Michael, Ollie, and Knights Laird and Blake spent the next several weeks going from village to village on the path toward the Knight Captain's base of operations in the central town of Greathollow. The pattern was much the same as it had been in the previous ones. They would arrive, Michael would heal any injured, and then they would work together with the local knights and militia to close all the nearby rifts before they moved on and repeated the process. The majority of rifts were those of the horned men and lizardfolk, but there was the same spattering of seemingly random monstrosities all throughout the others. No village was dealing with less than three rifts at a time, though some had fared better than others. Only one had needed to be completely evacuated due to a lack of protectors and significant damage caused by a rift appearing just outside its gates and overwhelming them. Their visits left the villages fortified and renewed and Michael took the time to bless whatever diviners they had on hand with a recovery blessing, finding that his limit seemed to be increasing almost on pace with when he needed them.

  At the villages Michael also took the time to explain the gods and their role in everything to everyone who would listen. Most were too worried with the practical to take him seriously at first, but once he sealed their rifts and healed their friends and family, they were much more receptive to what he had to say.

  It was late in the evening when Greathollow came into view. It was a fairly large town, mostly new construction from what Michael could tell at a distance, and true to the name it was built in a massive divot in the ground making him feel like he could’ve simply leapt onto a few of the roofs near the edge if he had the right angle on them. In fact, he thought he did see a few people on one of the roofs.

  The town was bustling, with a number of traders, knights, squires, soldiers, and militia passing them as they walked through the town. Michael hadn’t seen any of the regular soldiers yet, as the villages had to rely on themselves and the training and support of the knights. They wore uniforms of gray-blue over simple suits of chainmail and carried primarily spears. As for those with ranged weapons he noticed that rather than bows, many of them carried crossbows instead. They also had helms with a wide brim that shaded their faces.

  “Why are their soldiers here instead of at the villages helping with the rifts?” asked Michael.

  “The majority of the soldiers are concentrated on rifts closer to the capital and Lataxia, the two major cities. A standing force is also being kept from conflict to be deployed as needed. Soldiers are rotated between rift closing and being part of the standing force.”

  “Sounds like they get a better deal than the militiamen,” said Ollie.

  “The King wanted to commit the entirety of them to rift closing, but the Knight Captain advised against doing so until things become more dire and so far King Marlo has followed his advice.”

  Michael nodded. He supposed he could see both sides of the argument. There was immediate value in spreading out the army to do as much good as possible, but if there was an emergency and they found that they needed a large chunk of their army, that would put them in great danger. He still would’ve opted for the first option though. People needed help now, that seemed more important than worrying about a potential future threat.

  As they made it into the town proper, Blake began yelling out greetings to knights and squires she recognized.

  “Oy, Sirena you old whore. How’s your brother?” hollered Blake at another female knight that looked to be the same age as she was.

  “Fuck you Blake!”

  “We’ve been over this, that’s your brother’s job. Hey Nils, you still half the swordsman I am or you finally start taking your training seriously?’

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  “I’ve been training, Ser Blake,” replied a young squire with a smile and red cheeks.

  “I’ll make sure of that myself later! Be ready for some bruises!”

  Laird on the other hand simply exchanged quiet nods, usually only with the more senior knights that they passed by, though a few of the younger ones took a moment to pause and give him a quiet salute which he also acknowledged.

  Blake had mentioned that the Hollow was the secondary base of the knighthood after the capital, but Michael was still surprised by how many he was seeing. Most were very young or old, but there was a smattering of fighting aged men and women who were training or seemed to be performing some type of administrative or maintenance tasks.

  Eventually their small party reached one of the few older buildings that was in the city. It was a large, domed construction of white stone with worn out carvings of swords and soldiers that indicated that it had always served a martial purpose. There were two knights standing guard, but they saluted to Blake and Laird who returned the gesture before they walked inside. Within was a circle of small rooms that they walked around, passing more knights and men and women that were working with large stacks of paperwork on their desks, many of them performing simple ink transfers before handing the paper to the person next to them.

  They eventually reached a door to what Michael guessed was a large central chamber based on the layout. A non-knight wearing a simple skirt and tunic stopped them.

  “Please enter quietly, the Captain is promoting a new Knight Sergeant right now. He’ll be free after.”

  They nodded, and opened the door carefully, finding themself in the central part of the building where the dome rose the highest. The room had a number of stone benches arrayed in a circle and in the center of it stood four men. Three of them wore full plate in the local style, with two of them standing to the side as if bearing witness, and one standing in the center of the room with a fourth knight, this one in armor that nearly matched Michael’s own.

  The standing knight raised a massive claymore in both of his hands. It had an ornate black handle with subtle impressions of flowers across it and its blade was so bright and pure it looked more like platinum than steel. Michael could tell immediately it was a titled weapon. The man wielding it was tall, maybe six foot five, his armor was polished to a mirror sheen, and he had a blue-gray tabard and cape over it, embroidered with simple silver patterns along the edges.

  He lowered the sword down, placing gently against the kneeling figure's left shoulder.

  “Do you swear to lead your fellows with the same honor and diligence that you have shown as a knight?” asked the Knight Captain.

  “I swear,” replied the kneeling figure in a voice familiar to Ollie and Michael.

  The standing knight moved the claymore’s blade from one shoulder to the other.

  “Do you again swear fealty to the crown of Hume and to honor the king and his realm?”

  “I do so swear fealty and honor.”

  The Knight Captain raised the claymore up one more time, and Michael watched as a title settled on the kneeling man’s shoulders and became a part of him. The Captain turned and placed the claymore carefully on a plinth behind him, he did so with one hand as if it weighed nothing, then gently running the metal tip of a gauntleted finger across the flat of it, making it sing. He turned to face the kneeling knight.

  “Rise Knight Kreg. Rise as a Knight Sergeant of Hume. Rise among us a leader among the longest continuous line of knights in the world. ”

  Lance rose from where he was kneeling and pounded a gauntleted fist against his chest. The salute was returned by the knight captain as well as the witnesses, the sound of the impacts echoing off the domed ceiling. Blake and Laird copied the gesture as well, Blake performing the gesture with more seriousness than Michael had seen her approach anything with until that moment.

  Ollie clapped his hands loudly before placing two fingers in his mouth and letting out an extraordinarily loud whistle immediately drawing everyone’s attention to them.

  Lance’s eyes widened as he saw him, then widened even more when his gaze hit Michael.

  “Our boy graduated. I’m so proud,” said Ollie.

  Michael gave Lance a nod, feeling genuine pride for him that Ollie was pretending he only felt ironically.

  “I assume you know the freshly minted sergeant?” asked Blake.

  Ollie smiled at her. “You could say that. We deserted together. Not that he’d really been in the mood for it at the time. Tried to kill us over it. He was mad as a cut snake. Got over it though.”

  Blake looked at him with an expression that told Michael she’d just come up with a dozen more questions from the answer she’d received.

  “He’s a friend,” said Michael simply, waving at Lance.