The previous night had been very difficult.
The ground trembled beneath their feet and wyverns roared in the sky.
However, no matter how much of a nightmare the night had been, today's sun inevitably rose.
As dawn broke over the distant white plains, the residents of Bastopol began to poke their heads out into the now quiet city.
"…I definitely should have killed him then."
"Yes."
"It's your fault for not guiding him properly."
"Yes, fine, I accept that."
As the rising morning sun cleared away the darkness, the first thing visible were the ruined castle walls and the city.
Among them, Rutiger and Vlad lay in the most disordered place.
Today's sun shone on the two of them, their heads lowered as if they had exhausted all their strength.
"Still, hitting that guy felt good."
"..."
Vlad, who was listening to Rutiger, turned his head and looked towards where the castle wall stood.
A deep and enormous crack.
The crack starting from the mansion extended exactly to Bastopol's walls.
"Yes, it must have felt good."
Vlad nodded, observing the trajectory of Rutiger's sword, thrown with such fury.
Well, if anger were vented to that extent, anyone would have no choice but to feel satisfied.
"Are you going to Sturma now?"
"Yes."
"To see Joseph?"
"…Yes."
A knight who now stood on his own name.
Vlad was a free man who no longer belonged anywhere, but because of this, he decided to leave to do what he wanted to do.
Because he thought there was still something he couldn't do for the person who first recognized him.
"We worked well together yesterday, didn't we?"
"Just a moment ago you said I didn't guide him properly."
Vlad, knowing what Rutiger was trying to say, casually kicked a nearby stone.
He couldn't see it because he had turned his head, but Rutiger was probably making a disappointed face.
"Yes. Take care."
"Aren't you coming with me?"
When Vlad asked if he would like to go to Sturma with him, Rutiger shrugged and continued speaking as if it was no big deal.
"The mother there isn't my mother."
"..."
"Neither you nor I have family to rely on."
Rutiger got up as if it was time to leave, playfully ruffled Vlad's hair, and walked towards the mansion.
Rutiger's world is like a volcano.
Watching his back as he walked away with difficulty, Vlad seemed to understand a bit why the anger in his soul was so strong.
***
A cannon that can only be reached by crossing a field of pure white snow.
The crowd gathered there hung their heads low and remained speechless.
"What's the damage?"
"A total of four Wyverns were shot down during the operation."
"What about the knights?"
"..."
Mirshea, leaning against the cliff, understood the assistant's silence.
At a glance, it was evident that half of the knights were missing.
Swallowing bitterness at the loss of those chosen and carefully prepared, Mirshea could only lament.
"Perhaps I should have brought the death worm."
Ten wyverns and fifty elite knights. The northern knights took advantage of the inaccessible sky for a surprise attack, and the plan was to use the dragon, which perfected itself as it approached the fragments.
However, despite the full support of the Dragon Archduke and the use of infiltrators within the city, the visible result was a resounding failure.
"You said the young Ravnoma is still in Soara?"
"We received a telegram saying he just left for Sturma..."
Although no plan can be perfect, Mirshea was not one to tolerate such unforeseen circumstances.
He had been extremely cautious, but the problem arose in a completely different place.
"The pact was transferred even though the young Ravnoma wasn't..."
The oldest dragon, Sarnus Dragulia, had been watching the scene since the seal to contain the pieces was created.
He knew very well that the guardian of the oath could not be changed without the Swordmaster's permission, but in reality, the oath was transferred from Ravnoma to Bayezid, and it ended up failing now.
If the Ravnoma's chest had acted according to the initial plan, Mirshea and the wyverns would not have withdrawn so easily.
'...It wasn't the Swordmaster's sword.'
Reflecting on the failure, Mirshea realized.
The energy of the Swordmaster that my father felt in the north was not just a trace of the sword.
It meant that somewhere in the north, someone carrying his blood or his will existed.
"...That's impossible."
Even the Dragon Archduke had anxiously searched, but could not find it.
It couldn't be from the same bloodline. If so, it would be a successor to his will. Coming to this conclusion, Mirshea smiled, imagining a possibility that couldn't happen.
"What's impossible, commander?"
"Nothing."
I suppose not.
A knight born as a dragon and fulfilling the will of the Swordmaster.
There cannot be such a contradictory being in this world.
"Bind the wounded. We're leaving."
"Understood, commander."
After giving the order, Mirshea looked at his charred palms.
The black scars that remained over the word "perfection."
Mirshea, clenching both hands tightly, engraved a name that should not be forgotten alongside the scar on his heart.
***
Inside the mansion in ruins, Timur and Peter were having tea.
Although it was a meeting between a noble duke and a count, the atmosphere was very calm and felt familiar.
"There's no liquor left to offer because everything is destroyed. I barely found some tea."
"It's okay, this is enough."
Peter, holding the teacup, shrugged as if understanding Timur's difficulties.
Perhaps it was because he was facing Old Iron, an old acquaintance.
He seemed relaxed in a way that reminded one of Rutiger when he smiled and Joseph when he drank tea.
"Somehow, this turned out well. Thanks to this event, we can unite firmly."
Although there were unfortunate incidents, the northern meeting was successfully completed because of them.
There's nothing more effective in uniting us than an external threat.
"Look there."
Timur nodded with the tip of his chin as if gesturing to look over there.
Peter, sipping his tea, observed the procession leaving the castle gate through the half-broken window.
It was a group of lords returning to their respective territories after a meeting.
"If they have the same destination, why don't they leave together?"
"There's no need to stir up dragon's blood."
Peter recognized the blond knight riding away among the group.
The knight departing on the black horse was probably headed to his territory, Sturma.
"From now on, the dragon fragment will be sealed in Sturma."
A knight born as a dragon but decided to fight against the dragon.
Watching the small flag behind the horse crossing the city gate, Peter smiled faintly.
That flag hanging behind the black horse was definitely made by his wife.
"By the way, how's your second son? I understand that the next head of the family has already been decided."
Peter didn't immediately respond to Timur's question.
He simply tilted his empty teacup and made a bitter expression.
"...He has something he wants to do to the end."
There may not be a finger that doesn't hurt when bitten, but there are probably some that hurt especially.
For Peter, that finger was Joseph, so he couldn't refuse his wish to give his all to the end.
"You should rest a bit now, even if it's just a little."
Hoping the blond knight leaving the city and heading to him would offer comfort.
The last sip of tea Peter took was incredibly bitter.
***
Long ago, our ancestors made a promise to a man.
Let us unite under the same banner to drive out the most perfect dragon.
The promise at that time was true and honorable, and we, the Lords of the North, have still tried to fulfill that promise.
But what about the current empire?
Do you remember the promise we made back then to become one?
Do you remember the city that protected human pride to the end?
Is the current emperor really qualified to fulfill the promise of the founding king?
That's why we decided here.
We will no longer follow the orders of the empire that broke its promise to the North through discrimination and disdain.
From now on, we will not recognize the emperor born of false blood.
The founding king and grand master of the sword.
Until the legitimate successor of Kihano Frausen, who killed the most perfect dragon, arises, the North will remain solely in his name.
This is the resolution of the seven lords of the North to the empire.
***
A deep forest in the east.
There was a deep and vast forest that did not allow human access.
Ausurin, a forest with a young World Tree and the young spirits that embrace the World Tree.
However, the forest was now frozen by a cutting tension, as if a sword had touched it.
"…Back off, back off! Everyone back off now."
All the elves of the village had gathered in front of the young World Tree.
The atmosphere was so intense that it seemed like something could be cut by the murderous energy emanating from the elves.
This time, the determination of the elves to protect the World Tree, no matter the cost, was clear.
"But, elder…"
"It's a revelation."
Now, in front of the World Tree, there were strange beings covered in black.
Regardless of whether they were humans or monsters, they had no heads and said nothing, but they were contaminating the elves' forest with their mere presence.
"No matter how much it's a revelation from a priestess, are you really going to hand over the Sword of the Swordmaster? To that sinister human?"
"That cannot happen!"
The elves seemed ready to pounce on the man in front of them at any moment, but Elder Geronimo firmly restrained them.
'...Why have you returned like this?'
He was a man whom Geronimo had seen when he was a child hundreds of years ago, but Geronimo remembered him clearly.
The clothes he wore were worn out, and the color of his hair was faded gray.
Even the look in his eyes was as old as a corpse.
Seeing him, a great man but returning in such a pitiful state, Geronimo felt a sense of confusion that couldn't be described in words.
"…Everyone, please step aside."
At that moment, a voice was heard behind the murmuring elves.
Although the sound was not loud, it resonated in everyone, following the will of the World Tree.
"Priestess!"
"It can't be, not that sword…"
Despite it being winter, the priestess of the World Tree wore only a thin cloth.
Observing the scene she had seen in her dream, the priestess's eyes seemed on the verge of tears.
"Please step aside. All of you."
If they didn't step aside, they would all die.
That's what she had seen in her dream and what the World Tree had warned.
The sinister woman, still gazing at the World Tree, smiled at the young spirits playing there.
"Take it. Because you are the rightful owner."
"..."
Holding the silver sword with both hands, the priestess of the World Tree looked at the man in front of her with a pained expression, as if she were about to cry.
For the priestess to cry meant that the World Tree cried too.
Despite it being winter, the green leaves of the World Tree rustled in the wind.
"Can you hear it? The sword is crying for your current state."
Despite the priestess's choked words, the man simply took the Sword of the Swordmaster with an indifferent expression.
His creaking movement, like an old mechanism, seemed desolate.
"…It doesn't matter if you can't hear it."
As the priestess said, the silver sword cried sadly at seeing its master return in disheveled appearance to fulfill the duty it could not fulfill.
But the man holding the sword seemed to hear nothing, indifferent to everything.
"Because this time I must kill all the dragons."
There was a great dragon slayer who killed the most perfect dragon.
His name is Kihano Frausen.
But now, completely exhausted and drained, he had forgotten his own name and only remembered his duty.
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