenses.

  Back in Pisvor Valley, the hunting party was suddenly attacked from beneath the ground. Matias was thrown from his horse as Andradile emerged. Chaos erupted. Supplies were destroyed, horses devoured, and Isac ordered the group to split up.

  One group fled toward the Elf Forest while the other was pursued relentlessly by Andradile.

  During the battle, Ragan sacrificed himself to save his comrades. With his final strength, he split the monster in two but was mortally wounded.

  “God Ilio… let me rest now, with pride,” he whispered before dying with a smile.

  The surviving knights mourned deeply, vowing never to forget his courage.

  Later, the groups reunited near the Helberd Cluster. Exhausted and grief-stricken, they prepared to continue toward the Elf Forest, knowing greater trials awaited.

  Their journey to find VORNAHURD—the Gate of Hope would be written in the annals of history, a testament to loyalty, sacrifice, and an impossible mission undertaken for the Kingdom of Normandia.