"My story?"
At this, Blake raised an eyebrow.
"My story is a long one, and... it might not be the part you're curious about."
"You said so yourself."
Ophelia didn't say anything more, just looked at him steadily. Blake let out a helpless chuckle and raised his hands in surrender.
"Very well, Lady Ophelia. But before that, I have a question for you."
He paused, then fixed her with an odd look.
"What do you think a knight truly is?"
"What kind of existence?"
The question caught Ophelia completely off guard. She hadn't prepared any answer for this, so the former princess frowned, thought carefully for a moment, then replied hesitantly.
"Strong."
"And what else?"
"Well... I can't think of anything else."
Ophelia searched her memories of the knights she had known. Beyond their exceptional strength, they seemed no different from any other people.
"In truth, there is more—you just haven't felt it yet."
Blake sighed softly, then a faint smile tugged at his lips.
"I'm sure you know that a knight's power comes from their conviction. But what you don't know is that for that conviction, a knight must pay a price." He raised his hand and made a strange gesture. "It's not enough to simply uphold one's beliefs to gain soul power and become a knight. As you should understand, staying true to one's convictions is not easy, but it is not impossible either. After all, everyone has something they stand for, something deep in their heart they need to protect, a reason to keep going. On the surface, conviction may seem like a complex thing, but at its core, it's nothing more than these simple truths. Not to mention swordsmen—there are countless who dedicate their entire lives to the blade, yet only one in a hundred can become a knight. Do you know why? Do you know how a knight is truly born?"
Ophelia remained silent. Though she had no idea how this related to Blake's own story, she didn't interrupt, choosing instead to listen quietly.
"There's only one reason: they are the chosen ones. Their unwavering faith and will catch the attention of something greater, and they forge a pact."
Blake spread his arms wide, gazing up at the night sky.
"A pact with this world."
At his low, resonant words, a shiver ran down Ophelia's spine for no apparent reason. The air around them seemed to stir in response, a gentle breeze blowing as if some unknown presence had answered Blake's statement just now.
"Every conviction must have a source, just as every human action must have a purpose. The source of every knight's conviction is the thing they swear to uphold. It is this very thing that we offer as collateral to seal our pact with the world, in exchange for the power of a knight. This is true for every single knight."
"So what happens if a knight breaks their pact?"
Curiosity got the better of Ophelia, and she couldn't help but ask.
"In the worst case... they die."
Blake's answer was sharp and decisive.
"A knight's power comes from themselves, from their conviction, and ultimately from the source of that conviction—the one thing they can never abandon. If we turn our backs on what we once fought for, the knight who loses their power will have nothing left but death to look forward to. At that moment, their soul loses all value. By the terms of the pact, the world will reclaim their soul without hesitation—or as you would put it, their essence will return to the Mana River, to become part of the earth once more."
Blake lowered his head, smiling faintly at Ophelia.
"Do you remember the massacre Judy and the others carried out against the Mobiis family coalition? That was something they had to do."
"So you're saying... the source of Lady Judy's conviction is to destroy the Mobiis family? That she had no choice but to do it, or else she would be destroyed herself?"
Ophelia narrowed her eyes as she spoke.
"Partly right, partly wrong."
Blake shrugged, giving her an ambiguous answer.
"If breaking the pact really meant death, I think Judy would be more than happy to defy it. After all, they are bound spirits now, unable to find peace by their own power. If betraying their convictions meant final oblivion, they would leap at the chance. Unfortunately, the dark magic binding them is far more potent than the pact itself. In fact, Judy and the others tried to break their pacts once before—but all they got in return was a fate worse than death. Their souls were torn apart by the power of the pact, yet the necromantic magic forced them to hold on, preventing them from dissolving into the Mana River. In the end, they had no choice but to find a new source of conviction, to forge a new pact and regain their strength. Otherwise, under that unbearable torment, their spirits would have shattered completely."
Blake fell silent, then smiled—a touch of melancholy coloring his expression.
"Now you understand why I almost never let Messiah and Semia leave my side unless absolutely necessary, don't you?"
"Huh?"
Ophelia stared at him in surprise, as if a sudden realization had dawned on her.
"So my lord, earlier that was because..."
"Breaking a pact always carries a punishment. Death is the worst-case scenario, but not the only one. Pain, however, is unavoidable. Some pacts have vague terms, others are crystal clear—it all depends on the circumstances."
Blake lowered his head, the usual smile lingering on his lips vanishing into the darkness.
"They are all my dearest children, my most beloved younger sisters, my cherished daughters. Lady Ophelia, you may find this complicated relationship confusing, but that is the truth of it. I would never wish for them to be hurt, never wish for them to suffer... after all, they have already endured more than enough pain in their lives."
The cold night wind howled past, carrying with it only the quiet tranquility of the dark.
"I know what you're thinking, Lady Ophelia. It's true—I was born in an era long gone. Back then, I was just an ordinary person on this continent. But unlike most people, even from that early time, I had a goal worth striving for, a purpose to serve as the source of my conviction. I fought for it tirelessly, making many friends and even more enemies. Nothing has changed even now, and I have no desire to change it. The things I wished for then are the same as the things I wish for now."
Blake spread his hands open.
"I had no great power back then, but I do now. Even so, I have no intention of altering my beliefs or my goals. My story is filled with these trivial things. As for the specifics, I'm sorry, Lady Ophelia—it's a secret. At least for now. All I can tell you is that seventy years ago, I led the **Doomsday Knights** in battle across this continent. As for what we did... if you look into the history books, you should be able to find the answers for yourself."
It was true.
Ophelia didn't reply—there was no need. As the former crown princess, she had committed the royal palace's historical records to memory, and knew the history of the Doomsday Knights well. But that wasn't the answer she was looking for. The more she thought about it, the more confused she became. After all, the Doomsday Knights' actions had never seemed to align with any particular faction or stance. Yet just now, Blake had said that all knights had an unshakable source of conviction—a statement that seemed to contradict the knights' notoriously ambiguous motives. Try as she might, Ophelia couldn't fathom what kind of conviction could drive such unpredictable actions.
"My lord Blake, what exactly is the source of your conviction?"
"There is only one thing I can tell you, Lady Ophelia."
Blake lifted his head, his expression turning serious as he fixed the young woman before him with a solemn gaze.
"Everything I do, I do for the sake of this continent, for the peace of this world."
He paused for a moment, then added three simple words.
"Incidentally."
"..."
The stark contrast between his solemn declaration and the casual afterthought left Ophelia gaping, unable to utter a single word. Meanwhile, Blake gave her a graceful bow, then turned and walked away.
"The night grows late, Lady Ophelia. Please rest well. Sweet dreams, and goodnight."
Ophelia stood rooted to the spot, staring blankly at Blake's retreating figure until it vanished into the darkness. It was a long while before she finally came to her senses. Wait—what had just happened? She had asked him to tell her about his past experiences, but what was this? A lecture on knightly convictions?
"My lord Blake, you..."
Watching his distant silhouette, Ophelia instinctively raised her voice, wanting to call him back. But in the end, she could only let out a helpless chuckle.
Though Blake hadn't said it explicitly, his message was clear enough: his past was not something she was meant to know. In truth, she had already braced herself for this when he mentioned reserving the right not to answer. Still, she hadn't expected him to be so evasive, let alone to drag her into this unexpected lesson on knightly beliefs. But...
Ophelia raised an eyebrow, a faint, reassuring smile spreading across her face. It was obvious that Blake had seen right through her. Her request to hear his story had merely been an excuse—she had wanted to use his past to deduce his true motives and allegiances. After all, Blake was no longer the obscure minor noble he had pretended to be. Though both he and Grand Mage Laribaud had been deliberately vague, Ophelia was far too intelligent not to realize that this man possessed immense power—and that he had clear, definite goals of his own.
But what exactly were those goals?
Blake hadn't given her a direct answer, but he had told her something all the same.
"A knight's source of conviction is absolute."
Was this the answer she had been seeking?
Ophelia wasn't sure, but at the very least, she felt a great sense of relief.
After all, she was no longer the princess of Wester, no longer an heir to the throne... So, Lord Blake, let me stay by your side. Let me see with my own eyes what the source of your conviction truly is.
With this thought, Ophelia lifted her head, brushed a strand of hair from her face, and gazed up at the night sky.
Beneath the inky black curtain of night, countless twinkling stars merged into a vast, flowing river of light.
On the other side of the battlefield, another young woman was also staring up at the same sea of stars.
"Your Highness."
A lady-in-waiting knelt behind her, looking up anxiously.
"The night is very late. You should rest... Your Highness, you must take care of your precious health."
"Thank you for your concern, Shirley."
Lindilot nodded slightly, her eyes never leaving the stars above.
"I'm just struggling to make a decision—a decision I cannot afford to make lightly... But I know that sooner or later, I will have to face it."
The lady-in-waiting fell silent, lowering her head to stare at the ground.
"I know that war brings death and sorrow. I know that fathers, husbands, and sons will be lost forever. But this is war, and I have no right to defy my father's will. The only thing I can do is minimize our losses—to let as many of these beloved men as possible return safely to their homes."
With that, Lindilot stood up, as if she had finally made up her mind.
"Shirley."
"Yes, Your Highness."
"Send my order to the Black Sparrow at once. Command her to use any and all means to incite King Wester V to send his army to attack the Twilight Forest! Once the mission is complete, she is to evacuate the royal palace immediately—we will send reinforcements to extract her! Remember: spare no expense, no matter the cost."
"Your Highness? Are you certain about this?"
The lady-in-waiting looked up in shock.
"After all, given the current situation..."
Lindilot knew exactly what her lady-in-waiting wanted to say. Everyone in the Kingdom of Wester knew that only Blake and his Doomsday Knights stood a chance of holding back the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. Any rational monarch would never dream of turning against them at a time like this. But Lindilot had understood Blake's veiled message loud and clear. The words Charlotte had delivered were: "Barring any unforeseen circumstances, he will not leave Crimson Fortress." The implication was obvious—if any unexpected events were to occur, the Doomsday Knights would withdraw from the fortress without hesitation.
And what kind of unexpected event would that be?
The answer was staring her in the face.
Only a few days prior, Blake had announced that the Doomsday Knights would be reclaiming the Twilight Forest—a message Lindilot had of course received loud and clear. Blake's meaning was plain: if anything were to happen to the Twilight Forest, his forces would pull out. But it was up to them to make that "something" happen. How they chose to do it was their business—not his.
This was the dilemma Lindilot faced.
The Doomsday Knights were undoubtedly powerful, but that had been seventy years ago. No one knew how much of their former strength remained. Even so, the fact that the Wind Messenger had been defeated in combat by one of their Gifted Knights was proof enough that the Doomsday Knights' combat power was likely on par with her own empire's. A head-on confrontation would undoubtedly cost the Sith Empire dearly—and there was no guarantee of victory.
Blake's motive for issuing such a demand was clear: he had no desire to clash directly with the Sith Empire. Perhaps he feared revealing the true extent of his power. After all, if the Doomsday Knights retreated without reason, the other nations of the continent would no longer view them as a credible threat. But if they were forced to withdraw because their base of operations had been attacked by the very people they were protecting, the knights would retain the moral high ground. They could retreat "with dignity" without exposing their true strength, while maintaining the fear and awe that surrounded their name across the continent.
Of course, Lindilot could choose to launch a full-scale assault and confront the Doomsday Knights head-on—but the consequences would be unthinkable. At the very least, both sides possessed Gifted Knights, meaning the scales of power were balanced, not tilted. In such a scenario, if even one of the Sith Empire's four Gifted Knights were to fall, the empire's prestige and deterrent power would suffer a devastating blow. It was a risk the Sith Empire could not afford to take. After all, the Doomsday Knights were merely a faction—but the Sith Empire was a nation. Every decision made would have far-reaching consequences for its people.
Blake Felix.
What exactly was this man thinking?
Lindilot shook her head, pushing the question aside.
"I know full well that this is an almost impossible mission. But this is the price he has set for us. If we wish to capture Crimson Fortress with minimal resistance, we have no choice but to agree to his terms..." Lindilot's expression grew complicated, her delicate features clouded with unease and helplessness. "I can only hope that gentleman keeps his end of the bargain—that we can put on this little performance together, flawlessly."