The Female Knight of Doom - TFKOD 49: Knight Philo

Nestled within the majestic walls of Cloud Mist Castle, Knight Philo stands as a figure of exceptional distinction.

Born into a noble lineage in the royal capital, he is said to have been the son of a close confidant of Earl Quint, the esteemed father of the duchess.

When the duchess entered into matrimony, he faithfully accompanied her to West Felix, dedicating himself entirely to her service as her steadfast knight, never once forsaking her side. Though his unwavering loyalty and years of devotion to the Duchy of West Felix might have merited him a noble fief, the turbulent circumstances in West Felix rendered such rewards elusive.

At the time, the duchess’ position was still fragile, and to avoid political criticism, she refrained from granting him a hereditary estate, instead bestowing lands upon other barons and knights from the region. Yet, Knight Philo bore no resentment; he lived modestly on his stipend, content with his service.

Rumors whisper that, despite not inheriting a family title, he maintained substantial property holdings in the capital—sufficient to secure his livelihood with comfort and ease.

West Felix is, in truth, a land marked by a deep-seated aversion to outsiders, where the knights harbor a pronounced mistrust towards those from distant places.

Among the knights who journeyed with the duchess, Knight Philo was not alone; yet, one by one, they all departed, leaving only him steadfastly by her side. The duchess came to rely heavily upon him, often addressing him affectionately as “my brother.”

With his exceptional martial prowess and commanding presence, Knight Philo earned the admiration of the local knights and secured his rightful place within Cloud Mist Castle.

When the duchess was in a position to bestow upon him a noble estate, she selected a distinguished barony in his honor. However, Knight Philo graciously declined the offer. It is said that when refusing her generosity, he gently conveyed his humility and loyalty, choosing instead to remain among those who valued him for his deeds rather than titles.

“Your Grace, I am, of course, deeply honored by your generous intention to elevate me to the rank of baron and bestow upon me a noble title. Yet, I find myself pondering—what purpose would such distinctions serve in my humble life? I have neither wife nor children, and my nephews, well established and prosperous, have no need to journey to West Felix to claim my estate or title.

My simple desires are modest: three nourishing meals each day, a modest dwelling, and enough charcoal to keep my cold-sensitive legs warm through the chill. When I departed from the royal capital, it was with the resolve to serve you as your loyal sword and shield, to safeguard your honor and security. Having already forsaken my homeland, I ask only to remain by my old friend’s side, steadfast in my duty as a knight. Please, do not permit us to be parted again.”

Indeed, the duchess’ decision to bestow the barony upon him was driven by motives far more nuanced than mere gratitude for his steadfast loyalty.

At that time, the Duke of West Felix had long since passed, and as a widow, the duchess often found herself in the company of the unmarried Knight Philo. Such associations inevitably drew concern and speculation.

Her intention was to elevate him to the rank of baron, but underlying this was a desire to maintain a respectful distance—thus avoiding the spread of any inappropriate rumors.

Nevertheless, Knight Philo’s words and demeanor proved unexpectedly candid, rendering the duchess unable to ask him to depart. Reluctantly, she acquiesced to his request, rescinding her original decree.

In place of the barony, she granted him a comfortable residence on the outskirts of the village near Cloud Mist Castle—an act of kindness that spared him the hardships of barracks life, offering him instead a measure of comfort and dignity.

Having called Cloud Mist his home for nearly thirty years—from his youthful days through to old age—Knight Philo’s storied presence has become woven into the very fabric of local legend.

During a period when tensions among the great noble houses ran high, and knights from opposing factions frequently clashed in petty duels over trivial matters, he remained steadfast in his restraint. Unmoved by provocation or the taunts of cowardice, he refused to partake in such reckless violence.

His only duel in a lifetime was born from a grave insult aimed at the duchess—an accusation of infidelity designed to incite him.

In a display of unwavering composure, Knight Philo cast his glove in the assailant’s face, drew his sword, and in a swift, decisive motion, ended the man’s life in three strikes. Without hesitation, he then seized the corpse by the feet, carried it to the river, and cast it into the water.

The entire ordeal, from confrontation to final act, unfolded in less than twenty minutes, with his face remaining unaltered throughout.

Such resolute calm and unwavering integrity have since earned him an unassailable reputation—no one has dared to call him a coward or provoke him again.

Encountering the legendary Knight Philo in person renders any doubts about his existence effortlessly moot. To merely hear of him might evoke a sense of unreality, but the moment you behold him, those illusions dissolve.

He possessed an extraordinary sense of cleanliness that set him apart; his striking good looks were often overshadowed by this immaculate presence, almost to the point of invisibility. Once a formidable and relentless soldier, time has softened his features, lending a gentle warmth to his gaze that hints at a quiet tenderness.

Though no longer young, he remains well-proportioned, with a straight, noble posture reminiscent of a solitary pine standing resilient beneath a mantle of snow.

Merely observing the man, one could scarcely imagine him involved in any clandestine dealings. An aura of sanctity enveloped him, rendering it almost impossible to conceive of someone with such a noble presence engaging in anything unseemly or dishonorable.

His demeanor was perpetually composed, never betraying anger—perhaps a reflection of his refined upbringing, or perhaps a testament to his inherent serenity, for he seemed to require no outward display of emotion.

As previously noted, he had only once expressed anger, and even then, he bore the appearance of an avenging angel, unbowed and resolute.

He did not subscribe to the faith of the Light gods cherished by the nobles of the royal capital, nor did he venerate Bertucci, the God of Valor, like the knights.

It was perhaps this spiritual independence that led him to depart from the royal capital. If he were to claim any guiding belief, it was in the duchess herself—his unwavering devotion was given entirely to her. He guarded her with fervor, revering her as sacred, and he would not permit even the faintest slander to tarnish her name.

He was prepared to shed blood to cleanse her honor, and if he himself were the cause of any offense, he would gladly sacrifice his life in penance.

While his near-rigid demeanor might seem out of place amidst the bustling capital, in West Felix—where chivalry still reigns supreme—it is a virtue to be genuinely esteemed. Though he bore enemies, even they could not help but acknowledge his formidable presence.

Past tensions had once arisen between Knight Philo and the local knights of West Felix, yet they had ultimately chosen to honor his desire for a quiet, solitary existence. They regarded him with a mixture of respect and caution, respecting his strength, fearing his might, and consciously maintaining their distance to avoid conflict.

Such a man would inspire fear in his foes, yet it was rare to see warmth or friendliness directed toward him from his peers, for his sole focus was the duchess; nothing else could sway his unwavering loyalty.

Nonetheless, he stood as a protector to Kent and offered a rare, genuine smile when Alice was knighted—a testament to his complex character and unwavering dedication.

If one wishes to find him, the best time is shortly after dinner. Known for his leisurely pace, Knight Philo often lingered behind the other knights, and by the time he finished his meal, they would have already departed.

This fleeting moment presented a precious opportunity—a narrow window through which to speak with him. Missing this chance meant returning to the modest house outside the castle, a residence graciously provided by the duchess.

Knight Philo was almost as regular as the castle clock; the gates closed promptly each night behind him when he left, sealing the day’s opportunities until dawn.

Kent and Alice consumed their dinner silently, refraining from tasting it, their eyes continually drifting toward him. Yet, he remained wholly absorbed in his meal, unwavering in his focus, adhering steadfastly to his old-fashioned courtesy of not speaking while eating.

Despite the others having left, Alice and Kent hesitated to disturb him until he had finished, compelled to sit quietly and wait.

When at last he finished, before they could find their words, the venerable knight turned his gaze and inquired, “Is there something you seek from me?”

This unexpected initiative caught them off guard, rendering them speechless and unable to deliver the words they had meticulously prepared.

Kent, who had been so passionate and persuasive in his efforts to convince Alice earlier, now found himself as tongue-tied as a schoolboy who had erred.

Truly, he was more prone to mishaps than to success.

Alice glanced at him, collected herself, and told Knight Philo their request.

The old knight didn’t seem to expect that they would come to him for such a matter.

Hearing their request, he showed a surprised expression and repeated their words in disbelief, “You… want me to join your team and participate in the Knight’s Tournament?”

Alice and Kent nodded in unison.

The old knight smiled awkwardly but politely, “At my age, I’m probably not suitable for this kind of activity. If you ask me, it’s better to ask someone else. Let me think… Perop probably hasn’t formed a team yet, you can consider asking him.”

Alice regarded their immediate rejection with a calm acceptance, perceiving it as almost inevitable.

In contrast, Kent was visibly flustered, his eagerness to partake in the tournament clearly overpowering his nerves.

He implored, “Do you truly believe anyone else would join us? We’re the minority, and the other knights have never been inclined to support us. Besides, our goal is to win the tournament, and we won’t succeed with Perop.”

Knight Philo cast a discerning glance at him, whose emotional turmoil was evident, then turned to Alice, “A child, a woman, and an old man—if we form a team like that, they’ll be laughing at us.”

Kent’s protest, “I’m not a child!” sounded defiant, yet it only underscored Knight Philo’s more accurate judgment.

Alice disregarded the overly emotional Kent and seized the moment to present her next compelling argument, “That’s precisely why we must succeed. Just imagine the astonishment on those men’s faces if we emerge victorious.”

Her words appeared to resonate, as she observed a subtle shift in Knight Philo’s stance; however, it was barely perceptible and insufficient to sway his resolve. Nonetheless, the atmosphere had been elevated to an ideal pitch, and now it was time to unveil their final, decisive appeal.

Turning her gaze to Knight Philo, she delivered the words she had long prepared, “This is not solely for ourselves, but also for Her Grace.”

This marked Alice and Kent’s last gambit.

Should they fail to persuade him now, surrender would be inevitable.

While invoking the duchess’ name might have eased the difficulty considerably, Knight Philo’s judgment would ultimately hinge on whether he perceived any genuine benefit to her in supporting their cause; if he deemed it to be of no advantage to her, he would remain unmoved.

They held their breath, waiting for his reaction, then saw him smile.

In this case, a smile had many meanings, and didn’t necessarily mean they would succeed, but what he said next finally reassured them, “I am an old man, and this is the last time I will fight. But I can’t guarantee my victory. I am old, and I am not as strong as I was.”

“You can win!” Kent looked fanatical, as if witnessing what he had longed for. “You were the champion of the capital’s knight tournament, defeating knights from all over the country. These people from West Felix are no match for you!”

“You cannot compare me to my former self,” Knight Philo corrected him. “I am old, and I do not have enough strength. Winning a championship in a competition is not easy. But training you two is not a problem. You still have a few months before the tournament officially starts. Wait for me tomorrow morning at the training ground.”