Chapter 70

Among the nobility, it had long been an open secret: sponsoring a young, promising knight often came with certain… pleasures. For some aristocrats—especially noblewomen trapped in loveless, politically arranged marriages—such affairs were more than indulgence; they were escape.

Knights, particularly those of noble birth, were admired across all ranks of society. Commoners revered them, and even members of the upper class looked upon them with awe. Becoming a knight was seen as one of the highest callings a man could pursue—an honorable, almost sacred profession. They were defenders of territory, champions of justice, and protectors of the weak. In the eyes of many, they weren’t just soldiers—they were ideals.

It was no wonder, then, that parents of every rank dreamed of raising a son who could wear the armor and title of knighthood. And for noble families, where honor outweighed even life, knights were more than just desirable—they were marriage material.

Yet behind the glittering image of chivalry, another narrative played out quietly in salons and estates: the romantic entanglements between patrons and the knights they sponsored. The more dissatisfied a noblewoman was with her husband, the more likely she was to be at the center of whispered scandals involving the knight in her service.

In time, these relationships—once taboo—became part of the fabric of noble society, especially in provincial cities where the aristocracy, often overlooked by the capital elite, sought its own forms of entertainment and distinction.

To be fair, not all patrons had ulterior motives. A few genuinely saw potential in a knight and offered their support out of admiration or strategic investment. But let’s be honest—those with truly noble intentions were one in a hundred.

“They’re already lining up to sponsor him,” Malena murmured.

“As expected.”

With a face like that—and the skill to match—it was hardly surprising. Sponsors weren’t just looking for talent. They wanted charm, charisma, the whole package. Matthias was all of that. A rare find.

“It’s not every day a newly knighted squire draws this kind of attention. It’s impressive.”

“He already has a name for himself.”

In truth, it was rare for a newly knighted squire to draw a crowd of eager patrons. Typically, interest only followed after a knight had proven himself—through battlefield merit, political usefulness, or a promotion hinting at future glory. Fame came first. Then the sponsors.

But Matthias? He’d barely had time to polish his new sword.

“Well, honestly, I doubt those ladies care what accomplishments Matthias has,” Malena said, flicking her fan open with theatrical indifference. “In a small provincial city like this, what use is knightly prowess anyway? Most of them are probably swarming him just for the thrill of it.”

It was a fair point. In places like this, charm often outweighed talent. Good looks, regardless of gender, had always been treated like currency. No one batted an eye when noblemen kept mistresses as household ornaments—or when noblewomen entertained their handsome guards behind closed doors. Beauty, here, was just another kind of weapon.

“Aren’t you going?” Malena nudged Odeliana with a sly grin. “At this rate, some other lady’s going to snatch him right up.”

Odeliana didn’t so much as flinch. “How am I supposed to squeeze into that marketplace crowd with this leg?” she replied coolly. “I’ll wait.”

Malena laughed, half in disbelief. “You’re not the least bit worried, are you?”

“He’s the one I chose,” Odeliana said, folding her hands in her lap. “And he chose me, too.”

Her voice was calm—too calm, perhaps—but there was no doubt in her gaze. If it had been someone like Jocelyn, maybe she’d have felt the need to stake a claim. But Odeliana had no reason to feel threatened by a few provincial nobles playing at courtly intrigue.

“What if someone steals away that precious boy you’ve raised so carefully?” Malena teased.

Odeliana only smiled in response, eyes drifting toward the commotion across the courtyard.

Sure enough, Matthias disentangled himself from the knot of noblewomen with ease—graceful, courteous, untouchable. Without hesitation, he crossed the space between them and dropped to one knee before her in a seamless, formal salute.

“Master,” he said, voice low and clear.

His posture was flawless—elegant, assured. It was hard to believe he was still so new to the title. In that moment, he looked less like a squire and more like a painting come to life.

Odeliana extended her gloved hand in answer to his reverent bow. With practiced grace, Matthias took it and pressed a kiss to the back of her fingers—offering her the highest courtesy a knight could give.

“Congratulations on becoming a full knight, Matthias,” she said softly.

“It’s all thanks to your guidance and care, Master,” he replied, his voice warm.

Matthias smiled as he spoke—bright, sincere, and utterly radiant, as if her joy were his own. That smile, Odeliana thought, was disarming in its beauty.

She gave a small nod, then gestured toward Malena. The woman slipped away toward the carriage and soon returned, carrying a large wooden chest in both arms.

“I prepared a gift to celebrate your knighting,” Odeliana said.

Matthias blinked, clearly taken aback. Surprise flickered in his eyes—it was obvious he hadn’t expected anything, let alone something so deliberate.

“I don’t know if it will suit your taste,” she added with a slight smile, “but I hope you’ll put it to good use.”

She unlatched the chest and lifted the lid. Gasps rippled through the onlookers.

Inside, resting atop a bed of deep violet velvet, was a sword—long, sleek, and elegantly forged. Its form was both restrained and commanding, striking in its simplicity. Even from a distance, it carried an air of dignity. A quiet strength.

Matthias leaned in, his gaze fixed on the weapon. The moment his fingers brushed the blade, a soft red shimmer pulsed across the metal—alive with latent energy. Though the sword bore no elaborate engravings or gemstones, it radiated power, as though it had been waiting for him alone.

“Would you like to hold it?” Odeliana asked.

He didn’t answer immediately. He simply stared at the sword, as if trying to find the words. His brows knit slightly—not in confusion, but in awe.

Then, slowly, reverently, he lifted the weapon. What should have felt weighty in the hands of a novice moved as though it belonged to him—light, effortless.

“It’s an exceptional sword,” he murmured.

“Do you like it?” she asked, watching him closely.

“I do,” Matthias said with quiet conviction. “Very much.”

“I felt the same when I first saw it,” Odeliana said, her voice low. “It wasn’t intentional, but… it reminded me of you.”

Before Matthias could respond, Malena stepped in with a wry grin.

“That dark and dangerous aura is a perfect match,” she teased.

Her tone was playful, clearly baiting him. But Matthias only laughed—freely, genuinely. So brightly that Odeliana felt the breath catch in her throat. Had he ever smiled at her like that before?

“Thank you, Master. Your disciple is truly grateful,” Matthias said, bowing his head with heartfelt sincerity.

Odeliana couldn’t help but smile. The joy on his face was unmistakable—pure, radiant. She hadn’t expected him to be this happy. Quietly, she offered a silent thank-you to Fergus, who had arranged the sword’s crafting well in advance. She made a mental note to visit him later and deliver a proper gift in appreciation.

“You should probably get back now, right? I’ll be going,” she said, turning to leave.

But before she could take a step, his voice stopped her cold.

“Master.”

She paused, eyebrows lifting as she turned back toward him. “What is it?”

Without a word, Matthias drew the sword she had just given him. In one fluid, effortless motion, he slashed across his own wrist.

“Matthias!” she gasped.

Blood welled from the wound, dripping steadily down his arm. Alarmed, Odeliana rushed forward, reaching for him with both hands. “Malena—bring bandages and a coagulant—now—!”

But Matthias didn’t flinch. Instead, he calmly dipped the blade into his own blood, then knelt on one knee and held it out to her, crimson staining the steel.

Only then did she fully understand.

Her breath caught. Her eyes widened. Her face drained of color.

He was offering her his Shinseo—a knight’s sacred Vow of Chivalry—right here, in full view of the public.

A ripple of astonished gasps echoed around them as onlookers realized what was happening. Some even clapped in reverence, moved by the profound symbolism of the act. But all Odeliana could feel was cold dread closing in.

You fool, she thought. You absolute fool.

Rejecting the vow would humiliate Matthias in front of half the city. Accepting it would mean binding him, possibly forever, to a path of servitude he didn’t understand.

Why would he do something so reckless…?

Her mind reeled, racing through a dozen responses and finding none that would spare them both. In the end, cornered by the moment and the many eyes watching, she reached out and took the sword—bitterly, against every instinct screaming at her to refuse.

The weight of it shocked her. It was heavier than it had any right to be, and her arms instinctively dipped under its burden. The metal felt cold against her skin—solid, real. Binding.

Dazed, Odeliana looked up.

Matthias was smiling.

And in that moment, he shone brighter than the plate armor he wore—brighter than any knight she had ever seen. When she swayed under the sword’s weight, he stepped forward and caught her effortlessly, steadying her before she could fall.

Cheers erupted around them.

But she leaned in close, and with a hiss so low it barely escaped her lips, she snapped, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Her voice was sharp with fury, but Matthias remained unbothered. Amused, even.

“I simply offered the highest honor I could give,” he said lightly. “To the master who guided me.”

“Matthias…” she gritted out. “A Shinseo isn’t just some public gesture. It’s an oath of total submission. Not even the king can override it. Once sworn, it’s absolute.”

Her words burned with frustration. He had never once acted out of line—never once disrespected her judgment—until now.

But Matthias only looked at her with clear, steady eyes. “That’s why I gave it to you, Master.”

She stared at him, stunned. “You…”

With practiced ease, he returned the sword to its sheath and fastened it at his hip. Then, in one final flourish, he took her hand once more and kissed the back of it—gentle, reverent.

Then, with a small smirk tugging at his lips, he added in a low, teasing voice, “So you really shouldn’t accept things without thinking.”

Odeliana stared at him, utterly speechless.