“The 8th Prince—no, the Commander of the 1st Division—was the ‘White Lion’ himself? That’s… surprising.”

A newly recruited knight blinked in astonishment at the revelation. He seemed genuinely shocked to learn that not only was there a member of the royal family in the knightly order, but that they served as its commander.

A senior knight, noticing his reaction, nodded in understanding.

“Most newcomers are surprised at first. But it’s not that uncommon. Quite a few royals quietly join the knight orders. Especially the 1st Division.”

“The Royalist faction.”

“Exactly. The 1st Division is made up of nobles aligned with the royalist faction. To lead them, it has to be someone of royal blood or at least a high-ranking noble. That’s why a royal traditionally holds a key position in the 1st Division. …Though it’s rare for a royal to rise all the way to Commander.”

“They must be exceptionally skilled.”

“Why? Thinking of challenging them?”

“…Maybe just once.”

“Haha! Bold, aren’t you?”

The senior knight couldn’t help but laugh at the rookie’s audacious remark about facing a royal. He wasn’t mocking the junior knight’s courage. On the contrary, a burning desire for competition was a quality worthy of praise.

Moreover…

‘Confidence born from real skill isn’t arrogance—it’s conviction. This kid has earned it.’

As far as he knew, this rookie was the most skilled recruit of the year. He trained relentlessly and had already outclassed nearly everyone in the 3rd Division, save for a select few. In fact, his constant demands for sparring had made many senior knights avoid him altogether.

‘We had another one like this before. Always sparring, always stirring things up. And now, it feels like his replacement has arrived.’

If nothing else, eccentrics seemed to emerge without fail.

…Though finding one as exceptional as that guy was a rarity.

Regardless, while some senior knights found the spirited newcomer a bit exhausting, this particular knight supported him. To him, knights should possess that kind of tenacity.

…Unfortunately.

“It’s a shame, but they won’t entertain you.”

“Why not?”

“The 1st Division doesn’t bother with us in the 3rd Division.”

Reality could be harsh, and as a senior knight, he had to impart the lesson that things don’t always go as one wishes.

“Hmm…”

The junior knight’s dissatisfaction was evident as he mulled over his senior’s words.

The 3rd Division of the Silver Lion Order.

Unlike the 1st and 2nd Divisions, which were composed of high-ranking nobles, the 3rd Division was made up mostly of lower-ranking or fallen nobles. As a result, the 3rd Division was treated as the bottom rung of the order, often ignored or outright dismissed by the others.

Remembering this, the junior knight couldn’t hide his displeasure.

“Haa… This knight order gets more infuriating the more I see of it. I know politics are inevitable in the palace, but I didn’t realize it was this rotten. I used to think skill alone would be enough to rise to vice-commander.”

“Arrogant much? Do you think becoming a vice-commander is easy? Stop whining. You haven’t even been here for six months.”

“I respect you even more now, Senior. To stay clean in a place like this…”

Though it might have sounded like flattery, the junior knight’s words were sincere. Of all the knights he knew, only two had managed to remain untainted by politics, and one of them was the man before him.

After spending time as a royal knight, he had come to understand how rare and admirable such integrity was.

Truly a model knight.

“Enough of that. If you’re going to admire someone, choose wisely. I’m not as clean as you think. I just found a way to compromise and still do my job as a knight.”

The senior knight, Jake Farman, waved off the praise from the junior knight, Yord Decker, telling him not to overestimate him.

“I’m just the descendant of a fallen knightly family with no place in politics. …And to top it off, I made the mistake of befriending the wrong people and ended up on the bad side of the higher-ups. I’ve long since given up on any career ambitions.”

“Ah…”
“Don’t look at me like that. At least I don’t waste time on nonsense, so my skills have improved.”
“…That’s true. Sparring with you is always fun, Senior.”
“For you, maybe. I just feel sore every time.”

Jake chuckled wryly.

‘If only his background were stronger, he’d climb the ranks quickly.’

Jake couldn’t help but feel that Yord’s talents were being wasted. Among the rookies, he was undoubtedly the best, but because he was in the 3rd Division, he was being unfairly overlooked.

Jake wished his promising junior could rise to greater heights.

‘This is the kind of knight who should represent the Silver Lions…’

Knights like Sir Vale of Tristan or Sir Maximus of Lionel were emblematic of their respective orders—young, talented knights who represented their organizations. In contrast, the representative of the Silver Lion Order was none other than the 8th Prince.

Jake had observed the 8th Prince from afar and had formed a clear opinion: while the prince had potential, it wasn’t anything extraordinary.

Not to misunderstand—Jake didn’t think this because the prince was royalty. His judgment was based purely on what he had seen.

‘To represent the order means demonstrating [overwhelming ability].’

Talent alone wasn’t enough. The order was full of talented individuals. To represent it, one needed results or abilities that far surpassed the rest.

But the 1st Division Commander—known as the White Lion of Pendragon—was far from overwhelming. Jake couldn’t help but speculate.

‘Maybe the royal family is trying to make up for a lack of legitimacy.’

The current royal family lacked a solid foundation of legitimacy.

One might wonder how royalty could lack legitimacy, but this was a widely accepted reality.

‘The problem is his brother was too great…’

The previous king, often called the “Monarch God,” had been an exceptional ruler. Unfortunately, he was not blessed with strong heirs. Of his two children, the first-born prince passed away young due to illness, and the second inherited the cursed sword and took the name Galahad.

With no suitable heir, the Monarch God passed away, leaving the throne to his younger brother, the current king. Although the current king had been personally endorsed by his brother, it led to much internal dissent.

‘The current king isn’t incompetent, but…’

It would be impudent, if not outright treasonous, for a mere knight to evaluate the king’s capabilities. Yet, many had undoubtedly questioned whether the current king was fit to follow in the footsteps of the Monarch God.

Worse, with such a high benchmark set by his predecessor, the current king inevitably fell short of people’s expectations. Coupled with occasional missteps, his reign had led to several crises.

Thus, the royal family was weaker than ever, both in power and prestige. While the emergence of the brilliant Crown Princess Isis offered hope for the future, her ascension was still a distant prospect.

Under these circumstances, the 8th Prince being elevated as the first royal commander of the Silver Lions likely reflected the royal family’s attempt to bolster their standing.

In truth…

‘The White Lion of Pendragon isn’t worthy of the name.’

At present, neither was Yord. Though his potential was immense, he wasn’t there yet.

And so, when Jake thought of the ideal knight to represent Pendragon…

‘He’d hate the idea of fame, but that guy is the only one who comes to mind.’

The knight who sent every senior in the order to the infirmary upon joining, sparred with Sir Baltar for three years without suffering serious injuries, and recently earned the title of hero at the academy…

‘Yes, only someone like him could truly represent Pendragon—’

“Hey, what are you doing here?”

“…?”

“Wow, long time no see.”

“I-Ihan…?”

…Why was he here?

Jake blinked in disbelief at the sudden appearance of the very person he’d been thinking of. While he was genuinely glad to see him again after so long…

“Uh, Senior…”
“Hmm? Who’s this?”
“Y-Yord Decker, sir. You crossed swords with me before your transfer…”
“…Ah! You were pretty good back then. It’s been a while.”
“Th-thank you for remembering, but, uh… that is…”

Yord, much like Jake, found himself struggling to react. Despite finally meeting a senior knight he deeply admired, the situation wasn’t one to celebrate.

After all…

“What’s that…?”

Both of them were now staring at Ihan, who was casually dragging an unconscious man by the collar.

Scratching the back of his head, Ihan muttered,

“Can’t you just pretend you didn’t see this?”
“…”
“Getting involved will just give you headaches.”
“…”
“Ahem.”
“…This lunatic.”

Jake revised his earlier thoughts.

That guy wasn’t a hero—he was a walking disaster.

 

While it might sound like an excuse, Ihan felt he was in the right.

“He came at me like a lunatic. What was I supposed to do, just stand there and take it?”

The man had picked a fight, so he got what he deserved. Ihan’s medieval logic was simple and straightforward—strength dictated justice.

That said…

“Fine, I get that. But why did it have to be royalty?”
“…”
“Do you think that logic will work on a prince?!”
“Urgh…”

No matter how much Ihan wanted to rely on the logic of strength, his opponent’s political power was overwhelming. Of all people, it had to be royalty. Beating up a prince meant he was bound to face retaliation, regardless of the justification.

If the prince woke up and said he’d been attacked, half the Silver Lion Order would turn against Ihan. Even if it went to trial, he’d inevitably be branded a criminal.

…Which led to the current situation.

“Um… seniors, are we really doing this?”
“Don’t ask me—ask the idiot who caused this mess.”
“Uh, Sir Ihan…?”

Yord shot Ihan a suspicious glance, to which Ihan calmly replied,

“It’s fine. I’ll take responsibility. Now, bury him.”
“…”

Yord Decker found himself speechless.

Never in his life had he imagined becoming a knight would involve digging a massive hole in the mountains.

…Was this really the right thing to do?

“This is a crime…”
“If my father finds out about this, he’ll kill me.”

Yord muttered under his breath while Jake buried his face in his hands, lamenting his misfortune at befriending someone like Ihan.

Meanwhile, Ihan kept digging without hesitation. With three knights working together, it didn’t take long to dig a pit large enough to bury someone.

“Life’s simple. In the end, we all return to the earth. This guy’s just getting there a little sooner.”
“…”
“Remember this, rookie: if you’re going to cause a mess, do it thoroughly.”
“That’s not exactly a lesson I want to learn.”

Yord muttered in disbelief.

Ihan, however, remained unapologetic.

‘Burying him is the best option.’

Going missing was better than facing outright punishment.

But don’t worry—he wasn’t actually planning to kill him.

‘Threats only work if they’re extreme.’

A few days without food and water would be enough to bring the prince around. Surely Jake understood that, which was why he was helping despite his complaints.

“Alright, time to—”

Ihan stopped abruptly.

“Hmm?”

He felt a faint movement. Taking his shovel, he nudged the silver-haired man.

Jolt!

“Huh?”
“...Interesting.”
“Hey, you awake?”
“…”
“Speak up, or I’ll start chopping off your arms and legs. They’re useless anyway.”
“You insolent wretch! Do you know who I am?! I am Arend de Pendragon! Do you think I’ll yield to such threats?!”
“…”
“Kill me! There’s no point living after such humiliation!”
“…”
“Go on, do it…!”
“Huh.”

Ihan tilted his head, impressed.

At the prince’s bold demeanor?

No.

“When did you kneel? I didn’t even see you move.”

The prince had dropped to his knees so quickly that even Ihan hadn’t caught it. He couldn’t help but nod in approval.

As expected of a royal who had survived palace politics.

‘No sense of awareness, but survival instincts in spades.’

Had the prince resisted, Ihan really might have followed through on his threat.

Ihan often made jokes that sounded far too real.