The Testaments of a Templar

Long ago, there lived a powerful empire, fortified by their faith in the true Gods. They flourished—trade routes stretched across continents, cities gleamed with prosperity, and their people knew peace. It was said that their devotion made them unshakable, a lion among kingdoms.

Yet all great things must fall. Pride, they say, comes before destruction. And even the lion, king of the jungle, can be felled by a patient predator.

The tiger came.

In his wake, he left only fear and ruin. Forsaking his identity and his oath as a servant of the Gods, he turned against all that was holy. The people of the world were slaughtered. Servants and Paladins—our sacred protectors—ceased to exist. Kings and their families were eroded to nothing.

He fell. Humanity fell. The empire fell. The world fell.

Battling against the angels and the Gods themselves, he took up the mantle of evil, wielding powers never before seen. Aided by a comrade whose very existence defied every spiritual law, he became a destroyer. Together, they were oblivion.

But even in that destruction, even as the tiger tore through our world, we found light. Our faith in the true Gods enveloped our souls and our very being.

At once, the tiger was destroyed, never to be seen again. And we—we flourish even now, a thousand years later, by the grace of the Gods.

A man, quite young with moderately squared shoulders, was well-versed in his speech. Clad in a dark green shirt neatly tucked into brown trousers, his emerald eyes gleamed with fairness and life. His black hair was neatly combed back, and his bearded face gave him a handsome, thoughtful air.

"Any questions?" His deep voice boomed across the classroom.

He had hoped for questions. He liked answering them—saw them as a way to understand another person's perspective. Questions revealed how people thought, how they processed the world. That's why he'd chosen to teach history. It allowed him to share his beliefs about the world and the kingdom while also understanding those who saw things differently. Proper dialogue, he felt, required both parties to listen and understand.

The class was silent.

Well, this was a story everyone had heard before. It was taught in every household. Even commoners knew it, and they weren't nearly as privileged as the students seated here. Though not all the children in this academy were from noble families—some were commoners, others from fallen houses—those outside these walls were considered far less fortunate.

"I gave you the story through another lens," the man continued. "The view of a tiger and a lion. As we know, the lion represents pride, and the tiger represents something underestimated. The lion is called the king of the jungle, yet the tiger is stronger. So why is the lion the ruler? And why would a tiger act against a ruler in the first place? A ruler exists for a reason. Without one, doesn't order crumble?"

He paused, his gaze sweeping the room. "What do you think?"

He loved discussion classes. They deepened understanding far better than lectures ever could.

One hand rose, then another. Soon, nearly everyone had something to say.

He picked one. A boy stood.

"Mr. Denmark, I think you're right." The boy had a bright, sharp face, white hair, and an elegant bearing. His essence radiated nobility. Dressed neatly in the wine-red semi-duke uniform standard to all students, he cleared his throat before continuing.

"Though it's contradictory to what history says, your point makes sense. After all, the empire did fall. All we have left of it are a few statues, monuments, this history, and some descendants of the old kings."

He hesitated briefly, then pressed on. "We don't know their lifestyle or their true essence. We know their faith, and we still serve the same Gods, which is good. But... perhaps it was prideful. The destroyer did abandon his position as a servant. Maybe he had a reason—a reason the history books don't mention. Perhaps they were in the wrong. Injustice, after all, can drive a man to madness. We've seen it."

His voice grew quieter, more thoughtful. "The former knight captain, Postovich, who was executed yesterday for manslaughter and rape—he committed those crimes because his family suffered the same fate two years ago. The government issued a warrant to find the organization responsible, but... he couldn't wait. Impatience and pain twisted his sense of justice until he became the very thing he despised."

The boy paused, then met Mr. Denmark's eyes. "So I think your perspective might be right, sir. We don't know the true history of why the destroyer did what he did. But we do know he was once human. Once a man. Once a servant of the Gods."

Silence dominated the room.

He sat down slowly, closing his eyes and sighing. When he opened them again, everyone was staring at him.

Perhaps no one had ever truly thought about it before. Were they afraid? Afraid of going against history? Of broadening their minds? Of being labeled heretics?

Someone cleared their throat.

Mr. Denmark nodded slowly. "An incredible perspective, Young Master Rogers. I believe you've all just learned the value of perceptive thinking—and perhaps realized how difficult it is to question the details of history."

He folded his hands behind his back. "Young Master Rogers, you're a first-year, correct?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well then." Mr. Denmark smiled faintly. "Let's move on and delve deeper into how this kingdom rose from the ashes a thousand years ago."

The class continued smoothly, the professor taking care to ensure everyone followed along. When the bell rang for a short break, students filed out, chattering about various topics—some related to the lesson, others not. Yet the subject that lingered on most lips was history, as seen through the eyes of Rogers Levender.

But one student remained.

The professor had begun to leave when a voice stopped him.

"Mr. Denmark, sir?"

He turned. A girl sat in the front row, her black-and-white streaked hair tied back and side-parted neatly, giving the impression of soft grey. It was a feature that often drew ridicule from other nobles, despite her own noble lineage. She had friends, but today she'd chosen to stay behind.

"You're a second-year, correct? Lady Denna Dimitreus?"

"Yes, I am, professor."

Mr. Denmark sighed.

"Is something the matter?" he asked calmly.

Honestly, he was tired. The class had taken a toll on him, and he still had papers to sign and organize before the day was done.

"Sir, do you think injustice really plays a part in a person's fall?" Denna asked, her eyes cold yet curious.

He set his briefcase down on the raised floor and walked toward her table, studying her face.

"Yes, it does. But not injustice alone—injustice as one perceives it. The world, this existence we call life, is all perspective. On one side of the continent, it's night. Here, it's day. Perspective works the same way. If someone believes the actions done to them are wrong, it can impair their judgment entirely."

His gaze settled on her eyes—bright royal purple, a sharp contrast to her grey-streaked hair.

"I'm not asking about perspective alone, sir."

"And yet you ask me." He gave a faint smile. "You cannot ask someone a question seeking their personal belief and then claim it's not about perspective. If it's a general question, I can't answer it. You'd need a poll, and the majority would win."

His smile faded. "Why do you ask?"

Denna sat upright, turning her gaze to her desk. "It's personal, Professor."

She looked up at him with a faint smile. "Thank you, though. I just... needed to hear that."

He studied her for a moment, then shook his head with a small smile. Young Lady Denna was thoughtful—charming, even, for a student. He admired her drive to keep learning, her ability to conceal personal struggles beneath the grace expected of noble descendants.

He picked up his briefcase and turned toward the door.

"Professor Denmark?"

He tightened his grip on the case and turned back. "Is something else the matter?"

She stood, gathering her books. "What history books do you suggest I read?"

A surge of rare happiness lifted his spirits. Students rarely asked for his recommendations. Personal research was always important; it broadened one's understanding of the world.

"I suggest the works of Edmond Terrishan and Duchess Emerald Chu Xiang." He paused, opening his briefcase and filing through papers and scripts.

Denna watched as the professor's hands moved with practiced urgency. Professor Denmark was widely known across the academy as a history enthusiast who wrote thesis papers full of pondering conclusions and rhetorical questions. The academy itself had been awarded for its exemplary teachers—he among them.

"I found it." He held up a brown, tattered piece of paper in the light.

Text sat upon it—strange, flowing characters she couldn't decipher.

"Sir, this language... is it a lost one?"

"Yes." His eyes remained fixed on the paper.

Concern flickered across Denna's face. A script no one had seen before?

"You asked for book suggestions because you're going to the Library of Renaethan, correct?"

She nodded, her gaze locked on the paper in his hands.

"This note was found in the works of someone whose rank and status are unknown. Her alias is Temerel." He pulled out a green, worn-out book and held it carefully. "I have one of her works, but this text—" he tapped the paper "—is only found on the highest floors of the library."

He flipped through the pages slowly. "I don't know how or why this book remains on the shelves when it contains something that could spark unrest—something that might drive people to unravel truths the kingdom would rather keep buried."

He snapped the book shut and tucked both it and the paper back into his briefcase, buckling it closed.

Denna stood frozen. She'd just been given a glimpse of something hidden, something real. The truth always made one curious. Perhaps she'd been infected by Professor Denmark's zeal for history. Or perhaps her own need to understand had finally found a target.

But what was that text? Written in a language no one could read. Kept on the highest floors, where students weren't allowed. It could be deliberate; a mage's trick to sow discord, to undermine faith in the Gods.

Or it could be something else.

"Denna."

His voice was solemn now, weariness threading through it. She looked up at him.

"The truth will get you labeled a heretic. You know that, don't you?"

She gave a light chuckle. "That's their perspective. I don't care what others think of me. Isn't life all perspective, Professor?"

She cocked her head, smiling genuinely. She liked his teachings—they'd become her shield against the ridicule she often faced.

Professor Denmark nodded, smiling as well. "Yes, it is."

He left the classroom.

Denna stood alone in the light streaming through the large windows. Opposite her, the board was still covered with writings from Professor Denmark's lesson and the previous math class.

She had a lot to do as a noble. Keep her composure. Marry the man chosen for her.

But not yet. The arranged marriage was still years away; she was only fifteen, after all. Still, it hung over her like a shadow.

Her eldest sister had avoided marriage by making a name for herself as a Paladin of the Gods. Her eldest brother had journeyed to the Valleys of Derkumst—the Valleys of Death—to bring back the head of a possessed barbarian chieftain and earn a national achievement. Her second sister trained at the Temple of Rajah, Goddess of Grace, to become a priestess. Her second brother was a knight of the kingdom.

And then there was her. The youngest. Born years after the others. Without accomplishments, without power, without a voice. Even her immediate elder brother was twenty-four. She was the one burdened with marriage hopes—betrothed to the son of the current Grand Duke.

She didn't want that. But she had no say.

Like Professor Denmark, she had little grasp on magic. Her basic offense and defense skills were so poor that even a commoner could best her in a duel. For a noble family, that was disgrace.

Not that she cared—but it affected how she was treated at home. Her siblings were rarely there, so she was often left with the maids, servants, and her parents. It was distressing. Lonely.

But Professor Denmark's teachings on perspective had changed something in her. She'd found solace in history, in the pursuit of truth. She knew that seekers of truth were often stoned and killed. But she didn't care anymore.

Rogers had said something beautiful today. Something that stirred something deep in her chest.

She blinked, snapping out of her thoughts. She'd been standing there for several minutes, lost in her own mind.

She shook her head and exhaled slowly.

She had to go.

After her remaining classes, she'd head to the library. She had a pass—though only to the lower floors.

She opened her book and adjusted the silver hairpin in her hair—a delicate two-leafed ornament set on a long pin. It gleamed faintly in the light.

Yes. She'd go to the library. She needed to settle this curiosity before worrying about achievements or destroying that arranged marriage.

That was the plan.

———

The rest of the classes passed smoothly, but only one thing occupied her mind: curiosity.

Curiosity kills the cat, the saying went. And it was true. But she didn't even mind the risk anymore.

She'd been given a recommendation. She'd seen a language no one else could read—something hidden, forbidden. It propelled her spirit forward.

She needed to know. Even if it destroyed her.

The day answered her patience, and her wait was not in vain.

She left the academy in a rush, took a train ticket to the library in the heart of their kingdom—Renaethan. She'd said quick goodbyes to her friends, with no time to linger or explain.

The train chugged past towns, filled with the gossip and chatter of passengers. She didn't even change out of her uniform. There was no time to go home.

Her plan was simple: borrow the recommended books and leave. It shouldn't take long. Being the daughter of Duke Dimitreus came with privileges—including the right to borrow from the national library.

This visit itself was a birthday gift from her immediate elder brother, a knight of the kingdom. It was one of the many reasons she loved her siblings. They always looked out for her.

The train slowed to a stop.

She stepped onto the grounds of the Library of Renaethan—a national treasure said to house every book written by every great individual to ever exist.

She stood in awe. The building was grand, impossibly tall. She could barely make out the ornament at the top of its roof. Everything was painted brilliant white, with massive pillars flanking the entrance. The floors were neatly terraced, flowers and plants trimmed and arranged around the corners and at the forefront.

An evidence of meticulous care.

Suddenly, someone materialized before her—a man in white robes with a golden belt tied around his waist. His face was obscured, but his eyes gleamed gold.

A priest.

"I was given a pass. My name is Denna Dimitreus." She waved her hand, and her mana gleamed faintly as she tore a small rift in space and withdrew the invitation letter. She handed it to the priest.

He took it and burned it in his palm.

"Permission granted. You may proceed to floors one through three. Time allocated: six hours maximum."

She bowed in the manner expected of nobility, expressing her gratitude through etiquette.

She was here now. But her heart was pounding.

She walked across the field, exhaling slowly to steady herself. The wind blew cold against her neck and exposed skin, ruffling her hair, skirt, and tie.

She reached the building and stopped beneath its shadow.

There were no doors—only a massive engraved sign bearing the name of the library, with the pillars now behind her.

It was time. Time to understand. Time to find answers to the questions that haunted her—not just about marriage, but about the strange visions and abilities she'd been experiencing.

Perhaps the lives and histories of the kingdom's heroes could shed light on her troubles.

She stepped onto the brown-coated floor. A floral pattern was woven across it—she recognized it immediately.

A transportation spell.

The pattern gleamed blue, and every fiber of her being shifted.

———

She was in.

She pulled out a silver pocket watch with her initials engraved on it. It was 13:12 in the afternoon.

Inside, the library gleamed. The floors sparkled in brilliant white. The shelves stretched upward endlessly, aligned in perfect rows. The ceilings were so high she could barely make out the engravings above, though some designs caught the light and shimmered.

This place was paradise.

She couldn't hide her awe. She spent the first few minutes simply looking—marveling at the architecture, the sheer scale of it all.

And this was only the first floor.

Books. So many books. It was almost overwhelming.

A wave of satisfaction washed over her. Her soul, her heart—she loved this place.

She shook her head, snapping herself out of it. She had limited time to search through the works recommended by Professor Denmark—and not just on this floor, but the second and third as well.

She was both frustrated and exhilarated.

She began.

———

She spent the first hour gathering the works of Edmond Terrishan and Duchess Emerald Chu Xiang. The books were dense, thoughtful, filled with perspectives that challenged her assumptions.

Her mind raced as she read—thoughts emerging that opposed the writers' views, and others that sought to undermine her own beliefs.

She loved her parents, but they were typical noble parents. They showed care, but the demands of status and society had eroded the warmth and freedom their home once had. When she was younger, things had been different. Looser. Freer. She missed that.

It seemed everyone had slowly become entangled in the chains of society—all in the name of self-improvement or making life easier.

But was it easier? Or just different? A pretense everyone played?

The pretense was everywhere. Love between strangers had withered. Everyone respected positions, boundaries, hierarchies. And she didn't blame them.

It only happened when one took advantage of another's openness. When commoners trampled on a noble's dignity, or nobles exploited a commoner's trust. It happened across every hierarchy, every relationship.

Even between equals, one always took advantage of the other. And so people shut themselves off. Locked away the carefree parts of themselves.

One could not remain naive and carefree without being used again and again.

The world had grown bitter. And it might only get worse.

She checked her pocket watch. Time was slipping away. It was 15:33; she was running late for the second floor.

She sighed and arranged the books back in their proper places. Despite how much she'd enjoyed them, she didn't borrow any.

She had to move on.

In her haste, the pocket watch slipped from her hands.

It hit the floor with a sharp crack. Parts loosened and scattered.

She scrambled to gather the pieces, her heart racing. She was running out of time—she still needed to reach the upper floors before her six hours ran out.

One bolt was missing.

She searched frantically. This watch was dear to her—a gift from her eldest sister.

Finally, she spotted it beneath a long brown shelf. She bent low, reaching under.

Her fingers closed around the bolt.

And then she saw it—a tattered brownish paper, sitting just beside the bolt, half-hidden in shadow.

Her curiosity flared. Was this the same kind of text Professor Denmark had shown her?

She touched the paper.

Everything froze.

Her environment shifted.

The shelves tilted, rotated, pulled away from where she stood. They surrounded her, trapping her in place.

She couldn't move. Her mana circuits were locked. She could feel her heart pounding violently against her ribs, terror coursing through her—but her body wouldn't respond.

What's happening? What did I do?

Panic flooded her mind. Had she triggered something? Destroyed the library? Would she be jailed? Would her parents….

The environment didn't care.

The bright white light vanished.

Darkness fell.

She could hear her heartbeat. Her ragged breaths. But she saw nothing.

Then she was falling; fast, weightless, soundless.

She tried to scream. Nothing came out.

———

She hit the ground hard.

Dust rose around her. She coughed violently, gasping for air.

Her body ached. She could move again—barely. Her throat felt raw, her limbs bruised.

She touched her forehead. Liquid. Blood.

She muttered a basic incantation, casting a weak light spell.

The glow revealed scraped knees, torn skin, and the dark stone floor beneath her.

She was somewhere below the library. Somewhere no one was supposed to be.

Her first thought: Demons.

Only demons could manipulate fear like this.

She forced herself to stand and moved forward cautiously.

———

Suddenly, flames roared to life before her.

Purple-blue fire, wild and alive, encircling a stone monument in the center of the chamber.

The heat was intense. She stumbled back, shielding her face.

As she adjusted, she realized the flames weren't burning anything. They were protecting something.

A book.

It sat atop the monument, stained and worn but intact.

And beneath it, carved into the stone, was a message.

She stepped closer. The flames seemed to sense her. Their heat lessened. They grew quieter.

When she stood directly before the monument, the flames parted—splitting to either side like a curtain, granting her passage.

She read the inscription:

"Has the world changed again? For the flames to accept you, you seek the truth. Like I once did. Like he once did."

Her mind flashed to the history of the Destroyer and his comrade.

She kept reading:

"I do not know everything. But what I do know, I give to you in this book. The story of his life. My life. Our life. Life as seen through my eyes. I hope you do not break when you read this truth. Please."

At the bottom, a name was carved:

Tennessee.

And beside it, an alias:

Temerel.

Her breath caught.

Tennessee was the name of the Destroyer's comrade? Is she the aide of the destroyer? Temerel was her alias.

Professor Denmark had one of her works.

Did he know? He had to. But why was this separated? Why was it hidden here, beneath the library?

She looked up at the book.

She still couldn't read the text on the paper she'd touched earlier. But when she focused on the book's cover, the letters shifted. Rearranged. Became clear.

The title read:

The Testaments of a Templar.

She frowned. Templar? What was that? A rank? Another word for destroyer?

She opened the book.

The first line, written in bold black ink, was a question:

"Do you know what a templar is?"

———

END OF CHAPTER 1.