HOMEROOM EARLIER

The fingertips of the fourteen-year-old boy had long since lost any hesitation when it came to killing.

At first, he might have kept count of the enemies he cut down. However, the moment he found himself jostled by his fellow knights in the chaotic melee, his brain rattled by their deep-throated roars and his entire field of vision utterly consumed by the shadows of monsters, he realized that human rationality was completely meaningless.

This is what it means to be on a battlefield.

A violent gale stripped away his sense of direction. Thunder pierced his eardrums, and the raindrops pelting his body felt like bullets. Even as his lips parted in a desperate gasp, no air flowed down his throat. Instead, the pungent stench of blood and gunpowder clung to his tongue, sending him into a sudden fit of coughing.

Deprived of oxygen, his fingertips trembled with numbness.

It took everything he had just to keep from dropping the blood-soaked Black Sword clutched in his hand.

A low, guttural snarl reached his ears.

Relentless as ever, another monster had set its sights on his life. A bipedal marine creature with slimy skin encrusted in barnacles—there was simply no other word for it but a monster. And with a harpoon possessing the texture of a coral reef poised in its grip, its rusted tip aimed directly at his heart, it was undoubtedly an enemy.

Not a person, but a beast, someone whispered in his ear.

It was the voice of the dark-clad man who called himself the boy's adoptive father, the one who had beaten the absolute peak of assassination techniques into him.

Kill it, the reaper commanded.

The monster shrieked, and in the same instant, the boy unleashed a fierce roar of his own.

"Uraaaaaaagh!!"

The two shadows blurred past each other at breakneck speeds.

The boy's dark uniform tore open around his flank, scattering fresh blood into the air.

As for the monster, it was suddenly rendered headless while still in its thrusting stance, toppling over sideways.

The beast collapsed with a sickening thud. The boy had no desire to check how far its severed head had flown. Glancing down with a weary sigh, he saw that it wasn't just a single headless corpse—there were so many bodies strewn about that there was scarcely any room to step.

And they weren't just the aquatic monsters, either.

He could see just as many corpses of knights clad in military uniforms.

A genuine wave of nausea welled up within him, and the boy swiftly turned away.

There was a railing right at chest height. Barely managing to keep his grip on his sword, he collapsed against it.

As he continued to gasp for breath, his ability to think finally began to return.

Looking down over the railing, the sea below was pitch black, as if ink had been spilled across it. An incomprehensible whirlpool—surely stirred by God's own index finger—had swallowed up dozens of sailing ships, causing a massive pileup. That was why the deck beneath his feet was shaking incessantly.

How many hours had it been since the battle began? A fleet of Lycanthropes had suddenly descended upon this coastline bordering Flandore, forcing the Torch Knights to scramble their limited forces and establish a defensive line. ...They had even mobilized a fourteen-year-old assassin from an underground organization.

Against the enemy's raging onslaught, their defense was little more than a castle built of sand.

The front line collapsed in the blink of an eye. Artillery shells rained down upon the shore, and sea-drenched monsters crawled up out of the freshly pulverized earth. The knights had no choice but to intercept them while simultaneously trying to halt the bombardment from the ships. The boy couldn't really remember why he had been assigned to the assault force. The commanders probably hadn't given it any real thought either.

Numerous boats carrying the suicide assault squad launched from the shoreline.

Watching his allies' boats get sunk by cannon fire one after another, he desperately pushed forward.

When he finally reached his destination, what awaited him was a Ghost Ship—

Raising battle cries to mask their own fear, the knights stormed the floating graveyard.

The boy blended into that funeral procession, slashing, slashing, and slashing until his mind went completely blank—

And now, he stood all alone amidst a mountain of corpses.

Flames rose from the ship as a torrential downpour fell from the sky. The wind carried the agonizing death throes high into the air, and just then, a dragon-like bolt of lightning split the heavens in two. So this is hell, the boy thought.

Without any warning, something grabbed his leg.

He had thought he was the only survivor, but someone—or something—had crawled across the floor. Unable to even distinguish if it was human or monster, the boy immediately thrust his sword into it.

Dragging itself along with only its upper body, the creature had undoubtedly been an enemy. But how could he kill it for good? The boy fell into a mild panic. The thing refused to let go of his ankle, so he swung his sword down again and again. He slashed and crushed its head, its heart, over and over.

"Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shiiiit!!" the boy screamed.

Clack. A faint footstep echoed behind him.

Overflowing with murderous intent, the boy swung his Black Sword. The strike was so powerful that the tip of the blade smoked as it cleaved the air.

CLANG!! His attack was parried with a loud, ringing clash.

The one who had silently appeared behind him was a young man clad in a high-quality combat uniform. It wasn't the standard uniform of the Cavalry Guilds. Yet, his demeanor carried an elegance that surpassed even the elite Crest Legion.

And in his hands was the spear of a Dragoon—

The yet-to-be-adult Serge Shiksal looked just as surprised.

"A child...?" Serge muttered in disbelief.

He likely intended to follow up by asking why a child was on such a horrific battlefield. But before he could, the boy's head snapped up. He had caught sight of a shadow rapidly closing in on Serge's back.

"Look out!" the boy yelled.

Kicking off the slippery deck, the boy darted past Serge. His sword and the Dragoon's spear sparked as they disengaged, and using the recoil, the boy brought his blade crashing down against a slimy, purple pincer.

A shower of sparks illuminated the form of a scorpion-like monster covered entirely in a thick carapace. There was no mistaking it—this was the enemy, and a powerful Lycanthrope at that.

Serge was quick to adapt. Measuring the distance with a dancing step, he immediately launched a counterattack with his spear. "Haaah!" he roared, driving his weapon forward.

As expected, the scorpion monster was in a completely different league from the grunts casually littered across the deck. First off, its sheer size was daunting. In one smooth motion, it swatted away the spear's tip with a massive arm, then skillfully twisted its other pincer to snap the Black Sword in half. The boy narrowly avoided disaster by pulling his arm back and leaping away at the very last second.

Serge stepped in to take his place. The boy made his Black Sword dance, covering the young noble's blind spots. The scorpion monster was forced to retreat step by step with every clash, remaining highly cautious of the Dragoon's vast attack range.

Sure enough, a spear thrust as fast as an arrow pinned down one of the pincers.

Without missing a beat, the boy dove in and gouged the tip of his sword right into the gaps of its carapace.

Using his entire body weight, he twisted the blade and completely severed the scorpion's left arm. The monster let out an ear-piercing shriek.

It raised its right pincer in a fit of rage, but Serge moved the very next instant. That fully extended arm, full of openings, was an incredibly easy target. Aiming the spearhead at a gap in the shell, he blasted right through it with raw, destructive power.

The right arm was blown clean off.

Making full use of his rather lacking height, the boy leaped up and kicked the scorpion squarely in the chest.

Anticipating that the enemy would fall onto its back, Serge spun the shaft of his spear over his head.

Holding the weapon with a reverse grip, he plunged it straight down into the creature's heart.

The scorpion's legs twitched violently for a moment before going completely still, just like all the other monsters on the deck.

"You've got some good moves."

Pulling his spear free, Serge roughly ruffled the boy's hair.

His wet bangs were tossed about, scattering droplets of water across his vision.

"I'll make you my personal guard in the future. Now, hurry up and fall back!"

Serge gave the boy a push on the back before sprinting toward the bow. Why does he get to decide my future for me? the boy wondered indignantly, gripping his Black Sword as he dashed toward the stern.

"Father! Mother!!"

Hearing Serge's voice ring out like a scream, the boy instinctively slid to a halt.

When he hurried back to the deck, he spotted a particularly eerie galleon beyond the raging waves. It was the enemy's flagship. Atop its main mast, a massive Lycanthrope—undoubtedly the admiral of the fleet—was clashing with a heroic man and woman armed with spears, sending a shower of sparks into the air.

Lightning streaked across the overcast sky.

The two fighters were none other than the head of the Shiksal family, Genron Shiksal, and Dilita Shiksal. Down on the deck below them, the retainers who had sworn loyalty to the couple were also locked in combat.

The Shiksal family had mobilized their entire military force.

Just who in the world were they up against...?

The Lycanthrope captain stood leisurely in the crow's nest, a smirk twisting his lips beneath his pirate hat.

"Are you really so determined to kill me when I'm immortal?"

What did Genron Shiksal shout back in response?

At that exact moment, a thunderclap like the wrath of God echoed, drowning out his voice.

"Father!! Motheeeeeeeeeer!!"

Serge Shiksal jetted Dragoon Mana from both of his legs and soared across the sea. The boy with the Black Sword could only stand in the beating rain and watch him go.

Their ship was pushed away by the waves, widening the distance between them.

That dependable back left a trail of fire in its wake as it plunged straight into the heart of the storm.

In the blink of an eye, the galleon was obscured by the torrential rain, its majestic silhouette vanishing into the darkness...

The boy didn't remember what happened after that.

† † †

Ultimately, the battle was reported as a victory for Flandore. It was said that while the sudden storm had thrown the enemy fleet into chaos, the elites of the Shiksal family successfully slew the Lycanthrope admiral.

The casualty rate among the Guild was horrific, but that fact was never released to the public. Every surviving knight was awarded a medal by the hands of the current Paladin Duke, Fergus Angel himself. Those who were never supposed to be there, however, were the sole exception.

The boy carrying the Black Sword returned to the Night World where he belonged. In stark contrast, Serge of the Shiksal family earned the title of hero and succeeded the position as head of his house upon coming of age.

His reign as the youngest Paladin Duke would begin three years after that...

Who could have ever imagined that their destinies, which were never meant to intersect, would cross paths once again?

Even now, the young man who wields his Black Sword occasionally reminisces. He remembers the feeling of those fingertips roughly ruffling his hair. He remembers that dependable back fading into the distance like the wind. He remembers that voice brimming with confidence and kindness—Tell me, Serge Shiksal. Do you...

...remember saving me that day?

 ToC