The Strongest Knight (2)
The strongest knight. It was a topic that set all the taverns in Liannen ablaze. No matter which pub you walked into, you'd hear similar conversations.
"The strongest is obviously the former Knight Commander Chiron. Edward's still too young."
The first name that always came up was Chiron. Sure, there was the Sword Saint Erterion above him, but as the shrouded guardian knight of the Empress, he was usually considered an exception.
Especially after Chiron had slain one of the Four Heavenly Kings, Jahar, his reputation had only grown more legendary.
But there was another figure frequently mentioned as being on par with him.
"No, the strongest knight is definitely Gallerhead. If he weren't so lazy, he'd have been a Sword Sovereign ages ago."
It was Gallerhead, the man dubbed the strongest among the high knights. He had never once lost a fight—not even suffered a scratch. Enemies who faced him never saw more than two sword strikes. He was a knight of overwhelming, devastating might. His only issue was his innate laziness, which had kept him from amassing the achievements needed for Sword Sovereign rank. Everyone believed that if he put his mind to it, he could claim the title right now.
"Honestly, we all know it, right? Sir Chiron is the classic hard worker. He can't match Gallerhead's raw talent."
"So what has Gallerhead even done? He took down one of the Seven Deadly Sins and everyone's been chewing on that for decades?"
"Hey now! It's not just about achievements. And didn't Sir Chiron badly injure one arm this time? He won't be at full strength anymore."
Chiron had been wounded. It wasn't enough to keep him from wielding a sword, but the consensus was that he'd lost considerable power compared to before. Lately, that had fueled talk of Gallerhead being the strongest. Some even whispered that if he returned, he could take down the Demon King on the spot.
"You all don't get it. The strongest knight isn't Sir Chiron or Sir Gallerhead."
At the bold voice cutting through the heated debate, the patrons of Terezia's "Where the Wind Rests" turned to stare.
"It's Sisilia! Vice Captain Sisilia is the real strongest!"
Lately, the Sisilia fan club had been dominating. For starters, Sisilia was pretty. And cute. She was built for fans by design.
"Damn it, the Sisilia fan club again?"
"That damn Sisilia is just...!"
The Chiron faction and Gallerhead faction trembled with rage at the fans stirring trouble once more. They turned to Jerryway.
"Hey! Say something!"
"You're ruining this epic debate every day—give us your honest take!"
The bartender knight Jerryway wiped a cup with a bored expression.
"The Windsor Knights have already been conquered too..."
"Goddamn Windsor Knights—why are they always like this?"
"Those laughingstock knights...! Humanity's future hanging on clowns like them!"
"Did you just insult our Lady Sisilia? Wanna settle who’s right with a duel?"
In the Middle Ages, there was only one traditional way to debate: hurling a gauntlet at someone's face.
"The winner's right!"
"Bring it!"
Jerryway let out a deep sigh.
'This side gig... I should quit soon.'
The routine never changed day after day.
'One big score tonight, and I'm out.'
Of course, that included him.
Meanwhile, in the Warrior's Village.
"Oh, you're that rumored free knight? The one who settled here a few months back."
"Not settling—just passing through for a rest."
"Spar with me! Let's duel!"
Gallerhead scratched his head in front of the apple shop.
"Sorry. Not in the mood—"
The spirited villager turned away in disappointment.
"You really a knight?"
"...I've never once claimed to be."
"Then what's that sword at your hip? Decoration?"
Gallerhead replied slowly.
"It's because I have a knack for getting dragged into annoyances."
"Hmph. Even if you are a knight, you're probably a half-baked one."
The villager shook his head and walked off. But his words lingered.
'Half-baked knight. Spot on for me.'
No, there wasn't a better way to put it. Gallerhead trudged on with a blank face.
"Heard that? Monsters have been stirring up lately."
"Yeah. Moving in such big packs—something's off."
"Bad timing. Harvest season, and we're short on hands."
'Monsters, huh.'
Gallerhead pulled an apple from his bag and crunched into it.
The unnatural monster presence around the village lately was undeniable. Probably some strong ones. And organized packs like this screamed demon involvement.
'Thought Warrior's Village would be hassle-free.'
He finished one apple and eyed another, mumbling.
"Guess it's time to leave this place too."
Gallerhead Windsor. A knight powerful enough to be called the strongest. But he had one fatal flaw: he hated fighting. Not because he valued his life—it was the act itself he loathed. He'd fight if forced, but avoiding it was his creed.
Three years into his vacation already. He wanted at least two more. Let them criticize or stone him—it didn't matter. Five years ago, after slaying that Seven Deadly Sins demon, he'd decided: five years off, no matter what. Overtime was his nightmare.
"Lady Sisilia! That's obviously a scam! No magic bottle in this world turns seals into gold!"
"Betty. Everything has potential. It's not the bottle I believe in—it's the possibility."
"...I'm not giving you any money."
"Trade? I'll give you this sword."
"Argh, fine! Here— but please don't put that expensive sword in it!"
...At least five years. Spotting Sisilia, Gallerhead closed his eyes briefly. Then he walked on casually, not suppressing his mana or quieting his steps. A knight like Sisilia might sense the hiding itself.
Reaching a safe spot, he opened his eyes.
'Gotta get outta here ASAP.'
Three years' absence was long, sure. Windsor sending someone wasn't surprising. But Sisilia—the top danger target—personally? Unexpected.
Gallerhead packed hastily.
'Running into her would make fleeing awkward.'
Any other knight, and he'd be chill as ever—overpower and done. But violence against Sisilia? No. The whole order might feel that way, but to him, she was still that bright-eyed six-year-old.
"...Those two behind Sisilia."
Gallerhead recalled the two men trailing her—especially the boy. Name escaped him, but he'd once saved him from assassins.
—I-I've heard of you. That cloak, that name. You're a Windsor Knight!
A boy full of pure aspiration. Learning Gallerhead's affiliation, he'd poured out his tragic tale and begged.
—My family faces annihilation. Please! I'll repay this debt someday!
But Gallerhead had refused flat-out. He hated fights. Especially messy ones like the boy's—didn't even want to brush against it.
'He got saved after all. Lucky he met kind-hearted Sisilia in Windsor.'
Still, it nagged a bit. Deeming it for the best, Gallerhead grabbed his bags and stepped out of the hut.
"Hello."
"..."
A silver-haired girl stood bowing at his hut's door.
"How'd you know."
"Smells like spoiled vinegar."
"..."
No chance it's someone else. Gallerhead sighed, realizing only Sisilia spouted nonsense like that.
"Long time no see, Sisilia."
"I'm vice captain now."
"Already? Chiron retired?"
"Yeah. I'll take the retirement gift as his daughter."
Gallerhead eyed her expectant little palm.
'If she asks, gotta give.'
He handed over a gold pouch without fuss.
"Wait! That's not right!"
"Why not?"
"G-Giving Lady Sisilia money like that? She'll blow it on weird stuff!"
Gallerhead touched his lips. True, Sisilia had always been spoiled and a bit spendy.
But.
"Can't she splurge a little...?"
"!"
Even lazy Gallerhead had joined her communal upbringing. He'd become quite the softie.
"More importantly, you're... a new knight."
Gallerhead lazily took in Beatrice.
A female knight. Didn't expect another after Sisilia. Women usually went mage route these days, past twenty years.
"This is Betty. My adjutant."
"Sword Demon level, looks like."
"Y-Yes! An honor to meet you, Sir Gallerhead, strongest of the high knights! I'm Beatrice Windsor, newly appointed high knight!"
Beatrice saluted tensely. Childhood playmate uncle to Sisilia, maybe—but to her, a towering superior. Freshly minted high knight or not.
To her, Gallerhead offered sage advice.
"Grow big and strong, and handle my work for me."
"...Pardon?"
As Beatrice floundered, he stated firmly to Sisilia.
"I can guess why you're here, but sorry. No plans for at least two more years."
"Catch a Four Heavenly King for me."
"Won't budge even for you."
"Do it."
"No."
Beatrice swallowed hard at his ironclad refusal—stiffer than expected.
'But Lady Sisilia—'
Sisilia: sometimes brilliant, sometimes flexible, crisis navigator. She'd handle this, right?
As Beatrice watched hopefully—
"Then piggyback ride."
"That I can do."
Beatrice faceplanted, raising a bump on her forehead.
**
While Sisilia giggled on Gallerhead's piggyback—
Aiden roamed the streets, tackling Sisilia's "homework": win ten spars in Warrior's Village.
"Wonder what Master's up to. She seemed busy."
Pausing thoughtfully, Aiden nodded.
'Probably handling something beyond my wildest imagination.'
"Raoul. What do you think Master's true identity is?"
"...Not certain, but."
Raoul hesitated.
"Windsor, perhaps."
Scouting opponents, Aiden froze and glared coldly.
"Master's the epitome of justice and warmth. Nothing like Windsor."
"..."
Aiden ground his teeth.
"Never say that again."
"Yes, young master."
"...I'll find sparring partners alone. Secure lodging, Raoul."
'She used to admire and respect Windsor Knights most.'
Raoul bowed bitterly.
"Call me if danger arises."
"Got it."
Raoul gone, Aiden walked on. True to name, Warrior's Village brimmed with sword trainees everywhere. But Raoul's words soured his mood, so he sought a quiet spot.
'...Master a Windsor? Impossible. The Windsors I saw.'
Meeting Gallerhead was lifelong trauma. That blood-soaked night his family was massacred. A small aid could've saved them—but his hope shattered.
—Too much hassle. Sorry.
Hassle. That was it. For that simple reason, Gallerhead ignored him.
Aiden couldn't forgive it.
...But deep down, he knew. The real unforgivable wasn't Gallerhead's refusal—but his own feeble strength, unable to survive without help.
"Slothful, aren't you?"
Aiden looked up from the ground.
'When did I get here.'
He'd reached the forest edge bordering the village. At the entrance, something androgynous—neither man nor woman—grinned grotesquely.
"Need great power, perhaps?"
It circled Aiden leisurely, hands behind back.
"I sense powerful resentment from one so slothful."
Stopping, it smiled and extended a hand.
"I'll help. Take this hand. Even you can grow strong."
It overlapped Sisilia's once-offered hand. But not her pure, intentless one—this was filthy, stained with desire.
Yet more tempting than anything.
Aiden stared blankly, then slowly reached out.