According to old legends, that sword was said to shine with a brilliant silver hue.

It was said to possess a will, to choose its master, and to know how to express its intentions through resonance.

HUM-HUMMMM.

Just like the sword now approaching me.

CLAAANG!

The winter dirt floor, unable to withstand the pressure created by sword against sword, began to whip up a rough storm of dust.

And yet, even through that ashen haze, Rodrigo was entirely absorbed in staring at the silver sword pressed against his own.

'... Could this be!'

The sword was crying.

Together with the true-silver coin I had kept in my chest.

Feeling the coin’s resonance begin from within his breastplate, Rodrigo could not hide his bewilderment.

"Vlad Dragulia! Where in the world did you learn Imperial Swordsmanship!"

"..."

Rodrigo’s question, asking about Vlad’s origins, rang out powerfully, but the one being questioned merely hid himself once more in the pale dust.

The moment the thick dust swallowed Vlad’s golden light, the screams of knights began to ring out from ahead.

"Where is he!"

"Put your backs together! Cut down the blind spots!"

"Goddammit! That bastard is too fast!"

BOOM! BANG! CRUNCH!

Each time a golden line was drawn through the blocked field of vision, a thunderous noise rang out.

Every time that sound rang out, the surrounding buildings collapsed without fail, and the pale dust created along with it began to blind the knights.

"... The Imperial Enforcers should have found him properly, at least."

The secret of the one-strike sure-kill comes from controlling the battlefield.

In the dust storm meant for facing enemies more numerous than oneself, an eerie voice was sounding out.

"Because of you incompetent bastards, the real culprit must still be walking around perfectly fine."

Useless bastards swept up in the fog created by their opponent, unable even to see what was right in front of them.

More than the unjust misunderstanding he had suffered, Vlad was enraged by Auguste’s unresolved grudge.

"You bastards are full of openings."

A strange gaze began to form from within his blue eyes.

Auguste’s world was a world that found truths hidden on the other side.

Even amid the raging dust storm, Vlad’s flashing vision was surely something he had taken from Imperial Enforcer Commander Auguste.

"...!"

Vlad’s breath, held as tightly as the blade he had raised, stopped for an instant.

The reason the first step forward is difficult is because I do not know where I must go.

But there was not the slightest hesitation in Vlad’s heavy step now.

Because I knew exactly where I had to go.

SWOOOOSH!

With the sound of wind being cleaved, a single sword strike began to fly out of the dust toward the knights.

The swordsmanship created by the Duelist who, in ancient days, was said to have opposed the most perfect dragon.

But the beam of light approaching the knights was far closer to its original form.

"Urgh!"

"Aaaagh!"

From one man’s breastplate, from another’s wrist, and from another’s sword.

Following the weaknesses Auguste had taught him, the lines made by the knights’ blood began to connect.

"Even now, do I still look like the culprit to you!"

The swordsmanship brushing past them belonged to the old imperial family, and the gaze held in those blue eyes belonged to the Imperial Enforcer Commander.

And what was crying along with them was none other than the brilliantly shining silver sword.

HUM-HUM.

Even amid the bursting sprays of blood, the knights of the Imperial Enforcers opened their eyes wide.

Because the most orthodox sword of all was brushing past them.

"... My God."

Along with Rodrigo’s sigh, the ashen dust was settling.

As the dust cleared, what came into view were the knights of the Imperial Enforcers frozen like stone statues, and the tip of Vlad’s sword after it had passed them by.

"You asked where I learned Imperial Swordsmanship?"

After whipping away the droplets of blood falling from it, Vlad raised his sword toward Rodrigo, who had stopped as if in shock.

"I learned it from that man."

The extended sword tip was sharp, but the direction it pointed was not toward Rodrigo.

It was merely aimed at the flag of the Imperial Enforcers fluttering behind him.

"Who?"

Together with Vlad’s answer, the knights of the Imperial Enforcers began to fall slowly.

But even as his subordinates collapsed right before him, Rodrigo had no choice but to turn his head along the tip of the sword Vlad was pointing.

"The flag?"

The flag of the Imperial Enforcers fluttered in the blowing wind.

To Rodrigo’s question of where he had learned Imperial Swordsmanship, Vlad was merely pointing at the white lightning engraved within the flag.

"...!"

There was a man moving hurriedly through the imperial corridors.

His steps seemed almost frivolous, unlike his advanced age.

Yet despite his quickly moving feet, there was a clear caution in the way he tried to appear calm, mindful of other people’s eyes.

"Your Grace. May I come in for a moment?"

"... Come in."

Armand’s faint voice came from inside the room.

The man holding a small note began to look around, checking to see if anyone was nearby.

Because the imperial court was now filled with the dragon’s shadow, and every single action had to be taken carefully.

"A report has come in from Sir Rodrigo, who was sent out on assignment."

Perhaps because he had worked so hard to hide it on his way here, the man’s voice trembled little by little once he entered the room.

"Here."

"... I see."

Perhaps the Armand of ordinary days would have been able to notice the sound of his trusted aide’s labored breathing.

But the Armand of now merely leaned his head weakly like a dying candle and stared at the firelight in the hearth.

"Did he say Auguste has been avenged?"

"Your Grace. That is not the news."

Armand’s mage rushed forward in a single stride and placed a note in Armand’s cooling hand.

"We have finally found it. Your Grace."

"... Found what?"

Armand was fading away little by little like a cooling wick, but at the look in the man’s eyes, he unfolded the note he held.

"...!"

His fingertips trembled not because he was old, but because he was shocked.

The note Armand had received was the same size as the note once sent by Auguste, who had been the Imperial Enforcer Commander.

"... This, now..."

The noble imperial bloodline had already been severed, and the dragon fragment that had to be protected had been stolen by the oldest dragon.

And so Armand’s life had held no meaning, but the note he now held was telling him to burn his final flame.

-The white lightning was continuing.

No one in the imperial court knew what had happened at the end of Founding King Quijano Frausen.

Because in his final moments, he had taken off the glorious crown and left the Imperial Palace with nothing but a single silver sword in hand.

-Together with the silver sword he held.

"Ohhh!"

A joy he could not possibly hide flowed from the old body.

Because the note Rodrigo had sent was precisely the news Armand had so desperately waited for, and the news he had all but half given up on.

"Hrmm..."

Afraid that the cheer he had let out might leak outside, Armand hurriedly bit down on the end of his sleeve.

The exclamation that could not escape through his clenched lips began to warm Armand’s cooled heart little by little.

"... Come, come closer."

"Yes, Your Grace."

At Armand’s carefully beckoning hand, his trusted aide willingly brought his ear close.

Because Armand’s eyes, which had regained their vitality, were now gleaming.

"Gather my knights. Slowly. So Sarnus notices as little as possible."

"Understood, Your Grace."

Watching his trusted aide nod and leave the room, Armand quickly threw the two notes he had been holding into the hearth.

They were notes of the same size, but one of them had been folded and crumpled, as if it had been kept for a long time.

"Thank you, Auguste."

It was the note he had been holding while remembering the knight who had been with him for so many long years, but he no longer needed it.

Because he had surely received the will Auguste had passed on.

"Thanks to you, I can connect it again."

It was said the imperial pact that bound the oldest dragon continued through only two things.

One was bloodline, and the other was will.

Though Auguste had met a wretched end under the Dragonblood Duke’s restraints, even in his final moments, he had not forgotten his duty toward the imperial family.

"You goddamn bastards!"

BANG!

It was likely no illusion that the voice shouting in uncontrolled rage was mixed with the faint sound of a beast.

Watching the table slowly split apart, Mircea hurriedly picked up the wineglass that had been on it.

"This is why sea bastards should never be trusted!"

The letter he flung away as if throwing it down bore an emblem adorned in gold.

It might look different depending on one’s tastes, but that excessively decorated emblem held an insolence that was hard to hide.

-The dragon fragment meant for you was snatched up by a fellow called Vlad. Perhaps because his bloodline is brave by nature, he sliced up that huge dragon quite splendidly.

"Of all people, he had to hand that fragment over to one of dragon blood!"

Perhaps because he looked even younger than before.

The movements of the Dragonblood Duke, unable to master his rage, were filled with seething heat.

"I had only just been satisfied after obtaining the imperial family’s fragment, and now a southern bastard is eating away at me."

Faint tattoos covered Sarnus’s roughly loosened shirt.

Looking at the thorn-vine-like tattoo encircling his neck, Mircea quietly picked up the letter that had fallen.

"Then the only fragments left now are the two in the North."

Sarnus walked to the window, clasped his hands behind his back, and began to glare at the northern lands far away.

"You broke it into such tiny pieces. Founding King."

As he looked out the window, Sarnus recalled the most perfect dragon that had fallen beneath the silver knight in ancient days.

And even the sight of Quijano, covered in blood, cutting apart the most perfect heart, which was still beating, into five fragments.

As the oldest dragon, Sarnus had witnessed that legendary moment together with the Swordmaster’s knights, and he was also the only person involved who still lived.

"What do you think, Mircea? Does he still yearn for his father’s embrace?"

"... I do not know."

Sarnus had been huffing with rage only moments ago, yet the face he turned back with was already filled with warmth.

Looking at his father, who had as many faces as the long years he had lived, Mircea merely bowed his head.

"I scattered it because I was curious what a possibility blooming in the mud would taste like, but has it grown this much already?"

The fact that he had survived the longest also meant he had devoured that much more.

Sarnus, who had dreamed of the most perfect possibility while harvesting the seeds he himself had sown, now realized that the time had come for him to move personally.

"I will strike the North. Gather the lords."

"Understood."

"Ah, and."

Sarnus’s finger pointed at the wineglass Mircea was holding.

"Bring me another glass."

A slender goblet holding crimson wine.

When Mircea looked down at that glass, it was filled with red droplets that had not yet been swallowed.

"Yes."

After leaving the room, Mircea passed through a familiar corridor and opened the hidden door to the basement.

The scent of dragons wafted out with the damp air.

With no torch at all, and only the wineglass in hand, Mircea’s steps into the darkness were merely familiar.

"... Oh dear."

But when Mircea stood before the bars deep underground, he could not help letting out a small sigh.

Roughly cut chains and shackles.

In the place where the red-haired wine cask should certainly have been safely stored, there were only traces left behind by someone who had been there.