Chapter 29 : Chapter 29

Chapter 29 — Twilight (3)

There was no need to even announce the victor of the honor duel.

My limbs were still attached, while Meken — face red and trembling — was being carried away by his knights to the temporary barracks.

Everyone present already knew the truth.

A Sword Runner had been defeated by a Sword Walker.

A seasoned knight recognized as a strongman anywhere on the continent had been bested by an unripe country boy from a rural backwater.

“Impossible! It’s impossible! How could this be—!”

Even as thick, sticky blood dripped from his arms, Meken glared at me and screamed. The knights restrained him, dragging him toward the barracks, but even after they entered, his voice echoed loudly from within.

“Trickery! That damned brat used trickery in a sacred honor duel against a knight!”

While the commotion refused to die down, the young squire acting as referee turned to me and spoke in a low, subdued tone.

“…What do you wish to claim as the victor’s reward?”

He did not speak to me condescendingly.

I couldn’t tell if that was because I had defeated his order’s vice-captain — or because he was simply a polite man by nature.

But one thing was certain: I now had the right to demand my reward as the victor.

And in cases like this—“I’d like to know what I can claim.”

It was best to assert oneself firmly.

Standing before the squire, I carried the air of many people.

The mercenary swordswoman Mary, who survived countless commissions in the Free City; the assassin of Crowley, hardened by the underworld; and Fetel the Loyal, who stood unshaken to defend his master.

That presence — that pressure — was not something a mere squire could withstand.

“All of it. Without exception.”

The squire let out a long sigh. But he didn’t call me arrogant, nor accuse me of bargaining like a merchant. In the Iron Kingdom, after all, strength was law — and no one could look down on a victor who had just defeated a Sword Runner.

No one cared that I looked young, or that my build was slight — almost feminine.

As always, in the Iron Kingdom, only power mattered.

And I had proven mine. Even covered in blood, gasping for air, my limbs shaking from overexertion — none of them could dismiss me.

“I’ll explain,” said the squire.

Yes, this was the Iron Kingdom.

“As victor, my lord, you may claim one of three things. Whichever you choose, Sir Meken, the vice-captain, is honor-bound to surrender it.”

In the Iron Kingdom, the strong took everything.

“First, you may—”

***

After finishing the talk with the squire, I returned to the mansion and rested.

I had no idea how long I slept.

When I finally awoke, the exhaustion that had weighed me down was somewhat lifted.

The damage to my body had been greater than I realized.

The duel with Meken had been brutal.

The result was good, but the process… nearly fatal.

If I had faltered even once, it would have been my arms lying severed on the ground.

The stress of that extreme tension, the strain of wielding Fetel’s sword beyond my limits, the punishment of forcing my heart to its threshold — all of it had taken a massive toll.

That toll left me so drained I could do nothing but sleep. When I sat up from the bed, pain stabbed through my entire body — deep, pounding muscle aches. As I struggled upright, I felt a weight pressing on my thigh.

“Seol Yoon?”

There she was — fast asleep, resting her head on my lap.

Beside the bed, a small pot of steaming white porridge sat on the table.

While I stared blankly at the scene, Liam’s voice spoke.

『While you slept like the dead, the girl took care of you.』

“……”

『Quite devoted, I must say. She worried about you a great deal. Tell me, does she fancy you, perhaps? Ha! If young men and women start falling for each other already, life will only get harder—』

“Stop saying weird things.”

I glared at him. Seol Yoon remained asleep, breathing softly against my knee. I gently brushed her light hair aside.

‘Come to think of it, she said once… she couldn’t just ignore someone who was hurt.’

That was when we’d first arrived here — when she’d helped me support Fetel.

It seemed Seol Yoon had her own reasons, things she didn’t talk about.

“Still… she really is just a girl, isn’t she.”

She wasn’t wearing her usual fighter’s garb today — just something soft and simple. Like this, she looked less like a prodigious swordswoman, and more like the young, innocent girl she actually was.

Without thinking, I reached out to touch her hair — but stopped myself.

There were more important things than indulging youthful impulses.

『Yes, best to stop right there.』

I sighed and came to my senses.

Carefully, I laid a blanket over her and began to eat the porridge she’d prepared.

“…It tastes awful.”

It was bland — watery, even.

Clearly made by someone with little experience cooking.

But I finished every spoonful anyway.

Poor taste meant clumsy skill — and clumsy skill meant sincerity.

I was suspicious and cautious by nature, but I wasn’t heartless.

Of course… checking for poison with a silver spoon had happened, but let’s pretend it hadn’t.

After eating, I changed clothes and stepped outside.

When I returned, Seol Yoon was awake, rubbing her eyes.

“…You’re up?”

“Yes. Thank you for the meal.”

She blinked at me drowsily.

“It was good, right?”

I didn’t answer.

“I said, it was good, right?”

Persistent.

***

We walked outside together.

After eight rounds of “Was it good?” she finally asked a question I could answer.

“You remember our promise, right?”

“Of course.”

If I survived, we’d cross swords. And I survived.

A promise must be kept.

But first—“Before that… I’d like to hold Fetel’s funeral.”

My kind neighbor deserved to be laid to rest with respect.

“Alright. He was a good man.”

Seol Yoon nodded with her usual calm expression.

My first neighbor had left this world.

“And you’re a good person too, Seol Yoon. You cared for me while I slept. Honestly, I was moved.”

Those who leave deserve a proper farewell — so the living can move forward.

I smiled at my second neighbor.

Seol Yoon stared at me for a moment — then let a small smile slip across her stoic face.

“Don’t even try it. Like I said, you’re not my type.”

“Is that so?”

“So? Was it good?”

“……”

Light teasing passed between us as we climbed a hill.

At the top, beneath the crimson sunset, stood Fetel — now still as a statue.

“…You’ve done well, Fetel.”

We had chosen The Rest of Fire for his funeral.

“I tried to honor your life, my friend. I hope you saw.”

It was an old rite of the Goddess Marcia, whom Fetel had once worshiped —a ceremony of burning the body, so the soul could rise to the heavens as smoke.

Neither Seol Yoon nor I were believers.

“May the Maiden of the Sky embrace you.”

“May the Maiden of the Sky embrace you.”

But as we set the pyre alight, we clasped our hands and prayed — just as Fetel himself would have done.

May he rest peacefully beside his god.

“…Beautiful sunset tonight.”

“Yeah. This village is good for that, at least.”

“There’s plenty else good about it too.”

The sky blazed red as the funeral ended — today’s twilight deeper, richer than usual.

We watched it in silence.

『How peaceful, young descendant.』

…Unaware of what was unfolding below the hill.

『It seems the reward you chose from the honor duel has stirred quite the storm.』

“I didn’t think what I picked was anything that dramatic.”

『Oh, it was dramatic — though you may not realize it yet.』

I frowned slightly.

『It seems your fate won’t grant you much rest.』

I couldn’t yet understand what he meant — not until later.

***

In the temporary command tent of the Knight Order, Meken lay writhing in pain.

“You mustn’t move for at least a month. Thankfully, your opponent was merciful — the cuts were clean enough for me to reattach your arms. But you’ll never wield a sword the same again. The nerves will be dull.”

The elderly healer, summoned hastily from a nearby city, gave his diagnosis.

Meken’s face flushed even redder — but not from pain.

“…Merciful?”

“Yes. Whoever your opponent was, he clearly understood chivalry—”

“Haha… hahahahaha!”

Meken’s laughter turned feral. With a low growl, he awakened his Mana Heart, the air vibrating with its harsh pulse. His voice was a growl between his teeth.

“You mock me, old man? You dare? Do you want to die, you gutter rat healer?”

“Sir Vice-Captain! Please, calm yourself!”

“Get off me! That bastard—”

The knights rushed in, barely restraining him.

The healer fled pale-faced from the tent.

Meken glared at the empty entrance, panting heavily.

“You don’t believe that either, do you?”

“……”

“This wasn’t a sacred duel! That brat must have cheated! No mere Sword Walker could have such hardness! He used a magic tool — or maybe, yes… a black magician! There were rumors of one nearby!”

“Sir Vice-Captain—”

“That wasn’t a boy! It was a golem — a puppet crafted by a black magician! Yes, that must be it! Or perhaps the magician cursed me from the shadows—”

The more he ranted, the darker the knights’ faces became.

They knew it was nonsense.

Even Meken probably knew — but he couldn’t accept it.

He couldn’t accept that he, a Sword Runner, had been defeated by a boy.

That he had lost both arms to someone so insignificant.

As his breathing grew ragged, killing intent flooded the air — and all fell silent.

For all his injuries, Meken was still a Sword Runner, and his murderous aura was terrifying.

Then—“Pathetic.”

The feral pressure vanished in an instant.

“I warned you, didn’t I? Unripened wings are nothing but paper.”

“……”

“I told you what would happen when you faced someone harder than you — that you would shatter completely.”

“…You— how…”

At the soft, resonant voice, all the knights turned to the tent’s entrance.

An old man stood there, bearded and dignified, wearing gleaming silver armor. His eyes shone sharply — the aura of a master.

The very air of the tent revolved around him.

Meken’s aura, once fierce, had utterly vanished before him.

The meaning was obvious.

“You thought yourself godlike in this provincial hole? How arrogant. The world is vast, Meken — and full of fangs sharp enough to tear your unripe wings.”

Only another Sword Runner, or someone beyond that realm, could suppress him so easily.

“Why… How are you here, Sir Vermartin?”

Sir Vermartin.

“The illustrious commander of the Knight Order himself — why come all the way here…”

Vermartin, the commander of the Yellow Elephant Knight Order, snorted.

“I came because of your incompetence, you fool. My vice-captain runs off to duel unsanctioned — and loses, no less?”

“B-but how could you have arrived from the capital so quickly?”

“You think I came alone, boy?”

With that, Vermartin flung open the tent flap.

Outside, ranks of knights stood in full armor — their helmets concealing their faces, their warhorses clad in steel barding. Behind them stood robed mages beneath banners, magic pulsing faintly in the air.

It was a force fit for war.

As Meken gaped, Vermartin continued.

“You idiot. The vice-captain’s position isn’t a toy. Power comes with responsibility — responsibility our whole Order bears, not just you.”

He exhaled heavily.

“The boy who broke your wings spared your life. In return, he demanded our Flag.”

“…What?”

Meken’s eyes trembled.

In the Iron Kingdom’s dueling tradition, if the victor chose to spare the loser’s life, he could claim one of three rewards.

First, to seize all of the loser’s wealth and possessions.

Second, to brand the loser with a mark of shame — enslaving them in eternal dishonor.

Most chose one of these two; they brought the greatest gain.

The third, however, brought little material benefit — and was such a burden on the defeated that almost no one chose it.

“Why… why that one?”

“Because he’s a fool, that’s why.”

The Flag.

In detail: the loser must restore all honor to the victor — and beyond that, use every means possible to elevate the victor’s name. Every connection, every resource — everything.

It was an old tradition, mocked by the practical knights of today as “a relic of foolish chivalry.”

“But the boy who defeated you,” Vermartin said, “has a conviction hard as steel.”

It was the most knightly of all choices.

“I’m intrigued. To think such a romantic swordsman still exists in this age.”

“……”

“A boy who fought as a proxy for a fallen knight, won the duel, and claimed the Flag for that man’s honor — doesn’t that sound like the opening to a tale of knighthood? Ha!”

Vermartin smiled broadly.

“I’ll have to meet him myself.”

Then he stroked his beard, chuckling.

“Oh — and there’s one more guest.”

“Guest?”

“You think I gathered this many knights and mages alone?”

Vermartin cleared his throat.

“After the Flag was claimed, the squires sent word to us — that we now bore the duty to raise the name of Knight Fetel the Loyal.”

“……”

“And as we prepared, a most distinguished visitor came to see us.”

At his words, the gathered ranks outside parted neatly to the sides.

“It seems that Knight Fetel the Loyal was no ordinary man.”

From the center of the path came the rhythmic click of heels.

“To think someone so influential would travel from the capital to this remote corner of the kingdom…”

“In-influential? A noble?”

“You’ll see soon enough. Show respect — if you value your neck.”

As everyone bowed, a woman entered the tent.

Immediately, Vermartin’s tone shifted — formal and solemn.

“Bow before the Lady Duchess Daisy White — mistress of the Watchers who safeguard the Iron Kingdom. Show respect, Vice-Captain Meken of the Yellow Elephant.”

Daisy. Fetel’s former master — the woman who had searched for him so desperately, who had once loved him.

But the Daisy who entered the tent was no longer a girl.

She was a refined, mature noblewoman — and her house was no longer fallen.

White.

At that name, Meken’s eyes widened in shock.

Of course.

“So,” she said, voice cool as glass,

“You're the one who challenged my Fetel to an honor duel?”

One of the five most powerful houses on the continent.

“You’ll regret not dying in that duel, Meken.”

The House of White — guardians of order.

There wasn’t a soul on the continent who didn’t know their name.

“I’ll make certain of it,” she said softly.

“Gladly.”