The Knight of Clingy Young Ladies

“Over there!”

At the foothills of Hiart Mountain, now filled with temporary tents.

A knight who had been standing guard, having spent a sleepless night, pointed at something and shouted.

The fog was just beginning to lift, and several knights stood nearby, ready for any eventuality.

Their gazes followed the pointing finger of the shouting knight.

What came into view were two figures.

Not long ago, the boy appointed as escort was descending the mountain, carrying the young lady on his back.

The boy’s condition was so pitiful that it was impossible to look at him.

Especially, the right half of his body looked as if it had been burnt by fire, appearing atrocious.

The dried blood that had soaked through was enough to easily deduce that the injuries required inevitable treatment.

What exactly happened while they were trapped in that mountain?

Moreover, why was Serasie, who had refused to let anyone near her, let alone touch her, now so quietly being carried?

Once arriving in front of the gathered knights, Serasie dismounted from the boy’s back with Kalen’s assistance.

Then she asked the knights with a voice too soft for them to hear.

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yes. As I mentioned earlier, I am perfectly fine.”

Kalen never betrayed him.

Never betrayed his trust.

It was something that could go wrong at any time, and yet, he simply wanted to believe it.

Because now, that was all that remained for him.

With a slight nod, Serasie asked the knights,

“Makbel.”

Her voice was so stern it felt like it came from someone leading them all.

“Where is Makbel?”

*

“It is fortunate to see you unharmed, my lady.”

An elderly man with a short mustache that left a distinct impression.

Makbel had just arrived at the temporary camp set up at the foot of the mountain.

He had heard that the fog over the mountain had lifted and that Serasie and her escort had returned safely.

Although secretly wishing that they had quietly perished within the mountain, Makbel couldn’t show such expressions regardless of the outcome.

Since it would be unimaginable for someone so cunning, even someone like Serasie, who distrusted others, not to hold him accountable for this situation.

He had invested so much effort to win her trust.

Taking a side with the favored heir, realizing his tattered and base desires was almost within reach.

There was no way he could fail so miserably.

Makbel approached Serasie with a slightly awkward expression, feigning concern.

However, something felt off.

Serasie’s presence had changed compared to before.

Makbel, noticing this difference, stopped in his tracks.

“My lady?”

In her eyes, the trust that had once been there for Makbel was now completely gone.

Makbel refused to believe this.

Makbel, who had climbed to his position with remarkable insight and tactics, had always known about Serasie’s twisted heart.

By exploiting that weakness, he had set his plan into motion.

The more people disappeared from her side, the more dependent on him Serasie had to become. And now, she no longer looked at him with that trusting gaze.

“Was it…you?”

Makbel prided himself on his keen insight and political acumen.

It was easy for him to tell who had influenced Serasie so much.

The foreigner who had been assigned as an escort.

There was no doubt that this newcomer, who wasn’t even from the Northern region, was the culprit.

Makbel stared fiercely at Kalen with certainty.

Still, it was incomprehensible to him.

How could this newcomer, whose time with her barely amounted to years, possibly have such an impact on her? And this foreigner, who wasn’t even from the North.

Even with Serasie’s twisted mindset, she had still learned to look at the world with incredible coldness.

During times when someone had to be trusted, she could accurately assess which side incurred greater loss.

And naturally, she had to trust herself to come out on top.

But Kalen’s words had gradually broken through her mental barriers, and she had come to understand the weight behind those words, even if it meant owing her life to him.

Makbel was merely bewildered, having no way of comprehending such a change.

Serasie’s order echoed in that very moment.

“Kalen.”

A boy, with injuries grievous enough to question his very survival, pointed his finger at Makbel.

“Huuuuggh…!”

Pain shot through both of Makbel’s thighs.

Even as a vassal of Hiart, the ruler of the North, possessing no exceptional martial prowess, Makbel was, at the end of the day, just an old man.

Resisting the magic being cast upon him was, in a word, impossible.

His knees were forcibly bent and struck the icy ground.

The sight confirmed by his eyes—the thin, crimson lines piercing through his thighs—was no less terrifying. Pain doubled seeing the source of the agony with his own eyes.

“A, my lady… What is this…?”

“Do you not know what happened on that mountain?”

Makbel tried to awkwardly lift his trembling head and met Serasie’s gaze.

Her eyes, which had entrusted her entire being to the boy, were colder than ever.

The fears he had harbored were now confirmed. Of course, the embodiment of suspicion standing before him wouldn’t leave his crimes unpunished.

Hence, Makbel inwardly cursed repeatedly, trying his best to appear pitiable.

“Why do you doubt me?! The long years I have served by your side—there is no evidence that these events are my doing!”

That was exactly it.

There was no evidence that Makbel had orchestrated the events as they unfolded.

That Serasie, who had amassed such a long-standing relationship with Makbel, could doubt him so easily, was another thing altogether.

There was a possibility that Makbel, out of pure concern for Serasie, had merely suggested the cleaning of monsters.

But then,

“If you truly understood the length of time you’ve been at my side, you wouldn’t be asking such questions now.”

That’s how it was for an ordinary person, but it wasn’t true for someone like Serasie.

At least, not when it came to Serasie herself.

“Whether you intended it or not, I was put in danger. That alone is enough reason to punish you.”

Besides, it wasn’t just about Serasie as a person.

Though the duke’s favoritism had shifted to Toren, Serasie was still the duke’s eldest daughter.

Under no circumstances could an ordinary vassal claim exemption from punishment.

It was a fact that Serasie’s life had been endangered, and it was equally factual that Makbel had provided the excuse for it.

That’s all that mattered.

Nothing else.

“And furthermore…”

As she spoke, Serasie started toward the sound of clapping emerging from somewhere close.

“It seems your words hold no truth.”

Clap, clap.

Starting with Serasie, followed by Kalen, the surrounding knights, and finally Makbel himself,

all eyes turned to the back.

“Finally, my dear sister, you speak the truth.”

At the point where their gazes stopped, Prince Toren stood, grandiosely clapping his hands as he was accompanied by many knights.

“Oh my. Older Brother, what brings you here?”

“At least you’ve quit that ridiculous smile. It was one of your rare good qualities, but alas.”

Makbel’s sins.

Prince Toren’s sudden appearance.

For most observers, this was a confusing situation. However, recalling Serasie’s claim that Makbel had betrayed and orchestrated the events, it became somewhat understandable.

“Young master…!”

“That’s not the point, Makbel. No matter how much I trust you, how could I let this excellent opportunity slip by?”

Tsk. Toren lightly clicked his tongue and leisurely swept his gaze around.

The knights, extremely tense and unsure of what to do.

Makbel, kneeling with his thighs penetrated by magic.

Despite all this, Toren’s sister still looked unrecognizable, albeit maintaining an acceptable outward appearance.

And then there was the mystery escort, whose condition was so bad that he might as well have been a corpse.

“What a perfect opportunity this is. My foolish sister doesn’t even realize she’s going to be killed, refusing to come to the front lines. And even her escort is about to die if touched lightly.”

Step, step.

Toren’s leisurely steps continued toward the center where Makbel knelt,

and where Serasie glared.

“Looks like in this situation, you won’t escape unscathed either. Am I wrong, Makbel?”

“…”

He was not wrong.

Serasie was going to question his crimes.

The possibility was never low.

But there’s a world of difference between suspicion and confidence.

At the moment Toren appeared, the mere suspicion transformed into certainty.

And that was a direct path to escape punishment.

So here, Toren must secure a clear advantage.

Through clenched teeth, Makbel replied,

“Of course, Young master. An impeccable decision as always.”

“Flattering words indeed.”

Toren nodded and soon faced Serasie.

“Why, dear sister, would you go as far as to challenge on the battlefield? Why not focus on finding yourself a suitable husband?”

“…”

“Even with that face and body of yours, there should be substantial demand—though I imagine that’s already ruined by now.”

Tsking, Toren mocked Serasie as he addressed the knights around,

“What will you do? Follow my reckless sister as she chases an impossible dream, or come with me, advancing towards the North and the Empire?”

A clearly one-sided situation.

The knights began to slowly shift, sensing which side held the advantage.

Perhaps it was decided from the very beginning.

The knight favored by the duke, versus the woman mage who might as well be abandoned by the duke.

Finally, the sides were clearly divided.

Serasie watched silently.

Completely unmoving, she quietly observed the scene.

Everyone from the North had turned their backs on her.

Or rather, turned was too hopeful a word. The knights looking at her were no different from enemies preparing to attack her.

She turned her gaze toward a boy.

Still, as composed as ever.

From the moment they entered Hiart Mountain, his unwavering form gave her the comfort that he would always protect her.

Even though she had known Makbel’s actions were suspicious,

The fear of being left alone was more daunting than death.

Yet with just one person remaining steadfast by her side,

She felt safe.

Rather, she felt reassured.

And so, she smiled.

“…Laughing? Have you finally gone mad?”

Serasie’s smile, one she had hidden carefully under her mask.

The pure, gentle smile that an innocent young girl might cherish.

She smiled in a way that only Kalen could witness her purity.

Toren could only vaguely see the curve of her eyes and the raising corners of her lips.

“Kal恩, I have a favor to ask.”

“Yes.”

What was this unwavering composure?

Even with such an overwhelming disparity in power, could this measly escort truly inspire such confidence?

It would have been more convincing to say her judgment was clouded by madness.

What Toren saw was just a bloodied boy walking casually forward.

Even with growing unease, Toren ordered the knights to take action. The charge was treason.

-AAAHHHH!!!

…

-Khh…!

What could this be?

-Save me!

How shall one describe this scene playing out right before one’s eyes?

Though none have taken a life, the northern knights, out of sheer terror, are retreating step by step.

Can what our eyes see truly be called reality?

Is it believable that the northern knights fear a mere boy?

Graceful.

The elegance contained in the gestures.

The grand display of magic that follows.

“Prince Toren. Do you know why the era of swords gave way to magic?”

Even smeared in blood, the magical barrage he unleashes possesses unmatched grace.

After all, it’s just one boy.

He’s just an underage youth.

Why does he seem unbeatable?

Out of curiosity, Toren listened attentively to the boy’s voice.

“For all the talk of how swords are better for dealing with monsters, or how magic is the territory of the chosen….”

Who could ignore the words of one who dominates the battlefield?

“The essence of magic is to cause destruction. Though its original purpose may have faded, it still depends on who wields it.”

Though he wasn’t too keen on magic’s details, he dimly remembered what his father once explained.

His father, who had entertained an absurd idea of combining swords and magic, had a deep understanding of its intricacies.

Though he didn’t listen often, some basic knowledge remained fresh in his memory.

“The hierarchy of magic is severe, even at the slightest step.”

The crimson thread that had pierced Makbel’s thighs now streaked across the battlefield.

“The ancient battle magics were said to handle dozens of swords alone.”

And another icy wind sliced through swords and armor.

“It may not reach that level now…”

But what he was witnessing surpassed even that…

Indescribable.

As the boy, covered in spattered blood yet eerily expressionless, stood before a darkened world,

A darkened hell that enveloped him.

The icicle spear emerging from the fingertips was clearly from his sister, yet its might was incomparably superior.

“That was one of the reasons I originally came here.”

Not the time when magic first appeared.

Not Kalen, the non-archmage, being able to take on dozens of knights.

Even with the advantage that magic holds over swords, such a feat should have been burdensome.

There was just one thing that overturned such logic.

The imagery Kalen had unknowingly started to project.

Following Blamia’s teachings.

Since he believed that swords generally couldn’t surpass magic, and since he had already achieved one of his goals here, Kalen deemed it possible.

But Kalen didn’t realize that it was this combination of his combat experience from countless brushes with death,

And the unknowing cultivation of his imagery, that came together.

Because he had finally succeeded.

Third hierarchy.

He had achieved one of the goals he set out to accomplish when coming to the North.

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