Chapter 2

***

The Baronial House of Haklan in the Hestin Kingdom was renowned throughout the continent for its theological prowess. In fact, many who had never even heard of Hestin itself were intimately familiar with the Haklan name. Their profound expertise, particularly in ancient theology, birthed a common saying: one simply could not discuss theology without mentioning the House of Haklan.

The patriarch, Baron Ovel Lun Haklan, had two sons. His firstborn, Iscazel Noth Haklan, was celebrated as a prodigy who had mastered ancient languages at the tender age of thirteen. In stark contrast, absolutely no information existed regarding his second son, Arno Neu Haklan. Yet, the public firmly remembered that the Baron possessed two sons entirely because the second was an adoptee.

The Baron’s abrupt decision to adopt a nine-year-old boy inevitably drew intense public scrutiny, especially since he was neither a widower nor was his wife infertile. Adopting a daughter might have made sense, but with a legitimate heir already poised to inherit the title, there was simply no logical reason to randomly adopt another male child. Naturally, society speculated that a family as prestigious as the House of Haklan must have had a profound, theological motive for the act. Had the Baron paraded the boy in public—whether treating him as an equal to his firstborn or clearly discriminating against him—the public’s curiosity would have quickly shifted to the next piece of passing gossip.

Instead, from the moment he crossed the mansion’s threshold, the adopted second son vanished. He never showed so much as a single strand of hair to the outside world, leaving the public ravenous for details regarding his origins, his appearance, and his standing within the family hierarchy. Ultimately, his full name remained the only fragment of truth ever revealed.

Fourteen years slipped by.

Adopted at nine, Arno Neu Haklan was now twenty-three—no longer a child, yet perhaps not quite a fully mature adult. As the years wore on, public interest inevitably waned, occasionally resurrecting him merely as mild fodder for barroom gossip. Whenever anyone bothered to dig for new information in hopes of a scandal, they were met with the same mocking silence; only his name remained. Left to their own devices, gossips viciously twisted the rumors to suit their tastes. Some claimed he suffered from severe facial burns, an incurable disease, a highly contagious plague, or crippling agoraphobia. Others spun far more malicious tales: that he was a raging sex addict who assaulted both male and female servants, forcing the Baron to lock him away, or that his personality was so deeply fractured that human interaction was completely impossible. Naturally, the masses eagerly devoured the latter, more scandalous rumors.

A persistent few whispered that the Baron’s bizarre choice to adopt a second son stemmed not from a desire to give his heir a brother, but because the boy served as a crucial living subject for the family’s secret research into the Sun God. A more absurd rumor insisted the boy had died immediately after the adoption, leaving the family too humiliated to officially announce his passing.

Undeterred by the swirling whispers, Baron Haklan continued his public life with infuriating calm, silently delivering his lectures and attending scholarly invitations as if he were entirely deaf to the world’s probing questions. Consequently, as far more provocative scandals erupted over the years, the rumors surrounding Arno Neu Haklan fizzled into obscurity. Given the absolute lack of financial, travel, or communication records to prove he still drew breath, the “death” theory gained the most traction. By the time Arno reached his twenties, the rumors of the Haklan family’s second son faded into nothing more than a faint smudge in the public’s memory.

***

The Order of St. Margia.

Named after the revered Saint Margia, this small-scale knightly order was buried deep within a remote, mountainous valley, miles away from the bustling city center. While most orders affiliated with the temple saw a steady stream of devout worshippers, St. Margia lacked even a corresponding regional temple. It was literally just a fortress stranded in the wilderness. With its shockingly sparse roster of knights, it possessed so little presence that even if they failed to submit their mandatory reports to headquarters, no one would ever notice the omission.

Yet, despite its ghostly existence, the order adhered to a strict daily routine. Rising early, the knights cleansed their bodies and minds before offering their morning prayers to Aquila, the Sun God.

“Please watch over us so that we may conclude today safely and without incident.”

Bathed in the morning sunlight streaming through the window, a young man knelt clutching his pendant. His posture appeared perfectly reverent, but the actual content of his prayer was suspiciously brief and perfunctory.

“Lino, you really are…” Rodic, his roommate, stared at him with deeply pathetic eyes. “Your prayers are consistently half-assed. Do you honestly think that reaches God?”

That prayer had been painfully forced. Fixing his roommate with a deadpan expression, Lino replied, “Of course it won’t reach Him, which is exactly why I half-ass it.”

“Hah? Can I report what you just said to the Commander? That’s blatant blasphemy.”

At the threat of blasphemy, Lino casually stroked his chin. He feigned a moment of deep contemplation before flashing a wicked grin. “Then, Hyung, should I report that you slept out last night?”

“Gah…” Ready to tease him further, Rodic instantly clamped his mouth shut. While Lino’s mildly blasphemous remarks were common enough to only warrant a passing scolding, Rodic’s unauthorized overnight absence was a far more serious offense. Seeing Rodic fall entirely silent, Lino threw an arm around his roommate’s shoulder and whispered conspiratorially, “I believe the Commander said he’d excommunicate you if you got caught just one more time…”

“You little bastard…!” Blushing furiously, Rodic shoved Lino away. What kind of bullshit manipulation is this?! Lino’s long arm slipped away smoothly without resistance.

“Weren’t you sleeping?” Rodic asked, genuine confusion knitting his brow. Lino was famous within the order for sleeping so deeply that a thief could carry him away without waking him. Rodic had meticulously confirmed his deep sleep before sneaking out, and Lino was in the exact same position when he sneaked back in.

“Of course I was sleeping,” Lino chuckled, easily resolving the mystery.

“Then how…?”

“How what? The toes of your shoes were soaking wet. It would be weirder if I didn’t notice.”

“Ah…” Why didn’t I realize that? Panicking, Rodic scrambled to the entryway and yanked open the shoe cabinet. He quickly swiped his fingers across the leather toe of the boots he had worn all night.

“Ugh.” They were undeniably damp. He vigorously shook his hand to rid it of the unpleasant sensation. He’s so dense most of the time, yet he’s obnoxiously sharp about the most useless things, Rodic grumbled internally. Instantly wiping the annoyance from his face, Rodic forced his lips into a wide, painfully ingratiating smile. Mixing a heavy spoonful of pure subservience into his friendly demeanor, he cooed, “Linoooo~”

Laughing at the disgustingly sweet tone, Lino waved him off. “That’s enough, just cut down on your little night excursions.”

Cheering at the implied promise of silence, Rodic threw his arms around Lino in a tight hug. Though thoroughly annoyed, Lino didn’t explicitly voice his displeasure, merely pushing Rodic’s shoulder to signal it was time to detach.

Tap, tap. Two sets of footsteps echoed down the wide corridor. While both held the rhythmic cadence of trained knights, one set was conspicuously light.

Does he have helium pumping through his veins instead of blood? How does he walk so lightly? Staring at Lino’s feet taking the lead, Rodic marveled at the gait. It wasn’t just the quietness of his footsteps; he practically glided, as if stepping on a fresh layer of fragile snow. Consequently, Lino often appeared smaller than his actual height and build, an illusion magnified whenever he stood alone or mingled with the bulkier knights.

Maybe everyone from the Hestin Kingdom walks like that because of the heavy snow… Rodic hypothesized. Of course, if he actually asked, Lino would dismiss it as complete nonsense. But since his roommate was notoriously tight-lipped about his personal history, Rodic settled for his own assumptions. Or maybe he really is a noble. Though Lino consistently introduced himself as a commoner, anyone who observed his exquisite manners suspected he was either a highborn aristocrat, a member of the privileged class, or at least a close attendant to one. His dazzlingly beautiful face and innate elegance completely contradicted his claims of commoner roots.

While modern society loudly condemned judging a person’s social standing by their appearance as utterly tasteless, everyone still subconsciously divided the world into the privileged and the common. After all, the adage “All are equal before the law” conveniently excluded the Emperor and the nobility. Yet, the law was still the law; even aristocrats couldn’t entirely dodge severe crimes like murder or assault—though their vast networks and bribery ensured a 99% probability they would never face true justice.

Still, it’s bizarre. He looks exactly like a pampered young master from a wealthy family, yet he claims to be a total orphan. How am I supposed to believe that? 

Staring at the back of Lino’s head, Rodic couldn’t help but admire the fine, spun-gold strands that looked as if they had been drenched in sweet honey and heavily dusted with crushed gold leaf. His thick, silken hair swayed mesmerizingly with his every step. And it wasn’t just the hair. His face was sickeningly sweet. When Lino first arrived begging to join the Order of St. Margia, every knight in the fortress had the exact same thought: Why is such a precious gem rolling into this squalid dump? Back then, he had looked so appetizing one might expect a taste of honey just by licking him.

He had been much shorter and slighter then, his massive eyes brimming with so much moisture it looked as though he might burst into tears if they rejected his application. Three years had passed since that day. In that brief span, Lino had matured so astonishingly that everyone in the temple secretly believed the Sun God Aquila had carved off a piece of His own divine light to sculpt him. The honey-soaked golden hair remained, but his height and frame had expanded exponentially. He hadn’t mutated into an overly muscular brute; rather, he had gracefully blossomed from a fragile boy into a reliable, sturdy young man, even if he couldn’t completely shake the lingering traces of youth.

For a knight whose core virtues dictated relentless physical conditioning, Lino’s build was still on the smaller side. Countless hours of brutal training had broadened his shoulders and packed lean, solid muscle onto his long limbs, giving him the sculpted physique of a highly attractive male idol or actor rather than a rugged warrior.

And that waist… 

Tracing his gaze from the swaying golden hair, down the straight spine, to that cinched waist, Rodic unconsciously swallowed hard. Compared to his surprisingly broad shoulders, Lino’s waist was incredibly narrow. Not fragile like a woman’s, but undeniably slender for his frame. Yet, what drew the eye even more than the waist was his chest. Why, despite having such a narrow waist, was his chest so thick and heavy? If his ribcage and torso matched the thickness of his chest, no one would have looked twice.

Perhaps painfully aware of this bizarre proportion, Lino absolutely refused to wear thin or flimsy shirts, even in the sweltering heat of midsummer. He exclusively drowned himself in thick, oversized fabrics, which naturally made him detest summer, as he suffered terribly in the heat. Naturally, this was a secret known only to his roommate. Because Lino recognized his body deviated significantly from the average man’s, he harbored a profound, almost phobic aversion to exposing his flesh. Even after three years of sharing a room, Rodic had never once caught a proper glimpse of Lino fully shirtless, let alone without his trousers. Lino was so intensely secretive that he religiously threw a cloak or jacket over himself even for a brief step outside their dorm. Thus, the only reason Rodic had deduced this much about Lino’s physique was because Lino occasionally wore slightly more relaxed clothing within the private confines of their room.

Yeah, he’s definitely not the type meant to roll around in the dirt with rough brutes, Rodic concluded, dropping his gaze back down to Lino’s boots as they stepped onto the stairs leading to the first-floor lobby. We’re wearing the exact same boots, so how the hell does he walk so quietly?

“We’re going to be late at this rate,” Lino scolded, having lightly skipped down the stairs ahead of him, urging Rodic to hurry up. Though perpetually relaxed, Lino frowned deeply today, constantly checking the watch strapped to his wrist.

“Since when do you rush me for morning prayer?” Rodic grumbled, pointing out the glaring hypocrisy of a man who had delivered a half-assed prayer moments ago suddenly acting like a devout believer terrified of tardiness.

“Today is the announcement for the roster of those being drafted to the capital.”

“Ah… right!”

Realization slammed into Rodic. He had completely forgotten the highly anticipated announcement day. In truth, the “roster” only consisted of a single knight being selected, but that didn’t stop every man in the fortress from harboring the thrilling hope of: Could it be me? Rodic was no exception.

Whenever a distinguished guest from a foreign nation visited, they required a localized escort. Usually, massive, renowned knightly orders monopolized these duties, scaling the security detail according to the guest’s importance. Simply being drafted was a massive resume booster; catching the eye of high-ranking officials could secure a transfer to a powerhouse order or land a highly lucrative personal bodyguard gig. Above all, it offered a golden ticket out of the suffocating monotony of communal life. The cruel reality, however, was that such an opportunity graced a miserable, backwater order like St. Margia maybe once a decade.

“Just how incredibly important is this person that they’re drafting from a podunk country order like ours?” Lino muttered to himself as they hurried toward the training grounds. Typically, official visits were heavily publicized affairs; a quick flip of the television channels would reveal who was arriving from where and when. This time, however, was exceptionally bizarre. Forget the guest list or basic intelligence—there wasn’t even a whisper in the media that anyone was visiting the country.

“If they’re scraping the bottom of the barrel to draft from us, the sheer volume of the security detail must be massive. Given the utter media blackout, this must be a strictly top-secret visit, right?” Rodic hypothesized.

Turning back to him, Lino asked smoothly, “Hyung, did you hear anything at the tavern last—”

“Shh! Someone will hear you…!” Rodic practically lunged forward, slapping his hand tightly over Lino’s mouth as he frantically scanned their surroundings. Finding that the other knights were entirely focused on rushing to the training grounds, Rodic released a long, shaky sigh. Getting caught sneaking out again guaranteed his immediate excommunication. “Are you seriously… determined to ruin my damn life?”

“What possible benefit could I gain from ruining your life?” Lino replied calmly, peeling the hand from his face.

“Then please, watch your damn mouth… okay?”

“Got it. But seriously, did you hear anything? We get news a day or two late up here.”

Buried so deep in the mountains that even radio signals struggled to penetrate, the Order of St. Margia was notoriously starved for current events. Knights like Rodic, who secretly slinked off to taverns, were usually the only lifelines to the outside world, as those dens of vice always kept the televisions and radios blaring. But Rodic simply shook his head.

“I didn’t hear a single word about anyone visiting.”

Then who the hell is coming? 

Drafting security without disclosing the distinguished guest was deeply suspicious, but dodging a tardy slip was Lino’s immediate priority. The two knights quickly slipped into the training grounds, enduring the side-eyes of their peers as they seamlessly blended into the very back corner of the formation. Shortly after they took their seats, the Knight Commander—wearing his full dress uniform, a rarity in itself—stepped up to the podium.

“Ahem, hem! Ah, ah—” The Commander cleared his throat loudly into the perfectly functional microphone, immediately sparking a wave of confused murmurs across the hall. He never used the microphone, clearly aiming to establish a heavy, dramatic atmosphere today.

“My dear brothers, I pray your morning is overflowing with the glory of Aquila.”

While the opening address was entirely standard, the knights gathered in the hall stared at the Commander’s lips with white-knuckled tension. Lino was tense as well, but unlike the desperately hopeful knights surrounding him, his tension completely lacked any expectation of being chosen.

“Who is it? Who do you think got picked?” Rodic whispered frantically, vigorously rubbing his sweaty palms together.

Lino shot him a deadpan look that clearly communicated: If I knew, why the hell would I be asking you? Catching the message, Rodic merely shrugged and returned his gaze to the front. While Rodic trembled with anticipation, muttering, If only it were me… under his breath to the nodding agreement of the surrounding knights, Lino stared blankly into space. Forced to wake up earlier than usual, his sleep-deprived eyes were entirely unfocused. Among all the knights arrayed in the hall, Lino was the sole individual exhibiting neither tension nor excitement.

“As you are all aware, a truly esteemed individual will soon honor our Zetina Kingdom with a visit. As this is a strictly confidential affair requiring the utmost dedication to security, our humble order has been granted the immense honor of contributing one knight to the escort detail.” The Commander’s voice quivered violently. His eyes were suspiciously glassy, making him look as though he were on the absolute verge of weeping from sheer overwhelming emotion.

Before anyone could mock the old man’s dramatic display, a quick glance around the hall revealed the gathered knights were furiously clenching their fists and biting their lips, fully synchronizing with their Commander’s profound awe. 

Sniff. 

Beside him, Rodic aggressively nodded his head while sniffling. Knowing with absolute certainty that he wouldn’t be chosen, Lino felt absolutely zero inclination to join the collective hysteria.

“Now, I shall announce the proud knight who will journey to the royal palace. As this selection heavily prioritized the direct request of our esteemed guest, I expect absolutely no complaints regarding the outcome.”

The agonizingly anticipated moment had finally arrived. The collective gulp of dozens of dry throats echoed through the hall.

The direct request of the guest? Just who is this distinguished guest that they’re personally micromanaging the escort detail? 

The Commander had nicely packaged it as an “opinion,” but to Lino’s ears, it sounded like a blatant, self-serving demand. The distinguished guest would undoubtedly bring their own formidable guard, so meddling with the local escorts strongly implied this guest was either an unimaginably powerful figure or had an obnoxiously demanding personality.

Well, it’s none of my business anyway. 

Surrounded by knights sitting with perfectly rigid, ramrod-straight backs, Lino stealthily abandoned his proper posture, melting lazily into the hard wooden backrest of his chair. He was the absolute youngest member of the Order of St. Margia, and his martial skills were thoroughly mediocre; there was zero chance his name would be called.

“The knight chosen from the Order of St. Margia is—”

As the revelation hung in the air, a breathless, suffocating silence instantly crashed over the training grounds.