Chapter 31

There is a vast difference between the perspective of an unrelated third party observing from outside the battlefield and that of a participant forming the front lines, witnessing it firsthand.

The field of vision narrows, the mind grows foggy, and the pressure proportional to one’s position, along with blood-draining anxiety, clouds judgment. Few can maintain the detachment of a third party while standing on the border between life and death.

At least that truth held true even for Sir Milbas, the Pure Sword of the Realm.

“For Saint Magdalene!”

“Charge!”

A deep-penetration charge to swiftly end the desperate situation.

Pursuing the retreating enemy commander and cavalry, while simultaneously growing gradually distant from the allied forces in the rear.

Dale of Saxony, retreating, turned his upper body toward Milbas and his knights pursuing close behind. On his galloping horse, he released the reins, adopting the stance of a skilled mounted archer drawing his bowstring.

His fingers pointed this way.

‘Magic…!’

Anticipating that action wasn’t difficult. A Parthian shot.

“Ice Bullet.”

Thwack!

Blue magic surged from Dale’s fingertips, and a single shot formed of crystallized coldness plunged downward.

“You’re pulling some cheap trick!”

Even if he is the world-renowned Dale, his opponent is also a knight who wields the Oru Blade. Before a physique that far surpasses human limits, even ice bullets would be of little significance.

“Heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

But no matter how invincible the knights themselves may be, it doesn’t mean the horses they ride are invincible too.

One of the Count’s Oru Knights’ warhorses collapsed without even a scream.

Thud!

One knight fell clean off his horse and rolled across the ground. While a mere fall from a horse was practically impossible to inflict damage on an ‘Oro Knight,’ losing one’s mount in a pursuit like this meant one could effectively no longer continue the fight.

‘That kind of accuracy while riding a galloping horse…!’

Sir Milbas couldn’t hide his astonishment at the strike he’d just witnessed.

The eldest son of House Saxon possessed unparalleled talent in both swordplay and magic. But in the end, he was only a third-circle mage!

Though he may be a magician in his own right, he still falls short of fulfilling his role on the battlefield. This gap is even more pronounced for magicians compared to knights, who train from the outset with the expectation of excelling in combat.

Even high-ranking mages often find themselves forced to retreat and suffer defeat at the hands of ordinary knights.

But that mage, maintaining such perfect balance without reins atop a charging horse, and precisely targeting the horse with projectile magic?

Projectile magic itself is one thing, but hitting the target with it is absolutely not the domain of ‘magic’.

A feat that cannot even be imitated without a mastery of both horsemanship and archery.

In the critical role of supreme commander, volunteering to be the bait was neither reckless bravado nor bluffing.

“Rise, O Wall of Ice.”

Kwoong!

It was confidence born from his overwhelming prowess.

Before Sir Milbas and his cavalry could charge, an ice wall had already risen in their path.

He believed he had not underestimated the young eldest son of House Saxon. He was wrong. He had grossly underestimated his opponent’s capabilities.

The enemy’s supreme commander has personally volunteered to be a ‘decoy’ in the truest sense, buying time for his subordinates.

While a mere young mage held them in place, a battalion-sized force of Oru Knights found themselves immobilized and in disarray.

The enemy cavalry, having retreated and reorganized their ranks, turned their horses around.

To protect their young commander. And to repay Dale, who risked his life on the front lines to buy them time.

“Do not let their blades touch the young master!”

“Sacrifice your lives to shield him!”

“Charge!”

Seeing their spirit, Milbas could sense it. And all that came out was laughter. For now, the enemy was no longer the motley crew disguised as Night Crow Knights under Baron Greenbelt.

‘A trap within a trap…’

It was the ‘Black Cavalry’—a force he had faced countless times on the battlefield, each encounter driving home their legendary reputation.

And their goal had never been to defeat Milbas and the Count’s House’s Oru Knights.

Count Philip, the official commander of the Brandenburg forces, made the worst possible move, overcrowding the central troops on the right flank and single-handedly causing the front line to collapse. The burden of feeling rushed and anxious fell to Lord Milbas, while the Black Cavalry’s objective was to protect their commander until that moment.

That very fact only fueled Lord Milbas’s anxiety further.

‘Before the situation worsens further, we must break through the Black Cavalry and capture the eldest son of House Saxon.’

In any case, the ‘Ogre Knights’—arguably the Night Ravens’ strongest force—were not here.

Before they collapse Baron Pucker’s left flank and execute a complete flanking maneuver, we must capture Dale, who is performing acrobatics using himself as bait.

“Charge!”

Despite the battlehorses being utterly exhausted from several full-speed gallops already. Despite the fact that the excessive pursuit had stretched the distance to the rear guard far too wide.

Slowly but surely, the isolated White Aura Knights launched their charge once more.

The 1st Cavalry Battalion, led by Sir Milbas of the Pure Sword, ultimately succeeded in reaching Dale.

Though not in the form they desired.

After an excessive pursuit, it was the Saxon House’s Night Raven Knights who surrounded them, isolated in the heart of enemy territory.

‘Still overconfident in the power of the Oru Knights, I see.’

Watching the besieged Oath Knights of the Order of Saint Magdalene, Dale thought of it as if it were someone else’s affair.

Each time the knights fought and accumulated experience and wisdom, it was processed into a form called ‘battle doctrine,’ defining the knight order’s identity.

The Holy Sword had been the warden monitoring his past life, and because of that, Dale had seen much of the Order of Saint Magdalene he commanded, whether he liked it or not.

Their strengths and weaknesses, and even countless secrets invisible from the outside. What they prioritize in battle, what criteria they use to think, and how they make tactical decisions.

As clear as looking at the palm of my own hand.

Overestimating the power of the Aura Knight beyond what was necessary had long been a chronic ailment of the Order of Saint Magdalene.

The image of a Sword Master slaughtering enemies single-handedly on the battlefield is closer to fanciful ‘knightly literature’ even in this world. Moreover, above the Aura Knight lies the realm of the ‘Aura Master’, and not all Aura Masters possess the prowess of a Sword Master.

“The Oru detachment disguised as the Baron of Greenbelt’s knights has broken through the enemy’s left flank!”

“The cavalry reinforcements from the center have broken the enemy’s flank and successfully executed a flanking maneuver!”

“Baron Pucker, the left flank commander, has been captured!”

Hearing the reports from the allied center and right flank brought by the messenger, Dale raised his head impassively. Leaving the endless stream of victory reports behind.

“It seems Prince Philip was quite dissatisfied.”

Dale opened his mouth with a sneer.

The reckless deep penetration failed, leaving Milbas and his knights isolated deep within enemy territory. The Oru Knights, once a battalion of fifty, had dwindled to barely a dozen. Those remaining were far from capable of continuing the fight.

“From the start… did they set this trap to lure us in?”

Sir Milbas asked in a weak voice.

“The battlefield is always chaotic. No one can control or predict all the chaos.”

Dale shook his head.

“To bring about one’s own destruction amidst repeated chaos is, ultimately, foolishness.”

Beyond the horizon, watching the enemy’s main force completely crushed, its wings broken and surrounded.

The front lines had completely collapsed, and screams echoed from all directions. The clang of steel against flesh, steel against blood, steel against bone.

“Do you beg for your life?”

Leaving the echoing screams behind, Dale asked.

“Will you kneel in misery and offer a ransom to beg for your life?”

His face still concealed by the black helmet, he made no attempt to hide his blatant mockery.

“To those who kneel and beg for their lives with gold coins… I shall gladly show mercy, in accordance with the traditions of the great empire.”

It is an exceedingly common practice for a captured knight to pay a ransom and be released. Yet, no one could easily respond to Dale’s mockery, which fanned that act into an unspeakable disgrace.

“…Don’t make me laugh!”

One of the besieged Oru Knights spat, as if refusing to yield.

“Ah, is that so?”

Dale snapped his fingers.

Pfft!

The night crow knights surrounding them thrust their spear tips without a moment’s hesitation. Not even a scream escaped; only a sound like air escaping from a balloon. Blood spattered like a fountain.

“Then they must die.”

Dale said, his voice devoid of even a trace of emotion.

“What about Lord Milbas?”

“……”

“After all, the one who will bear the full responsibility for defeat in this battle is not you, but the innocent Prince Philip.”

Lord Milbas did not answer.

After the silence, he kneels down softly. Forcing himself to endure a shame worse than death. The steel plates of his armor clanged together with a clatter.

“……!”

It wasn’t that he particularly valued his life. Nor did he regard his honor as insignificant. He simply had to survive to deliver the message.

That the danger posed by the eldest son of the Saxon House far exceeded their wildest imaginings.

Moreover, aura knights are a precious power source that must never be squandered carelessly. As long as there remains work to be done while alive… choosing a dog’s death for the sake of petty pride was never an honorable way to die.

“All of you, kneel immediately!”

Sir Milbas of the Pure Sword bellowed.

“We surrender according to the traditions of the Empire and demand proper treatment as prisoners!”

“Are you begging for your lives on your knees?”

Dale asked. His expression and emotions concealed behind his black helmet. Biting his lip until it bled, Milbas nodded.

Rather, succumbing to the enemy’s taunts and choosing a dog’s death was precisely what the opponent truly desired.

Realizing his provocation held no further meaning, Dale’s sneer vanished as if it had been a lie.

Like an actor stepping off the stage after the play ended.

“……”

An ominous silence followed beyond the black helmet. An ominous silence devoid of even a trace of emotion.

“Those who survive here.”

After the silence, Dale finally spoke.

“Not a single person.”

“……!”

At the unexpected words, the sound of people swallowing their breath could be heard from all around.

“Kill them all.”

Not even the Night Raven Knights guarding Dale’s side were spared.

According to imperial custom, captured knights were typically released upon payment of ransom.

Yet Dale’s voice was utterly unyielding, and for the Saxon Night Raven Knights, Dale’s command was absolute above all else.

There might be a momentary flicker of hesitation, but no lingering doubt. A knight’s virtue lay not in doubt, but in execution.

It was perfect trust in their lord, and what made it possible was ultimately Dale’s charisma.

Knights clad in black armor thrust their spears and swords in unison.

Thud! Thud!

By the time the knights of the Count’s household, who had knelt and surrendered their weapons, moved, it was already too late.

Except for one man, Sir Milbas of the Pure Sword.

He barely snatched his knight’s sword, and an aura as white as snow swirled along the blade.

“Do you think I’ll fall like this?!”

One flash.

He swung the hilt, and the pure white aura clinging to the blade erupted like an explosion. It was a desperate, almost frantic strike, yet simultaneously a monstrous sword worthy of a high-ranking knight’s reputation.

The state of non-action was beyond what the current Dale could even dare to approach. Yet, Lord Milbas’s sword never touched Dale.

“Protect the young master!”

“Do not let that sword touch the Master!”

Clang!

The black knights rushed forward, blocking Dale’s path, offering their own lives as shields.

Dale watched his desperate struggle without so much as a flicker of emotion, his expression utterly devoid of feeling.

Not lifting a finger, he remained solely the ‘supreme commander’ of the battlefield, leading the Knights of the Night Crow.

Thud!

In a final desperate lunge, a sword seized the opening and plunged toward Sir Milbas’ thigh. His stance collapsed.

Thud! Thud!

Next, countless spearheads plunged down to pin him.

And then, toward Milbas, pinned down by countless spear tips, unable to move a finger…

Dale took a step forward.

He drew his head close. His lips parted in a whisper.

“──Do you remember my death?”

“……?”

Sir Milbas was momentarily puzzled by the incomprehensible words.

“I remember your face that night, there.”

Dale continued speaking without a care.

“Your master plunged a blade into my back, and you were there too.”

He spoke calmly, setting aside his coldly sharpened hatred.

“I ask again, young knight.”

At first, he couldn’t understand what he was talking about.

“Do you remember my death?”

But soon, within my rapidly fading consciousness, a shock like my blood freezing in my veins overwhelmed me.

“Ah, aaaah…!”

Sir Milbas belatedly raised his voice. Or rather, he tried to raise it.

Plop!

A beat faster than that, the ‘Shadow Cloak’ disguised as Dale’s black serge coat shot up.

“Gah, gah…”

A sound like air escaping from a balloon echoed. It was a hollow, meaningless resonance, lasting until the very last moment.