Knight: from Apprentice to the Almighty

"Roland!"

Witnessing the scene, Dalko could no longer contain himself. Completely forgetting everyone else in the room—even King Morne—he shot forward.

He frantically pawed at the scattered wood chips and debris, his voice filled with an unprecedented panic.

"Roland! How are you? Answer me!"

Just as Dalko’s heart was burning with anxiety, a blood-stained hand suddenly reached out from the wreckage.

The hand pushed down hard, and with the sound of rustling wood chips, a heavily panting figure struggled to climb out.

"Cough, cough..."

Roland coughed up several mouthfuls of dark blood, then let out a long sigh of relief.

Seeing the reddened rims of the young nobleman’s eyes, he forced the corners of his mouth into a reassuring smile.

"Don’t worry... Dalko... I’m not going to die..."

"But you’re..."

Dalko’s voice trembled as his gaze fell upon Roland.

His friend’s appearance was truly horrifying.

His dark gray formal wear was torn in several places, and his exposed skin was covered in fine cuts from which blood was constantly seeping.

The most shocking sight was his arms. The bulging veins writhed like living things, looking as if they might burst at any moment.

"Really... I’m fine..." Roland gasped.

He knew these injuries were just the result of his body failing to handle the sudden surge of Power and Agility after activating his [Fermented Battle Intent] Trait.

Although they looked terrifying, they were actually just superficial wounds. With his Constitution, he would recover completely after a few days of rest.

Besides that...

With Dalko’s support, Roland struggled to his feet. His gaze traveled past the utter devastation and landed directly on Gandar, who was watching him from a short distance away.

During the fight, it might have looked as if he was overwhelming the Extraordinary Professional, Gandar, by unleashing all his strength short of his Tricks.

But Roland knew this was merely an illusion.

For one, the Knight had probably not even used ten percent of his physical strength.

For another, it wasn’t that his opponent lacked opportunities to attack; he had simply chosen to remain on the defensive the entire time.

Even so, despite Roland giving it his all, his weapon had not touched a single part of his opponent’s body.

This disparity completely wiped away the complacency he had felt from his recent rapid increase in strength.

’So this... is an Extraordinary Professional?’

Looking at his hands, which were dripping with blood from the force of the recoil, Roland couldn’t help but sigh.

His desire for the Knight’s Breathing Technique grew even more intense.

"Splendid! Absolutely splendid!"

Morne slammed his hand on the solid wood dining table beside him, the dull thud echoing through the hall.

As the sound faded, he turned to Gandar with a mischievous glint in his eyes, still savoring the moment.

"Gandar, in my opinion... shouldn’t this match count as your loss?"

The old King’s long, slender finger pointed precisely at Gandar’s feet.

There, a half-inch-long white mark was clearly visible.

It was the mark his boot had made when it scraped against the marble floor while blocking Roland’s [Flowing Slash].

"Indeed."

Facing Morne’s teasing gaze, Gandar nodded, his expression as impassive as ever.

"Roland’s strength... is quite exceptional..."

Though his deep voice was not loud, it struck everyone present like a clap of thunder.

"He actually got Lord Gandar’s approval?"

"Is that young man really just a commoner?"

Amidst the rising and falling gasps of astonishment, the nobles erupted into a commotion.

They put their heads together, eagerly discussing the brief yet thrilling duel.

The gazes they cast toward Roland grew increasingly fervent.

"Very good. In that case..."

Morne set down his wine cup and strode steadily over to Roland.

Heedless of the wet blood on the young man’s arm, he seized his wrist and raised it high.

"I declare the winner of this exhibition match to be Roland! Does anyone object?"

Surveying the silent banquet hall, the old King nodded in satisfaction.

When he turned and lightly patted Roland’s shoulder, his stern face showed a rare expression of approval.

"Good lad! Your skill is truly remarkable. That last move you used... that was the Combat Skill [Flowing Slash], wasn’t it?"

Seeing Roland nod in confirmation, Morne’s gaze suddenly grew distant, as if he were seeing something across the river of time.

When he murmured in a low voice, his tone was filled with an unconcealable nostalgia.

"That little fellow Fosling... he certainly has a unique eye for people..."

When his wandering thoughts returned, the King’s expression reverted to one of stern concern.

"How are you? Are your injuries serious?"

"Your Majesty..."

Roland gently pulled his arm from Dalko’s supporting grasp. He endured the pain to bow, his voice so steady it made the bloodstains on him seem like an illusion.

"They are not serious."

"Good! Very good!"

Morne looked at the young man before him, who was bathed in blood yet showed no change in expression. The admiration in his eyes was practically overflowing.

As he turned, his simple robes cut a sharp arc through the air.

"Colin!"

The Merchant, who had been standing by not far away, hurried forward at the call. As his eyes swept over the ruined marble floor, the corner of his eye twitched almost imperceptibly.

"Your Majesty, what are your orders?"

"Take this young man away to rest."

Morne said this, then turned back to Roland.

"Rest assured, you will not be short-changed on your reward. But for now..."

The old King’s gaze lingered for a moment on Roland’s blood-soaked robes before he added meaningfully,

"I believe what you need most is a good rest."

"Thank you, Your Majesty."

After bowing once more, Roland, supported by Dalko, followed Colin out of the great hall.

As they walked down a long corridor, Colin instructed an Attendant to prepare a room while speaking to Dalko.

"Mr. Dalko, please leave Mr. Roland in my care. As an invited guest, it would be somewhat impolite for you to leave the banquet."

"But..."

Dalko looked at Roland with concern.

Roland patted his shoulder reassuringly.

"It’s fine. Mr. Colin has a point. You should go back to the banquet. Besides..."

He glanced at Colin, who was a short distance away, and lowered his voice.

"Have you reported to His Majesty Morne about Lord Baron Fosling?"

"I haven’t been able to find the right opportunity..."

Seeing Dalko shake his head helplessly, Roland encouraged him in a gentle voice.

"There’s no need to be so hesitant. His Majesty Morne is a reasonable man; he certainly won’t blame you for reporting on an urgent matter. Besides, the attack on the manor, your father being ambushed and falling into a coma—all of these things are highly suspicious."

He paused, recalling the nostalgic expression on Morne’s face when he mentioned Fosling, and added,

"And I noticed just now that when His Majesty Morne spoke of your father, his tone held a hint of fondness..."

"If he learns that Baron Fosling is in a coma, His Majesty Morne might even send someone to treat him."

Dalko took a deep breath and nodded solemnly.

"I understand, Roland. You get some rest. I’ll come see you after the banquet."

After saying this, the young nobleman turned and left.

Colin, who had tactfully stepped aside while the two were talking, now approached at the perfect moment and gestured.

"Mr. Roland, this way, please."

"Thank you, Mr. Colin."

Watching the slightly chubby, middle-aged man leading the way, Roland felt a little puzzled.

So far, his knowledge of the man was limited to the name he had just heard from King Morne.

But from his speech and demeanor, as well as his behavior when welcoming King Morne that day, it was not difficult to guess that he held a very high position in Distant Harbor.

’So why would such an important figure be so polite to a nobody like me?’

’Is it because of the strength I displayed?’

’Or is it simply his good character?’

Mulling over this question, Roland followed in Colin’s footsteps and entered a spacious room.