The Start of Another Journey
"Loyalty! Second Lieutenant Georges St. Pierre has been ordered to transfer to the Pink Dragon Knights effective immediately! Reporting for duty!"
Georges bellows her salute in a thunderous voice. Roin watches her with nothing but warm affection in her eyes.
"Come sit here."
Roin offers her a chair in one corner of the office. Georges hurries over and sits down in front of her, her entire body rigid with tension. They'd spent a night together once (sort of), but meeting in the palace like this makes her feel awkward all over again.
How can she exude such dignity?
Georges marvels inwardly as she watches Roin pour the tea.
Meanwhile, Roin holds out a teacup toward Georges.
"I humbly accept. Thank you!"
With a booming expression of gratitude, Georges gulps it down.
"C-Calm down! That's hot!"
"Cough! I-I'm fine!"
Georges chokes as she forces the scalding tea down her throat. Roin smiles brightly at her tense display.
"Relax, Georges. I called you here for good news today."
"Good news?"
As Georges looks puzzled, Roin takes her hand and says, "I'm assigning you to the Pink Dragon Knights."
Georges's eyes widen in shock. It's exactly what she'd hoped for. Seeing her face light up, Roin continues right away.
"Truth be told, Georges, there's a specific reason I issued your transfer to the Pink Dragon Knights. Even if you'd requested a different knight order, I still would've recommended this one."
Straight to the point? Georges straightens her already rigid posture and listens intently to Roin's words.
"May I ask the reason?"
Roin nods at Georges's question.
"Do you know about the Great Empire of Midland?"
"Yes. The strongest nation of our time, having unified the central continent. I understand they maintain quite friendly relations with Rok."
Roin nods. "They sent an official dispatch. It's about recruiting new students for their academy this year."
"The academy—the institution that gathers and trains students from late teens to early twenties, right?"
Georges's eyes widen. Midland Academy is typically entered at age 20 and graduated at 24, though some enter a bit early or late, so the age range spans from late teens to late twenties.
Roin nods. "Exactly. They're asking each nation to send young people of noble birth and shining talent. In peacetime, they'll serve as cultural exchange envoys, but in crisis, they'll act as hostages."
Only then does Georges grasp Roin's intent.
"So I'll be enrolling in the academy as well."
"Right. Your transcript from Rok's Knight Officer Academy carries real weight even in Midland. Someone of your caliber would practically get a free pass."
Roin nods readily. The quick-witted Georges already has a rough idea of the quest she'll undertake.
"Of course, I won't be going alone."
"Correct. We need to send someone of high enough caliber to represent the nation, so we'll dispatch one precious talent from our side. I'd like you to escort them and handle various support duties."
Georges nods. "Then who will I be supporting?"
She can't quite picture the candidate. If one of the princes had a child, maybe, but who among Rok's youth could represent the kingdom in this situation?
Roin nods, understanding Georges's confusion.
"The person you'll support is the current captain of the Pink Dragon Knights."
Georges lets out a small gasp of realization. Cliche. The talk of the palace lately. A boy who, at a young age, single-handedly crushes multiple Sword Masters, with stunningly beautiful looks to boot. But most dismiss the rumors as exaggerated or fabricated.
Georges had thought the same—until Roin vouched that every word was true.
Roin presses on. "If Cliche goes to Midland alone, no one would buy his status outright. Some might suspect it's a token title thrown together. But once they see his skills, anyone would have to acknowledge him."
Roin speaks in a somewhat apologetic tone, but from the perspective of someone heading to Midland Academy, it's hardly a bad deal. Midland is the most prosperous nation on the central continent, after all. Learning its advanced culture is a tremendous blessing.
"I'll support him to the best of my ability."
Roin nods, relieved at Georges's words.
"I've heard the atmosphere in Midland is pretty tense these days. Northern Sea pirates are rampant, and intelligence suggests suspicious movements even within the academy."
Georges listens to Roin's words with a serious expression.
"Then... please take good care of Cliche."
Roin hands Georges a few documents stamped with the royal seal. These scrolls will verify their identities upon arrival in Midland. Enchanted so only they can use them, they'll burn away after proof is shown.
"Yes, Your Majesty. I'll complete the mission and return without fail."
Georges bows deeply to Roin. As she does, Roin adds one more thing.
"Oh, wait a second, Georges."
Roin turns and retrieves something from a corner of the office.
"Th-This is!?"
Seeing the object in Roin's hand, Georges's eyes go wide. It's a sword so vividly red it makes her blood boil just looking at it—like a volcanic bomb roughly carved into blade form. The dragon sword Zenkaeno. And it's right there in Roin's grasp.
"I'm granting this sword to you."
At Roin's words, Georges feels her chest swell with emotion. Enrolling in Midland Academy carries multiple implications. Strengthening alliances in peace, serving as hostages in crisis. And one more: Midland makes outrageous offers to foreign talents. Better treatment than back home—sky-high salaries, prestigious jobs, superior welfare, lavish offices and residences, endless perks. That's why countless promising youths from fringe kingdoms soak up all the support at home only to shine in Midland.
Not that their choice is incomprehensible. Being sent to Midland often means being sidelined from core power back home. Princes passed over for the throne or bastards grit their teeth and knock on the academy's doors, dreams in hand.
Thus, Georges might leave Rok for Midland and end up working there permanently. The odds were high—only about 10% of Midland Academy grads returned home.
And now Roin is bestowing what might be this nation's greatest treasure: a dragon sword.
...Your Majesty.
Georges fights back hot tears. Accepting this sword is a mark of ultimate trust—a testament to Roin's faith in her.
"I'm lending it to you. Return it when you come back."
Roin grins and pats Georges's shoulder.
"I swear, I'll return and give this dragon sword back."
With grim resolve, Georges clutches the sword to her chest. She vows never to let it leave her side—not while eating, bathing, or sleeping. Always close to her heart.
[Sniff sniff! Good smell! New master?]
Until the damn sword started talking, that is.
* * *
[Eh? You, my master?]
Zenkaeno is displeased from the start. The moment Georges grips it, the sword acts surly.
"Composure. Composure."
Georges ignores its grumbling and channels mana into her hand.
Whoosh!
Golden aura ignites at her blade tip.
"Yes! Aura blade!"
Georges beams. Her current level: top Sword—right on the cusp of beginner Sword Master. But the gap between top Sword and Sword Master is heaven and earth, vast despite being just one step.
The dragon sword bridges it instantly. It gathers and condenses mana better, as befits a legendary weapon. And the mana embedded in the blade itself is immense.
[Ugh, hate being held by a guy. Smells sweaty. Worst.]
Zenkaeno keeps whining. Embarrassed, Georges mutters, "Well... I'm a woman, technically."
Instantly, Zenkaeno's vibe shifts.
[A woman? For real? Then why's your hair so short?]
"Cut it short for mission efficiency. Problem?"
[Nah! Kinda boyish-hot! Yeehaw! Looking closer, you're pretty cute too? Boyfriend?]
Zenkaeno's personality flips. Georges sheathes the chatty blade.
"Sorry for the sweat smell, master."
[Woman's fine! A beauty's sweat? Premium reward in my line of work.]
Zenkaeno yammers on. Georges sighs, regretting she'd mentioned her gender.
Soon, a pink building comes into view—the Pink Dragon Knights' residence.
Knock knock knock.
Georges knocks, and the door opens.
"Eek!?"
The stench of stale booze hits her like a wall.
"What kind of undisciplined knight drinks in broad daylight...!?"
But she can't finish. A woman rises sluggishly from the inner sofa—hair a mess, eyes glazed, but her beauty undimmed. Kubelin Hotse. She sits up and eyes Georges, her half-lidded gaze bloodshot.
"Gah!?"
Georges freezes. Wasn't this the hero who single-handedly smashed a trainload of bandits back then!?
"Ughhh... light's comin' in... hurts my eyes... who're yooou~?"
Hotse slurs thickly at her.
"Wha— grown-up's askin', answer up! Back in my day~ if a grown-up axed somethin', ya answered 'fore they finished~!!"
Georges blurts out in panic, "L-Loyalty! Second Lieutenant Georges St. Pierre reporting for transfer to the Pink Dragon Knights effective immediately!"
Hotse's eyes change in an instant.
"Re... cruit?"
A sinister aura pours from her eyes. Georges tenses like a mouse before a cobra.
Then.
"Ho ho ho. What's this commotion?"
A red-haired woman with jet-black horns emerges from the kitchen. Unicef.
Gah! A demon!
Georges swallows a gasp. Sure, boot camp has devilish seniors, but this is a literal demon.
As Georges stands frozen stiff.
"Heyyy, recruit recruit recruit recruit recruit recruit recruit recruit recruit recruit~!"
"Second Lieutenant Georges!"
Hotse points at Unicef and asks Georges, "Between her an' me... who looks more like a fuckin' X~?"
Cold sweat drips down Georges's face at Hotse's grinning slur.
"B-Both of you are beautiful."
Hotse's face sours.
"This bitch... day one on transfer... playin' both sides~? Answer straight, no dodgin'~!"
As Hotse chews out the recruit, the whole Pink Dragon Knights crew pokes their heads out, sensing fun.
"Heh heh! Newbie second lieutenant's here, huh."
"Beep! Veteran high-rollers welcoming the fresh meat."
Hotse, Unicef, Diablo, and AlphaGo surround and sit around Georges.
"...Outta these... pick one ya think ya could chop like kimchi if ya ripped off their rank insignia~"
"Ho ho ho. Guess we're staying behind for this trip?"
"Heh heh! Take good care of our captain. We've got kingdom duties—aka slacking off on the big picture..."
"Beep! Culling the concept overload characters."
They chatter wildly. Georges sweats bullets.
"...Enough."
Cliche appears from behind, quelling the noise.
"You're my attendant?"
At Cliche's words, Georges nods dazedly. She'd heard the rumors: a man strong enough to crumble mountains with one hand. But he's this tiny, adorable boy.
Seeing Cliche's gap moe, Georges's face flushes crimson.
What am I thinking...!
Even stone-faced Georges feels an urge to hug him tight—his cuteness is that potent.
To the blushing Georges, Cliche tosses out casually, "We're leaving now. Pack your bags."
"......Pardon?"
A truly abrupt departure declaration.