“These are the monsters of the Nightwalker Family.”
At Sword Demon Osswald’s words, the Shadow Knights protecting Laila, as well as the bodyguards of the Grand Duke Grandel’s household, gripped their sword hilts and assumed a drawing stance.
As if they would unsheath their blades and fight at any moment.
“Ah, monsters indeed.”
At that moment, a chilling cold settled over the hall. Even Sien felt a shiver run down his spine at the frosty air.
The Mother of Assassins continued, her frozen smile as cold as ice.
“To think I’d hear such words from Your Grace, praised as the ‘Demon of the Sword’ in the Holy Empire. Truly, such an honor.”
“What a shallow taunt.”
There, the only one not overwhelmed by Laila’s coldness was Sword Demon Osswald, who scoffed.
“Let the sting of this icy chill etch itself deeply onto your skin, my sons.”
And matching that with a heat of his own, Grand Duke Grandel spoke.
“There are no greenhouses or wells here to protect you.”
Outside the greenhouse, outside the well, what awaited was a world of endless harshness.
“Hmph, the stern yet affectionate heart of a father who cares for his sons.”
Laila chuckled slyly, as if it were someone else’s affair.
“As Your Grace says, the young masters, who grew up as flowers within a greenhouse, will come to realize it for themselves.”
“Realize what?”
“How cold and harsh this world truly is.”
“Now that’s a lesson worth anticipating.”
The head of the continent’s greatest Assassin family, the Mother of Assassins, smiled meaningfully.
She gazed at young Sien, who stood firm in his resolve.
***
From the Republic of Veneto, and from all across the continent, members of ‘high society’ who had received invitations began to gather one by one.
From the Republic’s Governor and Supreme Council, to some of the strongest figures and great nobles from the Empire and Kingdoms, and even artists supported and sponsored by the Nightwalker Family.
The land of those who walk the night, the Duchy of Nightwalker, did not hide in the darkness.
So, nobles from various nations formed social gatherings in groups of threes and fives, appreciating art, and enjoying the amusements of the ducal house—
And among these, the spectacle that drew the greatest attention from the guests was about to begin.
The underground Colosseum of the duchy, where Sien had once brought down the Minotauros. The place was so packed there was not an empty seat—people even struggled to find standing room—and everyone held their breath as they watched.
As Laila’s young son was thrown onto the arena.
“Is she planning to display her own son’s skills before everyone?”
Grand Duke Grandel, seated in the special seats, watched Sien and mused.
“That boy is dangerous.”
His first impression when he saw Sien.
Dangerous? No, that word wasn’t enough.
He felt chills.
He was well aware of the Assassins of the Nightwalker Family, the greatest Assassin family on the continent.
No, if anyone could truly grasp their infamous reputation, it would be Sword Demon Osswald.
Countless nightwalkers had fallen to his blade. Beyond that, there was perhaps no one else on the continent who had survived a battle with the Mother of Assassins.
And now, this monster had chosen a child as her successor and was presenting his debut.
The strongest knight of the era watched the young Assassin in the arena with more caution than ever.
Kuooong!
The iron gates of the underground arena opened. And when the opponent appeared beyond the gate, even Grand Duke Grandel was momentarily taken aback.
At most, he thought it would be another Minotauros, or perhaps an armored beast for show. But the figure standing there was not even a beast.
A headless knight, armed in full plate armor—Dullahan.
***
A truly troublesome opponent.
The first thought Sien had upon seeing his foe across the arena was just that.
A headless knight, Dullahan.
Although it was not quite at the level of a master swordsman’s skill like a ‘Death Knight,’ it would be foolish to underestimate the enemy.
The cold blue aura emanating from its blade was proof enough.
The power of the resurrected dead by black magic depended not only on the Necromancer’s influence, but above all, on their strength in life. The aura blade swirling around that headless knight’s sword was undoubtedly genuine—a will to song of humanity, something only humans could wield, even if that body was now a rotting corpse.
“Judging by the density and precision of that aura, in life it must have been at least a Sword Expert.”
In a formal debut like this, the organizers should have chosen an opponent Sien could best display his skills against. But Laila did not do so.
“This is bad.”
In terms of compatibility, it was not just the worst—it was horrifying.
The opponent before him was not a living human.
With the stance of the Wraith, which Sien now used, one could not hide their presence from the undead. No matter how much he tried to return to basics or gain enlightenment, it was impossible to completely erase the life force unconsciously emanating before such a dead opponent.
“Besides, that full plate armor is especially troublesome.”
To pierce steel, aura was needed.
Yet, with the invisible hand and the psychic knife that Sien had spent months perfecting, it was impossible to infuse them with aura.
Magic and sword, mana and aura. The will to overcome nature could never mix with the will to sing of humanity.
As if to say humans and nature could never truly coexist.
Without aura, one could not pierce steel. Against a living foe, he could exploit gaps in the armor during the fight. By sharpening the psychic knife to a needle point, he could thrust it like an awl through a crack in the plate. In fact, this was a standard technique even among knights unable to wield aura—known as ‘Harnischfechten,’ or the art of armored combat.
But his opponent now was already dead. Even if he pierced an artery between the plates, it would not stop it.
“To think she’d deliberately choose an opponent that nullifies all my learned techniques.”
Taat!
With a blade brimming with aura, the headless knight charged. Likewise, its skeletal body was reinforced by the power of aura, and the distance was closed with preposterous leg strength.
Kaang!
Sien’s sword met its strike. This was not a psychic knife conjured by magic, but the ‘knight’s sword’ he had wielded from the very start.
The sound echoed.
Aura could slice through steel like paper. In other words, without aura, you could not even parry a sword imbued with aura.
But the two blades clashed and rang out. That could mean only one thing.
***
“They say the Grand Duke’s third son, Prince Oscar, became a Sword Expert at just twelve years old. What fame indeed.”
Sword Expert (Special-grade Swordsman).
A knight who could wield the aura blade. An achievement out of reach for most even after a lifetime’s effort; even the elite of the Order of Imperial Knights of the Empire typically barely achieved it by adulthood.
“To become a special-grade swordsman and unleash the aura blade at just twelve—Prince Oscar’s sword talent is said to be nearly unheard of in the continent’s history.”
Beside Grand Duke Grandel, seated also in the highest special seat of the Colosseum, Laila spoke with pleasure.
With her own ten-year-old son unleashing the aura blade on stage behind her.
All the members of Grand Duke Grandel’s family, bearers of the strongest swordsmanship on the continent, men who had devoted their lives to the sword, could only gasp in shock.
“Father, he must surely be using a trick.”
The eldest son, Obert, cautiously murmured.
“There’s no way a ten-year-old could use the aura blade. Even the youngest in history barely reached that level at twelve.”
“Oh, how adorable is the young master in his little well.”
Laila smiled coldly at Obert.
“You are free to believe whatever you see, as long as your world remains the well.”
“Hold your tongue, Obert.”
Just as the eldest had said, was it some kind of trick? Even Sword Demon Osswald, for a moment, wondered if Sien was cheating, for what he displayed was unbelievable.
“No, it can’t be. Impossible.”
The continent’s greatest knight could not have his eyes deceived. Besides, the Nightwalker Family would never, ever stoop to such lies. In fact, those who had witnessed their fame firsthand trusted the family’s sincerity without doubt.
Their obsession with trust could be called pathological. They were, in some sense, ‘mad for the truth’—such people would never resort to trickery here.
“Then could it really be…”
He had thought this was a lesson, to show the greenhouse-raised sons the harshness of the outside world.
And Grand Duke Grandel had never doubted his third son, Oscar, possessed the greatest sword talent on the continent.
Now, he realized otherwise.
He, too, was but a frog trapped in a well, unable to fathom the sea.
***
A knight who sings of humanity stands before him.
A will to overcome and surpass one’s flesh through pain and trial: aura.
As proof, the knight before him kept moving even in death, head severed. Even as his flesh decayed and rotted in grotesque ruin, he gripped and swung his sword like an automaton. Cladding the blade and even his bleached bones in dazzling golden aura—
“Is that truly the will to sing of humanity?
When it doesn’t even have a head.
It can’t even know why it fights, what it fights for, beyond flesh and bone.
Its figure was too pitiful, too laughable.
“No, and how are living knights any different?”
Honor, chivalry—they all boast the same. Whether they have a skull on their shoulders or not, knights are all alike.
“The true wraiths are you lot.”
Steeling his resolve, Sien took his stance.
At this point, the psychic knife would not work, and with only one real sword at hand, he could not unleash the Ninth Form.
“I’ll just have to win with swordsmanship alone.”
There was no other way.
Kaang!
Aura clashed against aura. As their blades locked, the headless knight closed in, swinging the heavy pommel of its sword like a bludgeon.
That distinctive movement, that sword style—he recognized it well.
It never yielded distance, never retreated while the blades were locked or colliding, but instead aggressively used sword wrestling—Kampfringen.
Though now dead and mutilated, and its ‘origin’ hard to identify, he was sure of it.
“[Stance of the Twin-headed Eagle]!”
The strongest military force of the Holy Empire, and a sword style only the elite knights of the First Imperial Knight Order could learn.
At last, he understood what Laila wished to show him.
She wanted to reveal it.
The pitiful state of a once-exalted Imperial knight, whose head had been severed, whose flesh had decayed, but who still struggled on. The human will, clinging on like a wraith, cut down by Sien’s hand.
And all this before the strongest knight of the Holy Empire, seated right there.
“The stance of the Wraith,”
Murmuring softly, Sien adjusted his grip on the hilt.
The Nightwalker Family’s First Form.
Not to conceal his presence or aura. Though the Nightwalker Family’s sword forms skirted the very border between sword and sorcery, ultimately, what underpinned the form was swordsmanship—technique and method.
He narrowed and opened the distance, tempting the opponent. He never clashed head-on, but, like a wraith, struck at the enemy’s openings.
He drew attacks for this very purpose. As the Stance of the Twin-headed Eagle, famed for its ‘sword wrestling,’ prepared for another grappling attack—
Just as it seemed Sien would press in for a full-force clash, he instead widened the distance like a wraith.
Enthralled by Sien’s feint, the headless knight’s heavy strike cleaved through empty air.
“Now.”
Jwaak!
There was no neck to cut. So he swung for the arm wielding the sword, cleaving through armor and all with an aura-infused slash. The arm fell. But even with its arm severed and sword dropped, the Stance of the Twin-headed Eagle did not stop. It would fight to the end with one arm, one leg, if it must.
“I’ll cut off the limbs.”
This was, in theory, the cleanest and simplest way to counter the Stance of the Twin-headed Eagle.
Both arms severed, both legs targeted next.
Only when its arms, legs, and even neck were cut, did the knight’s body finally collapse and writhe on the ground. Proof that its will still struggled within that corpse.
Looking down with a cold gaze, Sien Nightwalker reversed his sword.
Kwajik!
The blade plunged down vertically.