Chapter 123 : Chapter 123

Chapter 123: The Festival

* * *

The envoy from the Imperial Capital was a massive group, numbering well over two hundred.

More than ten carriages carried high-ranking officials, and when their attendants and escort troops were added, it resembled less a diplomatic delegation and more a march to flaunt the might of the Imperial Capital Aleos.

Every territory the envoy passed through drew crowds, with children chasing the procession, kicking up clouds of dust.

The parade, led by the King’s banner, was a spectacle most commoners might see only once in a lifetime.

The peak of hospitality came when they reached Conwell.

As soon as the envoy crossed Conwell’s borders, the locals greeted them with cheers, as if they had been waiting.

“It seems the aftermath of the civil war wasn’t too severe. The people look healthy, and the city’s appearance reflects that.”

A woman at the head of the procession murmured from atop her saddle.

It was Ludsilla Lenafel, the Knight Commander of the Imperial Capital.

Her gaze indifferently swept over the well-maintained roads and the locals scattering flower petals on either side.

“You’re right. Seems we worried for nothing.”

One of the two men riding behind her quietly agreed.

It was Noser, the Left Camp Leader of the Imperial Capital Knights and head of the Sharon Faction.

He added, “There was hardly any damage to the territory, their key enemies were all eliminated, and it was done swiftly. I’m not sure if it’s the right phrase, but it was a practical war. As the rumors say, the Lord of Conwell seems quite astute.”

“It seems the Left Camp Leader has received some misinformation.”

“Pardon?”

Ludsilla’s eyes turned cold.

Her gaze remained fixed somewhere among the crowd fervently welcoming them.

“The one who led the Lady’s forces at the time wasn’t the current Lord but a man named Bihen Benkou. His contributions were practically single-handed.”

Noser smirked with one corner of his mouth.

Riding behind Ludsilla, he had no reason to hold back.

“Of course, I’ve heard of him. The Imperial swordsman. They even call him the Sword Fiend.”

“…You’re well-informed. Doesn’t it concern you at all, Left Camp Leader? An Imperial single-handedly quelling a rebellion in the Kingdom’s east?”

“War always breeds all sorts of tales.”

Noser shrugged.

“A leader must use every means and strategy to quickly stabilize and win over the people’s hearts. And there’s no better material than a war hero. The idea of one man turning the tide of battle… well, it only makes me think the Lord of Conwell knows how to handle the Sewer Rats well.”

“You’re saying the rumors are exaggerated?”

“Isn’t that obvious?”

At that moment, both their heads turned to one side.

It was toward Noser’s side.

Deganelo, the Right Camp Leader of the Imperial Capital Knights and head of the Langster Faction, who had been quietly listening, chuckled to himself.

Noser narrowed his eyes.

“…Seems like you’ve thought of something amusing, Right Camp Leader.”

“Thought of something? At my age, I forget what happened yesterday. I just laughed because your conversation was funny.”

A tense air settled among the three.

This subtle atmosphere was a hallmark of the Imperial Capital Knights, where the hierarchy was often ambiguous.

The tradition of the Kingdom’s knights stemmed from two roots—the Sharon Faction and the Langster Faction—which persisted to this day.

The Imperial Capital Knights were a microcosm of this dynamic.

In a structure where the heads of both factions held real power under the titles of Left and Right Camp Leaders, the Lenafel family had hereditarily held the nominal position of Knight Commander, acting as mediators to balance the two factions for generations.

“I was honestly surprised to hear the Right Camp Leader was personally traveling to Conwell.

Haven’t you avoided external activities for a while?”

The journey had taken over a month.

Ludsilla’s question stemmed from the fact that, during that entire time, the three had never once gathered together.

“Sitting idle only makes you sick.”

Deganelo spat out gruffly, swallowing a cough.

His frail, aging body trembled as if it might break.

…

Even during this brief exchange, they avoided meeting each other’s eyes.

Unlike Ludsilla and Noser, who sat upright with expressionless faces, Deganelo exuded a relaxed air.

It was a mix of the seasoned composure that came with age and his inherent disposition.

“Well, anyway, the Lord of Conwell must have her share of worries. It’s undeniable that their forces have been weakened.”

Noser spoke in a tone meant to lighten the mood.

Ludsilla responded in a noticeably brighter tone, as if in agreement.

“Those known as Conwell’s Four Wings all perished. Above all, they lost Sir Eugene, didn’t they? The grief must be immense.”

“Even if the rumors are true, Bihen Benkou’s whereabouts are unclear. The current Lord might have to dedicate her entire life just to restoring Conwell’s glory.”

“That’s why all eyes are on this rank evaluation. The heroes who led the civil war to victory will participate, and they’re the ones who’ll shape Conwell’s future. Not just the Sewer Rats, but spies from all over must be busy assessing their strength.”

“Speaking of Bihen Benkou, will he really just leave like that? The Lord must have tried to keep him with some title or reward. I’m awfully curious about the story there.”

“We’ll probably meet him, won’t we? He can’t just ignore the presence of the Imperial Capital Knights’ leaders.”

For soldiers affiliated with the capital, Conwell’s affairs could never be entirely dismissed as someone else’s problem.

If that were the case, they wouldn’t have traveled this far.

“Pfft!”

Deganelo burst out laughing, as if he couldn’t hold it in any longer.

Ludsilla and Noser turned to him simultaneously.

He was clearly throwing cold water on the mood.

“Ah, sorry.”

Yet the wrinkles around his mouth didn’t stop smiling.

* * *

The reception room in Conwell City’s administrative office.

Conwell’s key figures welcomed the newly arrived envoy from the Imperial Capital.

It was an informal gathering, attended only by high-ranking nobles from various departments of the envoy.

“You’ve endured much on your long journey.”

“Congratulations, Your Grace.”

Ternien, the Chief Attendant from the Imperial Household Agency, responded to Adeline on behalf of the envoy.

Born of a noble family and refined by years of courtly life, she carried an air of elegance.

Gulp.

Joel, present as Adeline’s attendant, was more nervous than ever.

His back was already soaked with sweat.

The formal exchanges, conducted in low, calm tones as if by unspoken agreement, made him keenly aware of the true etiquette of Kingdom nobles.

Adeline, who was so relaxed and approachable when they were alone, felt like an entirely different person—almost unfamiliar.

“This is Baron Edwin, the civil affairs officer from the Ministry of State, and this is the market affairs officer from the Treasury…”

Chief Attendant Ternien introduced each member of the envoy one by one.

Joel took them in, his focus sharpening instinctively.

Though they were here formally, each seemed to carry a plausible pretext for their presence.

“The Knight Commander of the Imperial Capital, Ludsilla Lenafel.”

Joel’s eyes widened.

The Knight Commander…!

His surprise was simple.

Four years ago, during his first rank evaluation, the Knight Commander he’d seen wasn’t a girl his age but a middle-aged man.

“Your Grace, congratulations on becoming the rightful heir of Conwell.”

“Thank you, Commander. The last time we met was at the previous Commander’s funeral. You’ve grown remarkably.”

Joel nodded to himself without realizing it. Ah, that makes sense.

It was common knowledge that the Knight Commander position was hereditary to the Lenafel family, a founding noble house.

Watching Adeline and Roland’s fluent, seamless conversation, Joel felt at ease, while also finding odd comfort in Jayden’s visibly greater nervousness.

As he adjusted to the gradually warming atmosphere, it happened.

Whiiit—whit, whit.

While focusing on Adeline as she greeted the envoy’s officials, a faint whistling sound began to grate on his nerves.

It felt oddly like it was calling him.

Joel turned toward the source.

…

His eyes met those of a frail, unimpressive old knight.

The man grinned as if to say, Finally looking at me? A chill ran down Joel’s spine.

According to Ternien’s earlier introduction, this was Deganelo, the Right Camp Leader of the Imperial Capital Knights and head of the Langster Faction.

To think that man leads the ruthless tyrants.

Four years ago, during the rank evaluation in Conwell, Deganelo hadn’t shown himself, so this was Joel’s first time seeing him.

There was no way he’d look kindly on him.

The Langster Faction’s banner had long lost its original meaning, and its claim to order and rule through overwhelming power had become grotesquely distorted.

As the head of such a faction, he ought to have disciplined and controlled his wayward followers, but why had he let them run rampant? Seeing him now, Joel thought he understood.

Was this decrepit old man, whose life seemed to hang by a thread, simply indifferent to the next generation?

Even now, in such an important setting, his careless demeanor drew a sigh.

Hmph.

Joel’s quiet disdain crossed with Deganelo’s gaze, his lips twisting into a smirk.

* * *

Two days had passed since the Imperial Capital’s envoy arrived in Conwell.

The city was entirely swept up in a festive mood.

Though the scars of the civil war had yet to fully heal, the territory was adorned with banners and emblems bearing the crests of the Conwell family and the Aleos imperial house, as if to cover those wounds.

The people, caught in the excitement, forgot their daily routines.

Amid the rising fervor, the rank evaluation finally began in Conwell City.

“It’s been a while since the three of us presided over a rank evaluation together. It’s an honor for me.”

Knight Commander Ludsilla paid her respects to Noser and Deganelo, who were already seated.

Beyond their titles, they were undeniably her seniors in this field.

“And in Conwell, no less. I’m counting on you, Right Camp Leader.”

“Counting on me to watch a bunch of kids show off? Heh.”

“…”

The rank evaluation was held in a tournament format at a public arena.

The grandstand, meticulously set up in front of Conwell City’s administrative office, featured tiered seating overlooking a wide central stage.

Aside from a few VIP seats, most were filled with commoners.

On this day, anyone could witness the future knights who would protect Conwell.

Waaaaah!

There were no status restrictions for participants.

From beggars to high nobles, all clashed fiercely with spears and swords—a day thrilling enough to set the people’s hearts ablaze.

Moreover, with the timing aligned, this rank evaluation felt like a prelude to the coronation ceremony just days away.

The festival’s fervor was reaching its peak.

“There you both are.”

Joel and Janson were in a tent, waiting.

At the sound of a voice from one corner, their heads snapped toward it.

“Y-Your Grace!”

“Shh.”

Despite the noise outside, Adeline was cautious as she entered, cloaked in a robe.

“I came to cheer you on, Jor, Janson.”

As she pulled back her hood, a radiant smile shone.

Joel and Janson instinctively started to kneel.

“Stop, stand up. Don’t waste your energy.”

“But Your Grace, to come here despite your busy schedule…”

“Of course I had to. I’m the one getting nervous.”

Adeline sat them down and massaged their shoulders one by one.

“Stay strong. You’re the ones who overcame hardship with me, so I hope you achieve the results you want.”

At this, Janson nearly shed tears, overwhelmed by emotion.

For a fleeting moment, he indulged in a wildly inappropriate thought—as if he were being cheered on by a lovely girlfriend.

Slap!

Janson suddenly slapped his own cheek and pointed at Joel.

“Today, we’ll finally settle this. Get ready, Joel.”

“…You lunatic. A mere User daring to challenge an Expert like me?”

“Oh, right.”

The tournament rules were simple.

Participants were divided into two groups: beginners, whose ranks ranged from Beginner to Advanced User, and veterans, whose ranks ranged from Advanced User to Advanced Expert. Matches were arranged by the knights based on the participants’ existing ranks.

“Hmm. Is it because they lost talent in the civil war? The level is lower than expected.”

The rank evaluation, which began in the morning, had stretched into early evening.

Noser didn’t bother hiding his boredom.

“The Right Camp Leader was right about it being a kids’ show. Just a bunch of field hands trying to climb the social ladder.”

“Heh, it’s not like this is new.”

It was the final match of the veteran group.

Deganelo tilted his head and pointed at a blond boy on the stage.

“That’s… the kid from yesterday.”

It was Joel, on the cusp of advancing from Mid-tier Expert to High-tier. Winning this match would earn him recognition.

Noser raised an eyebrow.

“You’re right. The Lord’s bodyguard. To reach that level at such a young age…”

“From what I heard.”

“Yes?”

Deganelo quietly lifted his head.

A shadowy glint flickered in his otherwise lifeless eyes.

“The Lord’s closest aides all share a deep bond with Bihen Benkou.”

Despite acting indifferent while Conwell was discussed, he was surprisingly well-informed.

Noser and Ludsilla exchanged a glance, as if sharing the same thought.

Ludsilla asked, “And why does that…?”

“Just thought of something interesting.”

“What?”

Deganelo slowly turned to look at Ludsilla.

One corner of his mouth crept upward.

“Don’t you want to see him? Bihen Benkou, I mean.”

“…?”

Deganelo turned again, silently scanning the stands with an odd glint in his eyes.

Clang! Clang!

Meanwhile, Joel was in the midst of his match.

As he parried his opponent’s lunge and swung his sword, a sudden chill ran down his spine.

It wasn’t the crowd’s gaze or his opponent’s pressure.

Murderous intent…!

Whoooosh!

Someone rushed in.

There was no time to react.

They were already right in front of him.

Deganelo.

The old man from the reception room was brimming with killing intent.

Whiit—

Why? The old man’s face, whistling and grinning lazily, seemed to move in slow motion, etched vividly in Joel’s mind.

Perhaps it was the face of death.

Ziiing—!

A flash erupted from the old man’s waist, engulfing Joel in an instant.

Ka—ang!

A deafening clang snapped Joel’s fading consciousness back to reality.

Someone’s back blocked his view.

Joel instinctively looked up.

It was Bihen.

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