Unlike Dratnia, where the spirit of chivalry is gradually fading, Fastarl has always been a nation that revered chivalry.
It might even hold knights in higher esteem than the Holy Church’s own Papal Kingdom.
Naturally, for a princess of Fastarl’s royal family growing up in such a country, the likelihood of her becoming a Knight Princess increases dramatically.
And if that Knight Princess were to inherit the throne, then without a doubt, a Knight Queen would be born.
Just as Elvira inherited the throne as a witch and became known as the Witch King, the Queen of Fastarl is the King of Knights.
Clad in silver-white armor, wielding a heavy knight’s lance as she charges across the battlefield—her heroic figure is unforgettable once seen.
Even at first sight, one would be captivated by her majestic, sacred, fully enclosed armor, just like the castle guards on the training grounds right now.
“…A knight of Fastarl, huh? I don’t know where you’ve come from, but you’ve arrived just in time—let’s see what you’re made of!”
As the captain of the training squad, the man was the first to grasp the situation and let out a roar full of fighting spirit.
It was his voice that snapped the still-confused squad members to their senses, restoring the discipline soldiers should have.
At the captain’s command, three squad members stepped out from the ranks and attacked the female knight from different directions.
Chivalry may prize one-on-one duels, but this was clearly not a duel.
To the black-armored soldiers guarding the royal castle, the woman in silver-white armor was an intruder—three against one posed no issue at all.
If there weren’t concerns about accidentally killing her with too many attackers, they’d have swarmed her with dozens at once without a second thought.
What a coincidence—she thought the same.
Even if all the soldiers ganged up on her, she wouldn’t feel the slightest bit of guilt.
The difference in strength was simply that vast.
“……”
As an onlooker, Morris watched the training ground with a grave expression, silently witnessing the three confident soldiers get effortlessly blown away.
With a single sweep of the massive knight’s lance—taller than a man—the resulting gale easily sent the soldiers flying. But what was even more surprising wasn’t just the power, but the astonishing speed.
Whether it was pure strength or magic-enhanced, to wield a knight’s lance as if it were a regular spear clearly showed she was far above ordinary people.
Realizing this, the captain ordered more soldiers to engage. And the soldiers, now aware of the formidable opponent before them, set aside their levity and fought in earnest.
…But against such a vast disparity in strength, it made no difference whether five or ten attacked at once.
The female knight didn’t even take a single step from her spot. With what looked like just casual swings of her lance, soldiers were sent flying by either the weapon itself or the violent gusts.
Even spells cast from a distance had no effect on that armor.
From Morris’s perspective in the stands, this wasn’t even a wolf among sheep—it was more like a lion in a den of rabbits.
There’s a saying that a lion uses its full strength even when hunting a rabbit, but that only applies if the lion actually intends to hunt.
But what if a bunch of clearly weaker rabbits rush at a lion who’s already full? The lion might only casually bat them away, hardly bothering to get serious.
Of course, as the rabbits—unhurt but persistent—keep throwing themselves at the lion, it’s only natural that the annoyed lion might eventually get a little more serious.
After more than forty seconds of fierce fighting, in which who knows how many soldiers were repelled, the unmoving female knight finally took her first step forward.
This single step caused all the soldiers who had been about to charge again in hopes of overwhelming her to freeze in unison, their faces going from bad to worse.
They understood as well as anyone—this meant she was done defending and was about to go on the attack.
With a lance like that, who would she strike first?
Would it be the reckless soldiers who charged most and got knocked away the most?
The cautious ones standing at the rear, firing spells for fear of being struck down?
Or perhaps the captain, who kept barking orders and trying to reorganize the squad for coordinated attacks, to no avail?
Judging by her performance so far, anyone she seriously targeted would be knocked out in a single blow.
No—if being knocked out and spending a few days unconscious in bed was the best-case scenario, they should count themselves lucky.
If that knight’s lance ran them through, even the highest-tier healing Saintess could do nothing but pray for them.
It was precisely this sense that being singled out might mean instant death that made every soldier’s face ashen.
Everyone was focused entirely on the female knight’s next move, desperate to avoid a fatal outcome for themselves.
But her actions far exceeded their expectations. Instead of taking a second step, she leapt high and landed right in the middle of the soldiers.
Before anyone could react, she drove her massive knight’s lance deep into the ground of the training field.
A blinding flash erupted from the lance, instantly engulfing the entire training ground.
Even Morris, standing in the corridor above, instinctively raised a hand to shield his eyes from the glare.
As the light quickly faded, every soldier on the field had been blown away, knocked out against various obstacles—only the strongest, the captain, was left kneeling before the female knight, barely supporting himself with his sword thrust into the ground.
“D-damn it… Is this the end…?”
After voicing his unwillingness, the captain too slumped over unconscious like his comrades.
“Wow, she’s so strong—no wonder she’s called the Knight Queen.”
“Yeah, but now things are troublesome. There’s no way we can win against her… Are we just going to have to watch Lord Morris get rescued?”
At the moment the captain fell, two maids behind Morris voiced their ‘concern’.
Morris wanted to turn and say something to them.
But at that very instant, the female knight looked in Morris’s direction.
Though her face and eyes were hidden beneath her fully enclosed helm, the tilt of her head left no doubt she was looking at Morris.
As if to reassure him not to worry, she nonchalantly drew her lance from the ground, then prepared to leap directly to Morris’s side with that astounding jumping ability.
Why “as if,” you ask?
Naturally, because this was just Morris’s conjecture.
In reality, as the female knight leaped through the air, a massive blast of black lightning magic struck her, and she crashed to the ground like a bird with its wings broken.
With the knight’s defeat, a triumphant, teasing voice sounded from behind Morris.
“Oh dear, did I overdo it? I hope she’s all right, since I was hoping she’d watch our little nighttime activities. Don’t you think so, my dear Morris?”
Morris turned to see none other than Elvira herself, wand in hand, approaching with an air of absolute composure.
At this point, Morris, who had been silent all this time, could finally speak.
“…Did you find it amusing, putting on such a half-baked farce, Elvira?”
Morris didn’t look angry or annoyed—just helplessly stared at the willful witch walking toward him.
From the very start, he could tell she was never the Queen of Fastarl.
He had no reason to interfere, so he simply watched.
Only when the boring act ended and the mastermind appeared did Morris, as a spectator, voice his thoughts.
What a terrible, third-rate drama. Aside from sensing the playwright’s narcissism and arrogance, there was nothing to be seen here at all.