Camelot, the imperial capital.

Najin had visited the capital as a tourist barely a month ago. This time, he ventured deeper into it—to places he would ordinarily never have been allowed to enter.

THUD!

The moment the gate guards spotted the carriage bearing the imperial family's crest, they stamped their feet and saluted. They cleared the way so it could pass without stopping. There was no need to verify anyone's identity. The crest on the carriage was proof enough.

And so the carriage continued into the depths of the capital without stopping. Past towering buildings, toward the center, then deeper still... At some point, the scenery changed.

They had entered the heart of the imperial capital.

This was the Empire's nerve center, thoroughly protected by all manner of artifacts and magical devices. The instant they passed through the barrier, Najin realized the air currents had changed. The air was utterly pristine. The mana in the atmosphere was under perfect control.

Through the carriage window, he could see towers soaring overhead. Mage towers, as they were called. Rising tall as if to announce his arrival at the Empire's heart, they greeted Najin.

The carriage headed toward one of them.

It stopped at the front entrance of the Platinum Tower, a tower administered by the imperial family and staffed exclusively by court mages loyal to them alone. Stepping out, Najin silently looked up at the tower soaring into the sky.

'It feels rather overwhelming.'

“Someone's practically plastered the place with gold coins. What a waste of money. Such a waste. Tsk, tsk...”

He heard Merlin clicking her tongue.

Soon she began muttering, “A proper mage ought to gain enlightenment through hunger and desperation. Honestly, this is why youngsters these days...” Najin let it go in one ear and out the other.

“This way.”

Najin followed Soltis of the Royal Guard. Only after passing through several layers of security barriers was he permitted to enter the portal connecting the tower's upper and lower floors.

A flash of light.

Beyond the bluish portal, a vast space greeted him. A woman with long blond hair stood at its center.

An archmage of Eight Circles.

Cypria Gachevska, master of the Platinum Tower.

The imperial archmage regarded Najin with indifferent eyes. They were heavy with exhaustion, and her expression suggested that everything in the world was a nuisance—as though she had been dragged out of her laboratory against her will mere moments ago.

“Haa...”

She let out a long breath and swept back her hair. As the Royal Guard stepped back, she crooked a finger at Najin, beckoning him forward.

The Arhebts Special Act was overseen by the imperial family. Displaying such an attitude while enforcing it was deeply disrespectful, yet Soltis remained silent. He would have thundered at any ordinary mage who behaved this way...

But Cypria Gachevska was an exception.

She was such an unusual presence even within the Empire that a special law had been established solely for her. Considering that forty percent of the artifacts installed throughout Camelot had been created by her and remained under her care, that was hardly surprising.

“Stand straight there. Don't move.”

Following her instructions, Najin stood upright at the center of the circuits. Looking down, he saw intricate, intertwined circuits turning together like a finely crafted gear mechanism.

SNAP.

Cypria snapped her fingers.

The circuits meshed with a creak, and at the same instant, flames blazed up before Najin. They burned from black to red, then from red to white.

'It looks like Cambria's ranking chart.'

“It's similar. That color sequence is often used to distinguish the finer grades of a soul's stature.”

'A soul's stature?'

“Yes,” Merlin confirmed.

“I told you that advancing through the realms is ultimately a process of sublimating your soul, didn't I? It doesn't mean souls are actually those colors. They're just represented that way to make them easier to distinguish.”

From black to platinum.

“Each sublimation brings the soul closer to a star, so it's not exactly an inaccurate representation,” Merlin murmured.

“Black, red, white, platinum. Those are the four broad divisions. They're checking whether you've reached the Sword Seeker realm.”

Najin looked ahead.

The flames burning before him were white.

“White is proof that you've reached the Sword Seeker realm.”

As Merlin murmured this, Cypria, standing before Najin, signaled with her eyes. She looked toward an empty space and nodded, as though indicating that she would proceed to the next step.

“...”

Squinting, Najin could sense a ripple where her gaze had fallen. Was it concealed by a perception-obscuring barrier, or something similar? With that thought, he turned his gaze back.

His eyes met Cypria's. She regarded him with a vaguely disconcerted expression before letting out a short breath.

With a sigh, she closed her hand around empty air.

A staff was now in her grasp. She raised it and struck the floor.

CLACK!

At the crisp sound, circles appeared behind her.

Eight circles.

As the gear-shaped circles slowly rotated, she pointed her staff at Najin. Waves spread from its tip and wrapped around his body.

CREAK, CREAK...

The gears encircling Najin began to turn. Every time they moved a handspan, characters began assembling above them. Hadn't he been told those gears read information engraved on the soul? A troubling possibility occurred to him, and he murmured inwardly.

'Won't this reveal Excalibur?'

“Whaaat?” Merlin replied incredulously.

“Hey, how many circles does that girl in front of you have?”

'Eight.'

“Right. Eight Circles, yes?”

Merlin's voice was brimming with confidence. His eyes were open, so he couldn't see her, but he imagined she was shrugging with her arms folded.

“I have ten. Ten, I tell you. For the record, the gap between Eight and Nine Circles is enormous, but the gap between Nine and Ten is twice that, you know?”

'Really?'

“Of course! Nine signifies incompleteness, whereas ten signifies perfection. I'm a flawless archmage. If a novice like that penetrates my perception concealment, I'll gladly admit defeat and retire. Seriously. I'll stake everything on it.”

“You'd have to bring the Witch of Camlann right up to your face, at the very least, to get through my concealment,” Merlin muttered with a snort.

“Well, still...” Merlin said. “It will reveal your age. That's what the spell was cast to check in the first place.”

'I suppose it will.'

“The moment your age comes out, there's no going back. You know that much, right?”

He knew. The moment his age was revealed, attention would begin pouring in from every direction. But he had already prepared himself for that.

'I'll be revealing Excalibur eventually, too. Shouldn't I start getting used to it now?'

“You certainly know what to say.”

Merlin laughed.

By now, characters were appearing above the gears.

“Are you ready?”

Ready. Was he ready? He had been as good as ready ever since he left the underground city. As Najin answered with silence, the characters above the gears finished forming.

A two-digit number.

Eighteen.

Cypria Gachevska's eyes widened.

Cypria Gachevska, master of the Platinum Tower.

She was terribly tired. Not only had she gone several days without proper sleep, but she also had a mountain of artifacts that needed their adjustments completed immediately. She wanted to finish her work quickly and rest, only to receive an untimely summons.

[“Enforcing the Arhebts Special Act?”]

[“Yes. The department issued direct instructions...”]

[“But why are they putting me in charge of it?”]

[“Apparently, the person subject to the law is quite exceptional.”]

She knew the Arhebts Special Act existed.

But surely there was no need to use someone of her stature merely to enforce it. It was like using a butcher's knife to kill a chicken—no, like sending a dragon-slaying archmage to kill a goblin.

So she made no effort to hide her annoyance.

She grumbled and asked whether she really had to do it.

Even then, the department responsible for administering the Act had come armed with imperial authorization. Something about reviewing the subject's information and records and concluding that “the age in his assumed identity might actually be his real age.”

'What an absurd fuss.'

Cypria clicked her tongue.

The Platinum Tower master's time was exceedingly valuable. If this proved to be an overreaction, she would lodge a formal complaint against the department responsible. The tower's budget would be looking very healthy indeed.

Thinking this, she crooked her finger.

The soul's flames had confirmed that the young man before her had reached the Sword Seeker realm. All that remained was his age. Was his assumed age twenty-eight? A Sword Seeker-level fighter at twenty-eight.

'What utter fucking bullshit.'

Cypria gave a disbelieving laugh.

Did they think becoming a Sword Seeker was so easy? When the Sword Saint, hailed as a once-in-an-age genius, had reached that realm at thirty, the world had been turned upside down. Likewise, when she herself, once called the girl beloved by magic, had reached the Sixth Circle at thirty-four, the magical academic world had been rocked.

And now someone had done it in his twenties?

And they were seriously considering the possibility?

'Do they think our field is that easy?'

At least say something plausible. Something plausible.

It was obviously a false identity. Thinking this, Cypria waited for the results. Information began assembling above the gears. No signs of artificial tampering with the soul. Pure white. No demonic energy detected, either...

The information appeared in sequence.

Finally, the time engraved upon the soul appeared.

Eighteen. There, see? He had falsified his identity after all. Not twenty-eight, but eighteen... Wait. What?

“...”

Cypria blinked. She looked again at the number floating before her. It still hadn't changed. Eighteen. One-eight.

“Hmmm...?”

Was that it? Had she pulled too many all-nighters?

She must have been exhausted from lack of sleep. She must have been seeing things. Cypria shifted her gaze toward the inspectors watching from beyond the perception-obscuring barrier.

Their faces had gone beyond pale to stark white. Hearing them murmur, “Eighteen. One-eight,” Cypria slowly tilted her head.

Cypria Gachevska, master of the Platinum Tower.

To question the magic of this great imperial archmage was an extraordinary affront, an act of utter discourtesy. That was why the inspectors could only stare wide-eyed, unable to voice their doubts...

“No, that makes no sense.”

But Cypria herself couldn't accept it either.

She steadied her breathing and struck her staff against the floor again. Gears rapidly wrapped around Najin once more. With greater intricacy and precision than ever, Cypria recited the spell without omitting even the incantation.

Thirty seconds later...

The same number—eighteen—appeared above the gears. Silence fell over everyone present. It wasn't that the perception-obscuring barrier was preventing the inspectors' whispers from reaching them. They were truly silent.

Shock beyond a certain point leaves people speechless.

The archmage, the Royal Guard, the inspectors who had performed this work for decades—all of them fell silent.

“My real name is Najin.”

Only Najin spoke.

“I'm eighteen this year.”

He simply answered with a smile.

At the utterly innocent sound of his voice, Soltis, standing a few steps behind him, slapped his palm against his forehead.

A Sword Seeker at eighteen.

It was a monumental event without precedent or parallel.

It took less than a single day for word to spread and turn the Empire upside down.

“What? Eighteen?”

At the heart of the Empire.

At the very pinnacle of the Empire of Britain.

“Unless my memory is mistaken, wasn't the youngest Sword Seeker thirty? I recall the Sword Saint, Sir Karon, reaching that realm at that age.”

The man seated on the throne stared wide-eyed.

His ministers bowed their heads in affirmation.

“I also recall Sir Karon holding the record for youngest Sword Expert, at twenty-three.”

That information was also correct.

Sword Saint Karon had broken the records for the youngest Sword Expert, Sword Seeker, and Sword Master in history. Twenty-three, thirty, and forty-seven, respectively. Those were the records Karon had left behind. Even then, the Empire had been turned upside down.

It was impossible. Was Karon actually a living weapon created in a mage tower? The records were falsified. It was a lie...

Hadn't such rumors been everywhere back then, too? The man blinked several times and read the report again. The number written there still hadn't changed. A swordsman who had attained the Sword Seeker realm at eighteen. Najin.

Not even in his twenties.

A Sword Seeker in his teens?

“Well...”

He let out a disbelieving laugh.

Absurdly enough, three possibilities came to his mind first. A homunculus, a demon contractor, or a larva of Camlann. Yet all three had been ruled out.

Soul: pure white.

No signs of artificial interference.

No demonic energy detected whatsoever. Further testing with fifty-seven types of artifacts produced identical results.

The report had been submitted by Cypria Gachevska, master of the Platinum Tower. Her words were trustworthy. Yet even seeing it with his own eyes, he found it difficult to believe. The man dragged a hand down his face.

“His place of origin?”

“Unknown. He said he could not answer.”

“His bloodline?”

“No matches. Not within the Empire.”

“I see.”

The man reached a swift decision.

If he wouldn't reveal his origins, there was no need to press him. With no matching bloodline within the Empire, he was likely from abroad. Or perhaps his origins were something he couldn't speak of.

Either way, there was no need to know.

The Empire wanted only capable people who would be loyal to it. So long as he wasn't from Camlann or the demons' land, his origins didn't matter.

“Keep that matter under wraps. It would be best to dispatch a separate investigation team. Quietly, and discreetly.”

If he was from abroad, another nation might invoke a claim to secure custody of him. Thus, this matter would have to be handled in secret.

“But what matters most...”

The man rose from his throne.

His platinum-blond hair, reminiscent of starlight, swayed with his movements. The emperor, who stood above all others, smiled as he swept his sleeve.

“...is seeing him with my own eyes.”

He would verify it himself.

“Bring him here.” With that command, the emperor shifted his gaze. There stood the sword of the Empire, steadfast at his post as always.

The empire's greatest swordsman.

The Empire's foremost warrior.