Chapter 17

Squeak.

A war hero of the empire who once stood shoulder to shoulder with the legendary hero, and the chosen one of the sacred sword Durandal.

When Count Brandenburg of the Holy Roman Empire stepped into the great hall of the Saxon ducal castle, there was not a trace of the expected welcoming atmosphere.

A silence settled like feathers. A stillness as if walking through a graveyard. It was an ominous silence that could not be fully described as mere rudeness.

The knights accompanying the count, too, were overwhelmed by the frozen atmosphere and held their breath.

The man was right there.

Seated upon a throne towering at the far end of the hall, wrapped in a cloak of ominous, pitch-black fabric.

“You have truly made a difficult journey, Count.”

The Black Count.

One of the Three Great Dukes of the Empire and the continent’s foremost dark mage, reigning supreme at the pinnacle of the Black Magic Tower.

Excluding the fallen hero, one of the greatest dangers the empire harbors.

He simply turns his head.

Beside the duke stood ‘Dale’, the eldest son of the Saxon family, renowned as the empire’s greatest genius. And the daughter of the Divine Sword, who had entrusted herself to the duke’s household as a maid.

Leaving behind her gaze, which held no concealment of hatred, the Sacred Swordsman quietly bowed his head.

For even the world-renowned Holy Swordsman had no choice but to yield to the pressure exerted by the empire’s foremost noble.

“……I humbly greet His Highness the Duke of Saxony.”

After bowing, he thrust the hilt of the holy sword vertically into the ground as a sign of respect.

“Amidst your busy schedule, I never imagined the renowned Holy Sword Master would journey to this remote corner.”

The Black Duke seated upon the throne spoke.

“As I did not anticipate your arrival so swiftly, I pray you forgive the somewhat perfunctory welcome.”

Despite the tone that seemed to carry a hint of sarcasm, the Count could say nothing.

He could only bow his head, offering the utmost courtesy possible.

“What could be more urgent than His Highness the Duke’s summons?”

After a silence, the count cautiously opened his mouth.

“……”

The Duke of Saxony did not respond to those words. He merely reached out his hand in silence.

Following the ‘Eight Mana Rings’ etched into his heart, he spun an ominous, dark magic.

The dark magic unleashed by the continent’s foremost black mage. An extremely refined black magic surged through the hall.

“……!”

Count Brandenburg, grasping its meaning, gripped the hilt of the sacred sword ‘Durandal’ more firmly.

Whoosh!

Centered at the feet of the Black Mage, a jet-black whirlwind erupted. Black, dark, and ominously rippling, the wind of death races through the chamber.

A deathly wind swept toward the Holy Sword and the pure white knights who served him, and the knights writhed in agony.

They had no chance to mount proper resistance, not even a scream escaped their lips.

The mithril armor, tempered by the priests’ sanctity, corroded and melted away like iron reacting to acid. Then, the bodies beneath the armor began to decay rapidly. As if doused in concentrated hydrochloric acid.

First, the flesh melted away. Next, the bones were laid bare, stark white, and even those crumbled into powerless dust.

A deathly wind swept through, leaving not even bone dust behind.

Only a few handfuls of ashes scatter in vain.

The knights of the ‘Order of Saint Magdalene’, the pride of the Holy Sword, were utterly annihilated without even a hint of resistance.

Only one man remained, protected by the blessing of the Holy Sword Durandal: the Count of Brandenburg.

Yet the golden protective barrier rippling around the Holy Swordmaster appears precarious, as if it might shatter at any moment.

The high black magic spell ‘Tempest of Nihil’.

And it was cast without even a moment’s incantation—an instant activation.

“Your… Your Highness, the Duke…!”

The Holy Swordsman’s face contorted in horror as he gripped his sword hilt tighter. Yet the Black Duke seated upon the throne remained utterly still, merely gazing down at him impassively.

“Kneel.”

After a silence, the Black Ball finally spoke. Its voice held not a shred of emotion.

Kneel.

At those words, the Holy Knight’s face contorted with shame.

“What are you doing, Your Grace—!”

“Can you not hear me?”

“……!”

The Black Duke repeated.

“I said kneel, Count.”

“…….”

In the silence, the continent’s foremost dark mage looked down upon him.

Even the holy knight, hailed as a war hero and the emperor’s most ‘loyal sword’, felt an overwhelming pressure he dared not defy.

An opponent against whom victory was impossible to calculate, even when fighting with all one’s strength.

Moreover, this place is his domain. For a mage, a ‘domain’ holds meaning beyond mere land ruled as a noble.

And above all else, the Black Duke held the moral high ground.

The coldly calculating holy knight quietly knelt. It was undeniable proof of submission.

“As you know, I summoned the Count for the sake of peace.”

The Duke of Saxony continued, addressing the kneeling holy knight.

“Therefore, I humbly request with all sincerity…”

With utter composure.

“If you ever lay a hand on the children of Saxony again—”

The Children of Saxony. What it referred to was never limited to the bloodline of the ducal house.

“I swear by my name, I will slaughter every last member of the House of Brandenburg.”

Perhaps few words in this world carry such weight as the truth of the phrase “I will kill them.”

Yet when the Black Duke uttered those words, staking his own name upon them, it was neither a threat nor a bluff. That very weight made even the holy knight tremble.

“Then…”

Having spoken only that far, the Black Count quietly turned his head away.

“You must be weary from your arduous journey. Though inadequate, the city’s servants will attend to you, Count.”

“……I am truly humbled by His Grace the Duke’s magnanimity.”

At those words, the castle guard silently bowed his head.

“However, circumstances are not favorable, and I regret to say it seems difficult to remain in the duke’s domain any longer.”

“Is that so?”

The duke merely nodded flatly, as if he had expected as much.

“Well now, that is most regrettable.”

Duke Saxony replied, sounding as detached as if it were someone else’s affair.

“I hope your journey home goes smoothly.”

Before the duke’s sneer, the hand gripping the hilt of the holy sword trembles violently. Hatred surges, urging him to thrust himself off the ground and swing the blade at any moment.

Yet what weighed heavier on the holy knight’s heart than that hatred was fear.

Because he remembered the true darkness this man had revealed during the Empire’s unification war. A terror only those who knew the Black Duke’s true form could feel.

“…I thank Your Grace once more for your kindness.”

Count Brandenburg bit his lip until it bled, bowing his head respectfully once more.

The conversation ended there.

The face of that hateful man, impossible to forget.

When Dale saw the Holy Sword’s form for the first time, what gripped his chest was deep-rooted hatred.

Charlotte would feel no differently.

And before the two of them, the Duke of Saxony displayed it.

As Dale’s father, as the continent’s foremost dark mage, and as the Duke of the Empire, he displayed the dignity and warning befitting the name of House Sachsen.

The weight carried by the name of the Black Duke.

Count Brandenburg was one of the most loyal retainers of the Imperial faction (Ghibellines). Even the Duke of Saxony was no easy target to lay hands upon.

Nevertheless, the Duke of Saxony issued the sternest warning he could muster. In the name of the ruler of the North, the Duke of Saxony.

‘The example my father set against the emperor’s loyalists will surely become the fuse that sets the entire empire ablaze.’

It would begin as a tiny spark, but it would not take long for that spark to feed on kindling and oil and grow.

‘Cutting the holy knight’s throat will be our task.’

Knowing this, it was precisely what Dailo desired.

‘And with my own hands, I will bring down this empire.’

The empire had no other name.

It was the sole nation on this terrestrial continent, and thus it was not a common noun.

The designation ‘Third Reich’ is used only for convenience, to distinguish it from empires that perished in the past.

Some time later, in the Saxon Duke’s office.

There, Sepia remained quietly silent.

“I am already indebted to you far beyond measure, Sepia.”

The Duke of Saxony continued, addressing the silent Sepia.

“Therefore, you need not feel burdened by my proposal in the slightest.”

“……”

“Please make your decision at your leisure.”

Upon hearing those words, Sepia recalled the incident involving the Holy Knight that had recently thrown the duchy into turmoil.

That day, when Dale had safely repelled the attack by the Sif Guild. The relief that her precious disciple was safe was fleeting.

Seeing the bodies of the Sif Guild scattered there, Sepia could only gasp.

Bodies that had vomited out all their entrails, becoming puppets of darkness. Bodies that looked as if they’d been hit by dozens of small cannonballs, their entire forms crushed and riddled with holes.

When he realized that this work had been created by the hands of a mere nine-year-old child. And when he realized that this child was the very disciple he had boasted about so much.

Sepia began to doubt for the first time whether his teaching methods might be flawed.

It was shortly after that the Black Duke offered Sepia the position of ‘Chief Adviser’ to the Saxon ducal house.

And accepting the Saxon Duke’s offer meant… Sepia would transcend the role of a mere tutor in Dale’s household and become a member of the Saxon family.

Putting an end to life as a recluse and surrendering oneself to the turbulent waves of the world.

“To properly guide Dale’s talents, we need Lady Sepia’s wisdom.”

The Duke of Saxony continued.

“It is not something that can be achieved by my strength alone.”

“……”

After the silence, Sepia silently nodded.

He imagined the ripple effect Dale would bring to the empire and the entire continent when he grew up. The true ‘world of his own’ that child would impose upon this world.

Therefore, there was no room left for hesitation.

For Sepia, who had lived for nearly a hundred years, it was a task demanding a sense of mission heavier than ever before.

Several months later.

As news spread throughout the empire that the Holy Sword Knight had knelt before the Black Duke and that the sage Sepia had become an advisor to the Saxon family.

Dale had already elevated his dual attributes of Water and Darkness to the level of a 2nd Circle Master. His win rate in pure sword duels against Charlotte gradually converged toward fifty percent.

Around that time, young Dale’s tenth birthday approached.

And to officially celebrate Dale’s tenth birthday…

The letter announcing that ‘The Emperor’s Men’ would be visiting the duke’s household arrived shortly thereafter.