Chapter 39

Black Duke’s Underground Workshop.

Following Dale’s hand, the corpse of the Night Raven Knight rose. Toward the body of the knight who had fallen in battle that day, fighting for Dale.

One who had sworn to offer his body to House Saxon even in death, and had been knighted.

Though not yet at the level worthy of being called an ‘Aura Knight’. Yet Dale extracted the aura’s core within the knight’s body and infused it with his own magic power.

Whoosh!

The fusion of ‘black magic power and aura’ created a synergistic effect, and it soon became the aura of the deceased, spreading throughout his entire body.

The immortal knight wraps his knight’s sword in a jet-black aura blade.

The Black Sword of House Saxon.

The unquestionable Death Knight kneels before his master. Plunging his sword vertically into the ground.

Kwoong!

Seeing this, the Black Duke gasped in astonishment.

‘He’s controlling his movements with unbelievably precise control.’

An aura knight possessing a realm several times greater than that of the living enemy, an immortal knight whose caliber could not be compared to that of a mere necromancer.

This outcome was only possible because Dale possessed the sword’s essence, the knight’s realm, and the understanding to back it up.

It is utter nonsense to move a knight’s corpse without understanding the sword. In that regard, the Death Knight under Dale’s command was never just some ordinary knight.

It was truly the 《Sword’s Proxy》, a perfect projection of Dale’s own mastery and understanding of the sword.

I contemplate the sword dance that will unfold from the tip of that proxy’s blade. The necromancers of the Black Tower, who live in isolation from swords, would never dare to imagine such a thing. Perhaps not even the Black Mage of the world.

“It worked, Father.”

At Dale’s words, the Duke of Saxony remained silent, seemingly startled.

Though he did not recognize the ‘Book of the Black Goat’ whose pitch-black tentacles had taken root in Dale’s heart, he could not fail to recognize the magical power that had grown many times stronger through it.

Black magic potent enough to astonish even an 8th-circle mage, the Black Duke himself.

“It’s incredibly concentrated magic power, refined to an unbelievable degree.”

“Because I’m learning from the greatest master.”

Dale answered with feigned innocence. To the man who stood at the pinnacle of the Black Tower, the continent’s foremost dark mage.

“But like the knights of the ‘Death Order’ Father showed us…”

A Death Knight cannot be sustained without a sorcerer’s magical power supply.

“How do you do it?”

“It is still too soon for you to learn.”

The Dark Mage shook his head at Dale’s question.

“What I will teach you now is solely how to utilize necromancy on the battlefield.”

Based on the ‘Immortal Knight’ Dale resurrected from death, he explained the combat magic doctrine pursued by the Black Magic Tower.

“You should focus on training to prepare for the coming battle.”

Dale silently nodded at his father’s words. After nodding, the Duke of Saxony snapped his fingers.

Toward the Death Knights under Dale’s command, several goblin corpses in the workshop rose simultaneously.

Squelch, squelch!

Through the Dark Lord’s magic, they had been reborn as undead soldiers, bearing not a trace of their former selves. Combat machines existing solely to slaughter enemies.

Those very undead soldiers charged toward Dale’s Death Knights, pounding the ground in unison.

Surrounded on all sides by the surging tide of goblin undead soldiers, the Death Knight re-gripped his sword hilt. Re-gripped it, and danced a sword dance. The knight’s black blade whirled like a whirlwind, snapping the undead soldiers’ bone blades like twigs.

The shadows of the blade scattered.

Beautifully and elegantly. Not mere exaggerated formality, but an aesthetics of restraint born from thorough practicality. A blade that exists solely to take the enemy’s life.

“……!”

Witnessing that absurd swordsmanship, the Black Knight seemed startled, swallowing his breath in place.

Not all Death Knights are created equal. Just because a knight has been resurrected as an immortal warrior, or wields an aura blade, doesn’t mean their swordsmanship matches their skill in life.

Unless they employ advanced dark magic to manipulate the brain and restore memories from life… Controlling corpses is the domain of necromancers, and they certainly possess no expertise with the sword.

For that reason, the swords of Death Knights are usually crude and utterly clumsy.

Yet the swordplay that Dale is projecting as the Death Knight… it surpasses even the living Night Raven Knight’s skill by a vast margin.

‘How on earth?’

Black Knight was well aware that Dale never neglected his sword training. Yet, a sword technique this perfected was being projected by a mere mage, not even a knight?

‘The talent Lord Dale possesses with the sword is on a level I dare say is incomparable to anything I have ever experienced.’

Sir Helmut Blackbear’s words came to mind unbidden. Dale’s talent. Yes. In the end, it was talent once more.

‘What exactly is this child’s talent?’

No, could this even be called talent in the first place?

In swordsmanship, in magic, in wisdom and strategy.

The empire’s foremost genius, the prodigy of the duke’s house.

That was the son of the Black Duke, the ‘Black Prince’—Dale of Saxony.

“…Father?”

At that very moment, a voice calling his name reached him. Snapping out of his reverie, the Black Duke turned his head.

There stood Dale, silently gazing this way alongside the Death Knight he commanded. His son, beyond any doubt.

“Indeed, my son.”

Therefore, the Black Duke did not dwell on it further.

“I am truly proud of you.”

“It’s thanks to your teachings, Father.”

She simply smiled quietly at her son’s appearance, and Dale bowed his head in response.

No matter what anyone said, this child was unquestionably his own.

Hearing of his disciple’s remarkable growth, advancing by leaps and bounds day by day, and of his disciple’s great achievements resounding throughout the entire empire.

As a teacher, what greater joy could there be?

Yet the elf mage Sepia’s feelings as she watched Dale were exceedingly complex. Today, as she taught water elemental magic as usual, was no exception.

“Teacher Sepia?”

Sepia smiled softly at Dale’s expression as he cautiously looked at her.

“…It’s nothing.”

That day, when Dale took the tower’s exam and they stepped out together onto the night streets.

‘I like you, Teacher.’

She recalled Dale’s confession directed at her. Immediately after, Dale feigned the innocence of a child who knew nothing, but Sepia understood. No, she could feel it.

The bitter cold, the indescribable darkness, and the desire contained within the ‘world of Dale’ he had shown that day. It was unmistakably the desire of a man craving affection.

In the bone-chilling solitude, a yearning for a woman’s tender touch.

The moment she realized Dale’s feelings, a great turmoil began to rage within Sepia’s heart.

Like a pebble dropped into a lake.

Her student, who should have been just an 11-year-old child, seemed so worrying and vulnerable. And so utterly adorable.

Her heart burned hot.

“……”

After a moment’s thought, Sepia reached out her pale, slender hand. Toward the youthful cheek of the eleven-year-old child.

“Te-Teacher?”

Dale blushed with embarrassment at her touch.

“……An elf’s life is long.”

Sepia opened her mouth without a care. In her usual gentle, affectionate teacher’s voice.

“Even when you become a proper man someday…”

But with an allure that was utterly unlike her usual self.

“I will probably still be just as I am now.”

She couldn’t understand why she was going to such lengths for this child.

That day, when she heard the heroic tale of the ‘Black Prince’ achieving a great victory at the Black-White Tournament and annihilating all his enemies.

Moreover, when the people of the empire gossiped about the talents and notoriety of the Saxon House’s young eldest son.

Sepia could never rejoice purely.

Human history is a history of blood and war. A history of slaughter, of killing and being killed. In that regard, Dale’s talent could dare be called ‘the talent that moves the wheel of history’.

The god of mass slaughter.

Sepia was simply afraid of that fact. She did not want this child to walk such a path of slaughter.

“Until the future you awakens to your true feelings.”

The elf’s pale, slender hand reached out.

“I will be by your side.”

She stroked Dale’s cheek and smiled softly.

“Not as your teacher then, but simply as one woman.”

“……!”

Sepia said. Her cheeks flushed shyly, unlike her usual self.

“That’s why you’re not alone.”

Like a girl confessing her true feelings, as if she didn’t know what to do with herself from embarrassment. In a way, it wasn’t an incorrect statement.

Under Sepia’s affectionate touch, Dale simply kept his mouth shut and remained silent. The image of a mature woman he hadn’t consciously noticed until now. It was because he finally felt it in his bones—the truth that elves were a race of beauty.

Seeing Dale standing there in stunned silence immediately afterward…

“Huh, hmm.”

Sepia finally realized how embarrassing her words had been and forced a cough.

“Th-then, shall we continue the lesson…”

It was right then.

“Thank you.”

After the silence, Dale smiled. After smiling, he burrowed straight into Sepia’s embrace.

“……!”

Sepia gasped at that bold move, but soon accepted Dale with a smile.

“I really like you, Sepia.”

Dale said, burying his head in Sepia’s embrace.

“So please wait for me.”

“……Yeah.”

Surrendering to a warmth that made him forget even the bitter chill and loneliness within his heart.

It was a promise from childhood, one I could never forget.

That night.

Dale’s bedroom.

Sepia’s confession(?) was something even Dale hadn’t anticipated in the slightest.

That day, during the tower trial in Necropolis. Dale’s turmoil, his desire to escape the horizon of solitude… allowed Sepia to peer into ‘Dale’s world’.

That act caused a resonance between the two worlds as mages, and Dale’s emotions flowed directly into Sepia.

Dale’s world—a winter night’s landscape stained with bitter cold and darkness.

Coincidentally, the water attribute they both shared made it possible, and the ‘bitter cold and loneliness’ sweeping through Dale’s world engulfed Sepia’s world. After all, even a 6th-circle elf mage couldn’t easily maintain composure in such a situation.

It was an unthinkable immaturity, yet simultaneously, the warmth of being understood for the first time filled his chest.

Sitting cross-legged on the bed, Dale silently gazed out the castle’s glass window.

Three circles mobilized around his heart, and beyond them, pitch-black tentacles rooted between the circles and his heart.

He thought he had nothing to lose.

But now, he had things to protect and things he wanted to cherish.

‘I must become stronger.’

Therefore, there was no reason to hesitate. No matter what price he had to pay for that power.

Some time later.

Northern lords loyal to the Duke of Saxony began gathering in the duchy to confront the demon race’s great migration.

Small and medium-sized lords began gathering under the command of the Grand Duke of Saxony. Among them were nobles brimming with ambition and their sons, who were no exception.

It was an ambition to prove his existence by using the Duke of Saxony and the Black Prince.