Chapter 285
Chapter 285
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Translator: crow
Chapter Title: EP.62 – What Justification Does a Knight Have to Fight? (7)
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The old knight, who had been consistently calm and courteous throughout, suddenly spoke in a stern tone.
"I feel like there might be a misunderstanding, so let me clarify: our knight order has absolutely never practiced necromancy."
"I, I see."
"Let me say it again: we have absolutely never practiced necromancy. And definitely not black magic!"
"Y-yes..."
"That armor is the pinnacle of alchemy and medical arts. The materials may come from monster bones and muscles, but they've all been purified through holy water. Oh, and for reference, the power source that moves the armor comes from the spirits we've subjugated. For the ghost horses, think of it as contracts with animal spirits still lingering in this world. So, I'd appreciate it if there were no misunderstandings."
"I've been saying from the start that there's no misunderstanding..."
"Ahem, h-have I?"
"...You've had a lot of grievances, haven't you?"
"......Many. Far too many..."
"......"
The old knight Ganok's mutterings carried a deep sense of pathos and countless past injustices.
He must have been frequently mistaken for a necromancer—or worse, a black mage or some other ominous figure.
Well, fair enough.
'They do look pretty sinister.'
Casually,
Lee Han glanced at the Hundred Ghosts zealously maintaining vigilance ahead.
The armor was armor, sure, but it looked like nothing less than cursed living ghost armor.
Ghost horses made from various animal bones, wreathed in blue flames with tails and all.
How could anyone see that as a proper knight order?
'Cursed Knights or Death Knights would be more fitting names.'
That said, one thing was crystal clear: no matter how ferocious they appeared, the aura they emitted was utterly pure.
No trace of the repulsive disgust unique to spellcasters, nor the dank, musty stench of necromancers.
Just the metallic tang and sweat of knights, and nothing more.
So, really, it was just...
'Way ahead of its time.'
About a century or so?
If subcultures ever bloomed in this world and cosplay culture took root, maybe then they'd be somewhat accepted.
"Maybe I should draw some comic books after I retire?"
"What's that?"
"It's a thing. But more importantly, why aren't you wearing that armor? Aren't you part of the same knight order?"
He was supposedly the vice-captain, yet here he was in heavy plate armor alone, like a black swan—or rather, a freakish bird—amidst a flock of white ones.
Wondering if there was a reason, Lee Han asked...
"Relying on such contraptions is unacceptable!"
"...Ah."
The response was so exasperating that Lee Han gave up trying to understand the man in a whole new way.
...How could anyone comprehend someone who seemed a hundred—no, several hundred—years behind the times?
Lee Han couldn't help but think that finding a sane knight order among great noble houses was no easy task.
Lee Han's awkward companionship with the Hundred Ghosts ended in less than ten minutes.
Not because they parted ways.
Rumble!
The vast encampment where Modred's knights were stationed welcomed them.
Even at a glance, it was a considerable force.
By the presences he sensed, roughly five hundred soldiers.
Fifty knights.
And about eighty who were neither—servants, perhaps?
A massive camp of 630 in total, crude but impressive in scale after five years of occupation.
And such a large force...
Whoosh!
Snapped to high alert at the intrusion of outsiders.
They showed no hostility since Ganok was with him, but their disciplined, razor-sharp presence was formidable.
'No weaklings here.'
The soldiers were elite among elites, the knights one-man armies.
Even the non-combatants—the servants—wore no armor or weapons, but they weren't weak.
'These are the real deal.'
The forces of Wales's collateral branches and vassal houses that he'd crushed in a week were like D-grade students barely scraping by, while these were top-of-the-national-mock-exam 1A graders.
If these guys had been out there, the Wales version of the game of thrones would've taken not a week, but seven years.
"Wait here a moment. I'll go meet my son—er, ahem, the family head first."
"Take your time. I'll stay put."
"Make yourself at home."
"I want to live."
"Haha! Such exaggeration!"
"...?"
"Quite the witty joke."
Pat.
Ganok patted his shoulder as if to say "Don't make the old man laugh too hard," leaving Lee Han tilting his head.
He hadn't made any joke?
He wanted to elaborate, but Ganok had already gone off to handle his business.
'Wait, is it okay to just leave like this?'
Come to think of it, Lee Han hadn't stated any purpose.
The old man had just nodded in admiration on his own.
But Lee Han himself hadn't said a word.
In other words...
'Doesn't that mean they have no idea why I'm here?'
Lee Han glanced around.
...Dead silence.
Was it always this quiet?
He'd bet his TA's wrist it wasn't.
The tension was due to wariness toward him, and Lee Han wondered what Ganok expected him to do alone.
So,
Poke.
"Say something to them."
"Hm?"
"They're all on edge."
"Oh, that. Don't mind them. They're all weaker than you anyway. The strong are simply solitary."
"Cut the nonsense."
"?"
"...Forget it. My bad. I picked the wrong person to talk to."
Realizing he'd chosen the wrong conversation partner, Lee Han asked one of the knights who'd been traveling with them.
"Did you all get my info through spirit sight too?"
"...Our spirit sight pales compared to Modred's bloodline. We can only see spirits, not converse or hear their voices."
"You're not Modred blood either?"
"Aside from the lord, captain, vice-captain, and the nine young masters, no Modred blood is present. We're just those who gained spiritual abilities innately or through training."
"......"
"For reference, mediums often attract evil spirits or cause misfortune to those around them, leading to orphanhood or unhappy lives. Modred often takes in such unfortunates. I myself was an orphan taken in by the captain and made a knight. Thus, Modred's knights are highly loyal, so none among them will threaten you, the captain's guest."
"...Thanks for the kind explanation."
"Not at all."
It felt like more info than needed, but useful nonetheless.
So,
"You, what's your name?"
"?"
"Your name. Oh, is it a secret?"
As thanks, he decided to give the first 'gift.'
"N-no, Sir Santa. Name's Denny."
"Denny... Is your son's Denny Jr.? Wife's Hannah?"
"H-how did you know!?"
"Funny coincidence. First letter I got was yours."
Thud.
The moment Lee Han set down his backpack, the ground shook with a massive thud.
As eyes widened wondering how such a small pack—barely big enough for a sleeping bag—could make that sound,
Slide.
"Here, your son asked me to deliver this. Said he's training swordsmanship to become a knight."
"......"
"This is from your wife: a letter and lunch. Mashed trout sandwich, her favorite."
"......"
"Your son said you pretend to love these awful sandwiches so obviously, but she doesn't notice. I tried one—respect. Gripped by the wife, huh?"
"......Ah."
The knight called Denny stared blankly at the proffered lunchbox and two letters.
His face lacked any sense of reality, but soon,
Slide.
With trembling hands, he took the lunchbox, opened it, and inspected the sandwich.
Rye bread for health, stuffed with mashed boiled trout, olive oil, and heaps of wine vinegar.
The vinegar stench was so strong it seemed spoiled, but he...
Munch munch.
Ate it without hesitation.
Devouring it ravenously as if starved.
In under a minute, all four sandwiches vanished, and he gave a hollow laugh.
"...Her cooking hasn't improved a bit."
"Your wife thinks she's a master chef. Should've told her ages ago it's bad."
"...Get married someday, and you'll see. Sometimes you endure everything for love."
"Haha!"
Lee Han laughed heartily, while Denny clutched the two precious letters tight.
Like treasures no fortune could buy.
...Silence fell.
Unlike the earlier wary quiet, now all eyes were fixed on Denny's letters and Lee Han's backpack. Sensing their gazes,
"One by one, say your names. First come, first served."
He offered hope that their aspirations might come true, and like a switch flipped, people shouted their names with all their hearts.
Faces beaming with uncontainable excitement—!
This would later mark the first page in the spread of 'Santa' culture across Wales.