That was—
"Next."
A breathtaking sight.
"Next."
A deeply satisfying sight as well.
"Step forward, next challenger."
With each swing of Luina's blade, Altriorc's knights collapsed like straw dummies.
The spirit that had not faltered even before demons did not bend in the face of ordinary knights.
Her swordsmanship, honed in Verchev and blossomed in the Academy, was as noble as it was brilliant.
Already five Class One cadets had fallen under her sword. Even one of Altriorc's knights, unable to bear watching further, stepped in—only to be forced to his knees beneath her blade moments later.
It was proof that Luina's level had already surpassed that of mere students.
Or else—it meant that Altriorc's knights were simply lesser.
Yet that wasn't the case. While they weren't of the Ironblood, Bloodlight, or Nobleblood Orders, Altriorc's knights were by no means weak.
It was only that Luina was exceptional.
And this was evidence that Fernan's choice—trusting the prophecy and investing in Luina Verchev—had not been wrong.
"Ohh."
"As expected of the jousting champion…."
The murmurs of admiration only reinforced Fernan's conviction.
"Still, can it be called knightly for two of our own to lose to an Academy student?"
"Pathetic. To think they call themselves Altriorc Knight School cadets…."
Of course, not all voices were filled with praise.
Just as Verchev bore rivalry toward Altriorc, so too did Altriorc toward Verchev.
"This time, I will—"
"Perhaps that's far enough, wouldn't you say?"
One knight, unable to bear it, tried to step into the ring, but Grad, arms folded, blocked him.
"She has already fought five cadets and two knights. For a Nobleblood Knight to step in would hardly be fair."
The Nobleblood Knights were one of Altriorc's three famed knightly orders.
They were said to be a little weaker than the Ironblood or Bloodlight, but that was not for lack of skill.
"Isn't that so, Luina?"
"Yes, that is so."
Contrary to the fire in her eyes as she had cried "next" moments ago, Luina obediently sheathed her sword.
In the improvised waiting area, she sat and wiped the sweat from her brow.
"Grad thinks highly of you."
"When did you get here?"
Her startled whisper made her jump when Fernan answered.
"Shouldn't you at least be able to sense me nearby?"
"I expected you to sit down beside me, not whisper directly into my ear."
She rubbed her reddened ear.
Fernan handed her a piece of chocolate, which she accepted naturally.
"Were you confident of victory?"
"What do you mean?"
"Don't play dumb."
"I've never faced a Nobleblood Knight, so I can't say for sure."
"And?"
"If their level is equal to Verchev's Red Lion Order, then yes. I'd win."
Her words belied her calmness. Grad had stopped her not for her sake, but for Altriorc's.
Though she was Verchev's heir, she was still just an Academy student. To let her defeat the backbone of their knightly order would have been a humiliation.
Competitors they might be, but not enemies—and as guests, some restraint was necessary.
Meanwhile, another Academy student stepped into the ring.
"I am first-year Aint Armean. I look forward to this match."
"Armean?"
"Aint Armean?"
"Come to think of it, isn't this the first Armean to enter the Academy in nearly a hundred years?"
The weight of that surname stirred the cadets to murmurs.
"I want to experience Armean swordsmanship!"
"Let me!"
"…Um, one at a time, please…."
The duels continued.
"Your Excellency."
The chamberlain approached and whispered. The Marquis of Altriorc's brow furrowed slightly.
"The duels between the Academy students and the knight-school cadets have been decided."
"And?"
"They say the Academy students won every match."
"Am I supposed to be surprised?"
"Not surprising—rather natural. Still, it stings my pride."
"I don't see why it should, really."
The woman, Rosalia Vienderk, replied impassively.
"Everyone whispers it, but the truth is—the Knight School is for those who could not enter the Academy."
"That's true enough."
The Marquis nodded.
"Yet no one dares say it aloud before me."
"The tea has a fine aroma."
A silence lingered.
"To be honest, I didn't expect them to lose every bout. I hear Luina Verchev even felled not only cadets but two knights as well."
"They are all top-three students. And Luina Verchev is the jousting champion this year."
The gap in level was undeniable. But that didn't mean Altriorc's knights were lacking.
After all, some Academy students were also from Altriorc.
"But they are only first- and second-years."
"Talent transcends age."
"How is the Duke?"
"I am here not as Rosalia Vienderk, but as Professor Rosalia, Your Excellency."
"Then your departure will be in two days."
"…Departure?"
For the first time, cracks appeared in her poker face.
"Forgive me, but weren't we meant to assist in defending one of the fortresses?"
"That was the plan. But it has changed."
"Suddenly?"
"You will leave at dawn, two days from now—for the Taklakan Desert."
"…I fail to see the meaning of this."
"You will be joined by the Ironblood and Bloodlight Orders, as well as five hundred elite soldiers."
Rosalia's eyes widened.
That was enough force to crush a small kingdom.
"And what is the purpose of this deployment?"
"Even I don't know."
"…What?"
"Just a joke."
The Marquis laughed heartily. But Rosalia did not smile. It was not funny.
"Your Excellency."
"You resemble your father greatly. Fitting, that you became a professor at such a young age."
"Your Excellency."
"If you want answers, don't ask me. Ask someone else. One of your own companions is the reason the plan has changed."
"…One of my companions?"
It couldn't be Grad—his indolence was legendary. Which meant, among the students, there was only one possible culprit.
"Fernan Pallenberg…."
The Marquis shrugged as though to say, correct.
"Explain yourself."
"I found a lead on the aberrant. I informed His Excellency the Marquis, and he permitted our participation."
Rosalia did not bother asking why the professors had been excluded. She merely asked the next question, calm as stone.
"And the lead?"
"The aberrant is a summoner of monsters. He uses life force as sacrifice to call new ones forth. What life do you suppose can be harvested from the Taklakan Desert?"
"The desert tribes."
There were the Alprocen and the Empire, but hidden behind fortress walls they were harder prey than the desert nomads.
"So you mean to strike first, intercept him before he can act."
"Yes, exactly."
"Not a poor strategy."
Rosalia drew a black cigarette from her subspace and set it between her lips.
"Tired, Professor?" Fernan asked.
"I wasn't tired. But a student named Fernan made me so."
Click. A spark lit the end of the cigarette.
"What do you think, Professor Grad?"
"What choice is there?" Grad shrugged.
"If the Marquis has already spoken and arrangements are made, we follow. The source of the intel is questionable, but if true, it's a good move."
"I can't share the source. But the information is reliable."
"I'm not saying it isn't. Just unclear. But you're not the sort of fool to lie about a matter like this."
Grad was right. Once the matter had reached the Marquis' ears and his decision was made, a mere professor had no power to overturn it.
"…Then it can't be helped."
"Which means things just got busier. We came expecting a simple garrison defense, and now it's desert lightning war."
"Form up!" Grad barked.
Thudthudthudthud—
The red warhorse kicked up Taklakan sand as it thundered across the dunes.
Bairan Osmond pulled his robe over his nose and mouth against the sandstorm ahead.
"Damn this desert."
Though blessed with power from the Great Ones, immune now to heat and cold, he loathed the desert itself.
"But it ends here."
He needed nothing else. Only Aint Armean. Kill that cursed bloodline—lucky once to banish Lord Andromalius—and his hell would be over.
With that kill, he'd be rewarded, blessed by the Great Ones, risen to something greater.
"Time is tight, though…."
He had hoarded lives for sacrifice, but the sudden monster-wave order had forced him to spend most of them.
He had scraped together more from the dead of the wave, but still—not enough to be certain of finishing Aint Armean.
"Even so, that boy killed Lord Andromalius. I won't underestimate him."
More monsters. Overwhelm him. Ensure the kill.
The trick would be separating Armean from the Altriorc forces. But with enough monsters, anything was possible.
"Found you."
Through the sandstorm, yurts emerged—dwellings of the desert tribes, moving often with their camels.
"The fifth tribe."
With the monster wave, most tribes had fled south. The summons had been in the desert's heart, sending beasts east to Altriorc and west to Alprocen.
And that had been possible only with Bairan's leave. He had spared some tribes, not for mercy, but to keep sacrifices on hand.
"Damn it, if I'd known, I'd have corralled them in one place."
Instead, they'd scattered across the southern desert. He'd wasted too much time hunting just four tribes.
He had meant to harvest ten. Now, barely five.
"A week gone already. No time. I'll have to do it with five."
It was risky. But he couldn't waste this chance to lure Aint Armean into the jaws of his beasts.
"Stop!"
"Who goes there!"
At the village gate, three guards raised weapons to block him.
But Bairan did not slow.
"No time for this."
More blood. More lives. He couldn't afford delays.
Fwee—!
His whistle carried magi, and the monsters answered.
Fwaaaagh—!
They burst from the sand like sharks scenting prey.
At the same instant, Bairan loosed a wave of magi at the guards. In his mind, they were already corpses—feed for his beasts.
"…Wait."
At sword's reach, he felt it. This was no common desert warrior.
Something was wrong.
────!
A cold slash deflected his magi.
"Kh—?!"
The rebound jolted him, his upper body rocking. The enemy pressed the opening without pause.
The blade coiled like a serpent around him, striking again and again.
Ka-gak!
In seconds, steel and magi clashed five times. He used the recoil to leap from his saddle, putting space between them.
"What the hell are you—!"
Bairan's eyes widened.
When had it begun? The desert heat no longer burned.
The monsters had stopped moving.
Encased in white prison. Ice.
"…What is this?"
When had it happened?
But he had no time to ponder. Another tremor shook the desert.
Thudthudthudthud—
But not monsters. Hooves. Disciplined, countless.
"…Ironblood Knights? Bloodlight Knights? Here?"
Altriorc's strongest orders.
"Why here?"
A harsh voice cut through his panic.
"To do what you meant to do—only in reverse."
A great boulder crashed down toward his head.
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