The harbor, usually veiled in perpetual mist, basked in rare sunshine today. Golden rays breathed life into its weathered, decaying docks.

The wharf teemed with helmeted soldiers in armor, each gripping a long-barreled musket fitted with bayonets. Axes, swords, and blades hung at their waists.

They stood in perfect squares—fifty men per formation—stretching from east to west until the docks overflowed. Each unit flew its own banner: clovers, crescents, wolves, eagles, hearts, shields, fists... emblems of past glories.

These were the Kingdom’s Knight Legions. The ancient title "knight" carried too many tales. Those standing here weren’t knights themselves, but armies of their retainers—hence "Legions."

On a raised wooden platform at the front, over a hundred knights in ornate full-plate armor surrounded robed priests. The priests chanted prayers—useless rituals, some whispered. Yet for soldiers about to march into uncertainty, even hollow comforts soothed restless hearts.

After all, war didn’t always mean death. Some returned as heroes, elevated to nobility overnight. Hope was the only sane armor for such a journey.

"Warriors of the Kingdom!" A stern-faced man with cropped black hair stepped forward. Mid-fifties, commanding. "I am your Commander-in-Chief: Glent Silverhawk. Yes—the Grand Marshal of the Templar Knights you’ve heard tales of." He cleared his throat. "We sail to break the Empire’s naval blockade of Fire Eagle Duchy! Today, we make the foolish Empire pay!"

As the priests retreated, Glent raised his voice: "We march to their homeland! Let them taste our steel! Glory! Gold! Women! These await your valor! Advance for the Kingdom! Board the ships in order—destination: the seas beyond Fire Eagle Duchy!"

Knights behind him roared, fists raised. The cry spread like wildfire. Retainer-soldiers bellowed, surging toward the anchored fleet. The queue stretched beyond the visible formations—fresh troops poured in from outside the harbor, swept up by the fervor even without hearing the speech.

"So it begins at last... Elinorund... old friend..." Glent murmured, gazing at a hawk soaring across the sky. Grief shadowed his eyes.

"Grand Marshal, it’s time to board."

"Hmph."

Glent’s sorrow vanished. Steel replaced it. He donned his helmet, face vanishing behind polished steel—more imposing, more awe-inspiring than before.

"To glory! Move out!"

"Yes, sir!"

—

Beyond the misty harbor, atop a hill, members of the Feather of Light Knights watched the mobilization.

"Boring. Stuck guarding against ‘potential threats’ again. They just don’t trust us—or envy our strength." Deputy Commander Scanard grumbled, glancing at the white-clad young knight. The youth’s icy eyes tracked the marching soldiers, unreadable.

*Tch. Silent as a ghost. Leaves every trivial task to me, yet sits above me. Without my scrambling daily, this order would’ve dissolved—or been frozen out by the priests.* Scanard’s thoughts curdled. *Always playing savior to peasants and nobodies... while I clean up his messes. Thinks he’s royalty? Just because he’s close to the Pontiff? Could he be... the Pontiff’s bastard?*

"..."

The white knight turned his steed away. A white horse. True to his name, he was clad all in white.

"Hey! Captain, where are you going? Hey—damn it!"

"Deputy Commander... what now?"

"Dismissed! All of you! Go home! We’ll summon you if needed—bastard! That smug face..."

"Deputy... honestly? We all feel you’re the true captain."

"Eh?"

Scanard scanned the knights. Nods all around. A flicker of warmth eased his chest. *Could I rise further?* Rumors spoke of rampant bandits... lone travelers often met "accidents." *No. Even the fiercest thieves wouldn’t dare ambush the Feather of Light—the Pontiff’s elite blade. Who’d believe their captain fell to mere thugs?*

"What do you mean?"

"Brothers despise him... We want you to step up, Deputy."

*You mean you despise him.* Scanard’s mind raced. *You’d leap from third deputy to second-in-command. But... I’d gain too. With this many backing me, hesitation would make me look weak. A lifetime as someone’s shadow? Even deputies face silent defiance without ambition.*

"So... what’s our move? Hmm?"

"Bandits plague the roads lately, *Captain*."

The title—blunt, unhidden—sent a thrill through Scanard. *I’d lead better than that idle fool wasting time on peasants!*

"Then we hunt these bandits! Protect the realm!"

"Yes! Your orders, Captain... heh..."

"Heh heh heh..."

Their eyes followed the white knight’s distant figure. Slowly, they trailed after him.

—

A lone Imperial courier galloped across the wilderness, his mount’s rhythm launching him like a bird in flight. He urged the horse faster, desperate.

"Blast it! Faster!"

The message *had* to reach its destination. As a Swiftfoot Courier, he’d sworn to deliver it—lives depended on it. Speed was everything.

His stallion thundered down moonlit roads. Lanterns dotted the route, lit by night watchmen patrolling state highways. But two lamps lay dark ahead. A fallen body lay beside a guttering lantern.

"What happened?!"

The courier dismounted. No pulse. An arrow wound on the neck. *Who—? Danger!*

He twisted aside as an arrow whistled past, tearing off his helmet. Pain exploded in his shoulder, sending him rolling. He looked down: an arrow buried deep. Moonlight revealed figures rising from the grass. More arrows flew.

"Damn! Bandits? Highwaymen?!"

Sweat beaded on his weathered face as he drew his sword, surrounded by a dozen shadows. *Fool! Shouldn’t have dismounted!* The dispatch burned in his mind—vital, irreplaceable. Bargaining? Useless. His uniform marked him as prey. Only one choice left.

"Kill! Kill!"

"Ha! Die!"

No hesitation. Both sides lunged to kill.

"Hmph! Think Swiftfoots only run? Skill—Thrust! Chain Thrust! Skill—Fearless!" (Pain resistance surged.)

His blade became a silver streak, piercing a bare-chested bandit in leather armor. A dagger slashed his arm—he ignored it, cleaving the man in two before thrusting again.

"Don’t close in! Archers, take him down!"

A tall figure barked orders. *The leader?* The courier pivoted, boots digging into earth.

"Skill—Stance Shift! Skill—Thrust!"

"Block him! Shoot!"

Eyes bloodshot, the courier’s sword screamed toward the leader. The bandit barely raised his longsword.

"Guh—! Ugh...!"

Steel punched through the leader’s chest. His blade only grazed the courier’s ribs.

*Thwip! Thwip-thwip!* Arrows struck. The courier staggered, sinking to one knee, sword propping him up. Exhaustion and wounds dragged him down.

"Bastards... One last thrust!"

Dawn broke. The courier dragged himself to his stray horse. Behind him, a dozen bandit corpses littered the field.

"Hah... must... deliver..."

Barely conscious, he mounted. Strength failed. With trembling hands, he pulled a skull-marked vial from his saddlebag. Resignation filled his eyes. He uncorked it, swallowed the contents.

"Even if I die... the message gets through. Hyah!"

Wounds still bled, but his body surged with unnatural vigor. He spurred the horse onward.

—

Shally left the clinic, heavy-hearted. Smiling crowds on the streets only deepened her gloom. *What am I doing? For my sister... is this truly right?*

*Listen, Shally... As a child of the Kingdom, you owe it your service. For your sister’s sake too.*

The priest’s words echoed. She shook her head, trying to banish them. They clung like shadows.

*This campaign has been years in the making. You’ll be heroes. Your names will echo through history.*

"Meanwhile... your families will receive His Holiness the Pope’s protection through the monastery for your noble deeds... Now, the kingdom stands at the brink of life and death. If we let things continue like this, the Empire will rule this continent in a hundred years... By then, no matter how hard you struggle, your families will become Imperial slaves... So to prevent that... it’s time to muster your courage and fight for the kingdom’s future."

*I don’t want to hear this! I don’t want to hear this!*

"Take this knife. It’s sharp... and can pierce magical defenses... Use it to kill the man you’ve gotten close to, at the right moment. That’s your purpose..."

*I don’t want to hear this! Shut up!*

"If you lack the courage to use the knife, poison him with this... This blend of magic and alchemy will incinerate a man instantly, turning him to ashes. It dissolves in any liquid..."

*What should I do!? God... if You truly hear my prayer, could You turn back time? To that poor mountain village... Back then, I could’ve just struggled on with my little sister... I never wanted to enter this terrifying world...*

*Count Dracula... he’s so gentle, even with that cold face. After days together... his actions were nothing like the vile nobles I knew. How can I kill him? I can’t bring myself to do it... Even for my sister, I still can’t. What now? If I don’t kill him... the monastery might expel her. How old is she... ten? A child raised in a monastery—how could she survive outside? She’s not a farmer’s daughter. She knows nothing... Without the monastery, she’d starve to death...*

*But His Lordship... he’s truly kind. I don’t hate him at all. How can I...? Last time, he used a precious scroll to save that child—a noble man like him. How could I ever strike him down...*

Lost in thought, Sally returned to the manor. As usual, she went to the kitchen to prepare the Count’s meal... then served him dinner. Clutching the vial of poison, she hesitated—should she uncork it? Add a drop to his wine? Finally, she tucked it back into her sleeve. Every move was watched by a monstrous eyeball hidden in the shadows, its clawed limbs melting into the darkness.

After dinner, the Count retired to his study... Sally trudged there listlessly to explain historical references from his books. Count Dracula adored ancient legends—so did she. Time flew joyfully... too quickly. When the moon hung high, the Count stretched, closed his book, and thanked Sally before heading to bed.

He never forced her to do anything against her will. Day after day. To Sally, this felt like the happiest time... since birth, she’d never known such peace. If only this moment could last forever. But if she didn’t act tonight... if she didn’t...

Midnight. The manor lay silent. Sally’s door creaked open. In her nightgown, she slipped into the corridor... darkness swallowing her as she crept toward the Count’s bedroom. With a stolen key, she eased the door open a sliver—silent, fluid—and slipped inside.

No lamps lit the room. Only moonlight spilled through the window... illuminating a human shape on the grand bed. Her master. The man who’d given her beautiful memories. Tonight, she had to kill him... for her sister’s future. She’d sacrifice her own life for it.

Resolve hardened. She approached the bed, drew the magically enchanted knife from her sleeve... and raised it high. A cold glint flashed along its edge.

*"I’m sorry... I’m so sorry... but I—"*

*Tch!* Her hand faltered. The knife clattered to the floor. Tears streamed down Sally’s face as she saw the Count turn over, sit up. No surprise on his face—only his usual icy calm. He studied her, rose, and picked up the blade.

*"...Why kill me? And why... did you stop when you could have succeeded?"*

*"...*

Lights flared. Figures emerged from the corners: the rifle-toting girl, the elegant butler, the silver-haired concubine... and a golden-haired girl who looked just like her.

*"Master! Yours—you won!"*

The golden-haired girl handed four gold coins to Dracula before stepping back. Murmurs followed:

*"How did Master know she wouldn’t strike?"*

*"Seriously, she had the knife out but froze... so weird..."*

*"Humans truly are incomprehensible creatures..."*

Sally crumpled to the floor. She couldn’t face the man before her. Dracula Joe Shuya... she was his property, won in a bet. Now exposed. Would he torture her to death? Sell her? Or would a swift kill be his mercy?

*"Look up... Sally..."*

The command in his cold voice was absolute. Trembling, she raised her head.

*"I wagered with my subordinates whether you’d kill me. I won. I knew this day would come since your first visit to that clinic. Everything was within my grasp... under my control."*

*"...*

*"Your act of saving that girl... and tonight’s failed assassination—you had a chance to succeed but ruined it. Who sent you? Explain. I’ll grant you a quick death... or you’ll drown in agony and despair."*

*"...My Lord, speaking means death. And my family... my little sister... Though my failure has already doomed her—she’ll be cast out, starve to death—I beg Your Grace to save her... Then Sally will die without regret. If Heaven exists... I’ll pray for you there..."*

Sally smiled at Dracula... and bit down on the poison capsule hidden between her teeth. The toxin flooded her throat. Her body grew light. Blue flames erupted from her skin.

*"Silver Lock—stop her!"*

*"Yes! But... My Lord, I can’t! This isn’t magic—it’s sacred incantations fused with alchemy!"*

*"Damn it—"*

*"No need, Count... I beg you... take in my sister. Remember... the monastery in the southern village near the Royal Capital... In one month, they’ll expel her... Please... keep her safe... I implore you..."*

As Sally’s smiling form turned to ashes, Pipe’s fury boiled over. He’d felt little for her at first. But days together—her insights had proven invaluable. Unconsciously, he’d claimed her as his subordinate. Now, forced to watch her burn... she’d been the one who *understood* him. In this world, his followers bowed with respect, yet none grasped his heart... She’d seen it in mere days. Her smile held the certainty that he’d save her sister.

*"Damn it... Damn it all..."*

*"Truly despicable. She committed treason... yet makes selfish demands. I suggest we bring her sister here and dismember her as payment for her crime—"*

Pipe straightened. His human disguise melted away, revealing his skeletal visage.

*"These past days... she served me well. You know I reward loyalty and punish betrayal. Though she had ulterior motives, her failure tonight... proved her loyalty to *me*. She earned her place among my subordinates. Her death... is partly my fault. I believed I controlled everything. Now I acknowledge her: she was one of the Scythe of Death. My subordinate. Like you. Never call her traitor again."*

*"Understood... Your mercy toward her reveals Your Grace’s heart."*

*"Greenland. Alert Purames immediately... We retrieve the girl. And those who forced my subordinate into this... who drove her to death... I will not forgive them. Seize everyone from that clinic. Deliver them to Meng Peter. Use every method. I want answers."*

*"Yes!"*