The Amber Knight's Vow to the Saint's Left Hand - Chapter 2.1

“So you ran away?”

The Black Knights’ commander’s office echoed with laughter early in the morning. The booming voice, loud enough to shake the ground, belonged to Commander Gies Kirsten—a towering man in his forties.

He rubbed his scarred chin and ruffled his short-cropped, light brown hair, his moss-green eyes gleaming with amusement. It was a common trait among those from southern Aikrant.

That morning, Quill had hurriedly stuffed breakfast into his mouth, hastily dressed, and fled back to the barracks. Yet, no matter how much he tried, he couldn’t shake the lingering unease. Unable to stand still, he had left the dormitory early, intending to practice his sword at the training grounds—only to be caught by Gies.

“You shouldn’t be so quick to jump to conclusions. Do you really think the saintess would approach you out of mere curiosity? She isn’t the type to show interest in anything so easily.”

“But if that’s not the case, then I don’t understand why she chose me.”

“You’re as stubborn as ever.”

Quill shrugged at Gies’s exasperated remark.

This man had been the one to give him a sword and bring him into the knights. Having known Quill since he was twelve, Gies often referred to himself as a second father. Quill didn’t necessarily disagree, but he found it too irksome to say so outright.

Letting out a sigh, Quill glanced out the window, looking down at a crowded section of the training grounds.

“And that gathering down there… what is it?”

“A bunch of onlookers eager to get a glimpse of your face.”

“This is a training ground, not an arena.”

“The White Knights allowed it. Seems like they’re not too pleased about the saintess’s engagement.”

With Lynette leaving the cathedral yesterday, her engagement to Quill had become official and was publicly announced by the royal family.

The fact that the saintess’s fiancé was neither a royal nor even the heir of a noble family spread like wildfire through the capital, stirring up a frenzy throughout the city.

More than that, it was an insult to the White Knights. They had spent two years protecting Lynette on her journey, yet the one chosen as her fiancé was not one of them, but an unrelated Black Knight. It was a blow to their pride—an affront to the prestigious noble sons who made up their order.

As a result, today’s training had been changed to a joint mock battle between the Black and White Knights—an arrangement made at the White Knights’ request. The decision had been finalized yesterday, after Quill had already left for the estate.

The Black Knights had readily agreed, finding great amusement in the situation. Consideration for Quill’s position? Not in the slightest. If anything, they treated his unexpected engagement like some grand festival.

“And in the middle of all this, you expect me to take part in the mock battle?”

“You should be honored—Sir Classen personally invited you.”

“…Ugh.”

A strangled croak, like that of a crushed frog, escaped Quill’s throat.

Of all people—Marius Classen.

His fellow recruit and the Second Commander of the White Knights. He had been Lynette’s personal guard throughout her journey. No doubt, he was the one who had proposed this mock battle.

“Lady Celies should have simply chosen Sir Classen. He would have made a perfect match—he’s destined to become a marquis, and society would have readily accepted the choice.”

“Well, I wouldn’t know about that. The saintess’s reasons are hers alone.”

Neither the commander, the Black Knights, the White Knights, nor the citizens of the kingdom could understand it.

At this point, everyone was wondering the same thing—

Why Quill Langbart?

The result? A packed training ground, already too cramped, now even more so.

The White Knights bristled with discontent.

His fellow Black Knights treated it like a grand spectacle.

And despite all the commotion, his comrades continued swinging their swords as usual, unfazed by the crowd.

“…I apologize for the trouble.”

The words slipped from his lips—a quiet apology directed toward everyone.

To his fellow knights who had welcomed an outcast like him, to those who now had to deal with this uproar because of him.

“Don’t act like your engagement is some kind of tragedy.”

Is This Truly Something to Celebrate?

For Quill, this was nothing more than a nuisance.

“So, the mock battle is going to be public after all?”

Officially, public matches were held only once a year—during the autumn royal exhibition, where both the king and crown prince were in attendance.

But this time, the White Knights had proposed an impromptu event.

The reason? To commemorate the saintess’s engagement.

What kind of ‘commemorative match’ is that?

Quill’s head throbbed just thinking about it.

While he had been struggling through last night’s banquet, the knights had been busy drafting today’s match-up list.

This engagement is nothing but a massive headache.

Just as he let out another deep sigh, a knock sounded at the door of the commander’s office.

Zasha Barchett, First Commander of the Black Knights, burst in, panting.

“Quill! You—wait, get down here now!”

“Ah… my apologies for causing trouble for everyone.”

Zasha had light brown hair and green eyes. He often claimed to have immigrant ancestry, but his features were fairly common in Aikrant.

He was one of Quill’s fellow recruits, now leading the First Division while Quill commanded the Second. More than just a colleague, he was a close friend.

But at Quill’s apology, Zasha waved his hands frantically, exhaling in exasperation.

“No! The saintess—she’s here!”

Quill stiffened, then immediately bolted.

Down there? Now?

The training grounds were already overflowing with spectators, buzzing like a festival.

What the hell is she thinking, coming here at a time like this?

Last night, he had abruptly cut their conversation short.

This morning, he had ignored her attempts to speak to him.

But to think she would go so far as to come here herself…

Stepping onto the training grounds, he spotted her.

Standing apart from the crowd, his fiancée waited in the shade of a tree, holding a parasol in one hand.