The moment the blade and spear tip clashed, he—or rather, not just him, but even his opponent—must have lost consciousness for an instant.

It was just a feeling, but somehow it felt certain.

And that brief moment of unconsciousness lasted about one to three seconds, give or take.

He hadn’t counted exactly, but his estimate seemed about right.

It seemed likely that the massive shockwave generated by the collision of Mu-ae Sword and Pa-cheon had overwhelmed even them, causing them to black out momentarily.

…When he came to, what he saw was…

“–A shattered blade and an intact spear tip.”

“…….”

“But despite the advantageous situation, that guy suddenly retreated. And it didn’t look like he was injured anywhere.”

“…Why do you think he did that?”

“I don’t know. Maybe he was disoriented during that brief unconscious moment. …Or maybe there was another reason. Either way, the fight ended inconclusively. It left me feeling uneasy, but he ran off claiming he’d won. …That’s all there is to it.”

“Haha…”

As Ihan explained the situation, his tone was tinged with irritation, and Derek couldn’t help but chuckle.

Though it was clearly an unpleasant memory Ihan didn’t want to relive, he had gone to the trouble of explaining it, knowing it was part of his build-up.

What kind of build-up, you ask?

“…Still, I’m sorry. I broke your precious sword.”

“Really, it’s fine…”

A build-up for an apology.

Having experienced firsthand the dynamics of being indebted, Ihan avoided Derek’s gaze, while Derek could only offer an awkward smile.

Ihan extended the hilt of the shattered Gladius—or rather, what used to be the Gladius—and apologized.

Ordinarily, he might have acted shamelessly, but he wasn’t so devoid of conscience as to ignore the fact that he had broken a treasured sword.

However, the recipient of the apology waved it off, insisting it was too much.

“It’s—It’s fine. It wasn’t that valuable anyway.”

“If a fine sword isn’t valuable, what is?”

Thinking Derek might be downplaying it to ease the burden, Ihan questioned further, but Derek shook his head.

It wasn’t about avoiding burden or anything of the sort; he was simply expressing his honest opinion.

And then, unexpectedly:

“A fine sword… Ah, now that you mention it, those swords in the storage room did seem pretty good.”

Nodding to himself as though realizing something new, Derek’s comment made Ihan instinctively ask,

“…Storage room?”

“Yes, the [Dwarves’ Junkyard], where failed works of dwarves and hobbits are stored. It’s a place abandoned about 200 years ago, and I use it as ‘Warehouse #5.’”

“…….”

“That sword was one of the ones I picked up from there. It’s sturdier than most, I guess.”

Derek casually admitted he’d just grabbed it because it was one of the cleaner-looking ones lying around.

Ihan suddenly felt the wealth gap between them hit him like a brick.

“So, the richest person in the kingdom was right in front of me all along…”

“That—That’s not true. …Well, maybe I’m in the top ten?”

“…I think I’ll stop talking now.”

In retrospect, reincarnators and transmigrators didn’t matter.

‘A status window is the ultimate cheat.’

…Damn enviable guy.

Ihan found himself more jealous of Derek than he’d ever been of Maximus’s talents.

“So, who won?”

“Hm?”

At the unexpected question from his junior, Ihan blinked, confused.

Perhaps taking his reaction the wrong way, Yord hesitated, lowering his eyes as if fearing he’d angered him.

But unable to suppress his curiosity, Yord mustered his courage and asked,

“D-Didn’t you fight Sir Maximus? The Black Lion of the North…”

At last, he managed to voice his question, and Ihan, now understanding, chuckled softly.

With a benevolent smile, Ihan responded,

“Junior, do you really have to ask that while I’m eating? I might just eat you instead.”

A low warning slipped from his lips.

“…I’m sorry.”

Yord bowed deeply, apologizing the moment Ihan’s first warning landed.

It’s said you don’t disturb even a dog when it’s eating.

Well, dogs don’t bite when they’re eating, but disturb Ihan during a meal, and he might.

Still, as a civilized man, he’d discipline with his hands rather than his teeth.

“It’d be better if you just bit me. If you discipline me with your hands, it might kill me.”

“Enough nonsense. Report the situation.”

“I’m not joking, but…”

Ihan, shoveling bread and sausages from his inventory into his mouth, asked for a rundown of the current situation.

Since he’d veered off on a tangent, he wasn’t sure what was going on anymore.

“Still, you haven’t forgotten the mission.”

Jake, though slouching lazily, felt a bit of admiration for his friend’s commitment to the task at hand.

…Of course, if he openly expressed that, Ihan might end up biting him instead of Yord, so he kept the sentiment to himself as he summarized the key points concisely:

Aran’s efforts, the number of half-demons they’d eliminated, and most importantly—

“Thanks to our ally, we managed to capture a fanatical cultist alive. Technically, the mission was a success. …However, those hundreds of half-demons you mentioned? We didn’t see any sign of them.”

“…….”

It was news that immediately darkened Ihan’s expression.

He swallowed the last of his food with a heavy gulp.

“…Did they escape through a passage we don’t know about?”

“On the bright side, it’s possible they were buried under the rubble and died.”

“That would be ideal.”

Even though Ihan had reduced their numbers somewhat and the tunnels collapsing might have trapped some, there were still far too many unaccounted for.

A fifth, maybe even a third, had been wiped out?

But even if they’d been reduced to a fraction…

“Just one or two escaping would still be a huge threat.”

“Should we search the area with the soldiers?”

“Unlikely to be effective. If they’ve stayed hidden for over ten years, we won’t find them now.”

“…You can be surprisingly insightful sometimes.”

“Cut the useless chatter.”

They scratched their heads in frustration.

Even after all their efforts to handle the termite infestation, the possibility remained that some had survived and were heading for the city.

“…Well, there’s no helping it.”

Ihan sighed, and Jake, guessing his thoughts, gave a weary smile.

“We might have to stick around a bit longer… maybe half a month, or even a full month.”

The consensus they reached was to take the safe, orthodox approach.

Tracking the half-demons would mean extending their stay, visiting scattered villages to protect them.

It was classic, backbreaking work.

“Life…”

The mere thought of the toil ahead made them groan.

“…You seniors are so diligent.”

Yord found his seniors amusing.

Realistically, there was no need for them to go to such lengths. No one had ordered them to, and there’d be no tangible reward.

Yet they shouldered the burden willingly, motivated solely by the desire to prevent potential tragedies.

…To take responsibility.

Yord suddenly understood why his seniors hadn’t climbed the ranks.

‘No wonder they’re stuck in the same place.’

Once they took on a task, they couldn’t cut corners. They stuck to the rules, giving it their all, ensuring no harm came to anyone else.

Who works like that these days?

It’s not as if anyone would praise them for it. It was just self-satisfaction.

…And yet, because of that.

“I’ll start by getting a map of the nearby villages,” Yord offered.

He thought to himself, They’re worth following.

And then:

“–The First Knight Division will handle that task. You are to return.”

A commanding voice rang out, proving that Ihan wasn’t the only one influenced by this sense of responsibility.

“Sir Aran? What are you saying…?”

All eyes turned toward Aran Pendragon as he made his declaration. With his characteristic haughty expression, he reiterated:

“Exactly as I said. I’ll handle finding the half-demons and the fanatics.”

“Along with the First Knight Division?”

“That’s correct!”

“…Is that really necessary?”

“What is the meaning of your question?”

“…….”

“I said answer me!”

…How could they voice their doubts aloud?

After all, trusting Aran and the First Knight Division was still… difficult.

“Trust those pampered halfwits and rejects? I’d sooner leave it to our bears than hand it over to you lot.”

…Ironically, there was someone who dared to openly insult the royal family and the First Knight Division.

What made it worse was that their remarks were based on facts, which only provoked Aran further.

And while the exact meaning of “pampered halfwits” was unclear, the derogatory tone was unmistakable.

Thus, Aran raised a finger and proclaimed:

“If you say ‘pampered halfwits’ one more time, I swear…!”

“I’ll personally pluck that finger clean off.”

“…W-Well, that’s neither here nor there… Ahem, and it wasn’t directed at you. Please don’t misunderstand.”

Even when angered, Aran seemed to have the sense not to raise his voice directly at Ihan.

Or perhaps it was fear of his fists?

“…Still, I hope you’ll entrust this task to us.”

Just as it seemed Aran had been subdued, he gathered his courage once more and continued:

“I am well aware that the First Knight Division is lacking in many ways. However, how can I sit idly by and let that stop them? That would be a waste of manpower and no different from a knight—or any soldier—abandoning their duty to the kingdom. Therefore, I, Aran Pendragon, as the commander of the First Knight Division, have a mission to fulfill this responsibility.”

“………”

Ihan blinked in astonishment.

What the…?

‘Why is this guy suddenly making sense?’

Even Ihan couldn’t help but be taken aback by the transformation of the once-foolish royal.

Unperturbed by the reactions, Aran continued:

“Of course, I understand that the First Knight Division alone cannot handle the half-demons, nor would they diligently carry out their tasks. However, if we also deploy the Second Knight Division and overwhelm them with numbers, it should at least be possible to hold the half-demons at bay. Moreover, the rivalry between the two divisions will ensure that they fulfill their duties.”

“…Do you really think that will work?”

While the proposal sounded ideal, the reality was that the First and Second Knight Divisions were fierce rivals.

They were like oil and water, constantly looking for ways to eliminate each other.

What if, during their joint mission, they turned their weapons on each other?

“If that happens, I’ll have them executed for insubordination on the spot.”

“…….”

“Before they are rivals, the Silver Lions are knights and soldiers of the kingdom’s military. If they defy orders and act on personal grudges or ambitions, then execution is the natural course of action. While I cannot monitor every single one of them, I will make it clear that even losing one squad member will result in immediate punishment.”

“That’s… a bit extreme, isn’t it?”

“I’m only doing what needs to be done.”

“…Hah.”

Yord, who had attempted to argue, was left dumbfounded, not out of admiration, but because Aran’s decisiveness was overwhelming.

“There will be significant backlash.”

“I know. But what choice do we have? The First Knight Division is useless. They lack the skills and have no redeeming qualities. The same goes for the Second Knight Division. And knights who are useless are nothing more than the kingdom’s rotten roots. Therefore!”

Shing.

“There is no place for rotten roots in Pendragon’s domain.”

“…….”

Jake, too, was silenced, struck by the sheer ruthlessness of Aran’s words.

It was tyranny.

Aran’s brand of leadership was uncompromising and extreme, blending his natural arrogance with a frightening pragmatism.

If he had been the heir to the throne, it wouldn’t have been surprising if the nobles had staged a rebellion immediately.

However, as a prince with no claim to succession, Aran was free to be as despised as he pleased.

What’s more, he carried the title of the White Lion, crafted for propaganda purposes.

Even if he executed knights at his whim, the royalists and nobles had already ceded him too much authority to challenge him effectively.

No one could have predicted that the foolish prince, dismissed as utterly incompetent, would transform overnight into a new person.

“Why’s ‘pampered halfwit’ acting like this all of a sudden?”

“…….”

Ah… Come to think of it, no.

Aran hadn’t changed overnight; he’d been forcibly reshaped.

Recalling this, Jake and Yord subtly glanced at the man responsible—the self-proclaimed authority on character-building.

Ihan, the wielder of tough love who had whipped the useless prince into shape, merely smirked.

“Pampered halfwit, did you hit your head or something?”

“I didn’t! And I told you to stop calling me that!”

“…Still as arrogant as ever, huh? How did he end up like this?”

“You…!”

Unaware of his own role in Aran’s transformation, Ihan simply observed him with mild curiosity.

“…Maybe he’s not a knight but a natural-born educator?”

“Could be…”

For a moment, it seemed Ihan might have a future in teaching rather than combat.