Run: 2026-04-27-01KQ6ZHA01BF7SN2RNK2KS99EB

<nc-section data-title="Chapter 2: The Scarlet Knight" data-color="red">Frederick guided Thunder toward the iron-bound doors of the stables, his heart hammering a rhythm against his ribs. Before he could dismount, a heavy gauntlet rested on the horse's bridle. Standing there was Sir Roland, his tabard embroidered with the crimson crest of the High Guard. The knight's eyes, sharp as flint, assessed the young squire from boots to belt. "You're late, farm boy," Roland grunted, his voice grating like whetstone. He didn't offer a hand to help; instead, he gestured dismissively to a bucket of pitch near the door. "Dragons don't care for punctuality, and neither do I. If you want to stand beside me, you'll start by keeping this armor as bright as my reputation." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Chapter 2: The Verdant Greeting" data-color="green">The scent of oats and oiled leather filled the air as I led Thunder to his stall. A man in verdant mail, worn soft by years of skirmishes, leaned against a wooden post, whittling a piece of ash wood. This was Sir Roland. He paused his carving to meet my gaze, his expression weathered but his eyes crinkled with a faint, knowing smile. "Steady beast you have there, lad," Roland noted, tossing the wood aside and stepping forward to inspect Thunder's legs with practiced hands. "The road to knighthood is long, but every journey begins with the care of your partner. Brush him, feed him, listen to him. If you can't command the trust of a horse, you'll never command the loyalty of a man." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Chapter 2: The Icy Trial" data-color="blue">As the stable master opened the heavy oak doors to release Thunder, a figure stepped out from the cool interior, silhouetted against the torches of the courtyard. It was Sir Roland, his armor polished to a mirror finish that reflected the twilight like frozen water. He held a longsword loosely at his side, the metal humming faintly. "So," Roland intoned, his voice cool and devoid of welcome. He pointed the tip of his blade toward the muddy trough near the water basin. "You come seeking to battle the Last Dragon, yet you smell of the barnyard. Prove you are more than cattle-feed, squire. Scrub the stables until the stones shine, or turn back to your farm while you still have a family name to return to." </nc-section>