Chapter 23…
The three knights turned away.
With expressions that said they simply couldn’t believe it.
Carrying dozens, hundreds of questions.
But Dante would not allow them.
He only forced them to believe.
The choice was theirs.
Now Dante only had to wait.
“How will they react?”
After much deliberation, Milleon would ultimately believe him.
That’s how the man had always been.
Milleon was one of the three people in the world Dante trusted most.
He was certain Milleon would never betray his faith.
What about Ilene?
She was a knight who had devoted her life to avenging a ruined house.
Called the Red Ghost of Bariel, she never gave up.
Someone like her would be good to have by his side.
Of course, that only held if she believed Dante’s outlandish claim.
And the last one…
“Patrick.”
So far, Patrick had clearly never been on Lucia’s side.
But if asked whether he could be trusted forever — no, that was not the case.
“His gaze was sincere, though.”
Humans were creatures who changed easily.
Dante, who had lived a long life, knew that better than anyone.
Patrick was a seasoned mercenary turned knight.
Practical wisdom and experience for survival were embedded in his life and his blade.
Dante had lived decades as a mercenary himself.
That was why he found it hard to trust mercenaries completely.
“No matter the knighthood they’re given, I don’t trust them.”
Mercenaries prioritized gain over personal conviction.
They put survival before noble causes — that was their nature.
Even if Patrick wasn’t Lucia’s man now, one could not know when his heart might change.
Lucia was a viper who excelled at moving people with money, power, and cause.
“Still…”
He wanted to believe.
He wanted as many people as possible at his side.
He only hoped Patrick wouldn’t betray his desperate wish.
“…Young master.”
At that moment, Eina called to him cautiously from behind.
She had stayed for a long time behind Dante, unable to join the conversation.
As a result, she had heard everything.
Yet Eina showed no special reaction.
Just as always.
She only prepared to take care of Dante.
“When should I prepare dinner? You must be tired — should I make a lot?”
Her smile made Dante feel as if a heavy stone pressing on his chest had been lifted.
“At least one is still by my side.”
Though he had done nothing for her, she showered him with blind loyalty and affection.
Eina’s presence brought Dante great comfort.
“Okay, prepare as much as you can. I’m very hungry.”
“All right! I’ll go right now and prepare a mountain of food!”
“Don’t rush too much. You should wash up first.”
“Don’t worry. How many years have I been serving you, young master? Can’t I even get the timing right?”
Eina giggled and trotted out of the room.
Watching her back without realizing it, Dante smiled.
Just being with her made him feel warm; Eina was that kind of child.
“But I should send them back.”
Though it wasn’t his place to say, the duchy was dangerous.
To be precise, it would soon become horribly dangerous.
A monster wave was nothing short of a disaster.
Even if Isabella led the duchy’s and the empire’s forces in person, they could not stop it easily.
From Dante’s recollection, the war would last at least three years.
During that time the duchy would be ruins, and countless lives would be lost.
There would be no distinction between soldiers, knights, and civilians.
When a tide of monsters came, not even a single blade of grass would remain — all would meet death.
He couldn’t take Eina into such a place.
Of course she would throw a fit and insist on following him no matter what.
“That would be troublesome.”
He had to find a way to separate her before it was too late.
Sigh.
Alone, Dante sighed and sat on the edge of the bed.
Perhaps because of the talk with Eina, he could for a moment forget some of the complicated feelings weighing on him.
“I’m tired.”
Thinking back, it had been quite a day.
He had met Isabella, exchanged blades with her, and awakened a trait.
Sir Milleon had said it would take at least a year or two of honing magic before it was usable.
Seeing Isabella’s sky-like sword had given him an abrupt realization.
“Infinite, huh…”
Dante thought that trait suited him perfectly.
His dream was to see the end of the blade.
A dream that could only be achieved after literally growing without limit.
‘I don’t yet know what lies at that end.’
Dante lay back slowly.
“Well, the first button’s fastened. If I keep going like this, it should be fine.”
He had Isabella’s permission.
He could go to the duchy.
There he intended to build the strength to protect himself.
Strong enough that no matter what Lucia did, she could not touch him.
“…I should wash.”
Once he lay down, suppressed fatigue rushed over him.
He resisted briefly, but could not hold back the coming sleep.
Slowly, he slipped into slumber.
Time flew.
It felt like yesterday he had sparred with Isabella, but three days had already passed.
During that time Dante had talked with the knights a lot.
From morning till night.
There were times they talked without resting a moment.
As a result of that time spent, the outcome finally became clear.
“I will return.”
Patrick decided to return to his house.
But that didn’t mean he would abandon Dante.
Quite the opposite.
Patrick chose to watch Lucia with his own eyes on Dante’s behalf.
To ensure she could not meddle foolishly within the house.
After all, someone had to report to his lord.
They couldn’t send ordinary soldiers for that task; one of the knights had to go.
And Patrick took on that responsibility.
“Please.”
“…I still cannot fully believe everything you say, Dante.”
Dante understood.
He had presented no evidence.
All he could do was plead that they trust him.
So it wasn’t unreasonable for Patrick not to fully trust him yet.
“But I judged it worth checking.”
He spoke with a serious face.
“Don’t worry. Until the day you return, I will thoroughly gather evidence.”
Patrick’s expression was calm.
He gave no sign of deceit or hidden schemes.
“I look forward to the day we meet again.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll explain everything properly to my lord.”
A veteran like him could surely persuade his father.
And anyway, there was the emperor’s letter, so there was little to fear.
“Take care, then.”
Patrick turned and began to walk away.
The twenty soldiers who had accompanied Dante also started back toward the house with him.
Remaining at his side now were Milleon and Ilene.
And…
“Everything’s packed. When do we leave?”
Eina.
Dante sighed.
Over the past three days he had tried every way to send her home, but nothing stuck.
If she refused to come with him, she’d threaten to take her own life right there.
What else could he do?
In the end he had to give in.
But on one condition: in battle she must obey Dante’s orders.
If she disobeyed even once, he’d send her back immediately.
It was a little worrying, but the best he could get.
“Shall we depart like this, Sir Milleon?”
“Yes. We’ll head to where His Excellency the Sword Marquis is staying, join up there, and then depart for the duchy.”
Just as Patrick had returned to his house, Dante would leave for the duchy today as well.
It was a far more modest departure than when he came to the island, but Dante felt lighter for it.
There were many reasons for that…
“Finally I’ll get to experience real combat.”
Dante’s current condition was the height of discord.
Body, mind, and the stigmas — all three elements had grown explosively, but they were all out of sync.
Especially after awakening this trait, the imbalance deepened.
To solve it he needed to clash, break, and be reassembled again and again.
The most effective way for that was unquestionably real combat.
In that sense, the monster wave was an unmatched opportunity for Dante.
It would be a stage where he could freely train his strength, away from Lucia’s hand.
“If I survive the battlefield, I can take another step forward.”
What sights would he witness then?
Even though the battlefield would be full of blood and death, Dante felt his heart begin to race.
“Then let’s move out immediately.”
“Oh! I’ll go pack my things!”
Eina giggled and darted into the manor.
She seemed so happy to have been allowed to stay by Dante’s side.
“Are you sure this is all right?”
Milleon asked.
Dante had been asked the same question by him so many times over the past three days he had lost count.
Milleon asked at every opportunity.
But it never annoyed Dante.
Milleon asked out of concern for him.
“I’m fine.”
So Dante gave the same answer.
A hundred times, a thousand times.
He could say it again and again.
“Phew. Then I won’t ask the same question anymore. But promise me one thing.”
“What is it?”
“Promise me you won’t do anything reckless.”
Dante smiled faintly at that.
Just as he thought of Eina, Milleon seemed to think of him the same way.
He was grateful to feel that care.
But the man was under a misconception.
“Do you know why I’m going to the duchy? It’s not simply to avoid my stepmother.”
“That’s why I asked for your promise.”
“Sir Milleon.”
Dante looked at him, gentle but resolute.
“My blade does not break easily.”
He had proven that in the spar three days ago.
Leaving a long scar across the Sword Marquis’s chest.
A strike neither before nor after — a near miraculous feat.
“Believe me, Sir Milleon.”
What Dante was about to say was no boast.
It was an absolute truth with not a shred of falsehood.
“I am far stronger than you have seen, heard, or known up until now.”
And by quite a lot.
