Episode 238
How long had he waited for this day? It felt almost unreal. The moment had finally come to face the man standing before him.
Yet, there he was.
Dale’s father, the Duke of Saxon, the pinnacle of the Black Tower, and the continent’s greatest dark sorcerer.
The man known as the Black Duke.
Dale’s two hearts raced. Seven circles of magic, along with their shadow circles, spun within him.
In response, the man accelerated eight circles.
Beneath their feet, the purest darkness began to swirl like a vortex.
At that moment, the Mother of Death and Ancient Darkness revealed herself.
There was no truth left to hide. Dale hesitated no longer.
His magical circles and aura heart exploded, and the armor of the Night Raven Knight enveloped his body.
The warrior hidden beneath the armor silently raised his head.
He understood now. This armor was a part of him, just as the Night Raven Knights had pledged their lives to the Saxon family. Dale embodied their loyalty.
“Give it your all,” the man said.
“I cannot,” Dale replied, shaking his head.
“Are you holding back?”
“I am only challenging you to claim the title of ‘Master of the Black Tower.’”
Dale’s voice was steady. As he spoke, the warrior’s avatar vanished, and the armor of the Abyss enveloped him.
“Proving I’m stronger than you and proving I’m the continent’s greatest dark sorcerer are two different things.”
The Black Duke chuckled, seemingly amused. His aura heart was silent, but his heart and shadows accelerated further.
“Indeed, they are.”
Dale glanced around.
Countless bones and weapons were piled high like mountains.
Two skeletons, each gripping a sword, charged simultaneously.
Clang!
The skeletons controlled by Dale and the Black Duke clashed, as if they were champions of their respective dark sorcerers.
“If I defeat you and stand at the top of this tower, what will you do then?” Dale asked.
“Do you think you’ve already reached the top of the tower?” the Black Duke replied with a quiet smile. But while they conversed calmly, the battle between their controlled undead was anything but.
Crash!
Dale’s skeleton, infused with black aura, shattered the Black Duke’s skeleton.
Simultaneously, the world of the two dark sorcerers enveloped the chamber of the Black Tower.
A land filled with the black and white of a winter night and the twilight of dusk.
Beside the Black Duke, ‘Death’ struck the ground with a staff.
A swarm of crows, embodying death, surged forth, covering the fading sunset.
In response, Dale’s shadow circles spun, scattering darkness. Through the veil of darkness, birds took flight, scattering feathers.
Crows.
But they were pure white, like snow.
The flock of white crows clashed with the Black Duke’s night crows.
Amidst the aerial battle, Dale lowered his head.
The distance between them was growing. And between the father and son, the army of death filled the space.
An army of undead, built on ideology.
The undead armies clashed from horizon to horizon, and the war began.
Arms were severed, necks cut, entrails spilled, bones shattered, and flesh splintered, yet they never stopped.
The undead army clashed endlessly, forming literal mountains of corpses.
There was a mountain of bodies, but no sea of blood.
There was no sound.
No screams of the wounded, no cries of the dying, no shouts of battle.
Only the sound of metal clashing in the chilling silence.
It was the quietest war in the world.
Dale raised his head.
Under the dark night sky, devoid of starlight, the dead continued their fight.
There were no living souls there. No patriots, no religious zealots, no one proclaiming their mission.
The dead, with flesh falling away, entrails spilling, and bones exposed.
Silence persisted.
In the eerie silence, only the faint sound of weapons clashing echoed.
The Duke of Saxon lifted his head.
Dusk settled beyond the horizon.
The crimson sunlight illuminated the tireless army of the dead.
It was a living hell where even death was not permitted.
No one could rest.
They were soldiers, endlessly wielding their weapons, following the lead of their deathly king.
To continue the endless battle until the end of the world.
The two dark sorcerers, masters of night and twilight, clashed, and the war finally reached its conclusion.
Knights of darkness marched silently, heralding victory.
The man who had lost all his soldiers stood in silence.
At that moment, the knights of darkness surrounding him began to part, like the sea splitting, as if performing a ceremonial march.
Through the opening, the Shadow Lord walked forward.
A conqueror claiming victory before the defeated general who had lost his entire army.
“I have won,” Dale declared.
“You’ve only won a single battle,” the Black Duke replied with a quiet smile.
“And the war is not over yet.”
The man extended his arm, and darkness surged.
As if everything before had been mere child’s play.
A storm of darkness engulfed the area.
Death descended like feathers.
The god of death, with black wings unfurled, was there.
Those who should not have died finally met their end, leaving only the defeated general and the conqueror.
“When this war ends, what will you do?” Dale asked.
The man chuckled bitterly.
“I haven’t thought about it.”
“I am ready,” Dale said.
“Please, let me inherit the burden you carry.”
“Then take it if you can,” the Black Duke replied calmly. Six black wings unfurled, scattering jet-black feathers.
At the same time, Dale’s body froze.
He collapsed, as if struck by a heart attack, his lifeless body falling to the ground.
But the flock of white crows rising from Dale’s shadow was different.
The ability to manipulate the very concept of death.
Just as the Crimson Duke wielded ‘history,’ the five sorcerers at the pinnacle of the Five Towers possessed powers befitting their status.
And the power Elena, the Blue Tower Master, had given Dale could not be used here.
This was not just about strength; it was about proving his right to stand at the top of the Black Tower.
Yet, for Dale, ‘death’ was no longer an unfathomable concept.
The world was born from darkness and would return to it upon death.
Beside Dale was the Mother of Ancient Darkness.
The pure white crows soared, and from their shadows, Dale emerged.
He looked down at his fallen body.
“No one can escape death,” he said.
The fallen Dale melted into the other Dale standing above him.
“But in the race between life and death, life has always been faster.”
“Interesting,” the Black Duke said with a pleased smile.
“I can outrun your death,” Dale continued.
Once more, ‘Death’ beside the Black Duke struck the ground with a staff, and crow feathers rained down like arrows.
But the darkness cast by the Mother of Ancient Darkness swallowed the falling feathers.
That darkness held the potential for anything, the possibility of creation.
“You’ve found something that even death cannot kill,” the Black Duke finally understood, nodding.
Under the blessing of the Mother of Ancient Darkness, the Shadow Lord took a step forward.
Each time, the death the Black Duke unleashed descended upon Dale, but it could no longer kill him.
That was the power within Dale’s shadow, as the Shadow Lord, and as one with the Mother of Ancient Darkness.
For what has not yet been born cannot be killed.
That was the potential for creation, the true essence of Dale’s shadow and darkness.
“Unborn, it cannot be killed. Yet within that darkness lies the potential to become anything.”
Bringing the empire of shadows into this world was never about returning it to nothingness.
“I’ve spent my entire life searching for the truth.”
As he spoke, his father, the Black Duke, knelt before him.
“Something that even death cannot kill, something that remains unyielding in the face of death.”
”…”
“That very thing stands before me now.”
The Black Duke spoke, and Dale smiled quietly.
“I will establish the empire of shadows on this land.”
Not a false golden empire, but a world that is nothing and yet holds the potential to become anything.
“Thank you for your efforts, Father.”
With those words, Dale extended his hand, and the kneeling Black Duke grasped it.
“Alan of Saxon.”
Holding his son’s hand, the father spoke with a voice filled with pride, satisfaction, and solemnity.
“I humbly greet the pinnacle of our Black Tower, the Duke of Darkness.”
The Imperial Council was convened, and at the empire’s request, the ‘Duke of Saxon and the eldest son of the ducal family’ attended.
However, the man once known as the Black Duke had only ever guarded his domain.
He was no longer the continent’s greatest dark sorcerer, the pinnacle of the Black Tower, nor even the head of the Saxon duchy.
Thus, he was not in violation of the emperor’s decree.
It was time for the new head of the Saxon ducal family and the pinnacle of the Black Tower, the Duke of Darkness, to reveal himself to the world.