​​A Silent Oath

As the heavy mahogany door of the lounge slowly closed, the tsunami-like roar of cheers from outside was finally sealed away in another world.

“……”

A profound silence enveloped the room.

I did not collapse ungracefully as I had initially imagined. Instead, I maintained my dignified posture, slowly settling into the deepest part of the velvet sofa.

It wasn’t that I didn’t wish to relax. Rather, the lingering tension in the air compelled me to constantly uphold the facade of a Monarch of the Night.

Even if I found it both cringeworthy and embarrassing.

My gaze swept over the two figures before me.

Beatrix Eisen and Ella Smith.

They remained standing, like two statues freshly tempered by the fires of battle, now gradually cooling.

It was not a look of disarray.

On the contrary, it was…

A breathtaking, almost divine exhilaration.

Beatrix’s silver light armor remained unblemished by dust, yet her usually ramrod-straight back now rose and fell subtly with her rapid breaths.

Several strands of sweat-dampened silver hair clung to her face, partially obscuring her golden eyes—eyes that, while appearing somewhat vacant from intense focus, burned with a subdued fire.

Ella, meanwhile, clutched her staff so tightly that her knuckles had turned white.

Her head was bowed, as if she were still immersed in the divine punishment she had invoked moments ago to protect my reading.

A pervasive heat lingered in the room.

It was the residual energy left by the intense burning of magic, and the unquelled restlessness within the young women.

“You may both sit.”

I broke the silence. My voice, in the quiet room, sounded particularly cool and clear.

“There are no outsiders present; there’s no need to be so formal.”

It was as if they had only just awakened from a trance-like state.

“Yes, my apologies.”

Beatrix’s voice was severely hoarse.

They did not sit. Instead, they both, without a word, chose to…

Kneel on one knee?

Right by my feet.

It seemed only this position could calm their restless hearts.

I observed their cracked lips.

The intense exertion and extreme mental focus had clearly dehydrated them.

I extended my hand, my fingertips brushing against the large glass of honey-lemon water on the table, still emanating a chill.

It was what remained from my own drink during the competition.

Beads of condensation slowly trickled down the glass.

“Drink.”

I gently pushed the glass towards them, my movement subtle yet carrying an undeniable command.

“This is… a boon.”

Since they preferred to interpret everything as a divine favor, I would indulge them.

Besides, I didn’t want anyone to see me in my current state of not wanting to move.

Ella suddenly lifted her head.

She looked at the glass, then at me. A mist instantly welled up in her emerald eyes.

“Lady Lilliana… this is your…”

She didn’t finish, but her trembling voice betrayed the turmoil within her.

It was the glass I had touched. Perhaps my scent still lingered on the straw.

To ordinary people, it would be mere leftovers.

But to them, in this moment, it was nothing less than…

A Holy Grail filled with divine blood.

Ella extended her hands, trembling.

As if cradling a fragile, priceless treasure, she lifted the heavy glass.

She did not rush to drink.

Instead, she first bowed her head reverently, gently pressing her forehead against the cool glass, and took a deep breath.

It was as if, by doing so, she could draw my will, contained within the cup, deep into her soul.

Then, she carefully took the straw into her mouth.

No sound of swallowing escaped her lips.

She merely took a small, silent sip, then closed her eyes, a look of profound, almost agonizing bliss, like that of a martyr, gracing her face.

“It’s… sweet,” she whispered.

Her voice was as soft as a sigh.

Then.

It was as if she had expended all her self-control to reluctantly pass the cup to the knight beside her.

Beatrix took the glass.

Compared to Ella’s gentle grace, the knight’s movements were stiffer, heavier.

She gazed at the straw. The traces of two people were layered there.

Yet, she showed no hint of aversion; only a deep, possessive longing burned in her golden eyes.

She tilted her head back.

Rather than using the straw, she rotated the glass, finding a clean spot on the rim…

A spot where my fingers had seemingly rested moments before?

She pressed her lips to it.

“Gulp!”

Her Adam’s apple bobbed.

It was a deeply suppressed sound of swallowing.

She drank quickly, as if her internal thirst had reached its absolute limit.

The icy liquid poured down her throat, attempting to quench the fervent fire of loyalty that burned within her, kindled by my presence.

However, perhaps due to her haste.

A single drop of pale yellow liquid escaped the corner of her mouth, slowly tracing a path along her sharply defined jawline…

…before finally clinging precariously to the tip of her chin.

Under the dim lighting, that solitary drop of water refracted a piercing glint.

For me, with my slight tendencies towards compulsiveness…

…this sight was slightly jarring.

“It’s… dripping.”

I instinctively reached out.

It was a purely instinctive bodily reaction, much like the urge to smooth out a dog-eared page.

I extended my left hand, using the pad of my thumb, gently—without even touching her skin—to wipe away the droplet just as it was about to fall.

My cool fingertip grazed the scorching air.

It was only that fleeting, almost imperceptible contact.

“…!”

Beatrix’s body instantly became rigid as iron.

She did not move.

Nor did she make any impolite gestures, as I had feared.

She simply…

…froze in place.

Her golden pupils contracted violently, shrinking to pinpricks.

Her hand, pressed against her knee, had nails dug deep into her flesh, even tearing the edge of her leather armor.

She was enduring.

Enduring a…

…tremor as if her very soul had been scorched.

Enduring a…

…mad impulse to seize my hand, press her cheek into my palm, and drink in that coolness like a wild beast.

Her breathing ceased.

The very air in the room seemed to solidify at that moment.

I could even sense…

…the sharp sword qi within her, teetering on the brink of uncontrolled chaos due to extreme emotional fluctuations, yet held firmly captive by her immense willpower.

Such restraint was more terrifying than any outburst.

And far more suffocating.

“My apologies.”

I withdrew my hand, the slight, cool dampness on my fingertip inexplicably making me feel a burn.

“I… overstepped.”

Beatrix finally resumed breathing.

It was an exceptionally ragged gasp.

She slowly lowered her head, pressing her forehead deeply against the cold floor, adopting a posture of absolute submission.

I could not see her expression.

I could only see her shoulders, trembling faintly from overexertion, and the exposed nape of her neck, now flushed a deep crimson, as if about to bleed.

“No.”

A muffled voice emanated from the floor.

“This is… your subordinate’s supreme… honor.”

Within that voice, a hint of a breaking sob was concealed.

It was the sound of chivalry’s defenses, on the verge of shattering, after a fierce clash between reason and instinct.

I silently watched the two figures kneeling on the floor.

One was utterly dazed, lost in the lingering afterglow.

The other trembled all over, desperately holding on at the precipice of collapse.

I quietly withdrew my hand, gently tucking the finger that had touched her into my sleeve.

‘This atmosphere…’

‘Isn’t it a bit too much?’

‘Is it perhaps too heavy?’

I thought with a touch of unease.

‘This is hardly just drinking water…’

‘This feels more like…’

‘…a silent oath ceremony.’