I Became the Black Knight

The next morning, bright and early, Kayla knocked on Dale's door.

Dale, who was polishing his weapon, opened the door.

Kayla bowed her head gracefully.

"This maiden greets Sir Dale with a morning salutation."

"That way of speaking is strange. And aren't you a bit too old to be calling yourself a 'maiden'?"

"...I'll have you know I just turned twenty. You really don't hold back, even to a blossoming young lady like me."

Kayla pouted and grumbled.

Dale asked,

"Why are you here?"

"A tiny little gnome came looking for you. Really cute, too."

"Believe it or not, he's at least ten years older than you."

"Wait, really?"

Due to their racial traits, gnomes look much younger than their actual age. Kayla, unaware of this, was surprised.

Dale immediately went downstairs.

Thanks to Kayla's cleaning overnight, the first floor was reasonably tidy.

However, the broken furniture couldn't be fixed, so she had just stacked it in a corner.

Leon was sitting on one of the few remaining chairs, glancing around the inn. Dale called out to him.

"Leon."

"Ah, Sir Dale."

Leon's face lit up with a cheerful expression.

"It's a relief you found an inn. But… did something happen yesterday? All the tables and chairs look broken."

"Nothing serious."

"Really?"

Leon tilted his head in doubt.

But he soon remembered why he had come, and pulled out a bundle of papers from his cloak. They were cheap, yellowish papers.

"Let's start with the basic letters first. We'll learn how to pronounce them, then move on to reading some simple books."

"Understood."

As Leon took out the paper and an ink pen, Kayla, too, showed some interest.

"You're learning letters?"

"Yeah."

"That's unexpected. Don't knights usually learn all that from their families?"

"If I were a regular knight, do you think I'd have become a Dark Knight?"

"Oh. I see."

Kayla accepted that explanation. Then Leon turned to her and asked,

"Miss Kayla..."

"Just call me Kayla."

"Kayla, do you know how to read?"

"I can write numbers. I use them when I do bookkeeping."

"Then, would you like to learn with us, if you don't mind?"

"Huh? Is that okay?"

Leon nodded cheerfully.

"Of course. Learning becomes more enjoyable with more people."

Leon's dream was to open a school.

Rather than one-on-one tutoring, this setting—teaching several people—was closer to what he envisioned.

Leon began by explaining the basics.

"First of all, the imperial script is divided into consonants and vowels..."

Dale listened intently. He memorized every word Leon explained without missing a single detail.

He was even enjoying it a little.

'How long has it been since I last studied like this?'

It was a joy he hadn't experienced since falling into this world.

As Dale and Kayla focused, Leon became more enthusiastic and taught even more diligently.

And Dale was an excellent student.

"Why is it pronounced 'e' here? Based on what you said earlier, shouldn't it be pronounced 'eu'?"

"Ah, you're right—it's usually 'eu', but there are a few exceptions where..."

Dale understood quickly, memorized well, and never let anything he didn't know slide.

He wasn't afraid to ask questions until he fully grasped something.

The kind of student every teacher would love.

Leon himself felt great joy teaching Dale.

Truly, if all students were like this, how happy and fulfilling would a teacher's life be?

During a short break, Leon showered Dale with praise.

"You're learning incredibly fast, Sir Dale! It's nothing like when I was first learning! At this rate, you'll be done in just a few days!"

"It's because you're teaching well."

It wasn't just flattery. Leon was proving to be a much better teacher than Dale had expected.

Leon scratched the back of his neck, looking a bit embarrassed.

"Hehe, really?"

Then he noticed Kayla wearing a sullen expression.

Compared to Dale, Kayla was learning more slowly. In truth, she was average—Dale was just exceptionally fast.

"You're doing fine too, Kayla. It's not that you're slow—Sir Dale is just unusually quick, that's all."

"You don't have to sugarcoat it."

Kayla let out a deep sigh and glanced at Dale.

"Why are you trying so hard to learn, anyway? Wouldn't it be easier to just hire a servant or assistant who can read?"

In fact, many successful mercenaries did exactly that.

Who had the time or interest to sit down and learn letters?

After a brief moment of thought, Dale replied.

"If you can't read, you'll get taken advantage of a lot. There's no reason to live while constantly losing out."

Leon and Kayla exchanged glances. Then, at the same time, both nodded.

"That's true."

"There's no harm in learning something new."

From then on, the three of them continued to focus on their literacy lessons.

Whether it was fortunate or not, not a single guest came to the inn, so there were no interruptions.

Before they knew it, it was late at night and Leon headed back. Even after lying down on the bed, Dale didn't stop reviewing what he'd learned.

For a half-undead who didn't sleep, the night was endlessly long.

Having something to occupy the time was truly welcome.

Eventually, Dale paused his reviewing.

He began to dream—or rather, he vividly recalled an old memory.

His grandfather appeared.

The old man stroked young Dale's head and spoke.

"A person must know how to read," his grandfather said. "Being close to words and books is what makes someone a better person."

His grandfather smiled warmly.

Dale wanted to speak to that kind face. He wanted to ask for advice.

'I killed people again not long ago. Six of them, even. But I didn't feel anything.'

Dale's killing of Miles and his group had been justified. They deserved to die.

But even so, wasn't it a problem—as a human being—that he felt nothing at all from the act of killing?

That was what frightened him. The fear of no longer being human. But he couldn't bring himself to say it.

Strictly speaking, this wasn't a dream—it was just a memory being recalled.

His grandfather simply continued to smile kindly, just as he always had.

***

Dale headed to the mercenary guild. If he wanted to grow stronger, he had to hunt more enemies. There was no time to rest.

The guild was bustling in the morning. Inside, it was packed with clients seeking help and mercenaries looking for work.

The guild served as the intermediary between the two.

As Dale walked in, all eyes momentarily turned to him.

People whispered among themselves as they looked at him.

"Isn't that the guy who went to the Church…?"

"Why's he working as a mercenary instead of staying on the frontlines?"

"I heard he wiped out Miles' whole team by himself. Probably made a fortune selling their gear."

"As long as he's making good money, who cares? Maybe I should ask to team up with him?"

"Still… he's a heretic, you know."

Fear, wariness, and curiosity. The gazes directed at him were laced with a mixture of emotions.

Dale didn't care.

At the very least, the mercenaries weren't openly hostile.

Since the industry tended to attract all kinds of people, there was a general attitude of overlooking things like personality or social status—as long as one's skills were solid.

Conversely, mercenaries despised those who lacked ability and couldn't pull their weight.

As people stepped aside, Dale was able to approach the reception desk with ease.

The receptionist he had met previously greeted him.

She still looked visibly tense.

"W-Welcome, Sir Dale."

"Do you have any requests I can take on?"

In response to Dale's question, the receptionist answered in a businesslike tone.

"Is there a particular type of request you're hoping for? Mercenaries usually specialize in specific fields."

Escort, subjugation, gathering, transportation, war—there were various categories, and most mercenaries built their careers by focusing on one or two.

It helped build trust and made earning money easier.

But none of that applied to Dale. He wasn't in a position to be picky.

"I'll take anything I can do."

"T-Then I'll look something up for you."

The receptionist busily rifled through the stack of documents. But at some point, her hands came to a stop.

Dale silently watched her.

She kept her lips tightly shut and stared down at the papers.

Dale spoke.

"Seems like there's nothing."

"...It appears that no one is willing to entrust a request to you yet, Sir Dale."

There were still no clients willing to hire a heretic.

Dale asked again, just to be sure.

"I don't mind if it's dangerous or dirty work. The pay isn't really important either."

"I-I'm sorry."

"Hm."

Dale scratched his head awkwardly. That damn Black Knight penalty.

'This is exactly why I never picked Black Knight in the game.'

Maybe it would've been better to be like the other Black Knights and fight on the frontlines?

If that were the case, he wouldn't be struggling like this with a lack of work. There was no shortage of enemies there.

But the frontlines were a dangerous place.

Even areas thought to be safe could be suddenly visited by unpredictable demons.

With Dale's current strength, he couldn't handle a demon. No—in fact, he would struggle even to escape.

He couldn't afford to live life constantly risking that kind of danger.

"..."

As Dale stood there deep in thought, the receptionist misunderstood his silence, breaking into a cold sweat.

A faint glimmer of tears welled up in her eyes.

She looked as though she wanted to scream and run away at any moment.

A voice from above saved her from that moment.

"Sir Dale! What a perfect time to have you here!"

It was Garland, the branch manager, waving from the staircase.

All eyes turned toward Garland. The mercenaries, almost in unison, moved to greet him.

"Oh, it's Mr. Garland."

"Good morning, Mr. Garland!"

Garland responded with a smile, then quickly retreated up the stairs as if fleeing. While doing so, he mouthed words at Dale.

'Come upstairs.'

Dale nodded and followed behind Garland.

The receptionist let out a deep sigh of relief and collapsed into her seat.

***

Garland handed over a teacup with steam rising from it. It was black tea he had brewed himself.

"Do you like tea?"

"I can drink it."

Dale took the teacup and downed it in one gulp.

Garland, a bit flustered by the sight of someone swallowing hot tea like that, began the conversation.

"May I get straight to the point about why I called you, Sir Dale?"

"That would actually be a favor to me."

Garland pulled out a few documents from a desk drawer and began explaining.

"Recently, unusual signs have been discovered in this area."

"Unusual signs?"

"Yes. First of all, after you completed your assignment, we sent an investigation team to the village that had suffered at the hands of Miles. As expected, we found the corpses of the villagers."

Dale nodded.

Garland continued speaking.

"But around that area, we also found the corpse of an owlbear. Surprisingly, it was about 1.5 times larger than a normal owlbear. At that size, it could be considered a mutated owlbear."

So Miles' words weren't entirely false?

Dale turned his gaze to Garland, signaling him to go on.

"The problem starts here. Owlbears are territorial creatures. They never leave their territory unless they're defeated by another. But don't you find it strange? This one was 1.5 times larger than a typical owlbear—are we to believe it lost and fled?"

"That is… certainly odd."

"And that's not all. A group of One-Eyes was spotted near the road leading to Irene. You're aware of that, yes?"

Of course he was.

Dale had encountered and crushed that group himself.

"The One-Eyes, like owlbears, are also territorial creatures."

"But they left their territory."

"Yes. Moreover, from our investigation, it appears both the owlbear and the One-Eyes had been living in areas quite close to each other."

So what Garland was suggesting was that both monsters had fled their territories.

There could be only one explanation in such cases.

"Something stronger appeared near there, didn't it? So they ran to survive."

"Yes. That's our current hypothesis."

"What about the investigation team?"

"They've been dispatched. It was a party that included two Bronze-ranked mercenaries."

It was the use of the past tense—"was a party"—that made Dale realize the fate of the group.

Garland spoke calmly.

"It's been quite some time since they departed. But none of them have returned. We don't even know what state they're in—whether they're dead, captured, or even what kind of monster they might have encountered."

Garland looked up and met Dale's eyes.

And to Dale, who already seemed to anticipate what Garland would say next, he asked:

"Sir Dale, will you help us?"