Castillia Kingdom stood among humanity’s mightiest nations. To its north lay the territories of two Demon Overlords, making it the frontline bastion against demonic invasions.
War demanded endless supplies. Where demand existed, merchants followed. Over time, this flow of trade and people transformed Castillia into a commercial powerhouse—even on the frontlines.
Its capital, Castillia Royal City, was famed as the City That Never Sleeps. Even at 3 a.m., its commercial districts buzzed with life. Yet today, an unusual gloom hung over the streets. White blossoms lined every road; shops draped in white cloth stood shuttered. The entire city resembled a funeral hall.
And indeed—it was.
That morning, Castillia would bury its guardian: Daenerys, the Sword Saint. The Champion who could duel an Overlord alone.
Born three centuries ago, Daenerys was chosen by the Champion Artifact *Hawthorn Oath* at sixteen. After a decade of adventuring with companions, she returned to Castillia’s frontlines. Countless demon generals fell beneath her silver blade. Even against the dreaded Daytime Overlord, she fought to a standstill, driving him back after a day-long battle. For nearly three hundred years, no demon dared trespass Castillia’s borders.
Daenerys was Castillia’s Valkyrie. One of humanity’s strongest Champions.
Her power granted her longevity. Yet after the Overlord clash, she vanished from battlefields. Some whispered she’d been gravely wounded; others claimed she’d grown weary of mortal strife, vowing to return only if Castillia faced annihilation.
But a week ago, the Valkyrie fell.
Officially, she’d been ambushed by multiple Overlords and died fighting. *Of course*, that was Castillia’s story. Only I—the one who’d been there—knew the truth.
“Aren’t you going to say anything?” I glanced back at the girl trailing me.
“...About what?” Her reply was flat.
Deep blue eyes held no flicker of emotion. A face too flawless to be human remained perfectly calm. Silky silver hair cascaded over milk-pale skin, paired with an ornate Gothic dress. She looked like a porcelain doll—and the stares of every passerby proved her beauty.
“About your *ex*-master. Oh wait—*ex-ex*-master now?” I strolled leisurely down the street, grinning with deliberate malice. “Come on. Tell me. How did Liss die?”
“...”
She lowered her head, lips parting as if to speak. Then she shook her head silently.
*Tch. Boring.* I clicked my tongue.
This doll-like girl was Hawthorn. Yes—the sword spirit of *Hawthorn Oath*. Or rather, the artifact itself.
*Heaven’s sake.* When the sword on my table suddenly transformed into a stunning girl yesterday, I nearly jumped out of my skin. I knew *Hawthorn Oath* was powerful—but not *human-form* powerful.
*“I hate being touched by anyone but my master. I’ll walk.”*
Her words. So I’d left Wuluwu at the inn to “bond” with Ona, bringing only Hawthorn into the streets.
I’d claimed the Champion’s artifact yesterday morning. By afternoon, I’d arrived in Castillia Royal City with Wuluwu, Ona, and this sword. Trustworthy Cecilia stayed behind to handle... messier affairs.
Now, with my long black hair and dark eyes, dressed as a typical noble’s guard, I looked like some lord’s bodyguard escorting his young mistress. All it took was changing clothes and toning down my aura.
*Race?* I never claimed to be Demon Race.
“Oh—right.” I turned to Hawthorn. “You saw everything, didn’t you?”
“...Saw what?” She blinked, startled.
I chuckled. “You’ve got self-awareness. You hear everything outside. So... you watched what I did in bed this morning, right?”
“...Eh?!”
Her face flushed crimson. She sputtered, finger trembling as she pointed at me: “I—I’ve never met such a thick-skinned scoundrel...”
“Hah! I’ll take that as a compliment.”
*So she’s just a regular girl after all.* I reached to ruffle her hair—but yanked my hand back with a hiss. My palm stung, reddened by a burn.
*Tch. Thought taking human form meant I could touch her.*
I muttered to myself, examining my hand. Hawthorn’s blush vanished instantly. A tiny, satisfied smirk curled her lips.
“Ah well. One man’s honey, another’s poison... Guess I can’t taste you yet.” I grinned again, leaning close. “By the way—are you still a virgin?”
“...*Eep?!*”
Frozen in shock, she gripped her skirt so tightly her whole body shook with rage. Like she’d slap me any second.
She did.
***SLAP!***
“I’VE NEVER MET SUCH A THICK-SKINNED SCOUNDREL!”
