As the Countess approached, I could already tell she didn't see the window in front of me. That was strange. It must have been different from the kind of status panel that openly appears when visiting a temple.
"So, Squire Alex," she said smoothly, her eyes sharp, "you showed quite the regal bearing—rushing over to save a knight."
She shifted her gaze to the kneeling knight and his two squires.
"That's a knight two levels higher than yourself, as well as fellow squires who are each one level above you."
Taking in her words, I realized just how absurd my actions must have looked. The knight, who couldn't have been older than thirty, carried himself with grace and subtle power—an experienced swordsman. His squires, in their early twenties, had the polished look of those in their final year of squireship. That meant the knight was likely a landed knight, possibly even a member of a formal knightly order.
And I, by comparison, was a complete amateur who had just been granted the rank of "Squire" today.
With that realization, a flush of heat rushed to my face. My cheeks turned red as I became painfully aware of the caravan patrons and the other knights still glancing in my direction. The Countess gave a small wave of her hand, and as if on cue, everyone nearby slowly rose to their feet.
"I'll be in the carriage," she said over her shoulder, not bothering to look back. "Don't keep me waiting."
Without another word, she turned and walked away, her three towering knights trailing behind her like a silent honor guard.
Once she was gone, I turned awkwardly to face the knight I had tried to save, along with his two squires.
POV: Sir William Danfered
As a knight of over a decade, and one granted land by the royal family for my role in saving the ninth prince from an orc ambush four years ago—a raid led by a high orc no less—I had thought I'd seen it all. At the very least, I was no longer some inexperienced young man.
That assumption held true... until I saw a squire leap out of a noblewoman's carriage window and charge toward a pack of forest hounds.
His sword technique was unrefined, awkward—even dangerous. The boy swung like a drunk butcher fending off a rabid chicken. Wait... what a strange thought. Regardless, his form was as wild as his intent was pure.
At first, I almost stepped in. I had no doubt he would die in mere moments.
But then I noticed them—the three knights standing beside the carriage. Just by their posture and the aura they exuded, I could tell they were each a level above me.
They gave me a subtle signal: Do not interfere.
I thought it was a mistake. Surely they couldn't be serious.
Yet, to my surprise—and honestly, my confusion—the boy not only survived, he won. He stood bloodied but mostly intact, minor wounds visible yet nowhere near fatal.
The battle ended, and the noble lady exited the carriage. I promptly knelt, as is custom. Her presence was like fire contained within velvet, her voice calm yet commanding.
She addressed the boy, pointing out that we didn't require his assistance. He looked mortified. His face turned the same red as his blood-smeared cheek, and seeing our quiet amusement only made it worse.
Afterward, she gave a slight gesture, allowing us all to rise. Then she and her knights began to walk away.
It was then—only then—that I caught sight of the crest emblazoned on the capes of those towering knights.
The Order of the Indigo Glaives.
My heart nearly stopped.
That could only mean one thing: the woman I had just bowed to was Countess Margery Phillips, wife of Count Phillip, and a fourth-circle flame mage known by her moniker:
The Red Countess.
A terrifyingly powerful woman with a reputation for reducing entire bandit strongholds to ash. Her name was known even in the outer provinces.
And she was traveling... with him?
That strange squire with a reckless heart and the instincts of a beast cornered in battle?
Why?
What was his connection to her? Was he her servant? Her project? Her bodyguard in disguise?
No... the way she spoke to him was neither warm nor dismissive. It wasn't familiarity, nor was it formal subordination. It felt more like...
Curiosity.
That unsettled me even more.
For someone like the Red Countess to show curiosity toward a squire.
Info dump sorry not sorry:
Ranks of mages
First circle:can cast magic that is just simple household magic
Second:magic with miner power can cause injuries if unguarded
Third: magic that hold real strength can take down a tru knight easily
Fourth: they hold the destructive power of a grand swordsman and can face a group of thirty with ease
Fifth: able to wipe out a force of hundreds, spells akin to RPG strikes
Sixth: walking calamity's and require a grand master to be deployed to face them can take down a castle by themselves exceeding rare to produce though
seventh: only one know to exist leader of the
M.ages
A.ssociation
G.uiding
I.ndependence
The organization that unofficially leads the magical world, they are responsible for the safety of mages under their banner, they are the judges of mages, they are the ones to punish mages, and they regulate magic towers that are to be built or magic academy's being founded.
Her name
The arcane eye, Minerva von rosemarry.
With The weight of battle still clung to the air. Blood, earth, and the sharp tang of sweat mixed into a memory I wouldn't soon forget. I stood straight despite the ache in my muscles, sword sheathed but hand still near the hilt out of habit. I wasn't about to fidget or slouch. A battlefield, even a finished one, deserved composure.
A shadow approached. Tall, composed, and with a swordsman's gait—there was no mistaking the man's bearing. He was older than me in appearance, early thirties perhaps, though the eyes were sharper than most his age. A green-field crest with a bullseye mark sat clean on his shoulder plate. It caught my attention.
"Not bad," the man said, stopping a few paces from me. "You held your own."
"I didn't trip over myself," I said, dryly. "That was the goal."
One of the men behind him snorted—a tall squire with a gray-eyed, half-smirking face. "Could've fooled us."
The knight extended a gloved hand. "Sir William Danfered. These are my squires—Larry and John."
"Alex," I said, taking the offered hand. "Squire… though not under anyone known publicly."
Sir William tilted his head slightly but didn't pry. A point in his favor.
My eyes returned to the crest on his armor. "That mark… doesn't look like a noble house I know."
"It's not," he said. "My own emblem. Earned with the land that came with it."
I gave a quiet nod, respectfully. "You must've done something rare to receive that."
"I was in the right place when it counted," he replied evenly. "No more than that."
There was something in the way he said it—humble, but not evasive. He wasn't selling glory. Just history.
John, the other squire—brown-eyed, a bit bulkier—leaned forward. "So where'd you learn to fight? You move like someone who knows pain more than form."
"I've had time," I replied. "Technique's something I'm working on."
Sir William observed me carefully. "You're older than you look, aren't you?"
I raised an eyebrow. "Older than seventeen. Let's leave it at that."
He gave the faintest smirk, as if that answer was all he needed.
Then, a round man with a red face and a glorious handlebar mustache waddled into view. He wore a thick vest over a traveling tunic and, proudly perched on his head, a worn but well-cared-for conical deerly hat.
"Jacob Rally," he said, voice cheerful and booming despite the tension still lingering. "Caravan leader, merchant of fine pelts, and a humble follower of the Seven. You've caused quite the stir today, young man."
Alex turned and shook his hand, noting the man's firm grip despite the smile. "I wasn't aiming for attention. Just saw someone in need."
"Aye, and you acted faster than any youngster I've seen, well maybe not that kid he's a real battle feind. That earns my respect." He looked at William and gave a respectful nod. "And Sir Danfered's presence only sweetens the pot."
"You two acquainted?" I asked.
"We've crossed paths," William replied. "A few winters back, near the western roads. He hires reliable men. That's rare in trade."
Jacob puffed out his chest slightly, then turned to me. "You planning to travel along with the Countess?"
"Apparently," I said. "Wasn't part of the original plan."
"Well, if your path shifts and you ever need a warm fire or work worth silver, find my banner." He handed me a small carved token—a leather patch etched with a merchant's scale over a snow-furred pelt. "I'll vouch for you with the Britannia Guild."
I took it, bowing my head slightly. "Thank you."
As Jacob wandered off, I turned back to Sir William. "I appreciate your approach, by the way. Most would've asked who trained me. Or why someone like me is riding with the Countess."
"I figured if it mattered, you'd say." He gave a knowing look. "Besides, I've seen enough of the world to know that answers come when they're earned, not demanded."
I looked down at my hands—bruised, slightly shaking now that the fight was over. "I wasn't trying to impress anyone. I just couldn't stand by."
"That's what separates a real knight from a showpiece," he said. "It's not how clean your blade is—it's whether you draw it when it matters."
He turned to leave but paused.
"My land's near the western frontier. Should your path wind that way, don't hesitate to call. We always have use for men who act without waiting for orders."
He tossed a small badge to me—his emblem, the green bullseye. I caught it clean, fingers steady again.
"I'll keep it close," I said.
He gave one final nod and walked back toward his squires. They followed, quiet but watchful.
I stood there a moment longer, watching them leave. Not many people in this world offered anything without strings. And I wouldn't be so naive to think these two emblems were given for facing a few Larg dogs but it did feel good to be acknowledged for my actions.