The man lit the lantern at his hip. He used a special type of oil, creating a

blazing green that bathed the area in an eerie light.

When he stepped outside, he felt a rush of heat. He made a face, but there

was nothing he could do about the season. This time of year, every place in

the kingdom was sweltering, even after the sun set. The year's hottest days

were over, so it was supposed to be getting gradually colder, but there was no

sign of that yet.

"Agh, it's hot again tonight."

"Sure is. I heard, though, that if you go up north or near the sea it's a little

cooler." The man's partner for the night responded to his griping.

"If it would rain, at least things would cool off a bit." He gazed up as he

spoke, but counter to his hopes, the clear sky contained not a single cloud. It

was the usual night sky spreading out above them, its stars appearing

strangely large.

"Yeah. Rain would be great… Well, shall we get to work?"

It wouldn't be quite right to call these two men typical villagers. First,

there was their gear. With longswords at their waists and leather armor, they

were far too well equipped to be the community watch group. Plus, the men's

builds and faces didn't fit people who worked the fields—they seemed

accustomed to violence.

The men walked without saying a word.

Nothing could be heard besides their footfalls in the quiet village

enveloped by the night's darkness. It felt eerily like everything had gone

extinct, but the men moved on unfazed. Their calm was proof that they'd

done this many times.

The village they marched through was completely encompassed by a high

wall, and there were six watchtowers visible from their current vantage point

alone. The towers were sturdily constructed, even better than those in regions

where monsters frequently appeared.

More than a settlement, this was a strategic point.

But still, if a third party saw it, they might assume it was a normal village

with stricter security than most. That said, what came next would probably

provoke some confusion.

The sight was that strange. Normally walls surrounded residences and

storehouses, while fields spread out beyond. Cultivating fields inside the

village meant that an extensive wall had to be built around arable land, which

took too much time and labor. But in this village, they'd enclosed the green

plants waving in the breeze as if they were protecting gold.

The men walking through this weird village felt someone's gaze

following them from one of the watchtowers. They had friends armed with

bows and arrows there. If something happened, they could wave their

lanterns overhead to call for assistance.

Considering the archery skills of their comrades, the two felt it would be

best to refrain from requesting support fire, but it was incredibly reassuring to

know that everyone would get up if the tower bell rang.

If the patrolling men waved their lanterns due to a misunderstanding, all

their sleeping colleagues would be angry, but if there were signs of anything

strange, they planned to call for backup right away.

The pair didn't want to die.

Not that they thought anything would happen. They'd been doing the

same thing over and over for months, and they would probably go on doing

it.

Even though they'd lost interest in what would come next, they walked

through the village along the specified route.

Right as they reached the halfway point of their patrol, something slipped

over the man's mouth like a snake. No, "snake" wasn't right. It had attached

to his mouth and would never come off—it was more like an octopus's

tentacle.

Next, his jaw was yanked up, and a searing pain tore across his exposed

neck. This all took less than a second.

A sound like something drinking reached him from his neck—and that

was the last thing this man heard in his life.

The hand over the man's mouth let go and moved to support him from

behind so he wouldn't crumple to the ground. After confirming that the

magic weapon, Vampire Blade, had drunk all the blood, another hand

extracted it from the man's throat.

The figure propping up the man was dressed all in black. Every part

except the eyes was covered with pitch-black cloth. The outfit itself may have

been cloth, but atop it, the wearer wore vambraces and greaves to improve

defense. There was also a metal plate worn over the chest, which had a

distinctly female contour to it.

Another figure, similarly dressed all in black and with a similarly

contoured breastplate, stood behind the other man. The first woman looked

her way and moved her head in a single, slight nod.

She took note of their stealth kills and scanned the area. It didn't seem like

anyone had noticed.

In a corner of her mind, she was relieved.

The lanterns still gave off light, but the women stuck close to them, so the

ones in the watchtower probably couldn't tell what had happened. The only

thing she'd been worried about was the possibility of detection in the moment

they attacked, when they used Darkness Crossing to teleport the short

distances between shadows—but that fear was past now.

Still holding her dagger, redder after draining her victim's blood, she

supported the corpse so he didn't fall.

To the guards in the watchtower, it must have looked as if the men

patrolling had stopped, so if the bodies remained standing still for too long or

crumpled to the ground, it would arouse suspicion.

That's why they needed to move immediately onto the next step, but that

wasn't her job.

Suddenly, her hands sensed the vibration of something like a pillar

running through the man's body. The corpse jerked into motion a second

later, proving it was not her imagination.

She wasn't surprised the man was moving despite being dead. It was all

according to plan.

She let go and used a skill at the same time. It was one of her ninja skills,

Shadow Dive. The ability allowed her to completely melt into the

surroundings, anywhere there was shadow, rendering her impossible to

discover with normal eyesight.

Leaving behind the two who had vanished into the darkness, the pair of

corpses advanced as if their chains had come off—along the original route

they were supposed to follow. It was as if they'd just remembered what their

jobs were. The only difference was their movements had become slow and

heavy. The reason no blood spurted from their necks, even though their

wounds hadn't healed, was simply that there wasn't any left.

There was only one reason they would be moving in such a state. They'd

been made into zombies and were moving according to their master's orders.

It wasn't the two women who had turned them.

A casual glance would reveal only the two men they expected, and even if

an observer could glimpse the women's murky forms, there would still be

only four people. But there was a fifth. It was this person who had created the

zombies.

The women couldn't see the fifth, either, but a ninjutsu technique they had

mastered allowed them to perceive beings hidden by magic or skills, so they

could detect a presence directly in front of them.

"Preparation here is complete."

"Perfect," they responded in low voices.

A similarly quiet voice replied, "Yeah, I know. I was watching. I'm

moving to the next location. We have to catch the high-ranking guys if we

can." This was also a woman's voice, but it was higher pitched and had an air

of immaturity, like a child's.

"I'm also going on to the next raid. Where are the other two?"

"Probably off screwing around, since they don't have anything to do."

"I don't think so. They're hiding out near the village, ready to

simultaneously attack the front and rear in case of an emergency. All right,

I'm going to go to the highest-priority location. You guys should also

proceed according to plan."

Their invisible comrade, whom they could sense only by her presence,

floated lightly up into the sky. She was using Fly to travel through the air.

The receding presence moved toward the building she had called the

"highest-priority location." It was one of the buildings in this village and a

critical foothold they needed to capture first.

Normally they would want to prioritize other buildings, but the reason that

one was designated as the most urgent was due to the magic spell Message.

Many people avoided conveying information via Message because it was

often unreliable and difficult to confirm the authenticity of dispatches. At the

same time, some used the spell without worrying about the shortcomings,

such as the empire, where magical education was promoted on a national

level. There were also several major merchant networks that prioritized

gathering information as fast as possible, and the enemies who controlled this

village were much the same. So first, it was necessary to capture the

communications person in that building.

Now that their comrade had departed, the pair needed to quickly hide out

in the vicinity of their objective. It was important to execute everything at the

same time and complete the raid before anyone realized it was happening.

With sharp exhalations, the two ninjas set off running.

No normal person would notice them, moving like they were, from

shadow to shadow. Even high-level adventurers would have had a hard time

discovering intruders equipped with their magic items. In other words, no one

in this village could see them.

Her companion running parallel to her dexterously moved her fingers. All

she did was bend her digits in various ways, but the meaning had been clear.

"Good thing they didn't have a dog."

She answered with her fingers. "Agreed."

It was the sign language of assassins. When one was as proficient as they

were, it was possible to convey information just as fast as talking. They'd

taught it to their comrades, but unfortunately, they could use it for only

simple signs and instructions. These two, however, had speed and vocabulary

suitable for daily conversation, so they used it for clandestine small talk like

this often.

"No doubt about it. It's so much easier when they don't come gather

around the scent of blood."

If the men had had a dog, things wouldn't have gone this smoothly.

They'd prepared a way to render an animal powerless, but there was nothing

better than not having to deal with more problems.

After her reply, her comrade's fingers moved speedily. "Then I'll head to

my target building according to plan."

When she replied with a "Got it," the comrade running next to her

gradually veered away.

Left alone, she glanced sidelong at the fields while she sprinted.

What was being cultivated there was neither wheat nor some other grain,

nor was it vegetables. The plant was used as raw material in the manufacture

of the most rampant illegal drug in the kingdom, Black Flour. There were

several fields inside this walled village, but they were all growing the same

thing. That proved that this village was a narcotics production base.

Black Flour, also sometimes called Lyla Powder, was a black powdered

drug taken by drinking it in solution.

It was mass-produced and cheap, as well as a simple, effective route to

intoxicated euphoria, so it was the most well-known narcotic in the kingdom.

Moreover, while the drug was addictive, there were supposedly no side

effects, so it was in widespread use.

Thinking on the information about the drug they had, she snorted.

There was no such thing as a drug with no side effects. The "I can quit

whenever I want" misunderstanding was also ridiculous. She'd performed

autopsies on dead Black Flour addicts, and all their brains had shrunk to

about four-fifths their original size.

In the first place, Black Flour produced from wild plants was a powerful

poison. Where did anyone get off believing a plant that toxic wasn't also

addictive?

Street-ready Black Flour could be categorized as a narcotic but only

because it was not very potent.

Even so, it was extremely addictive and remained in the body for a long

time. Most users wound up taking another dose before the first one had

completely left their system. Unless they went to a priest to have the

substance forcibly removed via magic, it was virtually impossible for people

who reached a certain degree of addiction to completely quit of their own free

will.

The most problematic thing about this horrible drug was that the

symptoms of withdrawal from it were not pronounced, and even if people had

a bad trip, they didn't go on a rampage or hurt anyone around them.

Consequently, the kingdom authorities failed to understand the threat and

spent all their efforts exposing the evils of other drugs—practically giving

people tacit permission to use Black Flour.

She knew the empire even claimed that the kingdom was secretly

supporting the industry.

For her part, when she'd been an assassin, she had occasionally used

drugs, and her organization had grown them, so she wasn't against them.

Narcotics could in fact have wonderful effects when used properly. They

were basically medicinal herbs with a dangerous element.

But this time she was out on a job, so her personal opinion didn't enter

into it. However—

Requests that don't come through the Adventurers Guild are dangerous.

She wasn't really convinced the job was the best idea, either.

She frowned under her face covering. The client was a friend of her

team's leader. They were being paid a fair amount, but there were all sorts of

issues that could crop up from taking a job without going through the guild—

even if they were one of only two adamantite adventurer teams in the

kingdom.

Er, wait, there are three now, I think? As she remembered that she had

recently heard news of a new adamantite team, she arrived at the building

they had code-named "Number Two."

Her role was to gather all the intelligence she could find inside. When that

was done, she had to set fire to the fields.

The smoke from the burning narcotic plants would be poisonous, but if

she didn't do it, she couldn't complete her mission.

Depending on the direction of the wind, some villagers might be harmed.

But there was no time or means to have them evacuate. They're necessary

sacrifices… She told herself this and hurled her concern for the villagers'

safety into oblivion.

Raised as an assassin, she was rarely moved by a loss of life, particularly

if it was someone she didn't even know. Then no matter what happened to

them, she wouldn't so much as twitch an eyebrow. The only thing she

considered was how she hated the look on her leader's face whenever there

were innocent victims. But for this operation, they had their leader's

approval, so she didn't feel even the slightest inclination to try saving

anyone.

More importantly, after this raid was over, she would teleport straight to

another village and burn down the fields in exactly the same way. The plan

fully occupied her head.

This wasn't the only village where they produced the base for the drug.

According to their research, there were ten places in the kingdom where

large-scale growing operations were located. And there were probably still

others they hadn't discovered. Otherwise it would have been impossible for

these groups to yield the estimated amount necessary for the drug to spread

all over the kingdom like it had.

We have to pick the weeds where they grow… It might be in vain, but it's

all we can do…

If there were written orders from the organization in this village, that

would be excellent, but she didn't expect things to go so smoothly. The most

they could hope for was that the village's overseer would have some

information.

Our leader would be happy if I could unearth at least part of the org,

though…

The huge crime syndicate manufacturing the narcotic was called the Eight

Fingers. Their name derived from a deity subordinate to the god of earth—the

god of theft, who had eight fingers. It was a massive organization that

dominated the kingdom's underworld.

The outfit was split into eight divisions: slave trafficking, assassination,

smuggling, thievery, drug dealing, security, moneylending, and gambling. It

was said that they were behind every underworld crew in the kingdom. And

because the group was so large, the full truth about it was shrouded in

mystery.

However, there was one thing that proved how far the Eight Fingers had

reached into the kingdom—and that was the village before her eyes.

They were growing illegal drugs right out in the open. This fact proved to

her that the noble holding power in this land was an accomplice. But even if

she exposed the crime, she would be unable to accuse the lord or lady.

If the royal family made an inquiry or the judicial officials became

involved, that would be a different story, but they would still encounter

difficulties in pinning the crime on a landed aristocrat. This fiefdom's ruler

would probably claim, I had no knowledge this was being used to make a

narcotic, or say, The villagers did it on their own, to shift blame.

Charging nobility directly wasn't very effective, and even if efforts were

made in an attempt to suppress circulation, the Eight Fingers had seduced

several nobles who were now involved in the distribution routes. The

situation had become impossible to resolve using guards and other regular

means.

That's why they were currently relying on the violent last resort of

burning the fields; it was the only option left.

Honestly, she didn't think burning the fields would work to address even

the symptom. That was how far the syndicate had undermined the kingdom—

it was too powerful, and it had reached its tentacles into the government.

"We're merely buying time… If we can't strike a target where we can

turn the tables with one blow then this, too, will all be in vain…"

It was raining.

The sound was so intense it grated on the ears.

The kingdom's roads weren't built with drainage in mind, especially when

it came to the backstreets. As a result, the alleys transformed into huge lakes.

The rain beating down on the surface of the water sent up little splashes.

The wind whipped up the spray and filled the air with its scent. It felt as if the

royal capital itself had sunk into a body of water.

In this world colored gray by whirling droplets, there was a boy.

He lived in a shack. No, it could not even be called a shack. The main

beams holding it up were about as thin as an adult man's arms. Instead of a

solid roof, rags draped over the shelter to cover it, and the walls were no

more than the ceiling cloths sloppily hanging down.

In this dwelling, which offered hardly any shelter from the elements

outside, the boy of about six years of age lay on a thin cloth spread out on the

floor, curled up like a casually tossed piece of garbage.

If one stopped to think about it—the wooden beams, the scraps that

formed the ceiling and walls—it seemed like the kind of thing a child could

build, even just for fun.

The only real benefit of this home was it kept the rain from falling directly

on him. The endless deluge had drastically lowered the temperature and

enveloped the boy in a shivery chill. His foggy exhalations provided but

momentary evidence for his existence before they faded away as the air stole

their warmth.

Prior to his sheltering here, the cold rain had drenched him, and his body

heat was deserting him at a terrible pace.

He had no way to stop the shivering.

The single minuscule silver lining of this miserable situation was probably

that the permeating chill felt good to his bruised and beaten body.

Still lying on his side, the boy looked out at the world, at the alley no one

walked down anymore.

The only sounds he could hear were the rainfall and his own breathing.

The scene gave him the impression there was no one else in the world. That

was the extent of the calm.

Although he was young, he understood that he would likely die.

Not old enough to fully understand what death entailed, the boy wasn't

very afraid. That, and it didn't seem that life was worth holding dear. The

only reason he'd managed to hang on so far was a sentiment similar to the

desire to avoid pain.

If death would come without pain, only cold—like how he felt at that very

moment—then dying didn't seem so bad.

He gradually lost feeling in his wet body, and his consciousness clouded.

It would have been better to move somewhere the wind and rain wouldn't

come in before the weather turned, but he'd run into some nasty men and

received a beating, so getting back here had been all he could manage.

There was one tiny, happy thing. Did that mean everything else was sad?

The fact that he hadn't eaten in two days was normal, so that wasn't sad.

His parents were absent, and no one else would care for him. This had been

the case for a long time, so it wasn't something to be upset about. That he

was dressed in rags and smelled bad was only natural. Eating rotten food and

drinking dirty water to fill his belly was all he'd ever known.

Following this train of thought, was it sad the abandoned house where he

had been living had been stolen from him, the hut he'd worked hard to build

had been trashed for someone's amusement, and drunk men had beaten him,

leaving injuries all over his body?

No.

The heartbreaking truth was that the boy couldn't even understand what

was sad or why.

But this was the end.

The sorrow he didn't even understand would end here.

The grave called for the lucky and the unlucky alike.

Yes, death was absolute.

He closed his eyes.

Keeping them open was too much effort for a body that had ceased to feel

even the cold.

He could hear his tiny, frail heartbeat in the darkness.

In a world where only that and the rain could be heard, another strange

sound appeared. It was like something blocking the rain.

Despite his fading consciousness, he mustered the curiosity peculiar to

children and urged his eyelids to move.

In the thin strip of his field of vision, he saw it.

The boy's nearly closed eyes popped wide open.

Something beautiful.

For a moment, he couldn't understand.

Perhaps like a jewel or like a nugget of gold were the right descriptors, but

to someone who'd been abandoned, who'd lived eating half-rotten food,

those words didn't come to mind.

No.

He thought one thing.

Like the sun.

That was the most beautiful thing he knew, the most out of reach.

The world dyed gray by the rain. Dark rain clouds reigning in the sky.

Was that why? Is the sun here with me because it went on a trip when no one

could see it?

He wondered to himself.

It reached out its hand and caressed his face. And then—

The boy hadn't been a person.

There had never been anyone who saw him as a person.

But that day, he became one.

3 Late Fire Moon (September) 4:15 AM

The Re-Estize Kingdom, at the royal capital…

At the innermost part of the city sat Ro-Lente Castle, which occupied an

enormous space. The curtain wall around it, almost a mile long, was

furnished with twelve giant cylindrical towers that formed the defense

network.

The room was in one of those twelve towers.

In the not-so-large, unlit space, there was a single bed. Lying on it was a

child whose age fell right at the vague border between "boy" and "young

man."

His blond hair was cropped short, and his skin glowed with a healthy tan.

Climb.

Though that was the only name he had claim to, he was a soldier attending

the woman often titled "golden," permitted closer to her than any other—a

position many looked upon with envy.

He woke up early, rising before the sun.

By the time he noticed his consciousness returning from the deep, dark

world of sleep, his mind was clear and his body was primed for the most part.

One of the things he had pride in was how he could fall asleep and wake up

with ease.

Climb's almond-shaped eyes, with the whites visible below the iris,

opened wide and revealed his iron will shining within.

Pushing back the rather heavy blanket covering his body (even in

summer, nights surrounded by stone were chilly), he sat up.

He touched his face near his eyes. The fingers came away soaking wet.

"…That dream again?" Climb wiped the tears off his face with his sleeves.

Maybe the heavy rain from two days ago had reminded him of his

childhood.

They weren't grieving tears.

How many people did one meet in life whom they could respect? Was

everyone lucky enough to serve a person for whom they would give their life

without hesitation?

That day, Climb had met a woman whom he firmly believed he could die

for without a bit of regret.

What he had wiped away were tears of joy. He had cried out of gratitude

for the miracle that began with that meeting.

With determination on his face, still appropriately childish for his age,

Climb stood up.

In this dark world bereft of even a single light, Climb whispered in a voice

hoarse from too much training. "Shine."

In response to Climb's keyword, a white light appeared in a lamp

suspended from the ceiling, illuminating the room. It was a magic item

imbued with Continual Light.

Although this type of item was commonly available, it was still expensive.

The reason he had one wasn't entirely due to his special position. It was

unsafe to burn something, even for lighting, in a place like a stone tower

where air did not circulate very well. For that reason, despite the significant

initial cost, almost all the rooms were equipped with a magic light.

The floor and walls illuminated by the white light were hewn from rock.

A thin rug provided as much protection as it could against the cold hardness

of the floor. The other things in the room were a coarsely made wooden bed,

a wardrobe that seemed large enough to hold armor, a desk with a drawer,

and a wooden chair covered by a thin cushion.

Perhaps it seemed shabby to an outsider, but for someone of Climb's rank,

it was undeserved luxury.

Soldiers didn't get private quarters, usually bedding down together in

large rooms with shared bunks. The only other furnishing they were provided

was a wooden lockbox to store personal belongings.

In addition, he also had white full plate armor enshrined in one corner of

the room. Rank-and-file soldiers would never be supplied with such wellmade gear so lustrous and unblemished it seemed to gleam from within.

This special treatment certainly wasn't anything Climb had earned

through his own actions. The gear was a token of affection from his master. It

was no wonder people were jealous of him.

Opening the wardrobe, Climb removed some clothes and dressed himself

using the mirror found inside.

After putting on a shirt that smelled metallic from frequent use, he donned

a shirt of mail over it. Normally he'd put armor above the mail, but he didn't

do that now. Instead, he slipped on a vest lined with many pockets and a pair

of pants to finish the outfit. In his hand, he carried a bucket with a towel in it.

Lastly, he checked the mirror to make sure nothing was strange and

ensure nothing about his outfit was in disarray. Any failure on his part could

be used to criticize his master, the Golden Princess Renner, so Climb took the

utmost care. His purpose wasn't to cause trouble for her. He was there to give

his master everything he had.

He closed his eyes before the mirror and imagined her face.

The Golden Princess Renner Theiere Chardelon Ryle Vaiself…

She possessed such heavenly beauty she could easily be mistaken for a

goddess. She radiated with a compassionate spirit befitting her noble blood

and superior wisdom that gave birth to her government policies. She was a

noble among nobles, a princess among princesses—the supreme woman.

Climb could not allow himself to put so much as a nick in the untarnished

gem that sparkled like gold.

If their relationship were a ring, Renner would be a large brilliant-cut

diamond, while Climb was nothing but the prongs surrounding her. Since his

make was cheap, he lowered the item's overall worth, but he couldn't allow it

to fall any further.

Climb was unable to stop the passion from building in his chest every

time he thought of her. Even a devout believer in the gods could not surpass

Climb's current fervor.

He gazed at himself for a short time, nodded with the satisfaction that his

appearance would not bring his master shame, and left the room.

Climb headed for the large hall that occupied the tower's entire first floor as a

training area.

Usually it was filled with the body heat of soldiers, but of course, no one

was there this early in the morning. The empty space was so quiet he could

practically hear the silence. Because the room was enclosed in stone, Climb's

footsteps echoed loudly.

Quasi-permanent magic lights brightly illuminated the hall. Inside were

standing suits of armor fastened to posts, as well as straw figures used as

archery targets. Along the walls were shelves lined with a variety of dullbladed weapons.

There was a reason a training area normally found outside had been built

indoors. Valencia Palace was housed within the Ro-Lente Castle compound.

If soldiers trained in the open, it was possible for visiting messengers to see

them. As this was not very dignified, several facilities were built inside the

towers.

It was also an option to show off the manly training soldiers as a

diplomatic stratagem, but that wasn't the kingdom's style. The prevailing

mindset was to present an elegant, gorgeous, and noble picture of the realm.

That said, there were some exercises that required being outside. These

were performed stealthily in a corner of the grounds, on an athletic field

beyond the walls, or removed from the capital entirely.

Climb entered the hushed room, penetrating the chilly air, and began

leisurely stretching in a corner.

After a thorough thirty-minute stretch routine, Climb's face was more

than a little flushed. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and his exhaled breaths

brimmed with excess heat.

He put a hand to his forehead and wiped off the perspiration before

approaching the weapon shelf and choosing a fairly thick, large, dull iron

practice sword. The hand around it was hardened from repeatedly forming

and popping blisters. He tested out different swords until he found one that fit

his grip perfectly.

Next, he placed lumps of metal in his pockets, buttoning them to make

sure the contents wouldn't fall out. With several pieces inside, the vest had

taken on the same weight as a full suit of armor. In exchange for being

sturdy, ordinary full plate armor was heavy, and the limited range of

movement was also a disadvantage. If one wanted to practice under

conditions similar to actual combat, training in armor was ideal. But taking

out a full suit of armor just to practice wasn't something Climb did very

often. Besides, he couldn't wear the white mail he'd been given for training.

That's why he resorted to this substitute instead.

Climb tightly gripped the iron weapon larger than a great sword. He raised

it over his head and lowered it slowly as he exhaled. As its tip was about to

touch the floor, he brought it up again, inhaling. Gradually increasing the

speed of his practice swings, he concentrated intently, staring into space with

a penetrating gaze.

He did over three hundred repetitions.

Climb was bright red, and sweat dripped down his face. The heat building

up in his body dramatically raised his breath's temperature.

Climb was a fairly well-built soldier, but the weight of the oversize great

sword was still extreme. It was especially difficult slowing the sword so the

tip didn't touch the ground—the amount of strength needed for this was not

insignificant.

After five hundred repetitions, both his arms began cramping, as though

screaming out to him. A waterfall cascaded down his face.

Climb was aware that this was his limit. Still, he didn't seem interested in

stopping.

But—

"That's enough, don't you think?" someone else called out to him.

Climb was flustered as he turned to look in the direction of the voice, and

he immediately noticed a man.

There was no word more fitting for him than robust. He was like steel

incarnate. Because his craggy face was frowning, the ensuing mass of

wrinkles made him appear older than his actual age. His bulging muscles

showed he was no ordinary man.

There probably wasn't a single soldier in the kingdom who didn't know

this figure.

"—Captain Stronoff."

Captain of the Royal Select Gazef Stronoff. He was the strongest warrior

in the country, and it was said he had no equals in neighboring realms, either.

"Any more than that is too much. No point in killing yourself."

Climb lowered his sword and watched his spasming arms. "You're right. I

might have pushed myself a bit too hard."

Climb expressionlessly thanked Gazef as the older man shrugged. "If you

really think so, then it'd be great if you wouldn't make me say the same thing

all the time. I wonder how many times it's been…"

"I'm sorry."

Gazef shrugged once more at the boy's head bowed in apology.

The pair had exchanged these lines many times, almost like a greeting.

Usually this was where it ended, and they would each become absorbed in

their own training, but today was different.

"How about it, Climb? Want to try sparring?"

Climb's expressionless mask began to crack for a moment.

Up until now, these two had met in this place before, but they never

sparred. It was an unwritten law. There were no benefits to training together.

No, there were benefits, but there were too many drawbacks.

At present in the kingdom, the nobles' faction—comprising three of the

six great noble families—and the king's faction were in a struggle for power.

The country's straits were so dire that some believed the only thing holding

everything together was the yearly war with the empire.

There was no way the king's right-hand man, Captain of the Royal Select

Gazef Stronoff, could possibly lose. But supposing he did, the nobles' faction

opposing them would use it as ammunition to attack the king under the

present circumstances.

Likewise, if Climb lost, the nobles would probably take it as a chance to

claim he couldn't be trusted to protect the princess. The fact that a common

soldier of dubious pedigree had been appointed to guard the peerlessly

beautiful and unwed princess rubbed many nobles the wrong way.

And so, their respective positions would not forgive a loss.

It was out of the question to show any weakness, expose a vital point, or

allow openings that could be attacked. They both acted with the utmost

prudence to avoid causing any trouble for their masters, a priority they shared

due to their origins as commoners.

What reason could Gazef have for breaking this rule?

Climb looked around.

It couldn't be simply that there wasn't anyone else there. The walls had

eyes in this place. The chances were high that someone was observing from

afar or watching in the shadows. But he couldn't think of any other

explanations.

Unsure if it was a good reason or a bad one, Climb was confused and

shaken, though he didn't let it show on his face.

Before the boy stood the warrior said to be the strongest in the kingdom.

Gazef keenly detected the split-second disturbance in Climb's emotions that

normal humans would have naturally missed before he gave his response. "I

was shown recently how green I still am. I'd like to train with someone

who'll pose a bit of a challenge."

"You, green, sir?"

Under what circumstances would Gazef learn he was "still green"? It was

then that Climb remembered the unit he commanded had been missing

members of late.

Since Climb didn't have any close friends, he'd only heard the rumors

bouncing around the mess hall. Apparently, the Royal Select had been caught

up in something and lost a few men.

"Yeah. If that charitable caster hadn't helped me, I probably wouldn't be

here right now…"

Hearing that, Climb felt his iron mask crumble; he couldn't help it. But

who wouldn't be surprised? His curiosity got the better of him, and he asked,

"A charitable caster?"

"…His name was Ainz Ooal Gown. I'm not sure, but I think he's on the

level of the empire's monstrous casters."

It was not a name Climb had ever heard before.

The young soldier admired heroes and had a secret hobby of collecting

sagas—regardless from what race the epic originated. Not only that, but he

also collected as many exciting stories as he could from famous adventurers

in the region, but he didn't recognize the name Gazef mentioned.

Of course, there was always the possibility it was a pseudonym.

"S-so, nngh!" Climb suppressed his desire to ask details. I can't blithely

ask about an incident that cost him some of his men. One can only be so

rude… "I'll commit that name to memory… So is it really all right for you to

train me?"

"I'm not training you. We're sparring. Whether you learn something from

it or not is up to you. You're one of the best soldiers this country's got, you

know. It'll be meaningful exercise for me, too."

That was high praise, but Climb considered nothing more than polite

decorum.

It wasn't as if Climb was remarkably strong. The standard he measured

against was simply low. The kingdom's soldiers were only marginally

stronger than the average citizens and weak compared to the empire's

knights, who were full-time. No member of this kingdom's army was famous

enough to be known throughout the region. The men directly under Gazef

were strong, certainly, but still not quite as strong as Climb.

Out of the adventurer ranks of bronze, iron, silver, gold, platinum,

mythril, orichalcum, and adamantite, Climb was probably gold. It wasn't as if

he was weak, but there were always many more who were stronger.

Could someone like him really engage in a sparring match worth the time

of someone like Gazef, a warrior who was undoubtedly adamantite rank?

Climb chased all the discouraging thoughts from his mind.

It would be an extremely valuable experience to learn from the strongest

man in the kingdom. Even if he ended up disappointing Gazef, Climb would

have no regrets.

"Okay, then I'd like to go a round, please."

Gazef grinned and nodded once with enthusiasm.

They walked to the weapon rack together and equipped swords that were

exactly the right size for them. Gazef chose a bastard sword, and Climb

selected a small shield and a broadsword.

Then Climb took the lumps of metal out from his pockets. It would be

rude to face someone stronger while still wearing them. Not to mention that if

he didn't fight as hard as he could, he wouldn't grow. His opponent was the

strongest warrior in the kingdom. Confronting this considerable challenge

would require his all.

Soon Climb finished his preparations, and Gazef asked, "And are your

arms okay? They're not numb anymore?"

"No, sir. I'm fine now. They feel a bit warm, but there's no problem with

my grip."

Climb waved his arms, and Gazef saw from the way they moved that the

boy was telling the truth and nodded. "Okay. Hmm. But in a way, that's kind

of too bad. You run into all kinds of situations on the battlefield and can't

always fight at your best. If your grip is weak, you need to adjust your style

appropriately. Are you working on that?"

"N-no, I'm not. In that case, I'll do more practice swings—"

"Oh no, you don't have to go that far. But you're protecting the princess

most of the time. It wouldn't be a waste to practice things like how to fight if

you get attacked somewhere you're not allowed to carry a sword and

familiarize yourself with different weapons."

"Yes, sir!"

"There are nine basic disciplines of armed combat: swords, shields,

spears, axes, daggers, combat gauntlets, bows, bludgeons, and throwing

weapons. If you try to learn too many, you'll end up neglecting all of them. I

recommend narrowing it down to two or three and practicing those. Okay.

Apologies for the boring commentary."

"It wasn't boring, Captain Stronoff! Thank you!"

Gazef smiled awkwardly and waved off Climb's gratitude. "If you're

ready, then let's get started. For now, come as you are. Later…well, I can't

train you, but I'll give you some tips on fighting in the other disciplines."

"Yes, sir. Looking forward to it."

"Right, but know that it's not my intention for this to be a drill. Come at

me like it's a real battle."

Climb slowly moved into a stance with his sword held low, facing Gazef

with the left side of his body hidden behind the shield. His eyes were sharp—

already treating this as more than practice. He could sense Gazef was also

taking it seriously.

They stared each other down, but Climb couldn't move.

He was nimbler after removing the lumps of metal from his pockets, but

Climb still didn't feel like he could beat Gazef. In both physical strength and

experience, Gazef completely surpassed him.

If he was careless in how he advanced, the captain would effortlessly

intercept him. His opponent was superior, and there wasn't anything he could

do about that. But if this were a real battle, would Climb simply lose his life

because there was nothing to be done?

So then what?

He would have to meet Gazef with something Gazef didn't have.

Climb lost out on strength, experience, and mental fortitude—everything a

warrior needed. If there was an exception, it would be in gear.

Gazef had a bastard sword. Climb, however, had a broadsword and a

small shield. If they were magical equipment, one blade could be superior to

another, but these were made for training. In terms of weapons, he wasn't

ahead.

But whereas Gazef had only one, Climb had two—a shield could be used

offensively as well. In exchange for dividing his attack power, Climb had an

advantage in versatility.

He could deflect a blow with the shield and then swing the sword or parry

with the sword and strike with the shield.

Climb observed Gazef's movements carefully, aiming for opportunities to

counterattack.

After a few seconds, the older man smiled slightly. "You're not going to

charge? Then I'll start—here I come."

Displaying absolute calm, Gazef held his sword aloft. He lowered his hips

slightly, suffusing his frame with energy like a tensed spring.

Climb braced himself as well, so he'd be ready to defend whenever the

sword was swung.

Then Gazef rushed forward and swung down at Climb's shield.

He's fast! Climb gave up on maneuvering the shield to deflect the

oncoming hit. He transferred all his attention and ability into the basic

defensive act of withstanding the assault.

In the next moment, a tremendous shock assailed his shield.

Did it break from that one attack? It certainly felt like it, as the blow was

so mighty it immobilized Climb's shield-bound hand. The strike was the kind

that he had to block with his entire body.

Deflect?! How could I even match his speed like this? If I could at least

get it to glance off smoothly… As Climb chided himself for being so naive,

another shock assaulted his stomach. "Guh-hagh!"

The young boy's body went flying. He landed hard on his back, and the

stone floor knocked the wind out of him. One glance at Gazef was all it took

to find out what had happened.

The older warrior retracted his leg after launching that heavy kick. "Don't

pay too much attention to the sword just because it's all your opponent is

carrying. You might get kicked like this. That time, I aimed for your stomach,

but usually they'd go for a less guarded area. They'll try to shatter your knees

or…even if you've got your groin padded, a kick from metal greaves can

rupture things… You need to keep an eye on your opponent's entire form and

watch their every move."

"…Yes, sir." Climb resisted the dull pain in his stomach and stood up.

Gazef had tremendous physical strength. Kicking at full power, he could

have easily broken Climb's ribs, mail shirt or no, and rendered him unfit for

combat. It was clear he hadn't kicked at full power and had instead aimed his

foot to send Climb flying and used no more strength than necessary.

So this is training after all… Thank you. It was sinking in that this was a

lesson from the kingdom's strongest warrior, and full of gratitude, Climb

reassumed a fighting stance.

How precious was this chance? He had to take care not to let it end too

soon.

Climb raised his shield again and inched forward. Gazef silently watched.

If things continued like this, it would merely play out the same as last time.

As Climb approached, he was forced to rethink his strategy.

Climb sensed overwhelming composure coming from the calmly waiting

Gazef. He hadn't managed to draw out even a hint of his opponent's true

strength.

Being frustrated about his inability would probably be arrogant.

Climb was already starting to reach his limits. Even though he always got

up early to hone himself, his progress was slower than a snail's. Ever since he

first picked up a sword, he had not improved fast enough. Even if he could

condition his body to swing faster with heavier swords, he would probably

still be unable to obtain specialized combat abilities.

Surely it was rude to wish that Gazef, the embodiment of talent, would

use his full abilities when Climb was so incapable. He lamented that his own

skill wasn't enough to warrant them.

Telling him to approach their bout as if it were a real battle and not

practice had probably been Gazef's way of saying that if Climb didn't fight

with the intent to kill, he wouldn't even be worth sparring with.

Climb ground his teeth audibly with a crk sound.

He hated how weak he was. If only he were stronger, he could be more

useful. With more power, he would be the princess's weapon and face headon those who sullied the kingdom, who caused the people to suffer.

The princess had only one fragile sword, so she had to be careful when

she wielded it, which racked Climb with guilt.

But he immediately cleared those thoughts from his mind. What he

needed now was to avoid drowning in negativity in this endeavor to enhance

his abilities, even slightly, by clashing with everything he had against this

man who stood at the heights of human potential.

He had only one thought in his heart.

I want to be useful to the princess…

"Ohh?" Gazef murmured approvingly, his expression shifting slightly.

It was because of the minute change he saw in the boy on the cusp of

manhood in front of him. Up until a moment ago, Climb had been excited,

like a child meeting a celebrity. But after the kick, that bubbly attitude had

vanished and been replaced with the face of a warrior.

Gazef raised his guard a notch.

He thought more of Climb than the boy knew. He held an especially high

opinion of that unwavering desire to better himself. His fervent devotion was

akin to a religious faith. And then there was his swordsmanship.

No one had taught Climb. He'd gleaned what he could by watching others

train. His form was awkward and contained many extraneous movements.

But unlike those who had unthinkingly studied exactly what they were

taught, Climb considered the significance of each strike and cultivated a style

that focused on real combat or, to put it darkly, a killer's style.

Gazef thought it was absolutely wonderful.

In the end, a sword was a tool for murder. Someone trained for sports and

display wouldn't be effective in a serious battle. Such a style wouldn't protect

or save anyone.

But Climb was different. He would cut down his enemies and safeguard

whatever was precious to him.

However—

"Your attitude may have changed, but there's a clear gap between our

ability levels! What are you gonna do about that?"

To put it bluntly, Climb had no innate talent. Without that, he couldn't

reach the heights of Gazef or Brain Unglaus, no matter how much harder than

everyone else he tried, regardless of how cruelly he tortured his flesh.

Climb's attempts to be the strongest were nothing but a dream or a

delusion.

So why was Gazef training Climb? Wouldn't it be more beneficial to

spend his time on someone with more aptitude?

The answer was simple. He couldn't stand around watching Climb expend

pointless effort. If humans had a limit to their potential, then this boy was

single-mindedly throwing himself at that wall over and over, and Gazef pitied

him for it.

He wanted to show Climb another way.

It was his belief that even if there was a limit to ability, there was no limit

to experience.

The other reason was that Gazef regretted his greatest opponent's

appalling state. It's like I'm doing this to make up for that…which isn't fair to

Climb, but…still, it's not like he loses anything from going at it with me for a

round.

"Come on, Climb!"

A response with the spirit to break through Gazef's internal monologue

came back to him.

"Sir!"

At the same time he replied, Climb dashed forward.

Unlike before, Gazef slowly lifted his sword with a serious face.

Then he brought it down from up high.

If Climb received it with his shield, his approach would be halted

completely; if he blocked with his sword, he'd be repelled. It was an attack

that rendered defense purposeless. It was a bad idea to defend, but Climb had

a broadsword whereas Gazef had a bastard sword—Climb's weapon was

shorter.

All he could do was leap. Gazef knew that, so he was waiting to intercept.

It was like entering a tiger's den—but the young soldier hesitated only for

a moment.

Climb came within range of Gazef's sword.

Gazef's swing was perfectly timed, and Climb braced against it with his

shield. The tremendous shock was even more intense this time. Pain ran up

Climb's arm and made him grimace.

"Too bad it ended up playing out the same as before."

Gazef seemed slightly disappointed as he aimed his foot at Climb's

stomach, but then—

"Fortress!"

The moment Climb shouted, Gazef's face registered slight surprise.

It wasn't as if the martial art Fortress couldn't be used without a sword or

shield. It was quite possible with either a hand or armor. The reason it was

commonly activated when defending with a sword or shield was due to how

tight the timing needed to be. One false move when using it with armor could

end with the warrior suffering the hit unprotected. So according to human

psychology, most would want to activate it when blocking with something.

But Climb knew when Gazef's kick would come, which solved the timing

problem.

"You meant for that to happen?"

"Yes, sir!"

The power in Gazef's kick vanished as if something soft had absorbed it.

His leg extended fully, and unable to drive any strength into it, he gave up

and began to bring it back down. While Gazef was in this disadvantaged

posture, Climb moved in to take his shot.

"Slash!"

Climb activated the martial art as he brought his sword down from high

above.

Create a single move that you can unleash with confidence.

He possessed no inborn talent, but he'd taken to heart the advice a warrior

had once given him and desperately polished his overhead attack.

Climb's body was not covered in an ostentatious layer of muscles, nor

was he blessed with a physique that easily put on muscle in the first place. It

wasn't as if he had the agility to put extra bulk to good use anyhow.

So he had toned his body and achieved a specialized build through what

had seemed like infinite repetition.

The result was his downward swing from up high—his singular strike

achieving a speed that could be considered extraordinary, which practically

summoned a gale in its wake.

That was what fell toward Gazef's head.

The idea that if his attack connected it could be fatal did not occur to

Climb. He'd unleashed his move with absolute conviction that a man of

Gazef's caliber wouldn't die from something like this.

A sharp clang rang out as the bastard sword rose to meet the descending

broadsword.

Gazef had anticipated even this far ahead.

Climb used all the energy in his body to try and throw the older warrior

off-balance.

But Gazef's body didn't budge.

Even in an unsteady position on one foot, Gazef had no problem stopping

a blow bearing the entirety of Climb's might. The man was like a great tree

with thick roots deeply seated in the earth.

Climb had used his martial art and all his strength. Even with those two

things combined, he couldn't match one-footed Gazef. He was surprised to

realize this and then looked to his stomach.

Slicing with the broadsword had meant closing the distance, and thus it

was possible for Gazef to kick him again.

He jumped away right as it arrived.

Just a little dull pain. Then the two of them stared each other down a few

paces apart.

Gazef's eyes were happy, and his mouth curled in a grin.

His expression was amused, but it contained no ill will. It was only a

refreshing smile. It made Climb fidget, how Gazef beamed at him like a

father proud of his son's improvement.

"Nice work. I'm gonna take this next one a little bit seriously." Gazef's

expression changed.

Fear coursed through Climb's entire body. The kingdom's strongest

warrior had finally shown himself.

"I actually have one potion. If you end up with a broken bone or

something, we can fix it up, so don't worry."

"…Thank you."

Hearing Gazef basically announce, I'm gonna break one of your bones,

that's all, made Climb's heart pound. He was accustomed to injuries, but that

didn't mean he liked them.

Gazef charged—twice as fast as Climb's previous approach.

The bastard sword traced an extremely low arc aimed at Climb's feet, its

tip practically scraping the ground. Flustered by the speed and centrifugal

force, Climb protected his feet by gripping his broadsword blade-down, as if

to stick it into the floor.

The two crashed together. That's what Climb thought, but suddenly,

Gazef's bastard sword rose back up, slicing along the edge of the

broadsword.

"Kgh!" Climb turned his entire body and face away from the bastard

sword, which missed him by a tiny margin. The draft blew a few of his hairs

away.

Climb was terrified by how quickly Gazef had been able to corner him.

He followed the bastard sword with only his eyes but saw it suddenly stop

sharp and come back around.

Faster than he could think.

His survival instinct seemed to drive him to thrust his shield forward

when the bastard sword crashed into it with a shrill clang.

And then—

"Gah!"

With a sharp pain, Climb's body sailed sideways. When he fell to the

floor, the shock knocked the weapon out of his hands.

The bastard sword had rebounded off the shield to the side, delivering a

heavy impact to Climb's wide-open flank.

"Flow. Don't think, First attack, then defend—you have to move in a way

that connects you to your next stroke. Defending is but another part of the

attack." As Climb retrieved his fallen sword and made to get up while

holding to his side, Gazef gently spoke to him, saying, "I held back so

nothing would break. You're still good, right? …What do you want to do?"

In contrast to Gazef, who didn't seem the least bit out of breath, Climb

was panting from the pain and stress.

If he couldn't last for more than a few exchanges like this, he was wasting

Gazef's time. But he still wanted to improve, even if only slightly.

He nodded at Gazef and held up his sword.

"Okay, then let's keep going."

"Yes, sir!" With a hoarse shout, Climb raced forward.

After being struck, launched away, and occasionally kicked or punched,

Climb collapsed on the floor, out of breath. The cold stones leeched the heat

out of him through his mail and clothing, which felt good.

Panting, he didn't even move to wipe the sweat off his face. Rather, he

didn't have the energy to.

Enduring the pain welling up in various locations, Climb was

overwhelmed by the fatigue coursing through his entire body, and he lightly

closed his eyes.

"Good work. I tried to swing so you wouldn't get any breaks or fractures,

but how are you feeling?"

"…" Still lying on the floor, Climb moved his arms, examining the

painful spots before opening his eyes. "There doesn't seem to be anything

wrong. I'm hurting, but it should only be bruises."

The throbbing aches he felt were far from serious. They wouldn't prevent

him from guarding the princess.

"Okay… Then you don't need the potion, huh?"

"No. Because if I overuse them, I won't get any of the benefits of strength

training."

"Letting your muscles heal naturally makes them stronger, but if you use

magic to restore them to their original state, then that doesn't happen. I

getcha. Are you off to be bodyguard for the princess now?"

"Yes."

"Then I'll give it to you. Use it if you have any problems."

He placed the potion next to Climb with a clink.

"Thank you." Climb sat up and regarded the man his sword had been

unable to approach even once.

The unscathed warrior asked in puzzlement, "What?"

"Nah, I was thinking that you're amazing…"

Gazef had barely any sweat on his forehead. He wasn't out of breath.

Sighing, Climb acknowledged the gap between the strongest man in the

kingdom and himself, a boy splayed out on the floor.

In response, Gazef grinned awkwardly. "…Oh. I see."

"How—?"

"I can't really answer the question of how I got this strong. I just had

some inborn talent, that's all. By the way, I learned to fight during my

mercenary days. The nobles are always screaming about how vulgar my

kicks are, but I learned those back then, too."

There were no tricks to getting stronger. Gazef had declared it so. He

denied with ease the small hope Climb had clung to, the belief that he might

be able to grow more powerful if he continued his current training.

"In that sense, it's a good style for you, Climb—punching, kicking, a style

where you use your arms and legs like that."

"You…think so?"

"Yeah, not being trained as a swordsman or soldier will work in your

favor. People tend to focus on bladework once they have a sword in their

hands…but I don't think that's very smart. In a real fight, a doctrine that fully

utilizes the hands and feet with the sword as simply another offensive option

should prove more useful. Well, it's kinda fighting dirty…but it works for

adventurers."

Climb dropped his usual expressionless manner and smiled. He never

thought the strongest man in the kingdom would hold such a high opinion of

his sword skills or his inconsistent, unorthodox movements. Climb knew the

nobles scoffed at his style from the shadows, so praise like this was a big deal

for him.

"All right, I'm going to head out. I need to be ready for breakfast with the

king. Are you okay on time?"

"Yes. The princess will have a visitor today."

"A visitor? One of the nobles?"

Gazef wondered who the princess would be entertaining, and Climb

answered, "From the Aindra family."

"Aindra? …Ohh, then which one? Blue, right? I can't imagine it'd be the

red one."

"Yes, from the Blue Roses."

Gazef was visibly relieved. "Aha…I see, so her friend is coming…"

Gazef seemed to guess that Renner didn't want Climb at breakfast with

her friend, but Climb had actually declined an invitation. Even if he had the

kind of relationship with her that allowed it, refusing an offer from one of the

royal family would definitely have made Gazef frown, so Climb said nothing

and left the details up to the older man's imagination.

As for Aindra herself, she was also acquainted with Climb through

Renner and was friendly with him. She wouldn't react badly, like the other

nobles, if he came to breakfast. But Renner had few female friends, and he

figured she could get more of that rare girl talk without a guy around.

"Thank you for today, Captain Gazef."

"Nah, don't worry about it. I had fun, too."

"…If you don't mind, could you train me again sometime?"

Gazef wasn't sure what to say, but faster than Climb could notice and

apologize, the captain responded. "Sure, as long as we can find a time and

place where no one else is around."

Climb knew what the conflict had been, so he didn't say anything

awkward. He flexed his creaking muscles and stood up. He did, however,

express his honest thoughts. "Thank you."

Gazef gave a benevolent wave and got moving. "Okay, let's clean up.

There'll be trouble if I don't make it to breakfast on time. Oh, and that swing

from overhead is pretty good. You just need to think about how to follow up

—in case your opponent dodges or blocks it."

"Yes, sir!"

After leaving Gazef and wiping himself down with a damp towel, Climb

went to a place very different from the large practice hall.

This room was as spacious as the training area he'd come from. Many

people sat on benches, chatting. An appetizing scent suffused the warm

atmosphere.

It was the mess hall.

Cutting across the room, weaving through the noise, Climb joined the line

behind a few others.

Following the people in front of him, Climb took dishes from the arranged

stacks. On his tray, he placed a wooden plate and a wooden stew bowl. Then

a wooden cup.

Everyone received their food in order.

A large steamed potato, brown bread, a white stew with a decent helping

of fixings, pickled cabbage, a sausage—from Climb's perspective it was a

luxurious meal.

The array of all those things on his tray gave off inviting smells. Suddenly

feeling hungry, Climb looked out across the mess hall.

The soldiers ate with no small commotion, making idle chat with their

neighbors about what they would do on their next day off, the food, their

families, mundane stories about their work, and so on.

Climb spotted an empty seat and made his way through the busy room.

He straddled the bench and sat down. There were soldiers on either side of

him, having nice chats with their friends. As Climb sat down, the ones

nearest him spared him just a glance before looking away in apparent

disinterest.

It was like there was a lull that surrounded only Climb.

From the outside, it seemed odd.

Lively conversations went on all around Climb, but not a single person

called out to him. Certainly not many people would randomly talk to a

stranger. But considering they were soldiers serving at the same place,

entrusting their lives to one another when on duty, this treatment was a bit

strange.

It was like he didn't exist.

Climb didn't make an effort to talk to anyone, either—he knew where he

stood.

The guardians of Ro-Lente Castle were not ordinary military.

The kingdom's "soldiers" included levies outfitted by landed nobility,

soldiers who were like a private army whose wages were paid by city

officials, and the guards who mainly patrolled the city. They all shared one

thing—their commoner backgrounds.

But there were various problems with entrusting peasants of unknown

origin with the castle's protection and bringing them so close to the royal

family and all the kingdom's sensitive intelligence. Accordingly, the soldiers

who guarded Ro-Lente Castle needed a recommendation from a noble. If a

soldier caused any issues, the vouching noble would be held responsible, so

the candidates were necessarily of clearly established identity with no

evidence of problems with their thoughts or behavior.

But something had developed as a result of this system.

Factions.

The nobles who supplied castle guard nominees all belonged to one or

another of them. Naturally, the soldiers aligned themselves with the

affiliations of their patrons. Those who would defy their noble would never

be elected in the first place, so it wasn't an exaggeration to say there were

virtually no soldiers who eschewed factionalism.

At first glance, this setup appeared to be wholly detrimental, but if there

was an advantage to speak of, it was that because conflict between factions

could potentially spark a war, the soldiers were expected to apply themselves

diligently. Even if they still couldn't match up to the empire's knights, the

soldiers who guarded the castle were fairly skilled.

Of course, Climb was a few notches above them, and that was another

reason the nobles resented him—he was stronger than the soldiers they

backed.

It was possible to conceive of a sponsoring noble who didn't belong to a

faction. But in the current power struggle between the king's faction and the

nobles', there was only a single noble who was skilled enough to strategically

flit back and forth like a bat between them.

And among the soldiers, there was only one who had not joined up with

either faction besides the troops endorsed by that exceptional noble.

That was Climb.

Climb's position was a very difficult one.

Normally someone of Climb's background wouldn't be able to serve as

Renner's personal attendant. The role of protecting a member of the royal

family would normally never be an option for a lowborn citizen. It was

generally accepted that the only ones fit to protect the royal family were of

noble rank.

But there was the exception of Gazef Stronoff, the strongest soldier in the

kingdom, and his elite men. That, and more importantly, there weren't many

who could openly oppose Princess Renner if she strongly desired something.

Maybe a relative could speak frankly with her, but if the king approved, no

one could dissent.

The reason Climb had a private room was due to this difficult position.

If he were an ordinary soldier, he would have shared a big common room

instead.

Although Renner's authoritative pronouncement was part of the reason he

had his own room, the other part was to isolate him. They didn't know where

to place him because he didn't belong to a faction. He was a problem.

Considering Climb's own circumstances and his position, he would

naturally belong to the king's faction. But the king's faction was comprised

mainly of nobles who swore loyalty to the king. Climb was a nobody whose

existence the nobles would undoubtedly frown upon.

So the group wouldn't know how to treat him if they took him in, and he

would naturally cooperate with them if they left him alone. Whereas for the

nobles, it would be quite a prize to win Climb over, but it would also be

dangerous.

Still, each faction contained countless nobles. It wasn't as if their thoughts

and opinions were monolithic. In the end, a faction was no more than a

gathering of similarly minded people who desired the advantage of banding

together. So of course, there were some in the king's faction who detested

Climb—the beautiful Golden Princess's closest aide despite his uncertain

peasant background—and some in the opposing nobles' faction who wanted

to befriend him.

In any case, no one thus far had been so imprudent as to cause schisms in

their faction over one guy.

The result was that although everyone wanted to avoid his going to the

other side, they didn't want to go so far as to have him on theirs.

That's why no one talked to him, why he dined alone.

He ate his meal without chatting with anyone and looked to neither side.

He finished his breakfast in less than ten minutes.

"Okay, guess I should get going." Satisfied, he talked to himself under his

breath—a growing habit from being alone so much—as he stood up, and a

soldier who happened to be passing by bumped into him.

The man's elbow jabbed a spot he'd hurt training with Gazef that

morning, and although his face remained expressionless, he stopped short

from the pain.

The soldier who'd bumped into him kept walking without saying a thing.

Naturally, none of the surrounding soldiers spoke up, either. Some of the

ones who had witnessed what happened furrowed their brows a tiny bit, but

still, no one moved to say something.

Climb exhaled slowly and walked off with his empty dishes.

This degree of harassment was all too common. He was just glad it hadn't

happened when there was hot stew in his bowl.

Someone would stick a leg out and trip him. Someone would bump into

him, pretending it was an accident. These things happened all the time.

Still—

What about it?

Climb walked on, unconcerned. They couldn't do anything more than

that, either, especially in a place like the mess hall where there were so many

people watching.

Climb kept his chest out. He kept his eyes facing forward and his head

high.

If he did anything shameful, it would cause trouble for his master, Renner.

The reputation of the woman he devoted his whole self to was on the line.