Chapter 33

The Black Knight and the Holy Sword. A proxy war between two great lords, fought under the names of mere barons.

The battle that day, called the ‘Battle of Black-and-white’, began its thousand-mile journey on a horse without legs.

Not long after that. The story, inflated as it passed from mouth to mouth, had become brilliant propaganda, even beyond Dale’s own intentions.

At a young age, slaughtering enemy knights on the front lines of battle, deploying encirclement tactics with heaven-sent strategic brilliance to lead the fight to a resounding victory… At the end of the triumph, he showed not a shred of mercy to the enemies begging for their lives.

A mountain of corpses that crows pecking day and night for a week could not diminish, a sea of blood flooding like a torrent.

That was the great victory and cruelty of the ‘Black Prince’ the empire’s people raved about.

A tall tale where truth and lies are mixed to suit one’s taste and overhyped.

The son of the Black Prince, the Dark Prince.

‘Like father, like son.’

This was not unrelated to why Dale’s father had become the object of fear he was now.

People’s stories always get exaggerated.

After all, the tale of the Black Duke’s son mercilessly executing surrendered enemies sounded far more plausible than the dull truth that an entire unit had been annihilated thanks to an incompetent commander.

“I have a gift for you on your eleventh birthday.”

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

As Dale’s birthday drew near, his father, the Black Duke, spoke.

“At the official ceremony celebrating your birthday shortly, I will appoint you as Viscount of the Duchy of Saxony.”

“……!”

It was truly a birthday gift befitting someone born with a silver spoon in their mouth.

“Henceforth, you shall serve as my ‘delegate entrusted by the Duke of Saxony,’ assisting me and managing all affairs of the duchy.”

Strictly speaking, a Viscount is not a ‘true noble’ like an Earl or Baron. It is closer to the concept of an honorary noble who does not independently own their own fief, but instead exercises the authority of a representative within their lord’s domain by appointment.

“As the ‘Deputy Duke,’ you may summon the knights of the House of Saxony as needed and demand they fulfill their obligations, including military service.”

But a viscount is still just a viscount.

Being the deputy of a mere count versus being the deputy of a great prince like the Duke of Saxony. That was a difference as vast as heaven and earth.

Moreover, Dale was the heir destined to inherit this duchy. Therefore, what the Black Duke promised Dale was something of a nature incomparable to even a handful of minor fiefs or titles combined.

“Thank you, Father.”

Dale bowed his head once more in respect.

The Black Count’s promise to respect him as an equal head of the Saxon house in leading the family. He kept his word.

“And since Father has spoken thus…”

Thus, based on that promise, Dale spoke.

“This may come as a sudden request, but as Your Grace’s representative, there is a matter I wish to undertake.”

Some time later.

Dale celebrated his eleventh birthday and was granted the title of Viscount, assisting the Duke of Saxony in the name of his father, the Black Count.

Around that time, a letter reached the church stating that the Black Prince of Saxony was preparing a ‘pilgrimage’ to the land of the goddess.

“He intends to make a pilgrimage to the Papal States?”

That day, at the unexpected words, the Black Prince momentarily doubted his own ears.

“That is correct.”

The Sistine Papacy. Once known as the ‘Papal State,’ it was the heartland of the Goddess Cult, which proclaimed itself the pillar of faith, and the seat of the White Mage Tower, whose members called themselves the handmaidens of the divine.

“They say that day in battle, the Black Prince showed a cruelty that spared not a single prisoner.”

Dale continued.

Knights armed with the faith of the Goddess Cult became victims of my cruelty, and that is not something the Church would welcome.

The Holy Sword Knights and the Order of Saint Magdalene are famously known as the standard-bearers of the Goddess Cult, true to their name.

And those standard-bearers of faith were annihilated, leaving behind mountains of corpses and seas of blood. The outcome of that day is precisely the infamous cruelty and barbarity of the Black Prince that the gossipmongers clamor about.

The outcome of the Black and White Reversal was a devastating defeat that could only be described as such. As Dale said, it was certainly not a fact the Church could welcome.

“Fear is a great asset that cannot be exchanged for anything else.”

Nevertheless, the Duke of Saxony asked again as if he couldn’t understand.

“Are you intending to deny your own infamy and curry favor with the Church?”

“It’s a power worth enduring that for.”

Dale nodded without hesitation.

“Since the eldest son of the House of Saxony, the ‘Duke’s Deputy,’ is setting out on a pilgrimage on foot to seek God’s forgiveness…”

He nodded and continued.

“The Church will surely show the appropriate sincerity in return.”

“Is there something else you’re thinking of?”

At the Black Duke’s question, Dale nodded without hesitation.

“I intend to make them an offer they can’t refuse.”

Along with a few copies of the ‘banned grimoires’ I intend to acquire while I’m there.

The border between the Greenbelt Barony and the Pucker Barony, where the Black-White Rotation once unfolded.

The place where the region called the northern empire finally ended, and the central zone beyond the Duke of Saxony’s influence began.

The knights of the Count’s house weren’t the only ones who suffered an irreversible defeat in that day’s battle. The robber knight who gained his noble title by sheer luck, Baron Pucker, was no exception either.

Having lost most of his trusted men who had served him since his mercenary days, the Baron himself had to pay Saxony a hefty ransom to secure his release. The castle was drained of both wine and women, and his devastated lands yielded not a drop of blood left to squeeze.

Thus, with Baron Pucker reduced to a beggar, there was only one thing left for him to do.

Robbery.

True to his reputation as a notorious bandit knight since his youth, robbing travelers passing through his lands became a time-honored industry in the Barony of Pucker.

──That day was no different.

Just then, a group of travelers fearlessly entered the baron’s domain, and one of his men, spotting prey, raised his voice.

“Shoot!”

Several arrows sliced through the air, shattering the silence. From the rolling hills perfect for ambush, from both ends of the road the travelers were passing, from all directions.

Heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

Caught off guard, the travelers’ horses began to panic.

“How dare you attempt to pass through Baron Pucker’s domain without permission!”

As Baron Pucker’s band of thieves swiftly surrounded the area, one traveler wrapped in a robe stepped forward as their representative and spoke.

“What do you want?”

It was an extremely young and childish voice.

“Is it not common sense to pay tolls when passing through noble estates?”

“……Understood.”

But despite the bandit’s threat, the traveler nodded as if unsurprised.

Clink.

He pulled a heavy coin purse from his cloak.

“I happen to have the exact amount prepared to pay the toll.”

“Well, it seems you know a thing or two, eh?”

The baron’s subordinate approached with a satisfied smile. He snatched the pouch from the traveler’s hand, inspected its contents, and nodded. It was a considerable sum.

“Very well, seeing your sincerity, I shall make an exception and let you pass!”

One bandit shouted, feigning great generosity, and the rest of the bandits also backed away obediently.

They exchanged meaningful glances, unable to hide their sly grins and chuckles.

A few hours later.

As dusk settled over the western mountains, the travelers hadn’t even crossed one pass yet.

The same band of thieves reappeared before them. This time, their numbers had swelled to a scale incomparable to just moments before.

“Halt!”

The leader of the bandits, Baron Pucker, personally led his few remaining knights to join the fray.

“Baron Pucker is approaching!”

“Show proper respect before the Baron!”

“How dare you attempt to pass through my domain without paying tolls!”

Their armor was uniformly faded and rusted, so cheap it scarcely deserved the name compared to that of the Knights of the Night Crow. Yet it was more than sufficient equipment for dealing with a mere band of travelers.

“A toll?”

The traveler addressed Baron Pucker.

“We paid the price to your men just moments ago.”

As if unable to comprehend, he remained impassive.

“According to imperial law, isn’t it illegal to collect tolls more than twice within a single domain?”

“You say you paid? What utter nonsense are you spouting in broad daylight!”

The baron’s subordinate sneered, raising his voice.

“We’ve only just met, haven’t we!”

“Well then, we are the ones who uphold the empire’s laws above all others!”

As if the encounter mere hours ago had vanished from their memory, the bandits burst into mocking laughter once more.

This world is rife with threats lurking everywhere, and the term “rule of law” doesn’t carry much weight.

The law is distant, but the sword is close. That’s the kind of world this is.

“Do you know who this Baron is?”

“The one who fought a bloody battle against that infamous ‘Black Prince’ without yielding an inch…!”

“Aye, that’s the one! The legendary hero of the Black and White Tournament who survived to the very end, Baron Pucker!”

“If you value your life, hand over what you have without a fight!”

But.

‘……Huh?’

Putting aside his subordinates’ reckless bluster, Baron Pucker swallowed hard at an inexplicable sense of unease.

‘No, surely not.’

The Black Prince, that day’s battlefield, the familiar child’s voice. He couldn’t believe it.

“The hero of the reversal.”

The young-voiced traveler continued, lifting the hood pulled tightly over his head.

“It’s quite different from what I remember.”

The expression on the pale face of the eleven-year-old boy there turned deathly pale.

“Ah, ahhhhh…”

Before long, the remaining travelers had dismounted and drawn the swords at their waists.

“Give us your command, young master.”

Each wrapped the jet-black aura blade—symbol of the Night Raven Knights—around their own sword hilt.

How could one forget? That very aura blade had mercilessly slaughtered Baron Pucker’s soldiers on the left flank of the battlefield that day.

Not the sword of a mere traveler struggling to protect himself, but the Saxon House’s black blade—devoid of blood or tears.

It was the return of a nightmare impossible to forget, even if one wished to.