Whoosh—

A fierce stroke sliced through the air.

It was a quiet afternoon.

In a garden blooming with flowers in harmonious colors, a lone man swung a wooden sword, practicing sword forms.

But it looked too rigid, too stiff, too lacking in grace to be called a dance.

His hair was blue, his complexion pale.

Each breath he exhaled drifted white, vanishing into the air.

His expressionless face, blank as porcelain, left him with a chilling air.

The man lowered his sword at the sound of approaching footsteps.

Gleaming white armor trimmed in gold embroidery appeared.

The armor of a royal knight.

The knight was a towering figure, over two meters tall, with a massive spear strapped across his back.

Serkov immediately recognized him.

“Van Dyke. What is it?”

Van Dyke, the Iron Spear, one of the kingdom’s royal knights.

He replied in his calm, measured tone.

“His Majesty is here.”

Serkov immediately set aside the wooden sword, dropped to one knee, and bowed his head.

Moments later, a broad-shouldered old man approached, escorted on either side by royal knights.

The King chuckled as he drew near.

“Sir Serkov. How fares your time in penance?”

Serkov’s voice was stiff, his head bowed.

“My only regret is that I cannot serve Your Majesty. What brings you to this humble place?”

“I was bored. Why shouldn’t I come? Must you always be so cold?”

“That is not what I meant…”

“Enough. Can’t even take a joke.”

The King sat at a stone table in the yard.

“Enough with ceremony. Bring out some tea.”

“Yes.”

Serkov rose and prepared the tea himself.

The King’s brows rose.

“…No servants?”

“They only come to clean occasionally. By my orders.”

“Why…?”

“I prefer it that way.”

“Good grief…”

While the three knights stood guard, the King accepted the cup Serkov poured.

Normally, the King would wander with only Serkov at his side, but with Serkov under discipline, he was now flanked by three royal knights.

Steam rose from the cup as the pale liquid poured.

Unusually, the tea was blue.

“A lovely color. What is it?”

“Anchaan blossom tea.”

“Hm. A curious fragrance.”

“Yes. It is my favorite.”

The King sipped, eyes widening.

“…This is good.”

“I am honored.”

“When your penance ends, perhaps I’ll keep you on as my tea-brewer.”

“….”

“A jest. Relax.”

“Yes.”

The King drank leisurely, letting his eyes wander.

Serkov’s residence was a grand mansion once gifted by the crown, but now the vast estate housed only him.

Does a house come to resemble its master?

Cold and hollow, the place carried not the warmth of life.

Yet in contrast, the garden in the front courtyard bloomed with vivid colors, carefully tended.

“Did you hire a gardener?”

“I tend it myself.”

“…I never knew you had such a hobby.”

The King’s gaze wandered, and he noticed a wooden sword lying on the ground.

“What is this?”

“A wooden sword.”

“I can see that. Why are you training with it?”

“I was practicing.”

“With a wooden sword?”

“Yes.”

“Surely you’ve outgrown wooden swords.”

“…Forgive me.”

“And Frostblade? I don’t see it.”

“It is in the cellar.”

“Why?”

“I intend to distance myself from it for now.”

“…”

The King sipped again, then looked squarely at Serkov.

“Serkov.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Something has changed in you.”

“…Yes.”

“The Red-Eyed Devil. What kind of man is he?”

At once, the three knights behind the King turned their attention to Serkov.

Four gazes fixed on him.

After a brief silence, he spoke.

“He is strong.”

“Stronger than you?”

“He is young. In time, perhaps. But as of now, he is not.”

“Then why did you return in such a state?”

“….”

“Speak.”

The King’s tone softened.

“I must know why the kingdom’s greatest knight was defeated.”

“…Your Majesty.”

“Yes.”

“There was another within him.”

“What do you mean?”

“Exactly that. The moment I was about to take his head… ‘It’ appeared.”

The King’s brow twitched.

“‘It’?”

“A monster.”

“…!”

Shock crossed not only the King’s face, but the three knights’ as well.

For the one called a monster to call another a monster…

“He toyed with me like a child. I could not resist. I was utterly defeated.”

That meant the gap between them was as wide as between man and boy.

“Never in my life have I faced such power. It was as if even the mountains and forests bowed before him.”

“…!”

“He could have killed me at any time. That he didn’t was sheer mercy. I am ashamed, Your Majesty.”

Serkov bowed his head.

The King studied the knight’s frost-hued hair.

“…So that is why you train with wood?”

“Yes.”

“Could you win if you faced him again?”

“…Forgive me.”

“Hm…”

The King swallowed his sigh.

Serkov’s ready admission left little room for reproach.

His thoughts grew heavy.

Who exactly was this Red-Eyed Devil, and why had he come?

The King nursed his tea, then spoke again.

“Serkov.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“In ten days, the First and the Third shall duel.”

“…What?”

Serkov’s voice carried rare surprise.

“You mean… the Third Prince?”

The King chuckled.

“Yes. The boy has been growing his strength in secret, waiting for the right chance. He has already defeated the Second. A sly young tiger, that one.”

“…I see.”

“Before then, I’ll lift your penance. You will attend the duel.”

“But, Your Majesty—”

“Sir Serkov Wintermire. That is an order.”

“…As you command.”

“It will be entertaining.”

The King smiled, drained the last of his cup, and stood.

“Well then, thank you for the tea.”

“Yes.”

“Don’t bother seeing me out. I regret disturbing your training.”

“Think nothing of it…”

“Farewell.”

Serkov stood tall, watching as the King departed.

The knights saluted him wordlessly before taking up their posts around their sovereign.

As their figures receded, Serkov could still hear the King’s laughter.

Why he laughed, only the King himself knew.

Meanwhile, I brushed a hand along Vlad’s hilt and murmured softly.

“…So that’s the game, huh.”

“Vlad. Vlad. One more stunt and I’ll kill you.”

“……”

I rammed the cursed blade into the ground at the center of the training yard, then motioned toward one of the waiting Black Knights.

He was a broad man with eyes sharp as drawn steel.

“You. Step forward.”

“……”

The taciturn knight obeyed.

“Your name?”

“Max.”

“Sir Max. Stand here, in front of the sword.”

He nodded and took his place.

I moved behind him and pressed my palm against his broad back.

When Wolfgang had gone berserk, I’d been forced to blast moonlight directly into his heart. But here, a touch of starlight on the back, close to the heart, would be enough.

Max was tense, so I tried to ease him.

“If there’s even a hint of frenzy, I’ll put it down right away. No need to worry.”

“Will you manage… with that arm?”

He glanced at my splinted left arm.

“One hand is plenty. Don’t lose your nerve.”

“Who said anything about nerves.”

I slapped his back with a loud smack.

He shot me a glare, but I only grinned and tapped his shoulder again.

“Relax. You’re stiff as a board.”

“I said I’m not nervous.”

“Then we’ll begin.”

I straightened and gave the order.

“Deep breath in.”

“Hhhup.”

“And out.”

“Hoo…”

“Ready?”

He nodded.

“You’re a knight. You won’t lose to a sword, will you?”

“Of course not.”

“Then grip it. Keep your wits sharp.”

Max inhaled once more and grabbed Vlad.

Woooom—

The blade shuddered.

For a moment, I thought it might work. Max’s eyes were sharp, and I’d been dragging Vlad into the Chamber of Truth for beatings whenever I could. Surely it would have learned something by now—

“Gaaah!”

The scream split the air.

Rumble, rumble, rumble—

The ground quaked as crimson aura burst forth.

“Damn it.”

I slammed a pulse of lunar force into Max’s back. He went limp, collapsing at once.

“Carry him off.”

“Yes, sir!”

Servants hurried forward with a stretcher.

I exhaled heavily, turning to meet the Black Prince’s gaze.

He, too, sighed.

“Next.”

“…Understood.”

I glanced aside, and my brow twitched.

Perched on a branch, Linda and Shushruta sat side by side, munching popcorn as if watching a play.

Here I was tearing my hair out, and those two…

“Sir Harry. Your turn.”

“Yes.”

As the second candidate approached, I raised a hand.

“Hold.”

I picked Vlad off the ground, jammed it back down, and closed my eyes.

At once, I sent a surge of inner force charging toward the blade’s sealed grip.

Bang, bang, bang!

“Get out here, you bastard!”

[Kyaaaah!]

Vlad lunged the instant I called.

I caught its long red hair, slammed it into the dirt, and pummeled it mercilessly.

“You still dare to—berserk, berserk, berserk!”

Thud! Thud! Thud!

Once satisfied, I snapped my eyes open again.

“Come, try our darling Vlad.”

“……”

The knight approached. His eyes were as clear and calm as a mountain spring.

I laid my hand on his back once more.

“When ready, grasp the hilt.”

He did.

Grab.

‘Will it hold?’

“Aaaargh!”

‘…Damn it.’

Another collapse. Another stretcher.

And so it went.

Each time, I plunged into the blade’s inner space and beat Vlad bloody. Each time, it screamed and writhed, and each time, another knight failed.

Faithful knights. Knights who recited codes of chivalry. Knights beloved by comrades. Knights of courage, knights of learning.

Not one succeeded.

Zero.

By the end, my inner force was spent. Not from the support strikes, but from the constant thrashings I laid on Vlad in the Chamber of Truth.

That damned sword was stubborn. No matter how many times I beat it down, it bared its fangs again.

As the sun sank, I lifted my head to the horizon, troubled.

What was I missing?

Was strength of will not enough?

“Devil.”

The Black Prince approached, voice heavy.

“Enough for today. I’ll search for others.”

“….”

“You’ll get no sleep at this rate. At least you should rest. Your eyes are red.”

“They’re always red.”

“…Ah. Right.”

He departed, leaving me with the sunset.

“…”

As the last light faded, Heavenly Demon’s dry voice drifted into my mind.

[Hmph. I suspect it’s not strength but greed.]

“Greed?”

[Each time they touched it, a fissure opened. No matter how small, it was enough. The sword slips in through greed. Even the strongest mind blinds itself once it covets.]

“….”

Of course. Vlad was the final blade of Ophosis, famed across the continent.

What knight, however noble, could lay hands on it without desire?

Then the answer was obvious.

Only someone utterly without greed could claim it.

“…Where do I find someone like that?”

And then, a thought came.

One name.

“…Sir Fluffy?”

Eight days remained until the duel.

At the edge of despair, I had found a new hope.

(End of Chapter)

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