Episode 39
In the underground workshop of the Black Duke.
With a wave of Dale’s hand, the corpse of the Night Raven Knight rose. It was the body of a loyal knight who had fallen in battle for Dale.
Even in death, he had sworn to serve the House of Sachsen, having been knighted with that very promise.
Though he hadn’t reached the level of an “Aura Knight,” Dale could sense the aura within the knight’s body and infused it with his own magic.
Whoosh!
The fusion of “black magic and aura” created a powerful synergy, spreading throughout the knight’s body, transforming it into the aura of the undead.
The immortal knight, now enveloped in a blade of black aura, knelt before his lord, plunging his sword into the ground.
Thud!
The Black Duke watched in astonishment, swallowing hard.
“Incredible… the precision with which he controls it.”
This was no ordinary undead knight. It was an aura knight, far surpassing the capabilities of any typical necromancer’s creation.
This was only possible because Dale possessed a profound understanding of swordsmanship and the essence of knighthood.
To animate a knight’s corpse without understanding the sword was unthinkable. Dale’s Death Knight was no mere knight; it was a reflection of his mastery and comprehension of the sword—a true “Sword’s Proxy.”
The necromancers of the Black Tower, who had long abandoned the sword, could never imagine the dance of blades that would unfold from this proxy. Not even the Black Duke himself.
“It worked, Father.”
Dale’s words broke the silence, and the Duke of Sachsen remained speechless, still processing the feat before him.
Though he hadn’t realized the dark tendrils of the “Book of the Black Goat” had taken root in Dale’s heart, he couldn’t deny the immense power it had granted him.
Even the Black Duke, an 8th-circle mage, couldn’t hide his amazement at the concentrated black magic.
“The magic is refined to an unbelievable degree.”
“That’s because I have the best teacher.”
Dale replied with feigned innocence, addressing the continent’s greatest dark mage, the pinnacle of the Black Tower.
“But like the ‘Death Order’ knights you showed me…”
Without a constant supply of magic, a Death Knight cannot be sustained.
“How is it done?”
“It’s not time for you to learn that yet.”
The Black Duke shook his head at Dale’s question.
“For now, I’ll teach you how to utilize necromancy on the battlefield.”
Using the “immortal knight” Dale had resurrected as a foundation, they would delve into the combat magic doctrines pursued by the Black Tower.
“You must focus on your training to prepare for the battles ahead.”
Dale nodded silently at his father’s words. After a moment, the Duke snapped his fingers.
Several goblin corpses in the workshop rose, animated by the Black Duke’s magic.
Crunch, crunch!
Transformed into undead soldiers, they bore no resemblance to their former selves, existing solely as machines of war.
The undead soldiers charged at Dale’s Death Knight, surrounding it from all sides. The Death Knight adjusted its grip on the sword and began its dance. The knight’s black blade whirled like a vortex, shattering the undead soldiers’ bone blades like twigs.
The shadows of the blades scattered.
Beautiful and elegant. Not mere ostentatious formality, but a disciplined aesthetic born from practicality. A sword dance meant solely to claim lives.
”……!”
The Black Duke watched, swallowing hard in disbelief at the extraordinary swordsmanship.
Not all Death Knights are the same. Just because a knight is resurrected as an immortal doesn’t mean it retains its living swordsmanship.
Without using advanced dark magic to manipulate the brain and revive memories, controlling a corpse is the necromancer’s task, and they typically lack sword expertise.
Thus, a Death Knight’s swordsmanship is often crude and clumsy.
But the swordsmanship Dale projected through his Death Knight… it surpassed even the living Night Raven Knight’s skills.
‘How is this possible?’
The Black Duke knew Dale never neglected his sword training. Yet, to see such a perfected sword form, projected by a “mere mage” and not a knight?
‘The talent of Young Master Dale is beyond anything I’ve ever encountered.’
The words of Sir Helmut Blackbear came to mind. Dale’s talent. Yes, it was talent once again.
‘What exactly is this child’s talent?’
Or could it even be called talent at all?
In swordsmanship, magic, wisdom, and strategy.
The empire’s greatest prodigy, the genius of the ducal family.
That was the Black Duke’s son, the “Black Prince,” Dale of Sachsen.
”……Father?”
At that moment, a voice called him back to reality. The Black Duke turned his head.
Dale stood there, silently watching with his Death Knight. His son, without a doubt.
“You truly are my son.”
And so, the Black Duke thought no further.
“I am so proud of you.”
“It’s all thanks to your teachings, Father.”
He simply smiled quietly at his son, and Dale bowed his head in response.
No matter what anyone said, this child was undeniably his.
With each passing day, his student’s rapid growth and the tales of his achievements echoing throughout the empire brought unparalleled joy to a teacher.
Yet, the elf mage Sephia’s feelings were complicated as she watched Dale. Even today, as she taught him water magic, was no exception.
“Sephia, are you alright?”
Dale’s cautious expression made Sephia smile softly.
”…It’s nothing.”
That day, when Dale had taken the tower’s test and they had walked the night streets together.
‘I like you, teacher.’
She recalled Dale’s confession. Though he had masked it with the innocence of a child, Sephia could sense it. She could feel it.
The chilling cold and indescribable darkness within “Dale’s world,” and the desire—a man’s undeniable longing for affection.
A yearning for a woman’s tender touch amidst bone-chilling loneliness.
Realizing Dale’s feelings, Sephia’s heart was thrown into turmoil.
Like a pebble dropped into a still lake.
Her student, who should have been just an eleven-year-old child, was both worrisome and endearing.
Her heart felt warm.
”…….”
After a moment of thought, Sephia reached out with her pale, delicate hand, touching the cheek of the eleven-year-old boy.
“T-Teacher?”
Dale blushed at her touch, caught off guard.
”…Elves live long lives.”
Sephia continued, her voice gentle and kind as always.
“Even when you grow into a fine man…”
Yet with an allure that was unlike her usual self.
“I will likely remain just as I am now.”
She didn’t understand why she was doing this for him.
When she heard the tales of the “Black Prince” achieving a great victory in the black-and-white tournament, annihilating his foes.
When the people of the empire spoke of the talent and infamy of the young heir of Sachsen.
Sephia couldn’t feel pure joy.
Human history is a history of blood and war. A history of killing and being killed. In that regard, Dale’s talent could be said to “move the wheels of history.”
A god of massacre.
Sephia was simply afraid of that fact. She didn’t want this child to walk such a path of slaughter.
“Until you realize your true feelings.”
The elf’s pale, delicate hand reached out.
“I will be by your side.”
She caressed Dale’s cheek, smiling softly.
“Not as a teacher, but as a woman.”
”……!”
Sephia spoke, her cheeks flushed with an uncharacteristic shyness.
“So you are not alone.”
Like a girl confessing her feelings, unsure of what to do with her embarrassment. In a way, it wasn’t entirely wrong.
Dale remained silent, his lips sealed, as he felt the mature presence of a woman he hadn’t noticed before. He finally understood why elves were known as a race of beauty.
Seeing Dale in a daze, Sephia…
“Ahem.”
She realized how embarrassing her words had been and cleared her throat awkwardly.
“Well, let’s continue with the lesson…”
It was then.
“Thank you.”
After a moment of silence, Dale smiled. He then leaned into Sephia’s embrace.
”……!”
Sefia caught her breath at the audacious gesture, but soon accepted Dale with a smile.
“I really like you, Sefia,” Dale murmured, burying his head in her embrace.
“So please, wait for me.”
”…Alright,” she replied, surrendering to the warmth that chased away the cold and loneliness in her heart.
It was a promise from their youth that would never be forgotten.
That night.
In Dale’s bedroom.
Sefia’s unexpected confession had caught Dale completely off guard.
On that day, during the trial at the Necropolis tower, Dale’s turmoil, driven by a desire to escape the horizon of solitude, had inadvertently opened a window into his world for Sefia.
This act resonated between them as fellow mages, allowing Dale’s emotions to flow directly into Sefia.
Dale’s world—a winter night marred by biting cold and darkness.
By chance, the water affinity they shared made this connection possible, and the ‘chilling cold and loneliness’ that raged within Dale’s world engulfed Sefia’s. Even for a sixth-circle elf mage, maintaining composure in such circumstances was no easy feat.
It was an impossible naivety, yet for the first time, a warmth filled her heart, knowing she was truly understood.
Sitting cross-legged on the bed, Dale silently gazed out the castle’s glass window.
Three circles revolved around his heart, with inky tendrils rooted between the circles and his heart.
He had once thought he had nothing to lose.
But now, he had things he wanted to protect, things he cherished.
‘I must become stronger.’
There was no room for hesitation. No matter the cost of the power he sought.
Not long after.
In response to the demon horde’s great migration, the northern lords loyal to Duke Saxon began to gather in his duchy.
Under the command of the great lord, Duke Saxon, minor lords and their ambitious sons, eager to prove themselves, converged. They sought to use Duke Saxon and the Black Prince to assert their own significance.