He wasn't wrong.
Anyone who knows they're truly talented doesn't sell themselves cheaply. Wasn't that one of the very reasons Lucian had searched so hard for Nektar? It was a means that could instantly entice almost any talented knight.
"True. Unless you saddle them with a debt of life, that's how it would go."
"I'm glad you understand. In that case, wouldn't it be better to quietly yield here to the other brothers?"
"Who knows."
Lucian gave a small snort of laughter and shrugged.
"You never know. I might've unknowingly saddled the Sword Saint's disciple with a life debt."
"What are you—!"
"Just kidding. Don't be so tense. If you manage to recruit her, my chance wouldn't come in the first place anyway."
"Hah."
Joshua stared blankly at Lucian before letting out a hollow laugh.
It was the look of someone with plenty to say, but holding it in because something more important was at hand.
"I spoke out of turn. The investiture is about to begin, so I'll head on ahead."
"We're going the same way anyway—how about we go together? Have a nice, brotherly chat along the way."
"I'll pass!"
At Lucian's suggestion, Joshua twisted his face into a scowl and strode ahead.
Watching his retreating back, Lucian let out a small laugh.
"What a fun little guy."
Unlike Tristan or Jordi, who had already weathered their share of the world's storms, Joshua was still innocent enough that teasing him was especially satisfying.
If possible, Lucian would have liked to keep him that way a little longer—but unfortunately, today was the day Joshua would have to grow up.
"Let's just hope he doesn't take the shock too hard and end up like Jordi."
If Joshua turned out like Jordi, Lucian would have to stomp on him in earnest.
If possible, he hoped Joshua would remain a younger brother who was still fun to tease—at least to some degree.
As expected, the investiture was splendid.
A platform had been erected where all the citizens outside the inner fortress could see it, red carpets were laid along the road, and knights stood lined up on both sides.
Considering that a typical investiture was a simple affair lasting no more than ten or twenty minutes, all of this was a show of respect and courtesy toward Sword Saint Aizen.
"Well, it's nice not having to stand somewhere that draws attention. Blending into the crowd will only make things easier when it's time to stir something up."
Today's true protagonist was Felicia, after all, and it wouldn't do for others to draw excessive attention.
Even though they were sons of the Archduke, no separate seating had been prepared for them, so Lucian was able to remain hidden behind the other knights.
As he waited for the investiture to begin, another figure approached Lucian's position—then suddenly widened their eyes.
"You— you bastard!"
"It's been a while, Brother."
At the voice that was clearly forcing its emotions down, Lucian brightened and waved a hand.
Jordi, unable to hide his fluster, asked reflexively,
"When did you arrive? I heard you planned to stay in the capital for a while."
"Not long ago. Just a few hours, at most. Normally you would've received a report already, but I suppose you've been too busy with the investiture?"
Despite Lucian's barbed remark, Jordi didn't flare up in anger.
Instead, he openly showed his discomposure and unease.
"Looks like he has a rough idea of my relationship with Felicia."
When Felicia had been brought in, Tristan had been dispatched to Bornholm, and Joshua was still a newcomer who had only just entered the competition.
Jordi was the only one who'd remained with the family while maintaining a proper intelligence network, so it wouldn't be strange for him to know the general situation.
"No wonder something felt off. I was wondering why the investiture was being held so suddenly—did you have a hand in it, Brother?"
"What nonsense are you spouting all of a sudden? What does the investiture have to do with me?"
Jordi tried to brush it off casually, but he couldn't hide the brief flinch.
Lucian's suspicion hardened into certainty, and he smiled coldly.
"You still don't hesitate to use underhanded methods, I see. By all means, do your best. If you struggle pathetically and still lose, all that'll remain is your ugliness."
"Don't get cocky. No matter how much ability or reputation you have, without forces to back you, you'll amount to nothing more than a pawn. You're nothing but a shooting star—bright for a moment, then gone."
"Spouting that kind of thing while I'm shining at my brightest just makes it sound like the wailing of a loser."
At Lucian's taunt, Jordi's eyes flared—but that was as far as it went.
Perhaps he didn't want to cause a scene before the investiture; Jordi withdrew without further protest.
A short while later, Tristan, having spotted his brothers as well, clicked his tongue and took a seat a little distance away.
Amid the subtle tension, the four brothers stood in silence—
and then it happened.
Clack.
A moment later, when the protagonist of the investiture finally revealed herself, the onlookers' eyes went wide.
"A helmet?"
"A helmet at an investiture?!"
"What kind of discourtesy is this!"
The knights bristled, their faces twisting, and the commonfolk watching nearby began to murmur among themselves.
Outside of duty or the battlefield, covering one's face with a helmet was considered rude anywhere.
Yet the Sword Saint's disciple paid no heed to the surrounding gazes and strode along the red carpet until she stood before Archduke Sigmund.
"Remove your helmet."
Archduke Sigmund commanded in a solemn voice that carried clearly to all.
The knight complied without resistance, removing her helmet and revealing her face.
"A woman?!"
"The Sword Saint's successor is a woman?"
"What kind of absurdity is this…!"
As Felicia's disheveled hair spilled free, cries of shock erupted from all around.
Female knights did exist—but only in fairy tales.
In reality, aside from purely political honorary posts, there were no women who truly wielded a sword.
And yet, of all people, the Sword Saint's successor was a woman.
"Disciple of the great Sword Saint, Aizen Brightner. State your name."
"I am Felicia Brightner, adopted daughter of Aizen Brightner."
"Felicia, I ask you this. As a knight, what do you seek?"
"Loyalty. Absolute loyalty, and nothing else."
At the starkly concise answer, the surrounding knights flinched.
Usually, such vows spoke of justice or the defense of the righteous—yet she mentioned only loyalty.
The Archduke fixed Felicia with a sharp gaze and pressed further.
"Even if your lord were to fall into evil, would you still keep your loyalty?"
It was a question that precisely exposed the contradiction within such an oath, but Felicia answered without blinking.
"If my lord chooses to become evil, then I shall become evil with them and wallow together in the mire.
If the Eight Gods cast my lord into hell, then I shall bear that sin alone and burn in hell for all eternity."
At the extreme reply, Archduke Sigmund fell silent.
He clearly hadn't expected an answer of this magnitude to what was meant as a simple test.
"…Then may your lord always choose the right path. May they have the wisdom to guide a great knight onto a great road."
After a moment's deliberation, the Archduke softened his voice to ease the tense atmosphere and extended his sword.
As Felicia knelt, the blade tapped her shoulders and the back of her neck in slow, measured motions.
"In the name of Sigmund Valdeck, I vouch for your honor, Felicia Brightner. From this moment on, you are a knight.
May both you and I always be able to take pride in that name."
The investiture complete, Felicia rose—but unlike other ceremonies, no cheers erupted.
Everyone was still reeling from the shock that the Sword Saint's disciple was a woman.
The silence was on the verge of turning into whispers, and the whispers into murmurs.
"Your Grace! Though I know it is discourteous, I wish to make one request!"
A sharp-featured knight sprang forward, dropped to one knee, and shouted.
Despite the sudden interruption, the Archduke merely nodded calmly.
"Speak."
"A knight speaks with the sword! Please allow me to test whether she truly possesses the qualifications of a knight!"
"Hm."
At the words that bordered on outright provocation, the Archduke turned his gaze to Felicia.
It was a look asking whether she would accept the challenge.
Felicia nodded without the slightest hesitation.
"A fair point. A knight speaks with the sword. If you doubt me so strongly, then see for yourself."
"My thanks!"
Murmurs rippled through the crowd at the sudden duel, yet at the same time, a strange anticipation heated the air.
After all, this was the Sword Saint's disciple—and a female knight who belonged more to fairy tales than reality.
Watching the ring prepared for the duel, Lucian wore a wry smile.
"Father must have set this stage together with Sir Aizen."
A female knight was not merely uncommon, but a presence that felt socially dissonant.
Before whispers could spread too far, they intended to silence everyone by having her display her skill in public.
Otherwise, who would dare barge into an investiture jointly approved by the Archduke and the Sword Saint and pull something like this?
It was clearly all prearranged.
"Come to think of it, even I don't really know how strong Felicia is after training under Sir Aizen. With a proper master, she must be far more advanced than in her previous life."
While Lucian was lost in thought, the two knights had already stepped into the circle, swords in hand, facing one another.
"May this duel be a fair and honorable bout, one that brings no shame before the Eight Gods."
Having completed the formalities required of an adjudicator, the Archduke stepped back.
Then the two blades struck the air, scattering sparks.
Clang—crack—keening rings—
—…
…
Ten minutes after the duel began.
Those who had been captivated by the clash unfolding before their eyes all held their breath at once.
Lucian was among them.
"Beautiful."
When one thought of a duel, it usually conjured images of blood and flesh flying amid blazing heat.
But Felicia deflected each strike with movements as fluid as a dance, her swordplay soft and graceful.
Her opponent was unleashing blows at a speed too fast to even follow—yet Felicia blocked every single one with motions so clear they were plainly visible.
"…Is that really something a human can do?"
A knight standing near Lucian muttered in a daze.
At those words, others nearby nodded unconsciously.
To think that a sword moving slowly enough to be clearly seen could still intercept strikes that were impossible to track properly—
everyone was astonished.
And amid that amazement, Lucian alone could clearly see the true flow of the duel.
"I can see it."
The eye opened by the Nektar he'd consumed earlier was revealing Felicia's intent to Lucian.
Her dance-like movements were all aimed at the places her opponent's blade would go before it ever moved there.
She moved less like a swordswoman and more like a prophet who read the sword itself.
But even more astonishing was Felicia's ability to read the flow and respond on the spot without a shred of hesitation.
"So this is what a true genius looks like."
A shiver ran through Lucian's body.
Though he was clearly seeing the same things, he knew he couldn't move the way Felicia did.
Eyes that read mana, reflexes bordering on pure instinct, flawless judgments made in an instant—and a temperament utterly enthralled by the sword itself.
"It's as if she was born for the sole purpose of mastering swordsmanship."
For a moment, it even crossed his mind that she might be an apostle sent down by the gods to show humanity the potential of the blade.
Her movements were that far beyond reach.
Claaang—
With a resounding crash, the swords flew apart.
The knight who had issued the challenge halted his assault and stepped back.
Perhaps from the recoil of his relentless offense, sweat poured from his entire body.
In contrast, Felicia lowered her sword lightly, as if she didn't even need to catch her breath.
"Shall we continue?"
"…No, that was enough."
The knight retreated with a bitter expression.
Having encountered a genius beyond the reach of a lifetime's effort, he seemed left with nothing but emptiness.
"The duel request may have been arranged in advance, but those emotions were real. I was the same once."
As Lucian felt that strange sense of kinship, the knight—who had now regained his composure—saluted Felicia with respect.
"A knight speaks with the sword. You have proven yourself. Absurd as it may sound, it seems I was never qualified to test you in the first place."
"The weight you have accumulated in your blade—I, who crossed swords with you, understand it better than anyone. Because it was a senior such as yourself who tested me, I consider this an honor."
"…You flatter me."
Though he modestly deflected Felicia's praise, the knight couldn't hide the emotion on his face.
This was not reverence shown to a female knight, but respect offered to a future Sword Saint.
Once the knight who had issued the challenge stepped back, the Archduke swept his gaze over the crowd and spoke.
"Sir Felicia has proven her qualifications. If there is anyone who still wishes to test her further, step forward now!"
Not a single knight emerged.
The way people looked at her had already changed.
She was no longer a jarringly out-of-place female knight who belonged only in fairy tales,
but the rebirth of a true fairy-tale knight, standing before them in flesh and blood.
Seeing that no one stepped forward, the Archduke was about to raise his voice again when—
"Tristan Valdeck wishes to ask Sir Felicia something!"
Tristan, who had remained silent until now, sprang to his feet and shouted.
As all eyes converged on him, Tristan extended his hand toward Felicia.
"Would you consider serving me, as one knight to another!"
It was a proposal so bold it bordered on outright rudeness.
Yet Tristan did not stop there.
"If you would come under my banner, you would always ride at my side, dine at the same table as I do, and be entrusted with my final words when I breathe my last! You, who will inherit the name of the Sword Saint—give me your answer!"
To ride and dine alongside one's lord was, in effect, to be treated no differently from a close friend.
To be entrusted with one's last words meant a level of trust so profound that even in death, the lord would entrust their legacy to that person—the highest honor a retainer could receive.
Faced with Tristan's proposal, eyes blazing with desire for talent, Felicia bowed her head and spoke.
"I am grateful for the offer, but I must decline."
"What…?!"
"Then—would you consider coming to me instead!"
Before Tristan could even ask for the reason behind her refusal, Joshua—half a beat too late—rushed forward.
It was an unsightly scramble, but his demeanor made it clear that if he could obtain Felicia, appearances meant nothing to him.
"If you come to me, no knight will ever stand above you, and all shall pay you homage! Until the day my breath leaves this body, I swear this promise shall be kept!"
There was no small amount of exaggeration in his words, but the essence was clear: he was promising to make Felicia his second-in-command for life.
No matter what deeds were accomplished, no one under Joshua's banner would ever outrank her.
Yet once again, Felicia shook her head.
"I am thankful for your high regard, but I must refuse."
After rejecting members of the Valdeck bloodline twice in succession, the murmuring in the crowd grew louder.
Had she received her investiture from Archduke Sigmund only to refuse every oath of loyalty?
At that moment, Jordi rose to his feet with a relaxed smile and called out.
"Felicia, future Sword Saint! Would you offer your blade to me? If you swear loyalty, I shall grant any request within my power! O Eight Gods of Heaven, bear witness to my oath!"
"Gasp!"
"A vow sworn before the Pantheon!"
At the words "a vow before the Pantheon" leaving Jordi's lips, the crowd reeled in shock.
Once spoken aloud, it was a vow that could never be taken back.
To utter such a thing without hesitation—despite the risk of binding oneself for life—went beyond boldness into sheer recklessness.
As the Archduke frowned and everyone else held their breath, Felicia answered.
"I thank you for your excessive generosity. Yet please forgive the discourtesy of my refusal."
"…!"
"My sword has already been pledged to another. No matter what offer is made, I have no intention of swearing loyalty to anyone but that person."
At Felicia's firm reply, Jordi's face twisted violently.
He had gone so far as to swear a vow before the Pantheon—only to be humiliated like this in front of everyone!
As the repeated refusals plunged the crowd into a heavy silence, Lucian rose from his seat and stepped forward.
"Lucian Valdeck makes you an offer. As you can see, all I possess is this wretched body—there is nothing I can truly promise you."
"The future is uncertain, the rewards are meager, and ceaseless danger will await you.
But if you walk with me to the end, your name will be etched into history. Will you join me?"
Lucian's proposal left not only his brothers but even the spectators staring in disbelief.
Perhaps he thought he was being romantic in his own way, but it sounded more like he was begging to be rejected.
As everyone waited for Felicia to begin once more with "I thank you for the offer, but—"
"You have made the wrong offer."
Smiling gently, Felicia dropped to one knee before Lucian.
"Even if it is the very center of hell, I care not—
please, allow me only to remain at your side."
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