“You’ve got a reputation to uphold, don’t you?” I replied. “The bigwigs wanted to hand me a medal for helping you out. That’s the narrative they’re comfortable with. If I’d skipped this, it would’ve looked bad for you. That’s why I’m here. Because I didn’t want to make things harder on you.”
Cordelia let out a long, weary sigh. “You’re kind of infuriating, you know that?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“Still, I’m sorry for everything.”
“Seriously, don’t be. We’re going to be walking the same road from now on. And if that’s the case, this sort of thing is going to keep happening. So stop apologizing.”
“The same road?” she whispered, turning to me, her eyes wide.
“Yeah,” I said, meeting her gaze. “You and me. From here on out.”
Her eyes sparkled, and for a second, she looked like the sky had opened behind her, bright, clear, and impossibly blue.
“I see. Yeah. You’re right. Then I won’t worry about it at all!” she beamed. “Not one bit!”
Before I could react, she latched onto my arm, both hands wrapping tightly around it like she meant to never let go. Her smile was radiant, cheeks tinged the soft pink of something unspoken blooming beneath the surface.
“Aris. Tomoris. Yurihaineken. Momoris. Kyunso… Cogito Exorzism.”
Lilith’s voice cut through the air like a blade, deadly calm and laced with murder.
She stood a few paces away, casting what could only be described as a spell of unspeakable vengeance in our direction.
Wait, that incantation!
My blood ran cold.
“Lilith, what the hell?! Don’t cast that on Cordelia!! That’s a real curse, damn it. A literal forbidden ritual!”
Because of course, even in the wake of an apocalypse, some things never changed.
I sprinted toward Lilith and cracked her on the head with a clean fist, interrupting the incantation before she could finish. The impact made a satisfyingly sharp crack, and she winced, tears welling in her eyes as she looked down with a pout.
“I still don’t think I did anything wrong,” she mumbled under her breath.
Before I could answer, the headmaster, who’d been lingering nearby, cleared his throat with a dramatic, overacted “Ahem.” Seemed like the main event was finally about to begin.
The king had arrived.
We fell silent for several long, awkward minutes until a short, round man in needlessly elaborate robes waddled into the grand hall. His entrance was less regal and more sluggish, but the symbolism was clear: this was the monarch.
He didn’t speak.
Instead, a frail, wispy aide stepped forward and delivered the words on his behalf.
“For your valor in defeating the Ogre Emperor and Ogre Kings, you have our gratitude. The investiture will now commence.”
Then, directing his narrow gaze at me, he spoke again.
“Ryuto MacLaine, step forward.”
Still silent, I moved ahead. With practiced ease, I dropped to one knee before the king and bowed my head. The motion was smooth, ingrained, drilled into me by Cordelia so many times that my body performed it without thinking.
Finally, the king himself spoke.
“You are still a student, and thus shall not be sworn to this kingdom. However, in recognition of your deeds, Ryuto MacLaine is hereby awarded the Fifth Order of Merit. Furthermore, we grant you the rights and title of Knight under the International Alliance.”
Made sense. Altena Magic Academy had patrons from across multiple nations. With funding coming in from every direction, the political optics of locking a student into a national post were complicated, to say the least.
Can’t have kingdoms poaching each other’s prodigies, now can we?
For someone like me, the political complications weren’t too severe. But someone like Cordelia? It was obvious she’d be at the center of an international tug-of-war.
In her case, it wouldn’t even be a matter of poaching. The nations would convene, hold formal discussions, and collectively decide which country would be granted guardianship over her. That was just the reality for students of the Magic Academy, whether they were prodigies or not. Even someone like me, scraping the bottom of the social barrel, was treated with delicate caution.
That was why the king phrased it that way.
The title of “Knight under the International Alliance” was, in essence, like an international driver’s license. It allowed me to legally bear the title of knight in any country, by direct recognition of royal authority. And honestly, that was a big deal.
For an ordinary Villager, there was no greater distinction. At my age, this was the ceiling. But then again, maybe it was only natural. After all, I had helped put down a disaster involving multiple Ogre Emperors.
A nobody like me, a backwater Villager, barely in my mid-teens, and now I was a knight.
The king himself stepped forward and placed the silver medal in my hands.
I bowed slightly as I accepted it, then stared at it in silence. The cool weight of the medal sat heavy in my palm, gleaming under the chandelier light.
Hard to believe how far I’ve come.
I thought back to that scared, useless kid who used to hide behind others in that tiny village, the version of me before I looped back. This was more than I could’ve dreamed of.
And yet, I wasn’t finished. Not even close.
This wasn’t the limit of my strength, and I knew that better than anyone.
I rose to my feet, offered the king one final bow, and turned to return to my place in the hall. As I walked, I lifted my right hand, gave Cordelia and Lilith a silent thumbs-up, and smiled without a word.
They smiled back, nodding in quiet affirmation.
And under my breath, too soft for anyone else to hear, I whispered to myself, “This is just the beginning. The climb starts now.”