No Newbie?
“The wounds are severe.”
What ridiculous thing is she planning now? Beatrice had harbored impure suspicions, but her expression softened at the sight of the injured men.
She approached Raoul first, the most gravely wounded, and extended her hand. Beatrice wielded only the Light Blessing, not true healing magic. Still, she could accelerate natural recovery.
Raoul's injuries knit together swiftly.
“Who... are you people?”
Aiden finally managed to speak. Sisilia rummaged in her bosom and pulled out a sheet of paper.
“We saw this notice and came.”
“...That.”
It was the very recruitment flyer that had gotten their tails stepped on—the essential party call for heading to Greyslam.
“Better late than never. Allow me to introduce myself. This is Betty, our healer.”
“?”
Beatrice shot Sisilia a sideways glance as she channeled her blessing.
“She's an outstanding priestess. One of the rare real ones.”
“...So it seems. I heard a few priests slipped in from the Holy Nation, but this healing method is unheard of until now. Is this divine power? It warms even the heart.”
Raoul was completely off-base, but Beatrice was the only knight who could mimic holy power, so he wasn't entirely wrong. For the record, the warmth in Raoul's heart came simply from Beatrice's beauty.
“I'm Sisilia, handling the front line for our party.”
Sisilia clasped her hands and flashed a bright smile.
“I caught your swordsmanship, nameless user. Such pure, crystalline sword aura—impossible without a righteous heart. Proof positive of your noble spirit.”
‘Raoul. This one.’
‘...Definitely a knight.’
Raoul and Aiden exchanged knowing looks. The earlier fight had shown textbook sword-trained moves, but above all, her speech was pure knight.
“I sincerely wish to party up with you.”
“Y-You're really saying you'll party with us?”
Honorifics slipped from Aiden unbidden. She clearly hailed from high station, but this silver-haired girl exuded an aura that forbade casual treatment.
“Yes. Of course.”
“...Why would someone of your caliber join us?”
“Our destinations align perfectly. Truth be told, we're not familiar with the local geography...”
Sisilia held out her adventurer's license with both hands.
“And, user, I'm no powerhouse. Embarrassingly, I'm still stuck at Bronze rank.”
“P-Pardon? Br-Bronze?”
The one who'd demolished twenty senior knights in under ten minutes... was Bronze? The rank for goblin-hunting newbies?
‘She expects us to buy that?’
Yet Sisilia's aura made denial impossible. Some inexplicable pressure.
“Yes. But I won't hinder you, user.”
‘Why's she been calling me “user” since earlier?’
Aiden knew users were otherworlders. What puzzled him was why the mistake. His black hair? Most otherworlders shared similar hues.
‘...No clue. But this is a chance we can't pass up.’
Aiden swallowed hard, gazing at Sisilia. She tilted her head slowly.
This sudden vision of unearthly beauty was a knight of overwhelming skill. Her reasons for hiding her identity and venturing here were unknown—but Aiden had to seize her hand. For his family's vengeance.
“...I'm Aiden. Will you journey with us to Greyslam?”
Sisilia asked them nothing. It felt like silent pressure: ‘I won't pry about you, so don't pry about me.’
The odd fellowship had barely begun when Aiden, after much hesitation, confessed the truth to Sisilia.
“Truth is, I'm a fugitive.”
Even this was calculated to enable conversation.
Sisilia pounced immediately, as if waiting.
“Do you know the enemy's numbers and base?”
By now, Aiden was purely curious.
“...You truly ask nothing else.”
“It's in the recruitment notice.”
“Even so, I didn't expect zero curiosity.”
Sisilia glanced back while leading.
“Really? I'm dying to know.”
“Ah...”
She smiled and pressed on.
“I'll trust you'll tell me when the time's right. I haven't earned that trust yet, after all.”
“How can you be so considerate...”
Meanwhile, Beatrice's eyes went dead black at Aiden's mutter.
“But answer what I asked earlier. We can't prepare blind.”
Aiden nodded.
“Naturally. Raoul.”
“Yes.”
“Tell them everything.”
Raoul sidled up to Sisilia and explained—slipping in knight-only jargon. Partly for efficiency, partly to test if she was truly one.
“A mere adventurer like me can't parse those terms. But I get the gist.”
Sisilia blinked innocently. Such transparent ploys.
But the lovable Sword Princess occasionally humored newbie tricks.
“A righteous knight culled two villains, stirring massive chaos in the east. You're slipping through to Greyslam amid the turmoil, with allies.”
“Spot on.”
“But it won't be easy. Mild chaos would've suited your plan, but with no fallback, they'll pursue relentlessly.”
Sisilia eyed Aiden impassively.
“I'd capture a Hofen survivor, claim credit with my faction, and legitimize my position.”
She sighed.
“Culling villains moderately and sparing useful evils is optimal. That knight overdid it.”
‘...Lady Sisilia did it.’
Beatrice glared icily. Sisilia ignored her.
“But necessary evil is still evil. That knight's truly righteous, beautiful, pretty, cool—a kind-hearted, good knight.”
Beatrice sometimes envied Sisilia's conscience. Or lack thereof—bean-sized at best, freeing her from needless worries.
“Y-Yes. We're detouring, but... your thoughts?”
‘No. Too delayed already. Detour means I'm late and chewed out.’
Shortest path it was—blasting through. Crossing a civil war zone meant Sisilia sketching hellscapes. Her least favorite style. For happier, fluffier art...
‘Hm.’
Sisilia touched her lips. Trickier than expected—brains required.
Two minutes later:
“No detour. Straight to Lancaster Territory.”
“Pardon?”
“Safest, sure. But solves nothing fundamental.”
Sisilia wagged a finger at the adorable newbie, imparting wisdom.
“To solve problems, face them head-on. Heed this to survive this world.”
Leadership came in flavors: gentle, iron-fisted, resolute. Sisilia was none—and all.
Aiden couldn't refuse. It was decided from the start.
Lancaster Territory. With the earl surely crossed to the unreachable river, the hyenas turned on each other.
“Lowell claims Lancaster's throne!”
“No! Blackrude!”
“Nuh-uh! Lechenne!”
“Watch and join the winner.”
Fragmented forces saw potential in their own houses. Weaker ones observed warily.
Sisilia targeted the small fry first.
“Y-You're truly from House Hofen?”
Hofen marquisate. Blood of the previous Sword Saint, absolute lords the Lancaster earl most feared.
Their proxy urged allegiance. Lancaster gone, Hofen had the best shot.
But fallen house. Unbelievable.
“What reason for Montroy to back Hofen?”
Not outright rejection. East's future was opaque—no opportunity ignored.
“Because...”
Sisilia whispered conspiratorially to Baron Montroy.
“Blackwood's already with us.”
“Wh-What?!”
A top contender. Montroy couldn't match them.
“...Mercy. How'd you sway Blackwood?”
If true, instant Hofen alignment.
...If true.
“Hard to buy. Blackwood's ambitious. They'd back Hofen?”
“You know Blackwood well.”
Sisilia smiled coldly.
“Then you know they owe Hastings big.”
“...How do you know? Internal secret, few privy.”
“Speeds things up. You know Hastings fell recently?”
“...!”
“Yes. Hofen toppled House Hastings. Thus, Blackwood's debt transfers to Hofen by imperial law.”
“Ah, so Hofen still packs that punch.”
Baron Montroy gaped. Beatrice stared, stunned.
‘...That's why she grilled them on intel while cleaning the battlefield?’
—Affiliation, name. And your most vital secret.
Sisilia always asked the same. Beatrice thought it hunted Four Heavenly Kings moves—but Sisilia foresaw this.
‘I was the clueless one.’
Beatrice felt ashamed.
“Baron Balua joins Hofen faction.”
“Orsein too, please!”
“Blackshipord pledges eternal loyalty!”
Thus Sisilia gathered the shattered forces, one by one.
Not all yielded. Some balked, disbelieved. Sisilia cut them coldly—no second chances.
Her ruthlessness unnerved nobles, birthing defections.
With a force amassed, Sisilia headed to the final hold.
“Montroy, Balua, Orsein, Blackshipord, Lechenne, Lowell. And 23 other eastern noble houses consolidated.”
Blackwood territory.
“Blackwood alone remains. Your choice?”
The linchpin bluff—“Blackwood joined”—was a lie. Sisilia roped others to lure Blackwood.
Yet she stood tall.
“...Blackwood joins.”
Lies become truth when realized. Sisilia never lied. Like reporting “Demon King dead” to Edward.
“Absorbed most Lancaster factions in under a week. Bloodless. Only my mana spent.”
“Betty made fine transport.”
Beatrice sweated coldly at Sisilia.
No complexity. Just “X joined”—no threats, coercion. Later, nobles brought gifts.
Planned from stepping east...?
“...No more messing with Lady Sisilia.”
“Good you learned.”
Sisilnyang chomped baguette, munching happily.
“York faction remains.”
“Newbie's problem.”
“Lady Sisilia, I've wondered: why call Aiden a newbie?”
“'Cause he is.”
“...Just checking—'newbie' means user, right?”
Sisilia crossed arms, stern and solemn.
“Newbie's definition is tricky, but here? Yes. Aiden's a user.”
“...”
Beatrice glanced around. Spill or not?
Sisilia beamed obliviously.
“Now just convince Raoul to cede fallen Hofen to Aiden.”
Beatrice eyed Sisilia dimly, then whispered:
“Lady Sisilia. Aiden's Hofen's sole heir. Not a newbie.”
Sisilia blinked, uncomprehending. Her precious baguette tumbled pathetically to the dirt.
“No newbie...?”
Sisilnyang truly hadn't known.