The Silver Lion Knights.

They were the kingdom’s most elite knightly order.

The knights numbered 300. Considering that the salary for one knight was comparable to the value of a thoroughbred racehorse, one might wonder how such a force could be maintained. Fortunately, the wages for Silver Lion members were far lower compared to other knightly orders.

The reason? Simple.

The Silver Lions weren’t paid to serve; rather, knights were willing to pay for the honor of joining.

Founded alongside the history of Pendragon, the order boasted profound tradition. Its countless legends matched its long-standing history, and its symbolism as an eternal ally to Lionel was unmatched.

To belong to the Silver Lion Knights meant inheriting this legacy, legends, and prestige.

For this reason, the sons of high-ranking nobles dreamed of joining the Silver Lions. There was no greater honor, nor a better opportunity to establish ties with the royal family.

Thus, those who became Silver Lions were elite knights who had passed through grueling competition, with odds of thousands to one.

But…

“Gasp!”
“Why… why is he here?”
“I heard he was demoted!”
“Stay away—don’t make eye contact…”

“...”

…That didn’t necessarily mean they had all earned their places fairly.

‘Nothing’s changed here.’

The Silver Lion uniform felt unbearably stifling after so long. Maybe his muscles had grown, or perhaps his frame had become broader. Either way, it was uncomfortable.

As he endured the awkward uniform and walked through the palace, countless eyes turned his way.

The 1st Division, the 2nd Division, and even his own 3rd Division.

Not a single gaze was friendly.

Not that Ihan cared, as he wasn’t feeling particularly friendly himself. Still, he couldn’t help but smirk.

It wasn’t because of their laughable hostility.

It was just…

‘Did I step into enemy territory?’

The place he had returned to felt foreign, like a hostile camp.

This was undeniably his old workplace, yet it filled him with the unpleasant sensation of having entered enemy lines.

After spending months around pure-hearted academy students and straightforward knights like the Blood Eagle Order, this den of “snakes” was jarring.

‘I’ve only been gone five months, yet this place feels utterly alien.’

He had once likened knightly orders to the major leagues. Like promising players in the minor leagues, knights here were undoubtedly talented.

But this was the palace, the heart of the capital.

It wasn’t a place where one could survive on personal prowess alone…

It was a domain where politics was essential.

To thrive in the palace ecosystem was to inevitably be involved in politics. As such, over 80% of the Silver Lions were either relatives of court officials or beneficiaries of their sponsorship.

The 1st Division aligned with the royalists, while the 2nd Division sided with the noble faction. The 3rd Division was a mix of minor nobles and peculiar oddballs.

Thus, Ihan found it amusing.

A major league infused with factions, connections, and bloodline politics—a bizarre melting pot, to say the least.

‘My standards have gotten too high.’

Having spent time among true knights, these slippery, scheming individuals only drew sighs from him.

Moreover…

‘How is it possible for them to stagnate so much?’

The level here was shockingly low, which disappointed him even more.

He recognized a few faces and was sure of one thing: not a single one of them had progressed in the past few months. Despite their major-league talent, they wasted it on political games rather than honing their skills with the sword.

‘It’s infuriating.’

Was this some occupational hazard? Having taken on the role of a teacher, he now understood how aggravating it was to see talent go to waste.

And the person responsible for dragging him into this mess…

No, not just a person—a being one might call…

“Her Highness Isis Elaine de Pendragon, Crown Princess of the Kingdom. Knight Ihan seeks an audience as summoned.”

The clear, respectful voice of a steward with the rank of baron echoed.

And thus...

[Enter.]

The Crown Princess, poised on the cusp of her ascension, had summoned him. Ihan stepped into the White Lion Palace, feeling an intense displeasure akin to entering a snake pit.

 

Ambrosia.

A mythical elixir said to have existed in ancient times.

It wasn’t a restorative medicine or a tonic to recover strength. Rather…

“Ambrosia?! That Ambrosia said to cure all curses and diseases, even innate allergies or congenital illnesses?”
“It cures allergies too?”
“Wow… I didn’t know it actually existed.”

The most detailed explanation he’d ever heard came from his all-knowing, omnipotent status window. Nodding, Ihan thought it was fortunate he had asked.

“Can you make it?”

Tired of being dragged around by his tyrannical older sister, Ihan wondered if this was his chance to escape. With some hope, he asked his status window if Ambrosia could be created.

Given that the alchemical skills displayed so far had even handled the Heart of the Demon King, his expectations were high.

“Hmm… I don’t think it’s possible.”
“…!”

The response dashed his hopes.

Annoyed, Ihan pressed on.

“Is it because you lack the ingredients? If so, I’ll get them.”
“No, it’s not about the ingredients.”
“Then is it the formula? If it’s that…”
“No, the formula is easy. You just mix Mandrake, Siren’s Tears, and Queen Bee Wax.”
“Then why can’t you make it?”
“Because only witches can make it.”
“??”
“Ambrosia is a potion exclusive to witches—a creation requiring their touch, magic, and mystery. As a regular human, how could I craft a witch’s elixir?”
“Then how did this one get made?”
“Probably hired a witch. Whoever did it must be impressive. Witches are among the rarest mystical beings—a 0.000001% chance of encountering one.”
“So you’re saying…”
“Meeting a witch and having them create Ambrosia is an astronomically rare chance. And even if you did meet one, they’d likely kill you on sight.”
“Urgh…”

He could almost see the smug face of the princess mocking him.

‘Oh, my foolish little brother. Do you think I wouldn’t see through your petty schemes? Stop wasting your time.’

Frustration boiled in him. Ihan hated that he felt like grabbing the back of his neck, even though he hadn’t lost in combat or argument.

‘She toys with people.’

Suppressing his irritation, Ihan finally met with Isis.

She greeted him with an amused smile, as if relishing the sight of him.

“So, did you enjoy my gift?”
“…Yes, I was deeply moved. Brought to tears, in fact.”
“Good. I’m glad.”
“…”
“Now, I suppose it’s time I received something in return for my gift.”

She extended her foot.

“Kiss it.”

“…”

Isis demanded he kiss her foot, and Ihan’s expression turned blank.

“…Sister, your tastes are… unique.”

While he respected her preferences, he couldn’t help but think forcing them onto others was going too far.

 

The White Lion Palace.

A symbolic residence reserved for the next heir to the throne.

To enter it was a sign of immense honor and achievement for any noble or knight. And its current occupant was none other than Isis Pendragon.

Renowned as the kingdom’s greatest beauty since her debutante ball, Isis’s allure had once caused foreign royalty to fall into lovesickness, endlessly vying for her favor. Though she no longer attended grand parties, her reputation as the kingdom’s most beautiful woman remained unchallenged.

With the noble blood of royalty flowing through her veins, her youth would last for a century to come.

For this reason, countless nobles and knights desperately longed to enter the White Lion Palace, eager to receive the honor of kissing the royal heir’s hand—or foot.

And yet…

“You ungrateful fool. Men and women alike are desperate to kiss my foot, yet you…!”
“Is everyone in this kingdom alright? They all seem like perverts.”
“You insolent wretch!”

Smack.

Her fan struck Ihan’s head.

But…

“…My wrist hurts more.”
“My head’s gotten a bit harder lately. Might hurt more for the one doing the hitting.”
“Hmm. So your skills have improved? That’s good news.”
“…”

Rubbing her sore wrist, Isis’s eyes glimmered with a chilling light. It was the gaze of someone marveling at a talented bear that had learned yet another trick.

“…Shouldn’t have said anything.”

Ihan regretted adding fuel to the fire, feeling once again that his loose tongue was his greatest enemy.

“Haa…”

But he quickly shook off the thought.

“...Sister.”
“Yes?”
“You didn’t summon me back with that ridiculous temporary reinstatement nonsense just for fun. Am I correct in assuming you have some complicated task in mind?”
“Oh-ho, your time as a teacher has sharpened your perception.”
“Let’s skip the flattery. I have three questions. May I ask them?”
“Most would call that insolence, but I shall permit it this time.”

“Alright. First question: is the knight order really so short-staffed that you had to call someone like me?”
“We are.”
“…”
“It’s shameful to admit, but there are no trustworthy individuals left. Those who are competent are riddled with political ambitions. How can I rely on such people?”
“Then perhaps you should’ve been more careful with recruitment.”
“To do that, I’d have to dethrone my father. Will you help?”
“…That’s treason, and quite the crime.”
“Successful treason is called revolution.”
“Let’s pretend I didn’t hear that.”

Their conversation only grew more absurd, so Ihan moved on quickly.

“Second question: why summon me here in such an ostentatious way, rather than discreetly? I’ve been hearing nonsense about being the ‘hero who saved the capital’ ever since I got here.”
“Why is that nonsense? For a knight, fame is invaluable—it brings glory for generations.”

While she spoke innocently, the crescent shape of her eyes betrayed her amusement.

‘This woman…!’

She was clearly teasing him, knowing how much he despised fame and public attention.

“What a terrible personality…”

“Now, now. It’s a joke. I know you dislike fame and attention. This time, I simply couldn’t find another opportunity for a private meeting, so I made an excuse. Forgive me.”
“Just stop calling it a ‘private meeting.’ There are better words, like ‘midnight stroll.’ It’s so… off-putting.”
“…Ungrateful fool. Do you know how many young men dream of sharing a ‘private meeting’ with me?”
“I’ll gladly hand that honor to someone else.”
“…”

“Alright. On to the third question.”

Ihan placed a bottle on the table. It contained a radiant liquid, shimmering with a luxurious glow. Isis chuckled softly.

“You haven’t drunk it yet?”
“It’s not like this one’s the finished version either, is it? I’ll drink it when I actually need it.”
“Still, this one will last a week. It should be more than enough to satisfy your… desires.”
“…”
“Tempted, aren’t you? If you’d like, I can introduce you to some charming young ladies for a night of indulgence.”
“Ahem! That’s not why I brought it. I wanted to ask something about this.”

Ambrosia.

The one and only known cure for his curse.

And yet Ihan hadn’t consumed it. As much as he wanted to feel its effects again, he had something to confirm first.

“This… would it work on someone else?”
“…”
“There’s someone… under a curse, similar to this…”

He hesitated, unsure if he should reveal such a thing. It felt wrong to discuss someone else’s secrets.

“The Brand of Obedience is both a curse and a magical construct. I doubt Ambrosia alone could remove it.”

“…”

…Did this woman know everything?

“Do you have clairvoyance or something?”
“Sadly, no. I simply have many ways of acquiring information.”
“…”

At this point, wasn’t this bordering on horror?

‘A royal in a romance fantasy novel is supposed to be at least somewhat incompetent.’

Why was she so capable?

…Ihan found himself growing a bit afraid of her.

 

“Haa…”

Ihan left the White Lion Palace feeling as though his mental state had been thrown into a threshing machine. While talking to the marquis had been exhausting, this sister of his was twice as draining.

Even so…

‘At least I got something out of it.’

The positive response he’d received left him satisfied.

-Ambrosia alone won’t suffice, but there’s a way to make it work.
-Then…
-But why should I go to such lengths?
-…
-Don’t make that face. Handle this task properly, and I’ll grant your wish.
-…I saved the capital, though…
-And I provided you with gunpowder. And what about the marquis’s case?
-…

…There was no winning against her in an argument.

“Oh, what a life I lead.”

Trying to do some teaching, and this is the mess he was caught in.

“…If she were a worse person, I wouldn’t go this far.”

He glanced at the ring on his finger.

What had he done to earn such trust?

Feeling the weight of the ring, Ihan chuckled. Despite his fatigue, it gave him a strange sense of strength.

As he was calming his thoughts…

“You there! How dare you, a mere parasite, cling to Princess Isis?!”

“...?”

“You! I’ll kill—!”

Thwack!

“Guh!”

Ihan struck the jaw of the lunatic who had charged at him, knocking him unconscious in an instant.

Grabbing the man by the collar, Ihan sighed.

“…What should I do with him?”

Should he hit him some more, or wait until he woke up and then beat him again?

Mercy wasn’t an option after such hostility.

As he contemplated…

“Huh? This guy’s hair…”

…Silver hair?

“…”

Ihan blinked.

If memory served him right, there was only one person with silver hair…

“Where is the 8th Prince?! Find His Highness!”
“Locate the Commander!”
“Search for the Commander!”

Hearing the distant shouts of knights, Ihan pieced it together.

The 1st Division’s commander. The 8th Prince who had renounced his claim to the throne but was still undeniably royal.

“…Ah.”

The moment Ihan realized the fool he’d just punched was the 8th Prince…

He knew.

…He was in deep trouble.