Episode 42
Some time later, in the conference room of the Saxon Duke’s castle.
The Duke of Saxony sat at the table, receiving reports on the unseen developments of the war.
Between the Demon King’s territory and the Duchy of Saxony lay a vast mountain range, fortified with multiple layers of fortresses along its narrow passes, forming a deep defensive line.
The mountain fortresses were manned by the ranger unit known as the “Winter Watchers.”
Even if the enemy managed to break through these fortresses after fierce battles and cross the mountains, they would still face another line of fortifications within the duchy, strategically blocking key crossing points and vital routes.
“We’ve received reports that the northern lords and the Winter Watchers have begun retreating from the 9th Mountain Fortress.”
“They’ve burned all the supplies they couldn’t carry before retreating.”
“It’s about time we deploy the field army.”
Sir Helmut pointed to the map as he spoke.
Some lords and their forces, summoned by the Duke of Saxony, had already joined the fortress defenders, and fierce battles were ongoing.
Yet, the reason the Grand Duke, known as the Black Duke, remained silent was singular.
Through relentless attrition and scorched-earth tactics, they aimed to wear down the enemy’s strength and morale. Then, at the decisive moment, the main force, with its overwhelming power, would deliver a crushing blow.
A deep defense.
Waiting until the very last moment to strike decisively and annihilate the enemy. The time to pull the trigger was approaching.
“We will stop the enemy’s main force from crossing the upper Saxon River and annihilate them.”
“Understood, Your Grace.”
The upper Saxon River was a non-negotiable line. If the enemy crossed and spread out, the duchy would suffer irreparable damage.
“Inform the lords to prepare for deployment.”
Just as they had once stopped a thousand orc horde there, though now the scale was incomparable.
Before the upcoming deployment, in the Duke of Saxony’s office.
“I am entrusting you with a mobile strike force of three hundred Night Raven knights, separate from the main force.”
There, the Duke of Saxony entrusted the “Black Prince” with a significant responsibility. As a detachment operating independently, it was essentially a command of its own.
“Additionally, Lady Sepia will be assisting you.”
”…!”
Dale was taken aback by the unexpected news of Sepia, a 6th-circle elf mage.
“The Blue Tower’s policy is to not interfere in worldly conflicts…”
“She is already our Saxon family’s ‘chief advisor.’”
The Black Duke spoke calmly.
“Moreover, defending humanity’s territory against demons isn’t exactly a ‘worldly conflict.’”
“Is that Lady Sepia’s will?”
Dale asked, and the Duke nodded.
“Once the large-scale clashes on both fronts begin, you will have full command of your unit.”
This decision was based on the grand strategy of the “Black and White Rotation” and the trust in Dale’s strategic insight.
“Trust me, Father.”
Thus, Dale did not hesitate. Fulfilling trust was something he was accustomed to.
“One more thing, if I may ask.”
“Speak.”
Dale nodded and spoke, recalling the image of a girl who wielded the Saxon family’s black sword with unmatched skill.
“Please assign the young divine sword to my command.”
There was a girl clad in black armor from head to toe.
Like Dale’s, it was custom-made for Charlotte’s frame, the armor of a Night Raven knight. But in her hands was not a rapier, but the Saxon family’s two-handed greatsword.
“Truly reliable.”
“Well, I am the bodyguard of the renowned ‘Black Prince.’”
At Charlotte’s words, Dale smiled quietly. Her face was hidden beneath a black helmet, as her identity needed to remain a secret.
But Charlotte was no longer a girl who needed one-sided protection.
She was not the only young genius growing under the Saxon family’s protection. Having undergone rigorous training with Sir Helmut, she had reached a level where she could stand alongside the Saxon family’s “Aura Knights.”
A prodigy of the sword, wielding the Saxon family’s greatsword with ease, thanks to the power of aura.
In terms of swordsmanship, her talent surpassed even Dale’s.
The blackened Saxon family sword was proof of that.
A pitch-black aura blade.
An aura that existed to serve the Saxon family in life and death.
”…Let’s make a promise.”
Dale spoke, looking at her.
“Okay.”
“Don’t die.”
“What?”
Charlotte tilted her head in confusion at his words.
“A knight’s duty is to lay down their life for their lord…”
“Is that what you think?”
Dale interrupted her.
“Shall I tell you the true duty of a knight?”
He asked, and Charlotte waited silently for his answer.
“Never betray your lord’s trust.”
Dale said.
“And I don’t want you to die.”
His voice was unwavering.
“This is not the battlefield where you should die.”
Charlotte held her breath for a moment, but her resolve was quick to return.
“Okay.”
As a knight loyal to her lord, Charlotte knelt quietly before Dale, planting the Saxon family’s black sword into the ground.
She was grateful that her expression was hidden beneath her helmet.
The main force led by the Duke of Saxony began its march against the advancing orc warlords.
The demons were a race that struggled to survive, unable to endure the harsh environment of the Demon King’s territory. They had no grand, evil purpose to engulf the world in darkness.
“Which makes them all the more troublesome.”
Though not as large as the unprecedented scale led by the “Demon King” in the past, significant demon migrations still occurred.
Each time, the Duke of Saxony summoned the northern lords, and at the decisive moment, he used the power of “black magic” to minimize casualties.
As an 8th-circle black mage at the pinnacle of the Black Tower.
The fact that the “Black Duke” himself led the main force meant only one thing. Even though he entrusted Dale with the mobile strike force, he intended to decide the outcome of this battle with his own hands.
By wielding the power of the man the empire feared most.
Upper Saxon River.
A few kilometers away from the main force’s camp, commanded by the “Duke of Saxony.”
This was where Dale and his three hundred Night Raven knights, the mobile strike force, were stationed.
As always, Dale was accompanied by Sir Baskerville’s Veil, his bodyguard Charlotte, and the 6th-circle elf mage Sepia.
However, here, Sepia was not Dale’s “teacher.” She was his lieutenant, following his orders.
And that night, in the camp of Dale’s mobile strike force.
Though the night was deep, the elf mage Sepia could not sleep. She wandered out of the tent, aimlessly walking under the starry sky.
Having become the teacher of the continent’s most talented child, she found herself part of the ducal family, swept up in worldly affairs. It was a decision made to guide Dale correctly, which she believed was her mission.
“Lady Sepia.”
And when Dale, also unable to sleep, called her name.
“Dale.”
Sepia realized she no longer saw Dale as merely the “subject of her mission.”
“Can’t sleep?”
“Why did you accept my father’s proposal?”
Dale asked.
“I am simply fulfilling my mission.”
Sepia replied.
This child possessed a talent greater and more dangerous than anything she had ever encountered. As his teacher, she wanted to guide him correctly.
That was Sepia’s mission.
And as she came to her senses, she realized that this child’s world was filled with cold loneliness.
A world of endless void and desolation. And that world longed for her.
In the bone-chilling solitude, alone and forlorn.
The realization was both pitiful and endearing. Knowing that she was the only one who could fill this child’s void.
”…Didn’t I promise to stay by your side?”
“Thank you.”
Sepia blushed as she replied, and Dale smiled softly at her.
The night sky was dark and deep.
The first battle began sooner than expected.
Before the main force’s crossing at the ford, a small orc unit attempted to cross the river several kilometers upstream.
When the numbers are small, it’s not difficult to construct rafts or temporary bridges to move troops across. And it was Dale’s “mobile strike force” that accurately intercepted this small orc unit.
“Charge!”
The command of four cavalry battalions, each consisting of fifty men, was entrusted to Lord Baskerville, while Dale personally led two battalions as a rear guard, ready to respond to any unforeseen circumstances.
Yet, the enemy had already crossed the river after a grueling march of several kilometers, with no reinforcements in sight.
The cavalry charge descended upon the isolated orc infantry like a storm. It was a massacre in every sense of the word.
Several more attempts by the orcs to cross the river in small groups followed, aiming to sow confusion. It was Dale’s mobile strike force that took on the task of intercepting them.
Not long after, realizing their diversions were ineffective, the main orc force, numbering in the thousands, began a determined assault at the key crossing point guarded by the Duke of Saxon’s main forces.
Under the command of the Orc Warboss, the fiercest and most elite warriors of the tribe launched their attack.
Mounted on massive wolves that made the northern warhorses look like mere ponies.
“Raaaargh!”
The earth-shattering roars of the orc riders and their wolves echoed across the battlefield. The true battle had begun.
As the two fronts clashed and the fierce fighting commenced, Dale’s three hundred cavalrymen had just completed their crossing to the northern bank, where the main orc force was concentrated.
Their focus on the frontal assault left the enemy’s rear exposed and vulnerable.
But they had not anticipated the ambush waiting for them there.