The Knightess Millia
A secluded hamlet on the imperial frontier.
The settlement lay merely a two-day trek from the breeding grounds of the lizardman tribe that had produced the Beast King Leoneo, and virtually the same distance from the borders of the Demonic Realm. By any reasonable measure, it was far more desolate and hazardous than even the most rugged frontier march, yet the atmosphere within remained remarkably tranquil.
It was a forsaken backwater that neither the Demon King's Army nor the imperial court spared a thought for. Belonging to no lord's fief, the village paid no taxes, and the Empire's administrative apparatus had never extended its reach here. The bureaucracy vaguely recognized its existence on parchment, but because there was nothing of value to extract or exploit, the locals were simply left to fend for themselves in quiet obscurity.
Lately, however, this humble village had been housing some truly extraordinary long-term guests.
The Hero's party—or more accurately, the Hero's party without the Hero.
When they had first arrived, the villagers' hearts fluttered with awe. They had bent over backward to provide the finest hospitality their meager means could muster. In a place where the passing of a single traveling peddler was enough to stir up the entire populace, having the legendary Hero's companions establish their staging ground here felt like a once-in-a-lifetime honor. For a good while, from dawn till dusk, everyone went about their daily chores with their eyes fixed reverently on the illustrious party.
Yet even the most exalted beings lose their mystique when you live face-to-face with them long enough. A person's romantic illusions inevitably shatter after watching an ethereal elven archer stroll down the dirt road, scratching her belly and letting out lazy yawns. Familiarity soon curdled into distinct distaste. Few folks look kindly on houseguests who take over the parlor, put their feet up on the table, and refuse to leave.
"Just how long do they plan on squatting here...? Seeing as they went and remodeled the village hall, it looks like they're settling in for good."
"We used to gather there for town meetings and share a drink together. But ever since those kids—er, those esteemed lords moved in, we can't even set foot near the door. What a fine mess."
"And what's with that elf scarfing down roast boar? The elder swore up and down that elves only ate greens!"
Village sentiment toward the Hero's companions deteriorated by the day. When the party had first strutted about boldly proclaiming that they were using the hamlet as a covert hideout to stage an ambush against one of the Four Heavenly Kings or a legion commander, the locals had nodded along with starry-eyed understanding. But looking at them now, they seemed on the verge of registering as permanent residents.
Had they behaved with humility and kindness, they might have spared themselves such resentment. Instead, they placed a tight gag on the entire population. When a peddler passed through some time ago, they had gone so far as to cast surveillance spells, eavesdropping on every conversation to ensure no villager uttered a careless word.
Inevitably, whispers began circulating a few days ago.
"Are they... really the Hero's party?"
Having never witnessed a single feat resembling heroism, the villagers could hardly be blamed for doubting. Naturally, whenever they faced the party directly, they still bowed and scraped with deferential smiles, but the moment their backs were turned, the muttered complaints grew venomous. In a village this cramped, such rumors were bound to reach the party's ears sooner or later.
It was an unspoken war of nerves between unwanted squatters and natives praying for their swift departure.
Amidst this simmering tension, only one member of the party managed to get along with the locals.
A female knight blessed with alluring beauty and vibrant, flowing pink hair—Millia.
Her secret was remarkably simple: for several weeks now, she had been offering swordplay lessons to the village children. It amounted to little more than lightly trading taps with crude wooden sticks, but to boys and girls growing up in the backwoods, it was an unimaginable privilege. The demons may have ignored the hamlet, but wild beasts and low-tier monsters occasionally probed the palisade, making practical combat training genuinely useful. For children starved of entertainment, trading blows with a genuine knightess and begging for tales of her martial valor was the greatest thrill of their lives.
Yet whenever the children clamored for heroic exploits, Millia's expression turned noticeably strained.
"The elf big sister said you guys already took down two of the Four Heavenly Kings!"
"...You kids even know what the Four Heavenly Kings are?"
"Are you looking down on us just 'cause we live in the sticks? My family has lived right next to the Demonic Realm since my great-great-grandfather's time!"
"I'm sorry. ...Right. The Four Heavenly Kings. Yes, we brought them down. Of course we did."
The children's eyes glittered with pure, unadulterated admiration. Millia looked down at their shining faces, a suffocating wave of guilt tightening in her chest. Whenever they fired off eager questions like, "Did just the five of you take them on?" or "How many times did you strike them, big sister?", her lips twitched involuntarily. The children simply idolized the magnificent heroine standing before them, blissfully unaware of the truth.
Lying to children really is agonizing, Millia thought, letting out a faint sigh as her conscience pricked her sharply.
Any decent human being would have felt the sting of guilt. The Hero's party had never once confronted a Heavenly King with just their five core members. They had fought with dozens of the Holy Kingdom's elite paladins forming a fortified vanguard ahead of them. When hunting down the second general—the Underworld King, an archlich—they had even relied heavily on high-ranking bishops wielding transcendent divine power. And naturally, throughout the course of defeating both Heavenly Kings, the knightess Millia had achieved virtually nothing of significance.
At best, her role had been limited to swatting away a handful of low-level grunts trailing behind the demonic host. She had never managed to land so much as a scratch on the Heavenly Kings themselves.
The reason was brutally simple.
She was merely an Expert (Intermediate).
She had been an intermediate Expert when the Hero first selected her, and she remained an intermediate Expert now, tucked away as an uninvited parasite in an unnamed village. Her martial prowess had barely advanced an inch. In fact, over recent months, she felt her sharp edge gradually dulling away.
If things go on like this...
Overcome by a sudden surge of restlessness, Millia reflexively unleashed her aura. With a low, sibilant hiss, a murky, vaporous light wrapped itself around the length of her blade. It flickered unsteadily, perfectly reflecting her turbulent state of mind, but aura was aura nonetheless.
"Whoa! Just like I thought!"
"Amazing! Do it again!"
The children clapped their hands, their eyes wide with wonder. Millia squeezed her eyes shut, feeling utterly small and pathetic.
It had not even been a full year since the knightess Millia accepted the Hero's sweet, enticing recruitment offer. Back then, Millia and her lineage, the House of Count Naze, had resolved to gamble everything on that single opportunity.
Even at the time, she had keenly understood why the Hero chose to cast aside Eric—whose combat skill was vastly superior—in favor of bringing her into the fold. One look at the way Kwon Hee-jin tilted his chin, ogling her with a smug, leering expression, had made his underlying intentions clear as day.
Even so, she had willingly enlisted for one overriding reason: historical records proved that a substantial number of those who served as the dedicated 'knight' within past Hero parties had ultimately ascended to the realm of Sword Master—if they were not already Masters prior to joining. Even parties that met tragic, premature ends without felling the Demon King had left behind records of producing Masters. Engaging in guerilla skirmishes alongside the Hero and clashing repeatedly against the absolute titans of the continent served as an unmatched crucible for a knight's growth.
If she truly achieved the rank of Sword Master, it would yield staggering prestige and influence for her household.
"Millia. The journey of the Hero's party will be grueling, there is no denying that. But as you cross blades with the Demon King's forces, you will find yourself growing by leaps and bounds before you even realize it."
"Why do you think high nobles scrape together fortunes to send their sons and daughters to the Imperial Academy to master swordsmanship and sorcery? In this era, the only way for an aristocratic house to expand its sway is by producing transcendent talent. There is no other path."
"Besides, the Hero is a rather handsome young man, wouldn't you say? ...Ah, not to your taste? Very well, forget I said anything."
Millia's family had aggressively urged her to join. The House of Naze possessed ancient pedigree, yet with every passing generation, its coffers dwindled and its ranks of retainers wore thin. Without an era of total war, an old noble line had few avenues to expand its reach. Left to drift, the family might barely cling to its coat of arms fifty years from now. But producing a single Sword Master would cause the family's fortunes to blaze with renewed glory. A Master was a singular existence capable of reshaping an entire lineage.
One needed to look no further than Rufus Wainwright, the realm's undisputed strongest knight, to see the proof. In matters of the blade, Wainwright was peerless, but his political tact and social awareness were worse than a provincial border sentry's. He routinely blurted out tactless remarks that drove everyone around him to tearing their hair out in frustration, yet his countdom had basked in towering prosperity for decades. His house held so much favor that three living relatives possessed independent noble titles. To make matters more formidable, his children showed exceptional martial talent, ensuring that the Wainwright glory would endure for another generation.
...I thought that would happen to me. To our family.
Contrary to Millia's grand ambitions, reality had proved to be a squalid gutter. Far from testing herself against legendary monsters, her role on the battlefield was confined to scrambling desperately just to preserve her own skin. The rest of her days were squandered idling away, trading superficial pleasantries with Kwon Hee-jin. It was not as though Kwon Hee-jin subjected her to perverse abuse; he treated her decently enough, like a lover. But at the end of the day, she was merely an ornament in his harem.
And though she had never voiced it aloud, she found herself fundamentally incompatible with him. He performed well enough in bed, but his perpetual, obsessive monologues about obscure concepts from his alien home world were utterly exhausting to endure.
This was not the life Millia had envisioned.
And now, even this bizarre, hollow journey stood on the verge of total collapse.
A few days ago, the Hero had reached out via a communication crystal, cooing, "I'll be there soon. I miss you too," but the words brought her zero comfort. He had deliberately evaded every matter she desperately cared about—the welfare of her family, the political atmosphere in the Imperial Capital, and the status of his own condition. Under the vigilant surveillance of Silvina, the elf who remained slavishly loyal to Kwon Hee-jin, Millia could not even voice a formal complaint.
If I had known things would turn out like this, the Hero's party...
I never would have touched it.
Feeling a heavy, suffocating knot in her chest, Millia swung her training sword through the empty air, over and over. She knew Kwon Hee-jin was en route to their hideout, but for some reason, the anticipation filled her with nothing resembling joy.
At that very same moment, within the ancestral fief ruled by Millia's family—the Naze County.
Eric Wellesley, formerly of the Imperial Guard Knights, was engaged in putting down a rampaging minotaur that had appeared in the rugged mountains along the territory's periphery.
"Mooorrrgh!"
The beast bellowed, swinging a massive tree trunk with bone-shattering force. Eric ducked fluidly beneath the sweeping trajectory, his blade carving deeply into the monster's lower legs in a single, continuous motion. In the opening moments of the bout, his movements had appeared slightly stiff, but with every passing clash, the lethal precision of his sword grew sharper and more terrifying.
Watching the skirmish from a prudent distance was Millia's father, Count Naze. A handful of gloomy, hollow-eyed escorts stood guard around the nobleman. The Count was well aware that Eric had not ridden out to the perimeter out of some chivalrous desire to rescue Naze County. Eric simply appeared starved for live combat to shake off the rust and hone his edge.
In that regard, Naze County served as an ideal hunting ground.
Neither the Imperial Guard Knights nor the regular field divisions of the Black Iron Knights were willing to lift a finger to aid this territory. When monster raids posed an immediate threat to civilian villages, imperial forces were legally obligated to intervene, but even then, the responding knights pointedly disregarded any formal greetings from Count Naze or his retainers—refusing even the customary offer of a hot meal—and departed the second the cull was complete.
The reason was plain: sheer, unbridled hostility toward the Hero and everyone associated with his party.
Without the slightest exaggeration, the House of Naze was currently treated as nothing less than imperial pariahs. For the moment, punitive judgment had been stayed due to the faint possibility that Millia might have fallen in battle alongside the paladins, but there was no telling how long that fragile grace period would endure. After all, the Emperor himself had issued a formal decree demanding the pursuit and capture of the Hero and his entire retinue.
Watching Eric carry out what amounted to voluntary public service, the bitter knot in Count Naze's chest tightened. Before him, having fully reclaimed his battlefield instinct, Eric unleashed a blinding, radiant flare of aura that lit up the mountain pass.