Chapter 47

Elizabeth, the noble lady of the Imperial Capital, was an exceptionally fortunate woman.

None other than the Blood-Red Duke… the Marquis of Yuris had secretly invited her!

One of the Empire’s Five Heroes, including the Hero of Another World and the Holy Knight, and renowned throughout the Empire for his most striking good looks. Few women could resist such a man’s advances.

After all, Marquis Yuris was the very embodiment of the prince charming that countless ladies of the imperial capital longed for.

In the ecstasy of feeling as if the prince himself had come to meet her on a white horse, Elizabeth accepted the secret rendezvous with Marquis Yuris without hesitation.

In the deep, starless dawn, alone with no one else.

The wind blew.

In the biting wind that chilled her to the bone, Dale moved forward.

Gripping Saxony’s Black Sword, leaving the silent Death Knights behind Dale’s back.

A one-on-one duel fought solely between the two of them. It was, in essence, the final showdown that would bring this battle to a close.

“GAAAAAAH!”

The Orc Warlord roared and slammed his foot into the ground.

Swoosh!

The double-bladed axe in his hand swung, spraying blood and brain matter in all directions.

‘It possesses both weight and speed.’

Unbelievably powerful, unbelievably fast. Strength built solely from the warrior’s innate physique, not relying on magic or aura.

Dale effortlessly manipulated the cold air currents to form a shield of ice.

Clang!

The axe shattered his ice wall, unleashing a burst of shards that exploded outward.

Shard Magnum. Yet, before the swirling ice shards that became blades, the Orc Warboss showed not a hint of hesitation in his movements.

‘……!’

The freezing magic offered not a shred of resistance as the distance closed.

A recklessness beyond even Dale’s expectations.

He quickly lowered his stance, darting toward the Orc Warboss in a crisscrossing motion. His goal was to dive into the axe’s range, dodge the attack, exploit the opening, and drive a single strike home.

The razor-sharp axe blade and Dale’s body narrowly missed each other. A single vein was sliced along his cheek.

Shadow blades revolving around Dale simultaneously surged toward the Orc Warlord. Dozens of swords made of darkness, without lifting a finger.

A sword of darkness swung from within the Orc Warboss’s embrace. After the swing, the shadow blades shattered like glass and scattered in all directions.

They had become ‘Shadow Bullets,’ meticulously refined. The scattered bullets were fired simultaneously.

Sword and magic, or perhaps sword and gun, one might call it.

Two attacks flowed together seamlessly, and the living darkness of malice plunged toward the Orc Warboss.

Swoosh!

The sword of darkness tore his flesh apart, and shadow bullets embedded themselves deep within the wounds.

‘It’s sunk in.’

Ignoring the blood streaming from his wounds, the Orc Warboss roared once more.

It was no ordinary roar. It was a cry imbued with the fighting spirit that refused to kneel until the very end, and the pride of a warrior.

「Kiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii

The roar that seemed to tear the heavens and earth apart sent the ‘shadows’ writhing within the Orc Warboss’s body into a panic. Terrified, they retreated as if fleeing, returning toward Dale’s ‘Shadow Cloak’.

Leaving the huddled shadows behind in the shadows beneath his feet, Dale clicked his tongue.

The Orc Warlord possessed no trace of reason left.

Rage.

‘Here it comes.’

Burning with life, the Orc Warboss charged. With each swing of the axe blade, the extinction of life, burning away, could be felt.

‘Fast.’

Swinging, swinging, swinging again. Narrowly evading the endless barrage of attacks, Dale focused his consciousness.

Before the Orc Warboss’s arena, leaving behind the cowering shadows at his feet, frozen in fear.

Three circles began accelerating endlessly, accelerating again and again.

300 rpm, 1,000 rpm, 2,000 rpm… like the RPM of a motorcycle skyrocketing.

Moreover, the ‘source of magic power’ Dale possessed was not just that.

A tentacle wedged between his heart and the circles, deeply rooted. Another source of darkness within Dale.

『The Black Goat’s Book』.

Dark magic processed and refined from two ‘black sources’.

The absurdly high concentration of black magic power, processed with all of Dale’s might, seeped into the terrified shadow cloak.

Dale recalled the shadow cloak’s power demonstrated by the high-ranking demon he had once defeated, the artifact’s former owner. The shadows writhing at his feet were not mere pyramids like these.

‘Still insufficient.’

Dale steeled his resolve, lashing out at the feeble swarm of shadows writhing at his feet. Whipping the dark magic like a whip.

‘I must become more cruel, more wicked, more terrifying.’

That day, to show the true reason why Dale had donned the dark artifact, the Shadow Cloak, without a moment’s hesitation.

It was right then.

─ Shall I help you?

A voice echoed. From within Dale’s heart, whispering toward him.

It was a girl’s voice.

‘It’s not your time to step forward yet.’

Dale shook his head. He thought of the tentacles writhing beneath the hem of her dress.

Relying on her power in front of the Black Duke, Lord Helmut, and everyone from the North watching would be far too risky.

‘……!’

At Dale’s refusal, he felt a sensation as if tentacles were squeezing his heart. Of all times. Imagining the worst—that she might go berserk at any moment—Dale steeled himself.

It was right then.

─ I like your world, oppa.

The Book of the Black Goat answered.

─ I’ll never do anything you hate.

As if to say, don’t worry.

─ So, play with me however you like.

With a cruelty so innocent it borders on cruel, yet the voice of a girl pure as snow, untouched by a speck of dust, is heard.

Whoosh!

「Kiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii

At the same time, the shadow beneath his feet began to scream.

It was not the roar of a warrior filled with fighting spirit, like that of an orc warboss.

It was simply the most horrifying scream imaginable.

Sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

Simultaneously, the shadow began spreading out from beneath Dale’s feet. And it was no mere shadow.

It was a wave of darkness engulfing the entire area beneath his feet.

A lake of darkness spread out beneath Dale and the Orc Warboss, flooding the area like a deluge.

The sound of gasps echoed from all around.

“M-My lord…!”

“What on earth is that?!”

Not even the Duke of Saxony or Lord Helmut were exceptions. How much more so for the others—the horror revealed by Dale’s appearance was beyond words.

Not even the elders of the Black Magic Tower were spared.

Upon the undulating lake of darkness, the Orc Warboss stomped the ground. Yet Dale watched the opponent’s charge without so much as a flicker. Aware of the ‘Realm of Darkness’ unfolding beneath his feet.

‘This is my domain.’

He swung his hand.

Swoosh!

Beneath the lake of darkness, after a silence, the ‘Lurker’ began to raise its head.

Breaking the gently rippling waves of shadow.

Something sprang forth.

It wasn’t in the shape of a sword, magic, or even a bullet. It was simply a sharp, pointed tentacle, like a thorn.

Shadow Lurker.

The shadow lurker. A creature of darkness that lurks in the shadows, waiting to pounce on its prey.

And the lake of darkness Dale had spread was precisely the ‘habitat of the Shadow Lurkers’.

The ability of the Shadow Cloak, its third form. A shadow creature.

Countless spiked tentacles erupted from the ‘Shadow Lurkers’, plunging towards the Orc Warboss. They pierced the Orc Warboss’s fleshy body, easily bypassing his steel armor, as effortlessly as a fork piercing tender steak.

“Gaaaah-!”

There was nowhere for the Orc Warlord to flee. He couldn’t even move. No matter how much he struggled and fought, he couldn’t escape the spiked tentacles of the Shadow Lurker rising up from all sides.

Right here, upon the Lake of Darkness.

Squish! Squish!

Shadow tentacles plunged down endlessly. Simultaneously with the struggle, a double-bladed axe swung toward Dale.

With the axe blade swinging right before his eyes, Dale remained utterly still, maintaining his silence.

With the double-edged axe swinging right before his eyes, the tentacles of darkness surged forth once more, pinning the Orc Warboss’s arms. They bound his arms, bound his legs, bound his torso and shoulders. After binding him, they thrust in their razor-sharp spiked tentacles.

Like a grotesque objet d’art, countless tentacles tore into and seized the Orc Warboss.

Green blood spattered everywhere.

Through the gaping wounds pierced by the Shadow Stalkers’ barbed tentacles, intestines spilled out in a steady stream.

Dale stared at the Orc Warboss with an expressionless face.

The roar had long since ceased to echo. Only a hollow sound, like air escaping, reverberated.

The Orc Warboss stared at Dale, utterly drained of strength.

The Great Migration of the Demon Race.

To survive, he led his pack out of the Demon King’s Domain, crossed the White Mountains… and right here, at the upper reaches of the Saxon River, his struggle for survival finally came to an end. Along with his kin.

The final destination of their journey.

The Orc horde was defeated not because they were evil, but simply because they lacked strength.

The strong do not survive. From the start, the weak cannot survive.

Survival of the fittest. That is the law of this world.

Long ago, the Demon King, the Divine Sword, and even my past self ultimately perished because they lacked power. The Orc Warlord can be no exception.

Leaving behind an inexplicable bitterness, he turns his head.

Amidst the scattered corpses of the orc horde, he saw countless warriors of the North gazing at Dale.

Northern nobles and knights who had just witnessed the battle, and the Saxon family.

Silence fell.

In the face of Dale’s overwhelming force, no one dared utter a sound.

Swoosh!

At that very moment, Dale’s Death Knights, who had just slaughtered the elite orc soldiers, simultaneously dropped to their knees. They thrust the black swords they held vertically into the ground.

Thud!

Simultaneously, the nobles and knights of the region began kneeling one after another. They too thrust their swords into the ground.

“The Young Master has defeated the Orc Warlord!”

“The Black Prince has won!”

“Prince Dale has won!”

“Waaaaah!”

As if the silence just moments before had been a lie, a deafening roar of victory, loud enough to split the ears, resounded throughout the area.

A new reverence was added to the infamy and terror associated with the name ‘Black Prince’.

As the northern guardian who defeated the leader of the orc hordes against the demonic migration, and furthermore, as the most legitimate heir to the House of Saxony.

Thus, the battle ended.