Sector 7.
At the corner of an alley, a scene was unfolding that clashed completely with the surrounding atmosphere. The noise was so loud that even the residents of the Seventh Sector — who usually hurried to hide at the sight of knights — slowed their steps and cast curious glances.
Seril # Nоvеlight # Barkel spoke first:
— I absolutely have to show you something, Sir Albern!
Forgetting all decorum, she nearly crouched down, clutching at Albern Arder’s trouser leg. He pressed a hand to his forehead in irritation.
— Fine, I beg you, just show me already. When are you going to do it?
— Well... if you could wait just a little longer?
— ...Seril.
— Ha-ha! They say great success requires great patience! If you wait diligently, the result will exceed all expectations!
— That’s not what “a great vessel takes time to form” means... although, fine, the idea is similar.
About an hour had passed since, at Gunther Sirhe’s request, Seril had “lured” Albern into the Seventh Sector. The knight’s patience was at its limit.
— Seril, I have an extremely important schedule tomorrow, — Albern pressed his fingers hard against his temples. — As you know, it’s the day I must represent the capital not only to the kingdom’s subjects, but also to visiting dignitaries. Even if I go to sleep right now, I’ll only get six hours.
If this had been the usual Albern, he would have already left without a backward glance. Anyone who dared waste his time on nonsense would have faced severe punishment. Albern Arder — eldest son of the First Family of the Round Table — was the embodiment of the strictness demanded by the knightly kingdom.
But even for him, there were exceptions. Seril and Servan Barkel. Those he had grown up with since childhood as fellow descendants of the Round Table. In front of them, his sharp principles dulled, if only for a moment.
— ...I’m leaving.
— Sir Albern! No, brother!
— Brother!
— What childish nonsense in the middle of the night...
With a sigh, Albern turned and began to walk away. Watching his resolute back, Seril and Servan were on the verge of despair. Truthfully, they didn’t even know how long they were supposed to keep him here. Gunther had only said: “As long as possible.” He hadn’t explained why. Only this:
— Wait in the Seventh Sector, and you’ll understand my plan. If Valloren’s fate hasn’t already been sealed... if even a trace of chivalry remains in this country, events will unfold the way I need them to.
But until now, there had been no sign of anything. Seril and Servan exchanged a brief glance.
“This is the limit, right?” “Yeah. We’re dead.”
It was obvious Albern would punish them. For dragging him into this ridiculous farce, there would be no mercy.
— Sir Seril? Sir Servan?
And then it happened. Hearing a familiar voice at the mouth of the alley, both Seril and Servan flinched. Naturally, Albern, who had been walking away, also stopped.
In the Seventh Sector, it was extremely rare to hear the names of Round Table descendants.
Rustle—
From the depths of the alley, a massive silhouette emerged. A dark-skinned giant, drenched in sweat despite the cold, breathing heavily.
— Good timing... I need help...
In his arms was one child, another hung from his back. A third lay slung over his shoulder like a sack.
The sight, so close to an abduction, made Albern instinctively raise his spear, but—
“What the...”
When he saw the children’s faces, he froze. Deathly pale skin. Clouded eyes. Convulsing bodies. Ribs protruding beneath filthy blankets.
They didn’t scream. Didn’t cry. They simply pressed their palms together and looked at Albern as if praying. “Don’t interfere. Please, just this once, look away.”
That was what a knight meant to them. A being merciless toward the people of the Seventh Sector, no matter the circumstances. Their gazes pierced deeper than words.
— No, I...
Albern hesitated — something completely unlike him. For someone born into one of the kingdom’s most noble families, the Seventh Sector had always been more of an “abstract concept.” A place where criminals were isolated, later turning into slums as their descendants settled there. Mold on the body of a radiant capital. A zone the code of chivalry permitted one to ignore. He had never once thought of coming here.
But what was he seeing now?
Children who could barely breathe, rotting alive beside a festival they didn’t even know existed. And the parents watching them with desperation — were they also just things to be ignored?
Only minutes ago, he had been walking through streets bathed in decorative light, hearing laughter, breathing in sweet air thick with sugar and oil. Children with bags of sweets, smiling parents.
It was the same capital. Under the same sky. The contrast cut into Albern’s mind like a blade.
And most important of all — the man before him. A foreigner holding sick children close, looking at him. There was no caution, no calculation in his eyes. Only faith.
Faith that a Knight would not turn away from this. That he would reach out a hand.
— ...Ha.
Albern looked at his own hands. He had power. Status. The ability to take responsibility. And yet, until now, he had only used that power where he was supposed to.
Chivalry meant using power where it was needed. Only now did he understand why Seril and Servan had been so desperate to hold him here.
Clap—
Albern reached out. An aristocrat’s hand touched a child’s forehead. Burning heat, like fire — and a faint groan. Albern squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them sharply.
— Seril, Servan. Send word to the Public Security Bureau in my name.
Outdated rules could wait. First, lives had to be saved.
Yes. That was the true essence of chivalry. Albern took the child from Ryan Parker’s arms.
***
Ding!
[The chivalry of the Kingdom of Valloren takes a step forward]
[The effect “Chivalry” has been strengthened]
This message appeared before Gunther’s eyes at the exact moment a heavy mace came crashing down on him. His eyelids twitched slightly.
“Good. Albern acted exactly as I expected.”
Though in this timeline they had only just met, in his previous life Gunther had been quite close to him. A stubborn aristocrat to the core... but at critical moments, always a decent man. Gunther knew that.
With this, he was one step closer to complete victory. Only a few conditions remained.
“The problem is... every single one of them is insane!”
The moment Gunther gathered mana into a single point, his vision flipped. Space distorted. A wave of nausea surged. Shadows twisted in a mad dance.
[The Vanguard of the Dark Night hums to itself]
BOOOOM!
Somewhere in the distance, the heavy mace slammed into the ground. That was “Shadow Leap,” granted by the Vanguard of the Dark Night. In the darkness, the teeth of the Apostle of Justice gleamed under the moonlight.
— Interesting abilities you have.
From the very beginning, Gunther had never intended to fight head-on. He wouldn’t last even a few seconds before being turned into a bloody pulp. His only goal was to stall.
“No matter how strong the Apostle of Justice is, she can’t stand against all the knights of the Round Table at once.”
They were in the center of the city. She couldn’t delay forever. That was why Gunther had poured every resource into buying time.
[Level Up x3 / Lv. 95]
[Agility: 80 → 83]
Not only had he poured all the stat points gained from defeating Raymond in his previous life into agility, he had also swallowed speed-focused potions from the Drug-Addicted Saint. With his inflated stats, the Apostle’s lethal strikes passed within millimeters of him. Even so, the pressure alone was enough to split his skin.
— Hm, this is boring, — the Apostle of Justice smirked. — Fine then. I’ll play dirty too.
A childlike smile. In the next moment, she changed direction.
Away from Gunther. Toward the other side — where faint, hidden breathing could be heard behind walls. Toward frightened eyes peeking through broken windows.
Wuuuun—
The heavy mace rose toward a residential building. Far more power was packed into this strike than any she had used against Gunther. Dark crimson divine energy pulsed and compressed along the surface of the metal.
At that moment, the Apostle raised her free hand and held up three fingers.
— Three.
Hundreds of thoughts flashed through Gunther’s mind in an instant. The power of the Justice cult combined physical force with flame. If that attack landed, everything within fifty meters — buildings and people alike — would be crushed and incinerated.
— One.
She folded her fingers immediately, skipping “two,” wearing the face of a mischievous child eager to start a game.
BOOM!
But Gunther had already lunged forward.
The pressure was so immense the sword felt like it would bend. The recoil nearly tore his arms from his shoulders. His vision went white.
His knees slammed into the pavement. Cracks spread across the stone like a web, flames bursting from the fissures. Through the blazing blade of the Two-Handed Sword of Despair, the Apostle’s frozen face came into view.
— Huh?
...He held.
[Skill in effect: Northern Swordsmanship (Lv. 1)]
Gunther’s face remained grim.
“A monster... indeed.”
The Apostle of Justice seemed genuinely surprised that he had blocked the strike. She didn’t continue the attack and instead pulled back, widening the distance. Her narrowed eyes studied him — just like in the previous life, when “Absolute Evasion” had triggered. She did not tolerate even the slightest risk. The moment she realized Gunther had a hidden trump card, she instinctively became cautious.
At first glance — a raging butcher. In reality — an extremely careful creature. ...No, “cowardly” would be more accurate.
— I thought I’d crush you like a bug.
Pshhh—
At that moment, the communication device in Gunther’s ear buzzed insistently. It was Levain Bernecker.
[Gunther, everything’s going according to plan — we’re fighting Masiu. But there’s a problem!]
His voice was tense.
[Luthien special units have started rampaging in the government district. Because of that, all the reinforcements that were supposed to come to us have been redirected there!]
Gunther immediately understood.
“There were ones I couldn’t neutralize... Raymond, Audrey, and the bishop of the Cult of Healing have made their move.”
“They sensed Masiu and the Apostle of Justice were in danger and decided to create chaos right under the noses of the elite, drawing attention to themselves.”
When the lives of the powerful were threatened, they would never allow elite knights to leave their posts.
“Of course.”
It had been expected. Still, bitterness crept in. If those people had chosen the greater good over their own safety for even a moment, the Apostle of Justice could have been eliminated right here.
[So...]
— I understand. Reinforcements won’t be coming anytime soon.
In the end, both sides had the same objective. Stall for time. A race against death.
Would the knights of the Round Table deal with the Luthien forces and make it here in time? Or would Gunther fall first, allowing the Apostle of Justice to break free and unleash a massacre?
“...This is starting to feel like the beginning of Act 1 again.”
In a hopeless situation, find the narrowest path to a favorable outcome. Then push forward, dying again and again. It seemed this battle would be no different.
Whoosh—
Gunther slowly raised his sword once more. ...And at that moment:
Ding!
.
.
.
[The King of Ninety-Nine Defeats opens his eyes]
[He offers: since you’re ready to die anyway, why not try to win?]
