Black was born into a once-noble lineage whose glory survived only in dusty tales and in the powerful bloodline of the horses they bred. Prestige had faded—but discipline remained.
His grandfather had borne the title of knight. His father retained only the name—Knight—along with lands stripped of privilege. No honor, no rights—only knowledge passed down with rigor. Far from courts and their venomous intrigues, in the heart of the open plains, the man bred exceptional mounts.
These horses were more than mere animals. Swift, resilient, gifted with rare longevity, they drew the attention of great houses—who paid without hesitation, sometimes without even asking questions.
One did not negotiate with a Knight.
Black grew up among them.
From an early age, the child learned to observe rather than speak. Glances, muscle tension, the flick of an ear—these told him more than words ever could. His father taught him to read a horse as one reads a man: without detour, without illusion, without indulgence.
At sixteen, the inheritance took shape.
He was entrusted with Marengo.
A black stallion of imposing bearing—calm within the storm, powerful without arrogance. A white mark, like a blade cutting through shadow, split across his forehead—the signature of an untamed lineage.
“This one will not bend.”
Black carved those words into his memory.
A few weeks later, the world shifted.
A fall.
A poorly fitted saddle.
A horse driven into panic.
An accident, they said.
The men who came to assess the scene left no room for doubt. Everything appeared coherent. Too coherent. Every detail aligned with unsettling precision.
Then came the debts.
Signed contracts.
Absurd sums.
Partners turned creditors overnight.
Everything fit together with chilling accuracy, as if the board had been set long before the main piece fell.
The family lost nearly everything.
The house held for a time. The lands were abandoned. The horses left the stables, reclaimed by former associates in a heavy silence.
All were taken.
All but one.
Marengo remained—protected by an exceptional contract.
♦ ♦ ♦
Rain hammered against the windows of the makeshift office. Around the table, three men spoke in low voices—associates, former partners, bent over parchments still bearing fresh seals.
“The horse is not listed among the transferred assets,” one of them growled.
“Error,” another replied through clenched teeth. “An omission. The file is incomplete.”
“Then we correct the omission.”
Apart, Black stood silent.
Alexandre Margrave faced them, leaning against the bookcase, his gaze calm—almost absent. Yet every word was measured.
“The contract names Marengo explicitly,” Alexandre said, slowly turning the pages. “Registration number, lineage, identifying mark. You signed.”
“A contract can be revised,” one of the men retorted. “Especially when the heir is a minor.”
Alexandre lifted his eyes. He did not call out the lie. A thin smile appeared, faintly drawn.
“That is why this document is only a copy.”
He placed a second document on the table. The seal was older. Official. Weighty.
“Certified under the second volume of Eldoris law. Recorded. Registered. And above all… predating your claims.”
Silence fell.
Black watched jaws tighten, fingers curl against the wood. He understood. Their plan had just collapsed.
“You had…” one began.
“Anticipated?” Alexandre cut in softly. “Yes.”
Outside, the rain intensified.
A few days later, they came to take him.
Three men. Clean boots. Hard eyes. One of them seized Marengo’s reins without asking.
Black did not move.
Alexandre stepped forward and extended a parchment.
“Before you leave.”
The leader read. One second. Then another. His expression hardened.
“This is a forgery.”
Alexandre tilted his head slightly.
“Test that claim before the prince.”
A sharp breath. Contained anger. The men stepped back.
They had lost.
That day, Black understood.
It was not only Marengo that Alexandre had protected.
It was what remained of his inheritance.
♦ ♦ ♦
Black kept moving forward. Without complaint. Without display.
His mother worked herself to exhaustion. Her son did the same.
He observed. He memorized.
Long before the tragedy, at around ten years of age, an encounter marked his path: Alexandre Margrave. A bond formed—not from naive affection, but from mutual respect. Quickly, Margrave grasped Black’s anomaly… and, without hesitation, used his magical capacity to refine his own.
From that point on, Alexandre Margrave became a constant in his life.
Slightly older, already firmly rooted within Eldoris’ hierarchy, Alexandre was not yet the man history would remember. Yet he possessed rare discipline, a sharp awareness of his position, and a drive that allowed neither ease nor misplaced pride.
No charity.
No pity.
“Work for me.”
Black accepted.
Not out of necessity alone—but because the offer provided structure. A framework. Something stable in a world that had become unstable.
Alexandre had already understood the anomaly.
Where magic dominated, Black suppressed it.
His aura destroyed nothing.
It nullified.
An absolute void.
For a noble seeking to expand his sacred domain, such a presence should have been intolerable. Yet Alexandre chose to make it a lever.
Training began.
Day after day.
Magic against negation.
Projection against void.
Black never sought to shine. He executed. Adjusted. Corrected.
Alexandre, in turn, learned to build despite resistance.
A relationship took shape.
Without unnecessary displays.
Without superfluous words.
It was the young noble’s keen judgment that allowed the Knights to leave their former residence for a more modest one, sparing them from falling into poverty. The income Black brought, combined with his mother’s, sustained a modest yet dignified life.
He never forgot.
Not the averted gazes.
Not the ruthless debts.
Not the unnaturally perfect sequence of events.
And above all, he remembered the one who had offered structure at the precise moment everything collapsed.
Years later, when titles lost their luster and alliances fractured, the decision remained unchanged.
Black did not serve a name.
He did not uphold an image.
He honored a commitment.
And as long as that commitment endured, the Black Knight would remain at the side of Count Alexandre Margrave.
Silent.
Unyielding.
Like Marengo.
Profile
Role : Enforcer of Count Alexandre Margrave
MBTI : ISTJ
Race : Human
Intermediate language level, with a neutral tone.
- Anti-magic aura
- Magic nullification
- Devoted
- Reliable
- Loyal
- Pragmatic
- Solid
- Conformist
- Critical
- Distant
- Cold
- Rigid
The Dark Knight is a reserved, methodical, and disciplined man, whose conduct is entirely guided by duty and the execution of received orders. In everyday life, he speaks little and acts with restraint, favoring efficiency over any display. His demeanor is calm, controlled, and devoid of emphasis; he carefully observes his surroundings and the people around him, assessing situations before acting.
He shows a strong respect for hierarchy and unwavering loyalty to Count Margrave. When he intervenes, his actions are precise, deliberate, and often anticipatory. He acts neither on impulse nor in anger, even in the face of failure or deception, preferring to analyze facts, protect his men, and preserve the mission rather than pursue recklessly.
Although ruthless toward his adversaries, he is neither gratuitous nor cruel: he can display a tacit respect for a worthy opponent and remains attentive to the condition of his subordinates. His presence inspires a silent fear, reinforced by his mastery of anti-magic, which makes him a constant threat to any magic user. Behind his mask and his silence, he remains a rigorous, patient, and determined enforcer, ready to strike again when the conditions are favorable.