Run: 2026-10-08-01M4D9X2HY6QM5G07AP1T19FK5

<nc-section data-title="Chapter 1: Sir Roland (Version 1)" data-color="red"> The stable boy had barely taken Thunder's reins before a broad-shouldered man strode out from the shadows of the stables. His armor was dented and scratched, but it gleamed where the last of the sunlight caught it. A grey-streaked beard framed a face weathered by years of hard campaigning. "You must be Frederick," he said, his voice warm but edged with the authority of a man used to being obeyed. "I am Sir Roland. I have been expecting you since the midday bell. Your father wrote that you were eager to learn the sword, and I am eager to see whether that eagerness outweighs your ability." He clasped my forearm in the old soldier's grip, firm enough to make me straighten my back. "Put your saddlebags down. Thunder will be brushed and fed, and you will be shown to the barracks. Tomorrow at dawn, we begin. Do not be late." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Chapter 1: Sir Roland (Version 2)" data-color="green"> I had only just dismounted when a laugh rang out from beside the stable doors. A tall knight with a crooked grin leaned against the post, a half-eaten apple in one gauntleted hand. His surcoat bore the faded emblem of a silver heron, and a long scar ran from his temple to his jaw. "Well, you ride like a sack of grain tied to a saddle," he said, tossing the apple core to a waiting hound. "But Thunder seems to like you well enough, which is more than I can say for most of the boys who come through here. I am Sir Roland. I teach the squires, which means I am the one who will make your life miserable." He stepped forward and clapped my shoulder, his grin widening. "Don't look so worried. Everyone who survives my lessons ends up a better knight than they ever imagined. Get some rest tonight. You will need it." </nc-section> <nc-section data-title="Chapter 1: Sir Roland (Version 3)" data-color="blue"> The stable yard was quiet except for the soft nickering of horses. As I led Thunder toward the water trough, I noticed a figure standing motionless in the doorway, watching me with the patience of someone who had seen many newcomers arrive. He wore plain travel-worn leathers rather than armor, but the sword at his hip was well kept, and his bearing was unmistakably that of a warrior. "Frederick, I presume," he said quietly, stepping into the lantern light. "I am Sir Roland. I serve as the master of arms here, though I suspect you have already been told as much by someone far less polite than I am." His gaze moved over Thunder, lingering on the horse's legs and then on the set of my shoulders. "A good animal. You care for him well, I see. That will count for something here. Come, leave your horse with the stable hands. I want to show you something before the evening meal." </nc-section>