“No—wait… you—no, you…!”

  The Dragonian knights recoiled.

  The King’s Crest.

  They didn’t know what it was—but instinct screamed that it was wrong—something that should not exist.

  Even I didn’t understand it fully.

  But Libert’s reaction had told me enough.

  This wasn’t just a powerful crest.

  This was something that should not exist.

  And as Mother once said—

  Only kings of the Five Great Nations bear such a crest.

  I didn’t have time to hide it.

  So if it was exposed… so be it.

  “Y-you’re a noble, aren’t you!?” one knight shouted.

  “Huh?”

  “At that age, a main crest—and such brilliance that the emblem itself can’t be seen! You must be the son of a great noble house!”

  …A noble.

  That misunderstanding worked for me.

  This was a world ruled by kings and swords—if they believed I was high-born, they’d listen. More than they ever would to a village child.

  And if the crest shone too brightly to be recognized—

  Then I’d hide it.

  I wrapped cloth around my left hand.

  “I can’t reveal my identity,” I said, voice steady. “But I want to help. Believe that much.”

  I stepped forward.

  “I’ll lend you power. Prove it—fight with me. So lend me your strength!”

  “Yes!!”

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  The knights answered instantly.

  Was this the nature of crests?

  I was eight. Yet men who had fought for decades looked at me as if they’d found their lord.

  Their eyes shone—desperate, reverent.

  It felt wrong.

  But this was an emergency.

  I shared my power through the cloth. Light passed through it easily, flowing into them.

  “I am Gardo,” said a man kneeling before me. “Vice-captain of the knights led by Olgar. One-Star Ains.”

  “One-Star… what?”

  “A rank of knightly strength.”

  “I see… sure.”

  I absolutely didn’t.

  But now wasn’t the time.

  “…Call me Sora,” I said.

  A name from a life that no longer existed.

  “Sora-sama!” Gardo declared. “If I may wield my sword for my country once more, I will gladly offer my life!”

  “Don’t,” I said immediately.

  He blinked.

  “I don’t want you to die. Defeat the enemy—and live.”

  “…What mercy…!”

  “No, seriously. Please live.”

  I empowered ten knights.

  They trembled—not with fear, but exhilaration. As if death itself no longer mattered.

  Dragonian forces were moving.

  Around twenty knights.

  Still outnumbered.

  So I turned to the civilians.

  “You don’t need to be knights,” I said. “Anyone who can fight—raise your hand.”

  Confusion rippled through the plaza.

  I took a breath.

  “Dragonia is coming. If we don’t fight, everyone here dies. I have someone I must protect. If you do too—”

  My crest flared.

  Golden light flooded the square.

  I drew my sword and raised it skyward.

  “Fight with me. I’ll give you strength.”

  ◇

  Sixteen Dragonian knights arrived.

  They moved cautiously—every one of them.

  At the front stood their commander, his armor distinct.

  “…Report,” he said. “What happened here?”

  The three guards were gone.

  The prisoners were unchanged.

  But blood stained the stones.

  “We killed the main crest bearer,” the commander continued. “Confirmed. All prisoners were servants. No power remained.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “…Then why,” he murmured, “do I feel resistance?”

  His gaze shifted to the Arcadian knights.

  “You. Where are my men?”

  Gardo tilted his head.

  “No idea.”

  Steel rang.

  “So be it,” the commander said coldly. “Kill them all.”

  “Hey! Mister Knight!”

  A boy stepped forward.

  Barely eight. Open face. Harmless smile.

  “I know where the guards are!”

  The knights followed his pointing finger.

  That instant—

  Death.

  The commander’s instincts screamed.

  He crossed his arms just in time.

  Pain exploded.

  His arm split open—blood sprayed hot across my cheek.

  “Tch… you reacted,” the boy muttered. “Wanted your head.”

  The boy held a sword.

  No innocence remained.

  Only killing intent.

  “…Who are you!?”

  Leo.

  Around them, Arcadian knights struck.

  Several Dragonians fell before they could react. Others recovered, clashing blades.

  The commander staggered back, mind racing.

  “Impossible… the crest should be gone—why do they have power!?”

  Then—

  Civilians drew swords.

  Old men. Young men. More than fifty.

  “Groups of five!” Gardo shouted. “Don’t overextend!”

  They weren’t knights.

  They couldn’t win.

  But they didn’t need to.

  They only needed time.

  Dragonian ranks collapsed under numbers.

  The commander stared.

  “Who… who can grant this many crests…?”

  His blade met Leo’s.

  Through the cloth, he saw it—

  Gold.

  Blinding.

  Royal.

  “You… boy…!”

  “Finally noticed?”

  The King stood before him.