Chapter 28
Chapter 28
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 28
Chapter Title: An Ordinary Start Leads to the Extraordinary (1)
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The boiling momentum was utterly ferocious. The knights of the Iron Lion Knight Order were so inflamed that a single spark would set them ablaze in an instant.
It was an outrageously irreverent attitude to display before a prince of the realm.
But I didn't find it strange in the least.
The knights of old were swordsmen and poets at once, adventurers and ascetics walking the arduous path to transcendence and perfection. They were utterly free, bound only by the karma they had chosen to bear.
But the knights of today were different.
They were neither free nor devoted primarily to their own transcendence and fulfillment. Instead, they placed living for their lord above all else.
Trained to hold their necks stiff and to offer no empty courtesy to anyone but their master. For such men, this irreverence was hardly surprising.
I was neither a figure deserving their respect nor one owed their loyalty.
The brief courtesy they had shown was nothing more than a formality directed at the royal banner.
Without even that, they would have already drawn their swords.
I knew this. My uncle knew it, and so did the Royal Knights. Everyone present was aware of the fact.
Or so I thought.
Until I felt that fiery momentum rising behind me, hot enough to scorch my back.
"Huh?"
Turning around, I saw Adelia. Exhausted from the intense horseback journey, her eyes still flickered like will-o'-the-wisps.
It seemed the Iron Lions' aura had unfortunately stirred her darker side.
Her [Slaughterer] trait, or perhaps [War Maniac].
"Adelia."
Fearing she might have a fit, I hurriedly soothed her.
Fortunately, her budding traits were no match for the slave mentality I'd long cultivated in her.
"Yes, Your Highness."
Her voice was as steady as ever. The ghostly fire in her eyes had already died down.
Phew.
I let out a sigh of relief and turned to my uncle.
"Then we'll meet again at dinner."
My gaze was fixed on Count York Willoden. He nodded. Permission to roam the castle grounds freely.
With his blessing secured, there was no longer any need for hesitation.
"Arwen."
The beautiful knightswoman stepped forward and knelt gracefully on one knee.
"I've been counting the days until I could see Your Highness again."
Her words sent the Iron Lions' momentum surging once more.
In truth, they stemmed from her pride in having achieved a reunion worthy of their parting vow.
"I've been waiting too."
I approached her deliberately, in full view of all, and helped her to her feet. Surprised by my sudden kindness, she didn't refuse my touch.
To onlookers, it must have looked quite affectionate. No wonder the Iron Lions shot us such fervent glances.
Of course, that was the point.
"Shall we find somewhere quiet and catch up on lost time?"
Their momentum rippled again. Such straightforward, easy-to-read men.
"Your Highness?"
Expecting a quiet spot for our talk, Arwen gave me a puzzled look when I stopped in a wide-open clearing.
I ignored her and glanced back. The Iron Lion knights trailed at a distance.
"Do you have something to say to me?"
The knights flinched at my words. They hadn't expected me to call them out so directly.
"If you have words, speak them."
No reply came. But it didn't matter. They might have nothing to say, but I did.
"I wish to witness the swordsmanship of the kingdom's finest, the Iron Lions."
I cut straight to the chase. My schedule was already delayed; time was short.
"Who among you will show me the Iron Lion's blade?"
The Iron Lions buzzed at my challenge.
They exchanged glances, looked at me, then signaled each other again. Worried my status might burden them now? I even promised no repercussions in Leonberger's name.
Still, no one stepped forward.
"No takers? The mighty Iron Lions, so faint of heart?"
I turned away with an exaggerated click of my tongue.
"Your Highness. My skills fall far short of representing the Iron Lion's blade."
One took the childish bait immediately.
"If you'll permit it, I would dare stand before Your Highness."
A young man, apparently a probationary knight.
"No need for permission. I asked first."
I extended my hand, and Adelia promptly handed me a sword. But it was Duskbloom, the masterpiece forged with a master's soul.
"Not this one."
This wasn't meant to turn a spar into a bloodbath.
Frowning, I refused, and Adelia hurriedly passed me a blunted training sword.
"Dale of the Denant family. Not yet formally inducted."
The man, Dale, gripping his own training sword, introduced himself.
His constant glances at Arwen betrayed his boyish intent to impress her by besting me.
At a glance, his feelings for her ran deeper than comradeship.
"Here I come. Please, take care."
Dale charged with gusto. His movements brimmed with unnecessary force.
"Tch."
I felt a twinge of pity for the probationary knight named Dale.
What he was about to show wasn't the face he'd want before his crush.
"Gahk!"
Dale flew back with the same momentum he'd charged in. Tongue lolling, eyes rolled back—utterly unsightly.
Even uglier than I'd imagined. My pity deepened.
But Dale was never my true target.
"Next."
I beckoned, and the Iron Lions stirred. After more glances, a burly man stepped up.
"Paul Rothheim. Third-year probationary."
Emphasizing his tenure suggested he outlasted the fallen Dale.
But what did it matter? The outcome would be the same.
"Urk!"
Paul crumpled unconscious from a training sword to the crown of his head.
"...Fourth-year. Pleased to meet you."
"...Fifth-year."
Men stepped up one after another. Years increased; so did my victories.
"Muller Mullerhard. Eighth-year probationary."
Another advanced. His aura was far more refined than the others, a cut above the previous probationaries.
"This time will be different."
Muller boasted boldly—and indeed, he was the first Iron Lion to parry my strike, proving his skill.
"You remind me of Arwen."
But that was it. He matched the old Arwen exactly—and she'd already fallen to me.
Besides, I was a different man now.
"The Iron Lion's blade is no weak—Guhk!"
Before five exchanges, Muller clutched his gut and rolled on the ground.
"Bleurgh!"
I glanced at the retching Muller, then at the Iron Lions. A few had deep, knowing eyes. The formal knights, not probationaries.
Heavy-asses.
They clearly thought crossing blades with a wastrel like me beneath their dignity.
"All talk, Iron Lions?"
I provoked openly. True Iron Lions twitched their brows. But still, none advanced.
"Arwen."
I turned to her.
Her eyes widened in surprise. Beating an eighth-year probationary so easily had shocked her.
That was the extent of it.
Amazed by my growth, she wasn't rattled further. Confidence that she'd grown as much, no doubt.
"When I leave, you come with me."
"If that's Your Highness's wish."
The Iron Lions murmured at her reply.
They'd never dreamed I'd come to "welcome" her—or that she'd agree so readily.
"Your Highness."
A heavy voice came from behind. Smirking triumphantly, I turned.
One I'd eyed earlier stared back. A formal knight of notable depth.
"I've heard Your Highness enjoys wagers."
Me?
"How about a small bet to liven things up?"
His gaze flicked to Arwen. No need to hear more; his intent was transparent.
"So..."
"Impossible."
The man gaped, mid-sentence. He hadn't expected outright refusal without terms.
"She's no tournament prize."
"Your Highness..."
Arwen's expression was complex—half exasperated, as if to say that's rich coming from you, half touched.
"Instead, let's wager something else."
I signaled Kals, who promptly brought a sword. The enchanted blade gifted by the loyal heir of Earl Ellen.
"Win, and it's yours."
Covetousness lit the man's eyes.
"Your Highness, rather than..."
Arwen, instantly appraising its worth, tried to dissuade me.
"You're worth a hundred, a thousand of these blades."
A sword prodigy's value dwarfed any sword. And I wouldn't lose anyway.
"Then what shall I stake?"
"Hmm. Does a knight like you even have what I want?"
"It may not match the sword's value, but I have a treasure. I'll stake that."
No reason to refuse a needless wager. I accepted gladly; he smirked, as if the blade were already his.
"Dunham of the Fahrenheit house. Formal Iron Lion Knight, Triple Chain within reach."
His confidence bordered on arrogance—but justified if Triple Chain loomed.
Of course, I had no intention of letting Dunham prattle on.
"Double Chain."
"Your Highness?"
"Mind your words. 'Within reach' isn't the same as achieved."
Dunham flushed and coughed awkwardly but quickly composed himself.
Thick-skinned bastard.
"Then, Sir Dunham of Double Chain. Training sword or real steel?"
"As Your Highness wishes."
He acted as if he'd yield even if I insisted on real steel alone. Such self-assurance.
"Someone bragged like that and ate dirt not long ago..."
Quite recently, in fact.
"Real steel it is."
A probationary handed Dunham his real sword.
"I'll use this one."
Dunham brandished it proudly.
A practical crossguard and straight blade gleamed promisingly at a glance.
"The 17th sword by the master smith dubbed Swordsmith Master, whose skill earned the king's praise. Not quite the famed 30s, but no less his craftsmanship."
"If Your Highness wins, it's yours," Dunham boasted.
"What are the odds?"
I chuckled.
"I'm using a sword from that same smith."
Unnamed. Numbered only.
How laughable, Dunham preening with such a blade.
No need to play along fully, though.
"His 100th work."
Duskbloom, forged with the master's dying breath, rested in my hand.