Chapter 36
Chapter 36
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 36
Chapter Title: First Love Comes Like a Fever
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After the princess finished speaking, an eerie silence fell over the room, broken only by the crackle of sparks from the fireplace.
Roden wished he could turn back time to before he'd heard those dangerously provocative words.
That was how shocking the girl's revelation had been.
'The age of magic...'
Just those words alone were enough to send half of Pendia's religious establishment—the Old Faith followers—into a frenzy.
Attempting anything like that would surely tear the kingdom in two and spark a civil war.
No, neighboring Old Faith strongholds like Libert Kingdom or Azun might even send armies to meddle.
It would be a replay of the religious wars five hundred years ago, when the Arman Empire fell and the New and Old Faiths tore each other apart in a bloodbath.
The mere thought dried Roden's mouth to dust.
"D-Do... does anyone else know about this?"
"A few professors from the Magic Academy who consulted on fragments of the research materials might have pieces of the puzzle, but almost no one knows the full picture or the ultimate goal. Just the academy president, me, my uncle, Aran and Kagon here who handled all the errands... and now you two."
In other words, she'd just casually spilled one of the kingdom's most tightly guarded secrets—one that hadn't leaked anywhere.
Please keep secrets like that from us too, Roden thought in quiet horror as he cautiously spoke up.
"I'm not sure this is something we should know."
Sherin clearly wanted a loose partnership with Shan—friends, by her own description.
Even after knighting him, she'd only dropped vague hints about matters like this.
So for her to suddenly bare ambitions even siblings might hesitate to share, there had to be a reason.
Sherin shook her head.
"The court is already overflowing with nasty rumors about me. One more won't make a difference. Conrad still believes I tried to poison Father. Since I've dabbled in 'evil' magic, it's only natural I'd do that too, right? Compared to that, some baseless suspicion is nothing."
True, whispers of regicide against the king—her own father—made "age of magic" talk sound like idle gossip.
The sheer scale made it feel utterly unreal.
"Besides, what I mentioned is far in the future—decades after I ascend the throne, at earliest. I'm not planning to ram through reforms and rule over a mountain of corpses. I'm bringing this up now because the reward for this commission is an item applying that very technology."
At the promise of a magic tool, Shan's eyes gleamed as he straightened up.
It wouldn't match his current "Thousand Forms," naturally, but being handmade, she could tailor it to his specs.
Better yet, mediocre performance would make it safer to use openly.
"After this jousting tournament ends, I want you to hunt down the lord of Kastaman Castle."
"The castle's lord?"
Lords were nobles—did people really "hunt" them?
As Shan frowned in confusion, Sherin elaborated.
"He's a vampire. Not some low-level bloodsucker infesting the hills—he's a high vampire who's lived at least a few centuries."
Most vampires were scrawny wretches screeching for human blood until knights put them down.
But rare individuals gorged long enough to metamorphose.
These high vampires boasted superhuman physiques, innate magic unique to elite monsters, and—most terrifyingly—human-level intellect.
"How's he avoided extermination this long?"
"He's hidden well. Stole a human noble's identity and squatted in a castle, apparently. We caught wind when intel came in about him secretly allying with Elvin. Seems he's propping Elvin up for king in exchange for a little fiefdom—a private hunting ground."
Even with human smarts, partnering with monsters? Hardly princely.
The tale grew more riveting by the minute. Roden ventured his own theory.
"Monsters can explore the Demon Realm far easier than humans. Probably lending aid to search for a magic tool to heal His Majesty."
"Hm?"
Sherin blinked curiously at Roden's words, then covered her mouth and let out a sudden giggle.
"Oh, pardon me... Now that you mention it, yeah, there was that."
There was that? She seemed utterly unconcerned by a situation where whoever healed the king basically claimed the throne.
As the two puzzled stares turned her way, Sherin revealed the truth.
"Neither of my brothers is wasting energy scouring the Demon Realm for Father's cure. They're too busy plotting to off each other in secret. That vampire's probably just an assassin to take out the rival's knights."
"Pardon?"
"You think a mighty healing artifact undiscovered for centuries is just gonna pop out after a quick Demon Realm sweep? Even if they found one, Father's recovery would mean more years—decades—as princes. Worst case, they croak of old age first. Why bother hunting it?"
It made sense on reflection.
Still, hearing sons ignore their sick father's treatment to focus solely on fratricide was downright chilling.
Power was scary, sure—but this scary?
"So the princes sending armies into the Demon Realm is..."
"Just for show while Father's alive. Can't afford to look bad. Their real elites—knights, assassins—are all gathering in the capital. Abel Marquis hasn't budged toward the Demon Realm, has he?"
Knights dreaming of tournament wins and princely patronage? Their plans were doomed from the start.
The princes would "promote" them just to pit them against each other.
"Anyway, let's table that. It's not time for clashes yet, and I'm safe while they're obsessed with killing each other. So, will you take the job?"
"Yes."
After a quick glance with Roden, Shan nodded.
Not an assassination—just vampire hunting, a knight's duty. No reason to refuse.
High vampires varied wildly in power; the strongest could snack on a knight or two.
Still, they ranked below cockatrices.
And Shan had a secret weapon those bloodsuckers would love—perfect bait for his hunting ledger.
"Good. I'll have your magic tool reward ready beforehand. Testing it in real combat is part of the goal."
She'd mentioned the research was in final stages, just needing validation.
Seemed she'd use Shan's field test for that.
"Oh, and if you take him down solo, I'd like another body scan like before. Just in case."
Such solo high-vampire kills weren't unheard of, so she added softly not to get hopes up.
A bit later, leaving the princess's villa, Shan and Roden walked the dim streets lost in thought.
Roden spoke first.
"Man... the more we learn, the more it feels like one skull-rattling bombshell after another."
"Tell me about it."
"Never imagined I'd glimpse this world last year—let alone get tangled in it. Just beating this damn illness and becoming a knight was my whole goal."
Everything changed when he crossed paths with the boy beside him.
The palace shadows and schemes creeping ever closer felt downright creepy.
"Sorry."
Misreading it as reproach, Shan apologized glumly.
Roden reached out and ruffled his black hair wildly.
"What're you sorry for, punk? No choice now—let's climb as high as we can. Die once, die twice, whatever."
No dismounting a galloping horse.
Tighten the thighs and ride to the end—cliff or paradise.
The second day of jousting felt noticeably higher in average skill than the first.
Likely because the pure badge-wearers who'd gone 0-3 were weeded out.
But no one matched Peonil's caliber.
Shan could still vividly recall his spear's trajectory with eyes closed.
An ideal thrust, every muscle in perfect harmony—like fighting his mirror image...
'Wonder how it'd go if we fought again now.'
Peonil had clearly been off-guard then.
Just casually thrusting at some ragtag bandit slaughtering his men.
Facing a fully armored knight with lance? He'd prepare mentally far more rigorously.
For knights wielding spirit pressure, mindset was huge—double the threat, at least.
But Shan didn't think he'd lose.
His gear and skills had leveled up massively since.
Of course, only a rematch would tell.
Boom! A distant roar snapped his reverie.
A knight tumbled like a marionette with cut strings.
'One solid contender, at least.'
"Raaargh!"
The victor raised his lance with a bellow.
His towering height and lanky build made him stand out anywhere.
"Who're you staring at?"
"That tall knight over there."
"Ah, Sir Lanky Lug."
True to form, Roden had gathered intel while Shan composed himself.
"Fresh from southern Pendia, first time in the capital. Tournament rookie, too."
"Seems so."
"Bombed day one, but he's flying now."
Shan recalled his sloppy opener—no threat then.
Yet overnight, his form sharpened to 3-0 today.
That height and absurdly long arms gave massive reach advantage.
Unless his swordplay was trash, it'd serve him well there too.
"Hey, the guy he just unhorsed looks like Sir Catra."
"Oh, right..."
Sir Catra, now 0-2 and out, sighed as he rose.
Before leaving, he approached Shan.
"Give it your all. Vengeance is on me."
"Will do."
Tournament switched to brackets at 16—bound to meet eventually.
Assuming Lanky didn't fall first.
Shan's turn came; fully armored, he entered the lists.
His opponent's face was veiled, but tension radiated.
Flags crossed—go!
Shan lightly kicked his mount's flanks.
"Hya!"
Galloping always thrilled.
Like sprouting four new legs to run for him.
Truth be told, his black steed was the troll-slaying buyout from Ovilos City—not knightly caliber.
Just frugal till a better one came along.
Wonder how it'd feel on a superior horse.
Musing, Shan speared the helm peeking over his foe's shield.
His refined spirit control dropped the man instantly.
"
"
The announcer's cry brought familiar cheers from afar.
One-shotting every foe made Shan the top favorite—adored by all but Old Faith zealots and Altoin haters.
A teen comet sweeping the jousts? Irresistible.
After six bouts each, the top 16 emerged by record.
Tiebreak losers vented fury.
"Damn it! Cheat! That punk passed out!"
"Stayed mounted? That's a point. Suck it up."
"Swore I'd make mains this time..."
Overwhelming first place Shan? Worlds apart.
His bracket eyed a familiar face—opposite side.
Day one's woes nearly axed him, but he scraped in.
"Shit, same bracket as that Altoin scum."
"I'm facing him first! Made mains for nothing."
Moans rose from Shan's bracket-mates.
Day three: tournament finale, as expected.
Shan crushed opponents one-shot, racking wins.
Posers gone; survivors were legit—multi-time winners, foreign notables, noble scions.
None bested him.
Aliases spread: One-Hit Shan, Radiant Eyes, Green Knight, Altoin Hope...
Odds tanked; Calion's hired hands got shut out.
Finally, the finals.
Crowds gawked at Shan vs. Lug.
"Whoa, size gap's insane up close."
"Not man vs. boy—more man vs. goblin."
Yet odds favored Shan heavily.
One-shotting from qualifiers through semis? Rare even in storied Hasra jousts.
Still, Lug had fans.
"Win, Lanky!"
"Don't lose to an Altoin!"
All Old Faith save boycotters backed Lug.
Block an Altoin champion in this holy event!
Finals underway—chargers thunder toward clash.
'Whoa...'
Through his visor, Shan gaped at the reach gulf.
Tall and long-armed was one thing—fifty extra centimeters? Foul!
His head so high forced near-vertical aim, widening the gap more.
Equal skill? Shan would've been helpless.
But in slowed time, he tracked the lance tip's quiver perfectly, raising shield.
Spirit split 30-70 defense-offense.
Lug's middling plate couldn't take it—he'd topple.
So Shan closed—
'Uh-oh.'
Collision imminent: Lug released his tucked arm, thrusting full extension.
Tourney lances were light and hollow, yet monstrous power.
Reach yawned near a meter.
Flawless execution too—honed ideal strike like Peonil's or Sir Darkal's secret thrust.
Already high, now plunging—skimmed Shan's shield.
Shan countered, sweeping low-to-high, but Lug's all-out spirit overwhelmed.
Abandoned defense; dumped stamina wholesale.
'Ngh.'
Clang! Shoulder struck, Shan's lance lagged half-beat to Lug's helm.
They crossed; crowds roared.
"Ooh! First time he didn't one-shot!"
"Took a hit too!"
"Score?"
"Both mounted; body hit and helm hit—Shan 2, Lug 1!"
Reining in, Shan checked his shoulder.
Blessedly, deflection drained the blow; armor wards absorbed most.
'Did not see that coming...'
Refined secret art and all-in offense?
Combo unavoidable.
Gamble cost Lug dear.
Helm-cracked, he stood dazed till refs called repeatedly.
Without Shan's prior hit shaking his aim, instant tumble.
"Sir Lug! Conscious? No answer means DQ!"
"Y-Yeah! Fine! Me!"
"Confirmed. Prepare to charge!"
Obvious: Lug drained near-empty, concussed.
Round two: wobbly lance; Shan smashed him down.
Sighs rippled through stands.
"Aww..."
"Damn, still got one in!"
"Refund my coin, you overgrown stick! Lose to a half-pint?!"
"Western shame!"
Lapping with broken lance, announcer boomed loudest yet:
"
"
"Yes!"
"Woooah!"
Shan lapped amid cheers and boos, waving.
Then noticed his lanky foe approaching.
Good fight, well-wishes?
Or sore loser rant?
Neither.
"What was that thrust? I hit first—how'd you counter so steady?!"
Visor off, Lug yelled in disbelief—excitement, not anger.
Early twenties, Roden-aged; horse-face, honest vibe.
His big round eyes shone with awe, not grudge.
"Uh... good armor."
"Sure, looks solid! But that technique defies it! Dad was right—Pendia's full of star warriors; kids like you are nobodies in the capital!"
Shan thought, No, not quite...
Lug lost, but his athleticism and skill—towering frame notwithstanding—put him second to Peonil.
Young, gifted; might surpass him with growth.
"Your skill's impressive too, Sir Lug. Day one's record baffled me."
"Ah, nerves got me—nearly charged holding lance backward!"
First-timer jitters? Fair.
Shan nearly over-hyped his debut sans some nameless knight's tip.
Lug kept gushing: nearly teared up spotting Shan's talent day one; wanted chat but feared rustic dismissal; just orbited instead.
Announcer calling for ceremony saved Shan.
The ceremony, hosted by some marquis—king's cousin—reeked of disdain from his scowl and gruff tone.
"Er... congrats, victor. May the Goddess bless you. If she'll bless an Altoin, that is."
Muttered "softly," but so petty it just amused—no rage.
With the prize incoming, it was laughable anyway.
"Bring it!"
At the marquis's gesture, a groom led a metallic-sheen stallion.
Mane light bay like fine hair; long, sturdy legs elegant yet rippling with power.
Most beautiful... strongest... swiftest... toughest in the world...
Hyperbole magnet, king of horses.
Why knights risked all—even foreigners.
"Every Horace Mountains battle."
Marquis's envious mutter? Unheard.
Shan fell in love for the first time.