MistyTL
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Chapter 32: I Became a Swordsman in the Middle Ages
🕑 Added 2025-05-11 04:49:24 +0000 UTCMedal of Valor Ceremony
The battlefield is like a delicately balanced scale.
If the weight shifts even slightly to one side, the entire balance collapses, and disaster becomes inevitable.
“The supply line has been secured! We can get through this winter without issues!”
“Wasn’t the Gartane territory in an urgent crisis?”
Gartane was a critical supply base for the western front.
But once it was overrun by demons, that route became unusable...
“The Windsor Knights, acting under Her Majesty’s orders, were deployed and resolved the issue.”
With that, the problem was declared solved.
This was the best news Duke Venas, the supreme commander of the western front, had heard in a long time.
“As expected of Her Majesty, she always has a plan!”
“Uh... didn't Your Grace complain earlier about why she supported Gartane first, instead of the frontlines which are about to fall—”
“At this moment, I could easily cut my aide’s throat and silence them for the sake of covering that up.”
“Did I say anything?”
Now that the counterweight called Gartane had been restored, the urgent crisis in the west quickly improved.
Supply lines flowed smoothly again, and with the path through Gartane opened, the military gained a new tactical advantage.
Aware of this, the demon army had no choice but to ease their pressure.
Stability had returned to the western front.
And this news reached the royal capital even faster than Cecilia—who was probably dozing off on the train right now.
“See, Sir Ertherion? I told you so.”
“Wait, what the…? This wasn’t just a casual stroll around the neighborhood!”
Ertherion couldn’t hide his disbelief.
“Resolving the kingdom’s biggest crisis in under a week? That’s absurd.”
Stabilizing a battlefield.
It sounds simple, but in reality, it’s incredibly difficult.
Of course, the kingdom did technically have the capacity to eliminate the threat in Gartane.
But if they had deployed troops that way, it would have left vulnerabilities elsewhere—and demons never waste such chances.
“...And on top of that, she flushed out some terrorists en route. Whatever she did, the guy was so terrified he confessed everything.”
That, more than anything, was what shocked Ertherion the most.
What kind of people are terrorists?
They were traitors to humanity, armed with insane logic and ironclad beliefs that even the harshest torture couldn’t break.
But these ones? They spilled everything in a panic.
Thanks to that, they managed to prevent the terrorists’ goal: the collapse of the supply network.
“Just imagining what would’ve happened if that child hadn’t stopped the attack is horrifying.”
The magic-powered train was the primary supply route.
The only reason Gartane was so strategically vital in the fisrt place was its proximity to the terminal station.
With the train, supplies could reach the western front in 10 days.
Without it? That delay would stretch to 3 months.
And if supplies had been delayed by 3 months...?
They might’ve been forced to retreat from the line they had defended for over a century.
“Who could’ve predicted this? No one but Her Majesty herself.”
Ertherion could only marvel at the Queen’s foresight.
It had been a risky decision, but look at the result.
With surplus resources stationed in the capital, the tides of war were overturned in an instant.
The incursion of a Demon Duke from the Demon Realm, the ominous signs surrounding the Sacred Flame—
At a time when no critical assets could be pulled from the capital, this had been the ideal scenario.
The Queen gave a quiet smile and folded her hands behind her back.
“Hardship and adversity always come in times of chaos. And those who overcome them and move forward… we call them heroes. Rejoice, sir. A hero has appeared. The balance of the continent is about to shift dramatically.”
She truly was a mysterious queen.
At times, she seemed like a thoughtless young girl—but in crucial moments, she always made the right decision.
In over 300 years of Lianen’s royal rule, not once had she ever made a wrong choice.
Ertherion, swept by a freshly overflowing wave of loyalty, offered a humbled response:
“I was wrong. Yes, Your Majesty is right. She’s different from Edward. Clearly… Wait—what are you hiding behind your back?”
“U-Uh?”
Queen Lydia flinched and quickly tucked away what appeared to be a religious offering.
Ertherion’s face instantly went cold.
“Don’t tell me… you sent her into mortal peril, and then turned around and prayed she’d make it back alive?”
He was stunned.
Had she sent a cherished knight into a deadly mission without full confidence, then just sat back and prayed for her return…?
All the fresh loyalty he’d just felt for his Queen was rapidly dissolving.
Ertherion spat out with resentment.
“You’ve lived for 300 years! Try acting like it for once!”
***
Meanwhile, in the Windsor Order.
To most, the news that Cecilia, their little sister in arms, had achieved such a feat brought only joy.
But not everyone could smile about it.
“No casualties, huh…”
Edward re-read the report—perhaps for the tenth time.
“She made an entirely different choice than I would have. Cecilia Windsor.”
Though his face remained calm as he lowered the paper,
His clenched, whitening fist betrayed him.
“And she made sure I’d see it.”
If she had gone to Gartane, there was no way she hadn’t learned about “that incident.”
And even with that knowledge, she’d completed the mission without a single casualty.
It was obvious what she meant by that.
A statement—and a warning.
That she would walk a different path from Edward.
“To reject the hand of peace extended to you… how like you.”
Edward twitched an eyebrow, steeling himself.
“I’ll make sure you regret this, Cecilia.”
If her future was paved in flowers, he himself would scatter ashes along the path.
Because Edward’s world had always been a world of gray ash.
Meanwhile, at the magical engineering train station…
“Commander, fretting like that won’t make the train arrive any faster.”
His aide, Michael, commented dryly. Kairon clasped his hands behind his back and replied with noble calm.
“I fail to see your point.”
“...You’ve walked in circles around the same spot over 50 times already, sir.”
“……”
The always composed, ideal knight—Kairon.
And yet, whenever it came to Cecilia, composure was the first thing to go.
“Mission complete and unharmed, wasn’t it? You don’t have to worry so much, Cecilia will be fine.”
Of course, Kairon, having been the first to receive and read the mission report, already knew Cecilia had survived.
But the anxiety still clung to him. He knew it wouldn’t go away until he saw her with his own eyes.
Rumble—
“Ah, the train’s arriving. Commander, there are a lot of people here, so please maintain some digni—”
Kairon had already rushed forward in a fluster.
Screeeee—
The train came to a halt with a hiss of mana exhaust.
As passengers began to disembark, Kairon’s eyes scanned the crowd, searching for silver hair.
It didn’t take long before Cecilia stepped off the train.
Kairon quickly approached her.
“Cecilia.”
“Yes.”
Cecilia’s expression was as unreadable as ever—calm, neutral, hard to guess what she was thinking.
But something was obviously different: a small bandage wrapped around her right arm and thigh.
“…You’re injured.”
When his gaze fell on the bandages, Cecilia glanced at them too and replied like it was nothing:
“Just a bruise.”
But for Kairon, it felt like his chest had been torn open.
She hasn't even had her coming-of-age ceremony yet.
Not only had she returned from a battlefield, but she was brushing off her wounds like they were no big deal.
‘Until the day she becomes an adult, I swear—I’ll never let her step into danger again.’
He vowed silently, deeply.
Meanwhile, Cecilia was staring up at him, wide-eyed.
That was her “waiting to be praised” face.
Normally, Kairon would hold back his words—too much adoration at a young age could mislead a child.
But today…
“You did well.”
He pulled her into a firm hug.
Feeling her small frame in his arms, he made up his mind:
‘I’ll make sure her future is nothing but a path of flowers.’
***
‘…Hmm.’
Cecilia blinked slowly as she stood tall in the center of a grand banquet hall.
Eyes from all around were fixed on her as she stood on the red carpeted central aisle.
“Cecilia Windsor.”
It was Queen Lydia’s voice—
Not playful and teasing as usual, but serious, stripped of any trace of a smile.
Her charismatic voice echoed through the hall.
“You have risked any and all dangers for the sake of the Lianen Kingdom and its people. Your sword pierced the enemy, your courage protected countless lives, and your sacrifice saved us all.”
‘…Was it really that much, though?’
To be honest, the difficulty level wasn't that high.
If she had ignored the issue of civilian casualties, dealing with Deception would’ve been relatively easy.
Not that she was complaining—a medal was a nice addition to her collection, especially something flashy to show off to newbies. And yet…
‘Why do I feel so unsettled?’
Still, Cecilia maintained flawless formal etiquette as she dropped to one knee.
“In recognition of your meritorious service,”
“We shall bestow upon you the Silver Medal of Valor.”
The Queen approached personally, smiling serenely.
As she pinned the medal to Cecilia’s chest, she whispered softly:
“May your sword and your convictions continue to be the light of our kingdom.”
“It is… an honor.”
In the Lianen Kingdom, medals of valor didn’t follow a fixed naming convention.
Instead, the rank or character of the medal was judged by its epithet.
In other words, the title “Silver” was one the Queen had chosen herself, reflecting Cecilia’s image.
For example, Edward had received the epithet “Sacred” for his own medal.
And that’s when Cecilia’s unease exploded into a full-blown crisis.
‘Wait… Why isn’t it a Sword Medal?’
Her alias was Sword Princess.
If this was just a straightforward commendation for martial achievement, the title should have ended with -Sword Medal no matter what preceded it.
But the queen had just used the word “silver medal”, not “sword medal”—which meant…
“Furthermore, in light of your single-handedly defeat of the crisis in Gartane, I hereby acknowledge your elevation in standing—”
Cecilia’s eyes widened.
‘Oh no. Please no.’
“—and thus raise the rank of Cecilia, the Sword Princess, by one degree and designate her title henceforth as Silver—”
Whoosh!
Cecilia bolted forward like the wind and clamped a hand over the Queen’s mouth.
“I—I refuse!”
“……!”
“…!!”
“?”
In that moment, the entire room froze.
The Windsor knights, who had been brimming with pride.
The royal knights, silently seething with jealousy.
The nobles, the guards, the pages—all froze in stunned silence.
For the first time in the history of the kingdom, a recipient had refused a royal medal… publicly.
