Margaret managed to slip away from the lounge.
Her victory over the Light Knight should have earned her thunderous cheers—yet thanks to the Announcer's downplayed commentary, the applause was far more muted than it should have been.
She didn't care. She never cared about the surface noise, nor about Mob's constant doubts over her strength, nor even about that faint, lingering gaze she could feel from the stands.
She had won the match. That was the truth. But victory only made her situation even more dangerous.
She couldn't go back to the Nearl estate. She couldn't even return to her aunt Zofia's house. There were no Nearl guards there, and her younger sister Maria, worried for her, had been staying at Zofia's place these past few days. If Margaret went back now, she'd only be dragging them both into the storm.
Which meant… once again, she would have to trouble Ms. Rosebloom for shelter. Margaret sighed inwardly.
Everyone must bear the weight of their actions. Some shoulder responsibility. Others pay the price.
Margaret refused to let her choices become a burden on her aunt and sister. Yet in truth, she already knew they were caught up in this because of her—just as the entire Nearl family was.
Was this nothing more than the selfishness of a sixteen-year-old girl? She asked herself that sometimes, in rare quiet moments between training. But she never once regretted her choices. For Kazimierz. For the culture of its knightly tournaments. Margaret held to her own beliefs, her own judgments, her own resolve.
Leaving the arena, the weight of solitude settled back over her. Aside from her fans, she had no one at her side. No grandfather. No uncle. No aunt. No sister. And her parents… they had been gone ever since that year.
From here on, the road was hers alone to walk.
She turned down interviews, doing everything she could to slip away from the crowds. Margaret hated the spotlight—she had no wish to bask in their gaze.
The Light Knight, on the other hand, accepted the reporters' questions with a calm face. To him, dropping to the losers' bracket should have been unthinkable. Margaret's victory had blindsided everyone. For his fans, and for the K.G.C.C and its investors, this was nothing short of a disaster.
But the fans weren't cruel. Many admired him still, even sympathized. To lose to a rising prodigy yet bow out gracefully—wasn't that the very image of knightly honor?
If the Light Knight knew his fans thought him full of "knightly spirit," he wouldn't know whether to laugh or weep.
"I respect my opponent, Margaret. My next match is against the Verdant Knight. I'll give it my all and leave no regrets."
His interview was short, and the reporters asked nothing harsh. After all, nearly every journalist who made it into the venue worked for the Organization. None of them would dare step out of line.
Escorted by fans and media, he left the spotlight looking every bit the proud champion. But once he turned a corner and entered a side room, his back straightened by pride slumped. In that moment, he seemed lower than the slaves who served the Organization's lords—for at least those slaves could use their bodies to please their masters. He had only brought them fury.
"You dare show your face here?"
"Do you have any idea how many investors pulled out the moment you lost?"
"Beaten by a sixteen-year-old girl. Pathetic!"
The tirade rained down like whips. Along with it came the sting of wine glasses hurled at his body, alcohol splashing cold across his skin.
At the head of the table sat one of the Organization's patrons, lounging with obscene ease. A slave girl knelt behind him, massaging his shoulders, her flushed face pressed close, breath heavy with sweetness. Each teasing touch only drew a cruel smile from him. Within moments, the girl collapsed, reduced to trembling, pliant clay in his embrace.
"Six years have passed. You're already twenty-seven."
The man's tone was calm, almost detached. "At twenty-one, you provoked a rival knight order in the Kawalerielki City. The spark was a duel—you slipped during the match and killed one of their knights. With no allies left, you turned to the K.G.C.C."
"Four years ago, you lost to the Black Knight. Frankly, none of us were surprised."
His words made the rest of the executives glance toward him.
"She was born for the battlefield. A natural three-time champion. Even the Armorless Union couldn't bar her path."
"Now four years have passed. And today, you tell me you lost to a sixteen-year-old girl? A Light Knight? After everything we poured into you—how many resources, how many tournaments staged for your rise, how many endorsements and sponsors fattening your fanbase and your wallet?"
"We are… disappointed."
His voice stayed even, but his eyes were cold. "This is your final warning. Win the next match."
The unspoken threat hung in the room.
He didn't need to spell it out. The Light Knight already knew what awaited him if he failed. Death wasn't likely—the Organization had invested too much in him to simply throw him away. But he would be shelved, locked into a gilded cage, stripped of freedom. A cash cow bound to the K.G.C.C. until nothing of him remained.
"If you understand, then get out."
"Yes. I'll get out."
The Light Knight bowed his head, his expression clouded with shame, and stumbled from the room.
When the door shut, the chamber returned to its haze of clinking glasses and decadent chatter.
"Is Margaret really that strong?"
"Hard to say. Feels more like that coward held back. Otherwise, he would've won."
"He's made us a laughingstock. The Nearl family's knight… if she takes the championship, who knows what comes next."
"Forget that. Are the arrangements ready for the coming nights?"
Several men in tailored suits exchanged glances. One smiled faintly. "The bounty hunter groups have already slipped into the city in waves. From here on, we strike from both sides."
"The Armorless Union… worthless dogs. We gave them so much money, yet they couldn't even kill Margaret. Clearly, they've been playing their own game."
The K.G.C.C.'s disappointment burned, but so did their resolve. They understood this opponent was no ordinary one.
The Nearl family—if they couldn't break the heiress, they could always shatter the ones who followed her.
---
The Light Knight staggered back to his apartment, a high-rise nestled in the glittering heart of the Kawalerielki City. When he first moved in, he believed he was destined to become Kazimierz's knight-king. That fire, that pride—where had it gone?
Luxury furniture, once treasures to his eyes, now seemed little more than trinkets. Wealth had raised his tastes, dulled his hunger, corroded his spirit.
Had his blade dulled too?
No. His sword was still as sharp as ever, precise and lethal—a nightmare for his opponents in this year's tournament.
But his heart?
He stared out the window at the skyline as the night descended. Drizzle swept across Kazimierz in November, blurring the lights of the city.
His heart had long been lost to that knight who shone like light itself… If only he had met Margaret earlier, crossed swords with her, perhaps he would not be the man he was now.
But the path behind him was gone. No way back.
So if he was destined to be nothing more than the hound of the Organization, then biting back at his master—just once—would be the greatest act of rebellion he could ever muster.
---
The final day of the tournament was just one sunrise away.
In the losers' bracket final, the Light Knight once again overwhelmed the Verdant Knight with dazzling swordplay.
Afterward, the Verdant Knight admitted in an interview that Light's technique had advanced by leaps and bounds compared to before. She believed her opponent had been holding back in earlier matches—that the true Light Knight feared no one.
Part of her words were honest; part were lines fed to her by the Organization.
Margaret Nearl—unsupported by any knightly order, unsponsored by any company—had reached the grand final.
Her very presence lit a spark in countless disillusioned knights, those crushed under the Organization's heel. They gathered in small circles, each one chanting her name, finding in her rise the hope they thought they had lost.
At the same time, her Nearl lineage polarized public opinion. Some praised her, saying Margaret embodied the truest spirit of Kazimierz chivalry—that her noble ideals were worth emulating.
Others sneered, mocking that even the once-proud House Nearl had been reduced to relying on the bloodsport of the arena. That even the Pegasus Knights had fallen.
Margaret herself offered no comment.
And so, as the finals approached, the city boiled with feverish anticipation. But beneath the blinding lights, shadows stirred. An ominous shade was creeping over the streets.
---
"Tomorrow's the day."
In a dim conference room, Huangtian Houtu stood before a whiteboard with a map of the Kawalerielki City pinned to it. Red circles had been drawn across several districts.
"Those of us who lived through Type-Zero—or who know the truth of the Black Knight's past—understand what the Organization plans for tonight.
We don't have the strength to fight on the front lines. The Pioneer knows this. That's why he's given us a different mission."
At his words, every CN player opened their mission logs.
[You have accepted C-rank Faction Mission: "Assassination in the Rainy Night"]
[Mission Details: The rain-slick night in the Kawalerielki City seethes with malice and bloodlust. With the weapon in your hands, you must stand beside the persecuted knights and carve out a new road.]
[Mission Objective: Protect Knight Order outposts (5/5). Failure if damage exceeds 60%.]
[Reward: 50,000 EXP]
[Reward: 5,000 Faction Contribution Points]
"We're responsible for two of the areas." Huangtian pointed to two red-ringed districts on the map. "The other three are being handled by foreign pro teams and player groups. We won't interfere with each other, but remember—the rewards depend on performance. So I expect us to trust each other, and aim for the best payout possible."
"What about Margaret? She's bound to face an ambush tonight too, isn't she?" Lao Silai asked.
Yunyan spoke calmly: "That's where the Pioneer will move. His strength is nothing to underestimate. On that front, we can rest easy."
"Any objections?"
No one in the room spoke. Every player present understood: this was why they had come to Kazimierz.
After watching countless matches and learning the truth about the Organization's stranglehold, their hearts brimmed with rebellion.
All they wanted now was to carve through the veil of lies these profiteers had draped over the city—
and string up the Organization's puppeteers, one by one, on the lampposts.
The corridor was packed with heavily armed players. Huangtian houtu gave a nod to Universe from North America and Cabus from Europe, then led the CN players away.
This was the first true large-scale campaign since the founding of Tomorrow's Development. Their opponent: the bounty hunter syndicates. And for the sake of protecting the chivalric code they upheld, they would fight—this was a war of justice.
Even though this wasn't the main battlefield, the thrill of being part of the storyline surged through them.
Tomorrow's Development might have been a mercenary-style logistics organization, but every action they took, every word they spoke, stood on the side of justice.
Where the bounty hunters would strike, only the K.G.C.C. knew. All the players could do was drive back and kill every red-named NPC that entered their sights.
In the rain, fire flared.
The bounty hunters raised their blades. Some poured fuel around the outpost, others hurled the explosives provided by the Organization into the defenses.
The knightly orders under attack retaliated in fury. For days they had bled men, their brothers falling one after another under the crossbows of the Armorless Union. Now at last, they had a chance for vengeance.
These bounty hunters weren't the true enemy. But they were dogs on the enemy's leash. And once they stepped onto the battlefield, death here was theirs to accept.
>>"Residents of Domingo District, please remain indoors. As the finals approach, theft and banditry across the Kawalerielki City have sharply increased. I repeat, residents of Domingo District should return home immediately…"<<
The news broadcast made Margaret's hand tighten unconsciously.
"You're not thinking of going outside, are you? Right now, every eye is on you."
"I know."
Margaret drew a long breath. Her clenched fist loosened, sliding into a grip on the Lance by her side.
"Lady Rosebloom, thank you for sheltering me… but I have a reason I cannot stay hidden."
She pulled on a heavy coat. Its weight gave her a trace of comfort—and with it, a crushing sense of duty.
"Their target is me, not the innocent knights. That's why I must fight. For myself. For them. And for the belief I carry."
Rosebloom said nothing. She simply watched as Margaret hefted her weapon and hurried out of the hideout, letting out a quiet sigh.
"…Employer, you really do understand this girl."