“I am Sadam Ludwig. Has your father ever mentioned that name to you?”
I, Sadam, never hide my identity—I prefer to live openly and honorably.
I do nothing to weigh on my conscience, I stand by my name, so why should I act furtively?
“Ludwig… Sword Demon Ludwig? Could it be that you are—”
Blood Knight Irene’s expression grew grave, then shifted from grave to shocked.
“I am Sword Saint Ludwig,” Sadam corrected her.
“Are you really the Nameless Hero, the Legendary Evil Dragon’s Sword Demon, the Rebellious Knight, the Traitor, the Sun Dragon Person? That can’t be. He should be about my father’s age. But you look…” Blood Knight Irene suddenly burst into words.
“I am the Sword Saint of the Evil Dragon. And what kind of title is ‘Sun Dragon Person’? I’m hearing that strange term for the first time. Anyway, I was cursed by my enemies, which turned me into this state. So please, don’t spread my identity around,” Sadam said with a bitter smile.
“Senior… my father often spoke of you,” Blood Knight Irene’s cold demeanor completely softened.
Upon learning Sadam’s identity, her tone became gentle, and she even switched to addressing her as ‘senior.’
Though it was hard to believe that the continent’s strongest Rebellious Knight had become such a delicate girl.
But the genuine sorrow Sadam showed when hearing news of her father’s death was unmistakable.
“I’ve heard my father talk about your heroic deeds since I was young. We always thought he was exaggerating, but it turns out it was true.”
Blood Knight Irene knelt on one knee, paying Sadam the highest respect a knight could offer.
“Rise, child. I don’t deserve such honor,” Sadam’s tone softened as she helped her up.
“Why don’t I prepare a hearty breakfast for you two? We can sit down and talk more,” Maid Gallondine offered.
So they were all on the same side—no need for hostility, which was a relief.
“No, thank you, Miss Gallondine. I’m not hungry for now. Please forgive me if I offended you earlier,” Sadam declined.
This displeased the ever-hungry Sheffield, but she said nothing, understanding Sadam’s current mood was dark.
“Irene, how did your father pass away?” Sadam’s expression turned unusually serious—no probing, no teasing.
“My father protected the villagers alone, battling a horde of Purebloods and ghouls all night, holding the line. He repelled the enemy but was infected with undead poison and ultimately took his own life at dawn, sacrificing himself,” Blood Knight Irene explained calmly.
“Child, accept my condolences. Whether past or future, your father was a true hero,” Sadam said, patting her shoulder and helping her up.
“Senior, I want to cry, but I can’t anymore. I’ve lost the ability to show emotions,” Irene confessed.
It seemed Irene’s coldness wasn’t natural—it was learned, yet her voice still carried some emotion.
“So, you became a thrall because…” Sadam asked.
“Yes. I seek revenge for my father. Lord Dante and the other Blood Clan members are different—they have never harmed anyone, I can assure you. Yet other vampire families persecute and hunt her, including those responsible for my father’s death,” Blood Knight Irene answered.
“The ghouls you hunted last night—were they from enemy clans’ undead hordes?” Sadam asked.
“Yes,” Irene nodded.
“Your actions will inevitably bring brutal war to the western lands. A Blood Clan civil war, with innocent people caught in the crossfire,” Sadam said.
“…”
Blood Knight Irene bowed her head in silence.
“But!” Sadam suddenly stood, raising a finger to point at Little Lord Dante.
“Wh—what are you doing?” Little Lord Dante flinched.
“Sometimes, war is unavoidable. There is just and unjust war. I oppose all aggression—no vendettas involving women and children, no fire touching civilians. That is my creed. So please, let me help you,” Sadam declared firmly, extending her hand.
Little Lord Dante looked fearful and did not dare shake it.
“We warmly welcome the Sword Demon’s participation,” Maid Gallondine said, grabbing Little Lord Dante’s hand and forcing it to meet Sadam’s.
“It’s Sword Saint,” Sadam corrected.
Once the hands clasped, the contract was sealed.
“The little lord’s hand is cold. Doesn’t it simulate body heat?” Sadam asked.
“Lord Dante doesn’t need to simulate. She is half-human,” Maid Gallondine explained.
“Oh right, she’s a hybrid. Then this isn’t a Blood Clan civil war, it’s a war between humans and vampires. I absolutely cannot stand idly by,” Sadam said confidently, patting her chest in assurance.
“I’ll take you two to settle into your rooms.”
Maid Gallondine led the two mages and the little dragon out of the reception room.
She had arranged a room next to the first-floor hall for Sadam and her companion.
The vampire castle’s interior was complicated, filled with secret doors, corridors, and stairways not meant for humans but designed specifically for vampires.
To prevent guests from getting lost, rooms on the first floor were best.
“Sword Demon, please don’t wander around the castle. It’s easy to get lost. If anything happens, just call me—I’m always here and will come immediately,” Maid Gallondine warned before retreating.
“Thank you, Miss Gallondine. And I am Sword Demon… uh, Sword Saint,” Sadam politely waved goodbye at the door.
Once the door closed, Sadam’s calm facade faded. She lowered her head, her face filled with turmoil and doubt.
“Baraka Arenas, old friend, why did you leave before me?”
Soon, fatigue and helplessness swallowed her whole as she slumped by the door, sighing.
He was the youngest, most promising battle knight in the group, yet ended up with his family destroyed.
Even his daughter turned into a Blood Clan thrall. Why do good people never get rewarded?
No! I must not think like that!
Captain Thirteenth sacrificed himself to protect the village. His death was glorious. He did not vanish—he will shine on like the sun for future generations.
I will always remember him.
His daughter, Irene, will always remember him.
He achieved the most beautiful knightly end.
Burning his body, illuminating the future.
……
Tonight was destined to be a sleepless one for Sadam.
“Uncomfortable, heartache.”
Sadam lay in the middle of the ancient bed, Sheffield snoring beside her, the little fat dragon sleeping at the pillow’s edge.
She couldn’t fall asleep, only staring blankly at the ceiling.
She realized she couldn’t meditate to practice magic either—not able to focus, unable to enter the state.
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