3. The Pledge

Father began corporal punishment when I was three years old.

It was because on a snowy day, as I was sledding down the staircase railing of the mansion, I delivered a Hectopascal Kick to Father as he was coming home from work.

The punishment, which started on my backside that day, grew more severe as I got older.

From around the time I became somewhat capable of using mana, Father started using mana-enhanced fists as well, and today, for the first time, he wrapped his fist in lightning and struck me with an uppercut.

No sooner had the sound ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠of lightning crackled past my ear than I dropped helplessly, with no chance to even take a breakfall.

Fortunately, Father didn't seem so far gone as to follow up with an aerial combo on his own son.

"Father."

"Have you realized what you did wrong?"

"Did any of our ancestors suffer from hair loss?"

Especially anyone whose hair stuck out at the sides.

Father wrapped lightning around his fist again, giving me a look that said I had not been beaten enough.

Sensing that one more uppercut might actually kill me, I racked my brain desperately.

What had I actually done wrong?

My survival instinct sounded the alarm and my mind raced frantically.

First, I'd forged my identity using the prince's influence. While still a minor, I'd filmed in a Sanctuary without consulting my parents. I'd commandeered a few imperial knights under the pretext of training and used them as supporting actors.

Hm.

If this had been the modern era, it would have made the news.

Thank goodness for this uncivilized medieval era.

As I listed every one of my offenses, Father clutched the back of his neck, while the tea in the cup Mother had held steady until then sloshed violently.

"At least you knew those were wrong."

"I'm quite aware."

"So you did them knowing that?"

"But nobody was hurt, right?"

"And the knights you commandeered?"

"I paid all their appearance fees. With bonuses."

"..."

Faced with my utterly unabashed attitude, Father rubbed the bridge of his nose.

I felt sorry for Father, but even if I went back in time, I would have behaved exactly the same way.

Though I did break the law, no one was harmed in the process.

I might have caused my parents worry, but I thought I hadn't crossed the line.

...Though I did deserve to be scolded.

However, contrary to my expectations, my parents didn't reprimand or lecture me further.

It was more like they were worried, if anything.

"Making movies is fine. You must have your own dreams. However, because of your movie, the number of spies infiltrating our knight order has been increasing significantly lately."

"Does it make sense for so many spies to show up over one movie?"

"Do you realize the impact of your film?"

"Of course. Walking around the Sanctuary, people ask me for autographs every day."

"Judging by that answer, you do not understand at all."

Father pulled out a bundle of papers from the corner of his office desk.

"Do you know what this is?"

"Your overtime workload, Father."

"...These are the applications to our Imperial Knights this year."

"Oh. Looks like at least three thousand."

"Yes. Thanks to your movie."

According to Father, ever since John took the world by storm, people everywhere had become intoxicated with dreams of knighthood.

Whether they could actually become John wasn't the point.

Overwhelming strength inspired simple admiration, but realistic, attainable strength made people dream that hard work could let them reach the same heights.

Especially the realistic strength of John—not a Hero but a retired imperial knight—drove people even crazier.

It was said that when a movie became a hit, the filming locations would overflow with tourists, and in that sense, it was only natural that people came seeking the knight order from which John had originated.

The one silver lining was that, thanks to Father taking measures beforehand, no one had yet reached the conclusion that I was John.

And the bad news was...

"There have been more outsiders entering the knight order lately."

"It's a military facility, isn't it?"

"Indeed."

Normally, any outsider who infiltrated a knight order—a military facility—was a spy one hundred times out of a hundred, with the occasional curious civilian mixed in.

However, after John Armstrong aired, whether out of fan sentiment, curiosity, or some other reason, the proportion of merely curious civilians had grown.

Of course, by regulation, those civilians should all be treated like spies as well, but their numbers were so great that actually doing so created a dilemma in which the Emperor risked being called a tyrant or an oppressor.

Because of this, according to Father, the Emperor was currently racking his brains over the problem.

"There's no secret technique to speak of, though."

"Die-hard fans tend to obsess over the original."

Surprisingly, the attention wasn't limited to knights.

"According to a former junior colleague of mine, the Magic Towers are also quite interested in your techniques."

"What do the magic towers want?"

"Wizards are weak at close combat, aren't they."

Hearing Mother's words, I ran a brief simulation.

A wizard who engaged in close combat, huh...

When an enemy closed in, he'd apply a joint lock and fire a Stone Shot into their defenseless head.

When an enemy ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠ambushed him around a corner, he fired a three-round burst of Stone Shot: two to the chest and one to the head.

Oh. That could work.

To sum up, this meant I had become the founder of CQC in this world.

In a medieval world where force decided more than civilization did, no wonder people went crazy for it.

Thinking this way, I began to understand the enormous stir my movie had caused from a tactical perspective.

In that case, it was only natural that my parents worried about me.

Excessive attention at too young an age could be poison.

"Do not worry. Do I look like the sort to buckle under attention? I will simply keep doing what I have always done."

"Yes, that's like you. Do just as you wish."

"Huh?"

Father gave his permission surprisingly readily.

So readily, in fact, that this time I was the one taken aback.

Father wore a triumphant smile, as if he'd finally gotten one over on me.

Then, leaning back in his chair with his eyes closed, Father murmured as if speaking to himself.

"I was about sixteen too. I said something similar to my own father."

"What did he say?"

"That I would become a Hero."

As the saying went, blood would tell, and Father had also dreamed of being a Hero.

If there was a difference between us, it was that Father had yearned for the brilliance of a Hero, while I was captivated by the beauty of film itself.

Still, there was no difference in the fact that both father and son loved movies.

"Didn't Grandfather try to dissuade you?"

"So I negotiated. I asked, if I passed the knight exam, would he allow it then?"

And Father ultimately succeeded.

He had become a film actor, Knight Commander, and head of the family.

But he had achieved his dream only imperfectly.

"Of course, as you can see, my success was incomplete. Even so, I still appear on-screen as an actor from time to time."

Father was an actor, but not a Hero.

A Hero was the 'protagonist' who served as the concept and direction of a film.

But Father had never become a Hero and had advanced no further than supporting roles.

The title of Knight Commander of the Imperial Guard directly under the Emperor suited the role of the Hero's mentor in films, and so Father appeared as the mentor in numerous Hero Universe movies.

The beheading show I'd first seen when I was three was also a role Father had played as the mentor, meant to give the Hero the motivation to defeat the Demon King.

"Sometimes I wonder. If my father had fully supported me then, and if I had not compromised with reality, would I have become a Hero?"

Father opened his eyes and looked at me, emerging from his reverie.

"Having become a father myself, I can't force my own regrets on my son. That's why I am giving my permission."

"Father..!!!"

"But!"

He returned to being the strict father.

"You must not expect support from the family. It is, after all, for your own dream."

"Of course. That alone is more than enough, thank you."

The position of a count's house was no light thing.

In modern terms, a family was like a corporation.

Countless people were tied to our house. If its power was used for private gain, one of those people—especially our subjects—would inevitably pay the price.

He couldn't tolerate using the corporate card for his own child. (Though of course, many families did so secretly.)

"But I will help you from my own pocket."

With Father's support alone, I felt as if I had gained a mighty army.

It didn't matter how much money Father could give me.

I was confident I could succeed in this entertainment-less, uncivilized medieval era.

Still, I hadn't known until now that the simple fact of Father believing in me felt this good.

There was something unexpected, though.

"I originally made it for the common people to watch, but surprisingly, the nobles are reacting much more intensely."

I had thought the nobles would rather decry such a violent and savage movie, asking why anyone would watch it, but reality was the exact opposite.

The nobles were more excited about it than the commoners.

"Son. You don't know because you spend all day in the training grounds and never attend social gatherings."

"Ugh."

"A noble's authority comes not from the written or spoken word, but from the sword. In that respect, your film is exceptionally well made even by their standards."

This was a world where monsters existed and every commoner carried a fireball in their chest.

In such a world, the fact that one could manage a domain and rule over commoners was proof that the noble's abilities were exceptionally outstanding.

Whether in martial strength or cunning.

In such a world, my well-researched film was more than violent, provocative entertainment. It was useful educational material.

In other words, it fell within the realm of education (or culture?) that was well worth being discussed at the nobles' social gatherings.

Only after hearing Father's words and realizing this fact did I feel my shoulders lift a little with pride.

Mother too looked at me with warm eyes, proud that such a work had been born from my hands.

"But how did you receive baptism? Could it be that you bribed the Sanctuary Management Bureau..."

"I received it legitimately."

I understood what Father was worried about.

He must be concerned about damage to the soul's growth plate, the soul ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠core.

One might think it would be fine as long as resurrection never became necessary, but that was not true.

Even without resurrection, side effects such as identity distortion had been continuously reported during the process of creating an avatar for Sanctuary activities.

Moreover, spending the highly sensitive period of adolescence in a Sanctuary where people died and resurrected was bound to warp one's common sense.

But I had a way to solve all of this.

"I formally joined an order and received baptism. I also received an oracle, so do not worry about that."

If the priest who decided whether a film was produced was its producer, the clerics stationed in a Sanctuary were comparable to agency employees.

Registering with an order effectively made it my agency, and its Archbishop was the agency's chief executive.

(For reference, being non-religious simply meant having no agency.)

After entering the Sanctuary and going through one thing after another, I joined the <Order of Entertainment and Enjoyment> and was baptized immediately.

Baptism was essentially a guarantee provided by the gods who owned the Sanctuary.

In other words, the gods had vouched for me: 'This kid can work in the Sanctuary without any problems with his soul core.'

I thrust my baptism certificate before Father.

Though the identity was forged, the baptism certificate was genuine, so Father, however reluctantly, granted me permission for my Hero activities.

"But can you manage that alongside your lessons as heir?"

I did have an older brother, but he planned to dedicate his life to the magic tower.

Given that Mother had left the Magic Tower when she married, it seemed one could not remain a Tower Master while also serving as the head of a noble house's spouse.

As a result, the right of succession naturally came to me.

The problem was, I also had no confidence in balancing heir lessons and Hero work.

With my quick wits, I promptly produced an answer.

"Wouldn't it work if you made another sibling with Mother?"

"..."

"You can still get it up, right?"

"Pfft!"

Mother, who had been quietly drinking tea, spat it out.

*

Allen's father, his face turning red, threw a document at Allen, and Allen swiftly fled the office.

As he fumed with a crimson face, his wife calmed him down.

"William, calm down. This is hardly the first time that child has said something strange."

"Ella. Isn't he this way because you've spoiled him too much?"

Good heavens, a married couple with their firstborn about to come of age and a second child besides, calling each other by name!

Allen hadn't brought up the topic of a younger sibling for nothing.

It was Allen's argument that a couple so affectionate that they used pet names for each other after twenty years of marriage could reasonably expect a youngest child.

At William's grumbling, Eleanor gave ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a soft laugh and moved her fingers.

Following her fingers, a teacup floated up and placed itself before William.

With a single circling gesture of her finger, tea began to rise from the bottom of the empty cup.

Though she had stepped down from the position of tower master for marriage, that didn't mean her skill was unworthy of that position.

William took a sip of tea to calm himself, then continued.

"Blood will tell."

"I agree."

William had been unable to abandon his dream of becoming a Hero even after becoming Knight Commander, while Eleanor had been unable to abandon her dream of joining a film crew even as Tower Master.

Both had been similar sorts, which was why they had met like this. And the second son also sought to walk the same path as those two.

Rather, it was an ironic household where the firstborn, who sought to walk the path of a pure scholar, was the odd one out.

"I suppose I should contact my younger brother and explain that our boy is not particularly interested in politics or factions."

"Explain it well to him. I will speak to His Majesty too."

Because the two of them were such people, they knew Allen harbored no personal ambition.

However, it was precisely because the two of them were such people that they misconstrued Allen's true intentions.

"First, I'll have to tell my brother to keep a spot open in the Counterintelligence Department."

"He might join our knight order, so I'll have to prepare as well."

There was one fact Allen was overlooking.

Actors in the Sanctuary. They were not full-time actors.

No nation would let someone capable of physically reproducing the overwhelming magic shown in films languish as nothing more than an actor. The gods had not lent humanity Sanctuaries solely for making movies in the first place.

Ancient times, when the concepts of Hero and Demon King existed.

Back then, the entire world had burned with war.

Every nation waged total war, displaying humanity's unending malice without reserve—child soldiers, suicide bombers—so much that even the gods grew sick of it.

Then, in a certain era, a new Hero and a new Demon King who had suddenly appeared made peace with one another and offered prayers to their respective gods, and the gods, who had finally grown weary of war, eagerly seized the chance to create the Sanctuaries.

From that point on, the nature of war changed.

When nations fought, it had become customary to settle the outcome in a Sanctuary, where no one remained dead.

Then, as time passed, the Sanctuaries naturally turned into entertainment and eventually became a stage to show off each nation's combat strength, but the fundamental essence of the Sanctuary remained war.

Though outwardly it was entertainment for the citizens, political purposes were never entirely absent.

It inevitably carried the political message, 'The Hero in this film is one of our soldiers. Care to test us?'

For instance, in William's case: why else would a nation put its Knight Commander into a movie?

It was all propaganda to bring diplomatic advantage to the Empire.

In other words, in this world, movie actors, staff, and even directors were counted among each nation's key combat assets.

In this context, when Allen said, 'I want to become a Hero!', his parents heard something different.

To interpret it, it was closer to saying, "No matter what, I want to become a soldier!"

Ultimately, in William and Eleanor's hearts, Allen was becoming a praiseworthy son who, unable to contain his overflowing sense of justice, would become an officer.

*

"I got permission!!!"

"I told you not to kick the door open!!!!"

And at that very moment, Allen, unaware of that fact, was sincerely rejoicing at drawing closer to his dream of becoming a Hero.