Starry Night Alliance (Part 1)

Two hours later.

"Watch your steps!"

"Steady your breathing!"

"The key to the 'Iron Body' stance is in your feet—adjust the distance between your legs the moment you're hit to deflect the force!"

"If you want to live, raise your shield toward the enemy!"

Lady Jinnie's crisp voice rang out, followed by a merciless slash!

Tales gritted his teeth, swinging the sword in his right hand to spin his body, while his left arm bulged with veins as he strained to lift the disproportionately heavy wooden shield with his shoulder strength. His right leg bent slightly, ready to slide according to the force of the impact to cushion the blow.

Thud!

Gilbert, watching from the sidelines, gently closed his eyes.

After Jinnie's sword struck the lower edge of his shield, Tales lost his balance for the twenty-fifth time and tumbled once more onto the sand ground. This time, utterly exhausted, he could no longer lift the shield in his hands.

D-Damn it.

The boy gasped heavily, struggling to raise his head and chest, but the heavy shield pressed down on his left chest, keeping him pinned to the ground.

This aunt—and his father's lover—had been swinging her sword nonstop for two hours, but why, why wasn't there any sign of fatigue?

"Northern Military Swordsmanship, over three thousand years ago, originated in the distant era of the Shaven Ancient Kingdom and took shape during the Era of Kings before the Ancient Empire," Gilbert's voice echoed across the training ground, as if reading Tales's thoughts. "Records say that at the time, the Ancient Elf and the Dragon Horde were locked in fierce war, while the human kings of the north faced an invasion of Ancient Orcs from the north."

"This swordsmanship was forged to fight Ancient Orcs and even dragons—terrifying foes far surpassing humans in strength and size," Gilbert said seriously, watching Tales on the ground. "It is the oldest combat swordsmanship in human history. It was in this immense disadvantage, in nearly hopeless battles, in almost certain death and suicidal charges, that the first knights awakened Transcendent Power, now called 'Ending Power,' becoming the earliest Transcendent Ranks in human history."

A glint flashed in Gilbert's eyes. "Lady Jinnie is a standout among the Transcendent Rank. Setting aside her unique Ending Power, her observation, explosive strength, balance—almost all physical attributes—are leagues beyond yours. The gap between her and you is like that between the fierce, mighty Ancient Orcs and the weak humans of old."

Tales looked at Jinnie in surprise and embarrassment—honestly, he still didn't know how to get along with his father's "lover"—only to see her casually flexing her wrist, seemingly indifferent to Gilbert's praise.

"With further use and accumulation of Transcendent Power, this strength only grows. Knights learn to harness these vast, profound forces, to control those immeasurable powers, reaching a state of effortless command. Compared to the Transcendent Rank, these more advanced knights possess strength so deep it's unfathomable, and techniques so exquisite they're unmatched. They begin to grasp the essence of power and combat, adapting freely without constraint, resolving battles with maximum efficiency and minimal loss," Gilbert stepped forward, nodding subtly toward some empty space in the air:

"This is the Extreme Realm—the ultimate strong ones beyond the limits of power."

Tales stared blankly at the sky, recalling Ashida's effortless control over the air and Yordel's ghostly, traceless movements.

"Mortal Tier, Transcendent Rank, Extreme Realm—this system of power classification, after humanity's rise, spread widely across all races and lands," Gilbert glanced at the sky and nodded to Jinnie. "Ancient Orcs, Ancient Elves, even Psions and... began using these classifications."

"And it all stems from the ancient Northern Military Swordsmanship, from that spark of courage to survive against Orcs and dragons." Gilbert's words left Tales lost in thought.

"Today, the threat of Ancient Orcs is gone, dragons have vanished from the world, and Northern Military Swordsmanship no longer circulates. Even in the armies of the Ekster Kingdom, which pride themselves on Northern blood and occupy the ancient northern lands, this swordsmanship has long been abandoned. Now, the only places with a complete inheritance of Northern Military Swordsmanship are the Starfall Kingdom and the Terminus Tower."

"Lady Jinnie is one of the few masters of this art. For this swordsmanship that once saved our ancestors, Young Master Tales, please hold it in reverence and practice without cease."

Swordsmanship to fight Orcs and dragons?

No wonder—Tales thought gloomily, coming back to himself—no wonder swinging this sword feels like I'm some grandkid.

Remembering how he'd stupidly raised his shield and swung his sword (dragged along by the sword), moved his feet (pulled by the shield's inertia), and sparred with Jinnie (Jinnie sparring him), feeling like he'd been treated like a punching bag for two hours, Tales sighed wordlessly and fell back with a resigned look.

"Your previous wound is showing signs of tearing. That's enough for this morning." Jinnie glanced at the sun, dropped her sword and shield, and said calmly.

"These three defensive stances of Northern Military Swordsmanship are your homework for the week. As for riding..." Jinnie looked at the pony happily frolicking by the hitching post with a butterfly, then at Tales struggling to free his left arm from the wooden shield. She sighed too, shook her head, and said, "Go wash up. Eat lunch. At one o'clock, Gilbert has an indoor lesson prepared for you."

Afternoon lessons?

God, is there evening study too?

Tales, used to the irregular life of a monk-like scholar, let out another breath, feeling the ache all over, and closed his eyes in resignation.

The most honored bastard in the Starfall Kingdom, helpless and strained, stripped off his gear (pulling his left arm out of the shield), and limped into Mindis Hall.

He had only an hour to bathe and eat.

"I must say, remarkable understanding and insight. In just two hours, he's already grasped the basic spirit of this swordsmanship," Gilbert broke the silence, watching Tales leave, nodding softly. "At his age, I trained with my body; this child learns with his mind."

"Forget that—don't tell me your observation skills are so poor you missed the anomaly on him!" Jinnie's face turned serious as Tales's figure disappeared. She spoke to Gilbert while warily scanning the air around her. "I remember that cursed mask could see even dust a hundred meters away clearly."

"Stop looking; Yordel isn't nearby," Gilbert said, clasping his hands behind his back, steady and composed, at Jinnie's tense behavior. "Ever since Tales was unexpectedly taken by the Blood Race, he's been by his side every moment, never leaving."

"And yes, we both noticed," Gilbert continued, frowning slightly. "The boy is only about seven. He was fairly injured two days ago, but in two days, it's almost healed... Two hours of swordsmanship under the sun without major issues... No wonder the Bloodline Lamp, which detects blood, had no reaction for seven full years..."

"This constitution can't just be called 'unusual'—it's practically..." He sighed, trying not to dwell on another possibility. "The Crescent Star Family truly is the longest-surviving imperial bloodline in the world."

Jinnie fell silent for a moment, tacitly dropping the subject.

The Court Official bent down, dusting off her boots. "Speaking of vampires, why did you leak Tales's identity to them and invite them into Mindis Hall? Do you really believe in that agreement between Tales and the fallen Archduchess? He's only seven... And you know well—vampires have killed our people; we can't trust them... And to vampires, we're a sudden surprise; they can't trust us either."

"You've already answered yourself." A sharp glint shone in Gilbert's eyes as he recalled that dead-faced yet wise old Blood Race man. "Precisely because we lack mutual trust, fear each other, even threaten each other."

"That's why we bind each other with our secrets and shared interests. It's the tacit understanding and cunning of diplomacy, not the clear-cut work of investigation and detection."

"Hmph, playing tricks, shrouded in mystery." Jinnie seemed reminded of unpleasant memories, leaving the training ground into the hall with a sour look. "Another Morat."

"Thank you for the compliment, esteemed Lady Jinnie," Gilbert tipped his hat, smiling just right. "To be ranked alongside the head of the Kingdom Secret Bureau is my great honor."

And—Gilbert didn't mind Jinnie's rude dismissal, silently adding in his heart—that boy may be only seven, but when it comes to cunning, he's no worse than that centuries-old Archduchess.

In fact, half an hour later, when Gilbert and Jinnie both arrived at Tales's study, the boy, who had just hastily bathed and was eating, was frowning miserably at the expressionless red-eyed Little Girl before him.

Her underlings, Istrone and Rolana, were locked in a hostile standoff with the Terminus Swordsman guards surrounding Tales in an impenetrable circle.

"Step back, vampire," a guard who seemed to be the leader glared from behind his helmet, his tone harsh. "You're not welcome here."

"Don't get me wrong, I don't like you Short-Lived Species much either," Istrone said with utter indifference, further grating on the guards. "Remember? I took out eight of your kind yesterday." His tone was mocking and provocative.

Frowning, Tales bit into a carefully seasoned beef short rib from the fork in his hand, moved to admiration by the delicious taste he hadn't experienced since crossing over, while cautiously avoiding the gaze of the baby-faced little girl across from him—her eyes were clearly off.

Too bad, this flavor probably couldn't compare to the dog meat he'd once shared with Yala.

Tales surveyed the situation before him and sighed: What a headache.

"You won't get that chance again, you wretched rat hiding in a vase," the sword leader's voice dropped to freezing point, his specially issued silver sword drawn an inch from its sheath. "Try taking a step forward? I'd be happy to avenge my comrades—or I could just pull back the curtains and let you bask in the sun."

The handsome blond man's face darkened as he prepared to step forward.

"Easy, boys." Lorraine timely pulled her fuming cousin back a step, her words serious and firm despite the smile on her face. "Servants, withdraw. Your master and our master have an agreement."

Watching the Terminus Swordsmen who looked ready to kill them, Lorraine's playful face grew even brighter. "As your master said—we're allies now. Shouldn't we let bygones be bygones? Eight lives, after all..."

The Terminus Swordsmen grew more agitated; a few even ground their teeth audibly beneath their helmets.

That's a cousin for you—Istrone thought to himself, especially as he watched the guards seething with rage yet forced to restrain themselves—it really soothes my soul.

Outside the room, Jinnie frowned and was about to step inside, but Gilbert caught her arm. The gray-haired former diplomat shook his head with a mysterious expression, pointing past the guards to the little master seated in his chair.

Jinnie looked confused.

Until she saw Tales, having finished his last bite, set down his knife and fork, let out a satisfied burp, and slide off his chair.

What should I do—Tales pondered the question as he met the three Blood Race's meaningful gazes.

But he found his answer quickly.

"Thank you for your protection, Jola. With you here, I feel secure about my safety." Tales spoke with a smile, casually tugging at the hem of the sword leader's armor.

This Jola—the one he'd tested on his first morning here by poking him in the belly to see if the guards were "stone men," making him laugh—was the leader of these guards. He'd arranged for them to shoot down the invading Mercenaries one by one.

He knew he couldn't dismiss these loyal guards with the authority and dominance of a typical protagonist in cheap novels. Moreover, they'd just sacrificed eight of their most reliable brothers and comrades to protect him. Facing their direct enemies, not drawing swords to kill was already rare restraint. Even if they were now allies by agreement, pretending nothing had happened and waving his own people away in front of outsiders might feel satisfying, but it would only chill the guards' hearts.

Tales's expression turned serious. "I need you to do me a favor."

"As you command."

Though his face was unreadable, the guard leader Jola's respectful tone said it all. The swordsmen stationed here were the Crescent Star Family's most trusted and elite private soldiers. Though not explicitly told, based on their assigned tasks and the past few days, the guards had long guessed the identity of the boy personally delivered by Gilbert and Yordel.

"Because of past experiences, I don't trust this handsome Mr. Istrone Corleon, or his beautiful but equally dangerous cousin, Ms. Lorraine Corleone."

"They've brought me no small humiliation—their presence troubles me, fills me with fear and worry." Tales furrowed his brow and gritted his teeth.

As if they were mortal enemies.

Istrone and Lorraine both startled, glancing back at the Archduchess, but she remained impassive.

"Just say the word, young sir," Jola said, his gaze sharpening behind his helmet as his sword slid another inch from its sheath. "Our swords will be drawn for you."

The surrounding Terminus Swordsmen, hearing this, placed their hands on their sword hilts, their eyes growing increasingly hostile in shared enmity.

"Excellent. I want their heads badly..." Tales's face chilled as he stared fixedly at Istrone.

The swordsmen stepped forward in unison, subtly encircling the Blood Race.

Istrone's heart skipped a beat at the boy's expression.

Lorraine bared a fierce look, flexing her hands.

No way—Istrone felt an inexplicable dread, unconsciously stepping back until the Archduchess's whisper sounded in his ear.

"Steady, Isa," the childish voice, audible only to the Blood Race, steadied Istrone. "He's not about to break the alliance."

"...But because of the sacred covenant, I can't harm them in my own house..."

"So, drive the other two—except this little lady—out into the corridor, Jola." Tales pursed his lips and crossed his arms coldly.

"If they dare disturb my private conversation with—Ms. Serena Corleone."

A chill flashed in Tales's eyes, making Istrone, already haunted by past shadows, uneasy. The boy turned to Jola and continued mercilessly: "Jola, and all of you... you'll have a just reason to avenge your shame."

"Especially the blond one."

Istrone's heart tightened.

"If our swords are drawn, we will not disappoint you." Jola nodded with a resolute look, extending his arm toward the study door:

"Vampires, you heard him."

"Get out. The corridor is where you belong."

A furious Istrone wanted to retort, but his cousin stopped him.

Lorraine hid her surprise perfectly, smiled mysteriously, bowed respectfully to the little girl Serena, and dragged Istrone out of the study.

Outside, Gilbert smiled, and with a stunned Jinnie, made way for the guards and Blood Race. The two groups eyed each other warily as they exited the study, continuing their standoff in the distant corridor.

"Good day, Mr. and Ms. Corleon." Gilbert gave a neat bow, his elegant mustache curling upward. "I know Blood Race have exceptional hearing—it's far too easy to eavesdrop on the study from here. I wonder if listening in would count as 'disturbing' Mr. Tales and Ms. Corleon's private conversation?"

The guard Jola and his swordsmen immediately stepped forward with grim expressions: "You're eavesdropping?"

Lorraine's smile froze, while Istrone's face turned ashen.

Watching the Blood Race forced back to the stairs by the indignant swordsmen, Jinnie fell into thought.

So—Jinnie lowered her head silently—what Gilbert said was true. That really was a clever, steady boy.

Only, she was a little too clever and steady for her age.

Tales let out a breath. Under the Red-Eyed Little Girl's slightly strange gaze, he pushed the heavy study door shut and considerately drew the curtains to block out the sunlight.

The third-floor study had perfect soundproofing. Gilbert had assured him that even a Blood Race's hearing couldn't penetrate it.

"Alright, yesterday we were pressed for time. Now," Tales exhaled and put on a serious face, "let's discuss the terms of the alliance agreement in detail."

"Especially regarding my blood, and the part where you serve me."

"Vewy good," said Miss Serena, the Little Girl, whose speech was lisping because her body had shrunk. She nodded with equal seriousness. "The terms to discuss might as well include your identity situation."

Tales's face showed confusion, but with the Red-Eyed Little Girl's next words, his expression shifted dramatically.

He heard this Little Girl, who wore the appearance of a child but was the true heir of the Corleone Family, the legitimate and orthodox ruler of the Hill of Suffering, the Archduchess, Her Highness Serena L. A. Corleone, speak faintly, her words whistling through her teeth:

"That is, the pwoblem of youw succession wights as Pwince, which have yet to be wecognized."

What they didn't know was that, just as Tales was skillfully avoiding the irreconcilable grudge between the guards and the Blood Race and beginning his negotiations with Serena, atop the third-floor study, Chris Corleone was hiding in the shadow of the fireplace chimney, avoiding the sunlight, his posture awkward and his face expressionless.

"Alright," said the pale-faced Chris Corleone, his ear twitching as he turned his head. "Our people didn't start a fight. I think His Highness and that little friend have probably begun their talk."

"We're both in the Extreme Realm, so don't we need to keep up this awkward posture anymore?"

Only then did the masked, perpetually silent strange man across from the Blood Race elder, Yordel Gato, tuck his reversed Short Sword back into his clothes, his form gradually fading away.