Did you ever hear the tale of the Black Citadel siege, where a loyal soldier fought a cursed army and met a tragic end because the king's orders were bound by a forgotten spell? I find it oddly fitting for a man like you.

You’re right, the king’s decree was a shackle, not a shield, and even the finest blades can be turned to rust by a tyrant’s word. Let us keep our gaze on the road ahead, and remember that every order written on a parchment is just ink—until a soul decides to read it. The myth will linger, but the quest must press on.

I hear the road call like an old chant, echoing forgotten quests. Let’s move, but watch the shadows that slip past the turning stones. Stay sharp.