Chapter 1260

Kishiar responded without pausing the hand that was polishing the blade.

“Yes. I knew.”

“...I thought everything would be fine as long as no one died. If I’d known it would turn out like this, maybe I should’ve pushed them a little harder.”

“Even if you had, something like this would’ve happened eventually.”

Yuder watched the slow strokes of the cloth across the sword’s edge.

“Because I didn’t trust others and would’ve gone out alone anyway?”

“No. Because of me.”

Yuder’s eyes widened slightly at the unexpected answer. Kishiar continued with a calm expression.

“The reason the Cavalry’s work has been relatively safe until now is because I wanted it to be. I used the excuse that the system wasn’t fully established yet to split the tougher assignments with the Peleta Knights.”

“That’s...”

Now that he thought about it, it was true.

The Peleta Knights had always been close by. Up until the harvest festival, they’d shared more than half the official tasks, even if unofficially. Even Nathan Zuckerman—who technically wasn’t part of the Cavalry—had devoted the majority of his work to Cavalry affairs.

You could say it was because he was Kishiar’s aide, but it wasn’t the norm.

Of course, the situation was a bit special. Kishiar was both the Cavalry Commander and the Duke of Peleta. He had full authority to mobilize his knights however he liked. And since most of the Cavalry were commoners who had never even held a weapon before, they couldn’t be assigned missions until they’d been sufficiently trained.

Anyone in Kishiar’s position would’ve judged that using the more experienced Peleta Knights to cover gaps and support from behind while the Cavalry developed was the best choice. It wasn’t wrong for him to use his resources and wealth to raise the Cavalry safely.

This was also a decision that had only been possible because things hadn’t spiraled out of control like in Yuder’s past life—when Kishiar’s body had fallen apart and the situation had gone to hell.

Back then... who knows what was going on beneath the surface. But I’m certain the Peleta Knights never openly walked through the Cavalry’s halls or participated in official joint missions.

Had they done so in his past life, the nobles would’ve raised hell immediately. But now, with Emperor Keillusa still serving as a shield, Kishiar was free to act.

Kishiar, understanding the realization on Yuder’s face, nodded.

“It was a choice to raise the Cavalry safely. Even if you had risked yourself more for their sake, the same outcome would have happened as long as I didn’t change my fundamental approach.”

If you choose one thing, you must be prepared for the drawbacks that come with it. Kishiar had accepted that, even if the Cavalry grew arrogant or made mistakes, he wanted them to do so while being protected—while growing stronger in safety, if possible.

“In fact, ◆ Nоvеlіgһt ◆ (Only on Nоvеlіgһt) given the risk I expected, everyone’s grown remarkably well, learning from their mistakes. That’s thanks to you. So you don’t need to torment yourself over what-ifs.”

Just because it was a choice made with awareness didn’t mean it wouldn’t still hurt in the face of unexpected failure. Yuder thought back to the moment he had last faced Hosanra—when the man had attacked him with Yuder’s own aura. The pain that had pierced through from Kishiar’s side, so sharp it felt like a blade.

And later, as Kishiar carried his broken body on his back—how the faint sadness had soaked through his shoulders.

Even so...

“You don’t regret it.”

“No. Even if I had to make the choice again, I’d do the same.”

Kishiar replied without hesitation.

“So the responsibility lies with me. I’m the one who led the members down this path. If I were to regret that now, it wouldn’t make any sense.”

He lifted the now-perfectly polished blade and inspected it lightly. His gaze, cool and serene, reflected off the shimmering edge of the sword. Once, Yuder had thought Kishiar shone like the sun—but now, he felt more like solid earth. Not untouchable light, but something strong and grounding.

Yuder remembered the promise Kishiar had once made.

He said he’d make it so that Yuder could believe any choice he made was the best one.

Now, that promise had been fulfilled.

He no longer wondered if another path might’ve been better. That kind of thinking would be a disservice to Kishiar’s conviction, to Ever and the others who were striving to improve—and to Yuder Aile himself, who chose to trust them.

The best choice didn’t have to be one that always succeeded. Oddly enough, that realization lifted a weight off his chest.

With a lighter heart, Yuder nodded.

“Yes. I won’t bring this up again.”

“Then shall we begin the real conversation?”

Kishiar slid the divine sword Orr back into its sheath.

“Come to think of it—why were you polishing your sword at this hour?”

“I usually do it in the early morning. I just didn’t get the chance yesterday.”

That single sentence implied much more.

“...Because of me.”

“There are more important things in life than polishing a sword. A divine sword should understand that much.”

Kishiar declared solemnly—his expression shamelessly recalling last night’s lust. The sword gave off a faint hum of discontent.

“It seems the sword disagrees.”

“Unlikely. It probably just resonated because I recalled a pleasant memory.”

“......”

“I’m serious. I’ve said before—this sword isn’t some legendary artifact with human-like will, no matter what others claim.”

Yuder vaguely remembered hearing something similar back in the Sarain Great Forest.

“Ever since I first became its wielder, I’ve wondered—was this sword really made by a god? If it was, wouldn’t it make more sense for holy priests overflowing with divine power and faith to be the ones it responded to?”

“Well... that’s probably because the founding emperor was a knight...”

“That’s what everyone says.”

But Kishiar had always been someone who questioned what others accepted without doubt.

“I used to think I’d never get the answer in my lifetime... but the stories the apothecary brought recently gave me reason to speculate again.”

Did he mean the ancient tales stored in the hills of Gilandre?

“Learning that Swordmasters before the Great Cataclysm wielded power vastly different from ours—it made me reconsider what this sword might be.”

“In what way?”

Kishiar set the divine sword Orr in its original place. His gaze toward the weapon, resting atop the mana-stone heater, was not one of reverence—it was far more analytical.

“Objectively speaking, from a user’s perspective: Orr is an incredibly durable sword that reacts to its wielder’s energy and divine power, requiring a significant amount of aura to wield. And that’s all.”

If a priest heard that, they’d probably faint on the spot.

“It’s hard to say exactly what triggers what reaction—it’s not like we have much to compare it to. The only thing I’ve confirmed is that it responds strongest to the aura of someone it recognizes as its master. That’s unique, yes... but the apothecary’s stories included weapons even more extraordinary than that, didn’t they?”

“......”

“So I wonder if this sword isn’t something made by a god, but a leftover remnant from that era. Preserved because the founding emperor favored it—survived the Cataclysm when most other such relics disappeared or were destroyed.”

His red eyes scanned every detail of the sword.

“A lucky relic from before the Great Cataclysm, later dressed up as a legendary divine weapon for the sake of posterity... or maybe, like Luma, it was something someone from the past left behind for the future. That thought crossed my mind.”

He’d said he was polishing his sword now because he’d missed doing it this morning—but perhaps, more than that, he’d wanted to examine it in the light of day, to see if there was any proof of that theory.

Kishiar turned toward Yuder, his expression bright.

“Well then, shall we begin with this?”

He held out several sheets of paper.

At the top was a name: Cantinto.

“That’s from an investigation into members of the Cantinto family currently living outside the capital.”