My vacation was officially over.
I turned around without a word. I almost let out a dry, hollow laugh. Whether it was Italy or Japan, why did the old men sitting in ancient chairs always make the exact same mistakes? To detain my knight based on organizational logic and a leader's stubbornness? That was an act of extreme arrogance, no different from claiming ownership over a King’s property. And I had learned very clearly in Japan exactly how to handle the arrogant.
No matter who touched my knight, no matter what organization they belonged to, or how trivial their reasoning was.
There would be no forgiveness.
"Lead the way."
At my emotionless voice, Marco unconsciously straightened his back. The young man who had looked like a common Asian tourist just moments ago was nowhere to be found. The air around me compressed tightly, and a wave of invisible authority pulsed outward with me at the center. Marco realized instinctively: standing before him was the Devil King who had slain a god—the absolute conqueror of the earth itself.
"Y-Yes! Right this way, my King!"
I strode through the bustling streets of Milan. The crowds were as lively as ever, but to me, everything felt meaningless, like the background of a black-and-white film. I merely moved toward the single destination irritating my nerves: the headquarters of the Bronze-Black Cross.
The headquarters was nestled among Milan’s historic buildings, blending in so naturally it seemed as if it had always been there. The antique stone structure exuded the dignity of surviving centuries, and at the entrance, a heavy iron door engraved with the red cross—the organization’s symbol—was firmly shut. Two knights guarding the entrance stepped forward to politely block our path upon spotting Marco and me.
"Marco. What are you thinking, bringing an unauthorized outsider here?"
"Move. This person is..."
The moment Marco tried to explain urgently, I moved past him. I didn't even look at the knights. I simply stared at the closed iron door as if I were looking at a thin sheet of paper rather than a massive barrier.
"My knight is inside. Open the door."
My voice was low, but the weight behind it was different. The two knights were momentarily cowed, but they quickly remembered their duty and reached for their sword hilts.
"Outsiders cannot enter without the Commander's permission. Please follow the formal procedure..."
Before they could finish, the heavy iron door began to crumple inward.
Creeeeeak...!
It wasn't physical force. Under the pressure of the pure 'will' I was emitting, the iron door, imbued with centuries-old magic, shrieked as it twisted and buckled. The knights' faces turned deathly pale. Through the overwhelming pulse of divine power, they realized that the young man before them was an existence far beyond the realm of humanity.
BOOM!
Finally, the iron door was blasted inward with a thunderous roar. I stepped over the wreckage and entered the building without a speck of dust on me. Dozens of knights who had rushed out from the interior corridors upon hearing the alarm were struck with horror when they saw me, yet none dared block my path. They parted to the left and right like grains of sand making way for a massive tidal wave.
I headed without hesitation toward the deepest part of the building, where the strongest pulse of power resided. That was where the Commander and Alessandro would be.
Finally, I reached the doors of a grand hall. The doors were already open. Inside, a man sat in an ornate chair that resembled a throne, and beside him stood Alessandro with a stiff expression.
The man on the throne appeared to be in his early fifties. His dark brown hair, flecked with silver, was perfectly groomed without a single strand out of place, and his sturdy, balanced physique proved he was no mere administrator. On the lapel of his crisp, pressed suit, a vivid red brooch—the symbol of the organization—shone brightly. His presence glowed with a blend of cold logic, faith, and authority, reminiscent of the stained glass in an ancient cathedral. His gray eyes, tinged with green, turned toward me. His gaze held a mixture of cold analytical power and a hunter’s focus. This was the Commander of the Bronze-Black Cross, Paolo Brandelli.
"My King...!"
Alessandro spotted me, his face a swirl of shock and guilt. I gave him a slight nod to signal that it was fine and looked at the old man on the throne.
"Oh, to think you would grace us with a personal visit. The young King seems to have quite the short temper."
Paolo’s voice was a declaration, not a command. It was a voice of authority that compelled the listener to bow their head involuntarily. However, his face was etched with a deep exhaustion, as if he had resigned himself to everything. He looked like a realist who lamented the way things had turned out yet accepted the unavoidable reality.
"Return my knight to me, old man."
At my sarcastic remark, Paolo’s eyebrow twitched slightly.
"...Things have unfolded differently than we anticipated, my King. Detaining Alessandro was not my intent."
"Then whose intent was it? Did a ghost pop out and do it?"
Instead of answering, Paolo gestured toward the deepest shadows of the hall. Only then did I realize it. There was another presence in this hall besides me, Alessandro, and Paolo. Someone who had craftily deceived my senses and completely erased their presence.
"Whoa, whoa, settle down, friend! Should the guest of honor really be making such a scary face?"
A figure leaning against a pillar in the darkness revealed himself with a sly smirk. He had a solid, balanced build, standing about 180cm tall. His golden-brown hair, looking as if it captured the sunlight, was slightly long and casually disheveled. Dressed in a worn leather jacket and jeans, he looked completely out of place in this solemn atmosphere. But the moment Alessandro saw those bright turquoise eyes sparkling with a permanent grin, his face turned to one of pure shock.
"The King of Swords... Salvatore Doni!"
The 'King of Swords.' He was another Campione who ruled over southern Italy.
Salvatore Doni whistled and approached me, seemingly indifferent to Alessandro’s shock.
"Wow! You really came! I figured if I set the stage, there was no way you wouldn't show up!"
He marched right up to me. As if meeting an old friend, he slapped my shoulder and winked at Paolo.
"Old man Paolo, don't be so stiff! I told you, a guy with eyes like his is the type to flip out if someone touches one of his people. Thanks to that, look at this wonderful stage we've got! To invite the best actor, a welcoming ceremony of this scale is only basic manners, right?"
Paolo bit his lip at Doni's words. A flash of anger and humiliation crossed his face. The Bronze-Black Cross was the last bastion of European chivalry. However, he knew all too well how powerless their knightly code was against the mass of calamity standing before them. The reality was that an entire organization could be reduced to ashes at a King's whim. Faced with the choice between the order's honor and its survival, he had ultimately chosen the latter.
Doni stopped right in front of me and scanned me from head to toe with interest.
"You’re the seventh one, right? Yeah? Man, you look as grumpy as the rumors say. I heard rumors you were playing with storms and fire over in America, but is that power the real deal? I wonder if you could show me some?"
He bypassed me and patted Alessandro’s shoulder.
"Hey, 'Diabolosso.' Your King seems like a pretty interesting guy. Can I borrow him for a bit? I’ll give him back after I use him a little. Of course, I can't guarantee he'll be in one piece!"
Alessandro took a step forward, putting himself between Doni and me. His eyes were incredibly calm and serious.
"Forgive my insolence in standing before a King. However, if you wish to point your blade at my King, I ask that you deal with me, his knight, first—King of Swords."
Doni stared at Alessandro’s polite stance for a moment before letting out a massive, bored yawn.
"Ugh, no fun. Truly no fun, 'Diabolosso'."
He pointed his finger back and forth between Alessandro and me, speaking as if he were lecturing a child.
"Look, Mr. Knight. Do you not get the situation? This is playtime for a 'King' and a 'King.' This isn't a place for knights like you who worry about rules and manners to butt in."
Doni sighed and shrugged.
"Right now, it's time for the leading actors to get the spotlight. A fine knight like you should just get ready to clap from below the stage. Don't go jumping in and breaking the lights for nothing."
I was speechless. The cause of all this commotion was nothing more than this battle-maniac’s amusement. For the sake of his own fight, he had threatened the Bronze-Black Cross, taken my knight hostage, and set the stage to lure me here. He looked like a cheerful sword-idiot on the surface, but the process of dragging his opponent onto his stage was incredibly cunning.
He turned around and waved his hand dismissively at Paolo.
"Alright, old man. Business is done, so take your knights and get out. From here on, this is a playground for Kings. It’d be embarrassing for the adults to get caught in a kids' scrap, wouldn't it?"
Paolo hesitated. But Alessandro approached his side and whispered softly.
"Commander. Please withdraw. This is no longer a fight the organization can handle."
Alessandro's eyes were filled with absolute faith in his liege. Paolo looked into those eyes for a moment before finally nodding and giving the order to retreat. In the massive hall, only three people remained: Doni, myself, and Alessandro, who refused to back down behind me.
Doni, looking satisfied, rotated his arms in a wide stretch and began to unwrap the bandages from his back. What was revealed was less of a sword and more of a double-edged claymore—a massive slab of steel. The moment he gripped the hilt, the nature of the dissonance I had been feeling became clear. His very existence was one giant 'sword.'
"Well then, shall we begin? 'Rookie.' Pull out all those god-powers you've got. This Salvatore Doni will cut through every last bit of them!"
Looking at the warmonger before me, I thought from the bottom of my heart.
'...Why is every single one of my own kind abnormal?'
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