***
The underground arena of the Nightwalker Family.
Just as Sien had once been thrown into this place alone after completing his baptism, Tia was no exception.
Standing there was a headless knight, the same kind Sien had faced before.
On the rusted and worn breastplate, a faint emblem of a lily was engraved. The *Fleur de Lis*, the symbol of the Charlemagne Kingdom — it was proof that the dead man before her had been a knight of that kingdom.
The headless knight lunged forward, kicking off the ground. From the tip of his blade, a swordsmanship as elegant and flamboyant as a flower unfolded.
The Lily Crest Stance, the pride of the Charlemagne Kingdom’s knights.
Tia’s blade danced in response to that stance.
It was as elegant and flamboyant as a lily, and its movements were far more noble and dignified than those of the decapitated knight before her.
“Excellent.”
At the moment it seemed they had achieved perfect symmetry like a mirror, that symmetry broke. Tia’s sword sliced through the headless knight’s armor, bringing him down.
*Slash!*
Tia’s blade plunged through the fallen undead’s breastplate.
‘She’s already performing the Third Form so perfectly.’
Sien, watching the scene, could not hide his surprise.
Tia, who had been a Highmaster in the future, possessed talent that might even allow her to aim for a realm beyond that. The fact that she had perished before her talent could truly bloom was, in truth, Sien’s responsibility.
“Please survive, Brother.”
Because he had failed to protect the family he was supposed to protect as the head.
No, because he had been too busy barely surviving amidst the blood they shed.
But things were different now.
With renewed determination, Sien bit his lip slightly. It was then.
“What a clear and beautiful sword.”
A voice drifted to Sien’s side without even a hint of presence. It was as if she had been standing there from the very beginning. Sien, showing no sign of panic, calmly offered his respects.
“You returned quickly, Mother.”
“To think you could perform the Stance of Still Water to this extent in the blink of an eye.”
“She is a quick learner.”
“Just like you used to be.”
Sien gave a sheepish, bitter smile at those words.
“A swordsmanship tournament hosted by the royal family is scheduled to be held in the Charlemagne Kingdom — “
Laila continued in a cold voice, looking at Sien.
“I thought it would be a good opportunity.”
“That means…”
“The tournament itself is just an entertainment for ‘jester knights,’ nothing of consequence. Separately, however, the Charlemagne royalty has been sluggish in repaying the debt they borrowed from us to secure war funds.”
“So you want me to use that occasion to deliver a warning.”
“In front of everyone, reveal the name of the Star and Dagger and kill the royal champion.”
Laila smiled coldly.
“That should be a sufficient message to those people in the royal palace.”
It was a sort of ultimatum.
It was a warning of what would happen if they continued to delay or tried to break their promises with the Nightwalker Family.
The missions Sien had to undertake now that he had become a Master of the family were incomparable to those of the past.
“I leave Tia in your care while I am away.”
“That goes without saying.”
Sien’s godmother, Laila, smiled softly.
“To us, family is everything, after all.”
***
The Charlemagne Kingdom, also known as the Land of Chivalry.
A powerful nation possessing the strongest knightly organization on the continent, known as the Twelve Knights of Charlemagne, standing alongside the Round Table Knights of the Seven Kingdom Federation and the Iron Cross Knights of the Holy Empire.
Of course, the target Sien had to kill was not a powerhouse of that caliber.
Sien’s target was merely a jester.
Though the title of Royal Champion sounded grand, in the end, he was just a so-called jester knight who provided entertainment on a stage, exactly as Laila had said. He was of a different breed than a true knight who fought with his life on the line for the fate of his country.
As expected of the Land of Chivalry, the Charlemagne Kingdom was overflowing with such jesters and entertainment that satisfied the longing for knighthood.
And Sien’s role was to behead that jester as a warning.
In the first place, there was no way a powerful nation like the Charlemagne Kingdom lacked the money to pay. They were likely playing a childish game of chicken against the Nightwalker Family and the Republic of Veneto.
Therefore, the Nightwalker Family would play along with their childish game.
“We will soon be docking at the port city of Martina.”
While the land routes were blocked by the Nightfall Mountains and the Holy Empire, the Republic of Veneto had the vast, open sea.
The Republic’s ships crossed the great oceans, regardless of whether it was the Black Sea, the Mediterranean, or the Atlantic.
The merchant ship Sien was currently on was the same.
As he stepped onto the deck, a cool sea breeze brushed past his face. The wind carried a faint scent of salt. The sound of birds echoed from afar.
The edge of land was now faintly visible at the end of the seemingly endless horizon.
The port city of Martina, a northern trade hub of the Charlemagne Kingdom.
“We will head for the royal capital, Lutetia, as soon as we reach land.”
Where there is night, there are always shadows.
Sien spoke toward the six shadow knights lined up behind him.
None of them were ordinary shadow knights.
They were high-ranking shadow knights known as High Shadows, the direct subordinates who assisted the family’s assassins once they became Masters.
“Please prepare the horses immediately.”
“As you command, Master Sien.”
They were hunting dogs who knew neither pride nor honor, perfectly unsuited for the Land of Chivalry.
***
The royal capital, Lutetia.
The heart of the Land of Chivalry, the Charlemagne Kingdom, and the most fertile and prosperous city on the continent.
The place, overflowing with a gentle atmosphere like a spring day under the warm sunlight, made Sien realize anew how barren the land of his family and country truly was.
“The sunlight is quite nice.”
As he stood there leisurely basking in the spring breeze, a familiar presence among the passing crowd rapidly drew near.
“Sien.”
A dignified woman’s voice was heard from behind. It was a voice he could not fail to recognize.
“It’s been a long time, Sister Isabelle.”
There stood a red-haired woman in a long, blood-red dress, capturing the attention of everyone around her.
It was Isabelle Nightwalker, who had snarled at Mikhail when he had doubted Sien’s identity during their childhood.
“I was truly surprised to hear you had already undergone your Confirmation Sacrament!”
It wasn’t that there were no eyes watching. On the contrary, everyone’s gaze was drawn to her overwhelming splendor. However, the two of them had the ability to distinguish which among those were ‘real eyes’ and which were not.
“I’m truly sorry I couldn’t be there.”
“It’s a relief I didn’t have to face your stance, Sister.”
“Oh, my. How humble of you.”
Known as Black Fire, Isabelle chuckled, shrugging her shoulders.
The members of the Nightwalker Family were fundamentally swordsmen. However, like the Highmaster Gretel, who was known as the Witch, Isabelle was one of the few assassins in the family who specialized in magic.
“I received the Godmother’s Nightfalcon earlier. I’ve heard the gist of the situation.”
“What is the schedule for the swordsmanship tournament?”
“You arrived just in time.”
Isabelle continued with a smile.
“A few weeks ago, I took the liberty of registering you as a participant under the name of a suitable baron’s son.”
“Thank you, Sister Isabelle.”
“There’s some time before the day of the match, so feel free to rest in my salon.”
A salon, a unique social venue found in the Charlemagne Kingdom.
“Unlike a certain someone, I have a mountain of things I want to talk about with our cute youngest brother.”
***
There was no need for every assassin of the family to roam the entire continent every time a new mission was given.
In Isabelle’s mansion in the capital, Lutetia.
“Oh! Welcome back, Grand Mademoiselle!”
When Isabelle returned with Sien, the nobles gathered in the mansion’s drawing room rose in unison to pay their respects.
“I apologize for being away due to a sudden matter.”
“Do not worry about it. The discussion has only just begun.”
“Ah, I look forward to it then.”
“What discussion?”
When Sien asked with a tilted head, Isabelle, who was beside him, answered with a bitter smile.
“A new piece of ‘chivalric literature’ featuring the Twelve Knights of Charlemagne was released recently.”
“The narrative is truly interesting and bold!”
“Is that so?”
Hearing that, Sien gave a polite, perfunctory response.
Chivalric literature — fictional stories in which a knight with a so-called sense of heroism sets out on an adventure, undergoes a journey, and pursues love, duty, and ultimately, the way of the knight.
‘This country really has nothing to do, then or now.’
To Sien, things like chivalry and chivalric literature were stories from another world that felt entirely unreal.
“However, it is still a flaw in an otherwise perfect work that it hasn’t broken away from the conventional style of depicting His Majesty the King as incompetent.”
“Well, that can’t be helped, can it? Literature is a mirror of the times.”
“Now, now, watch your words!”
“What is there to be careful about? Just the other day, didn’t the country get turned upside down because they turned away and chased out the Messenger of the Republic who came to collect the debt?”
“And as if that weren’t enough, they’re trying to hold a royal swordsmanship match with such extravagance.”
“What on earth will they do if the Messenger of the Republic actually makes a move because of this?”
“Hush! Do not speak that name so recklessly.”
As soon as that name was mentioned, a sudden wave of panic washed over the nobles, who hadn’t hesitated to point out the king’s misgovernment just moments ago.
“E-Even if that were the case, what is there to worry about? We have the proud Twelve Knights of Charlemagne!”
“No matter how much they call him the Messenger of the Republic or whatever, he’s just a thug who knows nothing of chivalry.”
They could never have dreamed.
That the two people standing right before their eyes were exactly those thugs who knew nothing of chivalry — the Messengers of the Republic.
***
“They really are people with nothing to do.”
“I truly agree.”
After the salon closed, Sien spoke as he remained in the mansion. Isabelle did not deny it either, sipping the wine in her hand.
“Still, those gossip-loving idlers are always helpful.”
“Is it all right to show myself to such talkative people?”
“Oh, did you ever ‘show yourself’ to them?”
Isabelle asked back with a playful smile.
“I’m sure you must have hidden my appearance, Sister.”
“When I heard you had mastered the Pose of the Wraith, I could hardly believe my ears. To think you could conceal yourself so beautifully and elegantly.”
Sien hadn’t worn a mask or a second skin over his face. He hadn’t even used invisibility magic. Yet, even if they tried to recall the ‘young boy’s face’ that had been by Isabelle’s side, it would be impossible for them.
No, they wouldn’t even know who had been beside her in the first place.
“It seems my trust wasn’t that important after all.”
“That’s not true.”
“Are you saying belief is more important than the truth?”
“Even if it weren’t, it’s because I don’t want to betray my family’s expectations.”
Isabelle blinked in surprise at Sien’s answer, then smiled with great satisfaction.
“You’ve grown into a wonderful adult.”
***
Shortly thereafter, the day of the swordsmanship tournament that had set the capital of Lutetia abuzz finally dawned.
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