The Tudor princess kept humming to herself. Even the maid who had served her for years rarely saw her like this.

“You seem in much better spirits since returning from the banquet,” the maid ventured.

“Do I?” The princess glanced in the mirror and gently touched the upturned corners of her lips.

“You're right. I am in a good mood.” Smiling brightly, she turned away from the mirror.

“Those so-called princesses looked far more vulgar and unimpressive than I expected. Seeing them put my mind at ease.”

She looked positively delighted as she explained that those women had nothing to recommend them but their looks—and even those were quite mediocre in her eyes.

“If I'd known such creatures were coming, I wouldn't have wasted my breath disparaging them in front of him.”

“Were you worried about them?”

“Of course I was.”

Her unhesitating answer drew a slightly teasing smile from the maid. She thought spring had finally come for her mistress, too. Surely she had worried about the other princesses because she feared the man she loved might give his heart to another woman.

But that was not it at all.

“Teuton must be the bridge between the western kingdoms and Leonberk. I absolutely refuse to have some stupid princess get in the way.”

The princess's satisfaction owed nothing to a maiden's tender feelings. It was entirely practical, born of a calculating politician's judgment.

“Judging by how things are going, I doubt anyone undesirable will become Leonberk's crown princess. At this rate, we should have no trouble returning home as soon as our schedule permits. Don't you agree?”

The maid's smile turned awkward before she could even wipe it away. Hestia Neumann Tudor paid her thoughts no heed. She was concerned only with how to wield the sword the crown prince had placed in her hands.

It was a treasured blade that had made even the obstinate Duke Seymour as obedient as a dog. She could hardly wait to see how the men of Teuton, who thought themselves the finest in the world, would react.

“I'll have to begin as soon as we return...”

Hestia, who had been humming over those pleasant imaginings, suddenly stiffened.

RATTLE!

The teacup on the table shook noisily. The window overlooking the well-tended garden rattled as though it might shatter. Hestia recoiled. The presence of something immense rising in the distance wiped her mind blank. She could barely breathe.

Had another mighty surge of energy not risen in its wake, she might have fainted from lack of air.

“Ah...” Letting out a long breath, Hestia looked out the window at a brightly lit building: Leonberk's royal palace, where the banquet to select a crown princess would be taking place.

“What on earth...”

The presence that had seemed to crush her soul was gone, but its terror remained, clouding her mind. She bit her lip and shook off her fear.

SLAP!

She slapped the maid, who was still choking and struggling to breathe.

“Ah... Your Highness?”

“Something seems to have happened outside. Go and find—”

BANG!

She was about to send the maid to investigate, but Duke Seymour arrived first.

“Your Highness! Leonberk's royal castle is under attack!”

Hestia frowned. “Under attack? Who could possibly...”

“This is no time for questions. We must find somewhere safe at once.”

She asked where exactly they could take refuge in a foreign royal castle whose layout they did not even know, but the duke merely repeated that they must flee.

“We should leave the castle first.”

“I have you with me, Uncle, the man hailed as the Finest Knight in the West. We also have a hundred Rose Thorn Knights. If we act rashly, today's actions may disgrace us for years to come once the commotion dies down.”

She tried to reason with him: what had they to fear with the finest knight and knightly order in the West present? Then she finally noticed his expression and froze.

“Uncle...?”

He was trying to appear calm, but could not hide the anxiety flickering in his eyes. No, it was closer to fear. He might have suffered a crushing defeat recently, but he was still supposed to be Teuton's strongest knight.

“What you say only applies if Leonberk's knights can bring the situation under control.”

“You mean...”

“Leonberk's knights cannot possibly quell this disturbance.”

The duke turned toward the distant banquet hall, shuddering as though something dreadful lurked there.

“Is it because of that strange energy that rose over there a moment ago?”

He nodded grimly. “It lasted only an instant, but I assure you, I have never encountered power so immense.”

“Could it not have belonged to the crown prince—”

“What I sensed was unmistakably the energy of Rings. Its nature was entirely different from the crown prince's mana of the heart. It was like...”

He forced out the next words. “The tremendous might that only a Penta Knight could wield.”

Hestia's expression hardened, too. She knew little about the sword, but she knew enough to understand how formidable a Penta Knight was.

“Only a Penta Knight can face another Penta Knight. Leonberk has none.”

Her heart tightened. Holding back her anxiety, she looked at the duke.

“I agree that the crown prince has attained an astonishing level for his age. Even so, I do not believe he can stand against a Penta Knight,” he said, guessing her thoughts.

“The Royal House of Leonberk may well meet its end here tonight. Our wisest course is to flee before we are caught up in it.”

Hestia's face hardened like stone. The duke seized her and pulled her along.

After nearly being dragged out, she jerked her arm free and began striding toward the banquet hall.

“What are you doing—”

“Duke Seymour.” Hestia stopped briefly and looked back.

“We are going to the banquet hall.”

Her gaze was unwavering despite her pallor.

“Your Highness!”

“I will not force you. But you will bear full responsibility for the consequences of your choice.”

With those sharp words, she strode on.

“Then I shall remove you by force.” The duke blocked her path.

“If you stop me by force, I will hate you and regard you as my enemy for the rest of my life.”

Her gaze was so fierce that even a fool would have known she meant it. How could she not? Everything she planned mattered only so long as her agreement with the crown prince remained valid. If anything happened to him, it would all come to nothing.

Perhaps it would have been different had she simply continued living in resignation. But now that the dying embers had flared to life again, there was no containing them.

'I will never go back to the way things were.'

She resolved that she would rather die than become a flower trapped in a garden once more. The duke dared not obstruct her any longer and took the lead. The Rose Thorn Knights followed.

The faint clash of weapons began to reach them. The metallic scent of blood assailed her nose.

“It is not too late, even now.”

At the duke's words, her steps, which had slowed without her realizing it, quickened again. They walked for some time before Hestia stopped once more.

RUMBLE...

Mighty surges of energy erupted throughout the royal castle.

“Leonberk's Quad Knights. They are... heading for the banquet hall.”

“Ah...” Hestia gasped at his words.

It was a wondrous experience. Powerful knights were racing forward, making no attempt to hide their presence. Even without seeing them, she could tell there was not a trace of hesitation in their strides. Even without hearing them, she could feel that their roars were as courageous as lions'.

She found herself thinking that Silver Lions was a name perfectly suited to their spirit.

Her heart pounded, even as a bitter smile escaped her. A knight renowned as the finest in the West urged flight, certain of defeat before even facing the enemy, while unknown knights from a remote frontier raced toward that formidable foe without a shred of fear.

Whose country this was had nothing to do with it. The difference lay in something far more fundamental: their character.

Hestia could not know whether Duke Seymour had always been so weak-willed or whether his crushing defeat had made him that way. One thing was certain: Teuton's knights were far weaker than she had imagined.

That impression grew stronger the moment they entered the corridor leading to the banquet hall.

“Your Highness, avert your eyes.” As she grimaced at the stench of blood, Duke Seymour stepped in front of her.

Hestia neither closed her eyes nor hid behind him. Instead, she opened them wide and looked ahead.

Traces of fierce combat. Bodies that had yet to be recovered. Most wore black armor, but a few were clad in brilliant gold: the Royal Knights of Leonberk.

Caved-in breastplates, crushed helmets—not one body was unscathed, and not one hand had released its sword. She could imagine how valiantly they must have fought without having witnessed it. Even grievously wounded, they must have fought their enemies to the very end.

“There's a survivor here!” shouted one of the Rose Thorn Knights ahead.

Hestia turned to see a Royal Knight of Leonberk desperately struggling to rise, his chest pierced through. She found herself walking toward him.

The duke thrust out a hand to stop her. He shook his head, his eyes telling her it was already too late. There was no hope.

Hestia looked at him, then continued toward the Royal Knight. Bending down, she pressed her hands against his wound. Blood welled up, staining her hands and dress in an instant.

“Th-the enemy was stronger than we expected... Must warn His Majesty... quickly...” The Royal Knight kept repeating the same words.

“... Your kingdom's Silver Lions have gone to the banquet hall. You needn't worry.”

“Th-the Silver Lions have come...! Thank goodness...”

Only then did he stop struggling and sigh in relief. A faint smile touched his lips, and he died.

“Ah...” Hestia looked from the fresh red blood on her hands to the dead knight, still gripping his sword, then rose.

She looked behind her at the excessively tense Rose Thorn Knights and Duke Seymour, whose anxiety grew ever harder to conceal as they neared the banquet hall. A quiet lament escaped her.

The finest knight in the West? The finest knightly order on the continent? They were not even the equals of these nameless knights from the frontier.

CLANK, CLANK, CLANK.

As she lamented, heavy footsteps sounded behind them. The tense Rose Thorn Knights surrounded her. A moment later, knights drenched in blood rounded the corridor's corner.

The newcomers stared fixedly at the Royal Knights' bodies.

“Damn it. Even knowing in advance and preparing wasn't enough to prevent all casualties.”

After that brief lament, one man looked at Hestia's party. “Are you the Teuton delegation?”

“We are. And you are... knights of Leonberk.”

Unlike the gold-armored Royal Knights, they wore armor of a rather drab hue, but lions were clearly engraved on their chests.

“Erhim Kilinger of the Iron Lion Knights greets the princess of Tudor. My respects to the Royal House of Tudor.”

After a crisp salute, he immediately explained the situation. They had gone to her palace to protect the Teuton envoys from the intruders, only to find them gone, and had struggled to catch up. Now they would escort them to safety.

“Teuton is not so faithless that we would stand aside and ignore an ally in danger,” Hestia declared firmly.

“Do you intend to go to the banquet hall?”

“Yes. Duke Seymour and the Rose Thorn Knights should be able to help your kingdom overcome this crisis.”

“Then we shall lead the way.”

She had expected some argument; his ready acceptance was almost disconcerting. “You have no objection?”

“As you know, the kingdom's Silver Lions have gone to the banquet hall. If I had to name the safest place in the palace right now, it would unquestionably be there.”

Duke Seymour, who had remained silent, stepped forward then. “Sir Erhim, was it? You seem unaware of how powerful your enemy is. I assure you, the place you call safest is in fact the most dangerous.”

Erhim Kilinger's expression scarcely changed as he regarded the duke, whose voice was as stiff as his face.

“What will you do? Proceed to the banquet hall, or turn back? Our order will escort you either way.” His gaze rested squarely on Hestia.

“We will go to the banquet hall.”

“Then allow us to escort you. Dunham, wait here until the palace guards arrive, recover the Royal Knights' bodies, and follow us.”

After a brief, sorrowful glance at the dead Royal Knights, Erhim Kilinger took his place ahead of the Teuton knights. “Please follow me.”

He strode forward, and Hestia immediately followed.

They encountered traces of fighting several times along the way, but never a living enemy. There were only fragments of horribly crushed black armor—the aftermath of utterly one-sided battles.

“One of the Silver Lions must have passed this way,” Erhim Kilinger murmured, quickening his pace.

At length, they reached a gallery overlooking the banquet hall. Hestia and the Teuton knights following the Iron Lions halted as one.

Before them stood white-haired veteran swordmasters, blades shining like the sun in their hands and black-armored corpses beneath their feet.

Facing them stood a black knight in armor that looked as though it had been coated in pitch darkness.

He merely stood motionless as a ghost, yet Hestia knew at once. This was the formidable being whose presence alone had robbed the Finest Knight in the West of his will to fight before they had even met.

Just then, the black knight's aura began to swell. Refusing to yield, Leonberk's knights raised their own. The tension was such that the slightest spark would set it off.

“A knight who bears the name of nightmare.” A voice cut through it all.

“I imagine you have entered others' dreams and turned them into nightmares.”

It was Leonberk's crown prince.

“But no one in this world is without dreams.” The crown prince beamed at the black knight.

“So it would hardly be surprising if, upon waking, you discovered that tonight's nightmare was your own.” He sounded as though he could scarcely contain his delight.

Then he added that his sword's name was Twilight—the twilight before dawn—making it the perfect blade to wake the bastard.

The crown prince smoothly drew his sword and raised it high. Then he brought it down.