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Piot, the youngest son of Baron Kilburn, was utterly flustered.
Of the two horses he’d received as a birthday present six years ago, just before his coming-of-age ceremony, the black stallion Stormbringer—the one that had stolen his heart the moment he first laid eyes on it—was acting unusually friendly toward a stranger.
No, this wasn’t just friendly. The horse was licking the man like it was trying to give him a bath, as if they were lovers reunited after years apart.
Lovers? Ah—don’t tell me…!
Piot instinctively realized who this man being slobbered on by Stormbringer must be.
Even in his flustered, jealous, and slightly irritated state, he took a closer look at the tall, broad-shouldered stranger.
The man had a beard that covered the area under his nose and chin, but he looked no more than five or six years older than Piot. Young. Handsome. And his eyes, the way they looked at Piot—there was something odd in them. Combined with Stormbringer’s affectionate behavior, it only made Piot’s mood worse.
“Are you… Stormbringer’s former owner?” Piot asked, his tone slightly sharp.
“……”
The man—Sion—looked at Piot for a long moment with a strange expression before smiling faintly.
“You’ve asked the wrong question.”
“Huh?”
“I’m not his former owner. I’m his current owner.”
“…What?”
As if the casual speech wasn’t enough, Piot’s eyebrows twitched at the absurd answer.
At that moment, servants from the castle—who had earlier scattered to avoid being trampled by the black stallion’s sudden charge—hurried over to Piot.
“He’s telling the truth, young master. He paid the compensation to the lord and reclaimed ownership of the horse.”
“Compensation? What on earth are you talking about?”
“Well, you see…”
One of the servants, clearly uneasy, explained the situation to the bewildered Piot, lowering his voice as he glanced nervously at Sion.
“And, sir, he’s a member of the royal family. You should be careful how you speak…”
“—!”
Piot stiffened.
Now that he looked properly, both the man’s attire and the sword at his waist were far from ordinary.
“So the horse injured you? As its owner, I apologize. That beast refuses to let anyone but me ride him,” Sion said.
“Oh… that’s fine. I got hurt because I tried to force him,” Piot replied, his tone suddenly different. His entire attitude had calmed.
Oh?
Sion was slightly surprised.
It didn’t seem like Piot was changing his attitude just because Sion was royalty.
“I know I shouldn’t have treated him like that,” Piot continued with a wry smile. “He hadn’t let anyone ride him for years, and that day, I lost my temper and pushed him too far. It was my fault. I don’t deserve an apology.”
Sion could tell right then—this boy wasn’t one of those spoiled aristocratic brats who didn’t know up from down. He was just young and emotional.
+10 points. No, +30.
Sion, well aware of how most noble children behaved, gladly awarded his great-grandson some mental bonus points.
“Well, that explains a lot,” Piot said. “I could never figure out why anyone would sell such a magnificent horse. And it wasn’t just me—he never listened to anyone. So it was because he already had a true owner, and he was stolen. Of course, it’s also because I wasn’t good enough for him to acknowledge me as his master.”
“That’s not it,” Sion said.
“Pardon?”
“He’s not a horse. He’s a monster. He didn’t refuse to acknowledge you—he just doesn’t consider anyone but me his master.”
Sion stroked the black stallion’s mane as it snorted proudly.
“He never tried to escape, did he?”
“Uh… no, actually. Now that you mention it, he never did. He just ate, slept, and played happily for years.”
“I’ll have to ask the thief, but I bet he didn’t put up much of a fight even on the way here.”
“How did you know?!” Piot exclaimed.
“Indeed, we never suspected he’d been stolen when he first arrived,” one of the servants added, nodding vigorously.
“He probably just treated this place like a temporary rest stop, waiting for me to return. Things just dragged on longer than expected, and he settled in. Isn’t that right, you rascal?”
The black stallion turned its head and looked off into the distance, as if pretending not to understand.
“Go on! Bring that yellow one too,” Sion said.
The stallion neighed loudly and trotted off.
Watching its almost mischievous movements, Piot couldn’t help but ask, deflated, “Yellow one?”
“The other horse the thief stole along with this guy.”
“…Albert’s original name was ‘Yellow One’? Then Stormbringer’s real name is…”
“Blackie.”
“……”
Piot fell silent.
So did the servants. Even Steward Schwart stared at Sion in disbelief.
What? Why? What’s wrong with that? Minus 10 points.
The old monster with the terrible naming sense bristled slightly, but didn’t say it aloud.
After the matter of the stolen Blackie and Yellow One was more or less settled, Sion joined Baron Kilburn and his family for a meal.
The baron was a capable lord and generous toward guests. He treated Sion with sincere hospitality.
Although Sion didn’t love the way some of them looked at him, as the injured party he’d been gracious and handled the situation smoothly, so it would have been unthinkable for the baron to treat him with anything less than full courtesy.
The dinner was warm and cheerful. Through it, Baron Kilburn even managed to rebuild a cordial relationship with Steward Schwart, with whom he’d previously had a somewhat distant rapport.
Schwart, as the mediator, simply went along with the mood—Sion had already taken the initiative to resolve the horse theft matter gracefully, so there was no room for him to play the busybody.
Besides, from the steward’s perspective, there was nothing to gain from bad relations with a neighboring lord. In fact, improving the relationship was part of his duties.
As time passed, both Baron Kilburn and Steward Schwart noticed something.
Is he… deliberately softening the atmosphere?
Sion seemed unusual—not in a bad way, but in a peculiar way.
As a member of the royal family (even if only from a cadet branch), he could have easily thrown his weight around in a remote territory like this. But he didn’t. He was calm, polite, and consistently kind to everyone at the table.
Even more surprisingly, the baron’s two older sons—who, as young men, could have felt competitive toward this older, unfamiliar noble—were disarmed within minutes of speaking to Sion.
The eldest, who’d been raised as the heir and was usually taciturn and shy around strangers, was sitting beside Sion within an hour, chatting like they were old brothers.
Now that I look closely… they kind of resemble each other. If someone said they were cousins, everyone would believe it.
The baron chuckled to himself at the thought.
Even he, who had been irritated earlier because of the horse incident, now found himself feeling unexpectedly fond of the stallion’s true owner after just half a day.
I wonder if he’s married. He’s of age, so probably. But if not… maybe one of my nieces?
All his daughters were already married, so Baron Kilburn started thinking through the list of unmarried daughters of his wife’s siblings.
“Lord Kilburn.”
“Huh? Oh—Lord Seiran,” the baron said, snapping out of his thoughts when Sion addressed him.
“May I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
Sion glanced briefly at the baron’s eldest son, then said, “I heard something earlier about your youngest son’s future plans—that you’re worried about them?”
“Yes, that’s right. As you know, opportunities to become a swordmaster’s squire don’t come often,” the baron replied.
In this world, a Swordmaster wasn’t someone who shot out energy waves or magical auras. There were no such things as aura or sword ki here.
A swordmaster was literally someone who had mastered the sword—knights who’d distinguished themselves on the battlefield, or fighters who’d won countless life-and-death duels.
They were generally nobles, and becoming a squire to a famous swordmaster was a tremendous honor.
Moreover, only a handful of swordmasters were widely known, so squire positions were highly competitive—especially for children from rural territories.
And yet, young Piot had done the impossible.
Baron Kilburn might not know Master Laikas personally, but he was experienced enough to know he hadn’t been tricked. That meant Piot genuinely had the talent worthy of a swordmaster’s squire.
Sion, after meeting Piot, had formed a plan.
“That’s why I’d like to make a proposal,” he said.
“A proposal?” the baron asked, tilting his head.
“Regardless of how it happened, it’s a fact that because of my horse, your youngest son’s future has been derailed,” Sion said.
“Hmm. I’ve already put that behind me. We even received compensation—there’s no need to dwell on it,” the baron replied, his pride as a noble slightly pricked.
But then Sion continued, and the baron’s eyes widened.
“Yes, but it’s still true that a promising young man’s path was disrupted. I’d like to help. In fact, I can help.”
“Oh?”
“As you know, I’m part of the royal family—even if just a cadet branch. You must also know of several noble houses closely tied to the royal family, including by blood.”
“Yes, of course.”
“There’s one house I know personally. They happen to have a swordmaster under their banner.”
“A swordmaster? Who?”
“The House of Duke Sion.”
“—!”
“Ah, yes. That house is closely connected to yours, isn’t it?” Sion said with a light smile.
Baron Kilburn froze.
The Sion ducal house was his mother’s family—his maternal relatives.
But he had never once visited them, nor had any contact with them.
His mother, Maria Sion, had been disowned by her family when she married his father.
“You must already know about my birth, so let’s not pretend otherwise,” Sion said calmly.
“You can’t keep ignoring it forever,” he continued. “You can’t deny your own blood.”
“Lord Seiran!” the baron snapped.
“Will you keep your children ignorant of their roots forever? Sooner or later, this must be addressed. And now is the perfect chance.”
The baron’s brows furrowed as he glared at Sion.
But then he saw his eldest son fidgeting nervously beside Sion, and involuntarily bit his lip.
All his children had grown up hearing stories of their great-grandfather—the first Duke Sion—not as a duke, but as Hero Sion.
One of the legendary heroes who had saved not just the Oblah Kingdom, but the entire world.
They were proud to carry his blood.
Even if their grandmother had been disowned, it didn’t change the fact that they were Sion’s descendants.
Unlike the baron, who held resentment toward his mother’s family, his children’s feelings were mostly of admiration and longing.
“Father,” Piot spoke up for the first time.
“…Piot.”
“If what Lord Seiran says is true, I’d like to go,” Piot said.
“You…”
“There’s Master Blaho in Duke Sion’s domain. He’s the greatest knight in the south—his fame rivals Master Laikas. If I could become his squire, and restore our family’s ties with House Sion… I’d be thrilled.”
“……”
“And as your son, and as a member of House Kilburn, I believe it’s my duty. I’ll make you proud. Please let me go.”
“…Heh…”
When did he grow up so much?
Looking into his youngest son’s clear, determined eyes, Baron Kilburn closed his own.
(To be continued)
