Berserk: The Prophet

—A cavalry regiment located somewhere in Juda—

"Hahaha, with the Duke of Langdon's financial assistance this time, our Black Sheep Iron Lance Heavy Cavalry Regiment must seize this opportunity to shine on the battlefield!!" A man clad in heavy armor booked out an entire tavern, where all the attendees were uniformly dressed heavy cavalrymen.

Without exception, these people were all Keane's confidants.

All the cavalrymen present cheered and raised their glasses, shouting, "Long live General Keane! Long live the Black Sheep Iron Lance Heavy Cavalry Regiment!!"

"Hahahaha!" The leading man, with a gruff face, laughed wildly. Indeed, only he could lead the Black Sheep Iron Lance Heavy Cavalry Regiment to glory!

He was the General Keane that the cavalrymen were talking about. Although the force was currently less than five hundred men, he believed that they would grow stronger in the future.

Bazso fell silent as he watched the cavalrymen cheer and jump for joy, especially noticing the leader's furrowed brow.

He was found by this mercenary group on the beach. With nowhere to go, he was taken in as a servant and page by one of the members who found him.

It is said that this mercenary group was once a declining state-owned knightly order, but for some unknown reason, they became mercenaries on the battlefield, and now they have grown to nearly five hundred people.

It seems they had already made a fortune in the protracted war with the Kingdom of Midland, and their equipment was excellent. I heard that their leader, Keane, was a prominent Juda nobleman, and his wealth was at least that of a baron or viscount.

Baziso recognized the guy named Keane. Back then, before his father sold off his family's manor, he had heard Keane's arrogant laughter from upstairs, mocking his father's desire to revive the Knights as wishful thinking. Times had changed, and the Juda Empire no longer needed a disorganized group of old and frail men to be knights.

Baziso's thoughts drifted further back to his childhood. He was still young then, living in his family's cozy, albeit not luxurious, manor. His father, the leader of a declining knightly order, though the years had left their mark on him, still held an unwavering passion for knightly honor in his eyes.

Keane, that arrogant fellow, always arrived at the manor with disdain and mockery. He wore brand-new, magnificent armor, and the sword at his waist gleamed blindingly in the sunlight, as if flaunting his so-called success.

"Look at you, a bunch of old, weak, sick and disabled people, still dreaming of regaining your former glory? Don't dream, this is the age of money and power, the glory of knights is outdated!" Keane's laughter echoed in the manor hall, stinging everyone's ears.

Baziso was timid and fearful at the time, only daring to hide in the shadows of the stairs and not daring to talk to strangers.

But he still remembers his father coming home that day, his teeth clenched, his fists clenched, his knuckles white from the force, and that lonely figure made Baziso taste the bitterness of resentment for the first time.

Later, in order to keep the Knights running, his father had to sell off the family property. Baziso clearly remembered that day; the sunlight was unusually blinding, the carriage slowly drove away from the manor, and he looked back at the familiar gate, tears blurring his vision.

I never imagined that I would end up working as a servant for this man who once mocked my father. What a stroke of bad luck!

Fortunately, he was timid and fearful at the time, and Keane didn't know him.

Once they were drunk, some of Keane's close associates couldn't help but start talking nonsense.

"...Do you know how the old commander got injured? Hehe, thanks to me, he, Keane, is who he is today."

Baziso gripped the rag used to wipe the glasses, his fingers suddenly tightening. The wine slid down the glass, condensing into cool droplets in his palm.

He glanced furtively at the group of drunken cavalrymen. The one speaking was a burly, one-eyed man who was patting his companion on the shoulder. His iron gauntlet thudded against the wooden table. "That time the old commander 'accidentally' fell off his horse... hehe, the reins were cut beforehand!"

Amidst the laughter, Bazso's eardrums buzzed. His father, when lying in his sickbed, would always sigh and say that he was really old, that he couldn't even hold the reins properly on the battlefield, and that he almost lost his life.

As his memories gradually became clearer, Bazso felt a tightness in his throat. When he turned around, he accidentally knocked over a wine barrel, which rolled a long way on the ground with a jarring sound.

"You little bastard, do you have eyes?" the one-eyed giant roared, grabbing a wine glass and smashing it.

Bazso instinctively dodged, and a shard of ceramic flew past his cheek, striking the wall and creating tiny cracks.

Keane turned his head at the sound, his drunken gaze sweeping over Bazso's pale face before he suddenly narrowed his eyes. Bazso froze, the image of the boy standing in the shadows of the stairs in his memory gradually overlapping with the image of the now-drunk servant covered in alcohol stains.

He suppressed the fear churning in his throat and bent down to pick up the shards, only to hear Keane slowly say, "This kid... looks kind of familiar."

"General, you've had too much to drink!" another cavalryman laughed, putting his arm around Keane's shoulder. "He's just a bastard picked up from the beach!"

"Besides, all the guys who dared to oppose General Keane are dead, hahaha."

Baziso clutched the shards, the sharp porcelain edges digging into his palm, the taste of blood spreading on his tongue. He suddenly realized that his father's death might not have been an accident, and that if his identity were exposed now, he might not even have a place to be buried.

He has to...escape from here!!

.........

—Eastern Baldian, Landier—

Life was not as good as before in the Landil region, which had just experienced a riot. Almost all the people who could settle there were workers who made a living by mining coal or mining, or families of overseers who guarded convicts.

Landier is unlike other places; it is a desert area dominated by mountains, hills, and sand, occupying a natural stronghold.

Even the poorest barons and knights of Baldwin were unwilling to take these barren lands, especially since the minerals and bitumen had been directly nationalized.

Landir has no shortage of gold and coal; its only problems are food, supplies, and clean drinking water.

"Ahem, how's it outside, Bibin?" an elderly woman asked.

"It's still the same outside, Mom," the burly boy called Bibin answered softly to his mother, who was lying on the bed, as he washed clothes.

He was tall, with a resolute face and a tenacious gaze that seemed out of place in this barren land.

"Sigh, when will this ever end?" the old woman sighed, her voice full of helplessness.

Bibin continued washing clothes in silence; his father had disappeared since the riot. The other miners dared not venture into the nearby mountains to mine coal, fearing they might encounter escaped convicts.

Bibin knew that if this continued, everyone would go hungry.

But with the situation outside in chaos, it's no easy task to return to normal life. Landir, which already relies on external grain transport, has no caravans daring to pass through it at this time.

Only the miners who worked in Landier understood that when a person is starving to a certain extent, no amount of money or jewels can compare to a piece of bread and water.

To save their lives, many people have already moved away from here.

But... he and his mother couldn't...

After washing and hanging the clothes to dry, Bibin went outside.

He gazed at the desolate streets and sighed silently. It seemed he would have to travel alone to a town west of Landil to buy some food.