Chapter 160

Chapter 160
## Chapter 160

“Wipe that terror off your face. A bystander would think I was the one shaking you down instead of those thugs.”

“M-my humblest apologies, My Lord.”

Malcolm, finally shaking off his shock, bowed in gratitude alongside his boy.

It was a serious lapse in manners to project such suspicion toward the warrior who had just delivered them from death. However, Vincent merely made a dismissive motion with his hand, appearing completely unbothered by their reaction.

“Well, keep it in mind. A man of the sword doesn’t lust after gold the way a common thief does.”

“You speak the truth, My Lord.”

“Of course, that doesn’t mean a knight will turn his nose up at a gift of thanks freely offered, either.”

Vincent inclined his head slightly, his hand tracing a small, expectant circle in the air.

Malcolm, a traveler who had navigated many social waters, caught the hint immediately and looked pained. He genuinely lacked the resources to provide a fitting tribute.

“I am deeply sorry, My Lord. I truly wish to honor your service, but I have absolutely nothing to give.”

“Ahem, is that so? Not a single thing? Even after I pulled you both from the brink?”

“To be perfectly honest, our coins have nearly vanished. We are at a point where we might not even make it to our destination before the purse is dry, so we have been skipping meals to stretch what remains.”

“…Blast it.”

The sudden curse from Vincent made Malcolm and his son jump.

A sellsword or knight who found himself broke was a dangerous thing; they often crossed the line into banditry themselves. Fortunately, Vincent only let out a heavy, frustrated breath and did not raise a hand against them.

“If you’re already going hungry, I suppose there’s no blood to be squeezed from a stone. Where are you heading?”

“To Asagrim, in the Northern lands.”

“Ah, up there… I see. Then I wish you a safe trek.”

“Thank you, My Lord. May the favor of the Eight Gods watch over your journey.”

Terrified that Vincent might rethink his mercy, Malcolm and his son scrambled toward the border of the next province as if the hounds of hell were at their heels.

Vincent stood there scratching his scalp, watching their forms shrink in the distance.

“Nothing is going my way. Honestly, why does everyone wander the roads without a copper to their name these days?”

“People are traveling light because the state of the world demands it.”

Responding to Vincent’s grumbling, three figures stepped out from the shroud of the trees. They were Martin, Jude, and Widro—warriors who had once served in the Black Lions right alongside Vincent.

“When the laws of the land have crumbled this badly, you only find two types on the road: those wealthy enough to pay for a small army of protectors, or those so destitute they have no choice but to gamble with their lives. That pair was clearly the latter.”

“You think I’m blind to that? I just figured that no matter how broke they were, they’d have a silver or two hidden in a boot.”

“So, no payout? I believe that marks the third time you’ve played the hero for someone with empty pockets.”

At Widro’s sharp observation, Vincent shifted his gaze away.

It would have been fine if he had rescued a wealthy man playing at being a pauper, but he seemed to have a magnet for the truly penniless. What kind of ‘fortune’ was he supposed to find in that?

When Vincent remained silent, Widro exhaled a weary sigh.

“I had a feeling. What was that line of yours? ‘Stick with me, and you won’t go hungry’? We don’t even have the coin for tomorrow’s bread, let alone a proper meal.”

“Wait a minute… haven’t we eaten every single day so far?”

“For the last few days, we’ve been chewing on dry rye bread without so much as a drop of broth to wash it down!”

“Your stomachs are full, aren’t they? Then I haven’t lied to you.”

Widro rubbed his temples at Vincent’s blatant lack of shame.

The mere thought that the Black Lions, a name that once caused the entire Eastern Region to shudder in fear, were now reduced to scrounging for meal money was staggering. Remembering their former glory only made their current misery feel more biting.

“If the Second Young Master hadn’t seized control of House Valdek, I never would have trailed after you, Senior.”

“See? Isn’t this life better than being a lapdog for the Second Young Master?”

“I’m saying it’s better than the worst possible fate, not that this is a dream come true.”

Despite the complaining, Widro knew Vincent was right.

A life of wandering was far superior to serving under Jordi. Back when they took orders from the previous Grand Duke, Sigmund, they possessed a sense of honor even when the work was grim. They held onto the pride of knowing that by taking on the dark tasks, they were keeping the Empire stable and shielding the common folk.

But that honor had burnt to ash the moment Jordi ignited his coup.

Every directive given since that day had been aimed at nothing but stuffing Jordi’s own pockets.

‘Even now, I am certain I chose correctly by leaving. I would rather starve in a ditch than carry out those kinds of orders.’

The only stinging regret was their inability to claim the fortunes they had amassed during their tenure as Black Lions. Had all of them tried to pull their personal wealth at once, Jordi would have caught wind of the desertion. To make a clean break, they had to walk away from everything they owned.

He didn’t regret the exit, but this endless cycle of poverty was becoming a serious issue.

“Senior, let’s just head to the Third Young Master—no, the Grand Duke. If we speak of our old ties, surely…”

“No.”

“Why not, for the love of everything?”

“Look at the way the Grand Duke has been moving lately. He is meticulously gathering every scrap of legitimacy and moral high ground he can find. Do you honestly think he’ll welcome us with open arms, knowing we are Black Lions?”

Seeking legitimacy meant keeping a wide berth from ‘dirty’ business. Even with their history, it was uncertain if the current Lucian would want anything to do with the Black Lions, who had a reputation for doing the Empire’s darkest deeds.

“Captain Raymond is a different story because he officially transitioned to being the Grand Duke’s personal guard before the North became his home. But for us, our only interaction with His Grace was during a cold mission. If rivals start prying into our history, we won’t have a leg to stand on.”

“That might have mattered when he was just the Third Young Master, but he’s the Grand Duke now. Is he really in a position where he needs to fret over such minor gossip?”

“It might be a small price to pay, but it’s still a price. Is His Grace really going to want to pay it just for our sakes?”

“…”

Widro went quiet, find no retort.

From a practical standpoint, the Black Lions were elite tools, but looking at Lucian’s current power, it wasn’t as if he was desperate for muscle. Furthermore, their ‘bond’ was really just a passing professional encounter.

‘If we’re lucky, he might take us in, but there’s just as good a chance we get the gates slammed in our faces.’

Both men let out a simultaneous sigh.

Everything hinged on Lucian’s personal outlook, and since they were in the dark about that, it was a massive headache.

“Regardless, if we just turn up and get sent away, we’ve played our last card. We need to wait for a valid reason to visit Asagrim, then find a way to integrate ourselves.”

“Is a reason like that ever going to fall into our laps?”

“How should I know, you brat? If you’re so impatient, go try your luck alone.”

“…I’ll wait for the reason.”

Having come to a reluctant consensus, the two men exchanged a nod.

If you make a direct pitch and get shot down, the door stays shut even if things change later. It was wiser to leave the path open so they wouldn’t burn their bridges if the initial reception was cold.

—

With the Imperial Family remaining silent, a period of true lawlessness gripped the Empire.

Greed, treachery, skirmishes, and shadow plays erupted in every province, and the safety of the roads crumbled daily. The lives of ordinary people turned brutal, bitterness filled the air, and outlaws thrived in every shadow.

The sole territory that seemed to enjoy quiet and growth was Asagrim in the North.

Commerce was booming more with each passing day, the citizens were vibrant, and the military was formidable. Recently, with the reveal of the Northern Royal Family’s Legacy, a tide of new talent was flowing into the region.

However, even while bathed in a peace that the rest of the world craved, the mood within Asagrim had turned heavy of late.

The mentor of Lucian, the man who had conquered the North and stood as a pillar of the age, was nearing the end of his time.

“Sir Eisen.”

“…Your Grace.”

At the sound of Lucian’s voice, Eisen, resting in his sickbed, pulled his eyes open just a crack.

His voice sounded brittle and parched, as if the mere act of speaking was an uphill battle. The terrifying presence of the Sword Saint who could once cow hundreds of knights was gone, replaced by a frail shadow.

“Are you holding up?”

“No. It feels as though my sand has nearly run out.”

“…”

Lucian found himself at a loss for words in the face of Eisen’s quiet acceptance.

Eisen offered a ghostly smile, signaling that no platitudes were necessary.

“Could you bring Felicia to me?”

“Of course. I will have her here immediately.”

Lucian made a quick sign to a waiting servant. The attendant gave a low bow and, the moment the door clicked shut, bolted down the hallway.

A short time later, the heavy thrum of footsteps bolstered by mana echoed from the corridor.

*BANG!*

“Father!”

“Softly, now.”

As Felicia charged into the room, Eisen pressed a trembling finger to his mouth.

That simple, weak movement made Felicia’s heart twist. She could see plainly that he lacked even the vitality to give her a proper scolding for her lack of restraint.

“Take a seat.”

Felicia sat down in silence, pulling her chair close.

Eisen watched her for a long interval without uttering a word. Finally, the Sword Saint broke the silence.

“Felicia.”

“I am here, Father.”

“As a knight… I have been a failure.”

“Sir Eisen.”

Eisen waved off Lucian, who tried to protest. His look made it clear he valued the sentiment, but the truth needed to be spoken.

As Lucian sat back with a heavy heart, Eisen went on.

“There is a proverb that says half of a man’s life is defined by how he lives, and the remaining half by the manner of his death. Looking at it that way, the end of my story has been quite clumsy.”

“…”

“I failed to shield my master, I couldn’t even identify the hand that struck him down, and I wasn’t even the one to exact justice, leaving that burden to His Grace instead. It is a source of great shame.”

*But your life was a beacon of brilliance.*

*You gave your loyalty to House Valdek for three generations, served two lords with distinction, and carved your name into the annals of history. You only stumbled once, at the very end.*

Lucian burned to say those things, but the words stayed in his throat.

He understood that such praise would offer no solace to a man like Eisen.

“Do not follow in my footsteps as a knight.”

“Father…”

“Guard His Grace. You must be his shield. I am not telling you to simply be a ‘renowned’ warrior. If you let your lord slip away through a moment of carelessness despite possessing all the power in the world, you will drown in your own regret.”

Rather than giving a verbal reply, Felicia squeezed Eisen’s hand with all her strength.

Eisen caught the flicker of iron resolve through her grip and smiled.

“Yes, that will do. As long as you carry that burden in your heart, you will not stumble as I did.”

“…”

“And yet.”

Pausing to catch his breath, Eisen lightly traced the tough skin on Felicia’s palm. It was as if he were feeling the legacy he had carved into the world.

“While I may have stumbled as a knight, my journey as a master of the blade was a triumph. For I have been able to provide the world with such a magnificent heir.”

“…!”

“Do not let my shadow hem you in; show everyone the true power of the Sword Saint Felicia. I do not wish to be remembered as the Sword Saint, but as the father who forged the greatest Sword Saint to ever live.”

At the sound of his gentle, prideful voice, hot tears began to fall down Felicia’s face.

Their bond as father and daughter might have started as a political maneuver to secure the future of Felicia, an illegitimate child, and to cut her loose from the House of Roglan.

And yet, no child of his own blood could have ever been more of a daughter to Eisen than she was. If a child is a reflection of the parent, then she was his most perfect mirror.

After clinging to Felicia’s hand for a long time, Eisen shifted his eyes toward Lucian.

“Your Grace.”

“I am listening.”

Lucian waited in the quiet for Eisen’s final thoughts.

He expected some tactical wisdom or parting advice, similar to what he had shared with Felicia. But the words that Eisen spoke far surpassed anything Lucian had anticipated.

“Fulfill your Great Cause.”

“…!”

Lucian felt the air leave his lungs.

This was coming from Eisen, a man who had been the living embodiment of service to House Valdek and the Empire for his entire existence. That man was now giving his blessing to Lucian’s grandest ambitions.

He was telling Lucian to seize his destiny, even if it meant the total collapse of the Empire. He had spoken the words that set fire to the very principles he had defended his whole life.

Sensing the staggering weight of that endorsement, Lucian replied with a voice that wavered with emotion.

“I will see it through. Without fail.”