The Land of Knights
Seeing Bagan glaring at Loren as though he might kill him at any moment, Paul had no choice but to step forward. If Bagan were to slay Loren, it would mean the annihilation of the merchant caravan that handled the kingdom's vital economic affairs—an act that could easily escalate into an international conflict. In the end, Paul confidently moved in front of Loren.
"As I said before, Reina and Natalie are not slaves. They are clearly recognized adventurers from De Meca in the Seiros Kingdom."
He explained the situation, hoping to resolve things with words since Loren's misunderstanding was understandable.
"Well, if I purchased them, aren't they mine?"
But Loren refused to back down. He had never seen such beautiful gems in his life, and he doubted he would find any like them again. In his mind, twenty-five thousand gold was a bargain.
"As you know, slavery is illegal in the Seiros Kingdom. The Sog Kingdom is also planning to abolish it soon."
Loren frowned at Paul's words.
"What does that have to do with me? This is Tempo Kingdom territory. If you're here, you follow our laws."
Strictly speaking, Loren wasn't wrong, but there was a flaw in his logic.
"That's why we're following the law. The person who received the twenty-five thousand gold has disappeared, so take it back. And stop showing any further interest in them."
Since Loren had told them to follow the law, Paul intended to do exactly that. His reasoning struck right at the heart of Loren's argument. A vein bulged on Loren's forehead. Unable to win with logic, he was furious. Someone else couldn't stay silent watching this.
Clank! A massive man stepped down from the carriage late. The plate armor he wore clattered noisily with every movement. Though the armor looked uneven at the seams, that also meant there were no gaps—reducing the risk of being hit by blind attacks. In Tempo Kingdom, men who wore such armor were called formal knights. He approached Loren and asked,
"What's with all the talk? Weren't we supposed to just kill anyone who doesn't listen?"
It was a blunt statement of Loren's usual behavior.
"Garon! I told you to watch your mouth!"
Loren shouted at him, but Garon merely dug at his ear as if annoyed by the noise, blew on his finger, and replied,
"Dead men don't talk anyway."
With that, Garon turned his glare on Paul, his eyes gleaming like a predator eyeing prey. Paul let out a low groan—he roughly knew what was coming. He had expected things might turn to force, but had hoped they would quietly withdraw. Now his head ached.
Paul turned to Bagan.
"Lord Bagan, if you intervene here, it could cause the international conflict I mentioned. I'll handle this somehow."
Bagan found the one-sided demand odd.
"You always speak as if nothing will go wrong."
"My companions know this, but I'm actually from the Tempo Kingdom. So if I cause trouble, Seiros won't be able to hold it against them."
After speaking, Paul glanced at Reina and Natalie, who watched with worried expressions. He gave them a reassuring smile before looking back at Bagan. Bagan nodded, recognizing that Paul's resolve came from careful thought.
"Very well. The desire to protect your companions, the will to uphold your principles, and the refusal to yield to injustice—I've seen all of that in you. This time, protect your companions with your own strength. If you do, I'll forgive you for the moment you failed to protect Natalie."
Though he had never said it aloud, Bagan had not forgiven Paul during their journey. This was the moment to judge whether Paul was truly worthy of Natalie.
"Understood."
Paul nodded with determined eyes. He had no intention of disappointing someone who believed in him. Shing! He drew the longsword from his left hip with his right hand.
"If that's how you want it, I won't stay quiet either."
Tempo Kingdom was commonly called the Land of Knights. This was because its king, Reinhardt—one of the Seven Great Heroes—was known as the Knight King. Though many said he had grown frail with age, the common opinion was that no one could match Reinhardt in swordsmanship. Being one of the Seven Great Heroes already marked him as among the world's strongest; what more could anyone ask?
The people of such a nation were naturally devoted to swordsmanship. By national policy, both men and women were required to take up the sword upon reaching adulthood. Paul was no exception. As a native of Tempo Kingdom, even living in the countryside, he had picked up a sword the moment he came of age. Though his father had taught him the basics earlier, adulthood meant entering the military with a sword in hand—two years for men, one year for women. During that time, they honed their swordsmanship and awakened their talents. Those who showed exceptional skill were recommended for the path of knighthood. In the Land of Knights, becoming a knight was the dream of all and considered the highest honor.
But Paul had given up that dream. He had experienced war during his military service. It wasn't that Paul lacked talent—quite the opposite. Knights preferred orthodoxy, but when it came to swordsmanship itself, they were surprisingly open-minded. In that sense, Paul's excessively asymmetrical style had caught the interest of a knight serving as an instructor, who had recommended him for knighthood. Yet Paul's dream had never been to become a knight, so he had no choice but to refuse.
Still, the knights Paul had once admired were men of elegance and romance. The man before him was nothing like that.
"I'm also from Tempo Kingdom, so I know well. You have no right to call yourself a knight."
The man Loren called Garon was indeed a formal knight. Hearing such words from Paul filled him with both ridicule and rage.
"From Tempo Kingdom, are you? A man who abandoned the honorable Land of Knights to become some lowly adventurer has no right to say that. I, on the other hand, am a formal knight. …A knight who wouldn't even spare a glance at a deserter like you!"
In Tempo Kingdom, the title of formal knight was not easily obtained. Those who began the path of knighthood started as squires. Squires' swordsmanship was not yet at a level worth showing. They trained endlessly—practice after practice. Only after years of effort would they earn the chance to become provisional knights. Provisional knights far surpassed squires in skill; even ten squires couldn't defeat one. From that point, they could join a knight order. Provisional knights received respect wherever they went, but formal knights enjoyed every honor a knight could attain. However, the path was brutally difficult.
To become a formal knight, a provisional knight first had to defeat five other provisional knights without taking damage. They also needed to manifest aura, use martial techniques, and receive recognition from Reinhardt or Hamus, commander of the Rainbell Knight Order. Only those who passed these trials could become formal knights—and one such man stood before Paul now.
Paul knew Garon was a formal knight. His stance with the sword, the pressure he exuded, and the killing intent that pricked the skin all confirmed it. But Paul had no intention of backing down. First, there was the duty to protect his companions. Second, he knew how knights fought. Third, he refused to acknowledge Garon as a true knight in the sense he understood.
Even after leaving Tempo Kingdom, Paul had never lost his respect and reverence for knights. The emotion he had felt upon seeing King Reinhardt in person was beyond measure. But what about the man before him? Where was the honor of a knight? How was he any different from a thug who relied only on brute strength? His words and conduct were far beneath the refinement of the knights Paul had once known. Could he yield to such a man?
'I'll win, no matter what it takes.'
With that resolve, Paul gathered strength in his legs and moved first. Garon, true to his status as a formal knight, showed no openings—but if there were none, Paul would simply create them. His superior swordsmanship was perfectly suited for creating such variables.
Paul charged, aiming for Garon's flank. He accelerated by shifting his center of gravity forward from his left hip. Though Garon's sword moved to block the path of the slash, Paul paid it no mind.
'Two-handed swordsmanship is bound to be slower.'
Clang! As Paul expected, Garon blocked the strike and retreated slightly. His blocked sword and shoulder twisted, leaving his posture too disrupted for an immediate defense. Paul didn't miss the opening. Before Garon could recover, he swiftly changed his footwork and thrust. Since the seamless armor offered no clear target, he needed to create one.
"Where do you think you're going?!"
But the formal knight was stronger than Paul had anticipated. Garon wasn't a formal knight for nothing. He lowered his waist and deflected Paul's thrust with his sword. That was how knights fought. With both hands on the blade, deflection and counterattack had become second nature. Just as Paul had said, the counterattack—a technique with large reverse motion—fell toward Paul's head.
Whoosh! The sound of the descending sword was so chilling it seemed to echo through every nerve. But Paul didn't stop there. Since the thrust had failed, he used an evasive technique—rolling forward. Garon's sword sliced through empty air where Paul's head had been. Without his sharp reflexes, he wouldn't have escaped. The thought sent a chill down his spine.
"Typical adventurer—fighting dirty."
"You should clean that filthy mouth of yours before saying things like that."
Though Paul spoke calmly, the exchange had confirmed one thing.
'He's not someone to underestimate. I can't attack without being careful.'
He knew how knights fought, but formal knights were opponents for whom standard tactics didn't work easily. As if to prove it, Garon raised his aura.
"There's a limit to holding back."
Paul's earlier provocation had struck home. A red energy, unmistakably aggressive aura, rippled and gathered at the tip of his sword—an Aura Blade, the exclusive technique of knights. It dramatically increased the sword's cutting power, and at higher levels, could even launch blade-shaped projectiles identical to the sword itself. Garon manifested the technique effortlessly and charged at high speed despite his massive frame.
Paul extended his right shoulder forward, assuming a stance typically seen with rapiers. The reason was simple: by shifting his center of gravity backward, he could avoid Garon's cutting power and deflect any incoming attacks. Just as he had planned, Paul's center of gravity was now fully shifted back.
"Die already!"
Garon closed the distance in an instant and swung his sword. The path was honest, but that made it all the harder to block—and all the more precise. Yet Paul had anticipated this. He deliberately moved outside the path, continuing to backstep and deflect to stay clear of Garon's blade.
Whoosh! Whenever the hot aura grazed his cheek, cold sweat ran down his face, but his stamina held. He needed to keep forcing Garon to expend aura if he wanted any chance of victory, so he didn't stop evading.
"Running around like a rat!"
Garon was struggling to land a hit due to Paul's speed, but it didn't matter. Until now, he had been attacking honestly on purpose.
"That was just playing around. From here on, this is a formal knight's swordsmanship."
Slash! The strike came from below upward, so Paul stepped back, crossing his left foot behind his right. Normally, Garon's sword should have passed in front of him. But the blade twisted unnaturally and grazed his right thigh.
"Ghh…"
His thigh burned. Against an Aura Blade, his family armor was useless. The muscle damage made it hard to put weight on the leg. Reina and Natalie watched with near-tears, desperate to do something, but Bagan had stopped them. As before, Paul's resolve carried many meanings, and Bagan respected it.
"Do you understand now? This is the height you can never reach."
Convinced of victory after cutting Paul's thigh, Garon grinned widely and watched Paul's desperate struggles. Paul forced his unmoving leg to move and steadied his stance.
"It's not over yet."
He switched the longsword from his right hand to his left.
"Your stance is unstable, and that handshake is the worst I've seen. I was going to let you lick my feet and live, but since your eyes say you're ready to die, I'll grant you an honorable death."
Garon judged Paul's stance change as reckless bravado.
"…You never know how long or short something is until you try it."
Paul spoke as if warning Garon not to be so certain of victory, never taking his eyes off the approaching man. Everything was riding on his tightly clenched right hand. The sword was in his left, but his focus was on his right.
"If you'd stayed quiet, you wouldn't have died. This is your own doing. Martial technique—Helmet Breaker!"
Garon slowly raised his sword, aura fully concentrated, and brought it down toward Paul's face. He could have finished it normally, but used the martial technique just in case. That was the moment Paul had been waiting for. He flung the dirt in his right hand into Garon's face.
"Aaaagh! You bastard!"
With his vision obstructed, Garon couldn't properly bring down his sword. Tears welled from the dirt in his eyes, and knowing Paul would attack the moment he tried to wipe them, he barely managed to raise his sword into a defensive stance with half-open eyes. Paul swung the sword in his left hand at him. Though he tried to jump high, his injured thigh lacked strength, and the longsword failed to reach Garon's neck.
Clang! It bounced harmlessly off the seamless armor. Garon didn't miss the opening and severed Paul's left arm.
Slice! But Paul had been waiting for the moment Garon's sword was raised high. Before the blind strike could target his left hand, he released the longsword and caught the falling blade with his right hand. Unable to see what was happening because of the tears in his eyes, Garon didn't retract his raised sword. Thinking he had already succeeded by cutting off the left arm, he slowly lowered his blade. Then—
Thud!
"Ghk, ghk, ghhk!"
The longsword in Paul's right hand pierced Garon's throat. With all his aura focused on the martial technique, the protective aura around Garon's body had vanished. Paul gritted his teeth against the pain of his severed left arm and drove the longsword into Garon's neck. Garon's body slowly collapsed. With his left arm cut off and right thigh wounded, Paul couldn't maintain his balance and fell, still gripping the longsword embedded in Garon's throat.
"Hah, hah, hah…"
Paul gasped for breath, overwhelmed by the thought that he had protected his companions. But before tears could fall, he lost consciousness.