Ch.284EP.62 – What is a Knight’s Cause to Fight? (7)

The elderly knight, who had been consistently calm and kind, suddenly spoke in a stern tone.

“I’d like to clear up a misunderstanding—our order has absolutely never practiced necromancy.”

“I-I see.”

“Let me emphasize again: we have NEVER practiced necromancy. And certainly not black magic!”

“Y-yes…”

“Those armors are cutting-edge equipment made solely through alchemy and medical arts. Though the materials may be monster bones and muscles, they’ve all been purified through holy water. Ah, and for reference, the power moving the armor comes from spirits we’ve subjugated. In the case of ghost horses, think of them as contracts with animal spirits that still have attachments to this world. So I hope there won’t be any misunderstandings.”

“I don’t think I’ve been misunderstanding anything…”

“Ahem, r-really?”

“…You must have faced many unfair accusations?”

“…Many indeed. So very many…”

“……”

The elderly knight Ganok’s muttering revealed deep resentment and countless past injustices.

He must have often been mistaken for a necromancer or black mage—ominous practitioners of dark arts.

Well.

‘They do look eerie, to be fair.’

Glance.

Ihan subtly surveyed the ghosts (baekgwi) zealously guarding the perimeter.

The living ghost armors that looked more like cursed armor than regular armor.

Ghost horses made from various animal bones, with blue flames surrounding their feet and tails.

How could anyone see them as a proper knightly order?

‘Cursed Knights or Death Knights would be more fitting names.’

However, one thing was clear: despite their sinister appearance, the energy they emitted was remarkably pure.

There was none of the unpleasantness or disgust typical of spellcasters, nor the gloominess and stench of death associated with necromancers.

Just the typical smell of metal and sweat from knights.

So they were simply…

‘Too ahead of their time.’

By about 100 years?

Perhaps if subculture and cosplay culture ever bloomed in this world, they might be more accepted.

“Maybe I should draw comics when I retire?”

“What’s that?”

“It’s a thing. But why aren’t you wearing that armor? Aren’t you part of the same order?”

He’d heard this man was the vice-captain, yet he alone wore thick plate armor, making him look like a black swan—or rather, a strange bird—among white swans.

Wondering if there was a reason, Ihan asked…

“I cannot tolerate receiving help from such contraptions!”

“…Ah.”

Hearing this maddening answer, Ihan gave up trying to understand this person in a different way.

…How could one understand someone who seemed to have regressed by a hundred, no, several hundred years?

Ihan found himself thinking it was hard to find normal knights among the great noble houses’ orders.

* * *

Ihan’s awkward journey with the Baekgwi ended in less than ten minutes.

Not because they parted ways, but because…

[The Captain has returned!!]

[Open the gates!!]

Boom!

The military camp, the massive garrison where Modred’s knights were stationed, welcomed them.

Even at a glance, their numbers were considerable.

Based on the presences he sensed, there were roughly 500 soldiers.

About 50 knights.

And approximately 80 people who were neither soldiers nor knights.

A massive garrison of 630 people total, and having been stationed here for five years, it boasted a considerable size despite its ruggedness.

And such a large force…

Whoosh!

Showed sharp vigilance upon confirming an outsider’s intrusion.

Since he was with Ganok, they didn’t show hostility or killing intent, but their presence was highly disciplined and sharp.

‘There’s not a weak one among them.’

The soldiers were elite of the elite, and the knights were warriors capable of facing a hundred men alone.

Even those who weren’t knights or soldiers—the servants—weren’t weak, merely lacking armor or weapons.

‘These are the real deal.’

The forces from the Welsh branch families and vassal houses that he had defeated in a week would barely score a D grade if graded, while these people would get an A on a national mock exam.

Ihan thought that if these forces had been outside, the Welsh version of the game of thrones would have taken 7 years instead of a week.

“Wait here a moment. I’ll go meet my son—ahem, I mean the family head—first.”

“Take your time. I’ll stay right here.”

“You can make yourself comfortable.”

“I’d like to stay alive, thank you.”

“Haha! What an exaggeration!”

“…?”

“That was a funny joke.”

Thump.

Ganok patted Ihan’s shoulder as if telling him not to make the old man laugh too much, then left. Ihan tilted his head in confusion.

He hadn’t made any joke?

He wanted to offer additional explanation, but before he could, Ganok had gone off to his business.

‘Wait, is it okay for him to just leave like this?’

Come to think of it, Ihan hadn’t stated any purpose.

That old man had simply nodded in understanding and admiration on his own.

But that was it—Ihan hadn’t actually said anything.

Which meant…

‘So these people don’t actually know anything?’

Ihan glanced around.

[—-.]

…Silence.

Was it always this quiet?

He could bet his assistant’s wrist that it wasn’t.

It meant they were tense with wariness toward him, and Ihan wondered what he was supposed to do now that Ganok had left.

So.

Poke.

“Say something to them.”

“Hmm?”

“They’re all on guard.”

“Ah, that. Don’t worry about it. They’re just weaklings compared to you. The strong are destined to be lonely.”

“Stop talking nonsense.”

“?”

“…Never mind. I’m sorry. I chose the wrong person to talk to.”

Realizing he’d picked the wrong conversation partner, Ihan asked one of the knights who had accompanied him until just now.

“Can you see my information with your spirit eyes too?”

“…Our spirit eyes are infinitely weaker compared to those of the Modred bloodline. We can merely see spirits, not hear their voices or converse with them at that level of ability.”

“Aren’t you Modred too?”

“Besides our lord, the captain, the vice-captain, and the nine young masters, there are no Modred bloodline members here. We are merely people who gained spiritual abilities either naturally or through training.”

“……”

“For reference, those with medium constitution often attract evil spirits or cause frequent accidents to those around them, so many are orphans or lead unfortunate lives. Modred often takes in such unfortunate people. I myself was an orphan whom the captain took in and made a knight. Therefore, most of Modred’s knights are highly loyal, so there won’t be anyone among the knights who would threaten you, the captain’s guest.”

“…Thank you for the kind explanation.”

“You’re most welcome.”

It felt like he’d heard information he didn’t need to know, but it was useful nonetheless.

So.

“What’s your name?”

“?”

“Your name. Oh, is it a secret?”

He decided to give a “gift” first as a token of gratitude.

“Oh, no, Sir Santa. My name is Denny.”

“Denny… Is your son’s name Denny Junior by any chance? And your wife’s name Hannah?”

“H-how did you know that!?”

“What an interesting coincidence. That was the first place I received a letter from.”

Thud.

When Ihan suddenly put down his backpack, a tremendous vibration shook the ground.

As people widened their eyes in surprise, wondering how such a small backpack that looked like it could only fit a sleeping bag could make such a sound…

Rustle.

“Here, your son asked me to deliver this. He said he’s been practicing swordsmanship lately because he wants to become a knight.”

“……”

“And here’s a letter and lunchbox from your wife. What was it she said? That you love sandwiches made with mashed trout the most?”

“……”

“But your son told me something interesting. He said it’s so obvious you’re pretending to enjoy these tasteless sandwiches, but only your wife doesn’t notice. I tried one too—I respect you. Your wife has you wrapped around her finger, doesn’t she?”

“…Ah.”

The knight called Denny stared blankly at the lunchbox and two letters Ihan held out, his expression dazed.

His face showed disbelief, and soon…

Rustle.

With trembling hands, he took the lunchbox and opened the lid to examine the sandwiches.

They were made with hard rye bread for health reasons, filled with mashed boiled trout, and drenched in olive oil and wine vinegar.

The vinegar smell was so strong it made one wonder if the sandwich had gone bad, but he…

Munch munch.

Ate the sandwich without hesitation.

Very quickly, as if starving, in big gulps.

In less than a minute, all four sandwiches disappeared, and he laughed dejectedly.

“…Her cooking skills still haven’t improved.”

“Your wife thinks her cooking is amazing. You should have told her it wasn’t good a long time ago.”

“…Get married and you’ll understand. Sometimes there are moments when you have to endure everything out of love.”

“Ahaha!”

Ihan laughed cheerfully, while Denny clutched the two letters preciously, hugging them tight.

As if they were treasures he wouldn’t trade for a million gold.

[……]

…Silence fell.

Unlike the earlier silence caused by wariness, now everyone’s attention was fixed on Denny’s letters and Ihan’s backpack. In response to their gazes, Ihan said:

“Tell me your names one by one. First come, first served.”

[!!!]

Showing hope that their desires could be fulfilled, people shouted their names with all their might, as if they’d never been wary.

With incredibly elated faces-!

This was the first page marking the beginning of the “Santa” culture that would later spread throughout Wales.