The Amber Knight's Vow to the Saint's Left Hand - Chapter 2.3

When he was young, his eyes had been a more golden hue—like the very image of amber.

A color not uncommon in Aikrant.

Quill believed it was the bl00d of the beasts that had turned them red.

On his twelfth birthday, a distant relative of the Langbart family had cursed him.

You carry the tainted bl00d of Betzirath, yet you live under the protection of an earl’s house. Be grateful. Serve the family by taming beasts and repaying their kindness.

The people of Betzirath had once wielded an ancient magic known as sorcery, binding beasts to their will.

Their bl00d was despised in Aikrant, the hatred stretching back to the very dawn of its founding.

Long ago, before Aikrant bore its current name, it had been called Aikrazen.

A great war raged between Aikrazen and the now-extinct Kingdom of Ringdel.

Ringdel’s king had also wielded sorcery.

Alone, he commanded hundreds of magical beasts.

The Betzirath people had pledged their loyalty to Aikrazen long before the war began.

Yet, as the conflict dragged on, suspicions arose that they had aided the enemy king.

Persecution followed.

Most of their people perished.

This history was why the people of Aikrant still called the bl00d of Betzirath tainted.

Quill hadn’t cared about any of that.

At twelve, he had boiled with rage at the man’s insults.

Though he had never wielded magic—let alone sorcery—he had tried to test his bl00d against a small beast.

A reckless act that earned him wounds and, worse, attracted a much larger, bloodthirsty monster.

It was then that he had been doused in its bl00d.

If not for Gies, who had happened to pass by, Quill would have died.

Even so, he had lost his sight for over a month.

When it returned, his eyes had changed.

The deep, dark red unique to Betzirath.

A color so striking that it practically screamed of his lineage.

But that was all.

He had gained no power to control beasts.

Only the misfortune of carrying bl00d that marked him as something impure.

His darkened eyes led to whispers of reversion to his ancestors.

Noble sons treated him with ever-growing hostility.

Even the Langbart family faced criticism, until Quill could bear it no longer.

He turned to Gies, took up a sword, and pursued knighthood.

The blade had fit into his hands with an eerie ease—

As though he had finally found the missing piece of himself.

The whispers, the stares, the suffocating presence of nobility—

All of it was drowned out by the sharp whistle of his blade cutting through the wind.

Fortunately, he had an aptitude for ice magic.

Whether by pure swordsmanship or as a magic swordsman, Quill had enough talent to carve out a future as a Black Knight.

The road had been difficult at first.

But if he spoke through his sword, his comrades accepted him as a knight—just as he was.

Yet outside the order, the world’s judgment of his bl00d never changed.

The moment he left the barracks, the weight of their stares pressed down on him again.

If only my eyes had stayed amber.

If his mixed bl00d had been less obvious, would life have been easier?

His crimson gaze was a curse.

A color he despised.

A warm sensation touched his right hand.

At some point, he had covered his eyes with his palms, unconsciously trying to hide them.

Lynette gently pulled his hands away.

Her expression was unreadable, her silence impossible to decipher.

“…Why do you see these eyes as—”

Quill had no memory of meeting Lynette before.

As he tried to press further, she raised a finger to her lips.

A silent gesture—this is a secret.

Then, after taking a deep breath, she shook her head lightly.

And in a voice as clear as mist being swept away, she spoke again.

“Amber.”

“You’re being oddly stubborn about this.”

“Listen carefully. If I—the saintess—say your eyes are amber, then in Aikrant, they are amber. As my fiancé, you are my protector. Brushing aside a mere marquis’s son should be effortless for you.”

Quill held his breath, staring at his fiancée.

Lynette met his gaze with a nod before raising her right hand once more.

Displeased.

“I counted to three, and in that time, I found Sir Classen thoroughly unpleasant.”

As a Betzirath barbarian, Quill had known his place.

Before he was a knight, he was a noble—one who could never surpass Marius Classen, the heir of a marquis.

Not once had he ever dared make that dazzling man kneel.

He had upheld that unspoken rule for the sake of House Langbart.

But what about Quill Langbart, the man chosen by the saintess?

Lynette gently shook the pledge token on her wrist before taking Quill’s right hand.

She touched her forehead to it, then placed a soft kiss upon his skin.

“Lord Quill, may fortune guide your blade.”

A quiet laugh nearly escaped him, but he covered his mouth with the back of his free hand, suppressing it.

Until now, he had thought of Lynette as a tragic figure.

Chosen by the stars at sixteen, bound for two years, stripped of her emotions—a woman to be pitied.

But she was strong.

She had taken fate itself and forged it into her weapon.

Quill gently pulled his hand from hers and, for the first time, lowered himself to one knee before her.

This time, it was he who took her left hand.

Lifting it with reverence, he watched the pledge token sway, his fingers brushing against the cheap blue stone before looking into her deep, unwavering eyes.

“I vow to answer Lady Celies’s call to arms.”

He still couldn’t fully grasp that they were truly engaged.

But at that moment, Quill felt nothing but admiration for Lynette Celies, the woman standing before him.