***
Screeeech.
When Count Brandenburg, the Holy Swordsman chosen by the sacred sword Durandal and a war hero who once stood shoulder to shoulder with the Hero, stepped into the grand hall of Saxen Castle, there was not a trace of welcoming atmosphere.
Silence settled like a feather. A stillness so ominous it could not be described merely as rude—it was the quiet of a graveyard.
Even the knights accompanying the Count were overwhelmed by the frozen tension and held their breath.
The man was already there.
Seated upon the throne at the far end of the hall, cloaked in ominous black.
"You've made a difficult journey, Count."
The Black Duke.
One of the Empire's three great dukes, and the continent's most powerful black mage, reigning at the pinnacle of the Black Tower.
Aside from the deceased Hero, he was one of the greatest dangers the Empire harbored.
He turned his head.
Beside the Duke stood Dale, the famed prodigy of House Saxen, and the daughter of the Divine Sword, now serving as a maid in the ducal household.
Behind her gaze, filled with unhidden hatred, the Holy Swordsman quietly bowed his head.
Even the Holy Swordsman had no choice under the pressure exerted by the Empire's greatest noble.
"...I humbly greet His Grace, the Duke of Saxen."
He bowed and planted Durandal vertically in a gesture of respect.
"To think such a renowned swordsman would visit this remote region amidst his busy schedule."
The Black Duke spoke from the throne.
"I didn't expect you to arrive so soon, so I ask your forgiveness for the rather lacking welcome."
Though his tone was mocking, the Count could say nothing.
He could only bow his head and offer the utmost courtesy.
"What could be more urgent than a summons from Your Grace?"
After a long silence, the Count cautiously spoke.
"..."
The Duke did not respond. He simply extended his hand.
Following the eight mana rings engraved in his heart, ominous mana began to swirl.
Dark magic unleashed by the continent's greatest black mage. Highly refined black mana surged through the hall.
"...!"
Realizing the meaning, Count Brandenburg gripped Durandal's hilt tightly.
Whoooosh!
From beneath the Black Duke's feet, a jet-black whirlwind erupted. A wind of death, dark and ominous, swept through the hall.
It surged toward the Holy Swordsman and his white-clad knights, who writhed in agony.
They had no time to resist, not even to scream.
Their mithril armor, forged with sacred blessings, corroded like iron reacting to acid, melting away.
Then the flesh beneath began to rot rapidly, as if drenched in hydrochloric acid.
First the flesh melted. Then the bones were exposed, only to crumble into powder.
The wind of death swept through, leaving not even bone dust behind.
Only a few handfuls of ash scattered in vain.
The knights of the "Order of Saint Magdalena," proud defenders of the Holy Swordsman, were annihilated without resistance.
All except Count Brandenburg, protected by Durandal's blessing.
But even the golden shield surrounding him flickered, on the verge of shattering.
High-level black magic: Tempest of Nihil.
Cast instantly, without incantation.
"Y-Your Grace...!"
The Holy Swordsman's face twisted in shock as he gripped his sword. But the Black Duke remained unmoved, gazing down at him.
"Kneel."
After a long silence, the Black Duke finally spoke. His voice devoid of emotion.
Kneel.
The Holy Swordsman's face contorted with humiliation.
"What are you doing, Your Grace──!"
"Did you not hear me?"
"...!"
The Black Duke repeated.
"I said kneel, Count."
"..."
In the silence, the continent's greatest black mage looked down upon him.
Even the war hero, the Emperor's most "loyal blade," could not defy that overwhelming pressure.
Even at full strength, victory was uncertain.
And this was the Duke's domain. For a mage, their domain meant far more than mere land.
Above all, the Black Duke held the moral high ground.
Assessing the situation calmly, the Holy Swordsman quietly knelt. An undeniable sign of submission.
"As you know, I summoned you for the sake of peace."
The Duke spoke to the kneeling swordsman.
"So I ask you sincerely..."
His tone was calm.
"If you ever lay a hand on Saxen's children again."
Saxen's children—this referred not only to the Duke's bloodline.
"I swear on my name, I will slaughter every last member of House Brandenburg."
Few words carry the weight of truth like "I will kill you."
But when spoken by the Black Duke, with his name behind them, it was no mere threat. Even the Holy Swordsman shuddered at the gravity of those words.
"Well then..."
Having said his piece, the Black Duke turned his head.
"You must be weary from your journey. My attendants will serve you, though it may be humble."
"...I am deeply honored by Your Grace's generosity."
The Holy Swordsman bowed silently.
"However, due to circumstances, I regret that I cannot remain in the duchy any longer."
"Is that so."
The Duke nodded as if he had expected it.
"That is most unfortunate."
He replied, as if it were someone else's concern.
"I hope your journey home is uneventful."
Before the Duke's sarcasm, the Holy Swordsman's hand trembled on his sword hilt. Hatred surged, tempting him to strike.
But more than hatred, fear gripped his heart.
He remembered the darkness this man had unleashed during the Empire's unification war. He knew the true face of the Black Duke—and that was why he felt fear.
"...I thank Your Grace once again for your kindness."
Count Brandenburg bit his lip until it bled and bowed deeply once more.
The conversation ended there.
The face of a man he could never forget.
When Dale saw the Holy Swordsman for the first time, what gripped his chest was deep-rooted hatred.
Charlotte felt the same.
And before them, the Duke of Saxen showed his strength.
As Dale's father, as the continent's greatest black mage, and as a duke of the Empire, he demonstrated the dignity and warning befitting House Saxen.
The weight of the Black Duke's name.
Count Brandenburg was one of the Emperor's most loyal Ghibellines. Even the Duke of Saxen could not easily touch him.
Yet the Duke issued the strongest warning he could. As the ruler of the North, in the name of House Saxen.
'What Father showed against the Emperor's loyalist will become the spark that shakes the entire Empire.'
It began as a small flame, but it wouldn't take long for it to grow, fueled by wood and oil.
'It will be our task to sever the Holy Swordsman's head.'
Knowing this, Dale welcomed it.
'And I will be the one to bring down the Empire.'
The Empire had no other name.
It was the only nation on this continent, and thus not a common noun.
To distinguish it from past fallen empires, it was simply referred to as the "Third Empire (Drittes Reich)."
Some time later, in the Duke's office.
There, Sepia sat quietly in silence.
"I am already deeply indebted to you, Lady Sepia."
The Duke spoke to her.
"Therefore, please do not feel burdened by my proposal."
"..."
"Please decide freely."
At those words, Sepia recalled the recent incident involving the Holy Swordsman that had shaken the duchy.
When Dale repelled the Sif Guild's attack unharmed, she had felt relief for her precious student—if only briefly.
But upon seeing the corpses of the Sif Guild members, Sepia had to catch her breath.
Corpses that had vomited their organs and become puppets of darkness. Bodies crushed and riddled with holes as if struck by dozens of cannonballs.
Realizing that these were the works of a mere nine-year-old child—and that this child was her proud student—
Sepia began to question whether her teachings had been wrong.
The Black Duke offered her the position of "Chief Adviser" to House Saxen shortly after.
Accepting the Duke's offer meant Sepia would no longer be just Dale's tutor—she would become part of House Saxen.
Ending her life as a recluse and stepping into the turbulent waves of the world.
"To guide Dale's talent properly, we need your wisdom, Lady Sepia."
The Duke continued.
"This is not something I can do alone."
"..."
After a long silence, Sepia quietly nodded.
She imagined the impact Dale would have on the Empire and the continent once he came of age. The true "world of his own" that he would overlay upon this one.
There was no room for hesitation.
For Sepia, who had lived nearly 500 years, this was a mission more important than any before.
A few months later.
News spread throughout the Empire that the Holy Swordsman had knelt before the Black Duke, and that the sage Sepia had become House Saxen's adviser.
By then, Dale had mastered dual attributes—Water and Darkness—at the second-circle level. His win rate in pure sword duels with Charlotte had reached an even 50%.
Around that time, Dale's tenth birthday approached.
And to officially celebrate his tenth birthday—
A letter arrived, announcing that "the Emperor's people" would visit the ducal house.