Chapter One: The Prince, the Interview, and the Test of Skill

Herscherik had brought Kuro to a building in the western quarter of the castle, which was dedicated to the Gracis military. The prince looked over the steadfast stone masonry of the place, thinking that it almost seemed to embody the kingdom’s strength and resilience.

“First time in the military quarters, Your Highness?” their guide asked Herscherik, who was looking to and fro as he walked beside Kuro. He was the instructor who had been teaching swordsmanship and martial arts to the young prince, and he would serve as the judge of the knight of service tryouts.

Although Herscherik had been told at his very first lesson that he had no talent for fighting, he had continued his training with the mindset that perseverance was true strength. Thanks to all of his hard work, Herscherik had completely surprised his instructor by rapidly improving in... nothing at all. No matter how much he trained, his hand-to-hand combat was sluggish, his bow never fired a straight arrow, and he didn’t even build up any stamina or muscle in the process. The only skill he actually improved at, albeit at a snail’s pace, was horseback riding. Even so, his instructor kept on teaching him patiently. Even though he was never rewarded with results, it wasn’t in his nature to ignore anyone who worked hard. After Kuro watched Herscherik train for the first time, he’d silently patted his master’s head after the fact. Herscherik, on the other hand, clearly saw the pity in Kuro’s dark red eyes and was infuriated by it.

The physically-unfit-to-the-point-of-pity-from-his-butler Herscherik answered his instructor. “Yes, it’s my first time. It’s very interesting.” First time here during the day, at least, he silently added.

As Herscherik had been conducting his nightly investigative journalism since age three, he’d left hardly any stone unturned in the castle. Those unturned stones included the private quarters of his father, his siblings, and the queens; the heavily guarded treasury and jewelry room; and the archival room of each department that kept documents related to national security and were guarded by magical barriers for that reason.

Herscherik had once been curious enough to ask his former-spy butler to help him obtain those papers, but Schwarz denied the request without a second thought. He had said: “Can’t do it.” Herscherik was shocked, and his eyes widened in disbelief. He’d never expected that from Kuro, who’d always seemed to handle any impossible task with aplomb. Kuro had flashed a frown in response, adding: “I could do it by destroying a few pieces of stupidly expensive equipment. Are you good with that?” Herscherik hurriedly retracted his request, secretly reevaluating Kuro as more of a meathead than he’d thought. Kuro seemed to sense the prince’s judgment and tightened his frown. “You need knowledge and magic to break barriers. I have the former, but only an average amount of magic. It’s easier for me to destroy the equipment than the barrier itself.” So I’m not a meathead, was his implication. Herscherik decided to go along with it.

Herscherik recalled that conversation as they followed his instructor through the military quarters. Finally, they arrived at a room fully chilled by the cooling equipment powered by Floating Magic. Herscherik’s potential knights of service were already there, twenty of them in all. Their ages ranged from a fresh academy graduate of nineteen all the way to thirty, and every single one of them was in perfect shape. Herscherik, who struggled to put on any kind of muscle and was often mistaken for a girl, couldn’t help but be jealous.

“Welcome, Prince Herscherik,” greeted Rook, the butler of service to the king.

Despite being the same age as the king—who looked young and handsome enough to be in his twenties—Rook’s appearance actually matched his age. He had steel-colored hair that was darker than emerald green and sharp, black eyes that shone in the same color as his hair under light. How his butler’s uniform perfectly contoured to his well-built physique was reminiscent of the ultimate butler of Ryoko’s dreams. Herscherik was sure that Ryoko would have been charmed to death if Rook had ever called her “mademoiselle” in his deep, steady voice.

“I will be in attendance today in the place of His Majesty.”

“Thank you, Rook.” Herscherik answered the butler’s expert bow with his own.

A butler of service was trusted enough to perform duties in their master’s stead. In fact, Rook might have held the highest status of anyone in the room. This might have contributed to how Herscherik’s mood rapidly declined once the interviews for his knight of service began.

With Kuro standing behind him, Herscherik sat in the middle chair of the three set up behind a long desk, with Rook and his instructor sitting on either side. However, he couldn’t keep from groaning on the inside. He had heard nearly eighty percent of the candidates speak, but none of them had bothered to make eye contact with their supposed potential boss, much less speak directly to him. They almost all looked directly at Rook, with occasional glances at his instructor. They did all give Herscherik a deep bow at the beginning, but they never actually spoke to him, as if Herscherik wasn’t even there. Kuro noticed his master getting tired of the process but did nothing about it. The potential knights had been essentially ignoring the young prince so far. That being said, neither Herscherik nor Kuro could really blame them for that. Every candidate applying to be a knight of service to the youngest of seven princes (a mere five-year-old) was really only after the status of the position. They had no intention of truly pledging their loyalty to Herscherik. A knight of service was regarded as the same rank or higher than a royal guard, an elite among knights. While their status would differ depending on whom they served, it was an opportunity for knights to climb the career ladder nonetheless. What’s more, the king’s right-hand man was conducting the interview. If they made a good impression now, they thought, they might even reach the rank of general some day. In fact, many of the military’s generals were former knights of service.

Herscherik understood that dynamic, and he also understood that someone like Kuro, who swore loyalty to a five-year-old, was an outlier. I don’t even have to be here, do I? Just as Herscherik was beginning to check out, the final candidate rose to his feet. He was rather skinnier than the other candidates, with slightly wavy, sunset-colored hair shot through with natural golden highlights. His downturned sapphire eyes gave off a gentle impression, but he stared directly at Herscherik and gave a bow.

“My name is Octavian. An honor to meet you, Prince Herscherik.” Then, he gave Herscherik a full smile. The prince was taken by surprise. Unlike the other candidates, Octavian did not look away from him even after bowing.

“Please tell us why you applied for the position,” Rook began.

Octavian maintained his smile and said, “My father forced me to.”

Herscherik slid right off of his chair at the comical response—or he would have, anyway, if he didn’t know better than to drop his princely facade.

“Your father...” Rook looked down at his application. “...is General Aldis.” He seemed impressed.

“He would do something like that...” The instructor acknowledged.

The mention of his name caused the other candidates to mutter to each other. Herscherik looked back and forth between Rook and his instructor in search of an explanation. “General Aldis?”

“The General is retired, so Your Highness has never met him,” his instructor said obligingly. “General Aldis is a former high-ranking member of the royal army.” He had been the kingdom’s sword, always leading the charge with his red hair fluttering like flames. No enemies remained standing in his wake. He was so infamous that many soldiers in neighboring nations started to fear the very sight of red hair. “General Aldis has earned the moniker of the Blazing General.”

“Although...” Rook took over the explanation. “General Aldis did win every battle he fought, but he was a difficult man to handle.”

Accordingly, he had often discarded any detailed strategy that was “too complicated” for him in favor of charging headfirst into the enemy. He always got better results than were predicted for the complex tactics he rejected, though, so he never took blame for it. His men had, however, always ended up having close brushes with death.

No matter how powerful the general was, they couldn’t let him charge into enemy lines alone. The general’s men had always returned from battles like they’d had their very souls drained of life—except for his second-in-command, who had always enjoyed a smoke after a battle, as if he had just come in from a stroll through the park. Eventually, the general’s men (sans his second-in-command) came crying to Herscherik’s grandfather, the previous king.

General Aldis had also been the previous king’s knight of service. He did reprimand the general, even though he knew full well that Aldis would not even listen to the king himself. The king had considered punishing him in some way, but it seemed unjust to punish a general who had won every battle he fought. Naturally, the military began to strategize around the assumption that General Aldis would always be charging headfirst into battle. While the rate of injury among his men drastically improved over time, his second-in-command ended up carrying most of the burden of those operations.

“He really doesn’t listen to anyone...” The instructor repeated, thinking back on it. Somehow, he suddenly seemed older than he had when he’d entered the room.

Herscherik gave him a sympathetic look, wondering if his instructor was among the men who had begged his grandfather for a solution.

“That’s my father. He told me to go get a job,” Octavian clarified.

“You graduated from the academy this year, right? Didn’t you finish the knight’s curriculum?” Rook asked.

The academy was an educational institution run by the government of Gracis. The students there were mostly royalty, nobles, the exceedingly wealthy, and the exceptionally talented who attended the academy on scholarships. Once they started secondary education some years into their academic career, students were divided into a specialized curriculum. The academy offered a variety of these curricula, ranging from fantastical career paths like knighthood and sorcery to more mundane pursuits like science and economics. Students chose their desired curriculum and studied in preparation for a career path in that field. In a few years, Herscherik would begin to attend the academy, too.

School... I never thought I’d have to do that again. He recalled how Ryoko’d felt when she’d graduated from college. It was a wonderful sense of freedom, knowing that she never had to study for anything ever again. Of course, it turned out there were plenty of things she had to study for once she made it out in the workforce, too.

“But you didn’t try out for the Knights’ Order,” Rook added, reading through the application.

Herscherik followed along. He had no interest in any of the other candidates, so he hadn’t even touched the papers in front of him yet. But now, he was very curious about the young man with the sunset-colored hair.

“No, I wasn’t interested,” the man said nonchalantly.

The instructor arched his brow at that answer, and the other candidates began muttering among themselves again. The minimum requirement for becoming a knight, with some exceptions, was to graduate from the knight’s curriculum at the academy. Even the curriculum itself accepted only a small portion of its applicants and was very difficult to get into. Students who graduated from such a prestigious line of study went through tryouts to become full-fledged knights. The tryouts were not designed to accept or reject certain candidates but served more as a placement exam. In short, any graduate of the knight’s curriculum became a knight sooner or later, barring some incredibly rare situations. While some knights had earned their title simply from proving their worth in combat as a soldier, they were the exception that proved the rule. This young man overturned what had become a natural way of this society with a simple “not interested.”

“You barely passed the knight’s curriculum,” Rook noted.

“Barely? The son of the General Aldis?” the instructor repeated, incredulous.

“I remember you had two older brothers,” Rook added.

The first and second Aldis sons were the up-and-coming stars of the Knights’ Order. While they were still young, all the knights rumored that they would soon be selected to become members of the royal guard.

“Unlike them, I’m a loser.” Octavian only shrugged.

Herscherik watched Octavian’s every move. Most people would show some sort of dislike for being called inferior to others. This young man, on the other hand, simply brushed it aside. Herscherik wondered if the young man agreed with that assessment or if he just had no interest in what others thought of him. Or else... Herscherik dug into the man’s application and widened his eyes. His interest for Octavian only grew.

“Since a jobless loser has no place in our home—‘those who don’t work don’t eat’ and all... He forced me to come here.”

The murmuring of the candidates grew louder. They had pulled every string they could to make it to this interview. Some had begged their boss for a recommendation, some had to convince their parents to give them enough money for the opportunity, and some had showed up despite the envious bullying of their coworkers. Octavian being “forced” into trying out definitely rubbed them the wrong way.

Still, Octavian practically ignored the air in the room and added, “What do you think of such sayings, Prince Herscherik?”

His challenging tone took Herscherik by surprise, purely because it was the first question anyone had directed toward him during the entire course of the interview process. All questions from the other candidates were directed to Rook or his instructor, completely ignoring the prince.

Herscherik started to break into a smile. He carried thirty-plus years of Ryoko’s life experience with him, and in that sense, he had lived much longer than Octavian. The saying in question, by the way, was also a common phrase in the Hayakawa household—along with “wipe your own ass.” Quite the masculine motto, considering they had three daughters and no sons.

“Your parents sound wonderful. You can’t expect to live life without working for it.”

Herscherik’s answer was an odd one for a member of royalty, much less a five-year-old. Octavian showed a glimpse of surprise at Herscherik’s articulate response.

Oh, I see. Something clicked within Herscherik, and he grinned.

Later, the prince and all the candidates for his knight of service walked out onto the training grounds. This was a large area set up for soldiers and knights to practice their craft, surrounded by seats hewn from stone, like an amphitheater. The seats were used by anyone who wanted to observe the training and by the audience during the combat games hosted in the spring and autumn of each year. It was customary for the king or another member of the royal family to attend the games, but Herscherik had no interest and was not required to attend them anyway, given his age. Still, he did recall how the castle felt like a festival on the days when games were held. During those events, ordinary citizens were allowed inside the castle, filling the austere, cold stone seats with energy. Pop-up shops filled the streets of the town, awaiting the audience members who would be convinced to loosen their purse strings from all the excitement. In fact, Herscherik believed that the games were actually quite an important holiday for the common people. It was also an opportunity for soldiers and knights to showcase their strength and the fruits of their training. Sometimes, the games allowed soldiers who would have otherwise been stuck at the rank of captain or lower to become knights, or knights to become royal guards. There was even one occasion in history when a member of the royal family joined and defeated all the kingdom’s strongest warriors, but that was an extreme example. In the shadows, nobles placed bets on who would win. This was, of course, illegal.

Ryoko had always been a terrible gambler; her life was very short on luck, never winning even a single lottery in her life. It had become a tradition of hers to tell others that she paid to experience the dream of winning the lottery—which she did, indeed, daydream about. Of course, the people around her just took it as an excuse.

“Now, we’ll hold a one-on-one sparring match to—” The instructor was interrupted by the adoring screams of women.

A crowd of beautiful handmaidens from the royal quarters and other parts of the castle had gathered in the training grounds. Their eyes were focused on none other than Schwarz, butler of service to Herscherik, who was standing among the knight candidates.

Kuro sure is popular, Herscherik thought. He’s so cool. The prince’s butler was handsome, well-built, and maintained a people-pleasing facade. Even his sense of mystique and the slight hint of a dark secret charmed all the girls around him. The looks Kuro garnered ranged from idolization to infatuation, but all of them were from admiring women.

Ryoko, in Herscherik’s previous life, was a bona fide otaku who dedicated herself to the world of fiction. Naturally, she’d never had any real-world objects of affection, not even any live-action actors or models. She never knew any celebrities by name and could only recognize them once she was told what role they played in the latest TV drama. The fact that she could nevertheless identify voice actors by a single line of dialogue alone spoke to the terrifying potential of the otaku.

“I don’t mind you sitting in the audience, but be quiet!” the instructor shouted toward the cheering handmaidens.

While the girls looked rather dissatisfied at the order, they all obliged. Herscherik could spot some soldiers, knights, nobles, and clerks in the audience, too. He wondered if they had skipped out on their work to be there, but he realized that a little break would only help their efficiency, rather than working without stopping for hours.

Seeing that the audience had simmered down, the instructor turned to the candidates. “While one-on-one sparring between candidates is customary, His Highness has requested that—”

“I’ll take it from here.” Herscherik stood up from his temporary VIP seat in the audience. The seats were built considerably higher than the training ground itself, so Herscherik was looking down on Kuro and the other candidates despite his short stature. “I do need a knight, but I don’t need a weak one,” he bluntly declared. “A real knight wouldn’t lose to my butler, right?” Herscherik gave a brimming smile. Despite his adorable demeanor, this was a brutal request.

At this time, however, Rook was the only one who knew how brutal this scenario was. He wants someone stronger than Shadow Fang...? He realized that the prince was dead serious about selecting a knight he considered worthy, without any mercy or compromise. Rook frowned. He had no problem with Herscherik having high standards about his knight of service; he just thought that his standards were too high. That’s how much more dangerous Kuro was than an ordinary citizen.

Oblivious to Rook’s reaction, Herscherik orders his butler, “Take it away, Schwarz.”

“Yes, My Liege.” Kuro bowed elegantly, a training sword on his belt. He usually preferred open-hand combat and the use of covert weapons like knives, daggers, and throwing weapons, but he was so skilled that he could wield most any weapon effectively.

The first challenger was a knight in his mid-twenties.

“Don’t get your ass beat by a butler!” a voice called from the audience, and the challenger answered with a wave.

Kuro ignored him, as well as the clamoring from the audience and even the cheering of the handmaidens. He was only waiting for his order.

“Step up, men,” the instructor called. The knight drew his sword and faced off with Kuro. Meanwhile, Kuro’s sword remained sheathed. “Sir Zweig, draw your sword.”

Kuro shook his head. “There’s no need for that.” He gave a handsome smile. Cheering erupted from the audience once again. It was an obvious cheap shot, but it seemed quite effective against his opponent. The knight was enraged by the insult, his face turning bright red as he narrowed his eyes at Kuro.

“But...”

“Let’s begin, Sir,” Kuro demanded of the hesitant instructor.

After a few moments, he sighed and raised a hand. “First palpable hit wins. Begin!” He swung his hand down.

Within five seconds, the knight’s sword struck the ground. After a moment, he fell backwards onto the ground as he watched Kuro sheathed his sword. It all happened in the blink of an eye. Kuro had closed the distance as soon as the match began then drew his sword and knocked the knight’s weapon from his hands. Everyone but Herscherik and Rook were dumbfounded by the absurdly quick conclusion to the match, when the handmaidens’ cheer broke through the silence after a few beats.

This isn’t going to be much of a tryout... Rook groaned inwardly, having expected this outcome. He stole a glance at Herscherik, who sat beside him. The prince, who undoubtedly expected this result, didn’t show any sign of surprise or even excitement as he drew a large X across the paper in front of him. Rook couldn’t help but let out a silent sigh. He had narrowed down an already large pool of candidates to those whom he considered to have high potential, under the orders of King Solye. On top of considering their lineage and character, he made sure that none of them were under the thumb of the minister.

Herscherik was making his move in the shadows, under the cover of his youth. Surely the minister wasn’t expecting a five-year-old to be forming a secret revolt against him. That being said, when his actions inevitably came to light, Herscherik would need tools to defend himself. While Kuro was a fearsome fighter, he was only one man. He could only protect the prince so much. This was the reasoning that Solye had given Rook for holding tryouts for the youngest prince’s knight of service. Herscherik either didn’t understand his father’s intentions or understood it full well and ignored them in order to find the knight he really needed.

Rook returned his gaze to the training grounds to find that Kuro had already bested the third challenger. A mix of handmaidens cheering and voices questioning the absurd strength of the butler came pouring from the audience, but Kuro himself seemed completely unbothered as he extinguished each candidate’s dream, one by one. He was simply too powerful, as if he had declared: “If you want to get to Hersch, you’ll have to go through me.” In most matches, Kuro knocked his opponent’s sword out of their hand or struck them cleanly to end the fight in a single blow, without even giving their swords a chance to clash.

Finally, there was only one candidate remaining. Despite having taken on nearly twenty opponents, Kuro wasn’t even out of breath. It was entirely possible that he hadn’t even broken a sweat.

“Octavian Aldis, forward.”

“Yessir.” Octavian stepped forward with a casual response and gesture.

All of the candidates so far had drawn their swords before the match, primed for combat. Octavian, however, kept his sword sheathed like Kuro.

The instructor had learned not to reprimand him for this and simply raised his hand. “Begin!”

Metal clashed. Kuro stared at his opponent through the crossed blades.

His sword had been stopped for the first time.

Octavian, who had intercepted his blade, grinned as he parried Kuro’s sword. Kuro put some distance between them, weapon held at the ready. The audience erupted with excitement at the sight of Kuro finally keeping his blade unsheathed.

“Thought so...” Herscherik muttered, which drew Rook’s attention. Noticing that, Herscherik showed him a set of papers: Octavian’s grades from the academy. “Until two years ago, he was top of his class at almost every subject in the knight’s curriculum. I thought it was strange that his grades dropped to barely passing by the time of his graduation.”

Both Rook and the instructor had looked no further than Octavian’s final grades and didn’t bother reading any further back. While his grades for general classes were thoroughly average, he had led his class in most of the knight’s curriculum courses until two years ago. Those classes ranged from swordsmanship, lancing, and horseback riding to strategy, combat theory, and military science... They encompassed any and all knowledge and skills required of a knight. He’s more of a battle nerd than a model student... A battle otaku. Otaku, by nature, had an extremely lopsided knowledge base. If his name was a little different, like... Otaku-vian... Otakuvian, the Battle Otaku! Ha! Herscherik let out a guffaw, thoroughly amused. Rook and his instructor gave him a bamboozled look. Herscherik cleared his throat to cover it up and returned his attention to the battle heating up before him.

Even Herscherik, without any real training in combat, could tell how refined Octavian’s movements were. He believed that the young man kept up his training regimen. With that kind of self-discipline, Herscherik struggled to imagine how he had dropped from the top of his class to the bottom. The young prince flipped through the papers on Octavian one more time and found a section detailing his behavior in the academy. He had been a favorite among teachers; his upperclassmen had looked after him while lowerclassmen had looked up to him. And then, after one particular day two years ago, his behavior completely changed. He regularly cut classes and scored just barely enough to pass every exam, as if he had done so on purpose. While duels were technically prohibited by the academy, he beat anyone who challenged him to a pulp, almost to the point of permanent injury. These incidents had earned a few suspensions, but the academy had always found fault with his opponent upon investigations, which kept Octavian from being expelled entirely.

Something’s not right, Herscherik thought. The illogical actions on his record, as well as the emotion that had been kindled deep within his eyes when Octavian first looked at Herscherik at the interview, were stuck in Herscherik’s mind. So, he returned to watching the match again. The two young men were a close match. Whenever one attacked, the other parried and moved in to counter. The audience, the other candidates, and even the instructor were all silently watching the match on the edge of their seats.

In contrast to his surroundings, Octavian was unnerved. What the hell... He’s really the butler!? The only people to have ever evenly matched him in the sword were his father, other members of his family, and some generals he was acquainted with. The man before him now was such a skilled swordsman that Octavian would have believed him to be a seasoned knight. He was more than evenly matched. At first, he was so intrigued by Kuro that he wanted to fight him with some degree of restraint then lose the match once he’d had his fill. Now, things weren’t going according to his plan. Every time Octavian purposefully made an opening for Kuro to strike him, the butler immediately stepped back. Nice try, the butler’s grin seemed to say. It was painfully clear to Octavian that the butler wasn’t giving it his all either. He challenged Octavian with a taunting grin, assured that Octavian wasn’t showing his full strength. It tickled the heart of a warrior within Octavian that always beat in search of a worthy opponent. The two young men decoded their opponent’s quirks, sharpening all of their senses in order to find the slightest opportunity to strike, and faked openings to draw their opponent in. Completely unbothered by the gaze of the crowd, they discoursed with their blades.

“It’s like they’re dancing together,” Herscherik muttered, impressed. With no talent in sword or combat, Herscherik had no way of gauging how strong they actually were. So, the clashing of blades that unfolded before him seemed like a rehearsed dance. It’s beautiful, he simply thought.

However, this dance of swords would come to an abrupt end. Under the hot sun of early summer, Herscherik was beginning to lose both interest and focus. He’d never enjoyed watching sports, preferring to play them himself, no matter how unskilled he was at them. “It’s hot...” he subconsciously muttered, barely loud enough for Rook beside him to hear.

Kuro, who could not have heard his master’s remark through the sound of clashing blades, halted for a moment. No one but Octavian noticed, but that single moment was enough for him to strike Kuro’s sword, which flew out of his hand and stuck into the dirt. Just as the sword hit the ground, Octavian’s blade pointed at Kuro’s throat. Their fist-clenching combat had concluded in an instant. After a long beat, the instructor declared the match. The crowd erupted in thunderous applause. Kuro took a bow and headed straight for his master. Octavian watched him leave as he gathered his breath. A dog...? For a moment, Octavian saw a dog running back to his master with a fiercely wagging tail.

When Kuro returned to Herscherik, he was carrying a tray with a cold glass of tea.

“How was he, Kuro?”

“He’s got real talent.”

These remarks, made as Kuro handed his master the glass, were unheard by anyone else. Kuro had had no intention of losing the battle, but he had to admit that he was distracted by Herscherik’s muttering for a moment. He also credited Octavian for not missing that opening. Thought he was just some rich boy... Kuro mused to himself. He found the swordsmanship of most knights to be formulaic and boring. Even though each fighter had their own idiosyncrasies in their movement, their attacks were all too easy for Kuro to foresee. He felt like he was taking candy from a baby as he defeated the other candidates. Octavian’s movements, however, were influenced by his style without being restricted by it. In fact, he had seen that Kuro was predicting his movements and started to vary his footwork, only to launch into an unexpected attack. In the end, Kuro had to admit that Octavian was the better swordsman. At some point in the match, Kuro realized he was forced to be on the defensive more often than not. I guess this is what you call a genius. Octavian had genuine talent. Kuro imagined that, even if he had his weapons of choice and the element of surprise on his side, he wouldn’t be able to defeat Octavian—although he was confident that he wouldn’t absolutely lose, either. He could possibly squeak by to a victory if he used the skills he had acquired in the underground, but Kuro wouldn’t consider that a true victory. Tsk. It’s just like Hersch said.

Before the match began, Herscherik had told his butler: “He’s hiding something. I want to see his full potential.”

Just as his master had requested, Kuro succeeded in showing Octavian’s true strength, albeit not his full strength. Screw this... Kuro frowned, having accomplished the task given to him. A request from Herscherik meant everything to him. Not only would he do anything in his power to grant such a request, but he would do anything outside of his power, too. For his one and only master, he would do absolutely anything. Still, Kuro couldn’t help but silently grumble once again, Screw this. He already knew the decision Herscherik was about to make.

“Kuro? Are you tired?” Herscherik asked with concern, as his butler fell silent. “Are you all right?”

His butler of service shook his head. “I’m fine.” He immediately pasted a smile on his face, despite his growing disdain.

The candidates were told that they would be notified of the results at a later date and were then dismissed. As they cleared out, one young man was left on the training grounds. It was Octavian, fresh from his close match with Kuro. He was simply standing there, dumbfounded. He was supposed to lose on purpose. I mean, the interview went terribly, he tried to convince himself. I won’t get the position. It’ll be okay. He had acted with such a lack of etiquette in the face of royalty. He was sure that any knight who served the royal family would need a sense of devotion and respect toward them, in addition to swordsmanship. Octavian kept repeating that to himself.

The next day, an official summons for the knight of service was delivered to the Aldis manor. The workers of the house later said that it was quite the sight to see Octavian so dejected while the rest of the family seemed to expect this result with certainty.

And so, the formerly jobless Octavian Aldis was appointed knight of service to Herscherik Gracis, Seventh Prince of the Gracis Kingdom.