When Clytia walked up the slope toward the wooden cottage, I saw Nolan sitting idly on the threshold.
His right hand held the poetry book in a limp grip, his head bowed, staring at the ground.
To be honest, the sight felt strange to me. After all, in the original novel the male lead’s first appearance was already as a youth who had lived through several years of adventures. Like every other webnovel protagonist, his abilities still needed honing, but his personality was already complete.
And now, realizing that this sulking boy before me would one day become that person—it gave me a peculiar sense of voyeuristic satisfaction.
I could more or less guess what had put him in such a gloomy mood.
Clytia held the basket in her hands, then stopped, standing before Nolan.
Nolan shifted over on the step, making room for her to enter. She stepped inside the cottage and set the basket down.
He sat a while longer, but then a chill crawled up his back. Turning, he saw a pair of green, glimmering eyes fixed on him.
“Why… are you staring at me?”
Nolan asked uneasily.
“Read a poem.” Clytia spoke suddenly.
“What?” Nolan’s mouth opened. “I wasn’t planning to—”
“But you’re holding a book.”
“This—this is… Just because I’m holding a book doesn’t mean I’m going to do anything.” Nolan stammered twice before finishing.
“Oh.” Clytia nodded, yet still didn’t move.
“What now? What’s so interesting about standing there?” Nolan frowned at the girl who still hadn’t gone.
“Mm…”
Clytia made a sound like a baby mumbling, and since I could sense her feelings, I nearly blurted the words on her behalf:
I want to hear you read a poem—
Oh? Could it be my desperate thought moved heaven? At that very moment, Clytia spoke the words in her heart aloud.
“You—”
For a boy, to be asked like this by a girl his own age—surely it should have filled his self-consciousness to the brim. I saw Nolan’s pale face flush red, but then suddenly turn ashen.
He dropped his gaze to his toes.
“Epic of the Ancient Dragon—you’ve already memorized the whole thing. Making me, who can barely read, stumble through it… are you trying to make me a fool? Is that funny to you?”
Ah—adolescent pride. It swells like a balloon, only to pop in an instant. Naturally, I thought of how I myself, in my previous life, must have had such moments too.
“Then… go learn your letters.”
Clytia said.
“I want to learn…” Nolan sighed, lifting his head. “All right. Anyway—you’re not from this village, you’ll be leaving eventually, so I can tell you this. But you mustn’t tell anyone else—especially Diya.”
Clytia listened quietly and nodded. Well—I had already guessed the reason, after all.
Nolan paused, then continued:
“Berli is a good man. For just a few copper coins he’ll teach anyone the common tongue. And for a smart, promising kid like Diya, he even teaches her everything for free—”
“Because Diya—she’s not like me. She has the gift to become a knight. At the start of next year, she’ll go take the Preparatory Knights Academy entrance exam. With Grandfather’s token—so long as she passes the basic literacy test, she should be able to walk the path of a knight.”
“Don’t look down on my family’s state now—we once held a fief and title. We only declined because of certain circumstances. If Diya enters the Preparatory Knights Academy and graduates, she’ll become a knight with letters patent. And if she earns merit, she could even be granted a fief—then one day, the Cyril name will be restored.”
Knight with letters patent, knight with fief. Hearing those titles, I recalled the relevant knowledge.
The original novel’s explanations were a tangled mess. Only once Clytia began her noble education, through the lectures of her tutors, did I come to understand how the Empire’s knightly system functioned.
Compared to the five noble ranks—duke, marquis, count, viscount, baron—knights were clearly lower. Even so, only the Emperor and the great dukes had the power to confer knighthood. Knights with fiefs were those of tradition: hereditary landholders and manor lords, drilling their arms in peacetime and bearing military obligations.
Knights with letters patent, however, were different. They came from the “Royal Preparatory Knights Academy.” Graduates, if they passed, were knighted by the Emperor at the graduation ceremony, entered into the rolls, and assigned to one of the Empire’s Four Great Knightly Orders.
While in service, they held no fiefs, but received the same honors as knights with fiefs, funded by the treasury. Their knighthood could not be inherited, but their title endured for life.
Hah—so, professional soldiers. I thought. The Four Great Knightly Orders were the Emperor’s direct army. It was through their might that this nation rose from “kingdom” to “empire,” uniting many human peoples.
My thoughts drifted far, but only for an instant. I focused back on Nolan, hearing him sigh:
“Diya has a knight’s gift—she can sense the Radiance. Once she enters the Academy, she’ll awaken the power of Radiance. But me… even though I have the same blood, I can’t feel it at all—”
“Radiance of the knights and Holy Light of the Church are blessings from the gods, not from bloodlines…” Clytia answered his dejection with a calm tone.
“Yeah. Then I’m simply someone not blessed.” Nolan’s face showed shame. “I act like it doesn’t matter before Diya, but inside I can’t let it go. I know studying with Berli is only good for me, but the more I watch Diya learning, the more I feel—it’s all predetermined. Nothing I do matters.”
Nolan’s words trailed off. With a thud, the poetry book slipped from his hand to the ground.
Hearing him bare his feelings, Clytia’s eyes flickered. I knew what she was thinking, for she too had a younger sister—one gifted with magic.
I remembered. It was in the middle of this year. Sella Brun, a mage from the Royal Academy, visited the Duke’s castle. In the hall, she took out a spellbook and had Clytia recite. From page one to page five, until her throat went dry—yet the mage only shook her head in disappointment.
As she prepared to leave, six-year-old Claire—still unable to pronounce clearly—wandered in, simply wanting to play with her sister. Mimicking her sister’s words by childish instinct, she spoke, and at once a gust of wind blew through the hall, fluttering the spellbook’s pages.
The mage who had been ready to depart immediately offered to stay, becoming Claire’s tutor.
Such parallels stir resonance. In the novel, one was a noble heiress who accomplished nothing, doomed to ruin as the villainess. The other, though presently downtrodden, would soon seize fortune and carve a path as the hero.
Their fates were worlds apart, yet here and now, they could share a strange sense of kinship.
And me? What did I think? Since my transmigration, Clytia’s experiences were my own. As for my prior life—I remembered only the sickbed. Perhaps for me then, anyone who could walk freely was someone blessed.
“There are many… who are not blessed.”
Clytia bent down slowly, picking up the fallen Epic of the Ancient Dragon.
“I know. Even without Radiance, even if you can’t become a knight, you could still become a warrior, a mage. Or even if you had no gift at all, you could be a farmer, a hunter—” She spoke of herself, but Nolan misunderstood. He burst out instead:
“But—because I’m a knight’s descendant, if I don’t strive to become one, it feels like betraying myself.”
“Do you want to be a knight?”
“Yes. Laughable, right? Go ahead and laugh…”
Nolan muttered with his head down—until he saw a slender shadow cast before him. He jerked his head up. The silver-haired girl stood before him.
She lifted the poetry book in her hand.
“You want—” Nolan raised his head, the words still on his lips.
Smack!
The book in her hand fell—not in anger, not to strike—but the hard cover landed on his shoulder.
“May courage be with you—”
Clytia pressed the book against his right shoulder, gazing at him for a moment. Then she pursed her lips slightly, and let go. The book slid down and fell.
“Wait, what are you—what’s this supposed to mean!”
Nolan, bewildered, hurried to catch the book. Lifting his head, he saw Clytia already stepping lightly past him, into the cottage.
In the Erandel Duchy, amid howling wind and snow, one could see the northern ranges of mountains stretching far.
Beneath those peaks stood the Duke’s castle.
The Duke of Erandel, a middle-aged man with graying hair, stood clad in full armor, helmetless, his brows and lashes caked with snow.
In his hand gleamed a long sword, its edge flashing cold light. He stood at the grand gate of the castle, upon a marble-paved square, with nobles, officials, and clergy lining either side as witnesses.
Before the Duke knelt a warrior in silver armor, snowflakes falling on his plates, melting at once.
The Duke of Erandel tapped the sword’s tip to the warrior’s left shoulder. A white-robed cleric bearing the register stepped forward, nodded to both, and solemnly intoned:
“Roargen of Nivert, hear your investiture.
Now, in witness of Danor, God of Glory, by the authority of the Duke of Erandel—guardian of the six northern counties, governor of the Veylin people, lord of the mountains and wilds of the North, ally of the High Elves and Gray Dwarves—
I confer upon you knighthood. You shall ever uphold your oath.
Honor the True God, bask in His grace.
Serve your sovereign, and face death unflinching.
Be diligent and valiant, loyal and merciful.
Aid the weak, uphold justice.”
When the cleric finished, silence fell. Across the vast square, only the wind and snow could be heard.
But the rite was not yet ended.
The Duke lifted the blade, moving it from the left shoulder to the right. The cold steel rang against the pauldron with a crisp note. And he spoke himself:
“May courage be with you—”