Episode 201
Just as the “Black Prince” and his swordsmen were preparing to depart for the lands of the old Teutonia Knights’ Order, Dale stepped into the courtyard of the ducal castle early in the morning, as was his habit.
“Sefia, and Lize.”
“Brother!”
The moment Dale appeared, his younger sister Lize beamed with joy.
“I heard, Brother! Everyone in the castle is saying you’ve become an ‘Aura Master’!”
“Yes, I told them to keep it quiet, but it seems it reached your ears anyway.”
Dale smiled softly and turned his head.
Aura Master. The pinnacle of swordsmanship he achieved with the help of the three legendary swords. It was a grueling training, akin to hell, to participate in the “Trial of the Sword” in the old Teutonia Knights’ Order, and Dale once again proved himself.
The title of the empire’s greatest genius was no empty boast.
His talent was undeniable, and Dale could only smile wryly at the futility of trying to hide it.
“It seems you’re getting the hang of using the Circle and Aura Heart.”
“I’m just at the starting line.”
Sefia, Lize’s wise elf mentor, smiled, and Dale nodded.
“So, Brother, you can use both sword and magic?”
“Yes.”
Lize, still innocent to the ways of the world, asked eagerly, and Dale nodded silently.
“Sefia says you’re close to mastering the first circle.”
“Blood doesn’t lie, I suppose.”
“Hehe.”
Dale ruffled Lize’s hair with a smile, and Sefia watched them with a gentle smile. Lize basked in their praise, grinning proudly.
“By the time I return from my journey, our Lize will be a fine magician.”
Dale’s journey to the Trial of the Sword in Teutonia, where swordsmen from all over the continent gather, was not as a magician but as a swordsman who had reached the level of an Aura Master.
There was no need to become a knight. Not everyone who wields a sword is a knight.
The lesson from the jester and sword master Baro was precisely that.
But Dale was no longer the empire’s hunting dog. The hunt was now his own choice.
“Take care on your journey.”
“Thank you, Sefia.”
“Come back soon, Brother!”
Following Sefia, Lize called out with a bright smile, and the “hunter” with the sword nodded.
“Yes, I’ll be back soon, so you keep up with your magic…”
“Oh, damn it.”
And then it happened.
“Here I am, at my age, running around for some sword trial. Damn, it’s so damn frustrating…”
The voice that came from somewhere froze the expressions of Dale and Sefia, and Master Baro finally appeared from behind a pillar, his stream of curses abruptly halting.
“Oh dear.”
Realizing that his words were not suitable for young ears, Master Baro’s face stiffened.
“Oh, damn it. I mean, uh…”
”…”
Flustered, Master Baro stammered, and an awkward silence fell.
“Well, this…”
Dale, about to retort with “What the hell are you saying in front of my sister?” swallowed his words, along with the rising anger.
“Brother, what’s ‘damn it’ and ‘frustrating’ mean?”
Lize asked innocently, tilting her head.
“Ahaha, little lady, that’s…”
“Hmm.”
Master Baro trailed off, and Dale remained silent. After a moment, Dale answered.
“Words.”
“What kind of words?”
“Words that get you in trouble.”
“I remember the vow I made that day, that when you call upon me again, I will come running without hesitation for you and the House of Sachsen.”
Charlotte never forgot the oath she swore to her lord.
She knew that the distance between them had grown too vast, that things could never return to how they once were.
It wasn’t about noble birth.
In the face of the empire’s greatest genius, who seemed to grow by the day, Charlotte Orhart was merely a princess to be protected.
From the day he extended his hand to her, a naive girl unaware of the world’s ways, to the present.
Even after officially becoming the Lady Black, the protector of the “Black Prince,” nothing changed.
Dale was not the kind of person to cast Charlotte aside, claiming she was no longer needed. Yet, his kindness only made it more painful for her.
She knew better than anyone that her sword was not worthy of guarding the “Black Prince.”
So Charlotte left the Sachsen duchy of her own accord and began her journey.
She proved her sword in various territorial battles, undeterred by the mercenaries’ taunts, and in one city, she defeated a monster that no adventurer dared to face, proving her skill.
To face the harshness of the world alone, away from Dale’s protection.
The place the daughter of the divine sword reached was the castle of Grand Duke Lancaster, her father’s old friend and the man who lost everything to the “Black Prince.”
The strongest swordsman among the remaining Seven Swords of the continent, and the only friend her father trusted.
The darkest place is under the lamp. No one expected that the loyal subject of the empire, Grand Duke Lancaster, would possess the “Plum Blossom Sword” when the empire scoured the lands of the Teutonia Knights’ Order, burning all records of it.
In the end, the divine sword Vadel’s prediction was correct.
What Charlotte held in her hand was still the Sachsen family’s greatsword. But the aura within it was no longer the black sword of Sachsen. Nor was it the red and white symbol of the Lancaster family.
“Indeed, blood cannot be denied.”
Seeing the vibrant purple, Grand Duke Lancaster nodded quietly.
The Plum Blossom Sword, hailed as the continent’s strongest swordsmanship.
Charlotte absorbed the sword techniques at a monstrous speed that even the great swordsman could not have imagined.
As if the sword existed solely for her.
“The scent of plum blossoms fills the air. Ah, the image of my old friend is so vivid.”
Seeing the purple aura in her sword, Grand Duke Lancaster smiled in awe.
When the divine sword passed his techniques to the great swordsman, it was a painful process akin to mixing oil and water.
But Charlotte Orhart was different. Like a fish in water, she absorbed the sword techniques taught by the great swordsman, growing stronger by the day.
For the despairing Grand Duke Lancaster, the growth of his pupil Charlotte was his only solace.
Thus, Grand Duke Lancaster spoke quietly after a long silence.
“Charlotte.”
“Yes, Master.”
“I have something to tell you.”
“Please, go ahead.”
Charlotte adjusted her grip on the purple sword and smiled.
In the face of her smile, Grand Duke Lancaster hesitated for a moment. But the hesitation was brief. He simply saw the image of his old friend Vadel in Charlotte and quietly resolved himself.
“I want to pass on everything of our Lancaster family, built by me and our ancestors, to you.”
”…!”
Charlotte Orhart gasped at the unexpected words.
“My second son, Michael, has fallen in battle, and my eldest, Richard, is broken and not in his right mind. At this rate, our Lancaster family will disappear and be recorded as losers in history.”
York’s Titania claims that Richard was driven mad by the “Red Tower,” while Lady Scarlet of the Red Tower insists it was the work of the “Blue Tower” and York.
But to the current Grand Duke Lancaster, it mattered little which was true.
“Everything I’ve built in Lancaster will be yours.”
“But I am of the Orhart family…”
“There’s no need to worry.”
Having said that, the great swordsman continued, with a weight incomparable to anything before.
“At the Trial of the Sword, I will declare you as the adopted daughter and rightful heir of our Lancaster family.”
Among the countless nameless swordsmen who gathered to make a name for themselves, most were, frankly, just greenhorns unaware of the world’s ways.
The sword, like magic, is a world of ruthless meritocracy, where one’s skill is ultimately defined by which school and master they learned from.
The idea that a talented individual could reach the pinnacle of swordsmanship through self-study is nothing more than a dream.
Thus, it wasn’t difficult for Dale to compile a list of swordsmen to watch out for, using the blue web of information that spanned the entire continent.
And among those swordsmen, one caught Dale’s attention the most.
The daughter of the continent’s greatest swordsman, the divine sword Vadel, who was once defeated by a hero.
Charlotte Orhart.
Dale was well aware of the news that she was learning the sword under the protection of Grand Duke Lancaster.
Yet, despite this knowledge, nothing changed.
In the lands of the ancient Teutonia Knights, amidst the Blade Mountains where the Trial of Swords is held, Dale was determined to defeat his opponent and claim one of the Seven Swords for himself. No matter who stood in his way, nothing would change his resolve.
Some time later, in the former realm of the Teutonia Knights, now ruled under the name of the “Count of Brandenburg,” a hero of the conquest wars, a carriage bearing the emblem of the Saxon Duchy arrived. This land, once a proud knightly domain, had fallen into the hands of the declining Brandenburg lineage.
Dale stepped out of the carriage with his swordsmen, greeted by an unexpected face.
“I’ve been expecting you, Sir Helmut, and Lord Dale,” said the woman, dressed in mourning black that evoked a funeral. How could anyone forget that face? She was Vanessa Orhart, widow of the fallen hero who wielded the sacred sword Vadel, and mother to Charlotte Orhart.
“A report from the Saxon family states that the ‘Black Prince’ and three of the Seven Swords have arrived for the Trial of Swords,” came the news in Malbork, the capital of the former Teutonia Knights, now held by the empire’s war hero and sacred swordsman.
Philip, head of the Brandenburg family, nodded. “The hated enemy of my father has finally reached my domain.”
Since that day, he had trained relentlessly, pushing himself to the limit. Yet, as his father had warned, the ‘Black Prince’ of the Saxon family was not someone who could be surpassed by ordinary effort or fair play.
No matter how ugly or cowardly, it was time to reveal every card he had.
The ancient Teutonia Knights’ land had been conquered by his proud father, and as proof, the Brandenburg family and Philip held the heart of this knightly realm.
As the lord of the Teutonia Knight’s domain, Philip smiled quietly. It was time to unveil the blade he had honed for this very day.