Imperial Knights (3)
Philip still seemed to view the situation as little more than an annoying hassle, but the Imperial Knights lined up behind him did not. The moment I looked ready to launch outright hostility, they snapped into a defensive posture. The more seasoned knights among them maximized their vigilance, directing their sword tips at me—naturally wreathed in sword aura.
Stepping forward as their representative was a female knight who appeared to be Philip's adjutant.
"This is a warning, Sword Ghost Kyle. Retract your aura. Interfering with our knight order's proceedings could be construed as treason against His Imperial Majesty."
"What a shame."
It was a pathetic threat. I regarded her impassively, my expression unchanging.
"Of course, I am an imperial subject, but as a lowly mercenary, I also hold the status of a free citizen. If things go south, I can simply leave this land behind."
"Are you daring to turn the entirety of the mighty Dersia Empire against you?"
"I didn't go that far, but..."
An ordinary subject might quake in fear at the Imperial Knights themselves invoking "treason." But as I'd said, I wasn't a full-fledged imperial citizen, nor did I hold any deep affection for this nation. Second homeland or not, if push came to shove, I could flee to another region without a second thought.
The Empire dominated this continent as the supreme power, but it wasn't an absolute throne. Beyond Edenberg and across the border to the east lay exotic civilizations. And though dismissed as rabble, factions like the Black Lotus Society existed that openly opposed the Empire. There were places aplenty where Beatrice and I could go, as many as we needed.
If anything, the Empire would be the one losing out by forsaking a "continent's Seven Strongest" who was friendly to their cause.
The path to exile lies open. Not a bad option, that.
Either way, it made no difference to me. Best if it never came to that, but if the Empire rejected me, I'd simply depart. However...
"What an irreverent cur. Do you truly intend to spurn His Majesty's grace?"
The nameless female knight seemed deeply offended by my attitude. It wasn't particularly novel. The Imperial Knights often harbored such blind loyalty to the crown. From my perspective, it was unremarkable devotion, and I had no intention of sharing their zeal.
What did they expect from a transmigrator from a world where class systems had long been abolished?
"No point bandying more words."
I smacked my lips briefly and shot a glance at Philip, who had stepped back to observe. For some reason, he seemed to be gauging the female knight's mood, showing no inclination to intervene.
Maybe I should snap her blade.
At this rate, nothing would progress. I fixed the female knight with cold eyes. Her stance was steady, and the aura cloaking her blade was impressively refined for her age. But that was all.
She was just an ordinary 6th Hierarchy knight, nothing exceptional. If the vice captain showed no sign of backing down...
It might not be a bad idea to make an example of this boldly snarling knight. Once Beatrice's secret came to light—the Blood Death Disease she'd overcome, and the blood powers she'd awaken later—conflict would be inevitable.
What could be done? This was partly my fault for rashly trusting Hokma completely. Or perhaps for failing to anticipate that a blood test might expose Beatrice's talents.
Strike first, think later.
Trusting the instinct that had always saved me on brutal battlefields as a mercenary, I was on the verge of flashing my blade when—
"...!"
Reading the intent in my eyes a beat too late, the female knight flinched and raised her sword in defense. Far too slow. And utterly careless.
"You think that flimsy aura will block me?"
"?!"
"Sloppy."
Whoosh—!
I swung my sword down from above in a simple, straightforward strike that her dynamic vision couldn't track. It cleaved through the sword she'd raised in defense, and just as I aimed to leave a red line on her pale cheek as a warning—
Screeech!!
"!"
A sudden whoosh grazed my ear, and my heightened senses, dominating the area, picked up a familiar presence.
Thud—!
A razor-sharp sword plunged between us like it had dropped from the sky. It struck precisely in the gap as my silver blade was about to bisect her sword tip. No, it was too ambiguous to call an attack. More like an intervention to halt the clash...
"Rebecca?"
I recognized it from the sword embedded at my feet. A blade so thin the edge was nearly invisible, tipped like a thorn. It was a rapier—a straight sword for self-defense and duels, reminiscent of the one I'd first gifted Beatrice.
And as far as I knew, only one knight wielded such a blade masterfully in real combat.
"That's enough from both of you. Push it further, and I might have to cart off a corpse today."
The voice of the person I'd expected followed, and I calmly withdrew my extended sword. The female knight who'd nearly been bisected finally registered my approach, her face draining of color.
But I ignored her, turning my gaze with a short breath.
On the western wall of this vast mansion lay another grand estate. The owner of the thrown sword stood at the end of its terrace—the one who'd halted me. She confirmed my blade returning to its sheath and let out a quiet sigh.
Tap—
"What do you think you're doing, Sir Kyle...?"
She vaulted lightly from the terrace, cleared the wall, and landed, glaring at me reproachfully. I returned a wry smile and a nod.
"Long time no see, Lady Teiran."
"...I told you to call me by name."
Her mere appearance calmed the tension that had thickened the air. The Imperial Knights who'd drawn swords on me murmured among themselves, exchanging glances.
Moonlit silver hair, sapphire-blue eyes. Her striking features, and the house from which she'd emerged—it was impossible for them not to recognize the Teiran lineage.
I shrugged at the woman eyeing me with evident vexation.
"I could if you insist, but there are eyes everywhere here. Just playing it safe with propriety for once."
"Since when do you bother? If you meant to be proper, you should've sent word before leaving the capital. Isn't that right?"
She shot back curtly, her displeasure plain, and I scratched my cheek in silence.
One of the Seven Strongest, the Sword Emperor deemed the continent's greatest swordsman: Dietrich Teiran. The haughty, catlike beauty before me, Rebecca Teiran, was his granddaughter. Also known as one of the empire's two ducal ladies—or the 8th Hierarchy Sword Princess. Many titles, but to me, she was just a girl who wished to be called by her given name.
"...Hah. So."
Rebecca, who'd scolded me for moving to Handel without notice, brushed back her bangs irritably, surveyed the surroundings, and clicked her tongue.
"What in the world is going on? Why have the knights barged in here, and why are you swinging your sword at them? Do you have a death wish?"
"Haha, joke."
"Does that sound like a joke to you?"
"..."
*****
The standoff, which had teetered on the brink of bloodshed, was tentatively resolved by Rebecca Teiran's mediation.
"...That's what happened, Grandfather."
After conveying the message to Philip and his adjutant and dismissing the knights, she brought them to the Teiran estate and explained the situation. Even she had only heard the rough outline from Kyle in front of his house.
Regardless, as a member of House Teiran and a noble of the empire, Rebecca had a duty to report the incident.
And to whom? The answer was obvious.
"That rascal Kyle! If he'd returned to the capital, he should've come pay his respects...! The nerve, pulling this without a word to me?"
The mansion's original owner where the commotion arose—and resident of the grand estate next door—a towering giant. Duke of the Empire, leader of the Seven Strongest, Captain of the Imperial Knights: Dietrich Teiran. Before this man, her doting grandfather, Vice Captain Philip Lionheart and his adjutant Cecilia Teiran knelt on one knee.
For them, it was proper protocol toward their order's captain.
"Insolent whelp. After I lavished him with mansions and famed swords without stint, I saw that ingratitude coming when he up and left the capital without a word."
Dietrich merely stroked his goatee, grumbling(?) about Kyle, ignoring decorum. He did gesture for his subordinates to rise and sit comfortably soon enough.
"Grandfather... This isn't something to brush off lightly. Please, consider it seriously just this once."
Rebecca couldn't help but fret at his apparent disinterest in the clash between the Imperial Knights and one of the Seven Strongest right next door. How could he be so unflappable? Even Rebecca, largely favorable toward Kyle, had hardened her expression upon hearing it involved the girl he'd adopted.
"Hm? What were we talking about?"
"...Grandfather..."
His response suggested he hadn't even been listening properly, and Rebecca swallowed her frustration, making a pained face but too respectful to show irreverence toward her esteemed grandsire.
Dietrich chuckled heartily at his lovely granddaughter's reaction and waved it off.
"Just jesting. Right, he took in an adopted daughter this time? And she's afflicted with the Blood Death Disease... with blood traits eerily similar to that man who sparked the Blood Incident a century ago. Got it."
"...In that case, Grandfather."
Fearing he'd veer off-topic again, Rebecca pressed on urgently, eyes gleaming.
"Render judgment. On the girl and Sir Kyle... What should we do? How should we respond?"
"Hm."
"As Captain of the Imperial Knights, please decide."
Perhaps swayed by his granddaughter's earnestness, Dietrich finally sobered, falling silent with a sharp, seasoned gaze.
Rebecca, Philip, and Cecilia—all listening intently—tensed, swallowing dryly as they awaited his word.
Pfft—
Dietrich suddenly snorted lightly and spoke as if it were trivial.
"What judgment? Just leave 'em be. Sounds like Kyle didn't know and took her in as a daughter innocently enough..."
"...Grandfather!"
Rebecca glared at her grandsire with uncharacteristic crumpling of her features at the anticlimactic reply to their grave anticipation. Vice Captain Philip voiced concern at Dietrich's nonchalant attitude, long familiar to him.
"Your Grace. The Blood Incident may have exaggerated elements, as Kyle said... But a nation fell in a single night. His foster daughter carries that potential."
"Pah, what's so grand about power to topple a nation? Bluntly, I could do it. That Dark King could too."
"..."
Philip could say nothing more as Dietrich tapped his scabbard. Indeed, the Seven Strongest were transcendent beings who could overthrow a minor state effortlessly, if not the Empire itself.
...Hearing it put that way, national downfall suddenly seemed less monumental...
"Hah."
Philip snapped awake, eyes widening at the near-dangerous epiphany, and hurriedly crossed himself to steady his rattled mind. As Rebecca massaged her temples in bewilderment—
"No need to fret so much."
Dietrich rose with a meaningful smile tugging his lips, his gaze keen once more.
"Kyle's a cheeky, loathsome brat who foolishly rejected my offer of Teiran Ironblood Knight Captaincy... but he's not one to shirk responsibility."
"...Y-Yes?"
As the others gaped at his roundabout defense laden with needless barbs—
Dietrich, his sturdy frame belying his seventies, grinned broadly.
"I'll report to His Majesty myself. You lot needn't worry anymore."