SOTBW - 190

The knights, hearing the noon bell, lazily made their way to the training grounds.

Whether Maximón was present or not, training never stopped. If they skipped it for various excuses, Jacob would write down their names with a disapproving expression. After rumors spread that this list might be Maximón’s “death note,” everyone at least went through the motions of wielding their swords during practice.

That day too, the knights, having stuffed themselves with lunch, dragged their heavy bodies to the training grounds. Ever since the Serith had inexplicably disappeared, the battlefield had become a place of peace.

The veterans who had survived on the field for years kept their bodies tense, knowing they could be called to fight at any moment. However, the soldiers and mercenaries who had recently come down to Noctis thought this was their only chance to relax, so they neglected training and spent their days chasing booze and women.

Without a vice-commander in the Knights, the remaining knights couldn’t control them. Maximón stayed in his quarters handling paperwork and gave no orders to the knights. After a week of this, even the knights began to grow lazy about training.

The knights, bloated from eating too much lunch, planned to half-heartedly pair up for sparring and swing their wooden practice swords a few times before calling it quits. Jacob, who wasn’t high enough in rank to demand proper training, didn’t intervene.

As they patted their full stomachs and descended the stairs to the training grounds, exchanging their usual idle banter, they suddenly noticed someone standing tall on the platform.

At first, they thought it was Jacob because of the black hair. But the height and build didn’t match Jacob’s. When they realized it wasn’t him, all the knights’ eyes trembled slightly.

Who else but Belshua could stand on that platform? Belshua had been commanding the young recruits’ training for some time now. But Belshua’s hair was brown. The only person in the Romsoa Knights with such jet-black hair was…

“What are you all doing just standing there?”

At that moment, Belshua’s voice came from behind the knights. As if choreographed, they all turned to look at him at once. Startled by the sudden attention, Belshua hesitated.

Belshua looked curiously at the knights frozen like statues on the stairs and then glanced toward the training grounds. His eyes met with the man standing on the platform—it was Maximón.

The knights desperately avoided Maximón’s gaze. They should have arrived at the training grounds as soon as the noon bell rang, but they had lingered over their meals, arriving thirty minutes late.

The knights’ faces darkened as they nervously glanced back at the training grounds. Maximón, who had been standing with his arms crossed, slowly tilted his head. Belshua sighed and was the first to descend the stairs. Maximón scanned the knights who had hurriedly gathered below the platform. Jacob was nowhere to be seen.

Noticing Maximón searching for Jacob, Belshua spoke up.

“Jacob went to visit the Eschus Knights regarding the year-end party preparations.”

“What’s the issue?”

“It was decided that each knight division would select guards to patrol the area around the party venue, but our side hasn’t finalized the selection yet.”

“So, have the guards been chosen?”

“Jacob included, five people volunteered.”

“Well done.”

Maximón praised him in an unexpectedly calm tone. Surprised by the praise, the knights looked up at Maximón. Oddly enough, despite their tardiness, he didn’t seem angry.

Maximón carefully observed each knight before speaking in his usual composed tone.

“The knights must function smoothly even when I’m not here. That smooth functioning includes eating well, resting well, and training hard. I can fight the Serith without training, but you can’t. If you want to keep living, don’t neglect your training.”

There was something strange about his words. It almost sounded like a forewarning that he would soon leave the knights. Normally, they wouldn’t have thought much of it, but after Najane collapsed, nothing felt predictable anymore. Maximón had abandoned his duties as commander and holed himself up in his quarters to stay by Najane’s side.

Though no one knew the specifics of what had happened to Najane, everyone sensed the situation wasn’t good. The Maximón of old would never have considered leaving the knights to care for Najane. But now, he loved her so deeply that abandoning the Romsoa Knights he had worked so hard to build didn’t faze him.

The knights also knew how much Maximón cherished Najane. When they saw him cradling her in his arms, weeping as she lay unconscious in a pool of blood, they had to admit he was no longer the commander they once knew.

Unable to bear the unease, one knight raised his hand and spoke.

“...Are you leaving the knights, sir?”

It was the question everyone wanted to ask but hadn’t dared to voice.

“Perhaps.”

Maximón replied calmly, but with an air of mystery.

“As you all know, I collapsed once before. There’s no guarantee it won’t happen again. So, I plan to appoint a vice-commander soon to ensure the knights can function smoothly without me… Why do you all look so grim?”

Seeing the knights’ somber faces, Maximón let out a dry laugh. They looked as if they wanted to cling to his legs to stop him from leaving. Another knight muttered in a gloomy tone:

“Who will protect the fortress if you’re gone, Commander?”

“Belshua will handle it.”

At Maximón’s response, the knights turned their heads toward Belshua. The mentioned Belshua tightly closed his mouth. With an enigmatic smile, Maximón gestured toward the training grounds with a nod of his chin.

“Let’s start with ten laps around the field, then we’ll begin training. That should help with digestion.”

Without a word of complaint, the knights began running along the edge of the training ground.

“Belshua. You’re with me.”

Maximón, who had descended from the platform, called out to Belshua, who was about to follow the others. Reluctantly, Belshua stepped forward. Maximón tossed him a wooden practice sword he had prepared in advance.

Belshua caught the sword with a sour expression and carefully observed Maximón, unable to discern what he was thinking.

Maximón saw not only the manastone but also Belshua’s true shadow. Belshua had sealed away the memories embedded in Maximón’s soul to allow him to live like a human. That soul was akin to the Serith itself, and as the seal cracked, inhuman powers began to awaken within him.

If Najane’s collapse had triggered another awakening, then the soul inside Maximón would need to be sealed once more. But it wasn’t time yet. Not until Najane became fully aware of her role as “Emaydis”…

“Belshua, I’m going to ask you a few questions now.”

At Maximón’s words, Belshua raised his head. The tip of a sword suddenly lunged toward him. Calmly, Belshua blocked the blade with the flat side of his sword and stared back at Maximón.

Their clash of strength was intense. An unpleasant metallic screech rang out from the point where their blades met. If either of them backed down even for a moment, the tip of the sword would pierce the throat, or the blade would slice across the neck. Though these were practice swords with no lethal sharpness, refusing to yield could still result in serious injury.

Maximón looked down at Belshua, who was holding his ground admirably, and smiled coldly, as though he had discovered an intriguing toy.

“Are you human?”

“With a tail? Do I look human to you?”

As Belshua answered, he shifted his center of gravity and swung a fist toward Maximón. The moment the tense standoff broke, Maximón swung his sword. A sharp whistle cut through the air, and a few strands of Belshua’s hair were sliced off.

Maximón gazed at the silver strands that shimmered like glass under the sunlight. The Belshua he once knew, with brown hair and eyes, was nowhere to be seen.

“So, you’ve stopped hiding it.”

Maximón smirked thinly as he observed the silver hair and golden eyes—details visible only to him. Belshua swiftly countered by deflecting Maximón’s heavy blows, which fell like chunks of iron.

“What’s the point of hiding when I’ve already been found out? That’d just be foolish.”

Belshua’s movements were fast and precise, optimized for fighting fully-grown Serith with no wasted motion.

But Maximón was not the Serith Belshua had faced on the battlefield. Maximón’s sword struck directly for Belshua’s neck. Each time their dull practice blades clashed, a piercing metallic sound rang out.

Belshua didn’t regulate his breathing while facing Maximón. If he were an ordinary knight, his arms and legs would have already given out under Maximón’s overwhelming strength, causing him to collapse. Maximón wasn’t holding back—he fought with the same intensity he used against the Serith.

Maximón’s sword traced a circular arc, slicing upward from below with blinding speed. Yet Belshua dodged it effortlessly, as if he hadn’t even seen the attack coming.

Taking advantage of Maximón’s momentarily shifted axis after a wide swing, Belshua thrust his blade straight toward him. Maximón, who had vertically aligned his sword, blocked the tip of Belshua’s blade just as Belshua had done moments ago.

“Is Belshua Cheron your real name?”

“No.”

“Then what is your real name?”

“I can’t tell you that right now.”

At that moment, a sharp cracking sound erupted from the two clashing swords. Without hesitation, both withdrew their blades and leapt back. Belshua let out a long sigh and looked down at the practice sword in his hand, now fractured with cracks. It was a thick blade, deliberately forged to help him get used to the weight of heavier weapons, yet it had split under the strain.

Belshua brushed his hair back and fixed his gaze on Maximón. Maximón, with an intrigued expression, examined his own sword carefully, then shifted only his eyes to look at Belshua.

“You probably already knew about my true nature, didn’t you?”

“….”

“Should I assume you did?”

“Do you know what you truly are, Commander?”

“Most likely a Serith, or something similar.”

Maximón’s response was calm and composed, as if he had finally accepted the futility of agonizing over his existence. 

Belshua hadn’t expected Maximón to so readily admit with his own words that he wasn’t human. It seemed Maximón no longer wrestled with questions about his identity. That change was likely thanks to Najane. Whatever Maximón’s true nature, Najane had loved him unwaveringly.

Belshua stared at the cracked sword in his hand, its fractures spreading like a spiderweb before it gradually began to break apart. He knew what was coming soon, and that knowledge made Maximón and Najane’s love both pitiful and heart-wrenching.

What had Sylin been thinking when he pushed the two of them toward the unquenchable flames of fate? 

Was it the belief that strength could only be forged through trials? Or perhaps the idea that Maximón’s sacrifice was necessary to exterminate the Serith and prepare for a new world? And that Najane’s role in that sacrifice was crucial, requiring their lives to be tempered by both love and hatred?

With a final series of cracks, the practice sword shattered into pieces.

Belshua looked past the broken blade at Maximón.

“Do you plan to take command of the Romsoa Knights?”

Maximón, tossing aside the ruined sword, made an unexpected offer to Belshua.