House Bigusle, reception hall.
Rocket sat on the sofa, looking at the person across from him. His steadfast face, which rarely showed any obvious emotion, was now filled with gloom and faint anger.
"Father."
A voice equally filled with anger, yet carrying a trace of concealed unease, sounded from beside Rocket and reached his ears, causing him to turn and look over.
There, a valiant-looking woman in light armor, a sword at her waist, sat beside Rocket and looked at him. The humiliation in her eyes was plain for all to see.
Rocket had every reason to believe that his own eyes held the same humiliation as hers.
What they were facing now was no different from an insult.
"Have you thought it over, Lord Rocket?"
A voice carrying a cold sneer sounded from across from Rocket.
There sat a middle-aged man slightly younger than Rocket, though he was still in his forties.
The middle-aged man resembled Rocket. Both were almost fully armored and carried enormous greatswords. The greatsword was held in the arms of a young knight in his twenties or thirties standing behind him, making its presence in the room impossible to ignore.
It was as though it were meant to intimidate—or rather, threaten. The young knight holding it wore a smug expression, like a petty man borrowing another's authority, filling the valiant woman's face with disgust.
Besides this young knight holding the sword, several older knights stood behind the middle-aged man.
The auras of these knights were far from ordinary. Each one radiated an extraordinary presence that proved their strength.
Yet this group of knights showed nothing but respect toward the middle-aged man.
That was not merely because of his status, but because his strength was something they could only look up to.
The middle-aged man confronted