Charging with a Lance on Terra, but Without a Mount

"This is the rack I used to hang my armor on back in the day. Your heavy armor must be hard to put away. It hasn't been used in a long time, but I think it's still sturdy enough."

"You must have been quite skilled with a sword back then."

"Oh? How did you know I used a sword?"

"The signs were fairly obvious to me. And you probably haven't neglected your martial skills either."

Martin laughed. "You really don't seem like a young man. All right, I won't disturb you any longer. Get some rest early."

After Martin left, Claude began trying to remove his armor. It was no easy task. Some of the straps were in places his hands could not reach, making it troublesome to undo them alone. In the past, this had always been handled by his personal guards.

"Perhaps I should hire a servant." Claude considered it. As a fully armed knight, he could never manage everything by himself.

There was no such thing as slavery in the Human Empire. Their Emperor could not tolerate such inefficient waste. Thus, knights also had to hire servants through the market. Imperial law clearly protected servants' rights; they could even enjoy more holidays than knights could ever hope for.

"I'll go look at a housekeeping agency or something tomorrow."

After considerable effort, he removed his armor and hung it on the rack. Claude began his usual exercise before bed—commonly known as meditation. Meditation had no fixed posture, nor even a fixed method. As long as one could quiet oneself, it worked. At its core, it was a suggestion to the body, allowing one's muscles and bones to relax. Everyone did it differently. The most important part of meditation was training the mind. One used one's spirit to draw upon the aether in the air and reshape one's sinews and bones. Though there was no aether in the air now, it was still an excellent way to relax.

Once his meditation was complete, Claude immediately fell asleep.

"So you're the one who accepted my offer of employment, Miss Centaurea?"

Claude looked at the beautiful young woman seated opposite him, with her head of pristine white hair, and felt somewhat surprised.

She was exceptionally pretty, dressed very well, and carried herself less like a maid than a promising young professional sipping coffee and typing away at a keyboard in a high-rise office. But why had she accepted a servant's job from him?

This is part of the job too. Centaurea gritted her teeth. Centaurea—or rather, a spy of the Armorless Union, an organization that served the Kazimierz Commercial Union, both spies and assassins.

A novice like her normally would not need to do work like this. But her superior's superior, some big shot, had suddenly approached her and told her that the target of surveillance this time was extraordinarily formidable. All the other experts had matters to attend to, and among those left, only she could be trusted. So poor Miss Centaurea had no choice but to give up her hard-earned vacation, receive emergency training in housekeeping skills, and even wash away the calluses on her hands with a special solution. Thinking of that big shot's punchable smile, her fists clenched involuntarily.

Though she was filled with rage inside, she answered with a perfectly professional smile on the surface. "That's correct, sir. Your terms are extremely generous, and I happen to be highly proficient in housekeeping, so I came to apply."

Claude examined her carefully. Though there were traces of training on her body, that was nothing unusual in this world. "Although you say you are highly skilled in housekeeping, I will still need to conduct a few tests. Please understand." "Of course, sir. I understand."

Claude brought Centaurea to Martin's tavern and said, "Your job will be to clean this tavern and my bedroom once every day. Sometimes, I'll also need you to help me put on my armor. Please clean this tavern first and let me see what you can do. If I'm satisfied, we'll sign a contract." "Yes, sir."

Centaurea took a deep breath and began cleaning. She first found the cleaning tools, then got to work with crisp, efficient movements. Her motions were concise and forceful. She wiped the tables and chairs spotless, arranged everything neatly, and swept the floor until it gleamed. In only thirty minutes, she had finished cleaning the tavern.

Claude looked at the refreshed tavern. It had been clean before, but its furnishings had not been arranged nearly as well as they were now.

"I'm very satisfied, miss. I can pay you a monthly salary of 9,000. Your work is worth that price." Claude spoke to Centaurea with a gentle smile.

Upon hearing her employer's words, delight appeared on Centaurea's face without her control. She had not expected such high pay for simply cleaning rooms every day. And her employer was rather handsome too. Thinking about it that way, perhaps it was not so unacceptable. "Thank you for your generosity, sir."

At dusk, Claude arrived before a mansion according to the address Margaret had given him.

This estate looked nothing like something a family in decline could own. Sunlight fell upon its white outer walls, giving the entire building a stately and grand appearance. Its iron gates bore golden decorations. The lawn in the garden was trimmed with great care, planted with many brilliantly colored flowers. The ground was laid with white marble tiles, and even the cracks had been cleaned spotless, without a single weed.

After he rang the doorbell, a golden-haired young woman came to open the door before long. She wore a black bow atop her head and a white dress. She looked seventy or eighty percent similar to Margaret, except her features were more youthful and adorable.

When the girl came to the door and saw Claude, she revealed a sunny smile. "Hello, Mr. Claude. Welcome to our home."

Claude gave a bow. "Hello, lovely Miss Maria. I came as Miss Margaret's guest. This is a small gift."

"You're too kind. Please, come sit in the living room." A faint blush appeared on Maria's face.

The Neatl family's living room was likewise stylish and grand. White and gold dominated the decor. It had an exquisite fireplace, comfortable sofas and coffee table, and a display cabinet decorated with armor and weapons. The armor inside looked exceptionally fine, while the swords gleamed with a cold, devouring light. They clearly had not lacked maintenance. Claude's gaze was involuntarily drawn toward them, and he stopped before the display case.

"These are my armor and weapons. I've used them for a long time."

A valiant voice came from beside him. Claude turned and looked at Margaret, who had appeared at his side.

"It seems you specialize in the sword. Why did you switch to a warhammer?"

Margaret's expression suddenly became somewhat hesitant.

"If it's inconvenient to discuss, then forget it." Claude said understandingly.

The two silently skipped over the subject. Neatl continued, "Welcome, Mr. Claude."

"You can just call me Claude. We can be considered comrades-in-arms, after all."

Margaret paused, then smiled. "Of course. Please call me Margaret directly as well. There's no need to call me miss anymore."

They had only met yesterday, yet she unexpectedly trusted this Mr. Claude. He seemed to possess a persuasive charm, able to earn others' trust very quickly—like old Martin in the tavern, Kvar, and Baatarbayar.

At that moment, footsteps sounded from the spiral staircase, and a tall, straight-backed figure descended.

This person had the Neatl family's signature brilliant golden hair, tied into a golden ponytail. Though his expression was somewhat cold, his features were exceptionally handsome. He wore a black suit, but the collar and cuffs were adorned with exquisite golden patterns. One arm was covered by a golden vambrace. His tie was not properly fastened and hung somewhat loose, while the first button of his blue shirt was undone.

"This is my uncle, Młynar."

Made some revisions

A New Beginning: Unbroken Victories

Claude looked at the middle-aged man before him. The other man was also studying him, his expression difficult to read.

"Hello, Mr. Claude. Welcome to our home." His greeting was calm and neither servile nor overbearing.

"Hello, Mr. Młynar. It is a pleasure to meet you. Forgive my intrusion." They shook hands, and Młynar continued, "If it is convenient, please sit and have a cup of tea."

The three sat on the sofas in the living room. With practiced motions, Młynar brewed three cups of black tea, served in white bone china, and set one before each of them.

A peculiar atmosphere filled the space between them. Everyone remained silent, uncertain what to say. In the end, Młynar was the first to speak.

"Mr. Claude, you are a very powerful knight. You should have your own convictions as well, so I have a question for you."

"Please, ask."

"Why do you support Margaret's childish ideal? You should know how impractical her plan is. Opposing the merchants within a competitive tournament organized under their system—she has no possibility of succeeding."

Margaret lowered her head beside them.

"Mr. Młynar, I think you have underestimated your niece."

Młynar frowned.

"You may think this was an impulsive act born from a burst of passion. But in my eyes, she has already found her own convictions and understands the road she wishes to walk. She shines like the sun, so I believe she is worthy of my support."

"She is merely a child. What convictions could she possibly have?"

"When have a knight's convictions ever resided in sword and blade? The light in her heart is already unshakable. And..." Claude suddenly paused, turning to look at Margaret. "Perhaps my interference is unnecessary, sir. When has the light in your own heart ever dimmed? I think that even without me, there would not have been any problem."

"You cannot protect them forever, sir. Since they have already made their true resolve, then as their elder, it would be better for you to support them."

After dinner at the Neatl household, it was midnight when Margaret came out to see him off.

"Thank you for your support, Claude. Though I do not think I deserve your praise, I truly feel unworthy of it."

"That hardly counts as praise. I believe you will not regret what you are about to do in the future. If you can do that, then you deserve to be called firm in your convictions. Who knows what the future holds? We only need to live well in the present and not let our future selves regret it."

Claude stood beneath the streetlamp, his figure straight as a poplar tree, his helmet tucked beneath one arm.

"Please head back, Margaret. I should return as well."

"Goodbye. I enjoyed talking with you." A faint smile rested on Margaret's lips.

"As did I. Goodbye." Claude smiled as he put on his helmet.

Both in good spirits, they set off in separate directions beneath the dim glow of the streetlamps.

Claude moved through the light of the streetlamps and the shadows of the trees when he suddenly tilted his head slightly. Deep in thought, he quickened his pace.

Two minutes later, Claude climbed up from a nearby drainage pipe and stood atop a roof, looking around in both directions. Finding nothing, he sighed involuntarily. "Got away, huh!" He then turned and left.

Two more minutes passed before Claude suddenly leaped onto the roof from the pipe beside it.

"Looks like they really left." Claude felt a slight disappointment. Without lingering, he headed toward his lodging.

Only after Claude had been gone for a full half hour did a slender, elegant hand reach up from the edge of the eaves. Then came smooth white hair and a pair of pointed horse ears. Centaurea sat on the eaves and let out a long sigh.

"That was way too close." (shudder)

Engla tried to deflect the strike with the battleaxe in his hands. A flicker of lightning coiled around the spear tip, causing his battleaxe to stiffen slightly before that terrifying force knocked it aside. The spear tip, wreathed in lightning, pierced his breastplate as easily as tearing through a sheet of paper.

At the brink of life and death, Engla let out a furious roar. His eyes seemed flooded with blood, and his strength abruptly doubled. He swung his battleaxe at his enemy's head, attempting to perish together—when a hand clad in a black iron gauntlet struck heavily against his elbow joint. Under the combined force of his full-power downward swing and the strength opposing him, which was no weaker than his own, his elbow emitted a crisp, spine-chilling crack and bent backward at an unnatural angle.

The intense pain pulled Engla from his berserk state. The next instant, the spear shaft smashed heavily into his helmet, knocking him unconscious in one blow.

A solemn, magnificent symphony resounded through the arena, like a general returning in triumph. Ceremonial cannons around the field blasted streamers into the sky, filling the entire arena as Night Knight's fans erupted in earthshaking cheers, celebrating yet another victory for their idol. Yes, he already had fans, though even he did not know it. He had no idea who had organized them, but they had been causing quite a stir on the terminals these past few days, making him reluctant to go outside.

"Unbelievable! This is already Night Knight's fourth victory today!!! One powerful knight after another has fallen before him! With such a formidable opponent, who can possibly stop him now?!! Who else?!!!"

"Every battle is finished in under three minutes!! His opponents cannot even force him to use a second move!! That lightning, as dazzling as thunder itself, effortlessly shatters even the most meticulously designed armor!!!"

"Even Knight Engla, the only one who could barely contend with him, has now fallen beneath his lance!!"

The commentator shouted himself hoarse, seemingly overwhelmed with emotion, while Claude did as he always had: offered a slight bow, then turned and left.

As he walked out, people threw flowers at him, and praises and cheers never ceased. This sort of scene was something he was still rather accustomed to. When he had returned in triumph at the head of his legion, he had witnessed scenes far grander than this. Hundreds of thousands had cheered at the steel formations in the sky, their voices enough to shake the earth and stir up fierce winds.

Although he had ultimately decided to let Margaret become champion and fulfill her ideal, Claude still wanted to spar with her once. He believed she felt the same way. As though their hearts understood one another, neither had suggested withdrawing from the competition. It was the pride they held as knights.

As he left the venue, a few drops of rain suddenly fell. Claude raised his head and looked toward the sky, thick with dark clouds.

"Looks like heavy rain is coming."

A New Beginning: The Storm Approaches

At the top of a high-rise building stood a special room, one that remained closed most of the time. No stairway or elevator could reach it. The only way to arrive was by aircraft, landing on the rooftop.

The room's interior was not luxurious. It had only plain wooden flooring, leather sofas, and a round table. Yet this room, one that anyone with modest savings could afford to live in, was the place every merchant in Kazimierz dreamed of entering. To enter this place meant becoming one of those standing at the pinnacle of Kazimierz. They controlled the lifeblood of all Kazimierz. With a single word, they could set off storms in the market, send countless people soaring into the clouds, or smash them to pieces.

Today, however, this usually deserted building had suddenly become lively. First, several servants entered to clean the interior. Then a group of sharp, capable knights came in and conducted a thorough inspection. Only after confirming that it was safe did aircraft begin landing one after another on the landing pad outside. Several impeccably dressed people exchanged a few words, then entered. The knights responsible for security immediately surrounded the building, forbidding anyone from approaching. Well-equipped hackers also promptly set up devices nearby to guard against electronic intrusions.

The room was not bright, but rather dim enough that it was difficult to see others' faces clearly. There were no windows, in order to prevent assassins from striking.

The people took their seats one after another, each in their assigned place, yet no one spoke. The silent atmosphere persisted for three full minutes before a woman finally opened her mouth.

"Corvin, I heard your Kazimierz Major has not been going very well. Quite a few problems have arisen."

"Cut the sarcasm, Altita. Do you think this has nothing to do with you? We came here today to solve it."

Just as the two were about to start arguing, a low, aged voice stopped them.

"Do not engage in meaningless infighting. Corvin is right. We came today to solve a problem, not create new ones."

"Corvin, explain the situation."

"Certainly. Everyone, look at these two people. One is Claude Aite. The other is Margaret Neatl, eldest daughter of the Neatl family."

"Let us put aside the Neatl family's eldest daughter for the moment. They have always opposed us. As for this Claude Aite, he has rejected our recruitment time and again. We still do not know his true purpose. But without question, their actions pose no small threat to us. If someone who does not cooperate with us becomes champion, it will break the conventions of knight competitions. And knight competitions are unquestionably the lifeblood of Kazimierz now. This challenges our authority, and it absolutely cannot be allowed."

"Well said, but how are we supposed to resolve it? They are no minor figures. I have tried several times in succession and failed to make them withdraw from the competition."

"According to information from the Armorless Union, Claude visited the Neatl residence. They have likely joined forces already."

"That is hardly good news. Because of the old gentleman of the Neatl family, we cannot act against them directly."

"But this precedent absolutely cannot be set. If our authority is shaken, how can we control Kazimierz? If we cannot control Kazimierz, all of us will die without even a burial ground."

"If necessary, we can only resort to extreme measures. At worst, we can push the Armorless Union out to take the blame. The Kazimierz General Chamber of Commerce will not go down with us. They cannot afford the price, or the Ursus Empire will not simply sit by and watch. They cannot afford the military expenses of the Campaign Knights either."

"But neither can we afford that price. This plan may be kept in reserve, but we can only use it when we have exhausted every other option."

"The best outcome would be to defeat them directly in the competition. Then there would be no lingering consequences."

"That is easier said than done. They are both extremely powerful knights. We cannot find opponents guaranteed to defeat them."

"Everyone, I think you are worrying too much. Kazimierz's entire economy is in our hands. Force is hardly our only option for targeting them. Besides, mine can be given a try as well."

"You mean that pair of infected brothers?"

"That's right. They are already two beasts. If the two of them fight together, then there is absolutely no knight capable of defeating them."

"But how can we make the public accept such an unfair match?"

"They only want entertainment. Why would they care whether it is fair? Go ahead and do it without concern."

"This plan is worth attempting, but we must prepare our backup plan as well. If we truly reach a point where there is no other choice, then we can only..."

"Enough. Make your preparations. Do not let anything go wrong."

The meeting lasted from morning until noon. Only then did the group leave separately by aircraft, and the building returned to how it had been before.