6.
“Lancel Dante.”
Count Runter’s face turned icy cold. A subtle but palpable aura of power surged from him, causing the surrounding earth and sand to tremble.
Many people suspected that the count himself might be possessed by a vengeful spirit, but Lancel knew better. The count was perfectly lucid.
Lancel could feel the calluses that covered the count’s palms and the faint but steadily rising magical powers emanating from him. This was the true nature of Count Runter: an aging knight who had never laid down his sword, not even for a single day.
Even seasoned recruits would have their legs buckle at the mere sight of him.
The guards themselves involuntarily took a step back.
“Do you understand the implications of your actions?”
“I am a knight as well, Your Excellency Count Runter.”
Lancel met his gaze with clear eyes and replied, “How could I not understand the significance of a duel that stakes one’s entire life?”
“Considering you’re still a naive child, I’ll give you one last chance to withdraw. Pick up the sword you threw down.”
Count Runter’s narrowed eyes were as cold as ice.
“You’d better think carefully, you fool of the Dante family. If you withdraw now, you might suffer some dishonor, but you’ll never regret this choice for the rest of your life. Pick it up now. I am a father myself, and I have no desire to send unnecessary condolences to Viscount Dante.”
Die or flee.
That was the choice he was being offered.
Nevertheless, Lancel’s answer had already been decided.
“You know better than anyone, Your Excellency the Count, a knight never gets a second chance.”
“…Very well.”
Count Runter turned to look behind him.
The knights guarding him seemed ready to burst into flames, their eyes burning with fury. They were itching to teach the insolent young knight a lesson for insulting their lord.
“Who will step forward?”
“My Lord, I…”
“All of you.”
As Lancel’s voice fell, the air froze. A frost seemed to descend upon them, and the night air instantly dropped several degrees.
“I will defeat every knight present here, Your Excellency Count Runter.”
“……”
Lancel tilted his head slightly and continued.
“For the honor of the archivist, Mary. The chivalry of Lancel Dante. If the value of both ends with just one knight, we will only invite ridicule.”
* * *
“Ugh…”
“I told you not to act rashly.”
“But… still…”
“But what? Look at this mess! You’re not even a criminal.”
Marigold shivered as the wind whistled through the shattered window, sending a chill through her.
Imprisoned in the spire of Count Runter’s castle, she was already writhing in despair. Pina’s relentless nagging only added to her misery, crushing her self-esteem to rock bottom.
At her feet sat a bowl of lumpy oatmeal, its presence a cruel reminder of her wretched state.
“Just apologize and beg for forgiveness now. They said they’d let you go if you do. Why are you being so stubborn?”
“…My achievements as an administrator…”
“Are you planning to spend the rest of your life locked up here? I don’t care.”
“Ugh!”
Marigold clutched her head and groaned.
“Ugh… huh?”
Just then, a commotion reached her ears. The noise came from outside the spire’s window.
A crowd of people was running about in a frenzy, as if a major incident had occurred.
“Your Excellency Count Runter! Lancel Dante of the Viscount Dante family has come to prove his knighthood!”
A familiar voice rang out the next moment.
“Ah! What are you doing, you’ll fall!” Pina cried urgently. Marigold had leaned dangerously far out the spire window.
The courtyard of the Lord’s Castle came into view, along with a man whose appearance was all too familiar.
“Sir Lancel?”
7.
“Henry Hawkwood. Please understand if I can’t control my strength.”
A tall man stepped forward, gripping the scabbard of his sword. He stood a full head taller than Lancel.
It was a chivalrous duel, fought without the use of magical powers The two men stood facing each other, armed only with their swords—blades of cold steel.
“I’ll yield the first move. Come at me.”
“Is that so?”
Lancel didn’t hesitate. He took a long stride forward, the ground blurring beneath his feet as he lunged.
“I see you!”
The knight glared at Lancel as he charged in, maintaining a low position. With a flash, the knight raised his sword and swung it down in a swift, decisive strike, aiming to cleave Lancel’s shoulder in one blow.
“I’ve won!”
In that moment of assured victory, Lancel’s body deftly evaded the blade. The sudden shift in his movements completely threw off the knight’s timing.
“……!”
The pommel at the end of Lancel’s sword hilt filled the knight’s vision.
A dull impact struck the knight. His vision blurred, and his ears rang. Only then did he realize that he was sprawled on the ground.
“Just lie down and rest for a day, and you’ll be able to walk again.”
Lancel wiped the blood from his pommel with a handkerchief.
“Next.”
The atmosphere shifted.
The knights’ gazes toward Lancel had changed. They were all beginning to sense that he was more than just a loudmouthed novice.
“Walter Bailey.”
The next opponent stepped forward. He was a young man, his longsword raised with flawless precision. “Impressive form,” Lancel murmured, stroking his chin.
“Your Excellency the Count, you have excellent knights. If my father were here to see such men pledging their loyalty to you, he would be envious.”
“You still have time to compliment your opponent, it seems.”
“Perhaps Your Excellency should relax a bit as well.”
Perhaps taking insult at Lancel’s words, the young knight’s eyes narrowed.
“Here I come, Sir Lancel.”
“Whenever you’re ready.”
The young knight, who had been slowly approaching, vanished from sight in an instant.
“Haah!”
He had dropped into a crouch, his body lowered below his waist, his posture reminiscent of a predatory beast about to pounce.
Swish!
His blade surged upward from knee-height, aiming precisely for Lancel’s center of mass.
“A fine blade, but…”
Lancel deftly twisted his body with a smile. As the blade narrowly missed him, he rammed his shoulder into the young knight’s torso, disrupting his balance.
The knight’s body spun halfway around, crashing onto the ground back-first. He had no chance to recover his stance; a blade was already pressed against his neck.
“You lack experience. It seems you haven’t fought many duels without the use of magic.”
“…I yield.”
“Keep honing your skills. With more practice, you’ll become a fine knight.”
“……”
Two knights had been defeated.
The entire exchange had taken less than ten minutes.
Moreover, the earlier clash wasn’t even a proper duel. It was more akin to a sparring session for instruction. The skill gap between the two was at least that of a master and apprentice.
The expressions of the knights gathered at Count Runter’s castle grew even more serious.
“Jeffrey Lancaster. I won’t hold back.”
“Go on, then. I want to finish this before sunrise.”
After just three exchanges, Jeffrey Lancaster fell.
“Gilbert, show me your skill.”
“Come at me first.”
The swords clashed twice before flying from their hands. The palm of the knight who identified himself as Gilbert was drenched in blood.
“Arnold Duncan.”
“What a hulking brute. Let’s see if your sword matches your size.”
With a tremendous roar, he charged forward, only to be knocked down with a single strike.
“William Ford.”
A blow to the temple with the flat of Lancel’s blade left the knight unconscious.
“Rainer Maximilian.”
The knight was tripped and subdued. It was a brief end.
“Ragnar.”
Cut.
“Leopold Edgar! I’ll finish you!”
Cut. Cut.
“Arthurway Doria!”
Cut. Cut. Cut.
.
.
.
“No!” Marigold cried out, clutching her face.
Her heart pounded as she watched the relentless battle unfold in the courtyard of Count Runter’s castle.
“Ugh! No!”
One down.
Two down.
“No… way?”
Three down.
Four down.
“…?”
“He’s winning them all?”
Marigold stared in disbelief as each knight fell helplessly before Lancel.
To be honest, she had never been certain of his true skill as a knight. She had simply assumed that as a knight, he would naturally be stronger than a mercenary.
But now, five knights had fallen, then ten.
Finally, more than twenty knights lay defeated before him, when the twenty-first opponent finally stepped forward to face Lancel.
Clang!
The atmosphere of the battle shifted.
.
.
.
“Let’s see how many are left,” Lancel said, counting the remaining warriors in the count’s castle one by one with his fingers. The original group of dozens had dwindled to less than half its initial size.
Most had collapsed and gone for treatment, or were sitting slumped, shaking off the aftereffects of the battle.
“Seventeen left,” Lancel announced, loosening his arms.
Only a few beads of sweat glistened on his face. He showed no signs of panting or fatigue, looking as fresh as if he’d just finished his warm-up.
“Who’s next? Time’s ticking, so let’s hurry up and finish this. Even the guards need their sleep.”
“I ask for your guidance, Chester…”
“Enough.”
Count Runter spoke up as the next knight stepped forward. After a moment of silence, he continued, his voice flowing smoothly.
“Adelhart.”
“Yes, father.”
The man who had been standing behind the knights strode forward. Lancel subtly curled one corner of his lips upward.
‘Finally, he shows himself.’
A wave of warmth washed over Lancel at the sight of the familiar face.
‘Adelhart Edric Runter… the star of the knights.’
If he had to describe the Empire during this era in a single phrase, what would it be?
The age of courtly intrigue and romance?
The Empire’s final golden age?
The calm before the storm, just before the warring states period?
The zenith of the decadent and dissolute nobility?
No.
Lancel believed that if history books were written about this era in the distant future, they would undoubtedly be titled “The Age of Heroes.”
This was the era when countless geniuses who would later become heroes were just reaching adulthood, breaking free from their shells and hatching into the world. It was a time when promising talents began mastering swordsmanship and magic, and started making their names known across the land.
Adelhart was one of them. He was destined to become a hero in the coming era of war.
Though he was branded a traitor for turning his blade against the Empire, from another perspective, he was a figure worthy of the title “hero.” After all, he was known as the “Star Knight” for good reason.
There was a reason such praise clung to someone branded a traitor. He was a knight so great that even enemy nations were captivated by him.
Having clashed with Adelhart frequently in his previous lives—from his first to the third iteration, where he lived and died on battlefields—Lancel found his face utterly familiar.
“You take the lead.”
“Leave it to me, father.”
Adelhart’s eyes flashed sharply, as if they held the starlight of the night sky.
“Sir Lancel, I have long recognized your exceptional skill as a knight.”
Adelhart drew his silver-gleaming sword, a long and thick broadsword.
Extending his long arm, he pointed the sword tip at Lancel.
“Even so, I do not believe I will lose.”
“Confidence is good. Come at me.”
“Then…”
The Star Knight stepped forward.
“Here I come.”
Thump! Condensed power exploded from the tip of his foot as it slammed into the ground.
His arm, shoulder, waist, and heel rotated simultaneously, sending the blade flying horizontally with unwavering precision.
The problem was its speed.
Swung with force far exceeding human limits, the blade seemed poised to cleave Lancel’s upper body in two.
Thump!
The blade tore through the air with a piercing whoosh.
Adelhart’s strike slammed directly into the hilt of Lancel’s sword.
KAAANG!
The deafening clang reverberated through the night air.
Sparks flew upward, illuminating the darkness.
‘As expected, he’s a true genius!’
Lancel smiled, genuinely pleased to have encountered a true knight after so long.
