Bethran's heart kept racing even as he stood before the Dwarven King. Redbeard regarded him with a warm smile, stretching out a stocky arm to clasp Bethran's forearm in what dwarves called a warrior's greeting—an honor many dwarves would have killed for.
"Fang Bethran," Queen Tulip began, hovering into the air so she could meet the tall assassin's gaze. Her delicate wings shimmered like dewdrops catching sunlight. "Your valiant efforts helped the Phoenix bring down the Supreme traitor Wulfe."
"The Night has always proved to be an effective blade for the people under the Phoenix," she added. "And that night, thankfully, was no different."
"So…" Queen Tulip gestured gracefully toward King Redbeard. An acolyte beside Bethran stepped forward and knelt, offering a long, velvet-covered box. Bethran followed suit, dropping to one knee—yet still managing to tower over the dwarven monarch.
"On behalf of the Phoenix, I, Queen Tulip of Florisia—"
"And I, King Redbeard of Klaustia," the dwarf thundered.
"—proclaim you, Sir Bethran of Valor."
Cheers erupted from the crowd. King Redbeard sealed the proclamation by tapping the great ceremonial sword three times against Bethran's broad shoulders. A roar of applause followed.
At the far end of the stage, Elder Cassandra wiped a tear from her eye.
He'd done it. The first assassin in history to be knighted.
The audience was awash in murmurs and shocked faces. Many had heard of the assassins of the Night—shadowy legends, silent killers. But few had ever seen one in the flesh.
"The infamous 'Green-Eyed Wolf,'" whispered a young man, adjusting his monocle as he leaned toward the dwarf seated beside him. "I didn't think he actually existed."
The dwarf grunted, rubbing his beard. "I remember seeing him once or twice… during the Flower Rebellion."
"The Flower Rebellion?" The young man perked up. "Do tell."
The dwarf rolled his eyes. "Ah… never mind. That's a secret among us dwarves. I shouldn't have brought it up."
He quickly changed the subject. "I've met a few assassins from the Night, and they always fit that dark, gritty stereotype. All except one." He tilted his head toward the stage.
"Is that… a war hammer? The young man gasped.
"Surprised?The dwarf asked with a smirk.
"Of course I'm surprised!" the monocle flashed as the young man adjusted it; a habit he had formed whenever he made a point . "A war hammer is suited for warriors, not assassins. How's he supposed to use that for stealth?"
The dwarf chuckled. "Didn't I just say he doesn't fit the usual stereotype?"
Onstage, King Redbeard puffed out his chest with pride. "This war axe was forged by yours truly," he declared as Bethran marveled at the craftsmanship.
Bethran muttered, weighing it in his hand, "Feels light…"
"That's because it's forged from the scales of Draco Lizards," King Redbeard explained, launching into a spirited lecture that he had to end abruptly for lack of time. Draco scales, he said, were light to allow the creatures to fly and turn midair, but still as hard as steel.
"The peculiar thing," Redbeard continued, despite Hawthorn's intense stare. "is that Draco scales are as durable as metal despite their lightness."
"That explains the color," Bethran noted, studying the axe's head—a bright greenish hue with a beak-like end made of a silver-steel alloy. The long handle was crafted from interwoven scales, forming a mesmerizing pattern.
"Glad you like it," Redbeard said smugly, glancing at Queen Tulip.
"I still think a sword would've been better," she muttered, folding her arms. "Why do dwarves always insist on heavy weapons?"
Bethran handed the axe off to some acolytes for safekeeping and descended the stage to thunderous cheers.
He returned to his table where Leo nudged his arm. "Congratulations," Leo smirked. "Told you."
"I'm still in shock," Bethran muttered. "The elders didn't say a word about this."
"Congratulations again!" Hamilton beamed, vigorously shaking his hand. Emelda gave him a warm nod as well.
Leo tapped his chin thoughtfully. "You know, you shocked everyone back there."
"How?"
"That axe was meant to be wielded with two hands," Emelda chimed in echoing Leo's thoughts.
"Seriously?" Bethran blinked, looking genuinely confused.
"That's why it had a long handle," Hamilton added.
"Shocking…" Bethran said under his breath, wondering if he'd been training wrong his entire life.
Emelda's eyes sparkled in amusement. "What kind of training do you even do?"
"You do know how to use it, right?" Hamilton asked, concerned.
Bethran shrugged. "Of course. At the Night, we train with all kinds of weapons."
He waved the matter away. "Anyway. One more person's left to be knighted."
All eyes turned to the stage, where Clyde stood with a golden scroll in hand, smiling wide.
Leo sipped his Amberose wine nonchalantly. What were the odds that all four of them would be knighted in succession?
Apparently, the odds were not in his favor.
Clyde cleared his throat dramatically and read aloud, "Fang Leo from the Night!"
"FANGHYR!" the crowd thundered.
Leo froze, mid-sip, scowling as Bethran and Emelda raised their glasses to him in mock salute.
"Let's get this over with…"
He stood up, cape fluttering as the spotlight fell upon him.
Another knighting of the Night had just begun.