Chapter 43

A river is, in itself, an indisputable natural fortress.

Attempting a forced river crossing to breach enemy defenses across the river traps large numbers of troops in narrow fords, creating bottlenecks. Breaking through opponents entrenched in defensive positions becomes even more difficult when the currents surge beneath their feet. Therefore, the main force of the Black Army solidified its strategy by securing several key fords along the Saxon River.

The enemies had already fought a fierce war of attrition against the mountain fortress’s garrison to reach this point. With their supplies depleted to the extreme, they had no choice but to attempt a forced breakthrough, even if it meant swallowing their pride.

With a thunderous roar that seemed to split the heavens, the Orcs’ charge began.

The Orc Riders, the most brutal elite under the Orc Warlord, charged across the river.

“Do not let those monsters set foot on land!”

“Archers, aim!”

Beyond the ford, Saxon knights fortifying their defenses raised their voices. Dismounting, they formed defensive formations to withstand the impact of the orc cavalry.

Axes and shields clashed as heavily-armored infantry loyal to the Saxon House collided with the orcs riding wolves.

Steel met steel, and the sound of iron tearing flesh and slaughtering echoed.

At most fords, the advance of the orcs was successfully halted without great difficulty. However, at several crossing points where the quality of the troops or soldiers was relatively lacking, some orc riders succeeded in crossing.

The most formidable Orc elite troops land on the shore, and as they clear a path, the subsequent forces’ crossing gains momentum.

The tide of battle turned in an instant. The soldiers’ morale rapidly sank, and before long, the rapidly swelling orc horde began to overwhelm them.

It was precisely at that moment that the mobile strike force commanded by the Saxon House’s ‘Black Prince’ appeared.

Not from behind our own forces under siege, but from behind the enemy themselves—the orc horde attempting to ford the river, right on the enemy’s flanks. Precisely sniping the enemy’s rear guard, whose center of gravity is desperately shifted forward as they struggle to cross the river.

“Charge.”

“Your command is obeyed, my lord!”

At Dale’s command, Lord Baskerville’s Veil raised his voice.

“Charge!”

“For the House of Saxon!”

“For Lord Dale!”

Dale’s six cavalry regiments, Saxony’s famed ‘Black Cavalry,’ spurred their warhorses into action. The Saxon ducal standard-bearers, following their encircling maneuver, struck the rear of the defenseless orc force.

The slaughter began.

“It’s Prince Dale!”

“The Black Prince has appeared!”

“The Saxon House’s ‘Black Cavalry’ is striking the enemy’s rear!”

He is with the very son of the Black Prince, the Black Prince himself!

He reigns as an object of endless terror to the enemy, yet his notoriety is the most reliable assurance to his allies.

Truly, it can be called the positive function of fear.

“Prince Dale is fighting for us!”

“The Black Prince’s cavalry is slaughtering the enemy!”

“The enemies on this flank are isolated! Do not break the defensive formation! Join the Prince’s cavalry and tighten the encirclement!”

Simply by existing, they lifted the soldiers’ morale and became the masterstroke that turned the unfavorable battle situation upside down.

Six cavalry battalions.

Though their numbers were but a mere three hundred, the enemy forces were heavily concentrated toward the river.

Turning such a large force required an unimaginable toll, and Dale’s cavalry, striking precisely at that point, drove their shock force into the enemy’s weak spot.

Dale, commanding the cavalry, was no exception. After Sir Bale’s cavalry completed the first charge and withdrew, Dale appeared in the second wave, deployed in succession.

On horseback, he fluttered the shadow cloak camouflaging him within his black surcoat.

“Shadow Bullet.”

Simultaneously with the charge, countless shadow bullets rained down upon the orc horde.

A hail of bullets writhing with living malice. Against such firepower, akin to a machine gun unleashed, even the flesh of the orcs, thick as leather armor, proved utterly meaningless.

For the supreme commander to lead from the front is an act that carries considerable risk.

But the reward was certain.

“Prince Dale is with us!”

“Show them no mercy!”

Unquestionable trust. An act that ignited the loyalty of the Saxon knights.

The Saxon Knights of the Night Raven, standing in formation alongside Dale, thrust their cavalry lances downward with a frenzied, almost mad determination.

Meanwhile, Charlotte, flanking the ‘Black Prince,’ swung the Saxon House’s heavy sword from her horse.

Black sword shadows scattered in all directions, and black blades coiled around the orcs’ bodies.

Splatter!

Arms, legs, necks, and shoulders fell away like Lego pieces.

“Leave it to me!”

Charlotte, her face hidden by a black helmet, shouted.

“Dale, if we delay any longer, the orc forces will turn their formation.”

After a moment, Sepia calmly added, and Dale quietly nodded.

“We’ll break out before the enemy begins their encirclement maneuver.”

Beyond the shore, allies whose morale had risen upon witnessing their actions were driving back the enemy. They shouted Dale’s name, praised the Saxon House’s Black Cavalry, and refused to abandon hope of victory.

At most of the other fords, where defenses were relatively solid, the enemy’s attempts to cross were being successfully repelled. There weren’t many places Dale needed to worry about. Just a few fords, manned by relatively weak forces and lesser lords.

“The orc riders are turning their horses!”

It was at that very moment. At his subordinate’s warning, Dale nodded.

“Retreat.”

Hit and run.

There was no need to achieve an overwhelming victory in battle. There was no need to annihilate the enemy entirely. Thus, Dale’s mobile strike force accomplished their objective and turned their horses around without a moment’s hesitation.

Leaving behind the endless sea of blood and corpses of Orcs stretching out before them.

The Orc horsemen’s pursuit force closed in, and up to that point, it was within the expected range.

There was no reason for us to refuse to scatter the enemy cavalry force, and even if we allowed pursuit, we were confident we could repel them without difficulty.

Dale steadily increased the distance, observing the orc horsemen pursuing them.

He intended to lure the enemy beyond the reach of their reinforcements, then immediately turn his cavalry around to wipe them out.

But the ‘unexpected ambush’ revealed itself right there.

“Horses…?”

It wasn’t a giant wolf. After glancing at the pursuing force, Dale momentarily doubted his own eyes.

Orcs rarely ride horses. Yet among the ‘Orc Riders’ pursuing them, several demonic beings were mounted. And they were wrapped in suspicious-looking robes.

Demon race is a general term for monsters possessing a certain level of intelligence; it does not necessarily refer to orcs alone. Even if the majority of their forces were composed of orcs, it would not be unusual for a few other demon races to be mixed in.

Yet, atop the galloping horses, the shadowy figures cloaked in robes stretched out their arms.

The crimson magic rippling from their arms was never that of another.

It was human.

“Dale! Watch out!”

“……!”

Sepia, who had maintained composure throughout, finally broke her calm and raised her voice. Dale understood the meaning behind it.

From the fingertips of Sepia, a 6th Circle elf mage, blue magic power surged forth. Magic was deeply influenced by the surrounding climate, and in that regard, the frozen lands of the Saxon family provided a tremendous blessing to Sepia’s magic.

Kwoong!

Yet even considering that fact, the wall of ice Sepia erected far surpassed anything imaginable.

A wall of ice shot up, separating Dale’s cavalry from the enemy.

But what followed, the ‘fruit of crimson magic’ plunging toward Sepia’s ice wall, was even more horrifying.

Flames surged forth. These were no ordinary flames. It was a combined incantation, the power of not one but many mages united.

It was the flames of hell.

Enough firepower to melt a water-attribute 6th-circle mage’s ice wall like ice cream, leaving residual heat to rain down upon them.

“Aaaah!”

Amid the swirling remnants of flames, several of Saxony’s proud Night Raven Knights were consumed whole. The cold of Saxony’s frozen land seemed utterly insignificant by comparison. Before anyone could react, not even corpses remained—not even fragments of bone.

Only a few handfuls of ashes scattered futilely.

One vanishing.

“Surely not…”

Dale’s expression froze coldly.

“Turn your horses around! Spread out immediately! Do not stop moving, and do not gather together!”

Without a moment’s hesitation, he issued precise orders.

“──We are currently facing enemy Pyromancers!”

Just as the mages of the Black Tower are called Necromancers. Just as the White Tower’s Clerics are.

The name given to the mages of the Red Tower.

There was no time to ponder why a mage from the Red Tower was here. Nor why he was with the demon race.

Nevertheless, if his prediction was correct, one who could wield flame magic with such precision from horseback was no ‘ordinary mage’ among the enemy mages.

Mages are never trained with the premise of excelling on the battlefield.

Even high-ranking mages often find themselves outmatched and defeated by ordinary knights.

However, the horsemanship they display—even the precise mounted shooting once demonstrated by Dale—is not the skill of practitioners honing their magic.

They are beings who, from the very beginning, have thoroughly honed their magic with the sole purpose of standing on the battlefield.

“Be careful. They’re the ‘Purifiers’ of the Enemy Tower.”

Sepia answered as if reading Dale’s thoughts. The title of Elder of the Blue Magic Tower, a 6th-circle elf mage, was by no means an empty one.

Purifiers.

Combat mages trained solely to incinerate the enemies of the Empire and the Red Magic Tower, and to enforce their spirit of the times.

Those very Purifiers, mingled among the demon forces, were targeting Dale’s cavalry.

Dale’s cavalry? The main force commanded by the Duke of Saxony?

──No. After considering that far, Dale realized.

“They’re targeting Prince Dale!”

Barkerville’s Lord Veil raised his voice urgently.

“I won’t let that happen.”

Charlotte sharpened the aura blade of the Black Sword and repositioned her grip on the hilt.

“Don’t worry, Dale.”

Sepia, the water-elemental 6th-circle elf mage and elder of the Blue Tower, spoke.

“Allow me to fulfill my duty as your teacher.”

Six circles began rotating around his heart, unleashing ‘blue magic power’.

Dale wasn’t the only one fighting. Thus, the shadow cloak disguised as a black sercoat began fluttering wildly. Following the shadows beneath his feet, it wove countless shadow bullets.

Nothing changed. There was an enemy, and he would defeat it. Even if that opponent was the Crimson Magic Tower, it would make no difference. No, could he even wish for more than this?

Now, Dale was facing his true enemy in the truest sense.

The Empire—the name of his unforgettable enemy.