YC Chapter 11

 

As the two horses charged toward each other, the distance between them quickly closed. At the moment they brushed past each other, their lances collided violently, producing a sharp, piercing sound. After the blinding clash, the horses’ pace gradually slowed. Equila yanked fiercely on the reins to turn his horse around.

 

At that moment, as the force of the pull caused the horse to rear with a loud neigh, one of the reins connected to the bridle snapped. Equila lost his balance and was thrown off the horse.

 

Daphne, who had been fixated on Johannes, flinched. For a moment, most of the spectators failed to notice the snapping of the rein. However, Johannes, who was also turning his horse around, caught sight of Equila’s reins breaking unnaturally.

 

What’s this?

 

Feeling something was off, Johannes dismounted. He waited for Equila to stand again, wanting a fair match. His nature was closer to that of a warrior than a king.

 

Though Equila appeared shaken from rolling several times on the ground after his fall, he managed to stand up straightaway. He didn’t seem injured but was more humiliated by falling off his horse. Losing his composure, Equila hurled his lance with ferocious force.

 

Johannes raised his shield to block it. However, the sheer power behind the throw pierced the upper part of the shield. As Johannes staggered backward, kicking up dust, he quickly turned his head. The tip of Equila’s lance grazed his cheek. The arena erupted with a mixture of cheers and screams.

 

In the next instant, without the slightest hesitation, Johannes used the momentum from being pushed back to leap forward.

 

Daphne, as if entranced, stood from her seat.

 

Johannes discarded his shield and, using the ground for a running start, leaped lightly in an arc. His movements were graceful, like a leopard. The next moment, his blade plunged deeply into the nape of Equila’s neck and withdrew. It happened in the blink of an eye. Most of the spectators didn’t immediately realize Johannes had struck Equila with his sword.

 

Daphne slowly walked to the edge of the watchtower and gripped the railing.

 

Equila stood motionless for a moment before slowly collapsing forward. The audience finally grasped the situation. Shock, astonishment, and horror filled the air. For a brief moment, no one made a sound. Then, the cheers of the Inacos Union soldiers erupted, shaking the earth and sky.

 

Johannes strode leisurely toward the fallen Equila and decapitated him. Crimson blood splattered across the white sand. The frenzied cheers grew even louder. On the watchtower, which had been filled with unshakable confidence in Equila’s victory, a deathly silence fell. Then, King Bathion fainted, causing an uproar.

 

There were screams, perhaps Jeffrey’s agitated voice among them, but Daphne paid no attention to the chaos behind her.

 

Was it repulsive?

 

Hardly.

 

The man who raised the severed head high into the air, drenched in hot blood, staring directly at her, didn’t frighten her at all. Her heart pounded painfully. Daphne had no choice but to admit it.

 

His victory was her victory.

 

An unprecedented thrill. An uncontrollable euphoria.

 

The joy of a first victory was like that—overflowing endlessly, excitement so intense it felt like her heart might burst.

 

Her hands gripping the railing trembled, as did her chin.

 

Johannes Tenen.

 

The most formidable enemy.

 

The black-haired monster.

 

The blood-soaked butcher.

 

He was the man who had taught her the joy of a first victory.

 

***

 

“Johannes! Johannes! Johannes!”

 

The frenzied shouts of the crowd reverberated through his body. The sense of victory was undeniable. Yet Johannes felt filthier than ever. It seemed clear that someone had tampered with this sacred duel.

 

Johannes lifted his head and glared toward the watchtower. With the aged Bathion having collapsed from the shock, the silver-haired Thessalians were scrambling in confusion. Naturally, the woman standing alone, gripping the railing and staring down at him, caught his eye.

 

Her silver hair shimmered under the sunlight like ripples, and her gem-like violet eyes stood out.

 

Bathion’s daughter.

 

The woman he had encountered in the forest.

 

And likely, the fiancée of the man he had just killed.

 

At first, he thought she was paralyzed with shock.

 

Johannes’ eyes narrowed slowly.

 

For a moment, he thought he must have seen wrong.

 

“…Is she crazy?”

 

Incredibly, the woman was smiling. As if deeply moved.

 

***

 

The soldiers of Itium, who had begun preparing for their return in earnest, bustled about the gray beach from early morning.

 

Among them, Günther Havok stood out immediately despite wearing the same cloak as everyone else. This was due to his light pigmentation, unusual for someone from Itium. His hair was the color of a sunlit wheat field, and his eyes shone with a bright green hue, like fresh young leaves. At a glance, he appeared less like a soldier of the Union and more like a prisoner captured by them.

 

This was evidence that Günther was not of pure noble Itium lineage. He was the child of Lady Havok, who had likely had an affair with a traveling bard from the Wesel Continent.

 

For nobles, who prized honor above their lives, the Duke of Havok acknowledged Günther as a member of the Havok family out of fear that their family name would become a subject of ridicule. However, he waited for the day when he could rid himself of Günther from his sight permanently.

 

That opportunity arose when Günther was just entering his teenage years. When Bathion of Velarez massacred the delegation sent by Henrik of Inodenia, a war erupted. The Duke of Havok recognized this as his chance. It was the perfect opportunity for his wife’s son, the embodiment of years of disgrace and shame, to fulfill his duty and die an honorable death.

 

And so, the scrawny boy, who looked nothing like a nobleman’s son but rather like a street rat, was sent to the battlefield. It was essentially a form of exile, tantamount to a death sentence. A rather clichéd story, as most young noble soldiers sent to the battlefield shared similar backgrounds.

 

Like many young soldiers sent to this place, Günther awaited the day of his death. Curled up in a stinking barracks, he thought that his long lifespan was a stroke of bad luck. However, the young boy lacked even the courage to take his own life. Somehow, he survived for two years, and one day, he met Johannes for the first time—Johannes, who carried a four-year-old on his back.

 

“How can a king be here? Are you really a king?”

 

In Günther’s opinion, this meeting marked a turning point in his life.

 

After meeting Johannes, Günther became his knight and, for the first time in his life, wanted to live. The street rat who once only hoped for a painless death grew into a man who exhibited a vitality on par with Johannes himself. He was no longer the street rat of the Havok estate but dreamed of returning as an honorable knight of the king.

 

And this was no longer an unattainable dream. By the time the oppressive heat subsided and the west wind began to blow, it would become a reality. While busy with the preparations for the return, Günther was thrilled. Most of Johannes’s soldiers felt the same; they were more motivated than ever.

 

Günther, who was passionately delivering his report, suddenly paused to observe Johannes. Johannes was gazing into the air with a serious expression. Günther asked hesitantly, “…Johannes, are you listening to me?”

 

No answer came. Günther sighed, realizing that Johannes once again hadn’t been paying attention to a word he said.

 

“Dammit, why can’t you focus lately?”

 

Amid the general excitement that permeated the entire Itium camp, Johannes sometimes seemed like a man preoccupied with something. Of course, Günther could understand his reaction.

 

It was his first time setting foot on his homeland since being driven to the battlefield. For eight years, he had honed his blade, and now, his bloody revenge was within reach. Günther himself occasionally felt his veins tighten with tension, so how much more must Johannes be feeling it?

 

Although Johannes’s war as the commander of the Inacos Union was over, he was probably more nervous now than ever. Reflecting on his earlier irritation, Günther lightened his tone with a teasing remark.

 

“So, you do know what it means to feel nervous.”

 

Only then did Johannes glance at Günther briefly. Günther responded with a smile as if to say he understood everything. Then, suddenly, Johannes opened his mouth to speak.

 

“The princess.”

 

“…The princess? What…?”

 

Günther was momentarily confused. That was only natural since, to his knowledge, there was no “princess” for Johannes to mention.

***

 

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