Chapter 106

“Duke Dale of Saxony, reporting to Your Highness.”

When Dale returned from Guild City, and when he was finally briefed on what he had obtained.

“……!”

Even the Black Duke himself could not conceal his astonishment at these things.

He had thought he was somewhat accustomed to the boundless talent and resourcefulness of his son, Dale. Yet what Dale revealed always lay beyond horizons even he could not imagine.

The Shadow Church, the City Master’s ledger.

“…So the rumors were true.”

Above all, gazing at the obsidian box resting on the table, the Black Knight muttered flatly. Inside the box, a living human heart was still beating.

“…How is this possible?”

Dale asked the continent’s foremost dark mage.

“It is a Life Vessel.”

“You mean the Drowning Mage became a lich?”

Dale asked back, seemingly unable to comprehend. A lich—the forbidden magic by which a dark mage grasps immortal life through the power of darkness.

“The principle is similar, but it’s slightly different.”

The Black Mage said. It was an assessment that perfectly matched what Dale was feeling.

“You said you made a deal with the sea demon and gained immortality.”

At Dale’s words, the Black Mage remained impassively silent. As the continent’s foremost dark mage, he wasn’t entirely without his own suspicions.

“For now, let us focus on fulfilling the contract you made with him.”

“Understood, Father.”

The Black Duke deliberately changed the subject. Dale nodded without asking further.

“I am truly glad you returned safely.”

After the conversation ended, the Black Duke finally smiled, wearing his father’s smile.

A short time later, Dale’s thirteenth birthday arrived.

“We offer our congratulations on the thirteenth birthday of Lord Dale!”

The Great Hall of Saxony Castle. To celebrate the thirteenth birthday, Sir Helmut Blackbear knelt.

“We offer our congratulations!”

Simultaneously, the Knights of the Night Raven present in the hall knelt in unison and thrust their swords vertically into the floor.

“Rise.”

Dale smiled awkwardly.

“It is only through your loyalty, my lords, that I stand where I am today.”

“Prince Dale…!”

Helmut, Lord Baskerville, and the other Knights of the Night Raven swallowed hard, unable to suppress their surging loyalty.

“This gathering today is not to celebrate my birth into this world.”

Dale continued in a matter-of-fact tone.

“It is to remember and express gratitude for the devotion of all who made me who I am today.”

With the dignity befitting the eldest son of the ducal house, the heir to Saxony.

His mother, Elena, smiled at her son’s proud appearance, and the Duke of Saxony, though he tried not to show it, could not hide his fatherly smile.

“Happy birthday, brother!”

“Yes, Liese.”

Finally, stepping out of her mother’s embrace, the little lady smiled at Dale.

The Saxon dukes’ household—the people who made the current Dale possible. Before them, finally feeling the warmth of family, Dale smiled.

Leaving behind the world of winter nights filled with bitter cold and darkness.

Thirteen-year-old Dale’s birthday was celebrated more grandly than ever before.

Yet unlike the grand feudal lords of the empire, they did not invite influential figures from across the continent, nor was it steeped in the empty formalities and pretensions common among nobility.

The festival held in the Duchy of Saxony was intended solely for the members of the ducal family—that is to say, for everyone in the duchy.

The entire city of Saxony was drenched in the excitement of the festival. Furthermore, the serfs on the estates within the duchy, following the ‘wishes of the birthday boy, Prince Dale’, were granted reduced taxes for that month (such as eggs or harvests gathered from Saxony’s frozen lands) and a considerable number of days off.

Throughout the duchy, modest celebrations unfolded in their own unique ways. Each one celebrated the birthday of Dale, the eldest son of the Saxon ducal house.

In a sense, it was truly an unaristocratic appearance, and at the same time, it was an appearance more fitting for an aristocrat than anyone else.

That dawn.

Even as night deepened, the festival fireworks enveloping the entire city did not fade. Yet, within the Saxon ducal castle shrouded in darkness, a girl remained alone, absorbed in her practice until the late hours.

“Charlotte.”

“Dale!”

Startled by the unexpected sight, Charlotte gasped.

“You were swinging your sword until night again.”

“Yeah.”

Under the shattered moonlight, Charlotte nodded.

“I have to get stronger.”

Strength. Charlotte said that and re-gripped the sword hilt. Glancing at her, Dale spoke.

Swish.

He picked up a knight’s sword lying in the armory and drew the blade from its sheath.

“So how much stronger have you gotten? Shall I test it?”

“Alright.”

Charlotte nodded and smiled, immediately settling into her stance. There was no hesitation.

Thwack!

A near-lightning-fast charge. Charlotte lunged right before Dale’s eyes, and Saxon’s heavy sword swung down. It was fast. So fast even Dale couldn’t react in time. He’d intended to lightly test her growth, but a blow beyond his wildest imagination struck him by surprise. Dale desperately accelerated all four circles.

By the time he realized, it was already too late.

“Hmph.”

Charlotte laughed triumphantly, her sword pointed at him.

“You’ve gotten stronger while I wasn’t looking.”

Seeing this, Dale smiled too. For a moment, Charlotte’s expression flickered with unease.

“What’s wrong?”

“Uh, nothing.”

“I’ve never seen anyone who claims to be nothing actually be nothing.”

At Dale’s words, Charlotte puffed out her cheeks and turned her head away. For a moment, silence fell.

“It’s just…”

After the silence, Charlotte hesitated before continuing.

“Lately, I’ve felt like you’ve been pulling away.”

“Me?”

“…I-I don’t know, you idiot!”

She forced herself to suppress her embarrassment, pretending it was nothing.

It wasn’t exactly wrong. While he was already active as the eldest son of a proper duke’s house, Charlotte was left alone, swinging her sword… At least back then, it couldn’t compare to spending all day clashing swords within the castle walls.

“That’s why… I want to get stronger.”

Charlotte said.

“So I can stay by the side of the ‘Black Prince,’ who’s still active all over the continent, even just a little bit longer.”

Simply to stand by Dale’s side. At those words, Dale swallowed hard.

Suddenly, the image of Charlotte’s father, Sir Bader, the Divine Sword, fallen by the hero’s hand, came to mind. And his daughter… swore knightly allegiance before the one who had thrust a blade into her father’s heart.

How would Lord Bader, her father, accept seeing his beloved daughter reduced to a dancing puppet, ensnared by the enemy’s strings?

“Charlotte.”

An inexplicable sense of betrayal gripped Dale’s heart, and he spoke.

“Hm?”

“…Nothing.”

“What is it, all of a sudden?”

Dale trailed off, then smiled.

“Come to think of it, your birthday hasn’t been yet, has it?”

“Yeah, not yet. Why?”

Dale, who had just turned thirteen, said to Charlotte, who was twelve.

“Then I guess I’ll have to keep calling you ‘brother’ until then.”

Dale muttered as if it were someone else’s business, and Charlotte flushed, stabbing the knife handle down. It hurt a little.

A few days later, while the festival’s fervor still burned bright. A thousand mercenaries returned to the Saxon ducal castle. Yet there was no trace of the mercenaries’ typical vulgarity; they were armed with iron discipline and military order.

A heavy infantry unit, each soldier heavily armored in costly black plate.

Kenneth Yones reporting to the Captain on Black Armor Company’s combat results!

“Right, what happened?”

It was the Black Armor Company, the continent’s foremost elite mercenary force led by Dale himself.

“We report a successful victory in the battle for Count Wilhelm’s fiefdom! Additionally, our mercenary casualties are…”

After receiving the full account of the battle from Sir Yones, Dale nodded.

The unit had now largely become independent under Captain Yones, operating largely beyond Dale’s direct control. Despite this, they had overcome a nearly two-to-one numerical disadvantage in the thick of battle and secured victory.

“You’ve shown some real ingenuity.”

It was a flawless tactic, and as his teacher, he felt a satisfaction he could no longer hide.

“Well done, Lord Yones.”

“It was all possible thanks to the teachings of the young master!”

Lord Yones was the protégé whom Dale had personally trained in everything from commanding soldiers to strategy and tactics. He was the one Dale trusted implicitly to lead the Black Armor Company, the unit he cherished and nurtured.

After all, no matter how capable the soldiers are, if the commander’s head is empty, it’s no trouble at all to ruin the entire unit.

“There’s still a mountain of things left to teach.”

In that regard, Lord Yones was one who knew the joy of learning, and possessed the wisdom to match. Each time Dale taught him strategy, tactics, and the art of warfare, he asked endlessly, question after question.

“But the time is not yet ripe.”

Having said that much, Dale shook his head.

“Besides, my birthday festival is underway, and I’ve set aside your share of wine and meat.”

“D-Duke Dale!”

“Let’s see after you’ve drunk your fill.”

Dale spoke, and Lord Yones knelt and thrust his sword into the ground. With loyalty beyond any doubt.

“Heh heh, Shippul! That gold spoon’s shine is absolutely breathtaking!”

Master Barog laughed heartily as he downed Saxon beer.

“Heh heh, Happy Birthday. Black Apostle.”

The Shadow Saintess, her vision obscured by black bandages, smiled beside him.

The location of the Grand Courtroom was no longer neutral territory within Guild City’s jurisdiction.

It is true that the ‘Shadow Court’ still administers justice in Guild City, but simultaneously, as the continent’s foremost assassin organization… it was necessary to place its leadership directly beside Dale to command its every move.

The Supreme Court’s leadership, spearheaded by the Sword Master Baro and the Shadow Saint. Their organization had newly built its nest in Saxony’s frozen lands, residing there under the protection of the Black.

Black Armor Company, Shadow Court. The immeasurable power Dale had amassed.

“Master Bara, I have one request.”

“Well, is there a neck to pluck for your sake?”

Master Baro said, sipping his beer. Dale shook his head.

“There’s someone I’d like you to train.”

“Ah, I’ll give him a good thrashing, so go ahead and tell me.”

With Master Baro’s reply, a silhouette emerged from beneath Dale’s shadow. Always by Dale’s side, guarding his master in silence from within the shadows.

“As the continent’s foremost assassin…”

The Holy Maiden, Aurelia.

“To purge the ‘chivalry’ imbued in Lady Aurelia’s blade, so it may be reborn as the sword of a pure assassin.”

“Oh my, Shyphul. What do we do now?”

Seeing Aurelia’s appearance, Master Baro muttered with feigned bewilderment.

“There’s no way out.”

Some time later. On his thirteenth birthday, Dale was granted a ‘fief’ in the name of his father, the Duke of Saxony.