Sabaak. Sabjak.

Iron footprints were imprinted on the sand of the arena. The weight of the iron armor wrapped around her body left deep marks with each step. However, after a couple of gusts of wind, those traces would vanish before one knew it.

Yet, the spectators had no time to ponder this transience. The knight had somehow reached the center of the arena. This signified the beginning of the battle.

“The ‘Courage’ tournament has now entered its second round. From the left, the vice-captain of the ‘Blue Wind Knights’ who has been making waves on the Eastern Front, Cissel Yurensto──!!”

Wuuung-!

The knight grasped the hilt of the zweihander slung over her shoulder and let it hang naturally. Just that alone produced a heavy noise that made the wind scream.

From the tip of the sword embedded in the sand, a clinking sound echoed repeatedly. The inherent power of the blade was naturally pushing the grains of sand aside.

The great sword was ready to crush anything that stood in its way. Great boulders, tall mountains, perhaps even castle walls.

“And from the right, an elderly man who has stepped forward to become a hero despite his age! Alonso from Windmill Village!”

And facing the knight was a wrinkled old man.

His joints ached with age, his knuckles were swollen, and his eyes were dim and dark. The poison of time, which melts everything away, had transformed a young man’s exterior into such a disheveled appearance.

But had the decay of time not reached the old man’s heart? He opened his mouth with a cheerful and clear voice.

“Haha! To think I would meet a contender for the championship so soon, today I am the luckiest person on this stage.”

“Luckiest, you say.”

Is a certain defeat such a welcome thing?

There were signs of training, but it was insufficient. Passing the preliminaries with an aged body was certainly commendable, yet it was clear he had barely scraped through, struggling all the way.

The difference between the casually swinging Siscel and the three layers of the divine shield is overwhelming.

Even if time were to flow backward and the old man returned to his strongest youth, defeating Siscel Yurensto would be impossible. Yet, does he carry luck in his mouth?

The old man smiled and said.

“How could I not be happy to be able to hold the finals so quickly? Time is very precious for an old man like me. There are many things to do besides this tournament.”

“⋯⋯You have quite the confidence. If you’re so busy, why did you participate in this tournament?”

“There’s no grand reason; I simply wanted to try it. Why did you enter this tournament, Sir Knight?”

“That’s—”

To return to the Eastern Front. As Siscel Yurensto was about to answer vaguely, he was momentarily silenced by the old man’s sparkling eyes.

Somehow, this answer seems inappropriate. It feels out of place.

If he were to utter such dry words, it might turn him into a young lady appearing in shabby servant’s clothes at a ball. He felt he should provide an answer more fitting for those eyes.

But what is fitting, and what is not fitting?

He had no memory of learning such things.

——–

In faded memories, the estate of the Yurensto Count family is preserved intact. A garden elegantly adorned with purple lavender, and well-trained servants moving in an orderly and strict manner.

The elegance of the Yurensto family is well-known in high society. Despite being a newly emerged noble with a not-so-deep history, their dignity is not shallow, and those invited to the mansion unanimously declare it perfect.

How beautiful is a garden without a single misplaced branch, and how satisfying are the movements of the servants, moving like a well-rehearsed play?

The Count and his mistress are exemplars of nobility, as if painted in a picture. Surely, the roots of Yurensto are wandering tenant farmers, and the mistress, Ibele, must have been a woman from a merchant family.

In the every move of the Yurensto couple, not a trace of such humble origins is visible. This means they perfectly digest the etiquette of nobility akin to an encyclopedia. One can only pay respect to that effort.

Even the couple’s young children are close to perfection.

How beautiful and perfectly mannered are the girls, merely around six or seven years old, like dolls. Their small hands holding knives show no flaws, and they eat without making a sound. Not a single whimper escapes.

Their eloquence as well.

“Did you enjoy your meal, dear guest? I hope you liked the hospitality of the Yurensto family. My mother prepared it with great care.”

It flows smoothly without a single stutter.

The maturity that belies their age, combined with the purple eyes flowing through the Yurensto bloodline, amplifies their charm.

“It feels as if an angel has descended.” Someone among the mansion’s guests said so.

Thus, people in society comment. The bloodline of Yurensto was truly born to be noble! They are indeed a lineage blessed by the goddess!

A perfect mansion, a perfect family, a perfect bloodline.

A family like a delicately crafted jewel.

But night comes. There is always a hidden side to things.

When night falls upon the beautifully purple mansion, the sounds of a child sobbing and the crack of a whip echo simultaneously from the basement.

“Poetry, the meal was enjoyable…”

“Again.”

“Meal, the meal.”

“Again.”

Until it was perfect.

It was a beautiful flower born from an obsession close to compulsion.

⋯⋯⋯⋯.

On the ‘Wall of Glory,’ the accolades and honors received by Count Yurensto are densely adorned. The medal bestowed by the royal family in recognition of the family’s loyalty, the count’s records of battle participation, and a clipped article about Countess Ibele sparking trends in high society.

In addition, even the very minor details honoring their achievements.

This was a space solely for the count and countess, but since the birth of their child, the arrangement has changed slightly. At the top, the couple’s ‘glory’ still fills the space.

Below the wall, a space for their children has emerged. ‘Sicel,’ ‘Yuna,’ ‘Jewel.’ Beneath each nameplate, their accomplishments are nailed and displayed.

‘Winner of the children’s martial arts competition hosted by Duke Redburn.’

‘Praise received from Lady Alorad’s salon.’

‘Academy admission certificate.’

And many more. ‘Things to be praised’ were obsessively decorated.

It is, indeed, the Wall of Glory that proves the competence of the Yurensto lineage and the greatness of the family. Countess Ibele, enchanted by that glory, gazed up dreamily before looking down at the empty space and frowned.

Insufficient.

Terribly insufficient. If a child is born into the Yurensto family, they should achieve at least double this. They must widely showcase their talents.

She and Count Yurensto built this great family from nothing. Therefore, it is only natural that children born with ‘good lineage’ and who received ‘good education’ and ‘ample affection’ should become even greater than themselves.

If, despite the couple’s dedication and investment in their lineage, they have not achieved this—then it must mean that their children’s efforts were lacking.

Countess Ibele lifted her brush and drew a large square on the wall. The complexion of Sicel, looking up, turned pale with the enormity of it.

“This year, we must fill this square completely. Sicel, do you understand?”

“Yes, Mother.”

“Jewel has already received twelve ‘glories’ this year alone. You have only five. You are far from becoming a splendid knight who protects the family. My beloved Sicel, you are capable of more than this!”

“⋯⋯⋯⋯.”

But Jewel received ‘glories’ through lies concocted in high society. And I worked hard. I endured pain and diligently practiced my swordsmanship.

Yet, more here…?

“Sicel, I’ve invited a new swordsmanship teacher. He is known for his strict teaching, so he should be better than that weak gentleman from before. It cost a lot, but… for our precious jewel Sicel, not even a fortune is too much to spend.”

“⋯⋯⋯⋯.”

“I work this hard for you, and you don’t feel sorry for me? Aren’t you ashamed of yourself? If you have a conscience, don’t rest and keep striving. Don’t be lazy like Yuna.”

“Yes, I will. I’m sorry, Mother.”

Young Cissel lowered her head. She had to fill the square. All the nearby competitions had already taken place. So how was she supposed to bring back ‘glory’? With something so trivial, she would only provoke her mother’s anger.

Countess Ivelle scrutinized the ‘Wall of Glory’ with a gaze that seemed to seek out flaws, then reached out. It was the certificate Cissel had received from the artists of the territory in the past. She had enjoyed singing.

‘A recommendation from the Baekryeom Art Academy.’

“How useless this still is. Cissel is to become a knight.”

“……..”

With a snap, the recommendation was torn and thrown aside. Cissel couldn’t distinguish whether the pain she felt in her heart was due to the empty square growing larger or for some other reason.

What remained in her hollow heart was the relentless duty etched into her being. She had to fill the square. She had to become someone who fit perfectly within it.

She had to.

By any means.

She had to become a knight.

Somehow, a great knight worthy of the name Yurensto.

——–

“……..because I must.”

“……..”

Creaking, Cissel Yurensto lifted the zweihänder. If she won the tournament and became a candidate for the hero, and by some stroke of luck was chosen by the goddess to be healed, she could fill the square a little more.

Even if it meant death.

At this, the old man frowned as if he had seen something truly unpleasant. He grimaced as if he had swallowed a bitter fruit, shaking off the taste as he spoke.

“I will not fight you.”

“Is that surrender?”

“Yes, I have lost. The desire to challenge has withered away. What meaning is there in oppressing an already defeated opponent? I surrender. I will take my leave now.”

“……..”

The old man grumbled as he descended from the arena. Cissel watched his retreating figure, releasing the grip from the hilt in her hand. She had won.

The announcer was spitting as he spoke.

“Ah, we have a surrender! Was the might of the ‘Blue Wind Knights’ too much for even a brave old man to face?! Then the victor of this match is Cissel Yurensto!”

She had won without meaning.

Even grasping the fragments of ‘glory’ brought her no joy.

But not knowing any other value to pursue, Cissel forced a smile and turned away. It throbbed. The old man’s disappointed expression lingered in her mind like a brand.

Facing the look of someone who felt let down was still overwhelming.

“The next match will continue──”

As Siscel Yurenshoto made her way back to the waiting room, the voice of the host faded in the background. It seemed like the match, which had been quite lackluster, resumed without any break.

Walking down the long corridor, Siscel encountered the next participant.

“⋯⋯⋯⋯.”

“Hmm.”

A girl wearing a butterfly-shaped mask. The mask had no eye holes, revealing only her tightly closed lips and light blonde hair. If her hair was mixed with gold, could she be of noble descent?

Somewhere, it felt familiar.

The masked girl pouted her lips slightly, as if a bit sulky. Just as Siscel was frozen, unable to grasp her intent, the girl spoke.

“A lot is going to change. Siscel. A whole lot.”

“⋯⋯What do you mean?”

“Heh, if you want to know, you’ll have to make it to the finals. If we follow our matchups all the way up⋯⋯ you and I will meet in the final battle. It means one of us will definitely be eliminated.”

And then, the girl struck a pose.

It was somewhat inefficient and unnecessary, but a bit cool.

“My name is the Mysterious Mage X⋯⋯!! Until then, take good care of your neck and wait!”

Tatata.

With those final words, the girl dashed towards the exit where the light streamed in. Siscel, still a bit dazed, followed her figure with her eyes. Somehow, it felt familiar.

⋯⋯Was it a declaration of war?

From the exit, a loud commotion from the stage could be heard. Cheers and excitement, even the shout of the commentator. Unlike Siscel’s rather dull match, it seemed like an intense battle was unfolding.

“Ultimate move, Dragon Fist Whirlwind Kick──!!”

“No way, the Mysterious Mage X has started close combat?! A terrifying kick wrapped in a whirlwind!”

“How am I supposed to deal with this for real!!”

“⋯⋯⋯⋯.”

That joyful commotion somehow pained Siscel Yurenshoto.

——–

The session had begun. After going through the first and second rounds, she had roughly grasped the target. Although countless magic stones and prior preparations were needed to catch a glimpse of that brief psychological depth, this much information was obtained cheaply.

She had requested funds for the magic stones as business expenses from Irid, and aside from his gaze becoming about 5% more sinister, everything was fine.

To get to the point.

The state of the Yurenshoto family was staggering.

The Red-Flavored Duke worked hard and calculated coldly to barely manage the abuse, while these guys had completely wrecked the family purely by their physical prowess without any effort. They did everything they were told not to do when raising kids.

Comparisons among siblings, corporal punishment, attitudes that changed based on mood, imposing opinions, and so on. Even if they learned, it shouldn’t have been like this. Is abuse also a talent⋯⋯?

Looking into the past made me a bit gloomy too. Yuna, that is.

Living in a place like that, how is it that I barely managed to escape to the Violet Tower… it’s a sign that something terrible happened.

I want to hug her and give her a kiss right away, but Yuna is currently preoccupied with playing the mysterious sorceress X.

Just now, I was hit multiple times by the Dragon Fist Whirlwind she conjured with her illusion magic. She seemed to be having fun, and that made me happy too. Maybe I should play with her like that more often.

Anyway.

Yuna… or rather, Sorceress X and Chisel will meet in the finals. If I don’t resolve Yuna’s sulkiness by then, I won’t even know how the story will unfold.

Yuna didn’t seem to harbor any malice. There was no indication that she actively wanted to destroy my session. It all seemed to fall within the realm of playfulness, but one must remember that when a tiger plays, it can still kill a person.

So, if possible… I need to resolve Yuna’s sulkiness before the finals.

At the same time, I’ll take care of Chisel Yurensto.

The latter doesn’t seem too difficult, but the former is quite challenging. Still, it’s something that must be done. It’s a door I have to pass through for my happiness!

Chisel Yurensto.

If my childhood dream was to be a singer, I’ll throw a bait that can’t be refused. I have a wealth of modern song data prepared for me…!

——–

From noble mtl dot come

“⋯⋯⋯⋯.”

Chisel Yurensto, holding a bag full of bread, walked down the street of Trumpet Hall, lost in thought.

Isn’t there an unusually high number of people singing on the streets lately…?