Even if the entire target is shaken to the ground, it cannot be separated from the dagger.

Perhaps only by using a sword to poke at it can this sharp blade be deflected from its target.

The bullseye was completely pierced by the sharp blade, and a narrow area inside the bullseye had already split open.

This time, Finchley left absolutely no opening for Alphonse's dagger to slip in.

It seemed he had a sure win in this dart throw.

Ignoring the cheers for Finchley, Alphonse silently raised his left hand, which was holding the dart.

As always, it was powerful and precise. But this time, Alphonse's target was the end of Finchley's dagger's wooden hilt.

The following dagger was tightly gripping the end of the first dagger.

Looking at it vertically, there's no doubt that Alphonse also hit the "heart".

Such an astonishing scene! Upon seeing it, the cheers ceased instantly.

"How...did you do that?" The question that his partner had asked him last time came out of Finchley's mouth this time, though he was still unconvinced.

"Even though you've covered the bullseye, my target has always been there. What I'm aiming at isn't your dart, but the bullseye that's always been in its original position."

Finchley remained silent.

"Is your objective also being obscured by other distractions, Finchley?"

Alphonse uttered a remark with a hidden meaning, hoping that he, or anyone else present, would respond.

But Finchley remained silent.

Facing the soldiers and knights around him who were always eating, drinking and having fun, Alphonse truly felt that he had said something that was completely useless to Finchley and to them.

His face darkened, and he silently turned and left the training ground.

The duel ended in a draw.

Finchley wasn't indifferent. After some thought, he also ran out.

Alphonse walked along the outer edge of the corridor, passing the stables with a pale expression, and then, out of curiosity, went inside.

The horses, abandoned by their owners five years ago, are cared for by the kind-hearted Oliver. However, apart from ample fodder, there is nothing else left for them.

Alphonse picked up the saddle lying on the ground and dusted it off. It had been neglected for a long time; the saddle had been abandoned ever since the warhorse was left behind.

The warhorses that galloped across battlefields were heroes no less than warriors. Legend has it that fallen knights are reincarnated as steeds.

They house the souls of heroes, yet now they remain listlessly in their places, seemingly intending to spend their twilight years in the stables.

The desolate state of the warhorses was not much more exaggerated than the decadent state of the knights.

The Fierce Eagle Knights.

Why is the Fierce Eagle Knights in this state? Why has the Second Knights, without their leader, become like this...?

Alphonse closed his eyes, his heart filled with longing for Desfield. In the past, whenever he encountered insurmountable difficulties, his first instinct was to return to the Holy Dragon and beg for help.

Each time, Desfield encouraged Alphonse to follow his beliefs and persevere.

More than seven years have passed. Now, Desfield has become a belief of Alphonse himself.

As Finchley walked through the corridor, he occasionally heard the murmuring of a man praying softly from the stables, which had been deserted for a long time.

"I am truly powerless to lead them. The warriors of the Fierce Eagle are all unruly, free-spirited, and top-notch in strength."

This can be seen from their every word and action towards me.

As the successor to the Fierce Eagles, I am far inferior to my predecessor. I am powerless to rekindle their former bravery.

You demanded that I serve the kingdom to the best of my ability, and I have been fulfilling that promise. The king knew I was not suited for the Royal Knights, so he sent me here to lead the Second Order. But…

With the southern expedition underway, the Fierce Eagles are yet to unite. Facing the southern barbarians, defeat is inevitable without a fight.

When that moment of destruction befell me and my warriors, I failed you, failed the King's expectations, and failed the former commander of the Fierce Eagles..."

Finchley seemed to see the shadow of someone once again—the back of the captain who knelt before the gods and prayed devoutly for his samurai comrades before their last battle together.

"Alphonse, I don't like men who kneel before gods."

He was startled and turned around abruptly, only to find Finchley walking into the stable through the door.

“Desfield is not a god, but my family. You could say she is my teacher and my mother.”

"Do you rush to ask your teachers and relatives for help as soon as you encounter difficulties? The newly appointed so-called regimental commander is indeed just another naive little kid!"

These words enraged Alphonse. He clenched his fists and, for the first time, unleashed flames from his eyes at his companion.

Ignoring his anger, Finchley picked up a black saddle and harnessed it to his own warhorse.

He stroked the spirit steed that had fought alongside him through thick and thin, and regarded it as a brother, "Do you know why I hate you so much? I hate your cowardice! We still yearn for the sandstorms of the battlefield, the scorching sun of the battlefield, and the triumphant roar of victory."

But rather than sending a cowardly and incompetent person to lead us into battle and send us to our deaths, it's better for us to continue as we are now."

Alphonse was stunned.

cowardly……

Finchley took something heavy from his armor.

That was a silver mask left behind by the former commander.

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