An uprising of the underdog that no one had anticipated.
Rarely had the war game between mages and warriors ended so abruptly, so swiftly.
And rarer still were the instances where warriors claimed such overwhelming dominance.
Yet no one dared question the warriors' victory.
And for good reason.
'They're completely spent.'
'Hard to tell who the victors and who the vanquished are.'
Unlike the mages who appeared entirely unscathed, the warriors lay collapsed from sheer exhaustion, every one of them pale as death.
This was proof they had poured out everything they had—evidence of just how desperately they had fought.
In other words, the decisive difference that determined victory was who had been more desperate, who had given their absolute all.
Thus, the audience rained applause upon them for giving everything they had.
Clap clap clap clap!
Some took photographs.
No one doubted those photos would grace the front pages of tomorrow morning's papers.
It was that entertaining of a comeback.
"A technique that explodes one's power?"
"Hmm, rather than that, wouldn't you say it's the concentration of fighting spirit? Perhaps it belongs to the lineage of amplifying one's latent potential."
"An unusual ki technique. Interesting—was that knight the one who taught it? Quite impressive—ah, no, there are more flaws than merits...?"
Nobles with keen eyes showed interest in the new technique, which fundamentally differed from conventional ki methods, yet warranted acknowledgment for its instantaneous explosive power and force.
However, they offered only interest, not greed.
As the mages had noticed, that technique was riddled with fatal flaws.
The time limit was one issue, but more importantly, it was a method that strained the body.
Such a technique was not 'noble.'
While the new technique was certainly fascinating, it was not remarkable enough to replace conventional ki methods, and above all, it lacked dignity.
Of course.
"-There are many who wear their eyes as mere decorations. Isn't that right,拉克?"
Those with eyes that truly recognized value spared neither admiration nor shock.
"They are those who believe what they possess is the greatest. However, their words aren't entirely wrong. For those who have learned upper-tier techniques, such 'skills' wouldn't hold much appeal. ...Still."
"Still?"
"If someone exists who can perfect that skill, they would undoubtedly be threatening. To the degree that no knight could dare ignore them."
"Oh ho, I thought you'd give a narrow-minded assessment, but you surprise me."
"M-My lord..."
A knight of a certain ducal house who had instantly identified the value Kyung possessed, and the lord who teased him.
The Duke.
Blake Vivian de Galahad stroked his chin with a gaze of interest.
"That young man remains delightful just to watch. Not merely skilled, but he has a talent for teaching as well? How amusing."
"He is not someone worth valuing."
"Yet that fellow continues to burn with competitive spirit? He was so anxious I thought he'd fallen in love."
"!!?"
"Haha!"
Duke Blake laughed heartily.
That was the one he could at least call a disciple.
Always serious and cold, with no fun to be had teasing him—yet ever since becoming entangled with that knight, he exuded a human scent.
Should one say the wooden doll had finally begun behaving like a person?
Well, as he became more human, training hours increased, and those who served as training partners spent more time wearing tearful expressions, but that was none of Duke Blake's concern.
"I find myself coveting him. Had he not been my nephew's person, I would have brought him to my side."
"......"
"However, for the sake of your growth, it might be more beneficial to leave him as your enemy. He would serve as a grand stimulus."
"T-That's not it! What could such a lowly fellow—"
"Tsk tsk, you're not being honest."
"......"
In any case, knights were troublesome for having excessive pride and competitive spirit.
"...Still, it's better than having ambitious cats with high competitive spirit."
But the merriment was brief.
His gaze turned icy cold.
How thoroughly irritating.
Was it due to the demonic nature of the demon swords? The lions brimmed with 'killing intent' just from being in proximity.
However, even without the demon swords, Galahad and Lionel had already crossed a river from which they could never return.
Enemies in truth!
They had to be eliminated.
However.
"Give but the command even now, and I shall mobilize the knight order."
"Enough. Losing you all because of the northern cats would be a greater loss."
"My lord! We will not lose!"
"You would not lose, no. However, sacrifice would follow."
"Ugh—!"
Unable to guarantee they could be eradicated with certainty, he had to endure for now.
The Duke's knight,拉克 de Duron, could not bring himself to deny the words of his liege lord.
For the opponent's prowess was no less than theirs.
He was not so lacking that he could not perceive their strength.
"Now, let us rise. I should go speak with my nephew after so long."
"...Will you not be meeting the young miss?"
A pause.
At those words, for the first time.
"...That child seems to have no desire to see me."
His complexion darkened.
"Umm."
"...Haa."
Duke Blake, who had never lost his haughty sovereign dignity, let out a long sigh.
The thought of his foster daughter—who was willful even when trying to grow closer, whose moods were as unpredictable as the weather—made him sigh.
"Hmm, Lak, am I truly that disagreeable? That child always frowned whenever she saw me. I thought I had confidence in my face, but perhaps I've grown old as well..."
"......"
He could not find words at this point and fell silent.
There was much he wanted to say, but Lak held his tongue. Instead, he turned his gaze to their surroundings.
Maidens boasting flower-like beauty were glancing at his lord while blushing—this was truly.
'My lord, if you say such things in front of others, you'll be stoned.'
Especially by the men.
Lak, unable to voice such irreverent words to the lord he revered, merely bowed his head in silence.
*
*
*
Endless encouragement and congratulatory applause poured down upon the cadets—no, the fine combatants who had fought so admirably.
"We celebrate your victory."
"Splendid."
"We are proud of you, Lady Folt."
This victory did not belong to the Swordsmanship Department.
It was solely the fruit of their labor.
Thus, this glory was theirs alone, and the crowd spared no enthusiasm for the victors.
For this moment, a warmth that transcended social standing was created, and young ladies presented bouquets of flowers.
Bouquets from beautiful noble ladies.
They received them with overwhelming emotion.
"T-To receive something like this..."
"Please take it. You are more than worthy."
"Haha..."
"...You were cool."
"!!"
The time it takes for a man to fall in love is 0.3 seconds.
Sprout Number 5 had already begun thinking of names for their future children.
However, it wasn't just him who felt such illusions and fluttering hearts—everyone did.
Even those not from the Swordsmanship Department received flowers from ladies.
When else would they ever experience such a thing?
There could be no greater luxury.
Yet regrettably, the popularity showered upon them was fleeting, and the one who received the most flowers—and simultaneously commanded the most attention from the noble ladies—was a certain girl.
"L-Lady Folt, I-I'll be cheering for you from now on."
"C-Could you perhaps accept my handkerchief?"
"...You were so cool at the end."
"T-Thank you."
A valiant female warrior.
The heroine of the comeback.
Today's best player.
All of this pointed to Levy Folt.
'I-I didn't really do that much.'
In truth, she had merely worked as hard as the others, and was fortunate enough to deliver the final blow, so from her perspective, it felt awkward.
But such details didn't matter to the audience.
'It was amazing, truly.'
'It was moving.'
The valor displayed by that small frame.
The charismatic judgment shown with her entire being, like a conductor of an orchestra.
Running forward silently to the very end, swinging her rapier.
Levy Folt had become the women's wanna-be.
In any era, progressive and strong women become objects of admiration.
Above all, she was a noble.
This was important.
A noble lady who had taken up the sword instead of needlework.
'She might become a female knight.'
The profession of female knight.
The qualification to enter that path—harder to traverse than the eye of a needle—was granted only to noble ladies, and one had to demonstrate that even in a woman's body, one could match other knights.
And today, Levy Folt had shown the potential to become a female knight.
Considering the last female knighthood was forty years ago, the girl's value had skyrocketed.
This likely meant they would approach with more than mere goodwill.
But for now.
"Thank you..."
Shouldn't she savor this joy?
...Of course, not everyone was congratulating them.
"This is impossible! T-That's right! W-We must take the flag! Who ever heard of winning just by breaking it!"
"How pathetic, slave."
"N-No! We didn't lose...!"
There was someone who could not accept defeat—no, who could not accept reality.
Odwald Bernard.
The name of the loser who had desperately demanded this war game, only to be defeated instead.
He was about to insist on calling a lawyer immediately.
He would absolutely not accept defea—.
"-No, the victors of this game are indeed the warriors. Those who should have protected the king failed to do so, and the king's life was taken. How could they not be the defeated?"
"!!"
In an instant, Odwald trembled like a man who had stopped breathing.
The supreme predator whom even he, stiff-necked as he was, could not dare oppose had appeared before his eyes.
The Princess,
The kingdom's next heir, had shot him down with a cold gaze.
"If it is because you cannot trust the judgment I have rendered that you carry on so unreasonably, then speak now. I shall hear you."
"......"
"Speak."
"...N-No. I accept the defeat."
How could he possibly rebel further?
Before the Princess's overwhelming presence, Odwald could only tremble and submit, accepting the result.
"Hmph."
Casting a look of contempt, the Princess commended the cadets.
"You have fought well."
-Thud, thud!
Before they knew it, everyone had knelt.
Their heads bowed automatically at the appearance of Isis.
She surveyed the cadets with satisfaction.
"To think the kingdom harbored such talent, I am impressed."
...It felt as if even the sound of breathing had momentarily vanished.
"I have seen countless roses. Beautiful, so beautiful they were. Yet the roses that bloomed in the field bring a different kind of emotion. Beautiful and brilliant—and so were all of you."
As her voice continued, it grew sweeter, melting the mind.
Would even a heavenly soprano be this sweet?
At some point, the people wept.
Regardless of status.
"I-It is the glory of my house."
"Sob..."
"Princess, we adore you."
This was a phenomenon created not by strange magic or brainwashing, but by innate charisma and charm intertwined.
Yet in some ways, it was more terrifying than brainwashing.
That a single person's innate charm and charisma could wield such influence.
"I am in good spirits today. Thus, I shall host a banquet. You shall be the protagonists. You must attend."
-Thud thuuud!!
Whose words were these to defy?
Even if it were a sudden banquet, they must unconditionally attend.
For they could not possibly commit such discourtesy...!!
"-Count me out. I have other business."
"...You insolent wretch."
Smack!
The Princess's fan breathed fire.
A supreme master who had casually deflected charm more potent than brainwashing—the '(unintentional) top' expert.An underdog's rebellion that no one had anticipated.
Rarely had the war game between mages and warriors ended so futilely, and so swiftly.
And instances where warriors dominated so overwhelmingly were even rarer.
Yet no one dared to question the warriors' victory.
And for good reason.
'They're completely spent.'
'Can't tell who the victors and who the vanquished are.'
Unlike the mages who looked perfectly fine, the warriors had collapsed from utter exhaustion, every one of them pale as death.
It was proof they had poured out everything they had—evidence of just how much heart they had poured into this fight.
In other words, the decisive difference that determined victory was who had been more desperate, who had given their absolute all.
Thus, the audience gave generous applause to those who had done their utmost.
Clap clap clap clap!
Some were taking photographs.
No one doubted those photos would grace the front pages of tomorrow morning's papers.
It was that entertaining of a comeback.
"A technique that explosively unleashes power?"
"Hmm, rather than that, wouldn't you say it's the concentration of fighting spirit? Perhaps it belongs to a lineage that amplifies latent potential."
"An unusual ki technique. Interesting—was that knight the one who taught it? Quite impressive—ah, no, there are more flaws than merits...?"
Nobles with keen eyes showed interest in the new technique, which fundamentally differed from conventional ki methods, yet warranted recognition for its instantaneous explosive power and force.
However, they offered only interest, not greed.
As the mages had noticed, that technique was riddled with fatal flaws.
The time limit was one thing, but more importantly, it was a method that strained the body.
Such a technique was not 'noble.'
While the new technique was certainly fascinating, it was not remarkable enough to replace conventional ki methods, and above all, it lacked dignity.
Of course.
"-There are many who wear their eyes as mere decorations. Isn't that right, Lak."
Those with eyes that truly recognized value spared neither admiration nor shock.
"They are those who believe what they possess is the greatest. However, their words aren't entirely wrong. For those who have mastered upper-tier techniques, such 'skills' wouldn't hold much appeal. ...Still."
"Still?"
"If someone exists who can perfect that skill, they would undoubtedly be a threat. To the degree that no knight could dare ignore them."
"Oh ho, I thought you'd give a narrow-minded assessment, but you surprise me."
"M-My lord..."
A knight of a certain ducal house who had instantly identified the value Kyung possessed, and the lord who teased him.
The Duke.
Blake Vivian de Galahad stroked his chin with a gaze of interest.
"That young man remains delightful just to watch. Not merely skilled, but he has a talent for teaching as well? How amusing."
"He is not someone worth valuing."
"Yet that fellow continues to burn with competitive spirit? He was so desperate I thought he'd fallen in love."
"!!?"
"Haha!"
Duke Blake laughed heartily.
That was the one he could at least call his disciple.
Always serious and cold, with no fun to be had teasing him—yet ever since becoming entangled with that knight, he exuded a human scent.
Should one say the wooden doll had finally begun behaving like a person?
Well, as he became more human, training hours increased, and those who served as training partners spent more time crying, but that was none of Duke Blake's concern.
"I find myself coveting him. Had he not been my nephew's person, I would have brought him to my side."
"......"
"However, for the sake of your growth, it might be more beneficial to leave him as your enemy. He would serve as a grand stimulus."
"T-That's not it! What could such a lowly fellow—"
"Tsk tsk, you're not being honest."
"......"
In any case, knights were troublesome for having excessive pride and competitive spirit.
"...Still, it's better than having ambitious cats with high competitive spirit."
But the merriment was brief.
His gaze turned icy cold.
How thoroughly irritating.
Was it due to the demonic nature of the demon swords? The lions brimmed with 'killing intent' just from being in proximity.
However, even without the demon swords, Galahad and Lionel had already crossed a river from which they could never return.
Enemies in truth!
They had to be eliminated.
However.
"Give but the command even now, and I shall mobilize the knight order."
"Enough. Losing you all because of the northern cats would be a greater loss."
"My lord! We will not lose!"
"You would not lose, no. However, sacrifice would follow."
"Ugh—!"
Unable to guarantee they could be eradicated with certainty, he had to endure for now.
The Duke's knight, Lak de Duron, could not bring himself to deny the words of his liege lord.
For the opponent's prowess was no less than theirs.
He was not so lacking that he could not perceive their strength.
"Now, let us rise. I should go speak with my nephew after so long."
"...Will you not be meeting the young miss?"
A pause.
At those words, for the first time.
"...That child seems to have no desire to see me."
His complexion darkened.
"Umm."
"...Haa."
Duke Blake, who had never lost his haughty sovereign dignity, let out a long sigh.
The thought of his foster daughter—who was willful even when trying to grow closer, whose moods were as unpredictable as the weather—made him sigh.
"Hmm, Lak, am I truly that disagreeable? That child always frowned whenever she saw me. I thought I had confidence in my face, but perhaps I've grown old as well..."
"......"
He could not find words at this point and fell silent.
There was much he wanted to say, but Lak held his tongue. Instead, he turned his gaze to their surroundings.
Maidens boasting flower-like beauty were glancing at his lord while blushing—this was truly.
'My lord, if you say such things in front of others, you'll be stoned.'
Especially by the men.
Lak, unable to voice such irreverent words to the lord he revered, merely bowed his head in silence.
*
*
*
Endless encouragement and congratulatory applause poured down upon the cadets—no, the fine combatants who had fought so admirably.
"We celebrate your victory."
"Splendid."
"We are proud of you, Lady Folt."
This victory did not belong to the Swordsmanship Department.
It was solely the fruit of their labor.
Thus, this glory was theirs alone, and the audience spared no enthusiasm for the victors.
For this moment, a warmth that transcended social standing was created, and young ladies presented bouquets of flowers.
Bouquets from beautiful noble ladies.
They received them with overwhelming emotion.
"T-To receive something like this..."
"Please take it. You are more than worthy."
"Haha..."
"...You were cool."
"!!"
The time it takes for a man to fall in love is 0.3 seconds.
Sprout Number 5 had already begun thinking of names for their future children.
However, it wasn't just him who felt such illusions and fluttering hearts—everyone did.
Even those not from the Swordsmanship Department received flowers from ladies.
When else would they ever experience such a thing?
There could be no greater luxury.
Yet regrettably, the popularity showered upon them was fleeting, and the one who received the most flowers—and simultaneously commanded the most attention from the noble ladies—was a certain girl.
"L-Lady Folt, I-I'll be cheering for you from now on."
"C-Could you perhaps accept my handkerchief?"
"...You were so cool at the end."
"T-Thank you."
A valiant female warrior.
The heroine of the comeback.
Today's best player.
All of this pointed to Levy Folt.
'I-I didn't really do that much.'
In truth, she had merely worked as hard as the others, and was fortunate enough to deliver the final blow, so from her perspective, it felt awkward.
But such details didn't matter to the audience.
'It was amazing, truly.'
'It was moving.'
The valor displayed by that small frame.
The charismatic judgment shown with her entire being, like a conductor of an orchestra.
Running forward silently to the very end, swinging her rapier.
Levy Folt had become the women's wanna-be.
In any era, progressive and strong women become objects of admiration.
Above all, she was a noble.
This was important.
A noble lady who had taken up the sword instead of needlework.
'She might become a female knight.'
The profession of female knight.
The qualification to enter that path—harder to traverse than the eye of a needle—was granted only to noble ladies, and one had to demonstrate that even in a woman's body, one could match other knights.
And today, Levy Folt had shown the potential to become a female knight.
Considering the last female knighthood was forty years ago, the girl's value had skyrocketed.
This likely meant they would approach with more than mere goodwill.
But for now.
"Thank you..."
Shouldn't she savor this joy?
...Of course, not everyone was congratulating them.
"This is impossible! T-That's right! W-We must take the flag! Who ever heard of winning just by breaking it!"
"How pathetic, slave."
"N-No! We didn't lose...!"
There was someone who could not accept defeat—no, who could not accept reality.
Odwald Bernard.
The name of the loser who had desperately demanded this war game, only to be defeated instead.
He was about to insist on calling a lawyer immediately.
He would absolutely not accept defea—.
"-No, the victors of this game are indeed the warriors. Those who should have protected the king failed to do so, and the king's life was taken. How could they not be the defeated?"
"!!"
In an instant, Odwald trembled like a man who had stopped breathing.
The supreme predator whom even he, stiff-necked as he was, could not dare oppose had appeared before his eyes.
The Princess,
The kingdom's next heir, had shot him down with a cold gaze.
"If it is because you cannot trust the judgment I have rendered that you carry on so unreasonably, then speak now. I shall hear you."
"......"
"Speak."
"...N-No. I accept the defeat."
How could he possibly rebel further?
Before the Princess's overwhelming presence, Odwald could only tremble and submit, accepting the result.
"Hmph."
Casting a look of contempt, the Princess commended the cadets.
"You have fought well."
-Thud, thud!
Before they knew it, everyone had knelt.
Their heads bowed automatically at the appearance of Isis.
She surveyed the cadets with satisfaction.
"To think the kingdom harbored such talent, I am impressed."
...It felt as if even the sound of breathing had momentarily vanished.
"I have seen countless roses. Beautiful, so beautiful they were. Yet the roses that bloomed in the field bring a different kind of emotion. Beautiful and brilliant—and so were all of you."
As her voice continued, it grew sweeter, melting the mind like honey.
Would even a heavenly soprano be this sweet?
At some point, the people wept.
Regardless of status.
"I-It is the glory of my house."
"Sob..."
"Princess, we adore you."
This was a phenomenon created not by strange magic or brainwashing, but by innate charisma and charm intertwined.
Yet in some ways, it was more terrifying than brainwashing.
That a single person's innate charm and charisma could wield such influence.
"I am in good spirits today. Thus, I shall host a banquet. You shall be the protagonists. You must attend."
-Thud thuuud!!
Whose words were these to defy?
Even if it were a sudden banquet, they must unconditionally attend.
For they could not possibly commit such discourtesy...!!
"-Count me out. I have other business."
"...You insolent wretch."
Smack!
The Princess's fan breathed fire.
A supreme master who had casually deflected charm more potent than brainwashing—the '(unintentional) top' expert.