Chapter 316: Respect
Steven waited in silence until the knights before him had steadied themselves. Even Dikaiopolis, who had been unconscious only moments ago, had awakened, his gaze clouded with confusion as he tried to make sense of his surroundings.
Only then did Steven finally speak again.
"By making it this far, you've proven your strength."
"I know why you've come—to stop me. Then show me. Show me your will through battle. Let your weapons be your answer."
"You have the right to challenge me. And you have the right to fight for the future of these people… even if they are not worth it."
With a sharp snap of his fingers, the restraints binding the knights dissolved in an instant. They dropped heavily to the ground, free at last—only to find the Black Hole Knight standing directly before them.
One man against four, yet the Black Hole Knight's relaxed posture betrayed no hint of tension. In contrast, the four knights facing him felt their breath grow ragged beneath the suffocating pressure that radiated from him.
Only now, standing in his presence, did they realize the enormity of what they were facing. It was like standing before a beast that could never be slain.
If the tower's Warden had seemed like an insurmountable wall, then the man standing here… was despair itself.
Młynar's eyes lingered on this oddly dressed knight. He could sense no trace of Originium Arts from the Black Hole Knight, yet the danger rolling off him was so overwhelming that even gripping his sword felt impossible.
At the vanguard, Margaret felt the same. She had sensed his power before, but to oppose him directly, to endure that crushing aura that threatened to erase everything—her only instinct was to clutch her lance tighter, lest it slip from trembling fingers.
"Why?"
Dikaiopolis, his voice strained but clear, broke the silence. He discarded his battered axe to the ground without moving to attack. "If all you want is an answer, then why go this far?"
Steven's lips curved faintly. He answered with a question of his own.
"Tell me—do you think it is I who needs this answer more, or Kazimierz itself? Ask yourself honestly. How many here still remember what it means… to be a knight?"
For a fleeting moment, he mused idly—if a man bore horns like a bull, could one call him a minotaur? Thankfully, it was only the horns; unlike some online games, Dikaiopolis's head was still human-shaped.
"I don't know," Dikaiopolis admitted after a pause. His voice was steady, but his eyes were clouded. "Whatever the case, it was the path chosen by the people of Kazimierz. They live for the present, not the past. What a knight once was doesn't matter to them."
"As for me… I was never a knight to begin with. I only became a competitive knight because I wanted to survive, because I wanted a better life for myself and for those I care about. To me, being a knight is nothing more than a title. Even if it no longer means what it once did—as long as we can live in the present, what's wrong with that?"
He shook his head. The more Steven spoke, the less he understood. Past, future—none of that mattered. All that mattered was the now. Why would anyone destroy the Grand Knight Territory over something so meaningless?
"…You're right," Steven replied softly. His eyes gleamed with something unreadable. "And that… is exactly why I must do this."
Steven listened to Dikaiopolis's reply, and instead of anger, his grin only widened. He strode forward, laughing softly, and clapped the knight's armored shoulder.
"That's exactly why it bothers me," he said. "Because they don't care… but I do."
He pointed a finger at his own chest and shrugged lightly.
"Unfortunate as it may be, in this state, I suppose you could call me half a knight myself. So tell me—what do you think it feels like, knowing the word knight has been reduced to nothing but a tool for making money?"
He paused, his smile thinning.
"Of course, what you said about living in the present isn't wrong either. Everyone carries their own definition of what a knight is. And your answer… I can accept it, barely."
Steven turned his head toward one of the hovering drones circling above. In truth, his words were aimed less at Dikaiopolis before him, and more at the people of Kazimierz who were watching through those cameras.
If everyone were like Dikaiopolis—living for the moment, thinking of "knight" as just a title—then perhaps it wouldn't matter.
But the reality was different. The majority of the Grand Knight Territory had long abandoned even that shallow honesty. To them, "knighthood" was already a warped notion. Knight Tournaments had become nothing more than a stage where actors competed to see who could play the part more convincingly.
Yes, Dikaiopolis was part of that tournament scene. But unlike most, he had clawed his way to champion through sheer strength. He had at least lived by his own creed of what a knight should be. For that, Steven could not fault him.
"Then…" Margaret suddenly spoke, tightening her grip on her lance. "If we can give you the true answer of what it means to be a knight… will that be enough to stop this meaningless battle? To save the Grand Knight Territory from being destroyed by your hands?"
In her eyes, if all the Black Hole Knight sought was an answer, then there was no need to fight. Surely words could still avert disaster.
But Steven only froze for a moment—then laughed, long and loud.
"Of course not. Don't forget—I'm the villain here. Since when do villains just sit around and talk things out?"
His laughter rang out sharper than steel.
"You've seen it before, haven't you? Words alone never win. You stop the villain's schemes first—you fight him back with everything you have. Then you earn the chance to talk. My hatred for what Kazimierz has become isn't something you can sweep away with a few speeches."
Still laughing, Steven raised his hand toward the sky. With a casual tugging gesture, as though pulling on invisible strings, he dragged the air downward.
Above, the enormous black vortex that loomed over the Grand Knight Territory suddenly churned, its swirling form beginning to descend. The sheer gravitational force radiating from it pressed down on every soul, so heavy that even ordinary citizens could feel themselves being drawn upward toward the void.
Despair rippled across the land.
Margaret and the others' eyes hardened. At last, they understood—words alone could not reach him.
Before Steven could deliver another line to deepen that despair, a streak of golden swordlight split through the air toward him, forcing him to halt his motion.
Młynar had finally moved. His hand gripped his longsword tightly, his stance calm, his eyes unwavering. Compared to the others, he alone remained composed. He remembered Steven's words clearly:
Show me your will through battle. Let your weapons be your answer.
There was no need for fear, no need for hesitation. Only to fight with everything he had.
"Yes," Steven said, a smile tugging at his lips as he slipped away from the golden slash. "This is what I've been waiting for. Come—show me, and show all of Kazimierz watching, what it truly means to be a knight!"
Margaret charged forward, lance leveled with unshakable resolve. Steven's laughter rang out louder, richer, as he dodged Młynar's blade and welcomed her assault.
But what if I don't want to lose? The thought crossed his mind, absurd and yet strangely earnest.
After all, these knights—each of them embodied the title in their own right. If he threw the fight, if he made it hollow, wouldn't that in itself be an insult to knighthood?
And if he did that, how would he be any different from the profiteers of the K.G.C.C he so despised?
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Note: Character Illustration is in this Google Drive:
https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1iuyfwNVFHzIi9H4rWNT_lAm7jTSiah_M
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