Although the two met by "chance," Ihan was not the type of person who would fail to consider the feelings of a woman approaching him, even if it required some courage on her part.

"Well then, since we met by chance, let's walk together, Chick Number 2." "Can't you just call me by my name?" "...What was your name again?" "?!" "Kidding, Cadet Irene." "Sir, I really thought you had forgotten for real, so it didn’t sound like a joke." "I'm not that much of a scumbag." "Hehe, I was just joking too." "Touché."

Although awkward at first, the conversation between the knight and the young woman flowed continuously. After all, they were next-door neighbors. Given how often they saw each other, it would have been strange if they still felt unfamiliar with one another.

However, if there was any lingering awkwardness between them, it was likely because:

"It feels a little strange to have a conversation like this at the academy." "Even if we’re neighbors outside, here we're an instructor and a cadet." "Yeah, definitely."

The tension came from their roles as instructor and cadet.

Irene Wendler nodded in agreement with Ihan's words but felt that today, at least, she didn't need to worry about the teacher-student relationship. After all, it was exam season, and all the academic faculties had halted their classes. Even instructors, lecturers, and professors were taking a step back from interacting with cadets.

This gave Irene the courage to approach him first today.

'Hmm, but still… I hope this doesn’t look like something romantic, right?'

As someone inexperienced in romance, she was particularly concerned about how others might perceive them. She worried that they might look like a budding couple.

And if that were the case…

'That would be… a little embarrassing.'

Irene Wendler’s cheeks turned a bright red, as if stained with blush.

Unfortunately for her, though…

"Oh, it's Lady Irene. Who’s that next to her? Her escort knight?" "More like a mercenary, don’t you think? Still, given it’s Galahad, she would need an escort." "Wait, isn't he the swordsmanship instructor?" "Ah, right! Do you think the Galahad family hired him as a bodyguard?"

To others, they looked nothing like a romantic pair.

What would you even call this situation?

"Wow, seeing them together like that, it's kind of…" "Their styles don’t match, do they?" "Exactly…"

One looked like they came straight out of a romantic comic, while the other gave off a distinctly apocalyptic vibe.

The cadets watching them were puzzled by how such an odd pair could be together.

 

Ihan didn't even need to be at the academy today. During the two-week evaluation period, most instructors either rested at home or caught up on leftover work.

Though this time was closer to a preparation phase than a break, and the instructors were usually busy with final preparations, Ihan had an unusual amount of free time, thanks to his assistant, who handled everything for him—an assistant who could only be described as a slave.

So, while others were busy, Ihan spent this precious break focusing on his own training and wandering around the academy, curious about how his students would fare.

‘Obligation? Or is this just fondness?’

Whatever it was, after spending three months with them, he couldn't help but grow attached. He found himself eager to see how well the students from the swordsmanship department would perform.

Irene agreed, and the first place they visited together was…

Thwack! Thwack!

"Chick Number 7, not bad at all." "Lady Rose certainly has excellent athletic abilities."

The scene was the tennis courts, a battlefield of blooming flowers, where the "chicks" were shining.

"It’s like a garden of flowers here." "My nose hurts from all the perfume." "...Aren’t we kind of switching traditional gender roles right now?" "What do you mean?" "…Is it just me?"

Since most of the noble ladies chose tennis as their sport, the courts were overwhelmingly dominated by women. Meanwhile, the students who stood out were from the swordsmanship department.

Thwack!!

"I won!" "Woohoo!" "Oh? Instructor!" "Instructor, I won!"

Perhaps it was because they'd received special training and lectures from Ihan, but the girls displayed overwhelming skill and secured their victory, leaving a strong impression on the evaluators.

‘They’re definitely my members—no, my chicks.’

It seemed they were finally shedding their yellow feathers.

‘Hmm, though at this point, we could start calling them battle chickens instead.’

Ihan knew all too well that noble ladies often boasted about slimming down through starvation, without doing any real exercise. They were the type to go on diets, bragging about how skinny they were, while indulging in endless rounds of tea parties with cakes, tea, and sweets.

'No wonder their bodies are in such poor shape.'

Watching the defeated noblewomen, Ihan felt they were not just upset at losing, but missing the real issue at hand.

'Malnutrition and a severe lack of exercise…'

They might not feel it now, while they’re young, but when they age, they’re bound to suffer for it.

‘Compared to them, my chicks are like phoenixes.’

Unlike the frail, sickly girls around them, his chicks were brimming with vitality, swinging their arms with confidence. They had grown so much from the weaklings they had once been.

"Ah, they’re making me emotional." "…What exactly are you getting emotional about?" "Watching someone recover from illness is always heartwarming." "??"

Irene Wendler couldn’t quite grasp Ihan’s sentiment.

 

After that, Ihan and Irene Wendler continued to explore the academy, witnessing various events.

"Kunta is charging!" "Run, run! Don't let him hit you!" "Ahhh!"

They watched a barbarian charging across the football field like a wild bull, sending cadets flying left and right.

"If you don’t want to get hurt, move!" "What is that crazy horse stunt?!" "A mercenary pulling this off? Even so… Ack!"

They observed a student from the mercenary king’s lineage dominating the polo field with insane horseback stunts, making others question if he came from the plains rather than being just another mercenary.

"You did it!" "You maniac!" "As expected of the sword master's successor!"

Then there was the descendant of the sword master, hitting a walk-off home run in a tight cricket game.

Everywhere they looked, the swordsmanship cadets were excelling.

Ihan, the one who had trained them, couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride. It was the same feeling one might get when showing off a well-groomed bonsai tree.

But while Ihan was basking in this pride, Irene Wendler had some questions.

"Hmm, those students are seniors, right? Second or third years?" "That’s right."

It was only natural that there were second and third years among those taking the exam, many of whom had skipped the swordsmanship department’s classes, opting instead for private tutors.

"And why are they so weak?" "Hm?" "No, seriously, they seem much weaker compared to their peers. Even the 'Teddy Bears' could beat them." "......" "Why are you looking at me like that?" "I just found it cute." "W-What?!"

Unaware that she had just made Irene’s heart skip a beat, Ihan stared at her with renewed curiosity. Could it be because she was a mage, or had she grown keen at observing warriors after spending so much time in the swordsmanship department?

Or was it just that…

‘Her bloodline really is a cheat.’

After all, her father, a duke who wielded the demon sword, had the power to single-handedly dominate battlefields. If Irene had been raised as a warrior instead of a mage, she would have been formidable in her own right.

Though Ihan valued effort, he couldn’t deny the importance of bloodline in a world like theirs.

 

After all, even though he emphasized hard work, Ihan couldn’t ignore the power of noble lineage in a world like this.

Irene's observation was spot on. The second and third-year students were getting overwhelmed by the first-years, and even a quick glance showed a significant disparity in skill levels.

‘In gaming terms, they’re like newbies who haven’t even finished their first job change.’

Compared to them, the first-year students had nearly completed their second or even third job changes. The gap was ridiculous.

‘…I’ve heard that the quality of new knights has been declining year by year, and I guess this is why.’

Looking at these seniors reminded Ihan of something: the new knights who had come after him, including that one particularly arrogant junior, Yord, who had been the only one brave enough to challenge him before he joined the academy. The others had been timid, and their lack of confidence was obvious.

‘They haven’t developed any real physical skills. Their ability to exude killing intent or aura is awkward at best. I bet their only real experience comes from hunting animals, like rabbits or foxes.’

They clearly had never faced anything truly dangerous, not even monsters. The lack of intensity radiating from their bodies said it all.

‘They don’t have the basics.’

As he had said before, Ihan had never slacked off in his role as an instructor. He had approached everyone sincerely and trained them with all his effort. The thing he emphasized most of all was the importance of “basics.”

And in his training, he drilled these basics into the cadets as if he were trying to reprogram their very minds and bodies. Thanks to this approach, even the first-year students who had only been under his guidance for less than three months had improved so much that they could easily defeat their former selves from three months ago.

On the other hand, the second and third-year students, who had two years of training on the first-years, were...

‘Pathetic.’

That’s how Ihan saw the second and third-year students.

‘They’re all just hollow shells.’

Completely empty on the inside.

"Are the basics really that important?" Irene asked, puzzled.

"It’s like calling someone a mage when they can’t even use telekinesis to play cat’s cradle."

"Wow, that’s... seriously bad."

Now that Ihan used a magical example, Irene immediately understood. For a mage, not being able to control telekinesis was like giving a child a hammer. Nothing is more dangerous than being unable to control one's own power.

"Why are their levels so low?"

"War has ruined people in many ways."

"Huh?"

"There's a lot to it."

Irene likely didn’t know. The true heroes of the Britten War were the knights of the previous generation, not the current one. The knights of the previous king’s era had all retired, and the current military was being led by people who had partied through the war, without any real combat experience.

‘The absence of the Wargod is a huge loss.’

The Wargod—the previous king of Pendragon—had ruled the kingdom for 120 years, elevating it to the level of a great power. It was hard to believe that a mere human could achieve such accomplishments, but his deeds were legendary.

‘He could’ve founded a nation on his own.’

The Wargod’s most extraordinary talent, the one that even made Ihan in awe, was his ability to select and nurture exceptional talents. Any knight or minister the Wargod chose was guaranteed to be outstanding.

Pendragon had once been filled with these chosen talents, so much so that even empires feared the kingdom. Among those chosen by the Wargod’s discerning eye had been none other than Baltar Grace in his youth.

But it had been 17 years since the Wargod, now known as the Great King, had departed for Avalon.

Most of the people who had fought alongside him had already passed away, and the few remaining elders, who had made a name for themselves in the war, were merely waiting for the day they would join him in the afterlife.

Now it was time for the younger generation to lead the kingdom. But unfortunately, this younger generation was... disappointing.

‘When the next war comes, I’ll have to leave this country.’

Watching the nobles who were supposed to lead the kingdom gave Ihan a sinking feeling that the kingdom had no real future.

 

"Is that why the kingdom fell?"

"Huh?"

"...Nothing. Forget it."

"??"

Ihan swallowed his words. It wasn’t something he could share with anyone just yet. For now, it was something he could only keep to himself.

At that moment—

"Is this what you wanted to show me, you arrogant brat?"

"...Wouldn’t one look be worth more than a thousand words?"

"Hmph. I suppose you’re right. Watching this does make me angry."

"……."

Standing behind him was a man radiating a cold, chilling presence. Roen could feel his heart tighten with fear.

He had known all along who this man was. He was one of the pillars holding up the kingdom, alongside Pendragon and Lionel. But even knowing this, Roen had never imagined he would be so terrified in his presence.

Up until now, Roen had believed there was no one who could make him feel this way.

But now—

‘...He’s terrifying.’

Roen feared Blake Vivian de Galahad.

But was it Blake that he feared, or something else?

‘Could it be that the lion’s blood sleeping within me is afraid of him?’

Regardless of the reason, Roen knew that letting his guard down would be a fatal mistake.

"Should I kill him, my lord?"

"No need. We didn’t come here to fight today."

"But he was arrogant enough to summon you, my lord. We can’t let him live."

"It feels like I’ve raised a butcher, not a knight."

"If you wish, I’ll gladly become a butcher."

"...Sigh."

Oh yes, there was him too.

‘Lark de Durron, Galahad’s final sword.’

His title was not something he had earned yet. In the distant future, this would be the name he would be known by—a title that would terrify the entire kingdom, for he would become its greatest butcher.

‘No one could have known that such a brutal and terrifying force lay dormant within him…’

The only person who could control that vicious beast inside him was the duke, who wielded the demon sword. With the duke gone, there would be no one left in the kingdom who could contain that monster.

‘But for now, things are different. Even if he’s a vicious hound, as long as he’s obedient to his master, the danger remains in the future.’

That’s why Roen decided to take a gamble.

As long as the duke was alive and the kingdom’s worst butcher remained a “loyal dog”—

"...My lord, I came to offer you a proposal."

"This arrogant…!"

"Stop."

"……."

"Continue, brat."

"……."

For Roen to make such an audacious proposal in front of the duke meant that he was risking his life. But the die had been cast, and Roen showed no hesitation.

"My lord, Duke Galahad—no, the man who carries the purest bloodline of the Great King—I ask you to take the throne."

"You insolent wretch!"

Lark drew his sword, and Roen, as if he had anticipated this, instantly restrained him.

"I’ll hear your answer next time."

Woosh!

In an instant, they disappeared.

Their ability to vanish without a trace, even escaping the senses of high-ranking knights, was almost magical.

Yet, Lark was confident that he could track them down and kill them, even if they were mystical beings. He was about to move when—

"Stop."

"My lord?"

"Hmph, rats. Just like before, all they’re good at is hiding."

"……."

"...Still."

A small smile crept across the lips of Duke Blake de Galahad.

But—

"It’s an intriguing proposal."

His eyes, however, remained icy cold, indicating that his mood was far from pleasant.