Old Captain Nick held his long pipe, packed a little tobacco into the bowl, lit it with a candle, and puffed away.
He blew clouds of smoke for a while.
"Was Miquella's Knight really that powerful?" The old captain's single eye widened in disbelief.
In a tavern at Caelid's harbor, the bard playing his instrument thumped his chest in assurance. "Absolutely! I'm not good with words. I can't even explain just how powerful he was."
"No, hold on. You've only just sung about him leaving Roundtable Hold, and he's already too powerful for words?" The old captain found that rather hard to accept.
The bard nodded firmly. "Of course, of course. If he wasn't powerful, why would the Two Fingers summon him to Roundtable Hold? If he wasn't powerful, how could he lead Blaidd? and the others? If he wasn't powerful, how could he bring the light of dawn to the Lands Between?"
The old captain thought that made sense.
It was obvious if you thought about it. The renowned Miquella's Knight couldn't possibly be an ordinary mortal.
From his origins to his experiences, he had to be different from ordinary people.
Unlike everyone else.
From head to toe, from beginning to end, he had to look the part of a hero.
Being powerful was only the most basic requirement.
He also needed the charm to attract beautiful women, inexhaustible wealth, leadership that won people over, and so on.
The bard wasn't simply telling a story. He was singing poetry, singing a narrative poem aloud.
He played his instrument, and the lyrics had to follow a meter and rhyme.
So after several minutes of singing, he had only just gotten past a village afflicted with Frenzied Flame Sickness.
And one particularly important thing was that the bard didn't sing the