The knight wore a helmet. Clad head to toe in pitch-black armor, he stood motionless.

Time seemed to freeze. The world held its breath. Then, the pattering of rain on steel slowly returned, and the downpour reclaimed the night.

The Black Knight...

He gripped a longsword—ancient in design, etched with dark runes—that contrasted sharply with his imposing presence.

*Why is the Black Knight here?* The legendary figure whispered about by Albion’s people. The hero who led armies to shatter Nellos’s imperial capital and end a century of war. *Why here?*

Trena’s blade had already nicked Boka’s skin when the Black Knight appeared, halting its advance by a hair’s breadth. Had it moved another inch, Boka’s head would have rolled. His heart still clenched with residual terror—he’d actually dared to challenge such a monster.

Trena froze.

"You—"

Testing him, she pressed down with enough force to make the burly Ian flinch. Yet the sword didn’t budge. She yanked it back and slashed at Boka from multiple angles.

Metal clashed violently in the rain. The acrid scent of scorched steel filled the air. The Black Knight blocked every strike—without missing a single one.

Boka, trapped between them, could barely breathe. His body locked rigid. He couldn’t follow their blinding flurry of strikes, couldn’t move an inch—lest his head part from his shoulders in an instant.

Suddenly, the Black Knight swept aside Trena’s assault, seized Boka’s shoulder, and hurled him behind his back.

*Clang!*

Their blades crossed, locking gazes.

"You," Trena snarled, face darkening. "You’d stop me again!"

Boka coughed violently beside them, the near-death experience jolting him back to life. Fresh air seared his lungs.

*They know each other?*

The Black Knight gave no reply. Like his rune-etched blade, he simply stood—an immovable shadow.

"This rotting nation," she spat. "You’re hailed as the hero who ended a hundred years of slaughter. But have you ever considered? That war should have ended seven years ago!"

Rain streamed down the Black Knight’s armor—deep, solemn, unyielding.

"From the moment I saw you," she murmured, raising her sword, "I understood... Take off that mask. Let me see your face."

A faint smile curled Trena’s lips.

"Since you won’t do it yourself... I’ll help you."

*Shing!*

Trena lunged sideways, aiming a horizontal slash at the Black Knight’s head. He deflected it effortlessly—his reflexes terrifyingly sharp.

Albert, watching nearby, had already realized: this Black Knight was unlike any foe he’d faced. He dominated Trena—the warrior even their captain feared—with terrifying ease. And he was holding back. His sister, meanwhile, fought as if her life depended on it.

Spotting an opening, the Black Knight thrust toward Trena’s throat. In a flash, she crossed her rapier before her neck. The impact sent her flying backward, crashing onto the wet ground meters away.

Gasping, Trena pushed herself up, coughing. Two clean cuts marred her throat.

Rain mixed with blood, tracing paths down her soaked chest.

*Drip. Drip.*

The Black Knight approached.

The two men Boka had wounded earlier staggered up, roaring as they charged the knight. Boka fumbled for his bow, hands trembling too violently to nock an arrow.

He wasn’t worried for the Black Knight—he feared for *them*. Death awaited anyone who crossed that blade.

"Hold!" Albert barked from behind.

He knew sending men against the knight was suicide—Trena’s defeat proved that. But their eyes burned with vengeance. To them, Albion’s hero was the enemy.

Yet the Black Knight didn’t strike. He sidestepped, seized both attackers, and hurled them into the raging sea with impossible strength.

Waves swallowed them instantly. Wounded and alone, they’d drown. The knight’s gaze shifted to Albert—watching, waiting.

Boka froze, then understood: Percy lay unconscious in Albert’s grip. But with those two drowning, Albert would be forced to rescue them. His chance to reclaim Percy.

"Don’t—don’t mind us! Al—Albert!"

Their cries were drowned by the churning waves.

Albert’s jaw tightened, knuckles white on his sword hilt. Blood welled on his bitten lower lip. This mission had cost countless comrades. Their goal—to overthrow the Crown and its corrupt institutions—demanded no hesitation here.

The Black Knight turned back to Trena.

"Leave the documents. And the boy." His voice was a harsh rasp. "You may go."

He seemed to wrestle with something unspoken.

"Hahahaha!!" Trena’s laughter cut through the rain. "Sparing me again?!"

"...Yes."

Her smile vanished like ice.

"Answer me," she demanded. "You had chances to kill me—then and now. Why haven’t you?"

Rain drummed against Boka’s ears. The Black Knight remained silent, his gaze fixed on the girl before him.

"Then this," Trena pushed herself upright, "do you know the truth about the plague seven years ago?"

Silence stretched. Then, slowly, he nodded.

"So," she pressed, "why do you fight? Why stand here?"

That aged, grating voice returned.

"For Albion. This nation."

"Oh?" Trena closed her eyes. "I see."

Boka nocked his last arrow, aiming for Albert’s left thigh. He calculated the wind—a clean shot would cripple him instantly.

The arrow flew, arcing through rain, kicking up a spray of white.

*Snap!*

Trena leapt, splitting the shaft midair with her blade.

"Boka," she said, lips quirking up slightly, "no cheating now."

Her stare alone sent chills down his spine. He had no arrows left—the flood in the sewers had washed most away.

"Brother," Trena’s voice turned glacial, "take the brat and go."

"Trena, you—"

"Didn’t you hear?" Her tone was flat. "Run."

The storm raged on, waves crashing violently. Yet the small boat moored ashore sat unnaturally steady, seawater sloshing in its hull but not capsizing it. Crafted from rare southern timber, it could weather gales like a warship. With the gate open, Albert could escape anytime.

The Black Knight advanced toward Albert—the one holding Percy, and likely the confession.

"Hold on," Trena stepped between them, rain whipping her soaked crimson hair. "You haven’t forgotten me."

"I do not wish to kill you," the knight stated. "He wants you alive."

"Who? Boka?" She laughed. "It doesn’t matter. Our fight isn’t over."

...

Even Boka could see Trena was losing.

She closed her eyes, opened them, again and again—calming her breath.

Then she pulled six crimson pills from her inner pocket.

"Liehuo pills," she said. "For ordinary men, they spike heart pressure until veins burst. Nellos used them on condemned prisoners."

Albert was already in the boat. He couldn’t bear to watch his sister—she’d accepted death.

"But I’m different," Trena placed the pills to her lips. "My heart beats a quarter as fast. My veins are forged steel."

She crunched them down. Swallowed.

Trena’s head snapped down. Her body convulsed violently. Guttural, broken sounds tore from her throat—like sobs, like screams.

A pale yellow stain spread across her trousers.

Then she lifted her face.

A grotesque smile twisted her lips. Crimson flooded her eyes, glowing with unnatural light. Her red hair blazed like fire against the night.

"Shall we dance, little Black Knight~?"