The Twice-blessed Paladin

The days following Aldric's victory at the goblin den pass in a steady rhythm of steel and blood.

With his new greatsword in hand, he throws himself into more monster hunts, taking every available quest to build his name and spread his gods' influence.

He works alone. Always alone.

It is easier that way—no one to question his stamina, no one to see his wounds heal too quickly or notice his unnatural movements.

The Adventurer's Guild sends him on hunts, each one progressively more dangerous.

The request was simple—a pack of dire wolves had begun hunting near the farmlands, killing livestock.

Aldric tracks them to their den in the western hills, where he finds the bones of not just animals—but humans.

A true threat.

The wolves strike at night, their silver eyes gleaming in the darkness, but Aldric stands motionless, waiting for them to make the first move.

When they lunge, he meets them with steel.

One after another, the wolves fall. They are faster than goblins, their jaws powerful enough to crush bone, but they lack human cunning.

Aldric cuts them down without hesitation.

When he returns to the guild, the farmers who made the request thank him profusely.

"Bless you, knight," one old man says.

Aldric inclines his head. "Then bless the Radiant Dawn and the Veiled Reaper, for it is their guidance that brought me here."

The farmers nod slowly. They don't question it. A second seed of faith, planted.

The next quest leads Aldric into the eastern woods, where a nest of monstrous spiders has made travel impossible.

The forest is quiet when he arrives—too quiet. No birds. No wind.

The moment he steps into their territory, they come.

Massive arachnids, each the size of a hound, descend from the trees, their fangs dripping venom.

Aldric does not wait.

His greatsword cleaves through chitin, his movements precise and unrelenting.

One spider tries to web him from behind—he twists, severing its legs before driving his blade into its skull.

Another leaps at him—he catches it mid-air, slamming it into the ground before crushing it beneath his boot.

They are feral, mindless, driven by hunger.

He is cold, efficient, unstoppable.

By the time the last spider lies dead, their nest burning behind him, Aldric realizes how easy this is becoming.

How his undead body never tires, how his reflexes feel sharper than they ever did in life.

He is becoming more than just a warrior.

He is becoming a force.

The final hunt before his return to the blacksmith pits him against an orc marauder.

The guild received reports of a lone orc, scarred and hulking, attacking merchant caravans along the northern trade route.

Aldric finds the beast waiting for him in the open plains, standing atop a pile of its victims.

"You fight alone?" the orc growls, lifting its massive war axe.

"As do you," Aldric responds.

The orc laughs, raising its weapon. "Then one of us dies today."

It charges.

Aldric meets it in the middle.

Their blades clash, sending sparks flying, the force splitting the earth beneath them.

The orc is strong—stronger than any human Aldric has faced. Each swing is a mountain crashing down, a test of endurance and strength.

But Aldric never slows. Never tires.

Blow after blow, his blade meets the orc's, matching its ferocity.

Then, he sees an opening.

The orc overextends, and Aldric steps in close, slamming his elbow into the beast's gut, staggering it.

One clean, precise strike—his sword pierces its chest.

The orc gasps, staring at him in disbelief.

"You… do not fight like a man…" it growls, before collapsing into the dirt.

Aldric watches as life fades from its eyes.

Then he wipes his blade clean and walks away.

Another battle. Another victory. Another story to be told.

The guild rewards him well.

And the whispers about him grow.

After several days of monster hunting, Aldric finally returns to Black Hollow's forge.

The blacksmith grins when he sees him.

"Back from another fight, I hear," the man says, crossing his arms. "People talk about you, knight. You really don't slow down, do you?"

Aldric offers a small nod. "Have you finished the armor?"

The blacksmith smirks. "Aye. And I think you'll like this."

He gestures toward a sturdy armor stand beside the forge, where a new set of armor gleams in the firelight.

Aldric steps forward, inspecting the craftsmanship.

It is full plate, heavier than his guild-issued set, reinforced with layered plating. The blacksmith had even etched faint silver inlays along the edges, making it look regal, imposing.

"I had a feeling you'd want something that stood out," the blacksmith says, rubbing his beard. "Made it tougher than standard gear. You could take a direct hit from a damn warhammer and still be standing."

Aldric runs his gauntleted fingers over the polished steel.

It is perfect.

He sets a heavy pouch of gold on the counter.

The blacksmith raises an eyebrow. "You're paying extra?"

Aldric nods. "Good work should be rewarded."

The blacksmith laughs. "Damn right it should. I like you, knight. Keep making a name for yourself, and I might just start calling you a legend."

Aldric secures the armor and straps it on.

It fits as if it were made for him.

As he steps out into the street, his new blade at his side, his polished armor gleaming in the sunlight…

People stop and stare.

He no longer looks like a mere adventurer.

He looks like a knight of old—a warrior out of legend.

And that is exactly what he wants them to see.

The name of Aldric, the Twice-Blessed Paladin, will spread.

And soon, his gods will be remembered once more.