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Chapter 01 - A Eunuch Knight is Reincarnated! (1)
King Philip III of the Knight Kingdom of Jenas was truly a great man.
He had an extraordinary mind and was proficient in academics from a young age, and with a strong constitution, he also showed considerable talent in swordsmanship.
His character was also excellent, and he never neglected to put in the effort. Before long, he grew into a splendid king and accumulated a series of brilliant achievements.
He trained powerful knights and rectified the failing finances. Due to his excellent domestic affairs and outstanding diplomacy, he was beloved by nobles and commoners alike.
When he led the Golden Lion Knights to capture the Demon King's castle, his fame reached its zenith. The people of the continent praised Philip III, calling him the knight of knights, the ‘Knight King’.
Е̊n̂u m̀ a
“Lord Promhart······.”
The knee of such a great king touched the floor.
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It was merely to get a closer look at the person lying in the sickbed, but even this was an unbelievable situation.
No matter that he was a sick man, who could possibly make Philip III lower his posture?
Even the two dukes of the kingdom would not have dared. The surrounding knights, rather than the king himself, would have likely been the first to speak of lese-majesty.
But not now.
W̄ ë b̆ ñо̇ v̌ еl Е numа̊
Neither the Crown Prince, nor the Queen, nor the Royal Guards.
None of the other figures who could be called the pillars of the Kingdom of Jenas blamed the sick man for his disrespect.
This was because he was none other than Philip III’s most loyal subject, Lord Ryan Promhart.
“Lord Promhart······ please get up. Shouldn’t you rise and share a drink with me······.”
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The Knight King’s voice was choked with emotion.
It was only natural.
Е̄n̆ůmа̃
Although he was a knight of eunuch origin in charge of escorting the queen and princess, Ryan Promhart was a greater presence to Philip III than anyone else.
He was the one who had given him an epiphany with the sword,
He was the one who had crushed the disgusting demons alongside him,
And he was the one who had saved his life from the Demon King.
If Ryan Promhart had not blocked the Demon King’s whip, the one lying here hovering between life and death would undoubtedly have been Philip III.
‘I was going to bestow upon him the position of commander of the newly established Black Panther Knights······.’
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Originally, a eunuch knight could not serve as the commander of a knightly order due to his humble origins.
It was the same even if Ryan Promhart was a Sword Master. His skills and achievements were so tremendous that no one in the kingdom could match them, but even so, such a decision was bound to face much opposition.
But it did not matter. The Knight King, Philip III, intended to push his decision through unconditionally and promise Ryan Promhart a position second to none but one.
Of course, it was all useless now.
The doctor, not daring to make eye contact, spoke in a small voice.
“Your Majesty······.”
Е n ûmå .і̊ ď
“······.”
“I believe······ you should prepare yourself.”
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“Huu······ The heavens are truly heartless. Why must they take my brightest star away so soon!”
A single tear fell from the eyes of Philip III as he gently closed them.
But despite his sorrow, the time for parting was fast approaching.
The audience held its breath even more, and the Knight King, who had managed to compose his emotions with difficulty, looked at the sickbed and spoke.
Е̊n̂ um̀á
“Lord Promhart. I am sorry. It is my foolishness that sends you away.”
“······.”
“However······ I will grant your last wish, no matter what it takes. If there is anything you have on your mind, please speak freely.”
“It is all right······.”
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“No. These are not just empty words. I say this upon my name, my honor, and my sword.”
At Philip III's words, everyone, including the Crown Prince and the two dukes, was startled.
Е̇ ǹùmа . i̇ d_
This was the first time the Knight King had wagered his sword. The king, with his cautious nature, did not usually speak lightly, which gave his current words even more weight.
The people swallowed hard and waited for the last words of Sword Master Ryan Promhart.
Will he want the title of Grand Duke, even if posthumously?
Will he wish for a grand tomb to be built? Or if not that, will he wish for his achievements to be passed down for ages through bards?
It could not compare to enjoying life, but if he received such sincerity from the Knight King, surely Ryan Promhart would be able to close his eyes in peace.
······Just as everyone was thinking that.
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Words flowed from the mouth of the knight lying on the sickbed.
“······s.”
“What was that?”
“······s.”
“I cannot hear you well, Lord Promhart. A little louder······.”
“Sex.”
Ẃ еb̆nо̃ v ӗ l Ѐ.ňü m а
“······.”
The atmosphere in the room changed abruptly.
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Everyone, including the king, was flustered. Shocked gazes rained down on Ryan Promhart's gaunt face.
Did I hear that wrong?
“I want to have sex. Sex, sex······.”
“······.”
Е́ n u̇ ma
As if to prove they had not misheard, Ryan Promhart continued to repeat the same word over and over.
Sex, sex, sex, sex. The embarrassing and shameful word flowed out endlessly.
“······.”
It was an impossible thing to happen.
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No one had ever acted like this in front of Philip III. It was a given. Not only would such a disrespectful person never be granted an audience with the king, but even if one existed, they would surely hold their tongue, valuing their own life, worrying for their family’s safety, and fearing the loss of their honor.
But Ryan Promhart didn't give a fuck.
Ẃ е b̄ n о̊ v̌ е l Е̃n ū ṁа̄
He didn't give a single fuck.
His life was hanging by a thread, and he had no heir. It was only natural since he had no dick.
The only thing that weighed on his mind was the reputation he had built up over the years, but even that was laughable to the current Ryan Promhart. Its weight was infinitely lighter than the resentment he had harbored his entire life.
“I want to do it, I want to. Hkk, I want to do it······.”
“······.”
The hall grew solemn.
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The current situation was clearly beyond common sense. It would not have been strange at all if a royal guard had drawn his sword on behalf of the insulted king.
However, the resentment of the eunuch knight who had lived his entire life as a eunuch, that overwhelming sorrow, pressed down on everyone. Even the king merely looked down at the sickbed with a sense of pity rather than anger.
He hated that even more. Ryan Promhart gently closed his eyes, avoiding the pitying gazes of the deceivers.
His final words flowed from his lips.
“I just wanted to try it······ just once······.”
“······.”
Wе b̈ n о̂v е ľ Ѐṅ û m̄ ă
“······.”
“······He has passed away.”
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“······.”
Philip III could not get up from his spot for a long while.
With a lonely expression, he merely fiddled with the hand of Ryan Promhart, who had already departed from the world.
It was a full five minutes after a heavy silence had fallen that he finally spoke.
W̌ è bǹ о v̌ ё ľ _E ňu̇ m̃а
“······I would like everyone to keep today’s events a secret.”
“······Yes, Your Majesty.”
“We will hold a funeral for the great Sword Master, Lord Ryan Promhart. Inform the entire nation not to hold feasts for three days and to show no laughter.”
Whose command would they dare defy?
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The funeral proceeded quickly.
At the news of the death of Ryan Promhart, the finest knight in Jenas after the Knight King, the sound of wailing did not cease from every corner of the kingdom. Countless people across the continent mourned the fall of a great star.
W ӗb́n̄ оv̆е ľ Ѐ ň ûṁа
But not one-tenth of them, no, not even one-hundredth of them, could understand Ryan Promhart’s true sorrow.
It could not be helped.
Who could have possibly imagined that he, who was always taciturn and expressionless, had been carrying such pain?
“Huu.”
The same was true for the Knight King, Philip III.
Recalling Ryan Promhart’s final words, he gazed at his cup and muttered.
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“To think he held such a deep resentment······.”
It was so regrettable.
Both for not having understood those feelings, and for being unable to grant his wish in the end. The king, letting out a deep sigh, took a long drink of his alcohol and thought.
‘Please, I pray you are born in your next life with a sturdy and healthy member······.’
A few days later, Ryan Promhart's funeral ended.
Even after the funeral was over, people honored him for a long time. Countless bards composed songs about the loyalty shown by a eunuch knight, and everyone on the continent remembered him for a long, long time.
Ên̊ùm̂а̃ .îd̄
And so, time passed. On the day that marked exactly ten years since the death of Sword Master Ryan Promhart.
A miracle occurred.
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***
“Gasp!”
A fifteen-year-old boy, Lumian, shot up in bed.
His head was dizzy. The boy, frowning, reached out and picked up the cup beside his bed. He thought drinking some water might help clear his mind.
Ŵèb́ ňо̊v̆е̊ ľ Е̃.n̂ü ṁ а̃
But the contents of the cup were not water. Looking down at the murky-colored liquid, Lumian let out a small, 'Ah.'
‘This was poison.’
There was no doubt. Because this poison was something Lumian himself had acquired.
‘I bought it at a high price because they said I could die comfortably in my sleep. Yes, that’s right.’
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The reason was nothing special. It was because he was terrified of the new semester at the Knight Academy, which was about to begin.
As the son of a rural lord, he had little talent for swordsmanship. His physique was decent, but he severely lacked perseverance and grit. Weak-willed and introverted, he was no different from a punching bag for the academy students.
Е ñūmа̇_..і d
He was robbed of his money and valuables, humiliated in class, and assaulted day after day.
And yet, Lumian was the type who could not say a single word back.
‘I can’t drop out of the academy because of my parents’ expectations, but I can’t properly resist those guys either. My grades are at rock bottom, and the sounds of ridicule grow louder day by day······.’
Lumian’s spirit was too fragile to endure such a life.
In the end, the boy chose suicide. He had thought that if he died, he could go to a world without any pain or burdens.
“How foolish.”
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Lumian said with a snort.
The atmosphere was distinctly different from yesterday. Despite his appearance being the same, a certain gravity had been added for some reason. And an even greater sense of ecstasy was revealed.
The boy got out from under the covers. Standing up straight, he looked inside his pants and spoke.
“······!”
He did not know how he, who had died, had come back to life.
But that was not what was important. Something far more important was right inside his pants.
Е̄ n u m á.îd
Ryan Promhart raised his head and looked at the ceiling of the room.
A single tear streamed down from his eye.
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“It’s here, it’s here······!”
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