Chapter 46

“Master…”

The knight lay before death, his body charred black.

“Neither I nor Saxon will ever forget your devotion.”

Dale quietly knelt and took his hand.

“Please… let me fulfill the duty of the Knight of the Night Crow even after my death…”

“I understand your meaning well.”

Dale nodded at the words, spoken with great effort. The knight’s breath grew faint amid the pain. Thus, one life burned brightly, and Dale quietly rose to his feet. Biting his lip until it bled.

Crackle.

Sparks scattered in all directions. Scattered haphazardly everywhere, fragments of people whose forms were unrecognizable.

To Dale, it was an all-too-familiar ‘battlefield landscape’.

“One hundred ninety-three knights were caught in the explosion and perished.”

Beside Dale, Lord Baskerville calmly reports the casualties.

“All knights of the Ogre Knight rank are safe, save for some minor burns.”

“……”

Hearing Lord Vale’s words, Dale remained silent. He turned his head.

“……Dale.”

Sepia stood there, looking at him with concern. He turned his head again.

Dale’s father, the Black Count, was also there.

The continent’s foremost dark mage, who had disposed of the remaining Purifiers with a single gesture, denying them ‘death’.

“Recover the knights’ bodies and remains.”

“Understood, Your Highness.”

He assesses the situation dispassionately and issues orders in a businesslike manner. To the dark mages who have gathered around him.

“Eris.”

“Yes, Tower Lord.”

“Move ‘that thing’ to the Necropolis Tower.”

Pointing at the writhing mass of flesh, the black-robed figure continued.

“Once moved, extract every detail they know.”

“I shall obey the Tower Lord’s command.”

Eris, the Black Tower Lord’s secretary and the Black Proxy, nodded silently.

After issuing the remaining orders that needed to be conveyed, the Black Lord began to walk.

“Dale.”

“Father.”

Dale answered, struggling to maintain his composure.

“The damage is quite severe.”

Even though the Purifiers of the Crimson Magic Tower failed to fulfill ‘their purpose,’ in a sense, this is Dale’s first bitter defeat and loss.

“Are you blaming yourself as a commander?”

“I drove the Saxon knights into a death trap.”

Dale answered.

“…I should have withdrawn the knights from the start.”

Dale clenched his jaw again as he continued, as if their deaths were his responsibility.

“Did you and Lady Sepia intend to face hundreds of Orc riders and twelve Purifiers alone?”

The Black Knight retorted.

No matter how exceptional Dale and Sepia are as mages, the world of mages is no different from that of knights.

Unless one is an extraordinary being like the Black Mage or a ‘Hero of Another World,’ the power of numerical superiority is absolute. And these opponents were none other than the ‘Knights of the Crimson Tower,’ who existed solely for combat.

Because he was not yet strong enough to overcome that difference, he failed to protect the Saxon knights.

It was the first time he felt powerless since being born the eldest son of the Saxon family.

His own weakness, his failure to become an ‘extraordinary being’.

“Don’t blame yourself too much.”

The black orb opened its mouth.

“It’s not your fault.”

Before the tender kindness of a father encouraging his son.

“…….”

Dale did not answer. He merely spun the three circles, along with the pitch-black tentacles rooted in his heart.

Infusing ‘Black Magic’ into one fallen Knight of the Night Crow there.

“The Saxon knights……”

Black magic surged through the knight’s body, and the dead man who should have remained lifeless rose.

“He left behind a request to be allowed to fulfill ‘his duty’ even after death.”

Those who seek to fulfill their duty as knights, whether in life or in death. That is the Night Raven Knights, loyal to the House of Saxony.

“And the battle is not yet over.”

Thus, Dale spoke. With unwavering resolve, he stood flanked by the Death Knight, whose aura blade shrouded in pitch-black aura.

“Please allow the Saxon knights to fulfill their duty.”

Toward the front lines beyond, where fierce fighting rages even now. His voice held not a shred of emotion.

For the people of the North, the dead rising was never a source of fear. No, in a sense, it was the most reliable guarantee of victory.

Thus, when the dead began rising from their graves, indiscriminately tearing into the endless waves of orcs, the morale of the Northern army was beyond compare.

For at last, it was proof that the ‘God of Death’ was wielding his power on their behalf.

The tide of battle was rapidly turning.

At most crossing points, the defense succeeded without incident, and following the victory, the advance began to sweep across the rapids and annihilate the enemy.

But the orcs never cease their resistance until the very last one falls.

“GAAAAAAH!”

The Orc Warlord swung his massive double-bladed axe, and the steel armor crumpled like paper. He was the very embodiment of a berserker, without the slightest hint of deficiency.

Whoosh!

Soldiers fell like leaves before the slashing blows, and no one dared approach recklessly.

Monstrous destructive power befitting a giant several meters tall. The steel axe swung endlessly, and each time, unrecognizable chunks of flesh were scattered.

Men were swept away like fallen leaves.

Drenched in spilling blood and entrails, the Orc Warlord roared once more. The elite Orc soldiers guarding his side raised their shouts in defiance.

The battle was rapidly drawing to a close. Yet, putting an end to the orcs, who burned with a desperate fighting spirit, proved far more difficult than anticipated.

“Fall back.”

Thus, the knight in black armor stepped forward through the hesitant soldiers deploying their encircling formation.

“I will deal with them.”

It was Sir Helmut Blackbear, the Mad Sword.

And just as Sir Helmut drew his beloved sword… ‘Madness’… from his waist.

“──Sir Helmut.”

An unexpected voice rang out.

“Prince Dale?”

Lord Helmut turned his head and gasped. Dale was there.

Accompanied by the Death Knights wielding Saxony’s Black Swords.

“Stand down.”

Dale said.

“Defeating them is the task for me and my knights.”

His shadow cloak fluttered along the ground beneath his feet. His expression showed not a hint of hesitation.

“My lord!”

At that sight, Sir Helmut momentarily held his breath. After swallowing, he sheathed his sword once more.

“…Understood.”

His trust in Dale of Saxony was far from ordinary.

Lord Helmut silently withdrew his step. Then, raising his head toward the orc warboss burning with fighting spirit, Dale declared.

“Swords of the House of Saxony.”

Alongside the Death Knights he commanded.

“Fulfill your duty.”

Wrapped in pitch-black aura blades, the Death Knights led by Dale stamped the ground. They unleashed the martial might channeled through their black blades to their fullest.

“What on earth is that…!”

Seeing this, Lord Helmut cried out in horror.

The sword dance performed by Dale’s Death Knights was not that of mere amateurish black mages.

It was a sword dance akin to that of a swordsman possessing a high level of skill, displaying their own sword techniques.

The sword of a Death Knight ultimately stems from the control of a necromancer, and needless to say, an ordinary necromancer could never possess any skill with the sword. For this reason, the swordsmanship displayed by a Death Knight is usually crude and utterly clumsy.

But the Death Knights under Dale’s command were different. They were different in the most extraordinary way.

They displayed absurd swordplay and techniques that surpassed the skill they possessed in life. Before that sword dance, the axes of the orcs, a race called warriors, sliced feebly through the air.

Like flowing water, Saxon’s black blade parried the orcs’ axes and swung. The starved sword thirsted for the enemies’ blood.

Thwack!

Orc blood splatters everywhere. A one-sided slaughter unfolds. It was almost too horrific to believe.

‘I knew Prince Dale’s swordsmanship was no ordinary talent.’

But this wasn’t even on the level of mere sword talent.

‘But what on earth is that absurd swordplay?!’

That was beyond the realm of mere talent. The sword techniques displayed by Dale’s Death Knights. That sword was already a ‘sword perfected’.

Lord Helmut of the Light Sword could scarcely even imagine such a thing.

What unfolds at the tip of their blades is none other than the very ‘Sword of the Hero’ that once subdued the continent.

Before it, the resistance of a mere band of orcs held no meaning whatsoever. It was nothing but futile struggle.

“Gaaaah!”

As warriors of their race, they made their final desperate stand, resolved to fight to the death. Yet their fighting spirit and roars never reached the Knights of Death. Only slaughter ensued.

The black sword swung, and with each swing, the bodies of elite orc soldiers piled up one by one.

Right then, amidst the one-sided slaughter, the Orc Warlord swung his double-bladed axe.

Kwaaang!

With a shock that seemed to make the earth tremble, the flesh and bone of a single Death Knight finally shattered and fell.

The name ‘Orc Warboss’ was no empty title. Leader of the orc horde, fighting desperately to survive the demonic migration.

Seeing this, Dale snapped his fingers.

The knights’ black swords halted simultaneously. Having driven back the immortal knights, the ‘Black Prince’ stepped forward among them.

His shadow cloak, disguised as a black surcoat, fluttered as he moved to end this battle with his own hand.

“Ho, Prince!”

One knight raised his voice in bewilderment at Dale’s appearance.

“There’s no need to worry.”

But Sir Helmut Blackbear quietly stretched out his arm to restrain his subordinate.

Seeing the sword Dale displayed through his ‘Death Knight’, he realized. What he was showing now was 100% raw power, with no regard for his opponent.

Therefore, as the empire’s foremost genius, the sight of the ‘Black Prince’ he was about to display was so eagerly anticipated it was unbearable. Even if that opponent was an Orc Warlord who could easily trample a few Saxon knights underfoot.

The Orc Warlord repositioned his steel axe. Instinctively, he understood the intimidating presence Dale carried.

Dale, too, generated a blade of darkness along the shadow cloak.

A brief standoff ensued.

At the end of the standoff, the wind howled. It was a biting cold wind, cold enough to chill the bones.