Surely no one actually believed that was sincere, right?
Besides, Samimi still didn’t understand—why hadn’t Fabiana left yet?
The credit for defeating the Steelback Dragon had already gone to the Hero’s Party. By all logic, she should’ve packed up and left ages ago.
That alone was suspicious. Samimi knew she couldn’t afford to lower her guard around Fabiana.
She was like a ticking time bomb—one that could blow up her peaceful life at any moment.
Just like that, half a month passed.
Fabiana was still squatting in the Melon Town Chapel!
Since the Hero’s Party hadn’t sent a recall order, she just shamelessly continued freeloading at their place.
“Niubao! No slacking! Get up and train your sword skills!”
Fabiana seemed to have discovered a new purpose in life: to pass on 100% of her family’s “turtle-style” swordsmanship to Niubao.
Niubao was a half-beast. They weren’t sure of the exact species, but the two horns suggested she might have minotaur blood.
Regardless, she was naturally stronger than ordinary humans, had impressive endurance and toughness, and—most importantly—was obedient and earnest. The perfect disciple.
Having found such a gem, Fabiana’s swordmaster soul awakened. She began training Niubao almost without reservation.
The Diarmuid family was renowned across the country for swordsmanship instruction. Her grandfather, the Knight King, was also a grandmaster of the sword, who loved giving people pointers on technique.
Fabiana now lived in constant contradiction—between remorse and stubborn pride. She poured all her knowledge into teaching Niubao, trying to ease the guilt festering in her heart.
But the one who suffered most… was poor Niubao.
Day after day, she was drilled mercilessly, swinging her wooden sword until she ached all over. No matter how hard she tried, she could never meet “Instructor Anna’s” satisfaction. By nightfall, her whole body would be sore.
Samimi actually thought this was a good thing. Niubao had been doing nothing but spacing out all day anyway—might as well keep her busy with training.
Thankfully, Samimi had decent connections around town and could sneak into the inn’s hot baths daily to help Niubao soak and relieve the soreness.
At first, Niubao would scream from the pain, but after a few days, she got used to it.
Lately, even Fabiana had been joining them in the baths.
However, Samimi made sure to sit far away from her, keeping a safe distance and even turning her face away—so Fabiana wouldn’t feel uncomfortable.
Fabiana, on the other hand, always looked sulky and resentful, sneaking jealous glances at Samimi and Niubao playing in the water in the adjacent pool.
She wanted to join in the fun too, but… couldn’t bring herself to say it.
Then, one day, someone finally came to retrieve the idle Pure-White Knight. But oddly enough—it wasn’t the Hero’s Party who summoned her.
SPLASH! SPLASH! SPLASH!
It had been pouring that day, with cold winds howling. Everyone huddled indoors, unwilling to venture out.
CLACK CLACK CLACK! CLACK CLACK CLACK!
Once the rain stopped, the town’s peaceful silence was shattered by the sudden sound of galloping hooves tearing through the muddy streets.
A cavalry unit of around twenty riders stormed into Melon Town and surrounded the chapel.
Each rider wore a rain cloak over full-body armor. Their presence was heavy with killing intent—so intimidating that no townsfolk dared go near.
“Sister Samimi… you don’t think something’s happened, do you?”
Even a few of the local knights could only observe from a distance, their faces pale with worry.
There weren’t many riders—twenty wasn’t a large number—but the pressure they exuded was immense. Their battlefield experience was obvious, visible even to the untrained eye.
These were not peaceful town knights. These were veterans of countless deadly battles.
“I’m scared, Sister Samimi…”
“I’m scared too, Niubao…”
Samimi and Niubao huddled by the window, holding each other tightly, anxiously watching, hoping these knights were just seeking shelter from the rain.
“I’ll go.”
Fully armed, Fabiana stepped forward alone to face the armored riders at the chapel gates.
Samimi saw her speaking with the knights, but couldn’t make out what they were saying.
Then, to her shock, Fabiana opened the iron gate—and let them all in.
“Traitor?!” Samimi nearly leapt out of her skin.
Could these be assassins Fabiana had called in? Was she taking advantage of the moment to let them in and wipe Samimi out?
Soon, Fabiana led the entire squad of battle-hardened knights into the chapel grounds.
“Samimi, let me introduce—” she said with a bright smile.
“You didn’t bring them here to kill me, right?” Samimi cut in.
“Are you seriously mentally unwell? Paranoid much?” Fabiana’s face instantly collapsed.
“Well, you did all ruin my life, didn’t you?” Samimi shot back.
“Can we not talk about that today, please?” Fabiana’s tone suddenly softened.
Which only made Samimi more suspicious. Usually, Fabiana would be red in the face by now. What was with this new attitude?
At that moment, the captain of the knight order dismounted.
He removed his helmet, revealing a weathered yet powerfully imposing old face—the kind of character you’d expect to be a top-tier powerhouse in a fantasy novel.
“I am Shaya Diarmuid. Thank you for looking after my mischievous granddaughter. Has she bullied you? Or taken over your civilian property?”
His words were sharp but still polite.
“Grandpa! What are you even saying?” Fabiana was instantly flustered, shooting panicked glances at Samimi, silently pleading for her not to say anything dumb.
“…She paid rent, at least,” Samimi replied calmly.
She now realized who the old man was—the Knight King who had appeared multiple times in the novel’s background lore. A true living legend of the kingdom.
Unlike most knights, his title wasn’t just a profession—it was a noble rank.
The noble ranks, from lowest to highest, were: Knight, Baron, Viscount, Count, Marquess, Duke. Above that came Prince and King.
So yes, “Knight” was a real noble title—just the lowest tier. It still meant he was technically nobility.
Most who called themselves knights were just professional warriors. But this guy was the real deal.
Not that these details mattered much—this story wasn’t exactly hardline Western fantasy.
Nobility didn’t mean much compared to raw power. Titles were often used as stepping stones for cathartic underdog revenge arcs.
Fabiana’s own background was the pinnacle of wish-fulfillment: born from the lowest nobility, yet with sheer overwhelming strength, she climbed to the top and smacked down all doubters—classic power fantasy.
But—wait, we’re going off-topic.
The real issue right now was: why had the legendary Knight King, Shaya Diarmuid, shown up at their humble little chapel?
“Grandpa, what are you doing here?” Thankfully, Fabiana asked the question that was burning in Samimi’s mind.
“We happened to be on a mission nearby,” Shaya replied with a gentle smile, suddenly looking like a kindly old grandpa. “When I heard you were in this town, I thought I’d drop by for a visit.”
“….” Samimi didn’t buy it.
There’s no way the Knight King shows up without something serious going on.
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