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«I may appear indifferent, but do not think I fail to understand you. I went through the same thing. This society is cruel, and sometimes, to survive, you must play their game. But remember this — you should be the one in control, not them.»
Back then, Sigrid was little more than a teenager, unsure of his place in the world. He didn't fully grasp the meaning behind her advice — not then.
He remembered how she continued speaking, her tone calm, her posture composed.
«If you want their respect, earn it. Prove you're more than an illegitimate child. Rebrand yourself, if you wish. Compete with my son for the Count's position, if that will make them recognize your worth.»
The suggestion shocked Sigrid.
Even more surprising — his elder brother, the rightful heir, had overheard and didn't show even a flicker of resentment.
He had simply nodded.
Accepted it.
If such a conversation had taken place in another noble household, the outcome would have been disastrous. Jealousy. Rage. Suspicion. A legitimate heir would never tolerate an illegitimate child staking claim on inheritance.
But in House Anatole… things were different.
Instead of hostility, there was quiet acceptance.
Instead of exclusion, there was space — however fragile and cautious it might be.
Even his father had agreed with the Countess, and his elder sister, the young lady of the household, expressed her support with the same dignified calm their mother possessed.
But Sigrid?
He felt none of the desire they imagined.
He didn't want the title of Count.
He didn't crave political power.
He didn't seek to rise through nobility.
All he wanted… was a sword.
A sword that protected.
A sword that defended.
A sword that stood between injustice and those who could not shield themselves.
His earliest memories of swordsmanship came from watching his mother. She had once been a talented mercenary — courageous, skilled, and proud. She instructed him with patience, teaching him how to hold a blade before he could even lift one properly.
But then everything changed.
A tragic incident left her injured beyond recovery, robbing her of the ability to wield a sword ever again. Their household — once known for its loyal service as a minor Baron family — crumbled soon afterward due to sabotage and lies spread by a higher-ranking noble house. They were almost framed for treason, mere pawns in someone else's schemes.
If Count Anatole hadn't stepped forward to defend them, Sigrid's mother's family would have faced execution without trial.
That was why his mother had offered herself to the Count — not out of romance, not out of desire, but out of gratitude and obligation. It was the only thing she had left to offer after losing her sword and her family's name.
Because of that sacrifice — because of everything his father did for them — Sigrid never desired anything more from the House of Anatole. He didn't want status. He didn't want inheritance. He had already been given more than he believed he deserved.
His goal was simple.
His path was clear.
He would wield a sword in his mother's stead.
At the age of twelve, Sigrid enlisted in the Imperial Army as a young trainee. The first years were brutal — full of sleepless nights, harsh drills, and endless humiliation for being an illegitimate noble. But Sigrid endured. He trained harder than everyone else. He fought harder. He studied tactics, honed his discipline, and refused to be outshined.
For ten long years, he gave everything he had to the sword.
And finally, his efforts bore fruit.
He rose through the ranks at an astonishing pace, achieving the title of Royal Knight Commander earlier than anyone before him. His unwavering dedication and natural brilliance with the blade caught the attention of the palace, and eventually, he was appointed as one of the exclusive Knights serving the Crown Prince himself.
Even though whispers about his illegitimate origins persisted, his prestige and achievements outweighed noble prejudice. He received proposals from influential houses — alliances disguised as marriage offers.
But Sigrid declined them all.
He had no interest in being a pawn in noble schemes.
And then, one day, the Countess revealed a truth that struck deeper than any sword wound.
«This is your life. Don't let those opportunistic bastards dictate it. But Sigrid… there is something you should know.
If it weren't for my husband protecting your mother's family, she would have been with the man she truly loved — your biological father.»
The revelation shattered everything he thought he knew.
His real father was not Count Anatole.
It was the Count's elder cousin — a man who disappeared during an expedition years ago, long before Sigrid was born. The Count had taken responsibility for Sigrid's mother when he discovered she carried his cousin's child.
Sigrid was still of the Anatole bloodline…
Just from a different branch.
It explained so much.
Why the Countess had never shown hatred toward him.
Why his siblings didn't treat him as a threat.
Why his father — or rather, his uncle — held a strange mix of affection and guilt toward him.
But the truth came too late.
By the time he learned it…
Sigrid had already witnessed the rot hiding beneath noble courts.
He had already seen how power twisted loyalties.
He had already seen how easily trust could shatter.
And eventually, something happened — an event too painful to revisit, a betrayal that cut deeper than blood should allow — that made him leave that kingdom behind.
Made him abandon his name.
Made him bury Sigrid Anatole.
And reborn as Sid.
An adventurer.
A nobody.
A man with no sword… and no home.
Or so he tried to believe.
But now, with a mysterious woman commanding him to pick up his blade…
with danger threatening his comrades…
with the weight of his past pressing against him like a shadow—
Sigrid realized something:
He could run from his name.
He could hide from his past.
But he could not run from the sword.
It was part of him.
It always had been.
And the truth he kept fleeing from…
was beginning to catch up.
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