Chapter 49

The day after her fateful encounter with Harold, Lifa found herself standing before the entry checkpoint for Mount Giran, a restricted area managed by the Knight Order. Naturally, Harold was with her, as was a person of indeterminate gender who had somehow tagged along. Their name was apparently El.

Walking several paces ahead of the group, Harold pulled a single piece of parchment from his breast pocket and thrust it toward a knight attempting to block their path. The guards, who had initially bristled with hostility—likely upon recognizing Harold—turned pale the moment they laid eyes on the document.

Lifa had no way of knowing what was written on the parchment, but the knights made no effort to hide their resentment, casting venomous glares at Harold’s back as he stepped onto the mountain path.

Paying their hostility no mind, Harold strode forward with purpose. He moved with such confidence that one might have thought he already knew the way to the summit by heart.

Watching his retreating figure, a question flickered in Lifa's mind: Just who is this Harold person to be so utterly loathed by the knights? Based on the reactions at the diner the day before and El’s stories, he was clearly famous. Looking at it objectively, his alias—the "Knight Killer"—was unsettling in the extreme.

While Lifa’s primary objective was to record data on the Ice Dragon (Hydra), she found her interest in the man named Harold growing by the second. She was not the sort of person who possessed enough self-restraint to let her intellectual curiosity go unsatisfied.

As they navigated the mountain path, where patches of snow still clung to the earth, she finally spoke up.

"Hey, Harold. Why exactly are you called the 'Knight Killer'?"

"The local rabble simply enjoy the sound of their own voices," he replied dismissively.

"Wasn't the catalyst for that nickname the incident five years ago?" El chimed in.

El’s tone suggested they knew a great deal about Harold’s history. Harold shot El a look sharp enough to kill, silently demanding they shut their mouth.

Even Lifa, who prided herself on her nerves of steel, felt a shiver run down her spine. The sheer intensity was suffocating; perhaps this was what people meant when they spoke of "killing intent."

However, Harold didn't have the chance to say anything more.

A pack of White Wolves emerged from the dense treeline, growling low in their throats. It seemed the group had encroached upon their territory, as the beasts had already dropped into combat stances.

The White Wolf was a monster known for its beautiful, snow-white fur. Despite their elegant appearance, their nature was ferocious. Individually, they weren't particularly formidable, but they were pack hunters; encountering a large group was a situation that required immediate caution.

Lifa quickly organized her knowledge. She had researched the monsters indigenous to Mount Giran beforehand and had prepared accordingly. Reaching inside her white coat, she pulled out three test tubes, expertly held between her fingers.

She hurled them toward the center of the pack with a reckless toss.

The aim was clumsy, and the glass tubes shattered against the frozen ground with a sharp pop.

A split second later, a thunderous roar echoed through the trees as a massive explosion erupted. The White Wolves caught in the inferno were instantly vaporized, their remains scattered across the clearing.

The battle ended with a single throw.

"Decent enough power," Lifa muttered, nodding with a satisfied smirk.

She had developed this weapon specifically to deal damage to a large monster like the Ice Dragon. Small fries like these didn't stand a chance.

"I’ve never seen magic like that. How did you do it?" El asked, sounding impressed.

"That's a corporate secret. Let’s just say it isn't your average magic!"

Lifa stood tall, hands on her hips as she basked in the praise. Whether her invention actually counted as "magic" was a matter of debate, but it was her masterpiece. Being admired by El didn't feel half bad.

Harold, by contrast, remained unimpressed. In fact, he looked at her with blatant scorn.

"Making such a fuss over a mere toy... it shows how shallow your talent truly is."

"Excuse me?"

Lifa wasn't about to let him call her masterpiece a "toy" without a fight. But the moment she moved to snap back, a blinding flash of light seared her vision. Reflexively squeezing her eyes shut, she felt something streak past her ear.

Immediately afterward, a pained shriek erupted from behind her.

As the flash subsided, Lifa spun around to find a White Wolf—or what was left of one—charred and dead on the ground. They had been caught in a pincer attack; the beast had been lunging for her back.

Lifa hadn't even sensed it. If not for Harold, she might have died right there.

"It doesn't matter how powerful your weapons are; if you let your guard down in combat, you’re less than third-rate. If you're so eager to die a pointless death, go do it somewhere else."

"Ugh..."

Without another word, Harold turned on his heel and resumed his climb.

His delivery was grating, but he was absolutely right. There was an inexplicable weight to his words that silenced her. At the same time, she felt a small, honest thrill at him acknowledging her "excellent means of attack," backhanded though the compliment was.

Did the weight she felt in his voice come from the life he had lived? No one who lived a peaceful, ordinary life ended up with a name like the "Knight Killer."

"Are you curious? About his past," El whispered into her ear, keeping their voice low enough to stay out of Harold's range.

Naturally, she was.

"I mean, a little..." Lifa replied, her response uncharacteristically hesitant.

She was intrigued, but Harold clearly carried a heavy burden. There was a nagging sense of guilt about learning his secrets from a third party rather than the man himself. Curiosity and ethics warred within her.

"Just so you know, what I have to tell you isn't exactly a state secret," El added.

According to El, the world was full of anecdotes and rumors regarding Harold Stokes, though how much of it was truth remained a mystery. More importantly, the details of the "crimes" Harold had allegedly committed were public record—Lifa was simply the only one who didn't know them.

Essentially, El was only offering facts that anyone could find if they looked hard enough, along with the plausible rumors that filled in the gaps.

"That sounds like a lot of speculation. El, are you sure you aren't an old friend of his?"

"Goodness, no. Just like you, yesterday was the first time we ever met," El stated brightly.

That only deepened the mystery. "Then why on earth did you come with us?"

"I've been interested in him and his 'circumstances' for a while now. This was a once-in-a-lifetime chance to speak with him directly."

"You followed us into a monster-infested mountain just for that? You're crazy."

"To be honest, even I didn't think he'd let me tag along so easily."

El let out a lighthearted laugh. They had claimed to be a traveler, so they surely had some way of defending themselves, but their demeanor reminded Lifa of a small herbivore casually strolling through a predator’s den. It felt like they might get eaten the moment she took her eyes off them.

"But anyway, what do you think? Do you want to know?"

...We're going to be stuck together for the next few days anyway. It probably wouldn't hurt to know who I'm traveling with, Lifa reasoned.

In the end, she surrendered to her curiosity.

---

To speak of Harold Stokes is to inevitably mention the phrase: "The youngest recruit in the history of the Knight Order." At the time, he was hailed as a once-in-a-century genius, but his glory was short-lived.

On his first mission, only months after joining, he supposedly disobeyed a direct order from his superior and fled from the enemy. Furthermore, when he was eventually apprehended, he was found wearing a Sarian Imperial uniform, leading to charges of espionage.

Ordinarily, Harold would have been executed on the spot—but a stay of execution was granted.

The voices that rose in his defense were powerful: his own family, House Stokes; House Sumeragi, whose eldest daughter was his fiancé; and several high-ranking members of the Knight Order. House Sumeragi was particularly influential, and the plea for leniency from their virtuous head, Tasuku, ultimately led to a reduced sentence.

Following a re-deliberation, Harold’s custody was transferred to a specific research institute. He had been found to possess the unique aptitude required for their practical experiments. On the condition that he serve as a test subject without compensation, he was spared not only the death penalty but a standard prison sentence as well.

Should he ever break the terms of this agreement, the execution order would be reinstated immediately. Thus, Harold has lived his life to this day as a human lab rat.

"And that," El concluded, "is the public image of Harold Stokes."

"What? That guy is absolute scum," Lifa spat.

The sun had set, making further travel impossible. They had set up camp for the night. Harold had pitched his tent a short distance away and was currently tending the campfire. Taking advantage of the distance, El and Lifa were huddled together in their own tent, speaking in hushed tones.

Lifa didn't seem to mind sharing a tent with El in the slightest, despite the fact that El had yet to reveal their gender.

"It gets better. He even spit in the face of his benefactors, House Sumeragi. After the re-deliberation, he was the one who demanded the engagement be annulled."

"He's beyond scum. He's total trash," Lifa muttered, her voice dripping with contempt. Given the story she’d just heard, her reaction was perfectly reasonable.

But El wasn't finished.

"Do you understand now why he’s so universally hated?"

"I think I’ve got the picture, yeah."

"But you see, there are too many things about this story that don't make sense."

"Inexplicable? Like what?"

"And that is exactly why I find him so fascinating."

The first thing that had struck El as odd was the severity of the initial sentence. Would the authorities really move to execute the son of a noble family so hastily?

"The only crime Harold actually committed was desertion. And that was during a sudden ambush on his very first patrol. It’s hardly unheard of for a terrified new recruit to bolt."

"But he was an imperial spy, wasn't he?"

"The keyword is suspicion of espionage. In truth, there was no proof that Harold was an operative, and no actual damage was done to the Kingdom."

"Wait... then what was the evidence?"

"He was simply found wearing the uniform. The reason why he had it was never determined."

"Well, obviously it's because he was a spy!"

"Then they should have stated that as a fact. Instead, the legal documents only ever refer to it as a 'suspicion' right up to the final verdict."

It was bizarre. The punishment was far too heavy for the crime. If he were a confirmed spy, it should have been recorded as such. If he were only a suspect, the rush to execute him was alarmingly fast.

"House Stokes isn't the most powerful family, but they are established nobility. Do you really think they’d sentence a primary heir to death after only two weeks of deliberation?"

"I... I guess not."

"And if he really were a spy, they would have prioritized interrogating him for information over killing him. I’ve never heard of a death sentence being handed down while bypassing that step entirely."

It was unprecedented. It felt as though the legal proceedings were a mere formality—as if the verdict had been decided before the trial even began. Or perhaps, as if the death sentence itself was merely a stage for the eventual "commutation" to the research institute.

"I agree it's weird, but how do you know all this, El? Are you sure you just met him?"

"I'm sure. But being a traveler means having ears everywhere. You'd be surprised what people are willing to say."

In truth, El had ways of making people talk. Posing as a merchant, a noble, or a reporter was easy. They had connections everywhere. Even finding Harold's current location had been a result of their professional network.

"Hmph. Well, have you ever talked to anyone who actually knew him back then? That might actually give us the truth."

"As a matter of fact, I have. Shall I tell you what his former superior had to say about the incident?"

El had met the man about three years ago. He was the commander who had been Harold’s direct superior, and the one who had shouted the loudest in protest when the death sentence was first announced.

Cody Luzial. El recalled the man’s perpetually tired expression. They had met in a tavern where Cody was severely intoxicated. Even so, the moment Harold’s name was mentioned, he had fought through his drunken stupor to pour his heart out.

"In this line of work, I've seen more idiots than I can count..." Cody had said, counting them off on his fingers while clutching a glass. "You've got the self-righteous idiots who charge in without thinking. The selfish idiots who only care about themselves. And then you've got the plain old-fashioned idiots..."

He had drained his glass in one gulp, exhaling a breath heavy with spirits.

"But that kid... that kid is a reckless idiot who doesn't give a damn about his own life."

With those words, the true story begins. This was merely the prologue to the harsh and violent life of Harold Stokes.