"Is your body really all right now?"

Prince Louis Loire, the First Prince, was gazing at his sword instructor, Arsen. Not long ago, Arsen had been a wreck, confined to a hospital bed, but now he had returned to swordsmanship lessons, looking perfectly fine. He approached confidently.

"Yes, Your Highness. Thanks to His Majesty’s great care, I was able to recover quickly."

"Good. But don’t overdo it. Even though knights tend to recover quickly, it's still winter. You never know, so be cautious."

Arsen nodded and lightly swung a wooden sword through the air. Prince Louis watched the movement of the sword with a furrowed brow. Despite receiving countless lessons from Arsen, the trajectory of Arsen’s sword was still hard for him to follow. He eventually stopped trying to track the sword’s tip and squinted at Arsen instead.

"Are you planning to participate in the upcoming martial tournament as well?"

The First Prince wasn’t so much anticipating the tournament as he was visibly anxious about it. Most knights participating in the tournament were affiliated with powerful factions. While the tournament was, on the surface, a contest between individual knights, for high-ranking nobles, it was a proxy war fought by their loyal knights. As a contender for succession, the New Year's Martial Tournament naturally carried a weight of tension for Louis.

"Yes, Your Highness. His Majesty has already given the order."

“…I see. You’ll be representing the Royal Guard, then?"

The First Prince tested the waters with his question, but Arsen merely shrugged, playing dumb.

"I can’t say for certain yet. There are senior knights, and I can’t be sure what will happen."

Arsen’s sharp gaze scanned the royal garden behind the First Prince’s palace. Though he sensed no one nearby, it wasn’t something he could carelessly speak about. Noticing Arsen’s caution, the First Prince clicked his tongue, annoyed but understanding. His small frustration turned into a bitter smile, reflecting his helplessness in the current situation.

"It’s a damn shame, isn’t it? That even as the First Prince of this kingdom, I have to glance around cautiously just to ask my own subordinate a question."

In a fit of irritation, Louis drove his wooden sword into the ground. The frozen earth, soaked from the falling snow, resisted, making it difficult to plant the sword. Arsen looked at him with apologetic eyes.

"My apologies, Your Highness. I’ve shown you an unseemly side due to my cautious nature."

"No, you need not apologize. Your actions were correct. I cannot blame you for my own lack of power."

Louis steeled his eyes and pulled the sword out of the ground, as if to rid himself of the frustration he felt. He then assumed a ready stance—a form Arsen had corrected countless times. Now, the First Prince’s stance resembled something quite respectable.

"Let’s continue the training, Arsen. I haven’t exercised in a while, and my body feels restless."

Arsen nodded, seeing that the First Prince was particularly motivated today. He knew that no amount of comforting words could relieve the prince’s frustration. Clashing swords and breathing in the crisp winter air, clearing his mind, would help far more.

"Very well. Let’s start with the first sword form."

The First Prince nodded. Though his mind was filled with many thoughts, his sword tip stood firm. Arsen watched as Louis executed the first sword form, all the while recalling the orders the king had given him.

 

"I won’t waste words, Sir Arsen. You must participate in this year’s martial tournament."

The Magic Tower incident had ended in a half-victory. While the Magic Tower, once allied with Bening, was dismantled, they hadn’t been able to eliminate its core members. Although the revelation that the Magic Tower had been conducting black magic experiments allowed them to apprehend the warlocks, it wasn’t enough to completely bring down Bening.

All the king had gained were a blind knight and a once-renowned wizard, who was now sitting across from him. It would be more accurate to say that the person before him was not the king’s man, but this black-haired knight’s man.

Even a half-victory was enough.

The king considered the fact that he had maintained a stalemate with Leon Bening in this conflict to be his greatest achievement. It was a foundation he could build upon for future victories. And this knight, Arsen, was the key to those victories.

"I will humbly accept Your Majesty’s command. However, may I ask a question?"

"Ask as many as you like, Sir Arsen."

Maxime raised his head to look directly at the king.

"Under whose banner will I be competing?"

The king raised a corner of his mouth as if he had been expecting the question. Maxime swallowed dryly, sensing some foreboding from the king’s smile.

"I’d like to hear your opinion first. Whose knight do you think you’ll be representing?"

"...Judging by Your Majesty’s words, it seems I won’t be competing as a representative of the Royal Guard. Am I to represent the First Prince?"

The king nodded at Maxime’s cautious question.

"The knights of Agon and the Border Counts are all skilled. But they would struggle against Bening’s hidden forces and the Raven Order."

The king’s fingers drummed on the armrest of his chair, his eyes gleaming.

"I’ll be sending Denis to Princess Michelle. While I’d prefer to call back Sir Adeline, it’s better to leave her working independently for now."

The king’s sharp gaze locked onto Maxime.

"And you, Sir Arsen, will be participating as the First Prince Louis’s instructor."

"Would this not raise concerns of fairness? Especially from the Bening side…."

Maxime’s question made the king sigh bitterly. Maxime couldn’t tell if that sigh came from a ruler fighting for his throne or a father entangled in his children’s squabbles.

"It’s far too late to talk about fairness now."

The word "late" felt like an understatement. Maxime thought the king seemed to have aged several years. The king quickly concealed his emotions once again.

"If Sir Hugo doesn’t compete, Leon Bening won’t have grounds to complain about fairness."

Maxime glanced at Hugo Bern, the captain of the Royal Guard, standing silently behind the king. Maxime had faced many opponents, but Hugo’s skill was impossible to gauge. Even Theodora, Adeline, and Leon Bening couldn’t compare. Perhaps not even his own master could.

Just as that thought crossed his mind, Hugo met his gaze. Maxime, sensing the intensity in Hugo’s dark eyes, quickly adjusted his stance.

“…What kind of person is Sir Hugo, really?” Maxime asked, and the king chuckled softly.

"The strongest knight in the kingdom."

The king’s words were simple, but they carried great weight. Hugo, however, didn’t blink at the king’s praise. It wasn’t arrogance—Hugo accepted the title as a matter of fact.

"If I weren’t the strongest, I wouldn’t be standing here, Maxime," Hugo said, his tone calm but filled with the confidence only an absolute master could have. His gaze seemed to ask, “Who could ever replace me?” Maxime felt a long-forgotten spark of passion for the sword reignite within him. His palms itched, his eyes sharpened with determination, and his muscles tensed, calculating his next move.

"Your form is excellent, but remember, we are still in the presence of His Majesty," Hugo remarked.

Maxime quickly suppressed his fighting spirit and adjusted his posture.

"My apologies, Your Majesty."

"It’s impressive that you can show such eagerness, even in front of Sir Hugo, without fear. I seem to have good fortune when it comes to knights," the king said, laughing. He only regretted that brute strength alone couldn’t restore peace to the kingdom.

"This is your royal command, Sir Arsen. First, break through the preliminary rounds and advance to the finals. And," the king said, gazing down at Maxime, "ultimately, win the tournament."

Maxime knelt and bowed his head. If the king demanded victory, Maxime would deliver it, no matter the opponent. Until he defeated Leon Bening, he could not afford to falter.

"I will ensure that the wolves lurking around the palace tuck their tails in fear."

"As you should," the king nodded firmly.

"Make sure that throughout the capital, the First Prince’s name echoes louder than Bening’s," the king declared, his voice resonating like a sword unsheathed.

 

Prince Louis dropped his sword’s tip to the ground, panting heavily. He had been practicing for quite a while. Despite the cold of the winter garden, he no longer felt the chill. His face, flushed with heat, cooled under the biting wind. In contrast, Arsen, standing across from him, showed no signs of exertion, not even a bead of sweat. Louis lifted his head, feeling a pang of frustration.

"You’ve improved a lot," Arsen said, and Louis raised an eyebrow. It felt mocking to be told he had improved when Arsen had effortlessly deflected all his strikes like he was dealing with a child.

"You say that, yet you barely flinched the entire time."

"But it’s true, Your Highness. You’ve certainly made progress. You’ve clearly continued training even in my absence."

Louis sighed, nodding. He had indeed practiced daily, more diligently than when Arsen was watching over him.

“…It’s embarrassing. When it comes to the sword, it feels like you know everything."

"I still have a long way to go. Mastering the sword is, after all, a fight against oneself."

Arsen’s words didn’t fully resonate with Louis, but he nodded along nonetheless.

"I’m glad I decided to learn from you."

Louis weighed the wooden sword in his hand. His wrist trembled slightly as he gripped the hilt. The sword was unpredictable—sometimes as light as a feather, other times as heavy as a boulder.

"I’ve come to realize lately that I mustn’t disregard a world I don’t fully understand."

"It pleases me to hear that the sword has had a positive influence on Your Highness."

Louis chuckled and rotated his sore wrist. By now, the morning had passed, and the sun hung high above them.

"Alright, let’s go one more time, and then we’ll finish."

"Yes, Your Highness."

Arsen raised his sword in response to the First Prince’s request. As Louis tensed his body for the next round, Arsen suddenly lowered his sword, his presence shifting.

"Why did you stop?" Louis asked, frowning.

"Your Highness, it seems we have an uninvited guest."

Louis turned his head and saw a familiar knight hovering near the garden entrance. He immediately recognized the face and narrowed his eyes. The middle-aged knight was being blocked by palace attendants, awkwardly scratching the back of his head.

"Who is that…?"

Arsen sighed half-heartedly. What was Paola doing here alone? Louis glanced at Arsen.

"Isn’t that Sir Kyle’s knight? I believe she accompanied him the last time he visited. Her name is Paola Simón, if I recall."

"Yes, that’s correct. She’s the vice-commander of the Raven Order."

Louis watched the attendants continue to block the knight for a moment, then shrugged.

"Well, let’s see what she wants. It does appear she’s come alone."

At the prince’s gesture, the attendants stepped aside, and Paola slowly approached the garden. Her gaze was free-spirited but full of knightly dignity as she stopped in front of the First Prince.

"I greet Your Highness, the First Prince."

"What brings you here? Surely you didn’t come just to exchange pleasantries."

Paola chuckled and shook her head.

"No, Your Highness. I came here exactly to exchange pleasantries."

Louis furrowed his brow in confusion.

"Quite the carefree knight, aren’t you? Where is Kyle?"

"I’m off duty today. I thought I’d stop by. Surely that’s allowed once in a while, isn’t it?"

Arsen, feeling awkward standing by idly, stepped forward.

"You’re in the presence of the prince. While His Highness is generous, you should observe proper etiquette."

“…Ah, pardon me. It seems I’ve been rude."

Paola, finally bowing her head properly, made Louis raise his eyebrows slightly. Her manner hadn’t exactly been fitting from the start, but her attitude wasn’t particularly offensive.

"If you wanted to become my knight, I wouldn’t turn you away," Louis teased.

Paola burst into laughter.

"No, Your Highness, I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that offer."

Paola then turned her gaze toward Arsen, who was watching her with a slight frown. She seemed oddly familiar with the black-haired knight.

"How have you been? I wondered where you disappeared to, but it seems you handled things well at the Magic Tower."

Arsen nodded, recalling how the Raven Order hadn’t been involved in the Magic Tower raid.

"Yes. Fortunately."

Arsen didn’t elaborate. He wondered how the former members of the Raven Order would react if they found out that Christine, once thought dead, was now alive and part of the Royal Guard.

"I see," Paola said, turning her attention back to Louis.

"Your Highness."

"Speak."

This time, Paola’s voice took on a more serious tone. She was about to reveal the true reason for her visit.

"I would like to spar with your knight."

This time, it was Arsen who frowned. Two people wanted to use him as a sparring partner today, it seemed. Louis, on the other hand, appeared intrigued by the request and raised an eyebrow, deep in thought.

"A sparring match, you say."

Louis muttered thoughtfully before handing his wooden sword to Paola, who bowed as she accepted it.

"Very well. But remember, Arsen is still recovering, so be gentle."

"There’s no need to go easy," Arsen said, his voice firm. He was already stretching his shoulders and wrists, having retrieved his wooden sword. He figured he might as well indulge in a little provocation, given he had become a target for everyone’s frustrations today.

"Whether we hold back or not, it won’t make much difference anyway."