On the road back to Mubay City, Alice sat opposite Lance in the canvas wagon, her glare like poisoned needles sewn into silk.

The roomy wagon held other pampered ladies, Sergeant Lawrence, Mage Eugene, and a handful of hardened soldiers, a small storm bottled under tarpaulin.

Under that noble daughter’s wicked gaze, Fulin—wearing Lance’s face—felt shame prick like cold rain under her collar.

She wanted the wind to shift, to break the stale air with a new topic.

Lance scratched his head, then put on a serious smile. “Man, the Lionheart Legion fights like thunder. Outnumbered, yet you took only light wounds.”

Mage Eugene basked like a cat in a sunbeam. “Of course. The goddess of victory stands with the just. She blesses the brave.”

But pride cooled the moment work returned. His voice steadied, like a hand smoothing ripples on a pond. “I cast repeatedly from the wall. That surge should’ve drawn a counter. Yet they had no mage—only a scattered rabble—so—”

His wards had wrapped soldiers like dusk-silver mail. The shield wall turned to granite, and mercenary tricks broke like foam against reef. A loose band can’t stand before a trained formation.

Such results wore the Lionheart Legion’s name like a crest on steel.

“Impressive. Layne said it right—the mage is the spine of any unit.”

“Naturally,” Eugene said, warmth floating up like steam from mulled wine. “You do your teacher proud—sharp eyes, steady heart. Knight, you’re no ordinary lad.”

Their mutual praise rang like brass in a quiet church. Nobody else spoke, so their duet sounded like a sales pitch echoing in an empty hall.

Lawrence wanted to cut in, but Steel Heart’s backlash weighed on him like wet iron. He shut his eyes, mind still running the last battle like a lantern show.

Back then, Lance Morrison unleashed Secret Sword Blazing Fire, then followed with a thrust fast as a falcon’s stoop. Lawrence hadn’t expected that. He didn’t know how many cards the boy still held, but one thing felt clear: bringing Lance on the rescue was wise.

Hostages freed, debutantes safe—both mattered like twin pillars. If merchants think Mubay City can’t guard their lives, the trade tide ebbs, and trouble breeds like mold in damp walls.

At least that fear can sleep tonight. The Lionheart Legion knows how to make an example. Those mercenaries’ heads will hang along the roads out of Mubay City, wind-tossed warnings to bandits who sniff at our gates. The rescue’s triumph will polish the Legion’s battered crest. As for now—

Lawrence decided the thorn was Alice.

The duke’s youngest getting grabbed on home soil demands a ledger of blame. The Legion—brave, elite, and the duke’s own—won’t be on that page. Nobles who never fear a mess might turn their knives toward Lance.

They’ll say he shouldn’t have turned back for aid, but fought alone to a “glorious” end—hold out till the Legion arrives, then die like a torch in the rain. Annoying. The clean way to bind their tongues is to find someone who will speak well of Lance to the duke.

But he’s a soldier, a Sergeant of the Lionheart Legion. His badge demands straight spine and clean hands; he can’t trade favors. So he prayed the ladies formed a kinder picture of the boy.

“Ladies,” Lawrence asked, words set down like weights on a scale, “the young man beside you—Lance Morrison—would you call him brave today?”

“Mm…”

“Well… how do we say it?”

“Brave… I guess? Cerise, what do you think?”

“Yeah, yeah, kind of brave.”

Their lukewarm lace made Lawrence frown. Even a blunt man could taste the sour. Their eyes said they hated Lance’s retreat for reinforcements—flight, in their tale—and that cut them deep as a paper-thin knife.

They’d been locked in the barracks once the fighting began. Even if soldiers told them Lance made the final charge like a storm, suspicion would paint it as a sly ambush, stealing glory with a fox’s grin.

Worst of all, once they learned the red-haired boy was Lance Morrison, their faces curdled with contempt. Even Lawrence was taken aback. Their eyes viewed him like roadside trash mashed into a puddle.

A genius knight awakened to Battle Aura, clear-headed, brave, decisive, with iron in his grip. Anywhere else, he’d be legend or a star everyone points to. Why did he look like a worthless stone to them?

Mubay City just survived a vampire scare. The Nordland Continent fights off the Dark Spirit like a winter tide beating the shore. Hearts tremble like leaves. In such times, the city needs a prodigy with real bite, someone to seed hope like lanterns across a dark field. Yet before he’s done anything, this prodigy’s image has fallen into mud.

Damn it, Lawrence thought, anger drumming like hooves on dry earth.

He wanted to put a fist in each painted face, one neat kiss of knuckles per insult. He didn’t. He wore the Lionheart Legion’s badge; the badge wore him. He pinned his hope to Alice’s reason like a prayer strip.

“Miss Alice,” he said, voice firm as oak, “what do you think? Lance risked his life to pull you from those dogs. Was he brave?”

He thought the hint was bold as a banner. Alice answered like Lance was an old grudge carved on her doorpost. “Hmph. He waited until brave soldiers charged before acting. Lance is a coward.”

She pulled a face at him, mischief sticking out like a cat’s tongue.

A noble beauty’s public mockery would burn most men like hot wax. Lance only looked comfortable, a lazy cat warming in sun.

“Sorry,” he said, easy as spring rain. “I’m a coward. If I don’t have a ninety-percent sure path, I won’t move. If you’re in danger again and I can’t help, please forgive me ahead of time.”

Alice’s cheeks flushed red, a tiny persimmon in frost.

“You— you— you!”

Her friends leaned in, whispers fluttering like sparrows.

“Alice, the Sergeant said ‘brave,’ so just say ‘brave.’”

“Yeah. Lance’s father commands the Golden Eagle Legion. Trash or not, his brother’s the same cut—connections solid as iron. Don’t poke the bear.”

“See even iron-boned Sergeant Lawrence giving him an extra inch? You should at least play along.”

Lawrence’s hearing was sharp as a hunter’s. He knew Mubay City’s rumor-vine had strangled Lance already. He couldn’t fix that. He let go. Maybe this was the boy’s fate. The goddess of fate’s ledger might have inked him to bear scorn for a lifetime. So let him be a nameless hero, shouldering jeers like cold rain.

At least he’s only fifteen, still a sapling bent by wind.

Steel Heart’s aftershocks finally eased. Lawrence shook out his limbs like a bear shrugging off snow, took a mouthful of spiced fruit wine, warmth blooming like coals in the belly. “Lance, what’s your plan?”

Fulin, still inside the Lance-mask, answered without thinking. “Step by step. Mr. Layne wants me to try my luck in Golden Bay City.”

It was a crafted tale, light as smoke.

Lawrence’s eyes lifted, a flicker like dawn. “Strict teacher.”

“Golden Bay City has chances,” Eugene said, tipping a whole jar of fruit wine laced with mana draught like water. “But danger too.”

He painted the place in brisk strokes. “Golden Bay sits on the coast like our Mubay, similar in span but far richer. It’s a trade hub, a bright wheel moving a third of our nation’s goods. Three hundred thousand people, money flowing like a river. They say the water there tastes sweet as honey.”

His words darkened at the edges. “But inside the city, merchant guilds, mercenary halls, mage associations, underworld crews—roots tangled like mangroves. A knight who wants a calm life should stay outside the walls. Serve a local noble on farms or factories. That’s a firm roof.”

He burped. The stench rolled out like a sewer wind, and the ladies covered their mouths like lilies folding at dusk. Even Lawrence’s eyes watered.

The Sergeant pinched his nose, voice gravel underfoot. “Mage, thanks for the map. But could you save the mana draughts for a different moment? Even I can’t choke this down.”

The smell wasn’t just stomach. Cheap mana draughts stink like rotten herbs, and Eugene couldn’t swallow them without wine. It was rude as a stray dog at a tea party, but necessary. “No,” he said. “The duke didn’t ask me to coddle your feelings. He asked me to keep you alive in battle. So I keep my mana full.”

Lawrence nodded, a soldier’s short bow. “Thank you for your craft.”

He turned back to Lance, advice set like stepping stones. “Go to Golden Bay if you must, but don’t lodge inside the city. Serve a noble managing tenant farms or a factory. Otherwise, you might wake up a corpse in a sewer gutter.”

Fulin blinked, surprise rippling like a fish under clear water. She’d imagined Golden Bay as a gleaming megapolis. It sounded more like Los Santos with salt on the wind.

“I’ll think it through,” Lance said, the smile modest as midday shade. “Thanks.”

Still pouting, Alice suddenly sounded almost reluctant to let him go. “Lance Morrison, you said you were a coward. Why not stay in Mubay City, so I can laugh at you every day?”

Lance smiled, humility set like a tea cup on a tray. “Mr. Layne’s orders.”

“If you cling to life, why be a knight at all?”

Interest sparked in Fulin’s eyes like lanterns catching. Lance’s brows danced; his voice brightened. “You don’t get it. In the Doran Kingdom, knights die more than most. But if you climb high enough, death almost never taps your shoulder. Life gets easy—stylish even. Take my mentor, Layne Walter. He’s a powerful Earth Knight. These days, he barely lifts a finger. He still earns at least four gold mage coins a month. I aim for his height.”

Surprise rustled through the wagon like wind in tall grass. Praise or doubt, no one knew which to pick up first.

Lawrence laughed, big and warm, a river rolling free. “Good lad. That’s a real aim. But why stop at Earth Knight? How about Sky Knight?”

Eugene, wine and mana humming in his veins, waved lazily. “Make it Sun Knight. Until a national war, you sit safe in the rear and do as you please. Sun Knights live easy.”

Alice scoffed, arms folded like a closed gate, pretty face stormy. “So you just want to coast and dodge. What’s so great about that?”