The Bergne Family was a fallen noble house, clinging desperately to a pride that had long since lost its foundation. A family with nothing left but their name, and yet their pride was so unbearably strong that it festered into a deep inferiority complex. It was because of this that the family could never accept the existence of someone like Hugo Bergne, who grew into a distorted, exceptional talent.

“Put down your sword! Can’t you understand that all this is meaningless?”

For Hugo, sword training became a form of persecution. Any growth in his martial abilities only invited jealousy and contempt. Entry into the knight academy was, of course, forbidden. Yet Hugo refused to put down his sword. He believed that one day, just as his ancient ancestors had once done, he would become a knight who protected the kingdom—not the disgraceful figures of his family.

With that conviction, Hugo swung his sword.

Five years passed. Then ten. The king passed away, and for the first time in history, the crown prince visited the Bergne family’s lands. Hugo knelt before the crown prince, who appeared to be around the same age as him.

“Hugo Bergne, will you become my personal knight?”

The words were strange. They caught Hugo off guard. The years he’d spent training with the sword had not been in vain. It took every ounce of effort to steady his trembling body before he could finally respond.

“…Your Highness, I beg your pardon, but your approach is incorrect.”

I will become a knight.

“If Your Highness commands me to be your knight, then from that moment on, I am your knight. If you command me to give my life for you, then my life belongs to you.”

To serve his monarch, to become the sword of this person and this kingdom.

The crown prince, George Loire, observed Hugo, who knelt unmoving like a statue. George realized that this knight, so devoted and resolute, would remain in this position no matter what until commanded otherwise.

“Raise your head.”

Hugo Bergne obeyed, lifting his gaze to meet George Loire’s. Hugo himself was unaware, but at this moment, George Loire had acquired a knight whose name would echo through the kingdom’s history. Though the crown prince tried to suppress his joy, the trembling corners of his eyes betrayed his emotions.

“Hugo Bergne, will you make me king?”

It was not a request. It was a command. There was no room for refusal.

“Are you not already destined to become king, Your Highness?” Hugo replied.

“To ascend the throne is one thing, but keeping it is another matter entirely,” George said, his eyes glinting with a peculiar light.

“Let me ask differently: will you kill my uncle for me, Hugo?”

Hugo nodded. No matter the command, as long as he was given a sword, he felt he could accomplish it.

“I shall be the blade that cuts down all who stand in Your Highness’s way.”

And so, the knight took his first step.

Now, it was a memory, faint and distant like ashes scattered in the wind. No—it was too brief a moment to even be called a memory. Yet, amidst the swirling chaos of his mind, that moment clung stubbornly, refusing to be washed away.

“The sunlight is lovely today.”

A voice from someone long forgotten. The sunlit backyard. Bernardo stood about five steps away, watching someone hang laundry that fluttered in the wind. White fabric danced in the air—it could’ve been a sheet or an apron. What was even more indistinct was the person’s face. Not just the face; Bernardo couldn’t recall their voice, their name, or any detail about them.

Perhaps it wasn’t important, he thought.

“Count?”

One day, Leon Benning summoned Bernardo. Entering the room, Bernardo noticed the count gazing at a framed painting, seemingly oblivious to his presence. Bernardo, finding it odd, made an effort to announce himself more clearly.

“You’re here, Bernardo.”

Leon Benning turned to him with an uncharacteristic smile. Caught off guard, Bernardo froze, unable to respond, prompting Leon to laugh heartily.

“It’s nothing,” Leon said. “I noticed you coming in. I was just reminiscing while looking at this painting.”

Leon caressed the frame as sunlight filtered through the window, glinting off the glass. Turning the frame toward Bernardo, Leon asked:

“Do you recognize this person, Bernardo?”

The painting depicted a woman in a dress, her hair a shade of blond so light it seemed silver, neatly cascading over her left shoulder. Her lips curved into a faint smile, and her bright blue eyes held a shadow of unknown origin. Bernardo found himself stepping closer to the frame before halting abruptly, his brow furrowing.

The woman in the painting was unfamiliar to him. He shook his head with a troubled expression. Leon’s smile deepened.

“I don’t know her.”

Despite this, Bernardo refrained from asking who she was. Leon nodded in apparent satisfaction at Bernardo’s response.

“It’s been exactly ten years today,” Leon remarked, placing the frame back on the shelf. Bernardo didn’t understand what Leon meant by those ten years. The count glanced out the window, his smile fading. From this vantage point, he could see Theodora practicing her swordsmanship in the backyard.

“Is Theodora training well?”

“Yes. She possesses extraordinary talent. I believe she may surpass me someday.”

Leon narrowed his eyes, nodding indifferently.

“She’d better be worth at least that much.”

Leon turned back to Bernardo.

“Have you found capable knights?”

“…Yes. As instructed, I located a knight banished from the capital after a dispute with his superior.”

Leon’s eyes gleamed coldly.

“Make the necessary preparations.”

With that, Leon brushed past Bernardo and left the room. As soon as the count was gone, Bernardo approached the frame on the shelf. Turning it slightly, he once again looked at the woman’s serene smile.

“...”

He ran his thumb across the glass, leaving a faint smudge in its wake. The woman’s smile. Leon’s smile. Bernardo turned the frame back to its original position and exited the room in hurried steps.

A dull ache throbbed somewhere deep in his mind.

 

"We’ll go first."

Bernardo Lennon unsheathed his sword and stared at the knights standing in his way. Truth be told, he didn’t care what happened to them. Dead men were of no concern to him. At least, if they could drain some of Hugo Bergne’s strength before dying, it would be worth their sacrifice.

The marionettes’ swords shimmered with aura. These weren’t blind fools ignorant of Hugo’s prowess. Their movements were deliberate, calculated to buy Bernardo even the slightest advantage against Hugo. But they were nothing more than puppets acting according to Leon Benning’s design. Hugo didn’t pity them.

"Pathetic."

Hugo Bergne’s icy gaze swept over the approaching knights as though they were filth. The memory of the king’s final moments lingered above the shattered palace gates, vivid enough to fuel his resolve. His slackened arm let the sword’s tip drag across the ground, as if the blade itself thirsted for their blood. A soft blue light began to gather along the edge of Hugo’s sword.

Ping.

Hugo’s hand traced a line in the air, so light it seemed effortless. From the tip of that line, a massive, undulating tidal wave erupted. Like small fishing boats in a storm, the knights were swallowed whole by the surge. There was no deafening explosion or dazzling burst of light. The space Hugo’s blade touched was left utterly empty, as though nothing had ever existed there.

A fierce brilliance flickered in Hugo’s eyes. The mana flowing through his body surged outward from his heart, coursing through his limbs before returning to his lungs and igniting. As he exhaled, glowing blue wisps of residual mana spiraled out of his mouth, swirling like smoke. The scattered remnants of the knights at his feet only added to his ghostly, almost demonic visage.

"Raise your sword."

Having vaporized the knights without leaving so much as a trace of blood, Hugo advanced. His unspoken demand was clear: Bernardo, stop hiding and face me. The knights who had somehow survived Hugo’s initial strike shakily rose to their feet, only for Bernardo to motion for them to stand down. Their purpose—to weaken Hugo—had been achieved far too easily.

"You went to great lengths to draw me out, Hugo Bergne. Do you really think you can defeat me in that state?"

Bernardo’s eyes narrowed. Even for the kingdom’s strongest knight, it was impossible to remain at full strength after unleashing such devastating power.

"Are you planning to die alone?"

"I didn’t think a coward like you would come out otherwise. Even if I die here, I’ll make sure to bring back your head."

Despite the strain, Hugo’s aura blade showed no signs of dimming. The mana surrounding him churned endlessly, a force that seemed to have no bottom. Bernardo knew Hugo’s fighting style was dangerous—remaining completely still until the last moment, storing his energy for a sudden, explosive attack without any warning.

"Are you trying to provoke me?"

"Think whatever you like."

In that instant, the blue light surrounding Hugo vanished.

Boom!

A thunderous roar erupted as two streaks of light collided violently in midair. Hugo and Bernardo became blurs of motion, their aura blades clashing in a flurry of strikes aimed at each other’s throats. Every collision of their swords ignited new stars in the sky, only for them to fade just as quickly. The battle was a far cry from the cautious probing of their previous encounter. Now, both knights revealed their full strength, engaging in a brutal exchange.

Their blades locked, refusing to part, as though bound by some unseen force. The aura between them acted as glue, holding their swords together. Bernardo poured more mana into his blade, seemingly intent on turning the fight into a battle of attrition.

"Hah!"

But Hugo had no intention of playing along. His foot slammed into the ground, causing cracks to spider outward. At the peak of their struggle, Hugo vanished from Bernardo’s sight.

"—!!"

Bernardo’s blade cut through empty air, carving a deep scar into the earth. He barely had time to react before he sensed an overwhelming bloodlust behind him, aimed directly at his neck.

"Damn you!"

A torrent of blue aura came crashing down from above, threatening to engulf Bernardo entirely. In response, a crimson flame of aura surged upward to meet it.

Boom!

The clash of unstable forces strained Bernardo’s body, his muscles screaming under the pressure. A shockwave rippled through the battlefield, leaving it a barren wasteland as though centuries of erosion had passed in an instant. Winter’s soil lay exposed, stripped bare. The world seemed to fall silent, as though holding its breath.

"Speak."

Hugo was the first to break the silence.

"Why has Leon Benning done this? What does he hope to gain from this fratricidal conflict?"

"I do not know," Bernardo replied curtly.

"I simply wield my sword according to his will. Whatever his intentions may be, it is not my place to question or know."

"I see."

Hugo tightened his grip on his sword. The aura that had dimmed moments ago reignited, roaring to life like a bonfire fed fresh logs. If this revenge was hollow, then he would burn it all the more fiercely, consuming everything—even his own emptiness.

Blue light flooded Hugo’s vision as his body became a comet streaking toward Bernardo. The world, once silent, was again filled with the ringing clash of swords. Their strikes became faster, deadlier, each one a vicious attempt to devour the other.

Boom! Boom!

It was as if a crimson sun and a blue moon had risen together in the sky. Their duel transcended mortal limits, their swordsmanship evolving with every passing moment. Each split-second decision reshaped the flow of their attacks, forcing constant adaptation.

Bernardo’s blade grazed Hugo’s ear, while Hugo’s aura blade carved a shallow gash along Bernardo’s arm. Crimson flames fell from the sky, only to be torn apart by Hugo’s roaring blue aura.

Crash!

The next collision stripped their blades of aura, leaving only cold steel. Sparks flew as their swords clashed, devouring each other’s edges with every strike. The worn metal bled orange embers, their relentless battle drawing them closer to death.

Necks, arms, hearts, knees, eyes—each strike aimed for a killing blow. Thousands of exchanges blurred the line between life and death. Death hovered over them, grinning as it waited for its moment.

Suddenly, Hugo’s aura flickered and dimmed. His once-blazing blade trembled, its light fading. His eyes, now hollow and empty, stared blankly ahead. Bernardo seized the moment, raising his sword.

Shhhk.

Blood splattered across the frozen ground. Bernardo’s blade had struck true—or so it seemed.

A weight pressed against Bernardo’s chest. He realized, far too late, that Hugo had sacrificed his right arm to deliver a decisive counter. Bernardo stumbled backward, his vision darkening. Hugo stood before him, his right arm severed, blood pooling at his feet.

"He used his aura as bait," Bernardo muttered, blood spilling from his lips. Hugo, silent, approached and withdrew his blade from Bernardo’s chest. A spray of blood followed, staining the ground.

"Fleur… I remember now," Bernardo whispered, his mind finally clear as Leon Benning’s control unraveled.

The puppet strings had snapped—but it was far too late. Winter’s cold air carried the metallic scent of blood as Hugo’s sword descended once more. Bernardo closed his eyes, the blade’s glint the last thing he saw.