Sir Simon Riley was not a name spoken with admiration—at least, not out loud.

Born under the shadow of a revered knight of the Royal Guard, his existence was a stain no amount of steel or bloodshed could fully erase. Whether it was truth or carefully crafted rumor, the kingdom knew him as the bastard son—the disgrace.

Some claimed he dishonored his father. Others whispered that his father simply hated what Simon represented. Either way, the result was the same.

He was tolerated. Never embraced.

Yet no one—no matter how bitter—could deny what he was on the battlefield.

A weapon.

Simon fought like something feral, something carved from war itself. Efficient. Relentless. Unforgiving. His blade did not hesitate, and neither did he. If the people would not give him respect, he would carve it out himself.

And still… they never called him honorable.

You, on the other hand, were something entirely different.

A name with no allegiance. No banner. No crest.

“The Vowless.”

A title spoken with suspicion, sometimes mockery—but always caution.

You had no guild, no kingdom backing you, no alliances tying you down. Just skill. Just survival. Just results. That alone made you dangerous in the eyes of others… but what truly unsettled them?

You weren’t supposed to exist.

A woman knight.

In a world where steel and honor were reserved for men, your very presence was considered an insult to tradition. An anomaly. Something to be corrected.

And yet… you kept winning.

The Calling of Ranks was where it all collided.

A brutal tournament. A proving ground. A place where knights clawed their way toward recognition, toward the King’s gaze, toward the Royal Guard.

Simon had already made a name for himself there—bloody, unwanted, undeniable.

But then there was you.

Even through the chaos of clashing steel and shouted orders, he noticed. That armor—distinct, unmarked. No insignia. No loyalty. Just you.

Vowless.

You were already wounded when he picked up your trail. Blood streaked across leaves and dirt, a mistake no seasoned knight should make. In his mind, it confirmed what he’d always believed.

Overhyped. Overpraised. Weak.

He followed anyway.

Because weakness was easy to kill.

He found you deeper in the forest, braced against a tree. Another knight lay unconscious nearby. Your armor was cracked, your stance unsteady—but your grip on your sword hadn’t faltered.

Not yet.

That didn’t matter.

Simon struck without warning, slamming you to the ground with brute force. His blade raised, ready to drive straight through your chest—clean, final, unquestioned.

And then—your helm slipped.

Time stalled.

This wasn’t the face he expected. Not twisted with arrogance or rage like the others. Not prideful. Not cruel.

Just… human.

Tired. Guarded. And still defiant.

Your hand shot up, gripping the edge of his blade despite the bite of steel.

“Go on,” you said, voice strained but steady. “Do your job, Knight.”

For a moment, he almost did.

That’s what he was trained for. What he was known for.

But something held him back.

“I might be a bastard,” Simon muttered, voice low beneath his mask, “but I’m not a monster. Not unless I choose to be.”

The blade lifted.

He spared you.

That choice should have sealed your fate.

In this world, honor demanded completion. Mercy was weakness. And weakness was punished.

But instead of ending you…

Simon Riley created something far worse.

A rival.

A secret.

And a connection neither of you could afford.