Chapter 268

Leonor von Wettin.

The princess of the empire, the knight of roses.

…The daughter of a witch.

Her world was always filled with two kinds of seasons.

A midday autumn and a sunless winter. A life as dazzling as it was gloomy, like a dream.

Every time she tried to adorn herself with pride and move toward the light, the shadows grew darker, grabbing her ankles like a nightmare.

When did it start?

As she narrowly dodged her brother’s attacks, Leonor sank into a nostalgic feeling, like an old, worn-out picture frame.

—

In her childhood, everything was perfect.

“This time, the gift is a new dress, Leonor. I hope you like it.”

Her father, who always doted on her and gave her gifts.

“You are my jewel, Leonor. A very… precious treasure.”

Her mother, who stroked her head and smiled warmly.

“Leonor, Mrs. Josephine is looking for you. Did you skip history class again today?”

“But it’s boring!”

“Well, her classes *are* dull… But it’ll be useful to learn.”

Ernst, her older brother, who always seemed busy but stopped what he was doing to listen to her when she came to him.

“Leonor, noona! I learned horseback riding today! I’ll give you a ride later!”

“Noona! Can I eat this cookie?”

Matthias and Josef, her two younger brothers, who clung to her and whined.

Yes. It was a dreamlike time.

“…Don’t talk to me.”

Even Leopold’s eerie glare, always directed at her family, didn’t bother her.

It was perfect.

Until she borrowed a magician’s potion to hide her presence and snuck under her mother’s bed to surprise her.

—

That day, for some reason, there was no one around.

The guards protecting the palace, the maids bustling about—all had vanished by late evening.

Unaware of the eerie silence, Leonor hid under the bed in the empty room, holding a wreath she had made as a gift for her mother.

And then… her mother, Isabella, entered the room.

Her voice, sticky and unlike usual, brought someone into the royal bedchamber, where only royals should enter.

Men entered one by one, laughing sinisterly.

A sweet, fishy smell. A sticky, damp sensation. The bed shaking violently. Moans filled with pleasure.

It was clear what was happening.

Leonor closed her eyes, covered her ears, and held her breath until it was over.

The wreath she held was long crushed, its petals scattered on the dark floor.

It was a nightmare that shook her entire world.

And after the men left, Isabella muttered as she got up,

“It’s about time to harvest one.”

…She soon learned what that meant.

A few days later.

Her youngest brother, Josef, went “missing.”

—

Who could she tell about this?

In shock and confusion, the only name that came to mind was her older brother, Ernst.

She couldn’t bring herself to tell her father.

Leonor knew what the queen’s infidelity meant.

Not only the guilty party but also their children would face harsh punishment.

Her brother, her remaining brother, and even herself. She didn’t want that outcome.

And then…

“…It’s a miracle you weren’t caught. Don’t ever do something so dangerous again. If you had been caught, who knows what would’ve happened to you…”

**Ernst already knew.**

“…Don’t tell anyone, and don’t let on that you know. Her eyes and ears are everywhere.”

He warned her with a dark, somber expression she had never seen before.

From that day on, it became their secret.

—

The innocent princess was gone.

The girl who had seen the ugliness behind the beautiful facade could no longer look at the world with pure eyes.

As time passed, her perspective widened, and her thoughts deepened.

She realized that all the warmth she had felt was a lie.

The father who gifted her dresses.

His gaze was mixed with hidden lust.

The older brother who always seemed busy.

She realized his work was a desperate struggle to keep himself and his siblings alive.

Matthias left for the Holy Kingdom.

He had always been close to the priests, but after Josef’s death, he fully immersed himself in that world.

Perhaps it was a blessing that he left without knowing the ugly truth.

…But in the end, he couldn’t escape.

And her mother, who called her “treasure.”

It wasn’t love. It was more like the care one gives to a valuable piece of art.

The word “harvest” endlessly circled Leonor’s mind.

Would she, too, disappear like Josef? Or worse?

As she grew older, she investigated Isabella’s deeds, which were beyond imagination.

Orgies involving nobles, knights, even slaves and children.

She corrupted noble ladies, turning them into prostitutes.

Her palace was a den of vice.

Leonor had nightmares every night. The dream of the day she learned her mother’s truth.

Even as she grew older, the nightmares persisted. Only one thing changed.

Now, instead of hiding under the bed, she was discovered and forced onto it.

Sinister hands groping her.

And then it began…

She would wake up screaming, drenched in cold sweat.

—

One day, as she suffered like livestock in a slaughterhouse, she noticed a sword hanging in Ernst’s room.

Was it coincidence or fate?

Staring at the sword with hollow eyes, Leonor remembered Josef’s words, which she had once brushed off.

“…I want to become a great knight like our ancestors and defeat the monsters that harm people.”

At the time, monster appearances were rare, and as a royal, Josef would never face them.

But now, his voice echoed clearly in her mind.

A knight.

A slayer of evil.

Leonor reached for the sword on the wall without thinking.

To her, Isabella was no longer her warm mother but a monster that would drag her to hell.

The longsword was heavy, but the hilt fit perfectly in her hand.

As if it belonged there.

The blade was beautiful.

A mirror-like shine, reflecting sunlight that seemed to brighten her darkening world.

“…Do you want it?”

When Ernst asked, Leonor nodded without hesitation.

He sighed softly and gifted her the sword.

That night, holding the sword as she slept, she didn’t have a nightmare.

Or rather, the same dream was no longer a nightmare.

In her right hand, dragged onto the bed, was the sword.

The blade, shining like the sun, cut through the men in her dream.

Waking up refreshed, she vowed to become a knight.

If this nightmare was her fate, there was only one way to overcome it.

She had to become strong.

And so, she…

She became a knight.

—

The life of a knight wasn’t as bright as she thought.

For someone who had never done anything rough, swordsmanship training was excruciating, and the sensation of cutting through flesh with a sword was more unsettling than she imagined.

The villains she faced were hideous, and the monsters she saw up close were disgusting and terrifying.

She couldn’t complain to anyone. After all, it was she who had pushed forward and chosen the path of a knight, despite everyone’s objections.

Only Ernst, who knew the real reason she became a knight, was her pillar of support.

Whenever Leonor vented her struggles to him, Ernst listened and encouraged her.

Though his tone had become blunt and cold, Leonor knew deep affection still lingered within him.

Other knights looked down on her from behind.

They whispered that while they risked their lives in battle, she was just a noblewoman playing at being a knight, using her royal status.

Of course, Leonor didn’t let it bother her much.

Considering the way she became a knight, such gossip was perhaps inevitable.

…Though it did sting a little.

So, she worked tirelessly to become stronger, shedding blood and sweat like rain.

Yet, her progress was painfully slow. She doubted if she could ever overcome Isabella’s malice with her current skills.

Even Ernst, who had reached the level of a master, couldn’t handle that woman.

Still, there were rewards.

She saved many suffering people.

She rescued women who would have fallen into Isabella’s clutches and taken them under her wing.

It was a small achievement for her, but it meant the world to those she saved.

Over time, training no longer felt painful.

Even the pain became welcome—it was proof she was moving forward. And so, she lived as a knight for years.

**Then Matthias died.**

…And now, even Ernst.

—

*Clang! Clang!*

Sparks flew as swords clashed violently.

A chipped longsword screamed as it was torn apart.

Her sword had been broken long ago. The one she wielded now was given to her by Nigel.

Though it was a master’s weapon, mixed with mithril, it was nearing its limit.

“Brother…”

Leonor, pushed back and drained, looked with sorrowful eyes at the man who had been her support.

Now, he was no longer even human.

===========

“I am the staff that walks ahead, the torch that crosses the night. May His light descend upon me and illuminate the darkness!”

Brilliant holy light blazed like flames.

A light that burned life itself—the last blaze of a paladin who had given everything.

Bels, risen again, charged at Ernst.

A pure white arm sprouted from his empty shoulder, and a dazzling blade slashed through the corrupted flesh.

“Kiiiiit!”

The worms within Ernst’s body writhed and screamed under Elpinel’s light.

Centipede-like creatures burst from the severed flesh, baring their teeth and lunging fiercely.

Bels was literally burning his own life to fight.

“Haaaa!”

Nigel kicked and launched a spear. Despite her body drenched in red from wounds, her movements grew even more dazzling.

Aerial acrobatics, using daggers embedded in walls, ceilings, and pillars as footholds, she fought like a performer.

She caught the rebounding spear with her knee, pulled a dagger from the ceiling, and smashed it into the centipede’s head.

A fighting style that never stayed in one place, throwing her entire body into the fray.

Her blood painted the surroundings red.

Watching this… Leonor clenched her teeth.

Yes. That was what a knight truly was.

Not someone who wielded a sword for themselves, but those who fought selflessly for others, sparing no thought for their own lives.

She finally understood. The reason she couldn’t reach that seemingly close level, no matter how hard she tried.

What she lacked.

‘Playing at being a knight… They weren’t wrong.’

A bitter taste lingered in her newfound realization.

Yes. She, who fought only for herself, couldn’t stake her life on the sword she wielded.

That final step, like stepping off a cliff—she hesitated before it, and that’s why she couldn’t move forward.

But now, for the first time,

she held her sword not for herself, but entirely for someone else.

As she looked at the monster, writhing with worms and screaming in agony,

though its form was now unrecognizable, she saw clearly—

the man suffering within.

‘That’s right… Thinking about it, I always relied on Brother… I should have helped him at least once.’

Ernst’s burden was heavy.

On the shoulders of a man with no one to rely on rested the future of the empire, his own life, and the fate of his remaining siblings.

Even Leonor couldn’t fully understand his heart, the weight he carried.

In the end, the prince who tried to bear it all alone was defeated by the enemy.

So.

‘That’s why. Even now, I’ll help you. Brother.’

Leonor took a step forward.

To free the man who was her hope, her past, her memory, and her support.

Tears streamed down her cheeks.

The sword in her hand felt unbearably heavy.

Yet, strangely, her body felt light.

“Ernstuuuu!”

With a cry of farewell, Leonor rushed toward her only family, as if embracing him.

“Kiiiiit!”

Centipede-like fangs lunged at Leonor’s legs.

“Haaaah!”

A spear pierced the creature’s body, pinning it to the ground.

Nigel, having given her all, collapsed to her knees.

Five steps left.

A mantis-like claw swung toward Leonor’s torso.

“Not a chance!”

A pure white shield blocked the claw.

The radiant holy light scattered like a mirage, and Bels, drained, fell weakly.

And then.

“Kiiii!”

A mithril longsword thrust toward her chest.

With no way for Nigel or Bels to stop it, Leonor simply charged forward.

As if it didn’t matter if the sword pierced her heart.

“…No…r…”

A faint murmur from the monster’s mouth.

Was it real, or just her imagination?

The mithril longsword aimed at her chest suddenly veered to the side.

The blue blade only tore through her clothes as it passed.

“Bro…ther!”

Gritting her teeth, Leonor raised her sword—

the culmination of all she had built,

the proof of her fiercely lived life,

imbued into the blade.

Finally, she took that step.

A master’s strike severed the monster’s head.