Chapter 12

The tale of Dale, passed from mouth to mouth among the nobility, swelled and swelled like a balloon ready to burst, racing across the entire empire.

The eldest son of House Saxony, who stood before the enemy lines to save a single knight against a horde of thousands of orcs.

This tale of valor, embarrassing beyond measure for the man himself, nevertheless breathed new life into the entire Northern Duchy.

Early morning sword training with the knights of the Duke’s castle.

“You’ve arrived, Prince Dale!”

“Welcome!”

“We humbly greet your noble presence, young master!”

Leaving the crisp dawn air behind, the knights knelt in unison and paid their respects the moment they saw Dale.

Clang!

Simultaneously thrusting their swords vertically into the ground.

Dale, who usually trained with his sword alongside his vassal knights, led by Sir Helmut, without any pretense. This act itself was a testament to the trust that transcended the walls between the noble heir of the duke’s house and the knights.

However, from that day forward, the knights’ deference toward Dale was unlike anything seen before.

This respect did not stem solely from Dale’s talent or his status as the duke’s heir.

The eldest son of the duke’s house, who willingly rode toward enemies to save a single knight.

Of course, this does not deny the Saxon Duke’s ruthlessness in silently witnessing the knight’s death. Rather, the Black Duke was renowned for cherishing his men, and the knights themselves were not ignorant of such realities.

In this world, the nobility of one’s status holds a meaning far beyond what Dale, who came from another realm, could ever imagine.

That is precisely why Dale’s appearance could not help but be extraordinary.

‘We Saxons never abandon the sword we swear allegiance to.’

Even if the reality was somewhat shabby compared to the wildly exaggerated tales spread by gossipmongers, it could never compare to the awe felt by those who witnessed the situation firsthand.

“Oh, come on, everyone. You’re making me blush.”

Still, Dale merely scratched his head awkwardly.

“Stand tall, young master!”

Sir Helmut bursts into hearty laughter at Dale, who couldn’t hide his embarrassment.

“Well, what are you all doing!”

After laughing, he assumed the stern visage of a fierce beast, adjusting his grip on the sword in his hand.

“For the sake of the future young master, should we not sharpen our swords even more keenly?”

“We obey your command!”

At Lord Helmut’s cry, the knights simultaneously beat their breastplates and raised their swords. As the Duke of Saxony had feared, Dale’s kindness could never dull their blades.

With the single-minded resolve to sharpen the sword even more keenly, the intense heat began to warm the dawn-lit morning.

‘He’s just plain hot-blooded.’

For Dail, watching this scene unfold, it was truly a delicate matter of how to respond.

Training to hone his combat instincts against the sword of Helmut, the continent’s Seven Swordsman, mastering the artifact ‘Shadow Cloak’. Sepia’s instruction in water-based magic. Finally, learning dark attribute magic from the Black Mage.

Dale’s training, now nearing the completion of the 2nd Circle, was progressing with lightning speed.

The training in swords and magic goes without saying. Beyond that, the things he must master as the heir to the duke’s house are endless.

Dale’s daily schedule was so grueling it could easily be called a royal education.

Except for that one day, at least.

“Young Master, it is time for the guest to arrive.”

After finishing his early morning training with the knights, it was the young maid Eve who came to greet Dale.

“His Grace the Duke requests your presence in the Great Hall, along with Lord Helmut.”

“Ah, yes. Thank you.”

“It’s already that time, is it?”

And following that statement, Lord Helmut likewise halted his training and sheathed his sword.

Today, a very special guest arrives at the Saxon duchy.

A fallen noble from the Teutonic Order. The young widow of Sir Bader, the new sword, and her nine-year-old daughter.

Countless names invoked ‘Badel Orhart,’ the warrior slain by the hero of old.

The Divine Sword.

One of the Seven Swords, and the one bearing the title of the Foremost Sword. The last loyal knight of the Teutonic Order, defeated and slain by the ‘Hero of Another World’.

After the Teutonic Order was subjugated into the empire’s territory──.

The Orhart family, once renowned as a martial house, was literally reduced to the plight of a fallen noble house.

In contrast, the House of Saxony remained the foremost noble house on the continent, a family of magicians whose profession was dark magic.

What connected these two families, seemingly without a single point of contact at first glance, was the work of Baron Helmut, who bore the name of the Seven Swords alongside Baron Bader.

“Thank you again for granting such an unreasonable request.”

“You said I was the benefactor who set you on the path of knighthood.”

The Duke of Saxony quietly nodded toward Sir Helmut, who bowed respectfully.

“You mentioned that the widow of the Orhart family sent you a letter requesting your assistance?”

Seated to the left of the throne prepared for the ducal couple, his wife Elena echoed the question. She held in her arms the infant, Dale’s sister ‘Liese’, who slept blissfully unaware of the world.

“That is correct.”

Lord Helmut bowed his head apologetically.

“Even if it was long ago, one cannot ignore the hardship of those who once aided us.”

Elena smiled as if it were no big deal. But for Dale, listening in on the conversation between the duke and duchess and Baron Helmut, his feelings were incredibly complex.

‘I never imagined I’d be entangled like this again.’

Sir Bader, the Divine Sword, was no longer among the living. No one else—he himself, the empire’s hound, had ended that man’s life.

After that, the fate of the ‘Orhart family’, stripped of its homeland and pillar, and subjugated to the Empire, was beyond question.

It was surprising, rather, that it took nine long years before they finally reached out for help.

“The guests of the Orhart family have arrived.”

At that very moment, the duke’s butler appeared beyond the Great Hall.

“Receive them with the utmost courtesy.”

“Understood, Your Grace.”

The butler bowed and withdrew, reappearing shortly thereafter. With him were the mother and daughter of the Orhart family.

A woman clad entirely in black, her face concealed by a jet-black veil. And silently following beside her mother, a young daughter the same age as Dale.

The slanted swords at both mother and daughter’s waists instantly captured Dale’s attention.

They were noblewomen’s rapiers.

‘Even if she is a fallen noble, to travel all the way to the Saxon duchy without a single attendant…’

That must be why she’s armed with a sword despite being a noblewoman. The fact that no one besides the Saxon household’s attendants serves and escorts the two of them is proof of that.

“Vanessa Orhart, I humbly present myself before His Highness the Duke of Saxony.”

“Welcome.”

The woman in black bowed her head, offering a formal greeting.

But the blonde girl guarding her mother’s side raised her voice, making no effort to hide her hostility.

“Mother, why are you bowing your head to these lowly people!”

“Shh, Charlotte!”

The widow in black, Vanessa, flustered by that attitude, scolds her daughter. At the girl’s shrill voice, ‘Rize,’ who had been sleeping in Elena’s arms, startles awake and bursts into tears.

“The journey must have been arduous. You must be exhausted.”

But the Duke of Saxony, unperturbed, continues calmly.

“Elena, it seems Rize is startled. Take her to the bedroom.”

“Understood, my lord.”

“And Dale.”

“Yes, Father.”

“Show Miss Charlotte around the castle grounds.”

As if they hadn’t anticipated the atmosphere turning so frosty, he hurriedly dismissed his wife Elena and Dale from the room.

Charlotte, the daughter of the Orhart family, was no exception.

“It is the duty of a nobleman to escort a lady.”

“Understood.”

‘This story seems to be getting rather complicated.’

Yet despite the Duke of Saxony’s words, the blonde girl merely shook her head defiantly.

“Who would listen to the words of imperial nobles!”

“Charlotte!”

Vanessa’s face froze coldly once more. Only then did the girl called Charlotte begin to well up with tears.

Tears welled up in her jade-green eyes. No matter how hard she tried to hold them back, the sobs burst forth uncontrollably.

‘No matter how tough she pretends to be, she’s still just a scared little girl.’

A girl who lost her father before she was even born, forced to bear the burden of a fallen noble house.

She recalled that day when sleet scattered along the night’s curtain. That day, Lady Badel’s wife must have already carried that girl within her womb. Just as Dale’s mother had done.

A sudden, inexplicable guilt gripped Dale’s heart.

“…Lady Charlotte.”

Thinking he couldn’t ruin the atmosphere any further, Dale hurriedly rose to his feet.

“Please, this way.”

After raising her, he led the girl called Charlotte.

As they stepped out of the duke’s hall, a bitterly cold chill seeped into their lungs.

“…It hurts.”

At that moment, Charlotte, who had been silently sobbing, spoke.

Only then did Dale realize he was gripping her wrist tightly. A pale, dark winter night. Remembering the girl’s father, whose life he had taken with his own hands.

It was a slender wrist that offered no resistance whatsoever.

“…Dale of Saxony.”

Dale hurriedly pulled away, and the blonde girl ‘Charlotte’ called out his name.

“People say he’s a genius unmatched in the empire, whether in swordsmanship or magic.”

Then they recounted Dale’s ‘heroic tale,’ blown out of proportion by gossipmongers.

“He tried to protect his knight alone against a horde of hundreds of orcs, didn’t he?”

“…That story’s been greatly exaggerated.”

“Still, he must be far stronger than ordinary knights, right?”

Charlotte pressed. As if secretly hoping Dale would affirm his own strength.

“He couldn’t have protected his knight against hundreds of orcs without being that strong.”

“So it wasn’t hundreds…”

Just as Dale was about to correct the tale’s inaccuracies,

Swoosh.

The blonde girl Charlotte placed her hand on the hilt of her rapier.

“Fight me.”

After raising her hand, Charlotte said.

“Can you guess why?”

Dale asked. At his words, Charlotte quietly bit her lip and fell silent.

“…I’ll prove my sword is better than the Duke’s genius.”

After the silence, Charlotte continued.

“Because I am the proud daughter of the Divine Sword.”

Her voice trembled faintly.

“I’ll prove to Mother that I can protect the Orhart family from that man…”

“That man?”

Charlotte nodded quietly.

“Count Brandenburg, the Holy Knight.”

“……!”

After nodding, she uttered a name.

The name of the betrayer who stabbed the sacred sword into her back, targeting her past self. The name she could never forget, filled with hatred.

“That man… tried to violate my daughter.”

Breaking the silence that had settled over the great hall, the widow in black robes spoke.

Only after hearing my desperate plea that the child had not yet reached puberty did he finally cease the assault.

At those words, Lord Helmut’s expression twisted. Yet the Duke of Saxony maintained his composure, listening silently to the tale.

“Surely she is the child who carries the bloodline of the one called the Divine Sword, so he wanted to impregnate my daughter with his seed──.”

“…There is no need to say more.”

But the words that followed were enough to make even the Duke of Saxony frown.

The desire for eugenics is one anyone can possess as a human being. How much more so for nobles, who value continuing their lineage above all else.

Even so, the notion of raping a nine-year-old girl and planting his seed within the ‘Blood of the Divine Sword’ she possessed… that was the thought of a beast, one that had abandoned even the conscience a human ought to possess.

And the significance of the Divine Sword’s blood was so profound that it didn’t even matter to him to sink to the level of such a beast.

“But with my homeland already ruined, there was nowhere else to turn, nowhere else to seek help…”

“You must have suffered greatly.”

The Duke of Saxony bowed his head in a feeble expression of sympathy.

“Please forgive my daughter’s rudeness.”

“Having endured such a terrible ordeal, it is hardly surprising she behaved that way.”

The Duke of Saxony replied as if it did not concern him.

“I shall never ask much of Your Highness.”

Vanessa Orhart, the young widow of the Divine Sword, continued in a trembling voice.

“Please, may that man, the ‘Count of Brandenburg,’ never be able to extend his hideous claws…”

Unable to hide her motherly concern for her daughter.

“Please accept my daughter as a maid to the House of Saxony.”