Chapter 11

After driving the ice bolt into the target, Dale spurred his horse straight toward the ridge below.

“D-Duke Dale!”

Duke Helmut shook his head, stopping Sir Helmut who was about to pull the reins sharply.

“We shall observe a little longer.”

“Your Highness!”

Brushing aside Sir Helmut’s flustered protest, he turned his gaze toward Dale’s retreating figure.

At first, he thought it was the recklessness of a child.

But that ice bolt released from Dale’s fingertips. It was a kind of proof and message to his father, asking him to believe in him.

Could it even be called a bolt at all? With range and lethality incomparable to any other bolt.

Moreover, the specifications Dale added to his order.

“Barrett M98B,” “8.58x70mm.”

As the Duke of Saxony, who had lived his entire life as a man of this world, these were pronunciations from another realm he could scarcely even imagine. Therefore, the only solution he could rationally deduce was one.

‘Surely not… at that age, already possessing unique formulas…’

Even if novice mages added formulas to their spells that only they could understand, the effect would be extremely negligible.

However, for the high-ranking mage who has repeatedly practiced and solidified their own mental imagery, the case is different. Within their meticulously constructed mental world, they reach a high level of mastery where they can draw forth images from that world.

That is precisely what is known as 「Original Modification」.

‘A mere first-circle magician possesses such a fully formed mental world?’

Before even discussing circle levels, Dale was merely a nine-year-old child. It was a realm where even the terms ‘prodigy’ or ‘genius’ felt inadequate.

──But strictly speaking, what Dale wielded was not a true intrinsic formula. At least, the spells he chanted had clear, tangible entities corresponding to them.

Bombers clad in iron armor soaring through the sky and plunging down to rain down bombs. The endless roar of gunfire and the barrage of artillery fire.

Weapons from another realm, unimaginable to anyone in this world, yet undeniably tangible and present.

‘What on earth is that child…’

The Duke of Saxony, who had no way of knowing that fact, decided simply to trust Dale and watch. No, rather, he was so eager to see what Dale would accomplish that he was practically bursting with impatience.

He felt like a foolish father anticipating his child’s achievements.

Besides, no matter how great the distance, the Duke of Saxony was the continent’s foremost dark mage. Protecting Dale alone in an emergency would be no trouble at all, no matter how far apart they were.

Darting through the retreating cavalry, Dale was already racing down the slope beneath the ridge.

Far off, the fallen knight and orc swordsmen could be seen, along with the orc horde still forming a defensive circle behind them.

The distance closed rapidly, and Dale’s mind was colder than ever as he watched them.

‘The additional incantation is too cumbersome.’

While flawless for sniping, it was far too inefficient to recite with enemies right before him.

However, the suggestion was far too weak to project the images of Earth’s weapons at an unconscious level.

Therefore, a more efficient ‘alternative term’ was needed—one capable of delivering about 70% effectiveness on the spot.

Lightweighting of expressions.

‘……!’

After thinking that far, Dale couldn’t help but burst out laughing. He felt foolish for agonizing over such a trivial reason until just now.

Ice Bolt. That was the magic name mages in this world favored as a spell to conjure ice projectiles.

And Dale had taken that spell name as a foundation, adding his own image of a sniper rifle as a ‘modifier’.

It was truly a foolish thing to do. There had been no need for it from the start.

“Gaaaah!”

Dale’s first ice bolt instantly killed one orc swordsman, and the remaining orcs began to take up defensive positions.

Dale pointed his finger at them again from atop his horse. After aiming, he opened his mouth.

“Ice Bullet.”

──Bang!

Setting aside whether the pen truly is mightier than the sword, at the very least, guns are mightier than bows or crossbows. Bullets and arrows weren’t fundamentally different.

The ice bullet plunged toward one of the orc swordsmen.

A single shot pierced just below the eye, passing through the eye socket and into the skull beyond.

“M-My lord!”

The knight, sprawled on the floor and certain of his death, turns his head, unable to hide his shock.

“What on earth are you doing here! Hurry──.”

“There’s no need to worry.”

To the man who couldn’t grasp the situation and was babbling incoherently, Dale, who had dismounted, smiled quietly.

“We Saxons never abandon a sword sworn to loyalty.”

His words carried a weight impossible to believe came from a nine-year-old.

“Young Master…”

He too was one of the knight retainers who had witnessed Dale’s escort duties several times at the duke’s castle.

The world is unfair, and this child is proof of that absurdity.

That’s why, every time I saw Dale improving by leaps and bounds day after day, I couldn’t help but smile bitterly at the unfair reality of this world, regardless of loyalty. Pushing aside the dark emotions surging within my heart.

Yet that very child was standing alone against the orc horde for my sake.

Dale turned his gaze toward the few surviving orc swordsmen.

The dawn air was bitterly cold, yet the wind did not blow. Despite this, the hem of the black cloak draped over Dale began to flutter as if caught in a fierce gale.

“Gaaaah!”

From beneath Dale’s feet, shadows shot up like spikes toward the blades of the charging orc swordsmen.

The first form of the artifact ‘Shadow Cloak’.

Shadow Blade.

Clang!

No sooner had he thought the Shadow Blades had deflected the orcs’ swords than—

‘Devour them.’

Shadows coiled around the orcs’ swords like living tentacles and began sliding toward their hands.

Sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

Several black, dark snakes formed from shadow blades coiled around the orcs’ wrists, severing them, and surged toward their torsos.

Starting from the wrist, it sliced through the shoulder blade and torso, finally severing the neck cleanly. Green blood gushed forth from the severed stump.

The slaughtering sword Dale displayed defied all common sense. It was hard to believe this was the same boy who wielded a sword at the duke’s castle.

This was not the sword of a knight pursuing the way of the sword.

It was the assassin’s blade, filled with the single-minded obsession to take the opponent’s life by any means necessary.

“Ice Bullet.”

After using his shadow cloak to slaughter the charging orcs, Dale extended his finger.

Thud!

The tip of that finger pointed to the last Orc swordsman.

The bodies of Orcs deployed to hunt down a single straggling knight lay scattered in disarray.

Dale turned his head. Far off, an orc unit maintained a pike formation to counter the cavalry charge.

Several orcs in the front ranks readjusted their spears, readying themselves to throw. But no shower of spears rained down upon Dale.

They merely grasped their spear shafts again, startled as if by something they saw.

Dale grasped the meaning without difficulty and smiled softly. His role ended here.

“──First Cavalry Battalion, charge!”

As he smiled, Lord Helmut’s thunderous roar, loud enough to split eardrums, echoed out.

The heavy thud of warhorses’ hooves followed behind them.

Sweeping past the two men, the charge of the Saxon Duke’s famed ‘Black Cavalry’ commenced once more.

Moreover, the knights, gripping their lances anew as they charged, were more spirited than ever before.

The eldest son of the duke’s house who charged into battle, risking his life for a single knight. It was a marvel that could scarcely be described as merely the ‘duty of a nobleman,’ a legendary feat of valor in itself.

Therefore, Dale’s actions poured fuel on the fire of their hearts, the embers of loyalty toward House Saxon.

“For the House of Saxon!”

“For Prince Dale!”

“Sweep away those orc scum!”

“Charge!”

A storm of steel swept through. It was a blow that drove a wedge into shields already on the verge of shattering.

The dawn sun rose over the eastern ridge.

“Why did you recklessly head alone into enemy territory?”

After the battle with the orc horde, that was the first question his father asked Dale.

But it was never a tone of reproach. It was merely a question to test him.

“Father said—”

Therefore, Dale answered without hesitation.

“Father said the Saxon knights here are the men I will lead in the future.”

“……”

“Noble persons bear noble duties befitting their station.”

Dale continued calmly.

“As the one who would later lead them, I was merely fulfilling that duty.”

“But it was too reckless.”

“If it had truly been a reckless act, it would not have been difficult for Father to stop me.”

Dale answered. It was an answer of unparalleled audacity.

“After all, exterminating that band of orcs would be no trouble at all for Father.”

“Huh.”

At that audacity, Duke Saxon, his father, smiled as if amused. Dale was right. For the Black Duke, wiping out a thousand orcs would be as easy as a flick of the wrist.

Yet he hadn’t done so.

“If you truly had that resolve, as you say, wiping out the orcs before us wouldn’t be so difficult.”

“Then why are you standing by watching your own men die?”

Next, it was Dale’s turn to ask.

“Did you wish me to wipe out the orc horde with a single gesture?”

“At the very least, I hoped to save the knight loyal to my father.”

“They do not grasp their swords on the battlefield hoping to be saved.”

At those words, the Duke of Saxony continued in a cold voice.

“Is that what you call the duty of a noble—to rush forward and save your men whenever they face danger, turning the tide of battle?”

“Yes, it is.”

Dale’s answer drew a cold sneer. He had forgotten he was even conversing with a mere nine-year-old child.

“Our domain faces countless threats every year, too many to even count.”

It was the face of a ruthless, high-ranking nobleman, unfamiliar even to Dale.

“Each time that threat arrives, I use my power. Through that power, I maintain peace in the duchy. What do you intend to do next?”

Next time.

“Will you alone, who will succeed me as duke, defend this domain with your strength?”

And then again, after that.

“Then what possible need is there to train knights loyal to the House of Saxony?”

“That is…”

“How will you take responsibility for them forgetting the battlefield’s edge and their blades growing dull?”

Faced with this cold realism, Dale lost his words for a moment and remained silent.

“To confront threats to our domain, the knights of House Saxon endlessly sharpen their swords.”

said the Duke of Saxony.

“When a threat beyond their capacity to handle finally arrives, I will be the one to ward it off.”

As the head of the Saxon House, counted among the empire’s foremost great lords.

“That is precisely the ‘noble duty’ the Saxon family must bear.”

“……”

It was a statement even Dale hadn’t considered. No, rather, it struck him because it was so undeniably true.

Hadn’t even his past self, holding the title of Commander-in-Chief of the Assassination Corps, acted in precisely that manner?

‘Then why did I try to save that knight?’

By the time he reached that point, Dale himself was gripped by a suspicion he couldn’t quite grasp. Was it merely to secure the loyalty of the knights who would later become his subordinates?

It was at that very moment.

“──Nevertheless.”

As if his previous cold expression had been a lie, the Duke of Saxony continued in a softened voice.

“You carried out what you believed to be the ‘duty of a noble’ to the very end, by your own will.”

At those words, Dale swallowed softly.

“When the future you inherits this ducal house and, under the name of the Duke of Saxony, reflects upon the ‘duty of a noble’—”

For the present-day Daylo, it’s a future event he couldn’t even dare to imagine.

“Which of our beliefs was right, you will come to understand in time.”

“Father…”

“Let us return to the castle.”

Each person has their own path. As if to say just that, the Duke of Saxony spoke only that much before silently turning his back.

And where the Black Count had turned away, two hundred and fifty knights awaited the father and son of the Saxon House.

The Duke of Saxony… no, toward ‘Dale of Saxony,’ unable to contain the surging loyalty welling up within, he repeatedly swore he would gladly sacrifice his own life.