I Became the Black Knight

Dale turned around in surprise.

But there was only the silver ring floating in the air.

Dale scratched his helmet.

'Did I hear it wrong? Just now… was that the Goddess of Light…?'

But he quickly dismissed the thought.

Even though a pact had been made, Dale's body bore the power of the Goddess of the Night.

It didn't make sense for the Goddess of Light to personally whisper to him.

After a moment, Estel returned, accompanied by a priest with a stern expression.

"As you asked, I've brought Priest Fael…"

"Maria!"

Fael rushed forward in a panic and buried his face in Maria's chest.

Dale and Estel stepped aside to give him space.

After a while, Fael composed himself and approached Dale.

He extended his hand for a handshake.

"I'm Fael. I currently hold the rank of Cleric."

A cleric… That's at least a third-tier position among priests.

It seemed like he was in a romantic relationship with Maria, so Dale had assumed their abilities would be similar.

But Fael's level appeared to be higher than expected. You could tell just from the depth in his eyes.

Dale took Fael's hand.

"I'm Dale."

Fael nodded, then said with a wry smile:

"Did you know, Sir Dale? Since the pact, you're likely the first Dark Knight to ever visit the Order."

"I see."

"It's going to be noisy for a while."

The Order had allowed a Dark Knight to enter.

People would start speculating that there was a shift in the previously superficial cooperation between the two religions.

However, Dale wasn't particularly interested in such political matters.

"Fael. I have something to tell you—Maria's final words."

"I thought you'd already said her last words?"

"Step back, Estel. This is something you must not hear."

"…Understood."

As Dale waved his hand, Estel stepped back with a sulky look on her face.

After making sure there was no one else around, Dale spoke.

"Fael. In the end, Maria said she was especially thankful to you."

"..."

"But she asked that I not tell anyone else."

"That's just like Maria."

A bitter expression passed over Fael's face. But the sadness didn't run deep.

For those with strong faith, death was not a permanent farewell.

Fael gave a respectful bow.

"I saw the look on Maria's face. She was smiling in relief, without any lingering regrets. I'm sure it was thanks to you, Sir Dale. Thank you for being there at the end. I will find a way to repay this debt."

Dale replied calmly.

"I've already received something from Maria. You don't need to worry about it."

"Even so, I will repay it. Sir Dale, by helping Maria, you've helped all those who loved her as well."

Dale nodded.

Since Fael insisted, there was no reason to refuse further.

'Ah. I should ask this too.'

Since the topic had come up, Dale showed Fael the ring that Maria had given him.

"Do you know what kind of ring this is? It doesn't seem like an ordinary item."

"This is…"

A strange light flickered in Fael's eyes.

"It's the Ring of Conviction. It's a relic that, if a person with a noble heart and soul strongly desires it, can draw out their latent abilities—though only once."

"A noble soul?"

'That's not something that has anything to do with a dark knight like me.'

In the end, it meant he'd received something he couldn't even use.

Dale, without thinking, asked:

"If I were to sell it on the market, how much do you think it'd go for?"

"What?"

Fael's eyes widened in shock.

Next to him, Estelle looked at Dale like he was garbage.

Flustered, Fael spoke with a pained expression.

"P-please don't do that. If Maria entrusted this to you, Sir Dale, she must've had a good reason."

"…I was just asking. I didn't mean I'd really sell it. But just tell me how much it would be wor—"

"Okay! Let's save the rest of the conversation for another time, shall we?"

Estelle cut in and interrupted Dale.

"Your companion outside seems to be waiting for you. Isn't it about time you head out?"

"Ah, right."

Leon was probably still waiting in the carriage.

After saying his farewells to Fael, Dale followed Estelle as she led him outside.

Just like when he arrived, all eyes were on Dale.

But Dale walked proudly, unfazed by the attention. He had done nothing to be ashamed of, so there was no reason not to hold his head high.

That dignified manner left a strong impression on the people watching.

The believers whispered among themselves in hushed voices, and rumors of a dark knight entering the temple quickly spread throughout the city.

Dale's name had begun to circulate through the city.

***

"Did you wait long?"

Dale spoke to Leon, who was pacing nervously around the carriage.

Leon quickly turned his head.

"Ah! Sir Dale! Thank goodness!"

"What is?"

"Earlier, the church soldiers surrounded you. I was worried something might have happened, but it looks like everything went fine."

"Yeah. Let's get going."

"Yes, sir!"

Leon climbed back onto the driver's seat and drove the carriage.

Their destination: the mercenary guild.

Before long, they arrived at the guild office. The two of them unloaded the equipment of the fallen mercenaries onto the ground.

Garand came outside and looked puzzled.

"This is...?"

"The belongings of the mercenaries who died during the last mission. Please deliver them to their families."

"Ah. Of course."

Garand looked a bit surprised.

According to mercenary guild regulations, taking the belongings of fellow mercenaries who died during a mission is punishable.

Those belongings should rightfully be returned to the bereaved. If not, what would happen to the families those mercenaries supported?

But in reality, this rule was rarely upheld.

If someone stole the gear and claimed, "This was mine from the start," what could anyone do?

The rightful owner was already dead.

However, Dale had gathered all the belongings of the fallen mercenaries.

Garand looked at Dale with interest.

'More decent than I expected...'

He then called over some staff and instructed them to move the equipment.

Dale turned to Leon.

"I'll handle the report. You go sell the gear."

"Got it!"

"Oh, before that."

Dale picked up a warhammer from the carriage.

It was the one Miles had used—still stained with blood.

Dale rather liked the weapon.

'Swords are easy to swing, but they break too quickly. Having a blunt weapon on hand isn't a bad idea.'

With the warhammer in tow, Dale sent Leon off.

Leon gave a small bow, then led the supply wagon out of the city.

Apparently, the fences were located in the slums outside the city.

After sending Leon off, Dale went up to the second floor of the guild office with Garand.

In the private office with just the two of them, Dale explained the details of the incident.

After meticulously recording Dale's account word for word, Garand spoke.

"Alright, let's go over the incident report once again. So, the story is: Miles fabricated the tale about the mutated owlbear killing the mercenaries. In truth, a fight broke out with the village residents, and they were killed. Realizing they couldn't continue mercenary work any longer, he plotted this final job to cash out one last time. That about sums it up?"

Dale asked back.

"Didn't you already know that from the start?"

"Sorry?"

"I'm asking whether you already knew Miles was going to pull something like this. Isn't that why you included me in the request? To take care of someone like Miles? The instruction to retrieve the mercenary tags seemed to hint at something like that."

This time, even Garand was caught off guard.

"You're sharp."

"I'd say it's only natural if you think back on everything."

"I just wish more mercenaries could grasp that kind of 'natural thinking.'"

Garand gave a bitter smile.

"You see a lot of things in this job. Mercenaries who end up doing something they can never take back."

The murder of civilians by mercenaries.

It was one of the most sensitive issues for the guild.

Every time something like that happened, the Imperial Court would harshly question the guild's responsibility.

"The guild never forgives mercenaries who commit such acts. If they run, we always send a pursuit squad. And we don't stop until they're dead."

Dale nodded.

More than anything, mercenaries feared being hunted by the guild.

That's how persistent and ruthless the guild's pursuit was.

Garand tapped his forehead with his fingers.

"But sometimes, there are clever ones. Like Miles."

"Clever, huh."

"They manipulate the traces left behind to cleverly escape pursuit. For example, Miles likely used the lie about the mutated owlbear to confuse the investigation. If both the villagers and mercenaries were killed by a dangerous monster, there'd be no one to chase him."

Dale responded.

"So the reason Miles went through the trouble of returning to the city wasn't just for one last job, but to buy time before the guild could dispatch an investigation team?"

"Exactly, Sir Dale."

A world without CCTV or cameras. If someone was determined to fabricate evidence, they could easily bury the truth.

Had Dale not been there, Miles would have successfully pulled off his scheme.

Garand let out a deep sigh.

"To be honest, I wasn't completely sure either. If I had hard evidence, I would've taken a more direct approach to stop him. It was just a hunch. Something felt off. But I do tend to have good instincts."

"So that's why you put me on the mission?"

"I figured that if Sir Dale was there, Miles wouldn't be able to pull any tricks. But… well, this is how it turned out."

Garand murmured bitterly.

Several guild mercenaries had died in the incident. Even a priest from the Order was killed.

It was a painful loss.

Soon after, Garand softened his expression and spoke again.

"In any case, Sir Dale, you completed the mission excellently. Honestly, you exceeded my expectations. If more mercenaries handled their jobs as cleanly as you did, our guild's strength would be on a whole different level."

"So, I passed the entrance test?"

"Of course you did. And also…"

After a short pause, Garand handed Dale a thin metal plate.

Although Dale couldn't read the letters engraved on it, he assumed it was his name.

"A steel plate?"

"The world is in turmoil, Sir Dale. And the guild is in desperate need of skilled mercenaries like yourself."

"I can skip the wooden plate stage?"

"The branch manager has the authority to allow that much."

Dale tucked the mercenary plate into his pocket. He had gained quite a lot from a single successful mission.

"I hope you'll continue to support the guild in many ways. Of course, there won't be many requests available to you yet. You haven't built trust with the clients. You'll likely be given the dirty and dangerous jobs that others avoid."

"Even better."

Danger comes with opportunity.

The more powerful the enemies Dale defeats and the more missions he completes, the stronger he will become—and the faster he'll climb upward.

Garand smiled.

"Refreshing attitude."

"Are we done here?"

"Yes. You're free to go. Got somewhere to be?"

"I need to visit the temple."

Dale tossed the words casually as he stepped out of the office.

***

Garand went downstairs to finish the paperwork.

From registering Dale's personal information to delivering the belongings of the deceased mercenaries to their bereaved families—

There was a mountain of loose ends to tie up.

'Times like this, I miss being on active duty.'

A receptionist approached and quietly poured warm black tea into Garand's cup.

At the same time, she sneakily peeked at the report he was writing, too curious to resist.

She was dying to know what would become of that black knight.

Upon glimpsing the report, the receptionist burst out in surprise.

"Oh my. A steel plate right after the entrance exam? Is that even allowed?"

"There's nothing stopping it. Though I'll have to write an absurdly long report to justify it. Still, it's not without precedent."

The receptionist clapped her hands as something occurred to her.

"Oh! Now that I think about it, the Mercenary King also started straight from the steel plate ten years ago… Then this would be the first time since then, wouldn't it?"

"That's right."

"Hmm. Is he really that trustworthy? I mean, he is a heretic."

"Trust? Who knows. We've barely seen him. But… this is just a gut feeling."

Garand's eyes shone with anticipation as he continued.

"He might have the same potential as the Mercenary King. No—maybe even more."

It was a prediction made without any concrete basis—purely on instinct.

But Garand had always had a good sense for these things.