Not fully satisfied with this chapter, but could not let this lag the progression anymore, I might edit this chapter in the future, and when I do it I will let u know, for now, this is cannon

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Who am I?

This haunting question has plagued his mind for as long as the ethereal winds have whispered their secrets. Yet, despite his tireless endeavors, a satisfactory answer has remained elusive, slipping through the mist of his fragmented memories. His thoughts, once robust and vibrant, now flicker like fading embers, barely able to ignite the spark of contemplation. His mind is feeble and fragmented. 

Engaging in complex thoughts seems out of reach; his cognitive abilities are so limited that he can only retain one directive: Guard the Entrance.

Why? The elusive answer dances just out of reach, a tantalizing enigma wrapped in the shroud of forgotten knowledge.

And what lies beyond that mystic threshold? It exists as a fragment of a dream, a blurred tableau of wonders yet to be unraveled by his faltering mind.

Yet, resolute in his purpose, he knows naught but the call to protect the Entrance with unyielding devotion. With each breath, he marshals his forces, commanding a legion of Metal knights to repel the audacious invaders. Some foes possess strength, but none possess true greatness. His powers, a tempest unleashed, crush all but the most indomitable foes, while those who dare to resist meet their inevitable demise under the weight of his gleaming blade.

he persists, an unyielding sentinel locked in an eternal cycle, his existence intertwined with the sacred duty that binds him.

Until today, a figure emerged from the mists of destiny—a man whose fragile visage belies a profound inner strength. As he approached the threshold, his sword became an extension of his very being, a harmonious symphony of deadly grace. And within his eyes, a divinity unfathomable, depths as profound as the boundless sea. 

In the blink of an eye, the man dispatches the soldiers with a breathtaking display of prowess, each movement a testament to his mastery, and the man challenges him to a duel. 

It's been a long time since someone challenged me to a duel, a new thought came to his mind. 

Within that room, both combatants engaged in a battle of wills, and reluctantly, he succumbed to the man's unwavering gaze. As he stared into those divine eyes, he felt a sense of trepidation, yet the battle was far from over. Drawing upon a fraction of his power, he unleashed a strike, only to find his adversary deftly parrying it, swiftly countering his move. Nevertheless, he managed to thwart the counterattack.

The clash intensified, a fury marked by their relentless confrontation. Briefly, he gained the upper hand, only for the knight standing before him to swiftly reclaim it, delivering a strike in return.

It was the first blow he truly felt—the moment the radiant sword made contact with his helm, a jolt coursed through him, causing him to stagger back. A searing sensation accompanied the intrusion of a disconcerting golden mana into his wound.

 "The first strike belongs to me. isn't that right, Rython?"

he heard the man utter, though the words eluded his comprehension. For the first time, the possibility of failure loomed before him, unsettling his spirit. He focused his mind, channeling his strength, and readied himself to retaliate.

From that point onward, a relentless battle ensued. It was the most intense and challenging confrontation he had ever faced. He realized that deploying his metal knights would only result in a one-sided massacre, so he commanded his soldiers to stand down. Determined to face the knight alone, he braced himself for the next encounter.

Once again, the knight uttered something, but only a few words registered in his mind: "Still not enough." What did those words mean? What was still lacking? He pondered the question momentarily but quickly dismissed it. The only thing that mattered was putting an end to this man's rampage. 

And all he has to do is to guard the entrance, With renewed resolve, he launches himself at the knight once more.

Their blades clashed once again, igniting a crescendo of resounding steel, while their energies collided in a tempestuous clash, each vying to overwhelm the other. Despite his valiant endeavors, he found himself outmatched by the knight's unparalleled prowess, the sting of another blow resonating against him.

Blow upon blow descended upon him, yet he stood undeterred. Curiously, instead of succumbing to desolation amidst this humbling duel, an overpowering urge surged within him, compelling him to wield his blade with even greater alacrity. Fatigue eluded his grasp, supplanted by an escalation of razor-sharp movements with each defeat suffered.

Concurrently, his mind sharpened, envisioning novel stratagems and maneuvers to exploit any glimmer of advantage. It was as if the shroud of bewilderment that had muddled his thoughts gradually dispersed with every skirmish that passed, revealing newfound clarity and acuity.

And he understood what the knight said more clearly after each battle

"66-0, Rython"

"That will be 90 to 0, Rython"

"I hit a hundred against your sword King Rython"

"156 to 0, do you still have more in you, Rython"

As the counts of his defeats were recounted, the repetition of his name, Rython, stirred something deep within him. Was that truly his name? Or perhaps a fragment of a lost identity? The uncertainty gnawed at him, but at this moment, it mattered not. For his sole purpose was to protect the entrance, to guard it against unseen perils.

But why?

The question resounded in his mind, a relentless echo seeking answers.

All he had to do was guard the entrance.

Why did he have to guard it?

All he had to do was guard the entrance.

Why?

The repetition intensified, his clarity rising with each cycle. The walls of uncertainty threatened to crumble, revealing the void of his forgotten past. A torrent of emotions surged within him, a tempest of confusion and longing.

All he had to do was guard...

WHY?

The desperate cry echoed in his mind, an anguished plea that resonated within the recesses of his being. His very essence demanded to understand, to unearth the truth buried deep within his fragmented memories.

And then, like a distant whisper emerging from the depths, the answer came.

Because it was his duty.

Duty?

Yes, it was more than a duty; it was a promise, The realization washed over him like a wave crashing against the shore. He promised to prevent the unspeakable from escaping into the world, to safeguard this world. The seal must remain unbroken, the entrance fiercely protected. 

But why?

Because it's a knight's duty, he realized, a flicker of recognition igniting within his eyes. He was not just any knight. He was Rython… Memories flooded back to him, flashing images of battles fought and sacrifices made, of a life devoted to the cause he held dear. 

"I am… Rython Bard," His voice emerged from the hollow depth of his helm as a mere whisper, void of quivering emotion or tears that he longs to shed. At that moment, he remembered who he was, who he had always been. The weight of his past settled upon his shoulders, grounding him in the present.

Then, amidst the stillness, another voice pierced the air, injecting a sense of remorse into the moment. It was the youthful divine knight, whose words disrupted the tranquility,  "I know you're having a moment but I need you to go to sleep."

Those words lingered in the air, resonating with an ominous tone. Suddenly, without warning, a powerful blow connected with his face, enveloping him in darkness as his vision dissipated into nothingness.