When the sun crested the zenith once more, heralding the dawn of a new day, the continent stood at the very end of autumn. Soon, the bitter cold of winter would descend—just as it did every year, unchanging as the tides.
Yet for every nation across the land, this day was far from ordinary.
For on this day, the Knights of the Apocalypse, a force that had vanished from the continent for seventy long years, had announced its return!
The news sent shockwaves through every realm. Envoys stationed in Wester's royal capital by every nation scrambled to dispatch the intelligence back to their homelands. And the orders issued by nearly every kingdom upon receiving the report were identical: Keep a close watch on the Knights of the Apocalypse. Report any and all of their movements immediately!
Twilight Forest, in turn, became the focal point of countless eyes. Several countries had already sent envoys to the forest, seeking to make contact with the reemerged order. Their intelligence agencies worked overtime, compiling every scrap of information on Blake's recent activities to present to their superiors. But upon reviewing these reports, the rulers of each nation could only sigh in frustration and toss the documents aside. The reports were as useless as they had been decades ago—no one could fathom the Knights of the Apocalypse's true intentions.
Even so, all nations fixed their attention on a few key points. According to the intelligence, Blake maintained close personal ties with Lariboide, Wester's royal court mage, and enjoyed friendly relations with the Mage's Guild. Yet just two days prior, he had stormed the Church of the Divine Light alone, slaying two Divine Light Knights. From this, every country could discern one clear truth: in the grand scheme of things, the Knights of the Apocalypse were unchanged from their days of old—they remained on good terms with the Mage's Guild and bitterly hostile toward the Church of the Divine Light.
Of course, both factions transcended national borders; there was little any kingdom could do to exploit this dynamic. But the nations were not fools. Setting the Mage's Guild aside, the Church of the Divine Light presented a considerable problem. The history of how the Knights had annihilated three holy nations closely allied with the church was dug up once more. The church maintained branches in nearly every country, and in the past, these nations had protected the churches out of deference to the church's power. But now, one country after another quietly reversed this policy. The larger kingdoms sent envoys directly to the church, delivering a blunt message: In light of your past conflicts with the Knights of the Apocalypse, we have no desire to be dragged into your quarrels. We are therefore rescinding our protection of your churches. If you wish to safeguard them, you will have to deploy your own forces.
Naturally, only the most powerful nations dared to speak so boldly. Smaller kingdoms, lacking such strength, would never risk antagonizing the church so directly. But they too sent private instructions to their garrisons, ordering them to keep their distance from church properties. If trouble erupted there, the soldiers were to stand by and do nothing—under no circumstances were they to intervene.
This shift in policy would lead to a dramatic deterioration of the security around church compounds in the years to come. What should have been sacred ground became a breeding ground for crime. With official indifference paving the way, all manner of criminal elements began to flourish in the shadows of the churches. But that is a story for another time.
All eyes turned to the Mage's Guild and the Church of the Divine Light, waiting for them to issue statements. But the Mage's Guild disappointed everyone by remaining utterly silent. After all, while civilization on the continent was advanced, it lacked anything resembling a modern news system—there were no journalists to hound the mages for comments. Thus, the only option was to wait for the great powers to speak of their own accord. Some individuals with close ties to the Guild ventured to inquire. Privately, the mages admitted they harbored little concern over the Knights' return—but that was their personal stance. As for the Guild's official position? Well, the weather was quite pleasant today, wasn't it?
The inquiries to the Mage's Guild yielded little, but this came as no surprise. The real source of anxiety was the Church of the Divine Light. The last time the Knights had emerged, they had waged a devastating war against the church, slaughtering a million soldiers, destroying three nations, and pushing the church to the brink of extinction. Now, the Knights had made a triumphant return, marking their comeback by killing two Divine Light Knights. Many feared the church would once again call for a holy war, and tensions mounted accordingly. But the church seemed to have no such intention. It maintained its silence, as if the entire affair had never happened. Of course, this was merely the church's public face; what it did in private remained shrouded in mystery.
Within the borders of Wester, however, another event overshadowed even the return of the Knights of the Apocalypse.
The Princess Ophelia, who had been declared dead thirty years prior, had reappeared before the public! And even more shocking—just days later, three of the most powerful nobles in the kingdom, who controlled Wester's vast southern territories: Duke Shuran, Duke Vol, and Duke Fran, issued a joint proclamation. They declared they would no longer recognize Wester V's authority, nor would they obey his commands. Furthermore, they demanded the king provide a full explanation for the "death" of Princess Ophelia three decades ago.
The announcement threw the already turbulent Kingdom of Wester into even greater chaos.
It was crucial to understand the distinction between a duke and a mere noble. While great nobles nominally governed territories and maintained private armies, the size of their forces was strictly limited. The military garrisons in their domains remained under the direct control of the royal family. Dukes, however, wielded absolute power within their lands. From the military to the law, they held sway over everything.
Naturally, this authority was not granted lightly. The three dukes had long governed Wester's southern territories—the kingdom's breadbasket and primary source of tax revenue. Fully a quarter of Wester's treasury and grain supplies came from this region. Thus, the royal family exercised great care in selecting who would rule these lands. The three dukes hailed from the kingdom's oldest and most prestigious noble families, renowned for their unwavering loyalty to the crown and their adherence to traditional values. Ordinarily, even if the king committed acts of utter folly—acts that betrayed the nation and brought it to ruin—they would never dream of betraying the royal house.
But now, this very devotion to tradition had become a double-edged sword.
In years past, there had been no shortage of debate among the kingdom's senior ministers over who should inherit the throne: Princess Ophelia or Prince Borkus. Ophelia was young, talented, and possessed a poise and wisdom far beyond her years. Her ascension to the throne would have been a boon for the kingdom. Yet tradition stood in her way. As the daughter of a concubine and a woman to boot, she faced inherent disadvantages. Prince Borkus, on the other hand, was born of the queen—the legitimate heir. While he lacked Ophelia's brilliance, he was no fool. By all rights, he was the rightful successor.
The two factions had remained deadlocked—until Ophelia took the initiative to distance herself from the military. At that point, everyone understood her intentions: since the princess herself had no desire to vie for the throne, there was no need for them to continue the dispute. Moreover, this arrangement seemed ideal: Prince Borkus would ascend to the throne, with Princess Ophelia serving as his advisor. Together, they would have made Wester a mighty power.
But this idyllic dream had been shattered by Ophelia's "untimely death." From that moment onward, the Kingdom of Wester had been set on a path toward decline and chaos. For the three dukes, their decision to break with the king came as no surprise. After all, Ophelia had possessed a legitimate claim to the throne. While her birth was not entirely orthodox, she was of royal blood—her claim was just as valid as Borkus's. But now, the prince had been exposed as his sister's murderer. This meant his right to the throne was no longer legitimate! The royalists' loyalty lay with the crown, but even they reserved the right to choose who deserved their allegiance. In their eyes, Wester V had committed an unspeakable crime by killing his half-sister. Furthermore, his reign had been a disaster—rather than leading the kingdom to prosperity, he had overseen its steady decline. He was an incompetent ruler. The dukes' proclamation was, in essence, a demand for his abdication. Any astute observer could see that forcing the king to explain Ophelia's "accident" was tantamount to forcing him to confess to her murder. Once that confession was made, his reign would be over. No one would accept a king who had murdered his own sister. The dukes' demand for an explanation was nothing more than a polite political euphemism.
Naturally, astute observers also detected another undercurrent at play: Princess Ophelia now served as the adjutant to the Commander of the Knights of the Apocalypse. It was common knowledge that the Knights were a faction without principles. What was more, Wester V had murdered the princess. If Ophelia harbored a desire for revenge, the Knights would undoubtedly mobilize to support her. In that case, Wester would be utterly destroyed before it even had a chance to face the Sith Empire. Thus, it was entirely possible that the three dukes' actions were motivated by a desire to sacrifice the king to save the kingdom. After all, compared to the incompetent Wester V, Ophelia was clearly the better choice. And with the Knights of the Apocalypse—the most powerful force on the continent—standing behind her, allying with her might even secure the kingdom's protection. That was the most critical consideration of all.
When the fate of a nation hung in the balance, the life or death of a single king mattered little… especially an incompetent one.
"We shall conduct a thorough and exhaustive investigation into this matter and submit a detailed report to Your Highness at the earliest opportunity. We implore Your Highness to act in the best interests of the kingdom…"
Blake paused mid-sentence, looked up, and fixed the woman sitting beside him with an amused smirk.
"It seems your popularity has not waned over the years. How about it? Would you like to return to this kingdom and claim the throne as queen? If that is your wish, I guarantee you will be sitting on that throne by tomorrow. That fool of a king will not utter a single word of protest—dead men have no need to protest."
"But I am also dead, Lord Blake."
Ophelia let out a bitter laugh and rolled her eyes at him, exasperated. "Nonetheless, I must formally protest that statement of yours."
"Very well, enough with the jokes… What do you intend to do?"
Blake paid no heed to her complaint. With a flick of his wrist, he tossed the gilded letter in her direction. But Ophelia made no move to catch it. She simply stared blankly as the letter fluttered to the floor.
"I do not know," she finally said, a note of despair in her voice.
"I truly do not know. I am so tired, Lord Blake. I never felt any great affection for the Kingdom of Wester or the royal family. The only reason I fought so hard to do everything right was for my mother. I wanted the nobles to respect her, to say from the bottom of their hearts, 'You have raised a fine daughter.' I wanted the common people to honor her and cherish her. That is why I strove so diligently to achieve everything I did. But now… Mother is dead. What was the point of it all? Even if I am praised by countless nobles and beloved by thousands of commoners, I will never hear my mother say, 'Well done.' So what does it matter? I fought tooth and nail for this, and in the end, I have nothing to show for it. Mother did not even get to live out her days in peace—she was executed, branded with a shameful crime. So what is the point of any of this now? Even if I become queen and clear her name, she will never know. So what was the point of my efforts? Was it all just for my own self-satisfaction?"
Ophelia repeated the phrase "what was the point" four times in quick succession, her voice thick with sorrow. It was clear her spirits had sunk to their lowest ebb. This young woman had never possessed a strong desire for power. Everything she had done, she had done for her mother—for her mother's happiness. But now, the person she had fought for was gone. For Ophelia, the very purpose that had driven her for so long had crumbled into dust.
"I do not care about the future of the Kingdom of Wester. I do not care about the threats facing the realm. All I ever wanted was to see my mother smile at me with pride, to be proud of everything I had accomplished. That is the only reason I kept going… I am a selfish woman! I admit it!"
Her voice rose, and then, as if all the strength had been drained from her body, she leaned her head against Blake's shoulder.
"But now, it does not matter anymore, Lord Blake. Whether it is the Kingdom of Wester or the Sith Empire—I do not care about any of it. Without my mother's praise, none of this has any value to me. None of it at all."
Blake said nothing, letting her grief wash over him. Ever since they had left the royal capital, the princess had seemed to have lost all hope. She did not even care about her former reputation—for Ophelia, the acclaim she had worked so hard to earn had only ever been meant as a gift for her mother. Now, it seemed the princess had all but given up on herself.
"Have you made your decision?" he asked quietly.
"Yes, Lord Blake."
Ophelia hung her head and nodded faintly. Then she let out another bitter laugh.
"What else am I supposed to do? Even if they clear my mother's name? True, with the resources of these three dukes, uncovering the truth about my mother will not be difficult. But then what? They will build her a tomb, and I will accept their offer to become queen. Then I will spend every day buried in state affairs, managing the kingdom's problems. And in my spare time, I will visit her grave… and talk to a cold, silent tombstone?"
Her hands clenched into tight fists once more.
"I am not a woman who runs from reality! The harsh truth is that my mother was executed. She will never respond to anything I say. So what is the point of any of this? Will my mother be happy? Will she be proud of me? I do not know! Because she is dead! She will never give me an answer!"
There was no denying the cruelty of Ophelia's words—but they were also the cold, hard truth. A girl striving for a phantom of her mother's approval made for a tragic, poignant tale. But sooner or later, the dream had to end. Sooner or later, someone would shake her awake and shout, "Wake up! Everything you wish for is nothing but an illusion!"
That was all there was to it.
"I understand," Blake said, gently brushing a strand of hair from her face.
"Then I will return to the front lines to keep an eye on the Sith Empire's movements. What about you, Lady Ophelia? If you wish, you can return to Twilight Forest and rest for a while. Besides, I imagine the forest will be quite bustling after our announcement. It will need someone to keep things in order."
"I…"
Ophelia fell silent for a moment.
Then she shook her head.
"You were the one who brought me out of Twilight Forest, Lord Blake. I like to think I am still capable of fulfilling my duties. If you believe I can be of no use in strengthening our defenses against the Sith Empire, then by all means, order me to return. But if you are merely asking for my opinion… then I have no desire to leave your side at this time."
Blake met her gaze, and a faint nod of approval crossed his features. It was true—Ophelia had lost the purpose that had driven her for so long. But her pride and dignity remained intact. The battle against the Wind Messenger had dealt her a severe blow, but it was clear the princess had not been broken by it.
Even in the depths of her despair, she had found the strength to make this choice. Her resolve was unshakable.
"Are you certain you are up to this? The battlefield allows for no mistakes."
"I am certain!"
Ophelia's hands tightened into fists again, her eyes blazing with renewed determination.
"I will do everything in my power to assist you, Lord Blake. I will not falter—not for a single moment."