Chapter 32

The final verdict was clear: Harold had passed the entrance exam with flying colors. It was the only logical outcome after he had systematically dismantled over thirty knights while remaining virtually unscathed.

Countering attacks that deviated from standard forms was child’s play for someone with Harold’s reflexes and physical prowess. By the latter half of the exam, he had grown so accustomed to the recruits' patterns that the combat felt like mere busywork. Before he knew it, the rare thrill he had momentarily felt had already ebbed away.

However, passing the exam brought its own set of complications. To put it bluntly, the sight of a newcomer beating his seniors to a pulp didn’t sit well with certain members of the Order.

"You’re that rookie, Harold, aren't you?"

"……What of it?"

"You've got a hell of an attitude. I thought I’d teach you how a fresh recruit is supposed to behave."

In short, within ten days of his induction, Harold found himself targeted by senior knights at every possible opportunity.

Is this really how knights are supposed to act? Harold wondered. From the outside, they were seen as a paragon of honor and excellence, but it seemed the Order had its fair share of rotten apples.

Intrigued by how they could act so shamelessly, Harold had questioned Sid and learned that private duels involving weapons or magic were strictly prohibited. Breaking that rule carried severe penalties.

This was why they only approached him when he was unarmed, cornering him for "fistfights." They hid their harassment under the guise of "unarmed training" rather than an illegal duel.

Harold had just finished the hand-washing duties assigned to the new recruits and was heading back to the barracks after hanging the last of the laundry when four senior knights blocked his path. He let out an audible, weary sigh.

The gesture rubbed them the wrong way, but Harold couldn't have cared less. To these men, anything he did was an affront.

As the saying goes, "Hate the monk, hate his gown." Even if they managed to land a blow on Harold, it likely wouldn't satisfy their petty resentment.

There was no reason for him to stand there and take it. If being hated was unavoidable, he was content to let them stew in their malice. Besides, engaging with them was a waste of time. Harold had only one response in mind.

He lowered his center of gravity, bending his knees slightly. The four men tensed, expecting him to pounce, but their hyper-focus became their undoing.

With a sudden surge of power in his legs, Harold vanished with a sharp whiz of displaced air.

Because they had been staring so intently at him at such close range, their field of vision had narrowed. Their eyes couldn't track his speed, leaving them a step behind.

By the time they realized Harold was gone, he had already kicked off the stone wall to his right, using the momentum to rocket forward. In less than a second, he had cleared twenty meters, leaving them in the dust.

At that distance, they had no hope of catching him. When they finally spun around, Harold’s back was already a distant speck.

He ignored the angry roar of "Wait, you bastard!" and headed toward a more populated area. They wouldn't dare cause a scene if there were witnesses.

If I just keep dodging them like this, I won’t have to deal with their nonsense.

(Still, with so many idiots like that in the ranks, Vincent really has his work cut out for him.)

Harold mused on this as he widened the gap.

In the game, Vincent was a terrifyingly powerful foe, but the man himself was a saint to the core. He was a paragon who lived by a rigid code of righteousness, both as a human and a knight.

"A knight is the Kingdom's sword and shield."

That was his creed, but Vincent’s definition of the "Kingdom" wasn't limited to the crown. To him, the Kingdom was the people.

To borrow a line from the original story:

"A nation is its people. Without them, a King has no purpose. Thus, it is the King’s duty to lead and provide a sanctuary of peace. We knights exist to eliminate the threats that prey upon them and to forge a path forward, so that both the crown and the commoner may fulfill their roles!"

He was a man who valued honor, respected etiquette, protected the weak, and showed no mercy to those who harmed the innocent.

Vincent was undeniably right, and he was strong enough to make his ideals a reality. Perhaps he felt he had no choice but to be that strong. As a result, the Vincent of the original story was eventually crushed by the weight of his own impossible ideals, leading to his eventual downfall.

Anyway, Harold thought, getting back on track, this 'hazing' tradition is the exact opposite of the organization Vincent wants to build. He probably hates this stuff. Once he becomes Commander, he'll likely purge these old, toxic habits.

Harold hoped Vincent would hurry up and take charge as he reached the barracks. He returned the wooden laundry basket and made his way to the Grand Dining Hall. It was past noon, and the hall was crowded—a perfect deterrent for his "fans."

As a side note, the basic meals in the Grand Dining Hall were free. High-end dishes or sides cost a small fee, but it was negligible.

Harold, who had no strong culinary preferences and ate a moderate amount, ordered the standard set and claimed an empty seat. Naturally, he ate alone.

Given his reputation for being a magnet for trouble, Harold was avoided by seniors and peers alike. While there was already a natural divide between him and the other recruits due to the unique circumstances of his enlistment, the primary reason for his isolation was the fear of being caught in the crossfire of his constant conflicts.

"You’ve got a sour look on your face again, Harold."

There were, however, exceptions to every rule. A man sat down next to Harold without an ounce of hesitation.

It was Sid. Following his lead, Robinson and Aileen took the seats opposite them.

"What do you want?"

"I saw a poor, lonely junior eating all by his lonesome. My heart bled for you, so I decided to keep you company."

"Unnecessary meddling. Besides, don't you lack any real friends? I’ve never seen you with anyone but these two."

"Don't be stupid. I’m not like Robin."

"I wish you wouldn't say things I can't even argue with……" Robinson muttered, dejected. He slumped his shoulders and stirred his soup with his spoon like a sulking child.

Having spent a fair amount of time around them lately, Harold had come to realize that despite his massive, intimidating frame, Robinson was a timid, sensitive, and incredibly gentle soul. His personality was the polar opposite of his appearance.

While there was no reason to fear him, Harold still needed time to adjust. Whenever Robinson suddenly entered his peripheral vision, Harold still reflexively tensed up.

"Anyway, you've sure become popular. Dealing with the seniors looks like a real pain," Sid said, his tone dropping slightly. It seemed even he had heard the whispers from those who held a grudge against Harold.

The fact that Sid still treated him so frankly despite the social pressure proved he was a good man. Robinson and Aileen also looked at Harold with genuine concern.

"……Indeed. I'm currently surrounded by troublesome pests," Harold spat.

"If you can still talk like that, I guess you're doing just fine." Sid let out a hearty laugh, unfazed by the insult.

Aileen, on the other hand, let out a long sigh.

"Seriously, you are so uncharitable. You’ll never make friends—let alone a girlfriend—with that attitude."

"Bwahaha! A girlfriend? That’s rich, coming from you—!"

"Did you have something to say, Sid?"

Before Sid could finish his sentence, Aileen’s left straight connected squarely with his face. A red streak immediately began to leak from his nose.

"Hmph. Fortunately, I have no need for such things," Harold replied.

"I’ll bet~."

As Harold answered the intimidating Aileen, Cody appeared out of nowhere and draped an arm over Harold's right shoulder, his face wearing that signature, faint smirk.

The other three seemed used to his sudden entrances and didn't react. Harold, however, felt his heart skip a beat from the shock, even if his expression remained a mask of arrogance.

"After all, Harold-kun already has a fiancée, doesn't he? No need to go looking for a girlfriend now~."

Cody dropped the bombshell without any warning. Between the surprise and the sheer absurdity of the comment, Harold failed to react in time. In fact, he made a catastrophic mistake.

"……How do you know about that?"

The moment the question left his lips, it was as good as a confession.

Sid, who was busy wiping blood from his nose with his sleeve, grabbed Harold's other shoulder.

"Wait, let's hear the details, Harold. You actually have a fiancée?"

"Oh, yeah. She’s a real sweetheart. The kind of girl who defines the phrase 'refined young lady of a noble house'—modest, elegant, the whole package."

For some reason, Cody was the one answering Sid's interrogation.

It was infuriating, but the bigger problem was that Cody clearly knew about Erika.

"Hey, how do you know about her—"

"Her? You called her 'her' just now? Are you already acting like a husband at your age?!"

"Gah, stop shouting! You're annoying!"

"Well then, I should get back to work. You kids try to keep the noise down~."

While Harold struggled to peel off a clinging Sid, the man responsible for the chaos waved a lazy hand and vanished. There was no time to catch him.

The commotion didn't die down, however. Harold was left to deal with Sid’s frantic shouting of "A fiancée already?!" and Aileen’s shock that an "antisocial brat" had beaten her to the punch. Robinson could only hover nearby, flustered as he tried to calm everyone down.

It was a very loud afternoon.

---

More than half of the Order lived in the barracks scattered across the headquarters' grounds.

New recruits were generally consigned to cramped six-person rooms for their first few years. As their tenure and rank increased, they eventually moved up to three-person and then two-person rooms.

Married knights lived in private homes, and single members could move out if they met certain criteria. However, communal living for the first four years was a mandatory requirement.

Because of this system, the Vice Commander of the Knight Order was granted a proper private suite—an office, a study, and a reception room attached to his living quarters.

To Vincent, it felt like an excessive amount of space, but he valued having a place where he could speak without being overheard.

Consequently, his old friend Cody tended to become even more relaxed once he was inside these walls, as there was no longer any need to maintain professional appearances.

Currently, Cody was sprawled across the three-seater sofa in the reception room. He lay on his back with his legs crossed, using his left arm as a pillow while flipping through documents with his right hand.

"Hmm. So he's been volunteering for subjugation expeditions for about three years now, huh?"

The papers in Cody’s hand contained all the intelligence they had gathered on Harold. It was still limited to what could be observed from the outside.

The reason Cody knew about Erika was that she had been listed as Harold's fiancée, complete with a portrait, in a previous investigative report Vincent had commissioned.

After skimming the file, Cody sat up and looked at Vincent. "So? Why are you having me read all this?"

"I’m assigning Harold to your squad soon. This is for your situational awareness."

"Whoa, hold on. Harold hasn't even been here a month. Usually, they don't get assigned until they finish the basic training course."

"I’ve judged it unnecessary for him. He’ll take the final exam for the sake of formality, but he’ll pass without issue."

"Well, yeah, probably. Still, this is a massive exception to the rules."

"Harold is exceptional. It would be a waste to force him into a generic mold; he needs appropriate education. Besides, as a thirteen-year-old—the youngest recruit in history—he’s going to draw attention no matter what we do."

"Taking him under your wing, then? But this is gonna make him stand out even more."

"Which is why I need you to act as his windshield."

The two men locked eyes for a moment.

Cody was the first to look away, letting out a long, weary breath. "I get what you’re saying—at least the official version."

"……So you’ve seen through me."

"It's not that hard. If that were all there was to it, you wouldn't need to go this far."

Cody tossed the documents onto the table. His intuition was sharp, and Vincent had never intended to keep his true motives from his friend. The formal part of the conversation was over; now they reached the heart of the matter.

"Cody, tell me. What did you think of Harold’s combat during the entrance exam?"

"……It was impossible. The way he moved—it was like he was specifically optimized to counter the Knight Order’s style. It's beyond anything I expected."

It seemed Cody had reached the same conclusion as Vincent. Harold’s performance had been too perfect, too deliberate.

"I agree. We need to find out where and how he learned to fight like that."

"But Harold is a high-ranking noble. A hardcore pure-bloodist, at that."

Cody made a calming gesture, sensing Vincent’s underlying fear that Harold might be connected to an organization hostile to the Kingdom.

"The murder of that servant's family might be the result of those connections," Vincent countered.

"True, I can't deny that…… but he also got hurt protecting that soldier. You can't just write him off as a villain based on rumors."

"That is exactly why I’m having him join your unit immediately. I need to verify his background and his character. You are the only one I can trust with this."

"So, I’m his watchdog. I still wonder if it’s really necessary to go this far, though."

"I cannot trust someone simply because they are a noble. We both learned that lesson ten years ago with Noheik’s defection."

Cody fell silent. The betrayal of Carem Noheik was a memory they both wished to bury. Carem had been the King’s confidant and the head of the prestigious House Noheik, yet he had leaked classified information and accepted massive bribes from corrupt trading companies. His crimes were too numerous to count.

Crucially, his leaks had included sensitive data regarding the Order of the Holy King.

Once imprisoned, Carem had committed suicide by repeatedly smashing his head against his cell wall, taking his secrets to the grave. The state had managed to punish the colluding merchants, but they still didn't know exactly how much classified information had been compromised or where it had gone.

The betrayal of a man trusted by the King, the Order, and the people had caused a shock far greater than any material damage.

"I don't believe that incident is truly over," Vincent continued. "The negative legacy he left behind—the people who conspired with Noheik—are likely still lurking in the heart of this country."

"……If you’re going that far, you must have some leads. And you think Harold might be connected to them."

"Either that, or he’s connected to a third party that obtained the information Noheik leaked. It’s all speculation for now. I’m sorry to put this on you, and I feel for Harold, but even so—"

"Alright, alright, I get it. I’ll do it."

Cody cut him off before he could say I have to doubt him.

"……My apologies."

"Why are you apologizing? Just say thanks. You’re way too serious for your own good, Vincent."

"Perhaps it's because the man who was always by my side did nothing but slack off. I had to become serious enough for the both of us. It would be a great help if you decided to turn over a new leaf."

"Ouch. My ears are ringing. I’m out of here."

Cody shrugged and made a quick exit from the reception room.

As the door clicked shut, Vincent stared at the space his old friend had occupied. He whispered a word of gratitude, knowing it wouldn't reach him.

"Thank you."