The road toward the center of the Barkel family’s lands turned out calmer than expected. A rare clear sky for late winter in the north, a gentle wind carrying the breath of spring. Even the “drugged crowds” that had filled every path just a few days ago had noticeably thinned. It made the knights almost believe that the Apostle of Repose had truly retreated for good.
“Now all that’s left is to drive the enemy out of Laska Plain.”
“Could it be that the dark clouds over the kingdom are finally beginning to clear?”
However, the platoon fighters could not hide their unease. They had fought the Luthien Theocracy longer and closer than anyone else. They knew exactly how persistent those creatures were, and the unimaginable ways they could bare their claws. And they understood one thing clearly: a “suspiciously quiet battlefield” was the most ominous of omens. But the knights of the Illusion Unit seemed to interpret that tension in a completely different way.
“It seems the Border City truly suffered greatly from the fanatics. It pains the heart to see your exhaustion and anxiety.”
“They say your commander is an alchemist? An important role, but on the battlefield he can hardly be relied upon as firmly as a knight.”
“Do not worry. Now that the shackles of mental control have been broken, nothing threatens us anymore. And even if something does—we will protect you.”
Their tone was soft, yet a faint condescension seeped through their voices and gazes. A typical trait of the kingdom’s knights.
The conviction that a knight was the pinnacle of creation. A deeply rooted sense of superiority. That was precisely why Valloren, despite possessing one of the strongest armies on the continent, remained rather backward in everything else. And if they continued like this, it could become a problem.
“No one canceled the question of leadership.”
From the very beginning, they had not been pleased with Night Raven’s interference. And now, after the issue of brainwashing had been resolved with Sanity, they seemed to be growing restless, afraid of losing initiative in future operations. A kind of test of strength.
“I should put them in their place once.”
A suitable method did not come to mind immediately. Besides, there were plenty of other concerns.
“...Yeah.”
Gunther’s gaze stopped on Rem, who, pressed against him, was nodding off.
He had asked Albern, Seril, and Servan to keep their mouths shut and not reveal that Rem was the “embodiment of the Apostle.” But it would not be possible to hide it forever. It was obvious what the other knights would say once the truth surfaced.
The Apostle of Repose had retreated—meaning the threat must be eliminated. Killed. Or subjected to experiments to extract information.
Kill... that was out of the question. The later the information Rem possessed reached the original, the better. But interrogation or experimentation for the sake of information did not seem entirely wrong from a logical standpoint... Yet some part of Gunther’s soul strangely resisted it.
“You’re soft. Damn soft.”
Scolding himself, he looked again at the peacefully sleeping Rem. Wrapped in the enormous Robe of the Frost Specter to conceal her face, she looked like a small animal inside a cocoon.
“...What am I supposed to do with you?”
While Gunther was lost in thought, he overlooked one important fact.
The patience of his subordinates.
The patience of those very daredevils from the “Suicide Platoon,” whose patience was already approaching zero. The incident happened precisely when the unit stopped to rest.
“Hey, how about we throw down.”
Gunther thought he had misheard. The knights likely did too. It sounded far too # Nоvеlight # bold coming from a girl half their size.
While the knight stood there blinking, Ryan calmly stepped between him and Blanc.
“What she means is—a sparring match. It’s not often two units with completely different combat schools meet. Give us a chance to evaluate Valloren’s martial skill.”
The kingdom’s knights simply could not refuse such an offer. These people were obsessed with duels and combat. Gunther’s eyes gleamed.
“Did they actually realize they need to seize the initiative and decided to act...?”
...Yeah, right. Gunther glanced at Blanc, who was practically boiling with indignation, and at the others patting her shoulders in approval, and let out a heavy sigh. Either way, the timing was perfect.
.
.
.
Ding!
[Side Quest Initiated: “Friendly Duel”!]
[Displaying Brief Hint]
-The knights of the kingdom of Valloren take pride in their skill and honor. Without malicious intent, they tend to look down on other forces.
-The fighters of Night Raven could not tolerate such an attitude. A simple proposal to measure strength quickly escalated into an official “duel” born of curiosity and rivalry.
-Achieve a decisive victory to raise the prestige of Night Raven and strengthen your position within the kingdom.
[Expected Reward]
-Recognition from the knights.
-Strengthened standing within the kingdom.
At that moment, Rem, buried inside the robe, rubbed her eyes and woke up.
“Fourth Platoon... crush them...”
Gunther, stretching before the fight, could not help but chuckle.
“Which side are you rooting for?”
***
They decided to conduct the duels as best of three. The opponents, as if they had been waiting for this, immediately began preparations. Even Albern, who had shown considerable sympathy toward Gunther, now burned with excitement.
“Nothing strengthens martial brotherhood like an honest fight. Though the road ahead is long, this will not take much time.”
From the opposing side, one representative from each of the three families (excluding Barkel) stepped forward. Seril and Servan also tried to volunteer, but were immediately shut down.
“At present, only the two of you represent the Barkel family, and your strength lies in paired techniques. The honor of the Round Table is at stake, so we will step forward.”
A cold refusal from Roen Greints, heir of the second family. Once again, Gunther was reminded just how fragile the Barkel family’s position was among the great houses.
In the end, the lineup was decided quickly. The leaders—Albern, Roen, and Werner—remained on the sidelines out of courtesy, but put forward their three best: a shield knight, a spearman, and a Camaril fighter with some strange equipment.
The fighters of Night Raven also began assigning roles.
Their strongest asset was Cheonmae—her participation was not even up for discussion. At Gunther’s words, her sapphire eyes narrowed.
“At my level, I’m supposed to babysit these brats?”
“Well, if you don’t want to, nothing can be done... Night Raven will just have to lose.”
“You little brat. Twisting your seniors around however you like.”
Despite her grumbling, she was not the type to let their organization be looked down upon anywhere. Cheonmae agreed.
Next, naturally, was Blanc—she had started this, after all. Besides, in duels she was among the strongest in the platoon.
...The problem was the last slot.
“They’re not sending their leaders, and you still want to go out?”
Most believed that sending Gunther when the enemy had not fielded commanders would be beneath their dignity. That left few candidates. The mage Tarsha and the healer Parco were out automatically.
Levain and Ryan exchanged glances. Unexpectedly, Ryan spoke first.
“Can I go first?”
“....”
Gunther frowned.
“I know people doubt me,” Ryan said with a grin. “But I want to try. You two will win afterward anyway, right?”
Gunther let out a quiet sigh. The fight would be uneven. Ryan had undeniably grown stronger, but elite knights were at least third hierarchy. Those sent out were fourth-hierarchy masters. Objectively, he had no chance. Most likely, a crushing defeat awaited him.
“Of course, magic won’t be used in a duel, but still...”
The gap in physical strength and technique was enormous. Gunther glanced toward the enemy. The knights’ eyes burned—they clearly intended to teach the upstarts a lesson.
“...I don’t think they’ll go easy on you. Your pride might take a hit.”
“Pride doesn’t feed you,” Ryan laughed. “What matters is I’ll learn something. They really fight well. I wasn’t just saying it—it’s a rare chance. I want to get stronger.”
“Ryan.”
“And besides...” Ryan shrugged. “I might not lose. I’ll land at least one hit on those bastards who look down on you.”
“....”
If they were thinking purely about victory, Levain should have gone. But neither Gunther nor the others wanted to suppress Ryan’s resolve. Under the approving gazes of his seniors, proud of their “junior,” the lineup was finalized.
Ryan, Blanc, and Cheonmae.
“By the way, what’s Cheonmae’s real name anyway?” a stray thought passed through Gunther’s mind.
Step, step.
The heirs of the three families approached, along with Seril and Servan.
“Well then, shall we begin? Who from Night Raven will go first?”
“This guy.”
All eyes turned to Ryan, who was warming up. Gunther noticed the hint of a smile beneath Roen Greints’ visor, the mighty warrior.
“First opponent—the shield-bearer from Greints.”
The prediction proved correct. True to tradition, Roen solemnly listed her knight’s achievements: what academy he graduated from, what battles he distinguished himself in, how many duels he had won.
Gunther was brief:
“A mercenary. In my platoon for about two weeks.”
The moment those words were spoken, the knights’ gazes shifted. No matter how they tried to hide it, their disdain for the word “mercenary” leaked out. To them, mercenaries were the lowest class.
Step—
In that atmosphere, the first duelists stepped forward. Knights and platoon fighters formed a tight circle around them.
Ryan gripped his two-handed hammer tightly. Asymmetrical grip: right hand higher, left at the very end of the handle. His shoulders were tense with excitement.
Opposite him, the Greints knight was the picture of composure. A large round shield in one hand, a short gladius in the other. He stood relaxed, as if out for a stroll.
After several circles of sizing each other up, the knight smirked.
“I yield the first move.”
“...Then I won’t refuse!”
Boom!
A thunderous impact rang out as Ryan launched forward like a projectile. From that stance alone, it was clear how much he had grown. Shifting his center of gravity forward for acceleration, he used his left hand as a lever to add explosive rotational force to his right.
A half-turn and a thrusting strike. A perfect opening, combining speed and power.
Whoosh!
The hammer’s head tore through the air at terrifying speed.
“However...”
It wasn’t enough. The Greints knight’s shield tilted ever so slightly. A perfect defensive posture—not to block head-on, but to deflect the blow.
What followed was obvious. He would let the hammer slide past, break Ryan’s balance, then unleash a series of quick thrusts with the gladius. Against Ryan’s heavy weapon, it was the worst possible outcome. Yielding the first move had been a trap. He had read Ryan from a single swing and provoked this exact attack.
“Well... a knight is a knight.”
The platoon fighters’ faces darkened. And just as everyone braced for Ryan’s defeat—
Boom!
The hammer slammed into the shield.
“...?”
“...?”
A strange silence fell.
“Huh?”
Creak—
The shield, which should have deflected the blow, wavered dangerously. No—more accurately, it was crushed inward. The knight’s arm buckled along with it, his entire weight shifting backward.
And then—
Thud—
The massive knight landed on his backside, kicking up a cloud of dust.
It wasn’t a mistake. The angle had been perfect, the force distribution textbook. The knight himself knew it.
But there was one detail. The mass and destructive force of the hammer at the moment of impact had far exceeded all his calculations. As if...
As if Ryan had struck using someone else’s strength in addition to his own.
“....”
For a moment, deathly silence hung in the air. Everyone thought the same thing: Ryan had been hiding his true strength. But Gunther, who knew Ryan’s stats better than anyone, had no idea what was happening.
“...What is this?”
Fortunately, the answer came quickly.
Ding!
[Effect Activated: Bond: <Not by Blood, but by Spirit>!]
[Bond level resonates with the “Commander” class, creating a special synergy.]
[In battle with an ally who has reached the level “Absolute Bond” (Bond 100), a portion of the Commander’s stats is directly transferred to the target.]
...An absurd effect. Gunther had never seen anything like it, not even in the game. More precisely, he had never played the Commander class and knew nothing about such resonances—but one thing was certain:
“This is completely broken.”
A commander transferring their stats to a subordinate...
“Heh...”
Gunther’s stunned gaze shifted between the Greints knight, rising from the ground with a flushed face, and the utterly bewildered Ryan. Seril raised her hand solemnly:
“Victory for Night Raven!”
