Run: 2026-03-18-01KM087Z3FCEBCF32PSCESM060

<nc-section data-title="The Knight’s Arrival" data-color="red"> A dismount rattled the cobblestones as Sir Roland strode forward, his polished boots kicking up swirls of dust. The veteran knight stood half a head taller than Frederick, his scarred gauntlet resting on the pommel of a greatsword that had seen a hundred battles. "So you’re the squire they sent all the way from Black Hollow," he rumbled, his voice deep as a cave echo. "Hope you packed your courage—our lord expects every man to earn his keep." His sharp eyes flicked to Thunder’s foaming flank. "Stable that beast yourself; grooms are for boys who still drop their buckles." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="First Impressions" data-color="green"> Sir Roland’s laughter cracked like winter ice as he clapped Frederick on the shoulder, the force nearly unhorsing the younger lad. "Welcome to Blackthorn’s End, lad." The knight’s green surcoat bore a silver stag that matched the emerald glints in his eyes. He gestured toward the looming keep. "Castle life isn’t all feasts and tournaments. Tonight you’ll scrub chamber pots; tomorrow we’ll see if you can wield a pitchfork without stabbing your own boot." His grin softened. "But first—supper. Even squires eat before chores." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="The Trial of Entry" data-color="blue"> The knight’s gauntleted hand seized Frederick’s wrist before he could take another step. "Hold there, cub," Sir Roland commanded. "A castle asks every newcomer the same question: are you meat for the wolves or steel in the making?" He nodded at a wooden dummy in the courtyard, its torso riddled with arrows. "Fetch that training blade and show me what your village made you." The setting sun turned the dummy’s painted face into a shadowed judge. Behind them, the castle bells began their evening peal, marking the hour of reckoning. </nc-section>