The forest clearing had fallen silent.
Wind stirred the tall grass. Leaves rustled softly overhead. The metallic scent of blood lingered heavily in the air.
Four corpses lay scattered across the ground.
Two more men knelt nearby, trembling, barely alive, their bodies covered in shallow, deliberate cuts. Wounds designed not to kill, but to prolong suffering.
And between them stood a girl.
She smiled as though she were enjoying a pleasant afternoon stroll.
Across from her, at the edge of the clearing, stood a boy.
His hand rested on the hilt of his sword, body angled in a precise drawing stance. His hood shifted gently in the breeze, revealing bright, determined eyes that did not waver.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then the girl tilted her head slightly.
"And who are you?" she asked, her tone light, almost playful.
Shamrock straightened just a little, confidence returning to his posture.
"I am the Knight King Shamrock," he declared.
He took a step forward.
"And I will not allow you to take another life in my presence."
The girl blinked once.
Then her smile widened.
"…Knight King?"
There was amusement in her voice.
"That's adorable."
She studied him openly, as if examining a curious animal.
"Are you playing pretend?"
Shamrock frowned slightly.
"I am not."
"Mm-hm."
Her gaze lingered on him longer.
Something about him felt… strange.
'Where is his mana?'
She narrowed her eyes slightly.
Normally, even weak humans carried a faint magical presence. To someone like her, someone who could perceive mana instinctively. People were like candles in the dark.
But this boy…
He felt like nothing.
'Is it even possible… to have this little mana?'
The thought intrigued her.
Unbeknownst to her, Shamrock's case was not normal.
When he was calm and felt no threat, no urgency, no combat stress, his enormous reserves of mana subconsciously compressed inward until they became indistinguishable from zero.
A phenomenon so unnatural that even elves who spent centuries mastering mana control could not replicate it.
Serie had once described it with rare fascination.
"Unprecedented."
The ability to shrink one's mana to nothingness without effort.
Unfortunately…
Shamrock himself had absolutely no control over it.
It simply happened.
Which meant that right now, standing casually in front of a dangerous opponent…
He appeared completely powerless.
Ubël's smile sharpened slightly.
'Interesting.'
Meanwhile, Shamrock tilted his head.
"I think you're adorable too," he said matter-of-factly.
Ubël blinked.
"…Huh?"
Shamrock nodded.
"Sense always says you should compliment girls."
He scratched his cheek thoughtfully.
"So I'm doing what I was taught."
Ubël stared at him.
Then she laughed.
A soft, delighted laugh.
"Well, thank you."
Her eyes gleamed with curiosity.
"You're a strange one."
Shamrock's expression hardened slightly as his gaze drifted toward the wounded men behind her.
"But murder isn't adorable," he added.
Ubël followed his line of sight.
"Oh, these?"
She waved her hand casually.
"They tried to rob me earlier."
Her tone was cheerful.
"I'm just returning the favor."
Shamrock's shoulders relaxed slightly.
"I see."
He nodded once.
"…I'm sorry that happened to you."
Ubël paused.
For just a fraction of a second.
Then her smile returned.
"Well, that's polite."
"But," Shamrock continued, "what happens to them isn't up to you."
He stepped forward.
"Criminals should be judged by law."
His voice was firm.
"By the king."
"Not by you."
Ubël's expression softened into something almost gentle.
"My, my."
She placed a finger lightly against her lips.
"You really are playing knight."
Then her eyes sharpened again.
"Tell you what."
She pointed casually behind him.
"Go home."
"I'll let you live."
The words were spoken with complete sincerity.
Shamrock didn't move.
"I left home intending to become a true Knight King," he said quietly.
His hand tightened slightly around the hilt of his sword.
"I won't run away."
Ubël's smile widened.
There it was.
Resolve.
Something interesting at last.
"Well then, Mr. Knight," she said softly.
Her posture shifted ever so slightly.
"You'd better be prepared to put your life on the line."
Her eyes gleamed with excitement.
"…against me."
The air between them grew heavy.
The wounded men watched in stunned silence, too afraid to move, too injured to flee.
Shamrock's expression sharpened.
His body recognized danger.
And somewhere deep inside him—
Something stirred.
His suppressed mana flickered.
Ubël's eyes widened just a fraction.
'…Oh?'
Ubël moved first.
Her fingers traced lightly through the air.
A slash cut across the clearing without form or warning.
Shamrock's hand snapped to his sword.
Steel flashed from the sheath.
The invisible strike met his blade with a shrill kngh, forcing his arm wide. The impact bit into his stance and tore a line through the dirt beneath his boots, but he held.
Ubël smiled.
"Oh?"
Shamrock didn't answer. He stepped in.
His draw became a second strike at once, the blade turning over in his hand and rising toward her shoulder. Ubël leaned aside. The cut passed through a strand of her hair. Shamrock kept going, pivoting into a third strike aimed low at her knee.
Ubël hopped back, light, almost lazy.
The sword shaved bark from the root behind her.
"Fast," she said.
Shamrock settled into stance again, one foot forward, sword angled low.
"I told you to stop."
Ubël flicked her hand.
Three slashes screamed toward him.
Shamrock ducked the first, twisted away from the second, and caught the third on the flat of his blade. The force ran from steel to shoulder and shoved him half a step back.
He was already moving again.
He closed distance before she could set the next pattern. His blade came in from the right, changed line midway, and turned into the flat of a strike aimed at her wrist instead of her throat.
Ubël's brows lifted.
'Not trying to kill me?'
She shifted her arm and let the flat blow pass under it. Shamrock rotated his hips and slammed an elbow toward her ribs.
She slipped outside it and carved a shallow red line across his sleeve.
Cloth split. Skin opened under it.
Shamrock hissed, but his sword was already coming around again.
He attacked in clean, direct lines. Neck. Wrist. Knee. Shoulder. Never lingering. Never overcommitting. When he had an opening at her chest, he turned the edge and struck with the flat.
Ubël noticed.
'He really isn't trying to kill.'
That made him stranger, not softer.
Most people became hesitant when they held back.
Shamrock simply changed the angle and kept coming.
Their steps cut circles into the clearing. His boots hammered earth. Her feet barely seemed to touch it. Invisible slashes opened the grass in straight lines. Shamrock's sword sent leaves spinning every time it missed by inches.
Ubël ducked beneath a horizontal cut and smiled up at him.
"You keep aiming for places that won't kill."
"I don't kill humans."
"Oh?"
She drew another cut through the air. It sliced toward his face.
Shamrock jerked back. The line opened his cheek .
Blood ran warm down his jaw.
Ubël watched him wipe it away with the back of his hand.
"And if a human tries to kill you?"
"Then I stop them."
"That sounds troublesome."
"So is murder."
He lunged again.
Ubël laughed.
This time she sent a wider spread of slashes. Shamrock ran straight into it.
One clipped his side. Another cut his thigh. He caught the next on his sword, then kicked off a split stump and vaulted over the line after that.
He landed inside her reach.
His blade flashed toward her neck, then turned flat at the last instant and cracked toward the side of her head instead.
Ubël bent backward. The strike missed by a finger's width.
She traced a line with two fingers.
A cut opened across his shoulder.
He staggered, but instead of retreating, he stepped through the pain and drove the pommel toward her temple.
She slipped to the side.
"Still coming?" she asked.
Shamrock bared his teeth.
"A knight doesn't stop because he got cut."
"A knight?"
He swung again.
"A true knight."
Ubël swayed around the strike, smiling all the while.
"Is that what your Sense told you?"
Shamrock's next blow came lower, a flat strike meant for her ribs.
"Sense taught me a lot."
Ubël slipped back. Her eyes narrowed just a little.
'Sense?'
The name tugged at her memory.
Shamrock didn't give her time to think. He pressed harder.
He cut high, stepped through, and hooked his foot behind hers to try and off-balance her. Ubël hopped out of it, but Shamrock had already shifted. His shoulder drove forward.
Ubël's smile sharpened.
'He's annoying.'
Then, almost at once—
'No. He's interesting.'
Most fighters she toyed with broke into one of two types. They either grew desperate and sloppy, or fearful and slow.
Shamrock grew was none of these types.
He fought like every exchange mattered because he wanted to protect those two criminals behind him.
Ubël's fingers flicked.
A slash tore through the front of his coat, opening the fabric from collar to waist.
The custom outfit flared open for a second as he sprang back.
Navy cloth. Clean lines. Gold trim.
Something about it struck her as familiar.
But Shamrock was in motion again.
He sprinted at her and brought his sword down in a straight overhead blow. Ubël met it with an invisible cut. Steel shuddered. Shamrock let the force throw his blade aside, turned with it, and slammed a kick toward her stomach.
Ubël caught the kick on her forearm and slid back a pace through the dirt.
Shamrock followed, breath coming faster now, body marked with shallow cuts. Blood darkened his sleeve and dripped from the edge of his coat. Still his stance held.
Still his eyes did not lower.
"You should stay down now," Ubël said.
"No."
"You're bleeding a lot."
"A little blood is not enough to stop a Knight."
She smiled.
"You really will die you know."
"Then so be it."
He came in again.
Ubël met him with another web of slashes. Shamrock deflected one. Slipped between two. Took the fourth across the outside of his upper arm and used the opening it gave him to close distance again.
He was learning her rhythm even though he could not see her magic. The twitch of her fingers. The small changes in her shoulders before a stronger line came out.
His sword crashed down toward her wrist.
She redirected it.
He let it slide, stepped in, and slammed the flat of his blade across toward her jaw.
Ubël bent under it and answered with a cut across his back.
Shamrock stumbled forward.
Caught himself.
Turned.
Ubël watched him straighten, watched him raise the sword again, watched the way his fingers tightened around the hilt despite the blood on them.
'He's weaker than me.'
That much was obvious.
His skill was real, his instincts sharp, his body faster than she'd expected, but he was still behind her. If she stopped playing, this ended immediately.
And yet—
He would still step forward.
That part she understood.
And liked.
Ubël sighed almost fondly.
"You really don't know when to give up."
Shamrock rolled his shoulder once, forcing the pain through.
"Sense says giving up is just laziness with better excuses."
Ubël's eyes flicked up.
'Sense again.'
Now the memory sharpened.
First-Class Mage of the Continental Magic Association.
The name fit too neatly.
Before she could pull the thought apart, Shamrock charged once more, and the torn front of his coat shifted with the motion.
There.
His badge.
His crest.
The logo on the chest caught the light.
Ubël's gaze settled on it for one beat too long.
The Continental Magic Association.
And now that she was actually looking, the whole outfit made sense. Not standard issue, but built from the same shape, the same colors, the same authority.
'Sense is the mage he keeps talking about.'
That explained everything.
Why the brat had polish.
Ubël let the next invisible slash die before it formed.
Ubël studied him in silence.
She could kill him now.
One real attack. Two, at most.
But that would mean killing someone tied to the Continental Magic Association. Maybe closely tied. Maybe very closely, if Sense had trained him personally.
Too troublesome and not worth it.
Shamrock stopped short, blade up.
Ubël looked at him.
Then smiled.
"…Alright."
Shamrock frowned.
"What?"
"You win."
He blinked.
"What?"
Ubël placed a hand on her hip and exhaled like she had finally gotten bored.
"You wanted me to stop."
"Yes."
"I'm stopping."
His eyes narrowed. "That's not the same as winning."
"It is if I say it is."
Shamrock didn't lower his sword.
"You're lying."
"Probably."
The answer made him visibly more irritated.
Ubël nearly laughed.
Knowing him now, she could see exactly how to end this without another swing.
He wanted to be a knight.
Fine. She would let him have his little victory.
She lifted both hands slightly, easy, careless.
"Congratulations, Knight King Shamrock. Your spirit moved me."
Shamrock stared at her.
Behind him, one of the wounded men whispered, "Did… did he win?"
Ubël ignored that.
"I concede."
Shamrock's grip stayed firm for another breath. Then another.
Finally, very slightly, his blade lowered.
Ubël turned.
After a few steps, she paused and glanced back over her shoulder.
"Ubël."
Shamrock looked up.
"My name," she said. "Since you challenged me without asking."
He straightened a little despite the blood loss.
"Shamrock."
"I know."
She smiled.
"Try not to die before we meet again."
Then she walked into the trees.
Shamrock took one step after her.
"If you hurt more people—"
Ubël lifted a hand without looking back.
"Then come stop me."
And then she was gone.
The clearing fell silent.
Wind moved through the branches again. Blood dripped from Shamrock's coat onto torn grass.
Then the two survivors scrambled forward on their knees.
"Thank you!" one of them said. "You saved us!"
"We thought we were dead!"
Shamrock sheathed his sword with a controlled click and turned to them, doing his best not to show the way his leg almost gave beneath him.
"You're welcome."
The men bowed their heads repeatedly.
"Thank you, young sir—"
Shamrock frowned.
"But."
Both men froze.
He planted his hands on his hips.
"What you did was still wrong."
Their expressions changed at once.
"You tried to rob a traveler."
One man looked away. "We… we were desperate…"
"That doesn't make it right."
"…No."
Shamrock nodded once.
"If someone commits a crime, they should be judged by the law. By the king. Not by some random person on the road."
The two men nodded quickly.
"Yes."
"But that doesn't mean you get to become criminals."
They looked up at him.
And had the exact same expression.
'Why is a kid lecturing us?'
"You need to stop stealing," Shamrock said. "Get work. Be useful. Live honestly."
"…Right."
"A kingdom can't stand if everyone just takes what they want."
"…Yes."
Shamrock pointed at them sternly.
"And stop attacking girls."
The men winced.
"…Yes."
"Good."
They bowed again, more out of survival instinct than conviction.
Shamrock gave them one last firm nod, then turned away and started walking toward the road.
He made it seven steps before the pain in his side caught up to him.
"…Ow," he muttered under his breath.
---
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