ECMP 08

Chapter 08

The Knight of Saden

Sometimes, there are those who come from beyond the Cursed Forest where Aquila Castle stands.

By tradition, they cross the forest—and those who survive, even after leaving their tribe, are still treated with honor by their kin.

They are the Saden.

Giants standing over two meters tall, strong enough to swing a wagon axle like a spear.

They call themselves descendants of ancient giants, though few truly believe that claim.

Still, their pride is undeniable.

And so, Sir Hawsongel could not hide his astonishment at Anastasia’s extraordinariness—having taken in a Saden knight in just a single day.

Perhaps it was even more remarkable than his own feat of crafting her garments overnight.

“Does it fit you well, my lady?”

Sir Hawsongel spoke with utmost politeness.

“I think it does. Thank you for your hard work, Sir Hawsongel.”

With the tower destroyed, Anastasia no longer had a room of her own. Sorban had left without addressing her living arrangements—but there were always solutions.

There had been her old room, but it hadn’t been cleaned at all.

Fortunately, the ducal estate always had plenty of guest rooms available.

She could simply choose one and stay there temporarily.

Sorban had no grounds to object.

After all, he was the one who destroyed the tower—and in the end, he had been completely overpowered by Anastasia.

Even if he cast aside dignity and gathered his private soldiers, he likely still wouldn’t stand a chance.

“More importantly… what are your plans going forward?”

“I’ve already asked them to clean my old room. If necessary, living here wouldn’t be so bad.”

Even so, the guest room was far better than the cramped attic atop the tower.

At that moment, someone knocked on the door.

“My lady, it’s Enoch. It’s about time to depart.”

Since no one had attended to Anastasia’s dress, Sir Hawsongel had to personally go into town and bring back shop staff.

That was why fitting a single dress had taken until sunset.

“Coming, Enoch. We’re almost done, right, Sir Hawsongel?”

“Yes, indeed.”

Anastasia now wore a dress befitting a butterfly of the night.

Precious fabrics from across the sea unfurled beneath Sir Hawsongel’s aged hands.

The dress shimmered with a soft blue hue like a swallowtail butterfly’s wings, layered over an elegant black base.

Yet neither her gloves nor the ornate hairpiece adorning her radiant golden hair could outshine her natural beauty.

“…It is finished.”

The old artisan couldn’t help but marvel at the beauty he had created.

“Perfect timing.”

With a light flick of her fingers, Anastasia opened the door using magic.

“May I escort you to the carriage?”

“If your knees can still handle it.”

She replied with playful wit, and Sir Hawsongel smiled as he escorted her.

With each delicate step she took, he found himself in awe.

Every movement carried both grace and fragility—

like the flutter of a butterfly.

Standing before the carriage, he bowed deeply as Anastasia inclined her head in gratitude.

“Thank you for the beautiful attire. I’ll be counting on you in the future as well.”

“At my age, I’ve never felt such excitement. I look forward to serving you again, my lady.”

Anastasia nodded lightly.

Naturally.

There was no one in this land more skilled with clothing and jewelry than Esteban Hawsongel. It would be wise to remain on good terms.

“By the way, Sir Hawsongel.”

“Do you have another request?”

“Yes. But it must remain a secret.”

Anastasia stepped closer and whispered into his ear.

“…I need clothes suitable for a hunter.”

The request was so unexpected that Sir Hawsongel widened his eyes.

“…Hunting attire?”

“Yes.”

“Are you planning to go hunting with noble ladies as a hobby?”

It wasn’t wise to reveal too much.

Anastasia decided to keep things vague.

“Something like that. But keep the colors subdued—mostly black.”

For a moment, Sir Hawsongel thought of a banshee—a fairy said to wail atop the roofs of the dead.

What could this fragile young lady possibly be planning?

But the old artisan knew well what questions he should—and should not—ask.

“Understood. You want practicality over beauty.”

“I like how quickly you understand.”

“I’ll do my best. Shall we meet in a week? More importantly, you’ll be late for the ball.”

As a final touch, Sir Hawsongel presented an antique oak box adorned with silver.

Inside were a mask decorated with amethyst and opal, and a folding fan made from peacock feathers.

As Anastasia put on the mask and took the fan, Enoch hurriedly opened the carriage door.

“Everything is ready. You must hurry, my lady. But… Diana isn’t here?”

“Who knows? Maybe she went ahead. Let’s depart, Enoch. We’ll be fine without her.”

Wearing pristine white gloves, Anastasia lightly placed her hand on Enoch’s.

Since becoming a coachman, Enoch had never allowed anyone to sit beside him.

Needless to say, he had never carried someone on top of the carriage either.

“…What in the world is this?”

The black carriage he drove was pulled by four black horses.

That alone would have been enough—but now, a knight sat cross-legged on the roof.

Even if Anastasia had said it was fine, Enoch couldn’t help but worry how such a bizarre sight might affect her reputation at the royal palace.

But his concern didn’t last long.

As the sun sank beyond the jagged treetops and the crimson sunset faded like a stain being washed away—

as night cloaked the sky in deep indigo—

the knight atop the carriage began to shrink.

By the time the last traces of sunlight vanished, Artorius had fully returned to his original form.

“Would you mind making some room?”

Small enough now to sit beside Enoch.

“…What just happened?”

It was beyond his understanding.

“Call it a curse.”

A cursed knight.

Enoch felt a flicker of concern for Anastasia—but quickly dismissed it.

It wasn’t his place.

“Come down.”

He would simply accept and serve.

From the moment he heard Diana’s scream as she fell from the tower, Enoch had known—

something strong had awakened within Anastasia.

“Thank you.”

Artorius lightly leapt down and took the seat beside him.

“Are you truly her knight?”

There was little suspicion in Enoch’s voice—just a reflexive question.

“You could say that.”

“You could say that…”

Enoch smacked his lips.

“Anything else you wish to ask?”

Artorius removed his helmet and tucked it under his arm.

His jet-black hair whipped in the wind. Moonlight lingered on his sharp nose, and his lips glowed faintly red—as though they had just tasted a noblewoman’s neck.

Enoch began to feel uneasy.

“…Just in case.”

The old coachman straightened his posture. Though aged, he had once been a master swordsman of the North.

“You are not a… being that would harm my lady, correct?”

One does not call a man a “being” lightly.

But Artorius hardly seemed human.

Like a demon or vampire from ancient tales—beautiful enough to beguile.

His eyes, the same deep indigo as hers, met Enoch’s.

“You’re loyal.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Enoch held the reins in one hand, gripping his cane with the other.

A twist—and a blade would emerge.

“Even if I am not human…”

Artorius spoke slowly, lifting his gaze to the moon.

“I am not one who would harm her.”

At that moment—

a strange sound came from behind.

The rumble of carriage wheels racing toward them.

The ducal family had already departed earlier.

And this road…

was a single path.

If someone was pursuing them, it had to be from the estate.

“This is… unsettling.”

Enoch frowned. The duke had never done anything reasonable or kind toward his daughter.

Then came the chilling sound—

the creak of drawn bowstrings cutting through the noise of the wheels.

“To think he would try to kill his own daughter. Impressive.”

Artorius spoke with clear mockery.

In a single motion, he leapt from the driver’s seat to the top of the carriage.

Anastasia slightly opened the carriage door and looked up at him.

“What is it, Artorius?”

“You’d best stay inside. It seems we have unwelcome guests from the estate.”

Unwelcome guests?

Anastasia smiled faintly.

Not surprising, considering what had happened that morning.

They probably intended to cause an “accident” and prevent her from reaching the ball.

“Artorius.”

“Do you have a request?”

“Yes.”

Her deep indigo eyes swirled like an ocean once more.

“Show no mercy.”

“…Understood.”

Artorius rose atop the carriage and drew his radiant greatsword.

With the moon behind him, he embraced the darkness sinking deep around him.

Beneath his helmet, his glowing eyes flared like stars.

The carriage jolted violently once—Anastasia knew he had leapt.

Soon after, human screams echoed beyond the rattling wheels.

Enoch continued driving.

The spired royal palace grew closer.

And the screams…

faded into the distance.

Carefully, Enoch opened the small window and spoke.

“…My lady.”

“Yes, Enoch.”

“…Are you truly alright with this?”

Anastasia shrugged, leaning back and crossing her legs.

Holding her fan, she gave a slow nod.

“Enoch.”

“Yes, my lady.”

“The only people who draw their blades in front of me…”

“…are those prepared to die.”