Yalta had his hands wrapped tightly around Graham’s neck when a knight standing behind grabbed Yalta’s shoulder.
“Sir Yalta!”
Soon, several knights swarmed in.
Though Yalta was feared by many, no one could just stand by and watch him intimidate their commander.
“Calm down!”
“Let go of him!”
Yalta’s eyes were bloodshot as he squeezed Graham’s throat, but when the knights clung stubbornly to him from both sides, he jerked his arms irritably.
They all collapsed to the ground.
“What a nuisance!”
Thanks to that, Graham managed to break free from Yalta’s grip.
He bent over, coughing, then glared at Yalta with narrowed eyes.
Yalta scratched his head awkwardly and avoided Graham’s gaze.
“Sorry about that, Sir Graham. Damn it.”
Then he turned and walked away.
The knights approached Graham.
“Are you alright?”
“Sir Graham!”
Graham raised his hand.
“I’m fine.”
The knight who had first stepped in to stop Yalta bit his lip as he glared at Yalta’s retreating back.
“That bastard…”
Most of the knights disliked Yalta. He was always causing trouble, and countless innocent people had suffered because of him.
“We have to do something, Sir Graham. We really have to. That guy has crossed the line now. Choking the commander—by military law, summary execution wouldn’t be enough.”
“What he just did was truly…”
“He’s completely lost it. Did you see how his eyes rolled back?”
“He used to at least listen to Sir Graham, but now he’s gone totally rogue.”
“We have to take action!”
Their pent-up frustration spilled out. Graham shook his head.
“No.”
“But…”
“Do you have the confidence to handle Yalta?”
His question silenced them all.
“Well…”
“There’s only the Fifth Knight Order here, and even their captain is a prisoner. There’s no one strong enough to stop Yalta.”
If there were other Tens or multiple knight captains, maybe. But with the forces left, they couldn’t subdue Yalta.
Graham wanted to find a solution rather than waste energy on things that couldn’t be changed.
He looked around.
“Why is Yalta so angry? Was anyone with him?”
“I went with him,” a knight stepped forward.
He explained what had happened in the forest.
A burly young man named Hopper had clashed with Yalta, and it was almost an even fight.
Then, the three sworn brothers famed for their resolve in the sweet potato fields joined in, and Yalta was pushed onto the defensive, suffering losses until he finally turned his back and fled.
“Yalta ran away?”
“Yes.”
Though it was a four-on-one fight, that fact carried weight.
Moreover, Yalta’s loss of composure and anger meant he was under serious psychological strain.
This wasn’t just a fight he happened to lose—it was a defeat by skill.
Graham fell silent for a moment, watching Yalta disappear into the distance.
“Sir Graham, what should we do?”
“We have to persuade Yalta. If he can’t win fighting alone, then he must fight together.”
“Do you think he’ll listen…?”
Graham knew how hollow that hope was.
He doubted Yalta would follow his words.
“We have to try.”
In truth, Graham had no real justification for this war.
He himself didn’t fully believe in the fight, so he couldn’t come up with a proper solution.
He had come to reduce meaningless deaths, but Johaim’s resistance was fiercer than expected.
Now, Graham even wondered if his own careless decisions were only making the war’s damage worse.
“Why don’t we just set the forest on fire?”
One knight spoke up.
“Yalta’s not entirely wrong.”
Though the empire’s knights disliked Yalta, they secretly agreed with the idea of burning the forest.
After all, that was how the empire waged war—using any means necessary to crush the enemy.
Only Graham, who questioned the very justification of this war, hesitated.
“Think it over.”
Graham said and left.
He needed time to think alone.
Sitting on a rock, Yalta stared at the forest before him, breathing heavily. The battle from earlier replayed in his mind.
That Hopper guy was decent, but Yalta was confident he could overpower him with the weight of the blood he’d spilled.
He rambled on about the “depth” of the sword, but in the end, Yalta believed his own bloodshed would crush Hopper.
But when those three ridiculous brothers joined in, things changed.
He’d thought they were just clowns, but they wielded swords stained with blood.
The eldest brother was the real problem.
“See? You have to put in the effort,” he sneered mockingly.
Yalta clenched his fist, veins bulging.
They spouted the usual nonsense—that Yalta had reached his limit, that he couldn’t grow any further. Since reaching the Tens, no one had dared speak to him so arrogantly.
But deep down, Yalta knew they were right.
Even more, unconsciously, he understood that his anger stemmed from being hit where it hurt.
Still, he refused to admit it.
He simply couldn’t.
His only response was to fuel his rage against the enemy.
“Aiming for the heavens? Ridiculous. Hahaha…”
Yalta twisted his face into a bitter laugh.
A sword was a tool to kill the enemy. That was all.
Yet those fools acted as if it could make them gods.
Pierce flesh with the blade, sever the neck, end the breath.
That was enough. What was the point of all that studying?
His chaotic thoughts soon converged into a massive flame that would burn everything to ashes.
“Fire.”
Yalta muttered.
Burn down this cursed forest. Then everything would be solved.
He glanced toward Graham’s tent.
A flicker of light danced in his eyes, then vanished.
He had to set it on fire.
But the knight everyone admired—Sir Graham—would never allow it.
Part of him wanted to ignore Graham and just burn it all down.
But Graham was one of the few people Yalta respected.
It wasn’t something he could do on a whim.
“Sir Graham…”
Yalta was furious.
To him, Graham’s idea of war was just playing soldier—swinging swords and shooting arrows.
That would never win.
At this rate, he might have to run away from those trash again.
Yalta’s face flushed red.
Yes, he had run.
He’d bled, turned his back, and fled.
Because of that, the entire imperial army had to retreat.
“Graham…”
Yalta muttered.
“Graham, Graham, Graham, Graham…”
He kept mumbling as he slowly stood.
His face was expressionless, but a dark red glow flickered in his pupils. Black smoke-like wisps drifted from his body.
For a moment, the whites of his eyes turned pitch black, then returned to normal.
Yalta began walking toward Graham’s tent.
“Sir Yalta?”
A group of passing knights blocked his way.
“Where are you going?”
“To see Sir Graham.”
“What for?”
Yalta looked at them.
Normally, they wouldn’t dare speak to him, but maybe because he’d just choked Graham, they seemed to be showing some loyalty.
He smirked.
“I’m going to apologize for earlier.”
“Hmm…”
“Step aside.”
Yalta ignored them and passed through.
The knights hesitated but let him go.
At the tent’s entrance, Yalta called out.
“Sir Graham. May I come in?”
Graham answered from inside.
“What is it?”
Inside, Graham was studying a map.
Yalta nodded as he looked at him. Though Graham had nearly been killed by him earlier, he showed no sign of intimidation.
That composed demeanor was part of why Yalta respected him.
Graham was clearly stronger and more temperamental, yet he never showed fear. He acted as if death meant nothing.
He simply followed what he believed was right.
That was why Yalta liked him—but now, it was a problem.
“Sir Graham.”
“Yalta.”
“I’m sorry about earlier.”
Graham looked up at Yalta.
His eyes were sharp, as if piercing through to the soul.
“I accept your apology.”
“Yes.”
Yalta stepped forward.
“But still, Sir Graham, I think we should set the forest on fire. Or do you have another plan?”
“Yalta, you lead the charge, with the other knights right behind you. If the enemy blocks the way, we fight together. As long as you’re not ambushed, you won’t lose. We break through the forest like that.”
“Yes…”
Yalta nodded.
“Sir Graham.”
“Hm?”
“They said I have no depth in my swordsmanship.”
“Hm…”
“A sword is just a sword. Why train to reach some grand state? I don’t get it. Ha ha ha. I just swing my sword as I please. I’m weaker than them, but they sure talk a lot.”
“…”
“But honestly, I think there’s some truth in what they say.”
Graham’s eyes flickered with interest. Yalta kept talking.
“They say swordsmanship means holding back when you want to swing, swinging even when you don’t, suppressing yourself to master the technique. I’m not unable—I just don’t want to. Why do it that way?”
“Yeah.”
“So this time, I have to hold back again.”
And then Yalta’s sword pierced straight through Graham’s stomach.
Graham’s eyes widened in shock.
Yalta covered his mouth to keep him from making a sound.
The whites of Yalta’s eyes darkened once more, turning pitch black. A crimson aura seeped from him as he muttered to himself in a low, restless chatter.
“I’m telling you, just set the damn fire already, you bastard.”
“Ugh…”
“No, I like Sir Graham. I respect him. No matter how much of a savage I am, I know he’s a great knight. But damn it, why won’t you just listen and set the fire? Why do you have to go and find a place to die like some stubborn old fool?”
Graham’s gaze wavered. Blood poured from his chest.
Yalta withdrew his sword from Graham’s wound and struck his head.
“Huh? Hey?”
He pounded Graham’s head repeatedly with his fists.
Graham’s body collapsed.
Looking down at the twitching figure on the ground, Yalta asked,
“Is he dead?”
He scratched his chin.
“I didn’t want to kill Sir Graham. I told him to set the fire, damn it…”
Yalta closed his eyes and fell into thought.
He could feel Graham still struggling beneath him, but he didn’t open his eyes.
Suddenly, a breeze blew in.
“Hmm…”
After a long moment of brooding, Yalta irritably ruffled his hair.
“Ah, screw it.”
With his hair all messy, Yalta opened his eyes.
“This temper of mine needs to be killed off. I’ve gone and done it again.”
Graham was dying on the floor. His eyes were dimming, and blood kept spurting from his chest.
Yalta muttered with a sigh.
“It’s painful to watch.”
Then, he stomped on Graham’s head, crushing it.
The knight who had been praised as a paragon of virtue was now a cold corpse.
Yalta grinned wickedly.
“See? Once you’re dead, it’s all the same.”
He kicked Graham’s body into a corner.
“Well, it can’t be helped now. Time to set the fire.”
Though killing Graham was sad, the thought of turning those damnable Yohaim bastards into a roast made him feel less gloomy.
Humming a tune, Yalta left Graham’s quarters.
Since Graham hadn’t even bothered to assign a guard, no one was paying attention to this place.
If anyone found out, it would just be a hassle, so Yalta decided to act immediately.
Now, when neither friend nor foe knew, was the perfect moment.
This is what a surprise attack looks like.
“See? We don’t even need Sir Graham.”
Yuri stepped outside, sensing an ominous, unsettling energy.
Darkness was gathering in the sky.
“What’s going on…?”
The moon shone brightly.
Suddenly, Yuri spotted a firefly flying toward the moon.
“How pretty…”
No, she shook her head. Every hair on her body stood on end.
That wasn’t a firefly.
“It’s fire.”
The flames were spreading, sparks bursting as the blaze took hold.