The Strongest Knight (6)
“Come on, cool off already.”
Sisilia was unprecedentedly pissed off. How much? Enough to tie her hair into twin tails because her anger wouldn't subside. She vowed not to undo them until the frustration faded.
“Gallerhead's out for the Four Heavenly Kings subjugation.”
“L-Lady Sisilia... even so, that's...”
“He's got the perfect personality for dying. And I can't take a knight who doesn't trust his comrades.”
Beatrice fidgeted anxiously before speaking cautiously. “But... his skills are the real deal.”
“?”
Whoosh.
Sisilia shot Beatrice a chilling glare, cold air practically wafting off her. Beatrice felt like she was dying once per second.
“Even you, Betty? Doubting your vice-captain's judgment? This won't end with just recommending the lake fairy.”
Beatrice immediately tucked tail. She couldn't sink into the lake before even seeing the Four Heavenly Kings' faces.
“I b-believe in you, Lady Sisilia.”
Watching Beatrice tremble while clutching her dress hem, Sisilia whipped her head away.
'It's a shame, but no choice. Guess the Sword Princess has to make do.'
Sisilia aimed to level up the Windsor Knights through this subjugation. Newbies were fine, but demon forces were unexpectedly strong. The Demon King was one thing, but Freya was on another level entirely. And Maui. For the first time, something she couldn't one-shot. She'd even taken down the previous Demon King in a single blow.
'...Gotta prepare properly this time.'
Sisilia planned to use every means at her disposal. A veteran's true terror lay not in raw specs, but in knowledge.
***
Still, what needed doing got done. As they left for the next territory, Sisilia kindly advised Aiden.
“A sword is another heart. Never treat that heart carelessly.”
Rare kind words from Sisilia. Beatrice, listening quietly, felt her eyes mist over.
'...You lose yours once a day.'
Sisilia was terrible at keeping track of her own sword. Forgetting it at meals was routine, and she always drew a different one in battle. She was probably the only one who switched swords based on her mood that day.
“Always cherish your sword and maintain it frequently. A dull blade is the shame of a knight—no, an adventurer.”
For the record, Sisilia didn't even clean blood off her blades, let alone maintain them. She bought new ones rather than sharpen dull edges. At least she wasn't picky about which sword.
“And remember this. Respect and care for the new—no, the weak.”
This one she at least tried to follow herself... but most of her advice was stuff Sisilia blatantly ignored.
Beatrice's frustration peaked here.
'You know it all and just don't do it...!'
The fact that someone who knew everything had pulled all those stunts.
“I'll etch Master's words into my bones.”
Aiden looked deeply moved.
...Beatrice desperately wanted to show him Sisilia's usual self, even just a glimpse.
“Betty, how was it? Did I look like a good master?”
Sisilia beamed. Her mood seemed lifted—relief at last. Beatrice sighed softly in turn.
“It was good advice.”
“No need to praise me that much. Even I thought it was pretty cool.”
“...If you'd just follow half of what you say.”
“...”
Sisilia blinked, then pointed into the distance with a finger.
“Village ahead. We're almost there. Greyslam soon.”
“Don't change the subject. Promise me. At least stick to what you told Aiden—'handle your own stuff yourself'!”
Sisilia scowled.
“Whose adjutant are you, Betty?”
“...Yours, Lady Sisilia.”
“Yeah. Mine.”
“...!”
“So my stuff is your stuff too.”
Sisilia flashed a charming eye smile. Secret Sisilia Technique #24: the heroine hand-extend with eye smile.
“Looking forward to working with you.”
Beatrice, struck by the finisher, pondered seriously.
...Isn't it natural for an adjutant to handle her master's tasks?
“The village! Master!”
Aiden's distant shout made Sisilia glance back briefly. After Warrior's Village came Dragon Knight's Village. From an ancient era before even Lydia was born. A knight had slain a dragon, and the village honored him. Next was Four Heavenly King Jahar's territory.
Greyslam.
The end of their long journey approached.
'...Gallerhead didn't follow after all.'
It had taken a week on foot. If he'd decided to come, they'd have met by now. But he hadn't. No intent to fight the Four Heavenly Kings, apologize to Sisilia, or even refute not being Windsor material. Nothing.
'...That's the strongest knight? Makes me sick even as an empty compliment.'
She didn't misunderstand Gallerhead's feelings. Probably worry for her. But that was a contradiction.
'If you really cared, you'd have followed.'
If it was about not letting his benefactor's daughter get hurt, he wouldn't let her go subjugate a Four Heavenly King alone. All excuses. A coward's justification.
“Betty. Let's go.”
Sisilia decided to ignore Gallerhead and press on.
***
“...I've gone and pissed her off.”
Just as Sisilia left Warrior's Village, Gallerhead—nearly ready to depart himself—let out a deep sigh.
-You're no longer Windsor.
Only the captain could dismiss a Windsor. Vice-captain Sisilia lacked that authority. But her words meant she no longer recognized him as Windsor in her heart.
...Not that Gallerhead cared much about that.
“Makes me uneasy knowing I've upset you.”
The pure fact of Sisilia's anger hit him hard enough. No one enjoyed being hated by a little-sister figure from childhood. Even the famously indifferent Gallerhead felt it, so he resolved to soothe her.
Join the subjugation, and she'd forgive him somewhat, right?
“Put some heart into this place too. Shame to leave it.”
Gallerhead shook his head and stepped forward. They hadn't gone far; a jog would catch them.
But.
“One step too late.”
...He couldn't move.
Breathing alone scratched his throat. Every nerve screamed.
The demon behind him chilled him with mere presence.
“...A Four Heavenly King.”
“You know me?”
“I know one'll vanish soon.”
Thud.
Gallerhead calmly set down his travel bag, gripped his sword hilt, and turned smoothly to face the foe.
A demon in full plate mail. But soon he realized: just armor. Nothing inside.
“Don't tell me that's you.”
“Heard Four Heavenly Kings are one per zone.”
“True, this is my zone. Indeed.”
Four Heavenly King Ashumar's empty helmet stared precisely toward Sisilia's path.
“Missed her—”
Shing.
Gallerhead drew his sword.
“Human. I have no desire to fight the weak.”
His stance was sloppy, unworthy of piquing Ashumar's interest.
“Guide me to Sisilia Windsor. I'll spare you.”
Gallerhead silently scanned Ashumar.
'No gaps.'
Seemingly defenseless, but thoroughly guarded. Meaning...
'Living armor? No, feels more like a Death Knight.'
Gallerhead visualized. A sharp line at Ashumar's midsection. No gaps? Make one. That was his Extreme Art, born of such thinking.
“Before facing the strong, I won't dirty my mood on the weak.”
Ashumar glanced dismissively and stepped away. Direction was obvious, even without guidance—from Gallerhead's words, Sisilia headed for his castle.
“So don't swing that sword. Knight. Human life is short enough without gambling on futile tricks.”
Ashumar meant it, then moved.
In that instant, Gallerhead's sword flashed like lightning. Sloppy form, unclean path. Barely worth blocking.
Ashumar raised one hand.
Boom!
Surprisingly heavy impact, but nothing more. Gallerhead's sword couldn't wound him.
“Foolish choice.”
Due to one of his Authorities: attacks from lesser mana pools were nullified. Demons' mana grew exponentially with age. Ashumar was among the longest-lived, barring primordial devils.
“Your sword can't beat me.”
The counter? Peerless swordsmanship. Half-transcending human limits for meaningful hits. But this human fell short. Even now, sloppy form—not professionally trained.
No matter his flailing, scarring the armor was impossible...
“...Hold on.”
Ashumar slowly eyed his hand. A deep gash scarred the gauntlet. Sword-inflicted.
“...How?”
Gallerhead silently raised his sword horizontally again.
“Got a question.”
“What?”
“Can you take this strike?”
Absurdest thing Ashumar had heard. Ten seconds ago.
Now? Different. Ashumar smiled faintly.
Unexpected fortune gladdened human and demon alike.
“Human. Your name?”
“Gallerhead Windsor.”
“State your epithet.”
“First demon to care.”
No need to hide, so he did.
“Sword Emperor Gallerhead. Epithet: Weakest.”
“Weakest, huh. Fitting title. I see why.”
Ashumar reached into void. A sinister black sword emerged, unfit for this world. True demon sword, Tyrfing. First draw in 200 years. Reserved for acknowledged foes.
Ashumar acknowledged Gallerhead.
“Four Heavenly King Ashumar.”
He declared curtly, raising his sword skyward.
“Epithet—strongest knight.”
Ashumar's sword struck Gallerhead dead-on.