Chapter 14

The Saxon Duke’s Office.

That day, when Charlotte Orhart officially became a maid serving the Saxon Duke’s household. The Saxon Duke asked, as if puzzled, how that foolish girl could have developed such unwavering resolve.

“What happened between you and that child that day?”

“Charlotte Orhart, daughter of the Divine Sword.”

Dale nodded and continued.

“I had the same thoughts as my father.”

“Hmm.”

At those words, the Duke of Saxony smiled as if pleased.

No matter how kind the Duke of Saxony may be, he is also the foremost noble in the empire. That position is not one that can be maintained by virtue alone.

The Duke of Saxony is not a man who would make decisions based on the unavoidable requests of loyal subjects or the unfortunate circumstances of the Orhart family.

“You speak as if you know what I’m thinking.”

“I made a promise to Miss Charlotte.”

“A promise?”

“A promise to protect her in the name of the House of Saxony.”

“Is that all it takes—a mere pity for that child’s plight—to bring the name of the House of Saxony into this?”

The Duke of Saxony retorted sharply.

“It is not pity.”

Dale shook his head.

“She is the sole daughter who carries the bloodline of the one called the Divine Sword.”

Dale answered.

“Even if Miss Charlotte detests that fact with all her being, her ‘usefulness’ is beyond measure.”

The blood of the Divine Sword. And the value inherent in her being a woman. Recalling the Holy Knight’s utterly vile desire, the Black Knight frowned.

“Therefore, our duke will protect Miss Charlotte from such malice.”

But this is by no means a favor without a price.

“So what is it we seek to gain?”

“A single divine sword.”

While the Holy Knight coveted the ‘Child of the Divine Sword’ through Charlotte, what Dale desired was far simpler.

For before Dale stood the one closest to the Divine Sword.

The young daughter of the Divine Sword, reaching out to him for help.

“To be wielded for the sake of our future duke’s house.”

Upon hearing those words, the Duke of Saxony let out a low chuckle.

There are several glories a knight can enjoy.

First, to make a name for oneself through one’s sword alone.

Second, to serve a lord to whom one can truly pledge loyalty.

Third, to train a worthy disciple who will carry on one’s legacy and inherit one’s sword.

In that regard, Sir Helmut Blackbear can truly be called a blessed knight.

The Knight of the Seven Swords of the Continent, known by the epithet Mad Sword. A knight who swore lifelong loyalty to the House of Saxony.

Finally──.

KAAANG!

Dale of Saxony, the prodigy of the duke’s house, spun the stiletto in his hand and re-grip it in reverse. The very instant he re-gripped it, the downward strike was deflected diagonally by Charlotte Orhart’s rapier.

The moment it was parried, the stiletto’s blade coiled like a snake once more.

But as if refusing to allow any more, Charlotte’s rapier stubbornly blocked the sword’s path.

The clash between two young children lacked the fierce intensity of knights who make strength their foundation. Yet, beyond that, it felt like the skill and speed of highly skilled assassins facing off.

Fast, each strike sharpened with a murderous intent.

‘Is this truly a duel between nine-year-old children?’

Watching this spectacle, the Saxon knights were equally speechless.

Their feelings toward Dale’s talent were already familiar. But that young girl…

‘Truly, the daughter of the Divine Sword.’

Recalling the sword of his old mentor, Sir Bader, known as the Divine Blade, Sir Helmut Blackbear gasped.

‘Does blood never lie?’

Charlotte Orhart.

A self-taught style, mastered alone with a single rapier, without ever formally learning swordsmanship.

After several fierce clashes of steel, the outcome was finally decided when Dale’s stiletto overpowered Charlotte’s rapier.

“Excellent, Miss Charlotte.”

Watching this, Sir Helmut smiled with satisfaction.

“Spare me the flattery, Sir Helmut.”

But Charlotte couldn’t hide the bitterness of defeat and boldly retorted.

“What exactly is my shortcoming?”

Charlotte’s talent is exceptional. Yet it cannot compare to Dale’s level. No, Dale’s ability was not even of a nature that could be called ‘talent’ in the first place.

Even so, Sir Helmut understood. Unlike Dale, who would walk the path of magic, Charlotte, destined solely for the path of the sword, would grow at an astonishing pace.

It wouldn’t take long before the outcome of a pure sword duel between the two would be reversed.

“Miss Charlotte, do you know where the heart of the rapier lies?”

The thrust. Charlotte answered.

“Wrong.”

Sir Helmut shook his head.

“The most crucial element in wielding a rapier is the legs.”

The legs. The essence of the rapier lies in the step—the footwork.

“But Lord Dale, while parrying Miss Charlotte’s thrust, closed the distance without missing an opening.”

Charlotte’s expression as she listened to Lord Helmut’s teaching was extremely serious and cold.

She has reached this level without even receiving proper sword training. That is why, the moment she begins proper training under a skilled swordsman, I envision her sword dance blooming magnificently.

It was Lord Helmut’s responsibility to nurture the talent of Charlotte, the girl gifted with the divine sword.

Dale and Charlotte.

For any ordinary knight, the honor of taking even one of these children as a disciple would be unimaginable.

Yet Sir Helmut was the swordmaster to both of these children.

Sir Helmut Blackbear, loyal vassal of the House of Saxony and wielder of the Blazing Sword. To call him the most blessed knight on the continent was no exaggeration.

Malbork, the capital castle of the former Teutonic Order.

And now, his castle, bestowed upon Grand Duke Brandenburg, commander of the Imperial Army’s First Corps, in recognition of his war achievements.

“It concerns the young lady of the Orhart family seeking refuge with the House of Saxony.”

The moment he heard the messenger’s report, the castle knight, Count Brandenburg, hurled the glass he held in his hand to the floor.

“That damned woman beat us to it…!”

Clang!

He spits out curses and turns his head away. Beside him, as always, the sacred sword Durandal radiates a pure white glow.

An unbearably contented smile blossomed on the count’s face.

‘Ah, my beloved Durendal.’

The very sword that had pierced the hero’s back.

‘Ah, my one and only beloved fiancée.’

Gazing at the holy sword’s glow as if in a trance, the count blushed shyly.

‘Wait just a little longer, my love.’

Just like a girl lost in love. After blushing, the count turned his head once more.

“The moment you leave here, find the Shif Guild.”

In a voice thick with twisted obsession.

“I’ll pay any price—regardless of the sum—so assemble skilled fighters and send them to the Duchy of Saxony.”

He became aware of the flow of mana rotating around his heart, calmly waiting until it established a consistent circular path.

He strongly imprinted the shape of the engraved mana ring.

This is the process of establishing the second circle.

It was surprisingly easy.

“It’s done.”

“……!”

When Dale casually acknowledged the new circle’s existence, Sepia perked up her ears in surprise.

However, adding even a single circle to the heart requires years of time, no matter how minor the circle may be.

The age at which young mages, so-called ‘gifted ones,’ enter the Tower of Magic’s affiliated academy…

In other words, the age at which they engrave their first mana circle is around ten years old.

From there, reaching the three circles required for academy graduation takes another ten years or so. At the earliest, that means twenty years.

Therefore, graduating from the academy at the tail end of one’s teens would still be worthy of the title ‘prodigy’.

──Yet it took Dale, who began walking the path of magic at age 8, a mere year to become a 2nd Circle Mage.

A realm of true genius, beyond the reach of mere prodigies or gifted individuals.

Dale extended his hand. The two mana rings encircling his heart began spinning rapidly.

The standard rotation rate for mages’ circles is 300 rpm (rotations per minute).

This means they can generate magical power by rotating 300 times per minute, and only upon reaching this figure do they qualify to expand to the ‘next circle’.

However, in Dale’s case, the rotational speed of the newly awakened First Circle at this point is 2,000 rpm.

On top of that, the rotation speed of the newly created second circle is 400 rpm.

The moment the new circle expands, it meets the threshold to aim for the ‘next realm’.

“Then, as a test…”

The magical power generated by the two circles flows out through his fingertips.

Without consciously vocalizing it, he unconsciously conjures his mental image and projects a new formula onto ‘Ice Bullet’.

Strengthen the molecular bonds of the ice that will become the bullet to increase its weight and durability, and draw an invisible large-caliber barrel to enhance the projectile’s rotational force, kinetic energy, and velocity.

Armor Piercing Bullet.

‘Unless it’s infused with fire magic, it probably can’t handle high-explosive incendiary rounds.’

Thwack!

The test-fired ice bullet sliced through the air. A reinforced version projecting the new formula, and without a chant.

‘What the…?’

After firing the ice bullet, Dale himself couldn’t help but be flustered.

‘Was projecting the mechanism of an armor-piercing bullet this easy?’

It was too easy. It was incomparable to the first time he used the Ice Bullet.

Adding just one circle makes the process of projecting ‘the image one desires’ onto reality feel several times easier.

──A magician projecting their mental image onto this world is like painting a picture. The intended subject must be clear, and the painter’s skill in drawing it is also crucial.

Among these, the ‘circle’ serves as the essential art tool for painting.

A filter and medium for overlaying one’s mental world onto this world.

No matter how skilled one is at drawing, it’s impossible to paint a watercolor without paint or brushes.

Thus, the number of circles soon became the measure of a wizard’s skill.

In other words, once the range of tools at one’s disposal expands, Dale’s achievements multiply at a rate akin to squaring the square.

Like a flawless painter gradually adding each new color they can master.

“You learn quickly.”

Sepia smiled quietly as she watched him.

It wasn’t that Sepia no longer feared Dale’s talents. But more than fear, she chose to trust Dale.

──From the heroic tale of his actions before the orc horde, to the young lady of the Orhart family newly arrived at the duke’s castle.

At the very least, this child strives to use his power rightly.

That was the resolve of Sepia, the elf mage who had watched Dale more closely than anyone else.