Chapter 38
“……”
The regular knights standing twenty paces away from the brutal sparring session swallowed hard, again and again.
At this rate, a single mistake could mean losing a limb—or worse.
This was originally meant to be a closed session held at the First Knight Division’s private training grounds.
But since they’d been reassigned to accompany the Duke to Wespa, they’d been granted the rare chance to witness it—a valuable, if terrifying, experience.
The intense and relentless sparring had now gone on for over thirty minutes.
The observers, beads of cold sweat trickling down their backs, were beginning to worry something might go seriously wrong.
“Focus!”
Thud.
Around the forty-minute mark, one of the Blue Knights was kicked square in the chest by Michalis and sent flying from the formation.
“Can’t you stand properly?”
“Urgh!”
Another knight groaned, stumbling back after taking an elbow strike to the solar plexus.
“Pause.”
Only after a full hour had passed since the session began did the Blue Knights finally get a moment to catch their breath.
“Haa… Haa…”
Their bodies were soaked with sweat, and their throats tasted of blood.
“Do you think this is some kind of game?”
“No, Your Grace!”
Michalis’s cold voice made every knight snap to attention, their response in perfect unison.
“And you still call yourselves elite knights? With that kind of mindset, what exactly do you think you’re protecting?”
“We’ll stay focused!”
But there was a reason Michalis’s voice had turned razor-sharp.
Despite moments where there had been clear openings, the knights had hesitated to strike out of concern they might harm their lord.
“That’s an order—come at me like you’re trying to kill me.”
“……”
At his chilling command, even the knights who had been gasping for air went completely still.
“If you hold back again, I’ll hold you personally accountable.”
“Yes, Your Grace!”
The short break ended.
“Draw. Manifest aura. Come.”
Once again, six blades clashed with deadly force.
Michalis deflected a sword thrust aimed at his throat and knocked away another one rushing for his heart.
He spun swiftly to dodge a strike targeting his back.
“……”
The duel had only grown more savage, and the knights watching from twenty paces away looked increasingly pale.
‘Why is His Grace… pushing himself like this?’
No one knew why their lord was driving himself so relentlessly. The unease was growing.
Although Captain Pfellini was still under disciplinary suspension, the five present were among the top-ranking members of the Blue Knights.
And then—
“Ah!”
Just as expected. Twenty minutes later, the worst happened, as if manifesting their fears.
Shhhk.
The chilling sound of a blade slicing through flesh.
“Your Grace!”
Joel, watching nervously, cried out.
Drip. Drip.
Blood poured from deep gashes in Michalis’s side and arm, pattering against the ground in a steady rhythm.
“Pause.”
Like ink dropped into clear water, the white shirt Michalis wore darkened rapidly with spreading red.
“Your Grace! It was my failure. Please punish me!”
One of the Blue Knights immediately dropped to one knee and shouted in panic.
“Sir Roanes… rise. Your final strike was excellent. I’m pleased with your progress.”
Even with the blood soaking through his shirt, Michalis’s voice remained utterly calm—almost disturbingly so.
“Your Grace…”
The kneeling knight slowly rose to his feet. Michalis continued without pause.
“Sir Cedric. Your swordplay leaves no room for critique. From now on, focus on your concentration and mental discipline.”
“Yes, Your Grace!”
“Sir Roswell. You tend to move half a beat too slow when dodging to the right. Work on that.”
“Yes, Your Grace!”
“Sir Lucas. Your left leg still lacks stability during horizontal strikes. Train harder.”
“Yes, Your Grace!”
“Sir Ista. Your aura wavers when you thrust. Don’t hold back in the next session.”
“Yes, Your Grace!”
“And what do you all think… of me?”
Even as blood from his arm pooled into a small puddle at his feet, Michalis’s tone remained composed.
“Your Grace! With all due respect, may I speak freely?”
One of the knights once again dropped to one knee, urgency in his voice.
This sparring session, originally meant as a friendly match, had gone far too far.
“Speak, Sir Roanes.”
“Your Grace, you’re pushing yourself too hard today! Please, regain your composure and do not let emotion cloud your judgment.”
“…I see. I’ll keep that in mind. Rise, Sir Roanes.”
Michalis fell silent for a moment, clearly struck by his knight’s honest words. Then he gave a quiet reply.
“This concludes the sparring session.”
“Defend!”
The Blue Knights shouted their closing salute in unison, then quickly rushed toward their injured commander.
“Your Grace! The wound is deep—you must receive treatment immediately!”
“Your Grace, please use this for first aid—”
A regular knight ran up, panting, and handed over a clean towel.
“We have the ennoblement ceremony tomorrow. Dismissed. Go prepare yourselves.”
Despite being the central figure of that very ceremony, Michalis didn’t even flinch as he pressed the towel to his bleeding arm, where the blood had long stopped flowing—it was now spurting.
“Your Grace, I’ll summon a physician.”
Though the Grand Commander’s health was technically a military secret, the situation was clearly urgent. It was a mistake not to bring the Duke’s personal doctor, having prioritized social obligations.
“Do not call a physician.”
Michalis turned his back to the knights, firmly pressing the towel to his wound. He had no intention of exposing his injuries to an outsider.
“Your Grace!”
As he strode briskly toward the mansion, pale-faced knights moved to follow him—but he shouted without turning back.
“Dismissed! Do not follow.”
“……”
A commander’s order was absolute. The ten knights froze in place, helplessly watching their lord’s retreating back grow smaller in the distance.
Knock, knock, knock.
The heavy knock echoed through the room. Eliana, seated at her desk focused on drawing a magic circle, lifted her head.
“Amy?”
She had been crafting extra magic cards she thought she might need soon.
“It’s me.”
“Oh—Michal, come in!”
She hastily swept the cards into a box, her expression brightening at the sound of his voice.
“What brings you here at this hour—ah! Michal! You’re bleeding!”
The moment the door opened and she saw him, Eliana screamed.
Just how much blood had he lost?
Half of his shirt was soaked scarlet, and the towel he pressed to his arm was so saturated it was impossible to tell its original color.
“I thought I might need some healing magic.”
“Please—sit down, quickly.”
Eliana, now pale herself, helped him to the sofa.
“What on earth happened…?”
The metallic scent of blood hit her the moment she came closer.
“There was… a mishap during sparring.”
“……”
Seeing his face, drained of all color, Eliana’s heart pounded in alarm, the thudding growing louder in her ears.
“Wait right here.”
Just as pale as he was now, Eliana rushed back to her desk.
‘Healing—where’s the healing card? Why can’t I find it?!’
Though she had organized the cards by color based on their elements, her vision was blurred and her hands shook uncontrollably.
“Urgh…”
Michalis let out a low groan, no longer able to hold back.
Eliana stopped in her frantic search and turned toward him, her voice filled with worry.
“Does it hurt a lot?”
“It’s bearable.”
“P-please wait just a little longer. I’ll fix it right away.”
‘There! Found it!’
The moment her eyes landed on the healing card, she grabbed it and rushed back to the sofa.
“We’ll need to remove your shirt. Can you manage that?”
Seeing how the fabric was soaked and clinging to his skin, Eliana’s heart sank further.
“Just unfasten the buttons for me.”
“O-okay.”
Her fingers trembling, she began undoing the buttons one by one. They were so small, and her stiff hands kept slipping from the tension.
Half in a daze, she finally tore open the last one.
“Let me help you.”
She assisted him as he peeled off the blood-soaked shirt, then carefully reached for the towel.
Blood still trickled from his side, and the moment she pulled the towel away from his arm, a rush of blood spurted up.
It was a necessary step—if left untreated, the soaked shirt and towel might fuse with the closing wound as it rapidly healed.
‘Oh my god…’
The gruesome gash was laid bare before her.
Eliana forced her mind to stay focused—there was no time for panic.
“Hold this.”
“Yes.”
“Eliana chanted, “Imperial Restore.””
A flash of white light burst from the magic card as Michalis held it. The vicious wound disappeared like it had never been there.
“Snff… Hrk…”
Eliana’s tears poured down uncontrollably, trailing down her cheeks.
“Please don’t cry.”
Michalis instinctively reached out to wipe them away—but froze, realizing his hand was still soaked in blood.
“You scared me!”
Eliana shouted, wiping her face with the back of her hand.
She’d seen gruesome injuries on media channels before, but witnessing it in real life was completely different.
Her chest still heaved, the panic refusing to settle.
“You were worried about me?”
“Of course I was! How could I not be?!”
‘This man… seriously…’
Eliana felt like Michalis had made it his mission today to shock her to her core.
“Don’t ever get hurt like this again. Do you hear me?”
“I’ll be more careful next time.”
As he looked at her—angry not just from worry but from genuine fear—Michalis felt a storm brewing in his chest.
This injury… it was the price of his impatience, born of the pressure to become stronger—faster.
Why Eliana kept secrets from him…
Was it because he was weak? Or because she couldn’t trust him?
That unanswered question chased him endlessly.
He had no choice but to grow stronger, and soon.
Though he said he’d be more careful, he couldn’t promise it wouldn’t happen again.
“This card only heals the wound—it won’t restore your blood loss. You need to rest for now. Do you feel dizzy?”
Eliana, now wiping away the tears and regaining composure, looked at him with concern.
His injuries might be gone, but he had bled so much that it was natural to feel faint.
“Now that you mention it… a little.”
Without hesitation, Eliana reached out and touched his forehead.
Her already-reddened eyes went wide again.
“You’ve got a fever.”
“…Yes. I do.”
Her touch had been so sudden and warm—it sent a wave of heat crawling up the back of his neck.
