Margaret realized she had been saved.
At the very last moment—when the arrows ignited into fireballs—someone had pulled her out of the blast. A Lupo, shorter than her, moved with strange, precise steps, dragging her into the nearest sewer entrance.
Her head was still spinning. The shockwave had rattled her hard enough to blur her senses. If this Lupo meant her harm, her chances of survival would have been slim.
Where had things gone wrong? What could drive the K.G.C.C to act so recklessly?
"Even without me, you wouldn't have died."
The Lupo stopped and turned slightly, glancing back. Margaret looked disheveled but unharmed—no arrows had struck her, no poison had broken her skin.
"You were lucky. It rained tonight."
Her lips moved under the mask, voice calm and matter-of-fact. "The Assassins of the Armorless Union have long relied on paralytic toxins and smoke bombs to deal with knights. Inhaling even a trace leaves the body weak, defenseless."
She paused. "Their arrows are laced with poison as well. Since you weren't hit, you could have forced your way out of that blast. You'd have made it."
The Lupo led her deeper into the underground. They twisted through narrow passages, the smaller frame of her rescuer slipping through with ease. For Margaret, however, the path was less forgiving—her build made the squeeze… difficult.
Even in a life-or-death escape, she found herself slightly embarrassed. But she shook it off, pushed forward, and forced her way through.
"…Are all Kuranta built like this?"
The Lupo muttered absentmindedly. With her own slight, almost girlish figure, the contrast to Margaret was striking. Margaret heard it but ignored the comment, keeping pace.
Finally, the Lupo shoved open a rusted iron door. Inside was nothing like the damp sewers outside—warm light glowed from lamps, and neatly arranged furniture gave the space a strange coziness. Margaret felt her fatigue creep up the moment her nerves loosened.
"You can treat this as a safehouse."
The Lupo walked over to the fridge, glanced back. "What do you want to drink?"
"Water is fine."
A bottle was handed to her. The Lupo hesitated, then chose papaya milk for herself.
Margaret sipped quietly, her breathing steadying. She looked around as she drank. Cozy furniture aside, the setup resembled a temporary operations base—blueprints scattered across the desk, weapons racked neatly against the wall, explosives stacked with practiced order. This was no simple hideout.
"…Forgive me for asking so late, but who are you? And why did you save me?"
The Lupo thought for a moment. Since her employer hadn't forbidden it, she spoke plainly:
"I am the leader of the Sargon Contract Assassins. You may call me Rosebloom, Miss Margaret. As for saving you—that was my employer's order."
"Your employer?"
"Sorry. That, I cannot reveal."
Rosebloom shook her head. Her tone was calm, but there was no room for negotiation. Margaret understood immediately—this was professional discipline. Contract assassins never revealed their employers. It was an unspoken law of the trade.
As she studied the girl before her, Rosebloom couldn't help but silently curse her employer's games. Toying with a young knight like this…
Margaret, meanwhile, was drowning in speculation. If Rosebloom's employer had ordered her rescue, then it certainly wasn't the K.G.C.C or the Union. Which meant—
It had to be the Adeptus Sprawiedliwi.
They must have secretly hired assassins to sabotage the K.G.C.C's schemes, using her as their weapon instead. If that was the case, then she was nothing more than a blade in someone else's hand—a pawn pushed into play while they watched safely from the shadows.
It was the only explanation that made sense.
The sixteen-year-old's mind was clouded. Beyond the Magistrate's Council, the only other explanation she could think of was some outside power. But why would they help her? What motive did they have? She couldn't figure it out.
"Do you want to go home?"
Margaret pressed her lips together, her voice dim.
"If I try to return, the Armorless Union will have assassins waiting for me, won't they?"
"You guessed right. Whether you head to the Nearl household or your aunt's estate, there are already assassins in place. They've deployed one Platinum rank, two Lazurite ranks, and even a Darksteels rank. All of them, just to ambush you on the road."
"…"
A weariness beyond words settled over Margaret. The great knightly order, which she had never loved but never truly hated either, now bared its fangs at her. She had lived in this city sixteen years—how could she truly say she despised it? Yet she knew she might never again walk its streets in peace, hand in hand with her sister as they browsed the knight-goods shops, or lingered at the craftsmen's stalls together.
"Miss Margaret, you have a match tomorrow. You should rest early tonight."
Rosebloom finished her papaya milk and pointed toward the sofa bed nearby.
"And you, Lady Rosebloom?"
The Lupo waved it off. "I need to leave a message for my companions."
With that, she pushed open the iron door and left.
Though this safehouse lay in the city's underground waterways, it was not nearly as damp as one might expect. It wasn't the Nearl estate, nor her aunt Zofia's home, but here, amid the rain-soaked city, Margaret found herself oddly at ease.
There was even a bathroom. That alone was a godsend. She had been drenched all night—without a wash, her condition tomorrow would surely suffer.
As she bathed, her thoughts circled around the identity of the mysterious employer who had arranged her rescue. After washing, she lay down on the sofa bed. Her once-steady gaze now carried a trace of confusion. She forced her eyes closed, willing herself to sleep and prepare for tomorrow's match.
---
"So, they've made their move."
Felix lowered his mobile terminal and stood, gazing out at the rain beyond the window.
"The finals… of course they'll strike then. Time to let the adventurers get involved. Otherwise, they'll die of boredom just watching the matches."
"Brother Felix, why are you still awake?"
Senomi peeked through a crack in the door. At that moment, a flash of lightning lit up the room, making her jump.
Her lips trembled, eyes shimmering with tears.
"I'm scared… Master, Brother Felix, could I… sleep with you tonight?"
"You really love to act spoiled, don't you…"
Felix rubbed her soft pink hair with a sigh.
"You're a big girl now. Just this once, alright?"
Click. The door closed.
The next day, at the finals. Margaret stood opposite the Light Knight. In his face she saw solemn determination, though his lips still carried the roguish, carefree smile that made the crowd cheer.
Outside the waiting room, as she tried to steady her condition, she suddenly noticed someone who shouldn't have been here at this moment.
"Brother...Felix?"
"Margaret."
Felix's smile was warm, almost priestly, as if he were here to guide a lost lamb back onto the path.
"I heard from your seniors. Something happened last night."
"…Mm."
Margaret lowered her head. The words that had been so difficult to voice came out naturally in front of him.
"I felt shock. Numbness. And sorrow."
Margaret couldn't say why, but after years apart, she felt that something about him had changed. There was a calm, intellectual air around him now, and a quiet presence that drew people in… perhaps even a trace of the sacredness of the snow-capped mountains.
"You're not afraid, Margaret. In that, you're more mature than most."
Felix sat down beside her. "You're only sixteen. Do you know what I was doing when I was sixteen?"
"What were you doing?"
Her curiosity was piqued. To her, this mysterious Sankta had always been wrapped in layers she could never quite peel back.
"I skipped school because I thought it was boring… wandered into a battlefield between the Sankta and others, almost got captured by mercenaries, and then walked straight into an Catastrophe."
"What?!"
"At the time, I was far less mature than you are now."
He chuckled softly, glancing at her as she sat there, mouth slightly open. "No need to look so shocked."
"Still… it sounds like Brother Felix doesn't have the best luck."
Felix laughed, but there were tears in his eyes. If only he could reroll his fate like a game—he'd trade away his so-called charm, the kind that made people swoon and turned heads everywhere he went, just for a higher luck stat.
"About today's match," he asked, his smile fading, "are you confident?"
Margaret nodded lightly. "The Light Knight is strong… but I believe I can beat him."
"Have you considered the possibility of losing to him?"
She blinked. "Eh?"
He explained calmly, "You've already become a thorn in the side of the Organization. Last night's assassination attempt by the Armorless Union won't be the last. That in itself proves how strong you are—strong enough to threaten their champion."
"But if you were to lose this match to the Light Knight, their eyes would shift away from you. They might decide he's the one destined to win the tournament. For you, Margaret, that could mean surviving the final week in peace, without constant attempts on your life."
"Brother Felix…"
The sunlight spilled through the resting room's window, catching strands of her golden hair and making them gleam like threads of fire. Margaret drew in a deep breath, and then she smiled. It was a radiant, pure smile—beautiful in a way that could only belong to her.
"You already knew what my choice would be, didn't you?"
"Yes," he said, returning her smile. "I'm only here to cheer you on."
It was a clever plan: lose deliberately, ease the enemy's suspicions, survive long enough to reach the end. If Felix had been in her place, he would have done exactly that—throw the fight, even hold back on purpose, making every victory look barely scraped by. Anything to lower the Organization's guard.
But Margaret was Margaret. She was the eldest daughter of the Nearl family. She was a knight.
The war horn sounded in the distance. Margaret rose to her feet. Felix stood as well, and she looked at him with clear, steady eyes.
"Tell me, Brother Felix… what does chivalry mean to you?"
"Brotherhood among peers. Loyalty to faith. Respect for one's lord. Caution in speech. Justice and mercy in battle. To always uphold honor, and to remain humble."
Margaret answered in kind, her own voice firm: "I respect every opponent. I believe in the path of the knight without wavering. As for a lord… there is no one in today's Kazimierz worthy of my fealty."
She continued, "A knight must guard their words and deeds, show respect on the battlefield as much as to themselves, and keep their integrity pure and untarnished. That is what a knight is."
Then she turned to him with a smile. Unlike any other he had seen before, it was a smile that carried conviction, a smile that could steel the hearts of others. It was the smile of someone who would march forward into fire and steel without hesitation.
"Brother Felix, in your eyes… am I a knight?"
At Sixteen years old, she wasn't just an outstanding young woman—she was the kind of knight that players from his past life would never forget, one who seemed to have stepped straight out of a fairy tale.
"Without a doubt, Margaret Nearl—you are a true knight."
"Then please, cheer for me, Brother Felix."
With her answer found, Margaret gripped her lance-sword and strode onto the battlefield. Her opponent was a light knight—one she could not afford to lose against.
"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome our fighters!"
The announcer grinned broadly as his booming voice filled the arena.
"The winner of this upper bracket final will move on to fight for the championship! The loser will drop down to the lower bracket to contend for third place. So—how will this clash turn out?"
Felix watched the broadcast on the screen, then suddenly turned his head toward the figure behind him.
"If you're so worried about your niece, why not say something to her?"
"…Because there's no need."
Standing there was Młynar, dressed plainly in a business suit, a stack of documents tucked under his arm. He looked more like an exhausted office worker than the famed knight he was.
"You showing up here really does surprise me."
"Company meeting. They sent me out to grab some food."
"..."
Felix's mouth twitched. How pitiful—Margaret's uncle, a ranger knight of the Nearl family, reduced to running lunch errands? Was this some kind of ascetic training? Or maybe he just never finished reading The Liberator's Articles?
"The bounty hunters are being mobilized too," Młynar said flatly. "Besides the Armorless Union, it seems we now have yet another group of enemies."
"Bounty hunters? They've lost their minds?"
"Whether us or them, we all move for our ideals. The difference is that their 'ideal' is money."
As the two spoke, someone happened to overhear them—MagicZX. He had been looking for the Pioneer to quietly probe about what had happened over the past few nights. Instead, he stumbled across him talking with someone else.
Peeking his head out just slightly, his eyes widened.
That dim golden hair. That slightly weary face. That upright, imposing posture…
ah!
This NPC—he's got way too much mature man charm!
Flustered, MagicZX hurriedly tossed out a scouting skill to confirm.
Holy crap—!