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Lyon was the sworn enemy of the undead. Naturally, Ambrose paid close attention to all news concerning the empire.
The white-haired Silvermoon Knight was a legendary figure. Though Ambrose had never seen him in person, he had certainly heard of him.
Master Morgan, the great artificer who had pioneered the field of spirit golems, had died at this man's hands, reduced to ashes.
Yet seeing him now, Ambrose found it hard to believe that legend.
The famed Silvermoon Knight looked… frail.
His steps were unsteady, his complexion sallow, his breathing short and labored. He looked every bit a man at death's door, hardly the empire's strongest paladin.
As the entire tavern rose up in salute, the Silvermoon Knight merely waved a hand lightly and said, "Leave."
The young paladins dared not question him. They departed at once. The remaining patrons, sensing trouble, hurried out as well.
Catherine hesitated. Should she slip away with the crowd? But it was too late. The Silvermoon Knight sat down opposite her and...
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