"...The Black King?”
“Hm?”
“What is it, Arno?”
“N-Nothing. It’s... nothing....”
Arno blinked, visibly confused, as he took down the troubleso guards of the illegal gambling den in response to Kunta’s question.
He thought he had seen a black lion appear briefly behind the black-haired youth.
“The Black King of the North? ...As my grandmother said, one cannot inherit the Black King unless the current heir dies... Could it be an illusion?”
His grandmother, Sword Master Felicia, had once sat him on her knee, sharing countless tales from the past. One that particularly struck him was the legend of Lionel’s mysterious [Black King].
The Black King was a supre mystical power that only Lionel could wield, said to be on par with an Aura User.
Yet, for one to inherit such power, the current heir would have to either die or have it forcibly taken, leading Arno to dismiss it as an illusion.
Or perhaps, cautiously, he speculated it might be another unique quality possessed by Roen, like the black sword aura he’d displayed the day before.
After all, there was no way such a singular power could exist in two forms at the sa ti....
...Roen hadn’t reached the “answer” through a keen intuition of a knight dutifully honoring parental obligations.
He arrived at his conclusion thanks to information provided by his loyal subordinates and through his own mories of his previous life—the first iteration.
Marquis Tristan.
While other nobles allied with the church to oppress the people, he was a grand noble who stood with the people. It was because of his support that the revolutionaries had gained so much strength.
And as one of the leaders and representatives of the revolutionary army, it was only natural that Roen developed a close camaraderie with the Marquis. After all, he was a Lionel, and the Marquis was a Tristan.
They shared a connection that spanned years, making it easy for them to understand each other and engage in frequent, friendly conversations.
In one such conversation:
“Lord Jenimia, I beg you, please stop charming the won of the revolutionary forces.” “Haha, you misunderstand, Your Grace. I simply neither block those who co nor hinder those who go. I live freely, that’s all.” “...Sigh.”
He was a respectable man, yet one not without his quirks.
As the Marquis said, he never actively pursued won.
...They just ca to him of their own accord.
Though he was over fifty, his youthful appearance—one that seed to belong to a man in his early to mid-thirties, combined with his androgynous features—was enough to stir hearts without him needing to say a word.
Because of this, won often sought him out first, leading to countless headaches for Roen.
Romantic rivalries within the revolutionary forces were troubleso, to say the least...
“So, this is why they call you a womanizer.” “For so reason, I keep getting misunderstood like that.”
The Marquis’s reputation as a womanizer wasn’t entirely by his choice. It was a result of his temperant, which let won co and go as they pleased.
Of course, to an outsider, he seed every bit the rogue.
“You could settle down and marry. Or... is it true, what they say? That having children would... render you impotent?”
Roen knew the question was rude but couldn’t resist asking if his promiscuity was sohow connected to rumors of his supposed impotence.
The Marquis simply chuckled.
“Oh, that rumor? It’s nonsense.” “...?” “Absolute nonsense. Impotent from having children? Then how would the branch family produce people like Sir Bale? Rumors should at least be consistent, shouldn’t they?” “Then...” “Just malicious rumors spread by the aristocratic factions to slander . They even circulated it through the guilds until it beca an accepted ‘truth.’ I never bothered to correct them, but I didn’t expect so many people to actually believe it.”
“...”
“And the reason I haven’t settled down with a single woman or had children? It’s simple. As I’m sure you know, those of us who reach high levels as knights possess an aura that ordinary won can’t withstand. In other words, they can’t endure my aura long enough to bear a child.”
“Then, in your younger years...”
“It might sound like an excuse, but back then, I simply had no ti for won. I was constantly at war with the old king. Even after the wars ended, I was busy managing the estate, trying to rebuild Tristan, which had been split in half by the aristocratic factions.”
“....”
“In any case, it’s unfortunate. I feel sorry for the won who considered marriage, but I was prepared to take responsibility for any of them. Even if children weren’t possible, if they were willing to stay with , I would’ve honored that. But once they realized they couldn’t have an heir, they all left. They didn’t want —they wanted to be the true lady of House Tristan.”
“...”
Roen understood his story... yet couldn’t quite sympathize.
Pitiful, yet not really.
“So, don’t be like . Settle down young and have children.” “...No worries. The House of the Grand Duke has plenty of heirs.” “That’s not quite what I ant... But I do have one piece of advice. If you marry, make sure your partner doesn’t deceive you.” “What do you an?” “There was once a young woman I almost married, but she, along with her family, deceived . If only I were the sole victim, but no, she disgraced all of House Tristan!” “What did she do?”
“I won’t go into details. She paid for it while I was near death. I suppose it would be unkind to speak ill of her further.”
“...?”
“In any case, if you marry, do it with soone you truly love. That’s the path to happiness.”
“Coming from soone else, that advice might move , but from you, Lord Jenimia, it doesn’t resonate at all.”
“What’s that? How dare you, you cheeky brat! Hahaha!”
...Not long after this exchange, Marquis Jenimia died in battle.
He held off a monstrous horde alone, allowing the revolutionary forces to retreat. For four days, he defended their position until his final breath.
Shortly after, a female rcenary leader took over in his absence, yet Roen struggled deeply with the loss.
Despite the rumors, the Marquis was undeniably trustworthy.
...When Roen first heard of Revi Folt’s connection to the Marquis, he was skeptical. But when he realized Revi Folt was the sa person as his forr ally, the “rcenary Queen,” the pieces fell into place.
A connection.
Everything had co together.
And when he learned through Jack’s report that House Folt had only one daughter as of five years ago, his mind wove together a story, almost like a playwright.
A girl sold off to the Marquis’s household under the seal of obedience, hiding her true identity.
Yet, the Marquis would’ve eventually discovered the truth about her and Raynol Folt’s treachery. While killing Raynol would be justified, it wasn’t in a grand noble’s style to be so overt.
He likely chose a slower, more insidious form of retribution, draining him until the end.
But what of the girl?
Unaware of her secret being exposed, obediently following orders... her life would have been...
“...A living hell.”
Always fearing her identity would be discovered, yet bound to obey.
Gritting his teeth, Roen seethed with anger.
Unaware of Roen’s rage, the despicable man continued to shout.
“Don’t be ridiculous! What cri have I committed?! Even if I broke the law, I am a noble! A noble! Selling off a lowly slave girl is no cri!!!”
The repulsive man scread, demanding to know what he had done wrong.
Only fueling Roen’s fury further.
And so—
“Did you ask to know your cris?”
Roen decided to personally inform him.
“You’ve committed four offenses. First, for breaking the law by trafficking a slave and ruining a person’s life!”
Crunch!!
“Arrghh!!”
His arm shattered, crushed to dust, beyond even divine power to restore.
“Second, for gambling her away without remorse after ruining her life!”
Slash!
“...!!!?”
His tongue was cut out.
Raynol would never again speak with his filthy mouth.
“Third, for deceiving House Tristan, and by extension, this nation’s loyal nobles!”
Slice!
...He could no longer scream.
Both of his ankles were severed, leaving him unable to ever stand again.
Overco with pain, he fainted—
“And fourth... for speaking lies! Did you claim to be a knight? A noble intent on restoring his family’s honor? Then how could your hands be so soft?!”
[Growl!]
Raynol’s hands were immaculate.
Hands that had never worked, never seen hardship—only dealt in cards and coins.
No true knight could have hands so soft. How could such uncalloused hands belong to one who claid to strive?
Ultimately—
“Your life and words are nothing but lies. There is no truth to be found!”
A parasite, deceiving, manipulating, and leeching off others.
If only he had the sense to live quietly within his ans.
“...I would kill you, but I won’t. That would be too rciful, and I lack the right to judge you.”
Thus—
“This will suffice.”
Whoosh!
“Arrgh!!”
Raynol’s body writhed, convulsing as he was thrown into the flas, his entire body engulfed, subjected to agony that wouldn’t allow him to faint.
“!!?...!!!”
Unable to flee, he thrashed, and Roen made sure he wouldn’t die—at least not yet.
“This agony you’re experiencing? It’s only fitting. You’ll feel exactly what my fallen comrade endured, writhing in flas because of you.”
The fire roared around Raynol, his screams echoing in the abandoned den, his body twisting under the searing pain he was forbidden to escape.
This was justice.
Only now, with his sins being repaid, could Roen finally honor the mory of his fallen comrade.
“Zan... I can finally let you go.”
Looking up at the night sky, Roen felt a pang of guilt for mourning so late.
But finally, at long last, he had made peace, granting his comrade the respect they deserved in the end.
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