When news arrived that the situation had been handled, Aslan made his way toward the wall—but even with his own two eyes, he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

‘How is this possible?!’

The Marquis and the Black Lily Knights had charged out the moment the signal came that a Howler pack was approaching, and now—less than three hours later—they were already back, bringing with them a report of overwhelming victory.

There had to be at least two hundred Howlers. They defeated all of them in that time? Was that even possible?

“It’s a relief you returned safely. As expected, the reputation of Marquis Cassian and the Black Lily Knights wasn’t built on nothing.”

Aslan greeted Cassian with a wide smile, his voice honeyed. But inwardly, he seethed with fury.

That was a battle the Black Lily Knights had no business winning. No matter how well they’d handled the Kardian attack, there was no way they could triumph against a simultaneous assault from both air and ground.

Especially not in Wintfall, where unlike other territories, no mages had been assigned by the Mage Tower.

Because of a long-standing grudge between Archmage Telior and Marquis Cassian, neither wanted to work with the other.

That rift—more than twenty years old—remained unresolved. And no one was more pleased by that divide than Aslan himself, who had never once bothered to help mend it.

The reason no one in the territory had complained was simple: Cassian had defended Wintfall so capably even without magic.

Without mages, Wintfall’s only defense against flying monsters was its archers. But even with thousands, fighting such creatures was never easy. And from what Aslan knew, Wintfall didn’t even have that many.

That’s why he’d crafted this plan.

He hadn’t expected something like this—an enormous ballista mounted atop the wall, something he’d never even heard of.

Judging by how it pierced straight through the body of a crimson eagle, that ballista had to be made of Nevrion steel or something equally potent.

‘Damn it!’

He’d underestimated them. Wintfall was changing far more rapidly than expected—and doing it without the help of the Mage Tower, the very institution that powered the Empire’s foundation.

It was an ominous sign.

At the center of it all stood none other than Estella, the Marquis’s eldest daughter.

Unlike Katrin, Estella didn’t blush or avert her gaze under Aslan’s scrutiny. Instead, she returned his stare with unplaceable wariness, never once dropping her guard.

She was the kind of woman Aslan had never dealt with before—troublesome, irritating, and nerve-wracking.

If he could, he would kill her right now.

But Aslan couldn’t harm the Marquis’s bloodline. Not yet.

Only six months remained. So why was he growing so impatient?

The short wait shouldn’t have unnerved him, and yet he was wracked with anxiety—afraid Estella might do something else before then.

Narrowing his eyes, Aslan studied Estella standing beside the Marquis, smiling brightly.

Her golden hair, unlike his reddish-blonde, held no hint of impurity and fluttered in the wind like a banner. Her once-white uniform was stained dark red with monster blood, her face smeared with gore—but Estella looked radiant, like a child showered in gifts.

Even from a distance, her crescent-shaped eyes shimmered with piercing blue. She had the one thing Aslan hated most: a clear, open gaze.

Her unreserved smile was just as offensive.

For someone like Aslan, whose entire life revolved around concealing intent and hiding his true face, Estella was grating in every possible way.

There should only be one person who shone like that despite being inferior in every way—and that one had already vanished. Aslan was relieved when he disappeared, but he was never at ease, unsure of when or where he might reappear.

If only he could kill him too.

But the man had vanished without a trace—into the sky, into the earth—who knew?

While glaring at Estella, Aslan suddenly felt a sharp presence. He swiftly glanced around.

But by the time he turned, the sensation had vanished.

‘No… it can’t be…’

The emperor wasn’t the only one to witness the Black Lily Knights’ overwhelming performance.

The nobles who had gathered from across the Empire to attend the Day of Blooded Proof followed the emperor toward the wall—only to be struck speechless at the sight of the monster corpses strewn across the field and the triumphant return of the knights through the main gate.

“Wasn’t the Marquis supposed to have stepped down from active duty?”
“He retired because of his vision, not because his sword arm failed.”

Indeed, despite standing among younger knights, Marquis Cassian did not feel out of place. If anything, he radiated a pressure that none of the others could match.

“Look at their weapons. Don’t the blades look… different?”

The nobles whispered, eyeing Estella’s sword, which she’d deliberately kept unsheathed.

Pretending not to notice, Estella heard every word. The corner of her lips twitched up, ever so slightly.

‘Like product placement in a drama, maybe?’

She mused idly and looked around, wanting to share the moment with Ciel—but he was nowhere to be seen.

In fact, the entire Squirrel Mercenary Band had vanished like they’d teleported away.

‘Where did they go?’

Airi had cloaked the mercenaries from Aslan’s line of sight using magic, but Estella didn’t know that. She continued scanning the crowd for them.

But soon, her focus shifted to the many noble gazes fixed on her.

It was finally time to begin what she had long prepared for—sales.

Estella wiped the blood-smeared blade of her sword clean on her already ruined uniform, once white but now dyed nearly black.

The blade gleamed, a deep blue shimmer—untouched, as if never used.

The onlookers’ eyes followed the movement of her weapon.

Estella, as if bearing the Olympic flame, raised her sword high into the air.

Just then, the clouds parted, and sunlight struck the blade, sending off dazzling reflections.

“Woooooooah…”

Gasps of awe rose from the crowd. Among them stood Lionel, from Ironfell.

Lionel had once admired Katrin, but when it was revealed during the ritual that she was not the Marquis’s daughter, he had been too shocked to act.

Now, as he stared at Estella’s sword, every thought of Katrin vanished from his mind.

“Impossible… How can a sword like that exist?!”

He had given Katrin twenty Ironheart blades, partly because he fell for her at first sight, but also because a marriage alliance with the likely heir to the Cardeine family would unite the two northern territories.

Together, they could become the most powerful domain in the Empire.

But now… Wintfall had produced a sword like that.

He might have to surrender Ironfell’s status as the symbol of legendary weapons.

That could not happen.

It would be the death of his house. Lionel grew increasingly agitated.

“Find the maker of that sword. Bring them to me.”

He quietly ordered the knight-secretary standing at his side, who withdrew without a sound.

Estella slowly scanned the nobles gathered like fans at an idol showcase.

Most wore expressions of relief after the monster extermination, but Estella easily spotted those with wary eyes hidden among them.

Marquis Cassian gazed at his daughter, who now stood confidently before the crowd.

Not long ago, she had locked herself in her room, refusing to meet anyone.

That version of her was nowhere to be found.

Looking at her now, he felt something change in his chest.

A suffocating weight that once sat in his heart began to lift.

Wintfall’s future had never seemed more promising.

The time had come.

The Marquis stepped forward. The murmuring voices fell instantly silent.

“The pact between the Imperial House of Martenia and the Cardeine family has less than half a year remaining.

For a hundred years, House Cardeine has bled to guard the Empire’s borders against the monsters’ fangs—day and night, without pause.”

The knights’ faces brimmed with pride as his voice echoed like a megaphone across the fortress.

“Today, through the Rite of Blooded Proof, it has been revealed before all that Estella Cardeine rightfully bears our family’s blood. Through the sacred waters of proof, it has been shown that she is the most fitting successor.

Therefore, I, Cassian Cardeine, hereby name Estella Cardeine the next bearer of our hundred-year covenant, the new shield of the frontier, and the rightful heir to our blood.”

“WOOOOOOOOAAAH!”

Cheers erupted from nobles and knights alike—not only because of the ritual, but because Estella had proven her strength by slaughtering monsters.

Her official declaration as heir was met with heartfelt celebration.

Overwhelmed, Estella’s chest tightened.

Now, there would be so much more she could do.

Wintfall would change—faster than ever before.

The Marquis rested a hand on her shoulder, speaking gently.

“Say a few words.”
“Thank you, Father.”

Estella bowed her head with genuine respect and stepped into the spot her father had just vacated. He stepped back, eyes full of affection and pride.

As she moved forward, the clapping and cheers slowly died down.

Estella steadied her racing heart.

There was no longer any doubt—she was the heir of House Cardeine.

A deep affection for Wintfall welled up in her chest.

“I am Estella Cardeine.”

Her voice rang clear.

The audience widened their eyes, hanging on her every word.

Estella felt their stares, gripped her sword like a staff, and slammed it into the ground.

CRACK!

The stone beneath her feet split like a brittle cookie.

Gasps rippled through the crowd.

She waited again for the murmuring to subside.

“Nevrion steel sword,” she said. “A masterwork blade forged only here in Wintfall.”

She let the silence linger after the word “masterwork.”

That was when—

Kyaaaaaaaaak!

A crimson eagle, somehow still alive, lunged with a broken wing and wide-open jaws.

Kyaaaaaaaaah!

People screamed and scattered in panic.

But—

Schlck!

With a single slash, Estella sliced the monster’s head clean off.

The bone split on a diagonal—but the strike was so smooth, there wasn’t even a sound.

She had cut it like cheese.

Hot blood sprayed across her face.

Any other noblewoman would’ve fainted.

But Estella wiped it away with her hand.

In that moment, she was no longer a noble lady.

She was the emblem of the Black Lily Knights.

The beginning of a new legend.

Calmly meeting the eyes now fixed on her, Estella spoke evenly.

“This limited-edition batch contains only one hundred blades.

Those interested may inquire directly with me.”

A speech that short and commercial would’ve been criticized under any other circumstance—

But the impact was overwhelming.

Chapter 113

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