The World Has Become Kinder to Her

*— If you can’t even do this, give up wielding the sword.*  

Kusran, who had once forced him to kill innocent puppies.  

*— Live, and be happy…*  

Kusran, whose broken body had left him uttering what sounded like a final will. 

It no longer mattered what was true and what was false. What mattered now was that Kusran was dead, completely erased from this world.

Yes, to be honest, Kenneth had resented Kusran, the man who had seemed to abandon both him and his mother. But Kenneth had never wished for his death—certainly not for him to die so miserably, right before his eyes.

The blackened mass that had oozed from Kusran’s torn body seemed to represent death itself, whispering endlessly to Kenneth.

*“Kill, kill, kill. Kill them all.”*

Would wiping out everything in sight finally bring him peace? The whispers were so sweet, like honey. Rather than swinging his sword with his own will, Kenneth had surrendered to the maddening urge for destruction that surged within him.

Kenneth witnessed the hell he had unleashed, as both he and his sword raged like a demon. The results of his momentary loss of control were horrifying.  

Out of his mouth came words that would have made any of the fallen bodies rage had they still been alive to hear them:

*— I want to die.*

Weary from life choking him at every turn, he longed to rest. But…

“Huff… huff…” 

The unrelenting will to survive, ingrained in every living creature, and his resilient body, once again ignored his wishes.  

Lost in endless darkness, Kenneth slowly regained consciousness and opened his eyes. It had been three days since he collapsed.

The world around him had changed slightly. Though he had fought in a half-dazed frenzy, he had somehow become a hero.

“I’m so glad you’re finally awake! You’ve accomplished something truly remarkable!”  

Kenneth had singlehandedly slain two White Grubs—creatures that usually required at least three elite Sword Experts, and were far easier to kill only if one had reached the level of Sword Master. Marquis Sordin, whose poor judgment had cost them more than half their forces, was now desperately working to turn Kenneth into a hero to cover up his own failures. 

Even Frederick, who had taken control of the military command from Sordin, had said nothing to contradict this, allowing the hero-making narrative to spread swiftly.

Once fully conscious, Kenneth gathered Kusran’s considerably decayed remains and his shattered sword. He cremated the remains and placed the ashes and fragments of the sword in a small wooden casket. Kusran had no family left, so Kenneth planned to return to the capital and, out of duty as a former disciple, build a modest grave for him.

A few days later, upon returning to the capital with the subjugation force, Kenneth was approached by one of the emperor’s attendants. The following day, Kenneth entered the palace and was granted an audience with the emperor.

“Sir Kenneth, I have heard of your exceptional feats during this recent subjugation—saving many lives and protecting the southern plains. I understand you singlehandedly defeated two White Grubs?”  

On the surface, it seemed as though the emperor was praising Kenneth’s accomplishments as the central figure of the campaign. But there was an underlying tension to the meeting, something more than simple commendation.

If it had merely been a routine praise, there was no reason for Duke Saber—an esteemed, retired knight and the only Sword Master in the empire—to be present at their meeting.

“It’s truly remarkable. I’ve been moved by the stories of your achievements,” Duke Saber said.

“I am deeply honored, Your Majesty, Your Grace,” Kenneth replied.

“For someone your age to have accomplished so much… It’s as if Mars, the god of war himself, has taken human form. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt this kind of excitement, a fire burning inside me. So, if you’re willing, I would like to cross swords with you.”

That final remark was likely the true reason for this audience.

The Emperor, eager to see Kenneth’s incredible skills firsthand, arranged a secret sword duel with only a few close aides present. Kenneth felt like a rare exotic animal on display, being tested for entertainment. He didn’t like it, but as always, he had to raise his sword without complaint.

In the duel with Duke Saber, Kenneth was defeated. Unlike when he had faced the White Grubs, he couldn’t unleash a *Sword Wave*. The reason was simple: Kenneth was too afraid of losing control again.

He remembered all too well the surge of destructive desire, the murderous intent, and the whispers that had echoed in his mind like hallucinations. Only a *Sword Wave* from a Sword Master could counter another Sword Master’s *Sword Wave*. The Emperor seemed suspicious that Kenneth hadn’t given his all, but Duke Saber, perhaps relieved to have avoided a bruising defeat, defended Kenneth by saying that his swordsmanship was simply not yet fully refined.

Thanks to this, Kenneth was recognized as having reached the level of a *Quasi-Sword Master*. The Emperor, believing that Kenneth would soon become a full Sword Master, offered him a noble title and an arranged marriage to a royal family member to tie him to the empire.

“These are generous offers, Your Majesty, but I do not yet feel capable of accepting a title or becoming the fiancé of a noble lady. For now, please allow me to focus solely on my sword,” Kenneth replied.

Everything felt strange and overwhelming, and Kenneth decided to take a step back. However, he did accept the position of captain of the First Order of Knights.

*— Live, and find happiness…*

The memories of his peaceful childhood, when his mother was still alive, had long been buried under the harsh experiences of the battlefield. Despite his youth, when hope and dreams should have been abundant, Kenneth didn’t know how to find happiness.

He did, however, recognize the need to change his circumstances. Being an ordinary knight in the First Order had only made him the target of envy, jealousy, and schemes. Securing a position of power and authority, he reasoned, might lead to a more peaceful life.

While middling skill and rank had been poison, exceptional skill and high rank became something others envied and admired. The people who once couldn’t wait to see him fall gradually faded into the background, replaced by those who admired him and wanted to befriend him.

Kenneth allowed these people into his life, pretending not to notice their intentions. It wasn’t that he expected to receive the affection he had been denied as a child, but he was simply too tired to push them away.

“One time, I was jealous of you. No, honestly, I probably still am. You achieved so much at such a young age. Damn it, I’m sorry… no, I *am* sorry.”

Hearing the apology from Hugo, the senior knight whose life he had saved, didn’t heal the scars of the past.

“Wow, would you look at this. This has to make the Imperial Gazette. Am I dreaming, or is this real? Our Kenneth, captain of the First Order, who can cut down dozens of enemies without a second thought, struggling over how to lift an injured animal! How should I even describe this?”

“…Shut up.”

“Nope.”

“That’s an order. Shut up.”

“Oh, come on! Us regular knights don’t get to say anything, huh?”

Despite forming closer bonds with his fellow knights like Emil, Kenneth didn’t feel like his life had become more enjoyable.

“I’ve always admired you, Captain.”

“…”

“I worked so hard, nearly killing myself, just to join the First Order. I barely made it in, but still… I’m happy.”

Even hearing this from a junior knight like Hisven, who looked up to him, didn’t fill Kenneth with any sense of pride.

Even after becoming captain of the First Order, Kenneth’s *Sword Wave* remained unstable. The memory of the devastation caused by his first *Sword Wave* still haunted him. He had killed not only monsters but also some of his allies during that battle.

*‘Mad killer!’*  

*‘If you hadn’t lost control, I wouldn’t be dead!’*

The guilt resurfaced often, gripping Kenneth and shaking him to his core.

Perhaps it was because his mental fortitude had weakened that Kenneth’s heart wavered when Hugo apologized, that he felt a sense of camaraderie when Emil joked around with him, and that he grew fond of Hisven, who looked up to him. The people he once thought didn’t matter had become precious to him before he even realized it.

Could this be what Kusran had wanted for him? To be acknowledged by others and to live alongside them?  

The more precious people he had in his life, the more Kenneth hesitated to use his *Sword Wave*. He feared that, like before, he would lose control, succumb to those mysterious whispers, and let his destructive urges run wild.

But because he couldn’t fully utilize that power, he began to lose those around him. In the war with another empire, he couldn’t save his comrades from a dangerous situation. During a battle with monsters, he had to watch a junior knight die.  

With each death, the sense of guilt deepened. By the time Kenneth had finally mastered his *Sword Wave* through tireless effort, many of the people he cared about had already become casualties of the battlefield.  

It felt meaningless. Despite all his hard work, his sword seemed capable only of protecting himself. He hadn’t been able to save anyone dear to him—his mother, Kusran, his comrades who had perished in battle. Everyone Kenneth had cherished or held close in his heart had died.

Eventually, Kenneth began to believe that he might be the cause of all the misfortune in his life, a magnet for disaster. 

*“Would they have been alright if they hadn’t been connected to me?”*

His mother had died because her health had weakened after giving birth to him. Kusran had died protecting him from the White Grub’s attack. Emil had died because Kenneth had pushed for a risky strategy in the war. Hisven had died because Kenneth had failed to control his *Sword Wave*.

The thought that their deaths were his fault was so unbearable that it tore apart what little emotional recovery he had managed. 

Yes, it had been his fault for allowing himself to be swayed by the warmth of others. It was a mistake. Someone as unlucky and cursed as him was destined to wander the battlefield, alone with his sword as his only companion.

Kenneth shut the door to his heart once more. He began keeping a distance from others, not wanting to become deeply involved with anyone anymore. There was enough destruction and killing on the battlefield—he was sick of seeing blood or causing unnecessary trouble in his daily life.  

Thus, he tried to live quietly and cautiously. That was all, and yet the world, in its foolishness, saw him as a cold and noble knight, like a block of ice. 

They didn’t know anything. And yet, that misguided reputation attracted someone who sought him out.

“I have a favor to ask of Count Owen. If you can’t find more than a hundred reasons to refuse, would you be willing to take my first time?”

Lotus Estelle, who had come to meet Kenneth in her own respectful manner, had made an unexpected request.

She wasn’t simply asking him to spend a night with her—she was asking him to take her virginity.

The two propositions might seem similar, but there was a significant difference, and even someone as emotionally reserved as Kenneth could feel that distinction. 

In disbelief, he asked, “What did you just say…?”

“Your hearing isn’t at fault, Count. I understand I may not be desirable because of my dirty birth as a bastard, but I can at least promise you this: unlike many of the noble ladies who boast of their chastity but have likely lost it by now, I am still a true virgin. What little pride I have left made me want to share my first time with someone… relatively decent.”

Of all the strange requests Kenneth had ever received, this was by far the most bizarre.