Kyrie ran his gaze along the Thunderclap blade, tracing the thornlike patterns that rippled across its steel. A strange thought crossed his mind.

I was just hoping I wouldn’t make a fool of myself.

Rationally, it was a ceremony meant for show — a spectacle for subjects and citizens alike.
But hearing the Duke himself call him Sir Kyrie was unexpectedly gratifying.
For the first time, the stigma of being a bastard from the red-light district felt as though it had burned away completely.

“Sir Kyrie, demonstrate your Sky-Lightning before the Thundering Star.”

The steward of the main citadel announced the next stage of the rite.

Kyrie slowly turned, scanning the crowd beneath the dais.

Of course I’ll do better than before. I always do.

Nereus was watching him.
Prove what you said — with action.

Elder Racul was watching him.
Kyrie, good luck!

You think you could ever be adopted into the main house?

Andromeda was watching. Trisan was watching.

“Hmph. Let’s see how grand that physical-defect oath of yours really is.”

Countless blood relatives watched, and beyond the barricades, the citizens of Astrion watched as well.

From now on, more eyes would follow him than ever.

He would have undone his oath to the Thundering Star if he could — yet this sight, this moment, wasn’t unpleasant.

Neural acceleration.

He activated his powers one by one.

First he strengthened his nerves, heightening reaction speed and precision.

Physical reinforcement.

He fortified his body, bracing it to channel immense current from left to right.

Prepare for lightning discharge.

He drew mana into his left arm.

Crackle—kzzzzzt!

From elbow to fingertip, his flesh blazed pure white.

So bright.

To the steward standing beside him, it was as if two suns had suddenly risen on the platform.

For Kyrie himself, it felt like being a living candle set aflame.

Hold it.

The pressure made his nails feel as though they would burst.

More.

His nerves seared, threatening to melt.

More!

His vision flickered from black to white and back again.

Now!

The instant he felt himself reach the limit—

Flash!

He released every volt skyward.

Discharge.

One fingernail tore loose, blood splattering—
but it vaporized in less than a tenth of a second.

A column of white lightning roared toward the heavens.

“Oooohhhh!”

“It’s high!”

“How high? How many meters?”

It looked like a great white thorn tree shooting up into the sky.

That’ll do.

Kyrie steadied his trembling legs.
The backlash from moving such vast mana warped his senses; a high ringing filled his ears.

“I thought no one this generation would ever break Trisan’s record…”

That voice, from behind him, reached his mind a heartbeat too late.

Did I… break Trisan’s record?

He realized whose voice it was only when—

“Two hundred and five meters!”

Andromeda’s cry echoed across the square.

“Two hundred and five! It’s a new record!”

She shouted again and again, punching the air like no one was watching until the elders around her hastily urged her to sit.

“Over two hundred meters?”

“Wasn’t he fresh out of the academy?”

“I heard he barely passed a hundred meters not long ago.”

The elders murmured among themselves.

“There’s no denying it,” Racul sighed. “If I had that kind of talent and desperation, and the only thing holding me back was a lack of mana, I’d have given up an eye myself.”

“Of course you would.”

Nereus clenched his teeth hard enough to ache.

“Just wait—no, don’t wait. I’ll catch up again soon.”

His peers nearby traded glances, tongues clicking in disbelief as they looked between the two rivals.

“‘Forever like thunder’—I think I finally get what that means.”

“Might end up proud to say we were in the same class as those two.”

“Kyrie really did work himself half to death. He deserves the top spot.”

Their hearts pounded; something restless stirred low in their stomachs.

“Forget drinks—wanna hit the training hall tonight?”

“Yeah. We’ve had enough booze for a week anyway.”

They wanted to train, to feel that electricity themselves.

Two hundred and five meters?!

Trisan was stunned.
He’d kept his eyes open so long they burned red.

He broke my record?

There were plenty of ways to console himself.

Judging by his face, he used every last drop of mana. The over-reinforcement must’ve hurt his body too. He was taught to reserve thirty percent for emergencies—clearly he ignored that. He hasn’t proved his strength; he’s just shown how shallow his reserves are.

Trisan himself had achieved a hundred sixty-five meters using less than half his power.

By contrast, Kyrie had spent nearly everything — even staggering before the Duke.

Asked who was stronger at the same age, Trisan could still answer proudly: me.

But how did he control it?

He couldn’t help wondering.

“My lord.”

A maid approached and bowed.

“What is it?”

“Her Excellency the Minor Lord sent this.”

Andromeda’s maid. She handed him a napkin, roughly crumpled.

On it, scrawled in messy ink:

[Cloak! Cloak! Magic cloak! Kekekeke!]

“Th—this—!”

Trisan crushed the napkin in his fist.

I’m supposed to send him a magical cloak? To the bastard who stole my elixir and shamed me?

But the humiliation would not fade. Now, in addition to the lost elixir, he had “lost” a magic cloak as well.

That evening, after the ceremony—

I received Andromeda’s summons to the Minor Lord’s Palace.

Hopefully she’s not disappointed I didn’t hit two-fifty, after she taught me herself.

Creak—

“Welcome, Sir Kyrie!”

The door opened and Andromeda appeared, arms wide, smiling radiantly.

Her eyes gleamed like starlight, her lips trembling with excitement.

“Thank you for inviting me, Your Excellency.”

I knelt and bowed deeply.

For her to greet me in person was absurdly improper; if Trisan—or any Trisan-like creature—saw, they’d seize on it instantly.

“You really are a ‘Sir’ now.”

“And Your Excellency has truly become an Excellency.”

Her own investiture was still ahead, but after it, she would be treated with the rank of marquess.

“Sir Kyrie, rise. My arm’s getting tired.”

“Your Excellency Andromeda, may I have the honor of escorting you?”

I played along with her little performance.

For a direct-line noble, she’s strange. Or maybe she can afford to be strange because she’s direct-line.

Hand in hand, we crossed the familiar corridor to the grand rectangular table in the hall.

Tonight, there were three place settings of silverware instead of two.

So someone else is joining us?

Andromeda sat and slipped back into her usual tone.

“Let’s eat! I was starving to death. You too, right?”

“I’m fine.”

“You were hungry. Admit it. Otherwise I’ll look like the only pig here.”

“Yes, I was starving to death.”

We ate for a while, and I almost forgot the mystery of the third setting—

“Your Excellency, my apologies for the delay.”

“You’re here.”

Creak—

Another guest entered.

I nearly leapt up, then remembered where I was and stayed seated.

“Sir Kyrie.”

A stern face, tall and straight as bamboo—Elder Racul.

“My lord.”

To be honest, not the most welcome face. He was the one who had evaluated me, who’d assigned me to the Border Patrol.

“Someone sent you a gift.”

“Right, right! It’s really expensive, really good. I couldn’t even give you one that fine myself!”

“A gift, my lords?”

A gift was good news regardless.

“Thank you!”

“No need to bow so deep. You’re a true knight now.”

Racul pushed a carved wooden box across the table. It looked costly enough by itself.

“Open it.”

“Yes, sir.”

Inside lay a cloak as blue as the sky, the sea—and Andromeda’s eyes.

That’s… absurdly expensive.

The fabric shone with a luxurious gloss, thin yet firm, colored an unreal sapphire hue.
The dye alone must have cost its weight in gold.

“It’s a magic cloak from the Engraving Workshop — Heaven’s Fragment. It bears five enchantments: flame resistance, waterproofing, cleanliness, lightning resistance, and fortification.”

Correction—

Five enchantments?!

That much magic woven in would make it worth its volume in gold.
Even veteran Blue Knights couldn’t easily afford such a piece.

The price in gold coins was almost terrifying to imagine.

“My—Your Excellency Andromeda, is this from you?”

I asked carefully.

“Nope.”

She shook her head.

“Then perhaps from you, Elder?”

“This old man confirmed your sincerity, but my fondness doesn’t stretch to buying cloaks like that. Let’s say someone’s more than just a loudmouth.”

Racul denied it as well.

“Then who on earth sent me such a cloak?”

I couldn’t help my curiosity. For a fleeting moment I imagined that my real father or mother might be some hidden elder or noble of the main house.

Maybe they’d ignored me until now, then saw me break the record and decided to act like parents at last.

Honestly, with a gift like this, I might even forgive them.

This alone’s worth twenty years of unpaid child support.

Andromeda couldn’t hold it in any longer; she burst into laughter.

“A-ha-ha-ha-ha!”

“W-what is it?”

“That—it’s from Trisan.”

She wiped tears from her eyes.

“That’s why you don’t make reckless bets.”

Racul cleared his throat loudly.

“I vouch for the quality and authenticity. It’s an expensive artifact — treat it well.”

From that, I pieced together what must have happened.

They must have argued over whether I’d beat his record.

The thought of what would’ve happened if I hadn’t sent chills down my spine.

Damn.

They’d definitely have brought up my adoption—and probably buried it for years.

I’d have burned out my soul before I even started.

“Your Excellency.”

“Mm-hmm!”

“Please don’t make wagers like that again. I, Kyrie, would never wish to burden you.”

Of course, saying that outright would get me burned alive before my soul.

“Burden?”

“I should be the one bringing rewards to Your Excellency — not the other way around. Please, don’t risk harm on my account. If my success or failure can endanger you, tell me beforehand.”

That was the best I could phrase it.

“…Understood. No—understood completely.”

Andromeda looked genuinely moved.

“Well. So you’re not just some clueless thunder brat after all. You can be polite when you need to.”

Racul chuckled approvingly.

Was that really such a profound statement?

For a moment, I wondered if I’d misunderstood the whole bet.

That night—

“The Elixir of Hundred Thunders?”

“Delivered.”

“The Heaven’s Fragment cloak?”

“Also delivered.”

“…I see. The losses are considerable.”

Trisan sighed deeply at his subordinate’s report.

So they’ve all been sent.

Yet the subordinate’s eyes did not waver.

He keeps his word. The collateral line and the adopted sons still have hope — because of Lord Trisan.

Trisan had, after all, kept his promise.

He drained his glass and looked out the window.

Suddenly his hand trembled.

The subordinate followed his gaze.

The eyepatch.

Far below, Kyrie was walking through the moonlight — his new sapphire cloak billowing behind him.

“…Which Border Patrol unit has the lowest performance?” Trisan asked through clenched teeth.

“The 7th Centuria of the 1st Millennium, sir.”

“I’ll write to its commander. Assign Kyrie there—send him to the southernmost frontier. Give him a strict evaluator. He wants opportunity? Then he’ll have it.”

If crisis was opportunity, then opportunity was also crisis.

The meaning was clear:

I’ll give him the chance to die.

Trisan emptied his glass in a single motion.

Let’s see him wallow with unknighted subordinates, prowling beasts, border raiders, and petty frontier lords.

He’d taken two blows, but he was still Trisan.
Compared to the days when Andromeda’s half-brother still lived, this was nothing.

Chapter 19

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