The dazzling Kingdom Festival had finally begun.
For several days, the vast Royal Capital would be cloaked in celebration. During this time, the citizens of the capital would lose themselves in wine and lively conversation, shaking off the exhaustion of their daily lives. It was a period of wonderful festivity, overflowing with joy.
Naturally, the prominent organizations representing the capital held their own events to mark the occasion. Princess Eliana made her rounds to offer greetings, while Saint Seraphina delivered blessings from the Cathedral. Yet, because the festival shone so brightly, the shadows it cast were equally deep.
Within one of Marquis Pipe’s private estates—located just a stone's throw from the Guesthouse where Princess Eliana was currently resting—as many as three hundred hardened warriors had assembled. Among them was Werner von Krosso, the son of a Viscount who had recently made contact with Albert von Kronstadt.
These were the volunteers of the "Iron-Blood Alliance."
Every man present was an armed elite. Their objective: the kidnapping of Princess Eliana.
The doors to the massive hall swung open as the scouts returned.
"Princess Eliana has returned to the Guesthouse!"
Tension rippled through the room. The moment had finally arrived. Werner’s hands clenched instinctively.
(With this... with this... the glorious "Old Noble Tradition" will live again!)
Werner was intoxicated by the word "revolution." There would likely be many casualties; the opposition would surely resist with everything they had to protect the Princess. Even if they succeeded, it wouldn't be the end. Rather, that was when the real struggle would begin.
Many citizens enjoying the festival would likely be caught in the crossfire. Many parents would lose children, and children would lose parents. The capital would be drenched in blood and tears.
(But it can't be helped. It’s for the sake of correcting the current distortions. This is a necessary sacrifice to restore the value of our noble bloodlines.)
I will see this through, no matter what.
Werner tightened his grip. The mastermind, Marquis Pipe—a man in his mid-forties—stepped forward.
"Listen well, gentlemen! The time has finally come to execute our justice! We shall strike down the ignorant, boorish royalty! We will secure Princess Eliana and present our demands. If we, the elite with our unwavering resolve, unite as one, the escort knights will be as easy to crush as a baby’s hand. This is the moment history changes!"
"OOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"
Three hundred knights raised their arms, their voices rising like a localized earthquake. Werner joined the roar, his excitement peaking. They were standing at the very edge of history.
It was then that Werner noticed something out of place.
A short girl with pink hair was strolling toward the Marquis with a brisk, airy step, as if she were heading out for a picnic. She was utterly out of place.
Why was a woman who wasn't part of their cause walking through the room? Why was no one raising an alarm? Werner looked at the men around him, but no one else seemed to notice her. Her eyes were fixed solely on the Marquis.
In that instant, Werner remembered.
(That girl!)
She was the one who had appeared during the recruitment of Albert von Kronstadt—the one who had neutralized the knights and beaten Werner to a pulp!
Fury boiled within him, but it was quickly overtaken by a flood of questions.
(How did she find this place?!)
Werner hadn't breathed a word about the operation's details.
(What is she doing here?!)
No answers came. Werner didn't realize that the only reason he could even see her today—when she had been like a ghost at the church—was because the trauma of their previous encounter had burned her image into his mind. Today, he was lucky. Or perhaps, profoundly unlucky.
Confusion took hold of him.
"Someone! Stop that girl!" he shrieked.
"Now, march forth! Toward a glorious future—!"
The Marquis’s finishing cry and Milia’s arrival behind him happened in the same heartbeat.
"Ah-ha! Why don't you just march straight to hell?"
As her voice rang out, Marquis Pipe’s body lurched. His ecstatic expression vanished, replaced by bulging eyes and a mouth twisted in agony. He tried to look over his shoulder, but failed.
The Marquis’s massive frame hit the floor with a heavy thud. A knife wound gaped in his back, his clothes rapidly staining crimson.
The roar of the crowd died instantly.
"M-Marquis...?"
"What’s happening?"
"Stop this sick joke!"
Several knights in the front row rushed to his side. However, standing over the Marquis’s corpse was Milia, a blood-slicked dagger in her hand. A sadistic smile danced on her lips.
"No! Stay back!" Werner screamed, but he was too late.
Milia’s dagger flashed. In the blink of an eye, she slit the throats of the approaching knights. Blood sprayed, dyeing the floor red. Beyond the mist of gore, the petite, pink-haired girl continued to wear that thin smile. Even now, no one else could see her through her presence concealment.
"U-U-Uwaaaaaaaaaaa!"
"Enemy attack! An enemy attack!"
The knights' cries triggered a total panic. The entire group surged toward the only exit—the double doors at the back of the hall. High-minded ideals vanished, replaced by raw terror and the instinct to survive.
Werner was the first to move. Because he could see through Milia’s concealment, he knew exactly what she was.
(I don't want to die! I don't want to die!)
He no longer cared about bloodline supremacy. He shoved his way through the sea of knights, racing for the exit.
(Almost there! If I can just get outside—!)
Suddenly, the doors were slammed open from the outside.
Two beautiful women stood in the doorway, neither of whom Werner recognized. One was Silvia, an elegant woman with flowing silver hair; the other was Kaname Shiunin, a samurai with her black hair tied back in a ponytail.
"Hear me, you insolent rebels! Lord Albert informed us of your foolish plot! You wretches who would drag this capital into the fires of war! I, Kaname Shiunin, shall take your heads and restore peace to the people!"
Werner couldn't stop. He was being propelled forward by the weight of three hundred panicked men behind him.
"Thunder Beast Shroud!"
Golden Armor of crackling electricity enveloped Kaname’s body. She lunged forward in a blur of lightning.
"——!"
Werner gasped at her impossible speed. In an instant, Kaname was right in front of him.
"U-U-Uwaaaaaaa!"
"Thunderclap Slash!"
A flash of lightning-fast steel. Werner’s eyes caught the golden glow. By the time he realized the blade was wreathed in lightning, he was already airborne.
To be more precise, only Werner’s head remained airborne.
His consciousness had not yet faded as he watched the scene from mid-air. The female samurai who had decapitated him was carving a path through the knights with terrifying momentum. Simultaneously, the silver-haired woman charged the collapsed front line. She, too, possessed superhuman physical abilities, cutting down the frantic knights with ease.
(What is this strength? What are they?!)
Questions he couldn't answer swirled in his mind. His brain tried to process it all, but with its oxygen supply cut off, his thoughts began to flicker out.
The last thing he remembered was the name the samurai had shouted: Albert.
(Was this Albert’s doing? Who is he? That assassin... that samurai... that silver-haired woman... why does he have such monsters serving him? How did he even know we were here?!)
There was no winning against him. He was an Absolute Being.
(Damn it... I didn't want to die in a pathetic fight like this. Why did it come to this? I don't want to die... please...)
As that final thought vanished, Werner’s head hit the floor.