A few days later.

Electro-Arts training hall.

“Fifty-eight…! Fifty-nine…! Sixty…! That’s a full hour!”

“Kyrie! Kyrie! Kyrie!”

“Single-Eyed Sword Kyrie!”

“One-hour mark—congratulations!”

The cheers of his peers shook the hall in broad daylight.

“Ha!”

Kyrie stripped the copper wire from his wrist and raised one arm high overhead.

The cheers swelled even louder.

I did it.

At that moment, black smoke rose faintly from his body, and the arm he held aloft trembled.

An hour of endurance. It was control, not sheer capacity, that held me through—my total mana’s probably lower than the other Blue Knights who can last this long—but at least now I can train through self-generation.

And yet a clear, summery smile crossed his lips.

Wherever I go, the Celestial Lightning Body won’t go idle.

To raise maximum mana output, he would have to drain and recover every day, repeating the cycle without fail.

It was a little less efficient, but the fact that he could train without machinery meant far more than the numbers.

Even if something goes wrong and I end up rotting in a borderland with no training equipment, I won’t be stuck treading water.

Now Kyrie could grow stronger anywhere.

“Thanks for cheering me on, everyone.”

He steadied himself and stood.

“Don’t thank us. You gave us a ton of motivation.”

“Someone who used to manage twenty minutes—hitting a full hour in just a few months?”

“Isn’t your training time longer than Nereus’s now? Then you really are the top cadet!”

The sense of achievement was sweet, but his body had reached its limit.

If I push more, I’ll fry my nerves. Time to rest.

For an Electro-Arts knight, overexertion could mean permanent neurological damage.

With the envious and admiring eyes of his peers following him, Kyrie left the hall.

That’s why he’s the top cadet. That’s how he broke Trisan’s record.

He sacrificed an eye to become stronger, but he didn’t get there easily.

Everyone watching his back thought much the same.

After my Sky-Lightning ceremony, attendance in the Electro-Arts hall shot up. Everyone’s conscious of it. Some of them might harbor jealousy, or get drawn in by Trisan’s schemes. Better leave before bragging earns me grudges.

But Kyrie thought entirely differently.

On the way back to the small mansion on the edge of the main citadel.

Three soldiers approached from afar, bearing two banners—one of the ducal house, one of the Border Patrol’s Seventh Centuria—and a sword sheath richly decorated and carried with both hands.

“Blue Knight Kyrie of Astreios?”

“Yes. I am Kyrie. And you are?”

“By order of the Commander of the Border Patrol, His Excellency the Self-Shining Starseat Terminus, I deliver this decree. From this moment, Blue Knight Kyrie is appointed Captain of the Seventh Centuria and Satellite Seat, and shall proceed to the southern frontier to fulfill his duty in the defense of the realm. Signed, Recruitment Officer Jun of the Border Patrol. That is all.”

He’d asked who they were, but the moment he saw the banners, he already knew.

My commission.

The banners represented the unit; the sheath, command authority.

“Blue Knight Kyrie solemnly accepts the position of Satellite Seat.”

Kyrie received the sheath with both hands.

Now it truly begins.

The sheath bore flowing engravings like the orbital paths of satellites born from stars.

“The Seventh Centuria is encamped outside the city walls. May victory and glory accompany your path, Sir Kyrie.”

The soldier gave a crisp salute.

Kyrie went straight to the stables.

On the way, he replaced the plain scabbard of the Thunderclap Sword with the ornate one of the Satellite Seat, then galloped toward the outer camp beyond the citadel.

If it’s the Seventh Centuria, then surely—

Beyond the walls, on a rolling meadow.

The Seventh Centuria’s banner fluttered atop a low hill.

Kyrie lifted the Thunderclap Sword, still sheathed, and called out.

“I am Captain of the Seventh Centuria, Satellite Seat Kyrie! Where is Vice-Captain Jo?”

“Sir Kyrie!”

Before he finished shouting, a young man with sun-browned skin and tousled brown hair ran out.

“Jo!”

His adjutant from the entrance trials.

The one who’d handled the troops in Kyrie’s stead—his de facto deputy.

Jo had returned as his vice-captain.

“…Forgive me, sir, but may I ask one thing?”

“You may ask two.”

“Have you, perhaps, fallen out with someone high in the house? To put it bluntly—have you been marked?”

But Jo’s expression was dark.

What’s this about?

Kyrie dismounted and headed toward the command tent at the center of the encampment.

“Marked? Why do you think that?”

“Well, for one, I’m not a knight. Normally, in a front-line combat unit, a Blue Knight commands a Centuria, and a knight serves as vice-captain. But I’m just a staff sergeant—barely a junior officer—and you were assigned to the very unit where I serve as deputy…”

Jo trailed off, flustered.

“I’m not exactly ordinary myself. Next.”

Kyrie cut him off without hesitation.

He’s trying to put the men at ease, even now… Truly fearless. And here I am, ashamed to be the one bearing more bad news.

Jo closed his eyes briefly, then continued.

“…I heard you were posted to the southern frontier.”

“That’s right.”

“That region swarms with beasts and raiders, and the border lords of the wind clan, House Rykenta of the southeast, are always scheming to invade. It’s the worst posting imaginable. A man like you shouldn’t be sent there for his first assignment, sir—that’s why I asked.”

By the time they’d said this, they reached the open-sided command tent.

As before, ten-man leaders and veteran soldiers watched or listened from nearby.

Andromeda must have had a hand in this. She wants me named heir as soon as possible to counter the other adoptees and direct bloodlines.

Kyrie guessed the situation.

But the soldiers won’t understand such politics. I’ll need to reassure them—fast—or risk mutiny.

He did the math quickly.

“Well, I was the top cadet.”

He rolled his shoulders like Andromeda, tossing out a light joke.

“With that much training, why should I fear any foe wherever I go?”

Meeting Jo’s eyes, he spoke firmly.

“You must be uneasy. Wondering if you’re following a snapped line—if that one-eyed fool charging ahead might lead you all to your deaths. I want to tell you to trust me, but I haven’t shown you much yet. Still, this I can promise: wherever we go, I’ll stand at the front. As I did when we fought that ogre.”

Kyrie scattered impressive-sounding words like cheap confetti.

Use every line that sounds heroic—anything to steady them.

It helped that he had a story to borrow from.

“I swore to live forever like lightning itself. So did you—to the Thundering Star and to our Duke. How could we, of all people, fear hardship? Beasts, enemies, bandits? Sounds like a place overflowing with reasons for us to be there. If I take their heads, I’ll share the spoils and the gold with you. All I need is honor. So trust me and follow.”

He finished with talk of money.

No one dislikes money.

He still believed that the silver he’d shared long ago had been what turned resentment into loyalty.

How could a Blue Knight like this exist? How could such injustice befall him of all people!

To Jo and the soldiers, Kyrie’s speech meant something entirely different.

He said he was top cadet. A tall tree catches the wind—his brilliance must have provoked the direct line’s envy. And still he stands this composed?

Shameful, that I even thought of my own safety for a moment.

He astonished us at the entrance trials. He must have a plan.

Their gazes met in silent understanding, a shared resolve hardening between them.

“Yes, sir! We’ll follow you anywhere!”

“Don’t worry about us—we’ll go to hell itself if you lead the way!”

“You’ll receive the honor you deserve soon enough, Sir!”

Kyrie thought his words had worked and exhaled quietly in relief.

For now, that’ll do. Let’s hope the frontier yields plenty of profitable beasts—maybe a few drakes for their hides, or rich bandits with extra horses.

Then Jo hesitated and spoke again.

“…There’s one more reason I thought you might have angered someone, sir.”

“What is it?”

“An evaluator’s been assigned to you.”

“An evaluator?”

Kyrie frowned at the word.

Doesn’t that just mean they’ll record my performance? Why’s that a problem?

Just then, a figure approached the tent.

“Greetings, Sir Kyrie.”

A voice unlike Jo’s—cool and flat.

“I am Gaven, serving as appointed Evaluator.”

Not a pleasant voice to hear.

Kyrie turned to look at him.

His hair was cropped short, exposing his forehead, and he wore thin wire-rimmed glasses.

Hollow cheeks, long jaw—an unyielding face.

A dangerous man. How many daggers is he carrying?

And Kyrie felt another kind of danger as well.

To compensate for the blindfolded right eye, he constantly deployed a weak “bio-radar” within several dozen meters—sensitive enough to detect metal and distinguish movement.

And Gaven’s body bristled with hidden blades, large and small.

From his forearms to under his boots—everywhere.

“Kyrie. Kyrie of Astreios.”

“Yes, Sir Kyrie. Your reputation precedes you. Top of the Academy, top of the Border Patrol entrance trials, record-holder of the Sky-Lightning ceremony for the first time in twenty years. I’ve admired you for quite some time.”

“Appreciated.”

“Therefore, allow me to explain all evaluation criteria in detail. I, Gaven, will do everything I can to ensure you achieve the highest possible rating.”

“Information’s always welcome.”

“Then first, I suggest you pack up camp and prepare to depart. By military law, the moment you received that sheath, your duty to proceed south began. Every second that passes, you’re technically in breach of the timeliness clause.”

Gaven ended in the same dry tone.

So that’s what he meant. Jo was right—this one is trouble.

Kyrie understood now.

“Evaluator Gaven. Your remark is out of line. Sir Kyrie is simply preparing more thoroughly for the patrol operation. To decide like clouds, to act like thunder—that proverb doesn’t need me to quote it, does it?”

Jo glared at him.

“Sir Kyrie, you must issue at least a minor reprimand to your subordinate. A warning or a formal note will suffice.”

Then Gaven said something Kyrie hadn’t imagined hearing.

What?

Kyrie often spoke thoughtlessly, but this time even he was stunned.

Did this man’s Starseat oath grant him strength by provoking others?

Even for Kyrie, Gaven’s brazenness was almost admirable.

“I hold the title of Junior Knight under Starseat Terminus, while Vice-Captain Jo is a mere staff officer. Regardless of his position, if he interferes while I perform my duties, you as commanding Satellite Seat are obliged to discipline him.”

Gaven raised one finger.

No way Andromeda planted this one. Then maybe I really have been marked.

Kyrie began to think Jo might have been right after all.

Chapter 20

Comments