Episode 32
When he came to his senses, he realized he had been defeated.
For Philip of Brandenburg, that statement was no lie.
By the time he joined the fray, the right-wing cavalry had already been crushed, and both Sir Milvas and the Aura Knights had fallen. Baron Percer’s left flank had long been breached, and the enemy cavalry, having broken both wings, easily encircled the main force.
The black cavalry surrounding them was closing in from all sides.
In contrast, the Knights of St. Magdalena had lost their core strength and their morale was shattered. There was no need to witness their inevitable end. Soldiers were pierced and killed, trampled in retreat, and crushed underfoot, with blood and entrails scattered everywhere. Death was omnipresent.
“Ah, ah…”
Even the wisest become fools on the battlefield. How much more foolish would those who are already dull appear in such a place?
The suffocating fear of defeat, the scorn of others, the cold gaze of his father that would soon be upon him, and most haunting of all… the mocking eyes of Dale looking down on him, refused to leave his mind.
“Prince Philip! Please, make a decision!”
In his anxiety, Philip bit his lip.
”…Shatter.”
Philip muttered as he made his decision.
“What, what did you say?!”
“──We will shatter like jade!”
“Excuse me…?”
Leaving behind the knight who blinked in disbelief.
“The proud swords of the Knights of St. Magdalena will break, but they will not be defeated!”
Philip shouted with unyielding determination.
“All forces, prepare to shatter! Gather the remaining cavalry and reform the lines! Follow me and prepare for the final charge!”
“But, my lord! If we do that, we will all be annihilated…”
“Do you dare defy the orders of your supreme commander?!”
Charge, charge, charge. Philip repeated like a parrot.
To shatter like jade. To die cleanly for honor or loyalty. It was a beautiful phrase to hear.
Gathering their last strength, the Knights of St. Magdalena under Philip’s command launched a charge, and surprisingly, they broke through the encirclement with ease.
‘We did it…! I did it!’
But just as the desperate breakthrough turned into success, and the resolve to face death transformed into hope.
“Charge!”
As if waiting for this moment, the ‘Aura Knights’ of the Saxon family appeared.
They had retreated early to conserve their strength, changed their armor, and mounted fresh warhorses.
“Crush everything in your path!”
There was no need to disguise themselves as the ragtag knights of Baron Greenbelt.
Clad in the black armor symbolizing the black cavalry, the destroyers of the battlefield charged like tanks, brandishing their ‘massive greatswords’ with intimidating force.
The Zweihänder, just shy of two meters long, was enveloped in a pitch-black aura.
“For the Saxon family and Prince Dale!”
Whoosh!
The black sword of Saxony swept through like a storm, tearing everything in its path like paper.
Heads were severed, bodies crushed, armor shattered and broken.
“Ah, ah…”
The hope of breaking through the enemy’s encirclement was short-lived. The Knights of St. Magdalena, prepared to shatter like jade, were being literally crushed.
It was a perfect ambush, as if waiting for this moment, and it meant only one thing.
The breakthrough hadn’t succeeded. They had been allowed to escape, like a mole in a whack-a-mole game.
A flicker of hope was extinguished in vain.
“Prince Philip, please, surrender now…”
Was it fear, or the betrayal of the hope they had clung to until just moments ago?
“We haven’t lost as long as the commander lives!”
Philip rebuked the desperate plea of his subordinate.
“Hold them off! Protect me!”
“But, my lord…”
“Silence! I don’t care about the lives of soldiers! Protect the commander with your lives! Protect me!”
In the commander’s resolve to face death, one person was excluded.
The battle that began with the first light of dawn ended only when dusk settled beyond the western sky. Darkness was swiftly descending along the horizon.
“Everything went according to your plan, my lord! The operation was a complete success!”
“As expected of Prince Dale!”
“I am in awe of Prince Dale’s strategic brilliance!”
”…”
Amidst the jubilant knights unable to contain their joy and loyalty, the enemy commander, captured after a disgraceful escape, knelt there.
With the sea of blood and corpses of the Knights of St. Magdalena behind him, he faced the monster he could never hope to match, even in a hundred years.
“You seem quite averse to surrendering.”
Dale addressed Philip, the eldest son of the Brandenburg family.
Under the banner of the Saxon family’s night raven, surrounded by knights in pitch-black armor.
“You may have won with your vile tricks and cowardly tactics…”
Philip declared boldly.
“But we have not been defeated, even if we break!”
At those words, Dale glanced back. The endless expanse of corpses and the sea of blood stretched across the horizon. The result of their proud resolve not to surrender until the end.
“Quite the noble words for someone who tried to flee to save himself.”
“I, as the commander of this battle, have a duty to survive until the end!”
“Ah, is that so.”
Dale replied as if it were someone else’s business.
“Then, since the battle is over, there’s no need for you to stay alive.”
With a smooth motion, he placed his hand on the hilt of his sword.
It was at that moment.
“Very well!”
Seeing Dale’s movement, Philip suddenly wore a triumphant smile.
“I gladly accept your ‘challenge to a duel’!”
”…?”
Dale tilted his head at the unexpected words.
“I, Philip of Brandenburg, will gladly accept the ‘one-on-one duel for the fate of the battlefield’ proposed by Dale of Saxony!”
A claim as absurd as a child’s tantrum.
Swoosh!
Philip hastily rose, boldly drawing his knight’s sword from his waist.
And just as the Saxon knights were about to stop his ridiculous action.
“Alright.”
Dale extended his arm to hold back the knights and nodded without hesitation.
“I accept your challenge.”
As he nodded, Philip’s smile turned sly. With that smile, he kicked off the ground and charged.
Before Dale could even draw his sword from the belt, it was a truly despicable rush.
Thunk!
The sword swung, and an incredibly surreal sound followed. Like the squeal of a pig being slaughtered.
“Aaaah! Spare me! No, please spare me! I beg you, please!”
“You won’t even become jade in death, it seems.”
It all happened in the blink of an eye.
“Prince Dale is returning!”
“The prince has won the battle and is coming back!”
Thanks to the messenger who had already delivered the news of victory, and coincidentally, with Dale’s eleventh birthday approaching.
The entire city of Saxony was enveloped in a festive atmosphere.
The Black Duke and the Holy Knight. A proxy war between two great houses, borrowing the names of mere barons.
The battle on the Greenbelt Plains was an overwhelming victory for the Saxon family and the Night Raven Knights. Returning as the triumphant general from that battle, Dale came back to his domain.
Leading the endless procession of the Night Raven Knights, the pride of the Saxon family, along with the few prisoners from the Knights of St. Magdalena, including Philip, the eldest son of the Brandenburg family.
“They say he executed the ultimate encirclement and annihilation strategy against the Knights of St. Magdalena!”
“They say the crows pecked at the enemy corpses for a week without the numbers dwindling!”
Ignoring the embarrassing praises whispered about his exploits.
The grand hall of the Saxon ducal castle.
Dale, clad in custom-made black armor and surcoat, crossed the marble floor of the hall.
“Brother!”
“Lise.”
His two-year-old sister, Lise, who had just begun to speak, called out to him with innocent delight.
“Dale.”
The duke and duchess, seated on the throne, smiled at their son’s triumphant return.
“Congratulations on your first victory in battle, Prince Dale!”
“Thank you, Sir Helmut.”
Sir Helmut, along with Charlotte and the elf mage Sepia, familiar faces, were left behind as he crossed the hall.
“Dale of Saxony, I formally report our victory to the Duke.”
Kneeling before the Black Duke’s throne, Dale paid his respects. The Duke of Saxony couldn’t hide his pride as a father and smiled warmly.
“You led us to a splendid victory.”
“It was a victory made possible by the sword of the Saxon family.”
“Sir Bale, thank you for guiding Dale so well.”
“It was entirely the prince’s achievement!”
Under the rule of Duke Sachsen, Sir Bale, the lieutenant knight by Dale’s side, bowed his head.
“You must be exhausted, having just returned from battle.”
Following him, Dale’s mother, Elena, spoke up, unable to hide her concern for her son.
“Make sure to get plenty of rest.”
“Thank you, Mother.”
Dale bowed once more before standing up.
The Sachsen Ducal Castle. After months of battle, he finally felt like he was back where he belonged.
His home, his family.
It was a strangely overwhelming feeling.
“Sir Milvas and the entire Order of St. Magdalena, including the Aura Knights, have fallen in battle…”
The news was like a bolt from the blue.
“Prince Philip has been captured with a few of his squires, and they demand a hefty ransom…”
“That damned Sachsen brat…!”
As soon as the messenger delivered the near-hopeless news of defeat, a pure white aura wrapped around the blade of the holy sword, as if seeking a scapegoat to unleash its fury upon.
The messenger’s face turned ghostly pale in the presence of the aura, as radiant as an angel’s feather.
“Do you remember my death?”
The man asked. He was a corpse, with a blade protruding from his chest.
“I remember our deaths.”
Ten-year-old Dale, clad in black armor and surcoat, nodded, and the dead man spoke again.
“Remember death (Memento mori).”
With those words, the man’s figure vanished. Yet, the blade that had been lodged in the man’s body was now piercing through Dale’s chest.
Every wizard has their own world, and the journey of a wizard is the process of completing that world.
That night.
After leading his first battle to victory and closing his eyes in the ducal castle’s bedroom, Dale was not visited by a simple nightmare.
It was the abyss of his mind.
”…”
That day, he had forcibly opened the darkest landscape of his imagination to reach the third circle. It was his true world, one he couldn’t escape.
Sitting cross-legged on the bed, he quietly gazed at his palm. The biting cold and refined darkness of his magic intertwined, mimicking the double helix structure of DNA.
’…I couldn’t even use it in actual combat.’
He clenched his fist tightly, leaving the swirling flow of magic behind.
Crash!
Like a glass shattering, shards of cold and darkness scattered.
The practice of controlling and honing one’s inner world is both the beginning and the end for a wizard. Yet here he was, his sleep disturbed by that very ‘world,’ plagued by loneliness at all hours.
It was a ridiculous predicament.
‘I’m still lacking.’
The power to control his world more completely. The power to elevate his status as a wizard.
Where could he find it?
Only one answer came to mind.
Just as a renowned knight is accompanied by a famous sword, a great wizard is accompanied by something else.
‘A grimoire…’
As he thought of this, an image of Sepia came to mind. The elf with crystal-clear eyes who always believed in him, her gentle smile.
He pondered and then asked himself,
’…By the time I’m eleven, will I look more like a man?’
It was a thought befitting an eleven-year-old boy.