Sunlight pours in through the skylight of the cathedral, and a light breeze blows through the grand halls, kicking up a puff of fine dust. Large white candles line up in front of the church's huge stained windows, in front of which is a portrait of a proud imperial warrior. Thousands of shards of stained glass adorned his broad countenance and aristocratic temperament, and he was surrounded by golden brilliance, holding a huge war hammer in one hand and a leather-covered book in the other. The title of the book is clearly visible - Defending Glory with Blood.

Tirio Fording looked at the colorful portrait and couldn't help but be fascinated. Tirio knelt in front of the ornately carved pulpit, humbly bent down in prayer. To his left, a row of people in white robes stood with solemn expressions. They were missionaries from North County, the Combat Chaplains. These pious priests had come to provide Tyrio with the necessary support and spiritual comfort. To his right hand, another group of men was heavily armoured, and they were the knights of the Silver Hand, the Paladins. These paladins are the guardians of Lordaeron and the entire Alliance. They had also come to support Tirio, the new recipient of the sacred title. In front of him was the huge altar under the stained glass window. The sun shone down on the altar, and another man in a robe with a thick book on his knees was sitting in the middle of the altar pondering something. Tirio vaguely remembered that the others followed him into the cathedral, talking anxiously as they waited for the ceremony to begin.

The robed man on the altar raised his hand to signal silence, and Tirio held his breath as the moment he had been waiting for was approaching. The robed man slowly got up and walked towards Tirio, who was kneeling in front of the altar. The archbishop stopped in front of the pulpit, opened the book in his hand, and read it in a loud voice:

"In the name of the Light, we gather here to grant power to our brothers. The light of the light makes it reborn, the power of the light makes it exhort the people, the power of the light makes it power against darkness, and the wisdom of the light leads its fellow citizens to eternal bath in heaven. After reading the prayer, the archbishop closed the book and walked to Tirio's left, who felt a wave of excitement. He took a deep breath, trying to concentrate on this sacred moment.

"Missionaries of the North County, if you trust him, bless him," said the archbishop in a sacred tone. A white-robed man stood up with a dark blue trimmed shawl in his hand. The missionary walked up to the pulpit and reverently draped his shawl over Tirio's neck, dipping his thumb in a vial of holy oil and smearing it between Tirio's brows.

"Holy Light bless your fellow citizens for salvation," the missionary murmured, bowing and retreating.

The archbishop turned to the crowd to the right and said again: "Knights of the Silver Hand, if you trust him, bless him."

Two heavily armed men walked out proudly and stood solemnly in front of the pulpit. One of them was armed with a huge two-handed war hammer. The hammer's silver head is engraved with hymns, and the handle of the hammer is carefully wrapped in blue leather. Tirio was amazed at the weapon's unusual craftsmanship and delicacy. The knight placed the hammer in front of Tirio, who was kneeling, bowed his head and walked back. The second knight, with a pair of shoulder armor in hand, followed and looked at Tirio. He was Saida Dasohan, one of Tirio's closest friends. The knight's face was filled with pride and excitement, and Tirio smiled at him knowingly. Saida draped the silver shoulder armor over Tirio's shoulders and said sternly, "May the power of the Light help you sweep away a single enemy."

After he finished speaking, Saida adjusted the silver armor so that the blue ribbon beneath them could float out. Then he stepped back, and turned back to the knights present. Tirio's heart pounded on his chest. He was so overjoyed that he was even a little fluttering. Once again, the archbishop strode forward and put his hand on Tirio's head.

"Stand up and let everyone get to know you again. He said. Tirio stood on his feet, feeling the glory he had been given, and he couldn't calm down. The archbishop looked at Tirio at eye level, then began to read aloud

"You, Tirioferdin, have sworn to uphold the honor and laws of the Silver Hand Holy Codex?"

"I swear," Tirio replied sincerely.

"Do you swear that you will walk by the grace of the Light, and that you will exercise its wisdom to your men?"

"I swear. ”

"Do you swear that you will repel the evil you encounter wherever you are, and protect the weak and innocent with your own life?"

Tirio swallowed hard, then nodded and said, "By my blood and glory, I swear." He exhaled these words softly, completely conquered by emotion.

The archbishop closed the book and walked back towards the center of the altar.

Turning to face the attendees, the archbishop said, "Brothers and sisters – you have gathered here today and witnessed for yare – raise your hands and let the Light make this man brilliant. Each of the priests and knights raised their right hands and pointed them directly at Tirio. To Tirio's surprise, their hands began to glow with a weak golden glow. He felt that he was too excited at this moment, and his eyes were joking with him. As he opened his eyes wide to know what was going on, daylight poured down from above and began to move slowly across the ground. As if instructed by the attendees, the light stopped when it came to Tirio. His eyes were a little blurred by the intense brilliance, and Tirio felt his body being warmed and charged by divine power. Every nerve of his own was ignited by the sacred fire. He could feel the life-giving power flowing through his limbs, the energy that could heal any wound and remove any disease. He pondered the power of this power, capable of burning even the souls of cursed shadow creatures from outside. Except for himself, he subconsciously trembled.

Excited with hope and joy, Tirio knelt down and grabbed the powerful hammer - a sign of his divine mission and identity. Tears of joy streamed down his face, and he looked up at the archbishop, who was smiling warmly at him in reply.

"Stand up, Tirioferdin, defender of Lord Paladin Lordlord Lordaeron. Welcome to the Silver Hand. ”

The whole scene erupted in cheers. The sound of various trumpets came from the balcony above, and the clamor of cheers echoed through the vast space of the Cathedral of Light.

Tirio woke up. The sound of children frolicking happily passed through the nearby windows. From the outside, he could hear the familiar cries of selling, which were being done on the grounds of the castle of Madenhold. He was at home, in his own bed. Shaking his head, waking up his vague consciousness, he pondered how long he had been asleep. His sheets were soaked with sweat and smelled like he hadn't showered in a week. It was as if his head was pounding with all his might, as if it was going to explode. Sighing deeply, he remembered that he had been dreaming all along. He struggled to recall the details of the dream, but as his skull seemed to be pounding continuously, he could only grasp the most vague moments of the vision: a man in robes, a glowing hammer, an evil orc. An evil orc?, he assumed that he had dreamed of a mission as a paladin. But there were certainly no orcs at that joyous ceremony. Slowly, more images flashed through his consciousness. He himself had a gladiatorial fight with that orc - and he lost. Nonsense, he thought absentmindedly. He pondered, feeling that his dreams had only become more imaginative because he had aged.

Lifting his head from the sweat-soaked pillow, he wanted to get out of bed. A sharp pain shot through him, and he lay backwards, panting. He removed the blanket from his body, and he saw that his entire body was neatly bandaged in the middle. Bruises and small cuts were almost all over his aching body. He was shocked to find that his arm was also medicated and bandaged. He frantically recalled what had happened to him. Was the gladiatorial fight with the orcs real? For some unusual reason, his memory had become hazy and dull. He tried to get out of bed, but the pain distorted his expression. Wrapping himself in a ** robe, he walked to his living room.

He found his young wife, Carandra, sitting quietly doing needlework in a large plush chair, next to an open window. Seeing him enter the house, Carandra threw down the knitwear in her hand and ran up to meet him. She hugged him carefully and warmly, without squeezing him too tightly.

"Thank the Light, you're awake," she said. Her young and effeminate appearance was tinged with relief and concern. Her blue eyes looked straight at him, just like they used to. In reply, he smiled and kissed her on the forehead. He was surprised, perhaps the thousandth time, by her beauty. "I was just wondering if you were going to sleep through your entire middle age. She said. As he stroked her soft blonde hair, her eyebrows curved as if asking a question.

"What do you want to say? How long have I been asleep?" He asked.

"It's been almost four days," she replied flatly. Tirio blinked in disbelief.

"It's been four days," he muttered to himself. That explains the hazy memory, he thought. "Kalandra, what's wrong with me, why did I sleep so long?" He asked. She shrugged her shoulders and shook her head slightly. (To be continued.) )